Arvid opened the door to his room, seething. He crossed over to his old trunk and opened the lid. With one hand, he began to search around inside until he found what he was looking for: an automatic pistol. Arvid took it out, put it in his pocket and started to walk back toward the kitchen. On the outside he was calm, but he was furious inside. Arvid Helloian was going to have his repayment, one way or another.
Before he knew it, he was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The only thing that he cared about in that moment was John David. His vision narrowed, focusing until John was his entire world. He could feel the anger swell inside him. The cold steel of his automatic pistol felt good against the flesh of his hand. One last time, Arvid asked John David if he was going to repay the loan.
As he prepared his breakfast, John David knew nothing of the gun in Arvid’s pocket. He understood that Arvid wanted to get back home, and he was finally taking steps toward paying the man back, even going so far as to sell property to get the money. But he told Helloian none of this. Maybe he was just tired of the constant, unrelenting badgering about paying the money back. Like so many people who are pestered by creditors, perhaps John had just reached the point that he did not care anymore and in his own frustration had carelessly said that he was never going to pay the loan, even though he had every intention of doing so.
But no matter what his intentions were, in that moment he made the fateful decision to tell Arvid Helloian that he was never going to pay back that $400.
A slap across the face could not have hit Arvid harder than those words. In that moment, the frustration and rage that had been burning inside him exploded like a bomb. Jerking the pistol out of his pocket, Arvid pointed his gun at John and fired.
The bullet struck the older man in the arm. Without hesitation, John David started across the room in an attempt to close the distance between himself and his attacker. As he reached for the gun, Arvid fired again, this time hitting John in the neck. The older man stopped, grabbing at the wound, blood flowing from it freely like a red river. The wound on his arm was bleeding, too, soaking his shirt. John, badly hurt, turned from Arvid and ran into the next room. Arvid pointed the gun at the fleeing man and pulled the trigger again, but nothing happened. With a snarl, he tried again, but still nothing.
Arvid looked at the gun and realized that it was jammed. He took a moment, cleared it and then started after John David again. Before he got too far, he felt someone grab his arm. Arvid turned to see another boarder, Kachig Moses, attempting to restrain him. Arvid raised his gun and pointed it at the man, saying that if Moses did not let him go, then Arvid would shoot him dead. Moses relaxed his grip a bit, and Arvid tore free from his grasp.
He ran out of the back door, unfazed by the cold winter morning. He knew that the only way John could go was through the front door, so Arvid went around the house and into the front yard.
Just about then, the front door opened. There was John David, still clutching at his neck, desperately trying to stop the blood oozing from his wound. He stumbled forward into the snow, delirious with pain and blood loss. Arvid raised his pistol again, this time taking careful aim at the man he had once called his friend. He fired once more and this time shot John directly though the eye. John stopped moving then and stood stock still. Without a sound, he fell straight onto the frozen ground.
Arvid must have known that John David was done for, but it was as if he could not stop himself. The anger and frustration that he carried with him were still howling in his soul, and the engine of destruction that it now powered could not fully stop until it had completely burned out.
Crossing to John’s corpse, Arvid emptied his gun into the man’s body. But for him, even that was not enough. Out of ammunition, he began to savagely and repeatedly kick John David’s prostrate form. Then Arvid knelt down and began to smash him in the face with the butt of his gun, over and over again. He was taking out his fury then, giving those feelings full vent. Arvid’s sole focus at that moment was to destroy John David.
As focused as he was, Arvid was completely unaware of the group of Armenian men now walking past the house on their way to work at the Bettendorf Company. They stared at Arvid, a man they had worked with and lived alongside, horrified by what he was doing.
Just then, Arvid started to come back to himself. He looked up and saw the group of men and the stunned looks on their faces. A few of them had started moving toward him in order to halt his attack on John David. Thinking quickly, Arvid pointed the gun at them, ordering the men to stay back. The workmen did as they were told. The gun in Arvid’s hand was empty, but they did not know that. And why take chances with someone who had apparently already killed one person?
Arvid backed away slowly from the crowd. Step after careful step, he moved backward until his heel clicked against the wooden threshold of the front door. He took a chance and turned his back to the crowd. For a split second, he expected to be grabbed or hit from behind, but it never happened. Arvid went into the house and quickly locked the door.
He made his way to his room, where he put his automatic weapon in his trunk and then grabbed another gun that he owned, a revolver. Just as he had before, he put the gun in his pocket and went back downstairs.
