Published by The History Press
Charleston, SC
www.historypress.net
Copyright © 2018 by John Brassard Jr.
All rights reserved
First published 2018
e-book edition 2018
ISBN 978.1.43966.402.5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017958375
print edition ISBN 978.1.62585.976.1
Notice: The information in this book is true and complete to the best of our knowledge. It is offered without guarantee on the part of the author or The History Press. The author and The History Press disclaim all liability in connection with the use of this book.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
I dedicate this book to my grandfather Robert Warren Sr., who helped to teach me about history and how to appreciate a good story.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgements
Introduction
1. A Match Made in Hell
2. Obsession
3. Madness, Suicide and Chocolate
4. The Postmistress, the Mailman and His Wife
5. Blood Debt
6. The Long Grove Bank Robbery of 1921
Bibliography
About the Author
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book would not have been possible without the unyielding support of my family. I would like to thank my wife, Elaine, for listening to me whine, and my mother, Tammy, for telling me to stop whining. Thanks to my father, John, for helping me with the pictures, and special thanks to my children for just being a never-ending source of entertainment.
I would like to recognize all those who have supported my writing in a professional format by publishing my work. I thank the publisher of the DeWitt Observer, Larry Lough, and Bill Tubbs, publisher of the North Scott Press, as well as Mike Swanger, publisher of the Iowa History Journal.
I also recognize the support and encouragement of the local historical societies that I have had the pleasure to work with, such as the Scott County Historical Preservation Society, the Scott County Historical Society, the Central Community Historical Society and the Friends of Walnut Grove Pioneer Village. I extend special thanks to Ann Soenksen, Lois Wessels, Bob and Ramona Lee, Fred and Margaret Fedderson, Tom and Jackie Knapper, and Shirley Perry.
I also give special thanks to Richardson-Sloane Special Collections at Davenport Public Library for all of its assistance, especially with photographs.
INTRODUCTION
It was July 4, 1845. Colonel George Davenport sat in his home on Rock Island, listening to the sounds of the night. Davenport had lived on Rock Island for over forty years, and the sounds were comfortable for him, like a pair of well-worn shoes.
Davenport’s family was celebrating the Fourth of July holiday in nearby Stephenson with the rest of the city. He was feeling under the weather and did not feel like attending the festivities. Davenport did not want his family to be disappointed, however, so he insisted that they attend without him.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Over the usual sounds of night birds and insects, Davenport could also hear the faint sounds of the parties going on in Stephenson and Davenport.
The old man laughed. He enjoyed the thought of having an entire city named after him. It had been a frontier town with big dreams, but he was sure that one day it would rank among the finest cities of the region. After all, it had his name attached to it, so it had to be great.
It had been his friend Antoine LeClaire’s idea to name the town after him. He had met Antoine a few years after he had come to the area. Davenport had been a sutler at the time, a private citizen who contracted with the United States government to provide various types of supplies to the newly erected Fort Armstrong. The fort had also been built on Rock Island, so Davenport built his house a short distance away. His original home had been a double log cabin, with half of it being for living space and the other half used as a store, from which he would trade with the local Indian tribes, the Sauk and Meskwakie.
Colonel George Davenport, regional pioneer and namesake of the city of Davenport, Iowa. Courtesy of Davenport Public Library.
LeClaire was half French-Canadian and half Potawatomi. He had been hired as an interpreter by the fort commander in 1816 and had soon met George Davenport. They quickly became friends.
By 1818, Davenport had quit his job as a sutler in order to concentrate more on Indian trade. The natives liked him, and he soon had many different trading posts scattered across several miles. He had watched as more and more white settlers moved into the region. As they did, Davenport began to trade in furs, partnering up with a man named Russell Farnham. They soon joined the American Fur Company, further tapping into the then-thriving fur business of the early 1800s.
Davenport had become a wealthy man by this time and bought up the vast majority of local native lands that came up for sale in Illinois.
In 1832, tensions between white settlers and the Sauk came to a head when Black Hawk, one of the war leaders, took several hundred followers and traveled north along the Rock River. George Davenport quickly sent word to American forces in St. Louis that Black Hawk was aiming to start a war against the European settlers who had moved into the region. The governor of Illinois immediately sent military units to deal with Black Hawk and his followers and issued a call for volunteers to join the effort. He also personally bestowed the military rank of colonel on George Davenport. This short-lived conflict became known as the Black Hawk War.
After it ended, a treaty was signed on the western bank of the Mississippi among the Sauk, the Meskwakie and the United States government that ceded all native lands in Illinois and nearly six million acres of land on the western side of the river to the American government. Antoine LeClaire, who served as an interpreter at the signing, and his wife, Marguerite, were awarded large amounts of land as part of the treaty.
Beginning the following year, what had become known as the Black Hawk Purchase was opened for settlement. Several towns sprang up along both sides of the Mississippi, including Davenport and Stephenson.
