Sheboygan Tales of the Tragic and Bizarre

by William Wangemann

  Chief Wagner, Otto Kohls and Roland Marten, one of the patrons who had been in the bar when the murder took place, immediately drove to Bloomington, Illinois, for possible identification. Bloomington officers were going to immediately arrange a lineup but postponed it until the following morning. It was decided that the witnesses from Sheboygan would stand in a darkened corridor as the jail prisoners filed by for breakfast to see if they could identify anyone. Kohls and the other murder witnesses had been advised by authorities that if they recognized anyone they were to say nothing and show no sign of recognition. With Chief Wagner and a detective watching the two witnesses, they suddenly saw Kohls and Marten stiffen as the prisoners shuffled by. Once the prisoners had passed them and were seated in a large dining hall, Kohls and Marten were taken to a secluded area where they could get a better look at the men. Both of them had no difficulty picking out Young and Allgood as the murderers.

  Both Allgood and Young were immediately taken out of the breakfast hall and placed in separate cells so that they could be interrogated by Chief Wagner. After a lengthy questioning session, the chief did obtain confessions, but not the ones he wanted. Both Allgood and Young confessed to the armed robbery in Bloomington but stoutly maintained they knew absolutely nothing about the murder in Sheboygan. But the evidence against the two began to pile up. First, there was the positive identification by two witnesses; secondly there were the three guns that were of exactly the same type and caliber as the murder weapons. Then there was a small pocketknife that was found in Allgood’s pocket. It was identified by Marten as being the one that was taken from him the night of the murder. It seemed as though Sheboygan had an airtight case and the murder of Jonassen was at last solved.

  Chief Wagner had the Sheboygan district attorney draw up warrants for murder in the first degree against Young and Allgood. It was the chief’s intention to serve the warrants and then transport the suspects back to Sheboygan for trial. Much to the chief’s astonishment, Illinois authorities blocked this move. The Bloomington district attorney insisted that the men be tried first in Illinois for armed robbery, but he further assured Wisconsin authorities that when the two men were tried and sent to jail, Wisconsin would be notified when their sentences had been served. Both Young and Allgood were then held in the county jail for trial in lieu of a $5,000 bond, which they could not post.

  While the two men were awaiting trial, it was discovered that both of them had fairly lengthy criminal records and had already served time in prison. Toward the end of 1927, the two gunmen stood trial in Illinois and were found guilty and sentenced to ten years to life at hard labor in the Illinois state prison at Joliet. Sheboygan would just have to wait until the two criminals were released to prosecute them. Twelve years passed by, and in November 1939, Young was released to Sheboygan authorities for trial. Allgood, however, had not yet completed his sentence and was still being held in Illinois.

  After twelve long years, the murder trial of Andrew Young was about to begin. Young had procured the services of Jacob J. Fessler and Arthur Grube, considered by many to be two of the best attorneys in Sheboygan. Prior to the start of the trial, Attorney Fessler had gone to the Illinois state prison and had taken a deposition from Frank Allgood. It was during the taking of this deposition that Allgood admitted his guilt in the shooting of Jonassen and swore that Andrew Young was not the person who was with him during the robbery and murder. In fact, Allgood swore the man with him was a criminal from Illinois known as “Short Arm Louie,” whose name was Louis Schomber. Schomber did in some ways resemble Andrew Young. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, Schomber was deceased. Attorney Fessler also filed a notice of alibi stating on the day in question Andrew Young was not in the city of Sheboygan or even in the state of Wisconsin.

  A mug shot of suspected murderer Andrew Young, taken by Illinois authorities. Author’s collection. Author’s note: No photograph of Frank Allgood could be located.

  At last, the trial of Young was set for December 22, 1939, at 8:00 a.m. The problem the state was having was that after twelve years, the memories of the witnesses had dimmed, including Chief of Police Wagner, who on several occasions contradicted himself. But much to the distress of the defense, witness after witness took the stand and swore that Andrew Young was the murderer. After five days of testimony, during which the defense claimed that Young was a victim of mistaken identity, the trial came to an end. After deliberating only five hours, the jury came in with a verdict. The presiding judge postponed the reading of the verdict until 9:00 a.m. the following day. The next day, the courtroom was packed with spectators, including the family of Andrew Young. The jury handed their verdict to the judge, who asked Young to stand and face the bench. The verdict was guilty of murder in the first degree. Young’s family wept quietly. Sentencing was set for December 29, 1939, at which time Judge Detling sentenced Young to life in prison.

  Andrew Young always maintained his innocence even after his incarceration. Young appealed his case in the appellate courts and the state supreme court, all to no avail. In 1942, he filed an application for executive clemency with Governor Julius Heil but was turned down. It seemed that Andrew Young was destined to spend the rest of his life behind bars.

  Andrew Young would not take no for an answer, continually insisting that he was innocent. According to old court records, Young again applied for executive clemency on September 10, 1943, to the new governor, Walter Goodland. Again he was turned down. On February 10, 1944, he again failed to gain release from prison. In 1945, he filed another appeal, and this time it was granted. Records indicate that prior to his release it was learned that a new drug, sodium amatol, commonly known as truth serum, had been administered to him with Young’s permission. This procedure was conducted in a hospital in the presence of two competent psychiatrists. While in an induced state of narcosis, Young was questioned at length and in great detail. Also present at this time was a special investigator from the governor’s office. The investigator who conducted the questioning stated that he could not change Young’s claim of innocence.

  Because of this and because Young had shown a remarkable record of rehabilitation in prison, the pardon was granted. The trial judge, Henry Detling, wrote a letter to Governor Goodland protesting the pardon; however, the governor declined to change his decision.

  Having read in the news of the controversial decision, the circuit court judge of the Tenth Judicial Circuit wrote a letter to Judge Detling stating that he also had experience with the so-called truth serum and stated that he would shortly be sending him a letter explaining his experiences. The letter to Judge Detling was signed by the circuit court judge, Joseph R. McCarthy, who would shortly become Wisconsin’s infamous Senator McCarthy.

  On January 4, 1946, prisoner #25321 walked out of Waupon State Prison a free man. The new Wisconsin governor, Walter S. Goodland, had granted Andrew Young a full and complete pardon.

  What became of Frank Allgood? In July 1941, he was brought to Wisconsin for trial. On August 21, 1941, Allgood pled guilty to a reduced charge of second-degree murder and was sentenced to fourteen to twenty-five years in prison. In 1949, Frank Allgood was paroled after serving eight years in prison for the murder of Olaf Jonassen.

  It might be noted that when Andrew Young was found guilty of first-degree murder in 1939, he was the first person in the history of Sheboygan County to have been found guilty of murder in the first degree.

  A VISIT TO THE NEIGHBORS

  When the first settlers arrived in Sheboygan County, they found a wilderness almost beyond comprehension. In many places, the forests were so dense that a horse could not be ridden through it. These early settlers found life in our area filled with danger and hardships. The forest itself presented a dark, mysterious and fearful presence of a thousand terrors, some real and others imagined. The natives who lived in the area were a peaceful lot, but could they be trusted? After all, they were forest creatures themselves and part of the settlers’ darkest fears.

  I
t was not uncommon for early residents of the county to become lost and disoriented one hundred yards from home. Many homes had a large brass horn hanging over the fireplace that was used to signal to family members lost in the woods. If someone went off to pick berries or hunt and did not return home on time, the horn was brought out and a long blast on the horn was blown, hopefully steering the lost person to the safety of home and hearth. Getting lost in the dense forest was not the only peril the pioneers faced. There were also the vicious packs of wolves that roamed the area. Early farmers had to build high, secure board fences around any animals they kept. Cattle, pigs and chickens were all favorite meals for the ever-hungry wolves. One settler had a two-hundred-pound mastiff dog to protect his property; a pack of wolves had no trouble killing him.