Colonel Davenport and LeClaire invested a lot of time, effort and funds in the development of Davenport, which began to prosper very quickly. Hotels were opened, and businesses soon followed. Houses were built along the dirt streets, and more and more people began to move into the area.
Soon, the first glimmers of culture began to appear. Newspapers were founded and published, and churches of various denominations were erected. Schools were built, and the rough log cabin buildings of the frontier town were gradually replaced with more sophisticated wood frame ones, including the Colonel’s own home.
All of these advancements greatly pleased Colonel George Davenport as he sat, letting the July heat warm his bones and so many memories warm his heart and soul. Wincing, he struggled out of his chair. He had sat for too long, and his body had grown stiff. The Colonel stretched and then began to move out of the room. It would do his old man’s body good to walk for a bit, he thought.
Davenport opened the door to his kitchen, his eyes widening at what he saw. Although they were mere shadows in the darkened room, Davenport could see that there were strangers in his house. Before he could react, he heard a loud crack. Instantly, a pain like white-hot fire blazed in his leg. With a cry, he grabbed his leg, lost his balance and fell. Davenport let out a groan as he slammed into the floor. Quickly, the strangers were upon him. They roughly grabbed him and bound his hands and feet with lengths
of rope.
The Davenport home on Rock Island, Illinois, now Arsenal Island. Courtesy of Davenport Public Library.
Their questioning started immediately. Through the pain and surprise, Davenport began to assess the situation. They wanted money. He heard one of them mention $20,000, but he did not quite understand.
The men dragged the wounded Colonel to his safe and demanded that he open it. He did as he was told. Davenport’s captors eagerly looked on as one of their number reached in and took out $400. To Davenport’s surprise, the men grew angry. They demanded to know where the rest of the money was, but he insisted that was all that was in the house.
The robbers became violent as they grabbed the helpless Colonel and took him into his bedroom. There, they mercilessly beat the old man within an inch of his life. When their rage was spent, they took the money and left the house, leaving Colonel Davenport moaning in pain. With the last strength that he had left, he began to call out for help.
Luckily for him, some men happened by the Davenport home about that time on their way to fish. They heard his pitiful cries and went immediately to investigate. They found the Colonel inside, badly hurt and nearly incoherent. One of them, thinking quickly, ran to get a doctor and any other help that he could find.
Upon hearing the news, many gathered to find the bandits who had committed this horrible crime, while a local doctor went to tend to Colonel Davenport. The doctor could do little more than ease the old man’s suffering and listen to him as he related what had happened. Soon after, George Davenport, the frontier pioneer and wealthy businessman, passed away.
The bandits themselves were quickly rounded up and brought to justice. It was discovered that the men had heard that the wealthy Colonel kept nearly $20,000 in his safe. They decided to take advantage of the holiday, sure that the Davenport family would be at the Fourth of July celebrations with everyone else.
When they entered the home and the old man walked in on them, they had been just as surprised as he. One of them shot him almost more from being startled than from malice. They had not planned on killing Davenport, but $20,000 was a lot of money and, in their minds, had more than justified their actions at the time.
Out of the bandits, one spent life in prison, while another escaped captivity and fled, never to be heard from again. All of the others were hanged.
Davenport was buried near his home on Rock Island. The city that had been named after him continued to grow. The seeds of greatness that he had helped to sow began to bear rich fruit. Businesses and factories were built, with railroads and riverboats helping them to flourish. Art, music and entertainment came, too, as well as mercantile stores selling various goods.
Downtown Davenport in the early twentieth century. Courtesy of Davenport Public Library.
The territory that Colonel Davenport had known became the state of Iowa the year after his death. It was split into several counties, and the region that he had known on the western bank of the Mississippi became Scott County. Like the Colonel’s namesake city, the county also began to flourish. Towns like Long Grove, Eldridge and LeClaire sprang up and prospered. Farmers began to till the land and became wealthy off the crops that grew.
But underneath the shiny veneer of progress and prosperity, darkness lurked. Like the dim shapes that Colonel Davenport saw in his house that long-ago night, grim deeds and dark desires swam just underneath the surface of Scott County’s successful façade.
Even the electric lights of the twentieth century could not dispel the darkness. Organized crime and prostitution thrived in places like Davenport’s notorious Bucktown area, as well as bootleg liquor sales during the Prohibition era. And hidden in homes and businesses, behind closed doors and in dim corners, even fouler things thrived.
In these next chapters, you, the reader, will be exposed to some of this darkness. Tales of madness, abuse and murder will show you the ugly underbelly that has, from time to time, served as a counterbalance to the wonderful success and accomplishments of the county that they took place in. As you will soon see, sometimes a beautiful place like Scott County has experienced truly ugly events.