  In the year 1846, a family’s worst fears became reality. J.W. Briggs, his wife Asenath and their children purchased a small tract of wilderness land near what was to become the city of Plymouth. After countless hours of backbreaking labor, Briggs managed to hack a small clearing out of the dense forest and put up a log cabin for his family, with the assistance of neighbors. The task of clearing land and putting up a cabin was so arduous that one man could never have done it alone. People needed each other’s help just to survive. If a farmer was taken sick at harvest time, settlers from miles around brought in the crops without ever being asked. Tools and draft animals were freely borrowed back and forth. Women thought nothing of walking miles along forest trails to help out a neighbor lady who just had a baby or was injured or ill. In fact, the pioneer women were happy to be able to meet with other women and break the lonely and tedious routine they daily faced.

  Cold spring house, one of the earliest buildings in the Plymouth area, as it appeared about the time Mrs. Briggs was murdered. Courtesy Sheboygan County Historic Research Center.

  Early in the morning May 16, Asenath Briggs was about to bake bread when she found that she was short of flour and milk. Picking up a pail and a measure, she wrapped her shawl over her shoulders and informed her husband that she was going to the neighbor’s house, less than a half mile away, to borrow the needed ingredients and would not be gone long because she was anxious to start her baking.

  The trail through the dark forest that she took was one that Mrs. Briggs knew well and had walked many times. The trail did, however, pass through one of the darkest and densest parts of the woods.

  After hours passed, Mr. Briggs became alarmed when his wife did not return home. Thinking that perhaps she had had an accident and might be lying along the trail to the neighbor’s house, he set out to look for her. Briggs walked all the way to his neighbors’ house without seeing a sign of his missing wife. When he contacted the neighbors, they told him that his wife had never arrived. The astonished man realized that something serious must have happened to her. Somewhere along the dark, forbidding trail, Asenath Briggs had vanished!

  The call for a search party went out, and men from miles around dropped what they were doing and assembled at the Briggs farm, many of them armed. The searchers fanned out in every direction. For hours, they tramped the heavily wooded area, crashed through underbrush and waded across creeks and through swamps—but not a trace of the missing woman could be found. As darkness settled over them, the searchers quit for the night, only to go out again the next day. After several days, the quest to find the missing farm wife was deemed hopeless, and the horrible truth became apparent: Mrs. Briggs was gone.

  Weeks passed, and then a report was received from local Indians that they had found the body of a white woman in Manitowoc County near the Sheboygan River at a site known to them as Big Bend, which was over twenty miles away. Briggs, along with several neighbors, quickly set out for the location of the corpse the Indians said they found.

  When Briggs and his neighbors arrived, they were not quite prepared for what they found. The body was positively identified as the missing Mrs. Briggs. She lay on her shawl; all her clothes had been removed and were found lying on top of her. Nearby lay the pail and the measure she left home with. Most gruesome of all was the fact that her head had been removed from her torso and was lying next to her!

  Many questions remained and still do: how did the victim end up at a spot more than twenty miles from home in a place she had no reason to be? How did Asenath Briggs die? Who or what killed her? Her mysterious death remains unsolved to this day.

  Asenath Briggs’s strange disappearance and her eventual murder is only one of many strange happenings that have taken place in the Sheboygan area.

  CHAPTER 3

  TALES OF MYSTERY

  WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO RAY?

  On March 18, 1940, an event occurred in Sheboygan that involved the Sheboygan Police Department in one of the strangest and most bizarre cases they ever handled, even to this day. It seems that the more they investigated and the more facts they gathered, the less they really understood what actually took place in the basement boiler room of the First Congregational Church on that that fateful day. After an intensive investigation, many questions were left unanswered, and the mystery of what ever happened to Ray remains just that—a mystery

  Every city and town has people like Ray. Many of them are of diminished mental capacity and live on the edges of society. We see them every day but never really see them; they are almost invisible. Most of these invisible persons can, and do, function; some are able to support themselves by working at menial jobs. Ray Colbath was just such an invisible man. Ray was familiar to almost everybody who lived or worked in the downtown area of Sheboygan, but very few knew his name or anything about him.

  Ray Colbath, age thirty, was a quiet, gentle, almost reclusive man. His life was simple but well ordered. He was very punctual, polite and a hard worker. He was unmarried and had few possessions, few friends and almost certainly no enemies… that anybody knew of. His most treasured possession was his shiny new Schwinn bicycle. Ray had saved enough from his meager income to buy the bike of his dreams. The bike had a knee action fork, a tank on the center frame and a light and horn mounted on the front. To this, Ray added white handlebar grips with plastic multicolored streamers attached to the end of the grips. On days when he was not working, he was a familiar sight on Eighth Street, where he could be seen, with streamers flying, pedaling as fast as he could through downtown traffic. At night before he put his bike away, he would wipe it all down with loving care and put his treasured vehicle in the front vestibule of his sister’s home. Most certainly he never took his treasured bike out on a rainy day.

  Ray lived quietly with his sister and brother-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Erv Schienle, in the 1700 block of North Second Street. Mornings he could be found working as a part-time janitor at the YMCA, which in those days was located at 713 Ontario Avenue. Ray worked at the Y from 8:00 a.m. until noon, when he would go home to have lunch with his sister. At precisely 1:00 p.m., he would appear at the First Congregational Church, which was just around the corner from the YMCA and was located at 926 North Seventh Street, where he also worked as a part-time custodian several days a week from 1:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. Then he would go home and have an almost silent dinner with his sister and brother-in-law. After dinner, he would retire to his room and listen to his radio until 9:00 p.m., which was bedtime. With no variation, the days passed by quietly for Ray. For most of us, the maddening routine would be all but unbearable, but Ray found comfort in his strictly regulated life. March 19, 1940, was to be a vastly different day for the quiet, soft-spoken man.

  The First Congregational Church, the scene of Ray’s death. Author’s collection.

  On this day, Ray was late for dinner, and almost immediately his sister became concerned. Normally if a thirty-year-old man is a few minutes late for dinner it would be of no cause for concern, but Ray was never late for dinner, especially when he knew they were having pot roast, his favorite meal. The minutes and then the hours slowly ticked by. By the time the clock reached midnight, Ray’s sister was frantic. She begged her husband Erv to go ou
t and look for her missing brother. It was a cold, damp, windy night, and Erv reluctantly pulled on his coat and began walking toward the place Ray would have last been: the First Congregational Church.

  As Erv approached the church, he noted that there were several lights burning inside, so he tried the front door, and it was locked. Going around to the side door, Erv saw Ray’s treasured bike with a bicycle lock in place as usual. This meant that his missing brother-in-law was surely inside. Trying the side door, he found it open, and once inside, he loudly called out Ray’s name, his voice echoing through the empty church, but received no response. He called out again, but the silence was broken only by the hollow sound of his own footsteps on the tile floor. By now Erv began to fear the worst; had his brother-in-law suffered a serious accident and was lying injured somewhere in the cavernous building? Or worse, was he dead? Erv checked the main floor of the church and then the pastor’s office; all was in order. He then climbed the stairs to the choir loft; it, too, was empty. This left the basement. Ray had to be down there. He would never have left the building with the lights on and the door unlocked. And then there was his bike. It was unthinkable that he would have left and not taken his bike with him. Erv entered the basement church hall. Here, too, the lights were on. Ray also detected the strong smell of cleaning solutions that had been used to mop the freshly scrubbed floors, but other than that the room was empty. This left only four small rooms: the men’s and ladies’ restrooms, a storage room where tables and chairs were kept and the boiler room. Erv methodically checked the restrooms, and again the smell of cleaning products greeted his nostrils in the recently sanitized rooms; both were dark and empty. The storage room was likewise empty; this left only the boiler room. The boiler room door was a heavy metal fireproof door to which a chain was attached. The chain was connected to a weight that would drop if there were a fire and slam the door shut if it were open. All the while that Erv was in the church, he thought that even though it was a nasty, cold, windy night it was unusually warm in the building. Erv would very soon find out the reason for this.