CHAPTER 1
A MATCH MADE IN HELL
It was spring in Pleasant Valley, Iowa. Spring is always a special time of year. Asleep after a long winter slumber, the various flora and fauna were starting to turn green again with new life. Flowers began to bloom again in a vivid array of colors, splashing blues, whites, purples, oranges and reds across a rich backdrop of greens and browns. Farmers were busy in their fields, plowing through the rich black soil in order to make way for the annual planting.
The township of Pleasant Valley had been following this same pattern since the first settlers had come there in 1833. Drawn by the natural beauty of the area, these early pioneers had not only begun to transform the grassy fields there into successful farms but also began to build some of the rudimentary hallmarks of industry. A sawmill was constructed in order to process some of the abundant timber into useable lumber for building. Valley City was founded, and with its birth, some more of the basic benefits of civilization, such as mail service, came into being for the rural residents of the township.
It was into this rural farming community that a man named Reinhart Hose settled.
Born in 1839 in Hessen, Germany, Reinhart immigrated to the United States in the late 1860s, eventually coming to Iowa. He bought a farm, married and settled into the life of a farmer. Eventually, Reinhart and his wife, Elise, had a daughter, whom they named Mary.
Mary was raised in the farming community of Pleasant Valley Township, where she was relatively well known and, more importantly, very well liked. Reinhart could not have been prouder of her. As his only child, he and Elise lavished all of their love and affection on her.
In about 1889, Reinhart took a trip to Washington, D.C., to visit a friend named Schultz. Schultz was working as a clerk in the Treasury Department there. The two men had attended school together in Germany before immigrating to the United States. They were anxious to see each other again and catch up on the events that had transpired in their lives since they had last seen each other.
Schultz and his wife were gracious hosts and treated Reinhart extremely well. During the many conversations that they had during his visit, many subjects were probably discussed. They probably talked about where they had settled and built their lives and about their families. Reinhart talked about Mary, his pride and joy, and got to meet Schultz’s own family.
Schultz had a son named Henry, with whom Reinhart became very friendly. Reinhart really liked the young man, who worked as a plumber in the area. He told Henry about Mary and talked about how much she would have liked to come with him. Mary was in her late teens around this time, and like many parents meeting others whom they consider to be solid dating material for their children, Reinhart began to pave the way for young Henry to begin writing to Mary.
Reinhart returned home a short while later, telling Elise and Mary all about his old friend in Washington, D.C., and his family. And, of course, he made sure to tell Mary about that wonderful Schultz boy. Soon, Henry and Mary began sending letters back and forth.
But while Reinhart was probably hoping for love to bloom between the two young people, Mary had other plans. She had just finished school and was hoping to further her studies at college. She had found a suitable women’s school in Chicago and wanted to attend. Mary told her parents about the idea, and they agreed to pay for her continuing education. While it more than likely made them sad to see her go, she was their beloved only daughter, and they would do anything for her.
Mary was accepted to the school, and Reinhart and Elise saw her off. For the next few years, Mary dedicated herself to her studies. Through that time, she and Henry Schultz maintained a friendly correspondence.
Eventually, Mary graduated and returned home to Pleasant Valley, Iowa. She had always been considered attractive and popular, and the locals there whom she had grown up around were excited to see her.
They welcomed her home with open arms, and Mary happily greeted them in return. One of those who was present to welcome her back from Chicago was none other than Henry Schultz.
He had come from Washington, D.C., to finally meet her face to face. One thing led to another, and Henry proposed marriage to Mary. She accepted, much to the excitement of her parents. But no matter how much she may have tried, Mary always came off as being no more than lukewarm to the thought of marrying Henry. Perhaps she saw how happy the idea made her father, or maybe she had decided that it was time for her to get married and have children, and Henry just seemed like a viable choice.
Henry did have his good qualities. He had a solid, professional job as a plumber. He was a dedicated churchgoer, and he did not drink alcohol. Mary may not have ever seen him face to face before that time, but they had been talking through mail correspondence for a few years now. Besides that, her father and his father were good friends, and her dad was very impressed with the young plumber. So why not marry him?
And so it came to be that during the fine spring season, as flowers bloomed and long grass waved lazily in broad green fields, twenty-year-old Mary Hose waited to marry Henry Schultz. Perhaps, as she walked down the aisle toward her awaiting groom, those lukewarm feelings that she had about the marriage began to ease somewhat. In the excitement of the day, maybe her anxieties simply melted away and she was able to imagine a new life with Henry. She should have trusted her instincts.
After they were married, Mary had hoped to settle back into life in Pleasant Valley. After so many wonderful childhood memories there, it must have seemed natural to Mary to want to go home again. But her new husband had other ideas. He wanted to return to Washington, D.C., and his plumbing business there. Mary relented, and the two made plans to settle in the nation’s capital.
Murder & Mayhem in Scott County, Iowa Page 1