Meanwhile, the crowd of Armenian workmen had called the authorities as soon as they were able. The first to arrive was Bettendorf marshal John Kracht. Someone told him that Arvid Helloian had killed John David and then had locked himself inside the house. Kracht quickly positioned men all around the outside of the boardinghouse, blocking all exits. Arvid was now trapped and had nowhere to run.
Soon enough, other members of law enforcement also began to arrive at the scene. Knowing that Arvid was still in the house, two Davenport policemen went inside, where they began to search for him. They found Arvid preparing to escape but quickly stopped him and placed him under arrest. Helloian did not complain or resist.
He was taken to the Davenport police station, where he was questioned about the murder. Arvid readily confessed to the murder, telling the police every detail as he recalled it. He was their man and was not ashamed of what he had done. After answering all questions posed to him, Arvid was led back to his cell to await the coroner’s inquest.
Back at the boardinghouse, John David’s family was left to pick up the pieces. His wife had been left a widow with three young children to raise by herself. She had seen what had happened to her husband with her own eyes that morning. She had been woken up by gunshots and had made her way outside just in time to watch Helloian kill her beloved husband.
She was beside herself with grief. Even though her children tried to comfort her the best way they knew how, John’s wife finally had to be sedated by a doctor. Later, she received another blow.
Some relatives began to look into John David’s monetary situation. They discovered that he did not have much money at all, despite having the boardinghouse and owning property in Bettendorf. It became a definite concern as to whether his estate could actually pay for his funeral. Those fears were short-lived, however. The money was found for a funeral, and John David was laid to rest in Oakdale Cemetery in Davenport.
The coroner’s inquest was held on February 3, 1921, at the Bettendorf Town Hall. The room was packed with members of the Armenian community. The proceedings began when a manacled Arvid Helloian made his way through a crowd of nearly one hundred people. The police were afraid that the assembled Armenians, who thought so much of John David, would hurt or even kill his murderer. But the Armenians kept their peace and held their tongues.
Just as J.D. Cantwell, the Scott County coroner, was about to have his first witness of the evening stand and deliver his testimony, Arvid suddenly asked if he could make a statement. Cantwell immediately cautioned him that he did not have to say anything that he did not want to, giving Arvid one last chance to sit back down and stay quiet.
But Arvid was eager to share his side of what had happened. After being sworn in as an official witness, Helloian was al
lowed to begin his story. He recalled how he had given the loan to John David and how repayment was always put off. Arvid explained that he wanted to return to Armenia and visit his family there. Then, in front of nearly one hundred other Armenians, not to mention the Scott County sheriff and coroner, Arvid freely admitted that he had murdered John David. When he had finished speaking his piece, he simply resumed his seat next to the sheriff and quietly observed the rest of the proceedings. Arvid was returned to the Scott County Jail after the inquest to await trial.
John Weir, the Scott County attorney, filed a charge of first-degree murder. Arvid, in turn, entered a plea of “not guilty.”
To pass the time between the preliminary hearing and the trail itself, Arvid sang in the jail. Much of what he sang was Armenian folk tunes and lullabies. He would sit, smiling, and sing, tapping his foot to the rhythm. Not once did Arvid express regret for his crime either to his jailers or his fellow inmates. While he sang in the jailhouse, his lawyers worked to build a defense for him.
In early May 1921, Arvid Helloian was placed on trial for the murder of John David. While his defense attorneys did their work, John Weir sought not only to convict Arvid of first-degree murder but also to convince the jury to give him the death penalty.
Along with several other witnesses, Helloian himself was asked to take the witness stand. Through expert questioning by his defense attorneys, Arvid explained how he had given John David the $400 loan and how he wanted it repaid after his uncle began to urge him to return home for the sake of his brothers. And, once again, he freely and openly confessed that he had killed John David.
Finally, after all the witnesses had given their testimony and evidence was considered, the defense attorneys and the county prosecutor gave their closing arguments. The judge explained to the twelve jurors assembled that morning the various verdict selections that they could vote on, ranging from full acquittal to the death penalty. The judge also explained what each choice meant. They were excused from the courtroom, and their decision-making process began.
The jury wrestled with its decision for nine hours, considering the evidence and the various testimonies. At about nine o’clock that night, the jury members gave their decision: manslaughter. Helloian’s story of his dead parents and needing to return to Armenia to rescue his brothers in prison had helped sway them.
John Weir was shocked. He openly stated that, given the strong case and evidence presented, Arvid Helloian should have at least been sent to prison for second-degree murder. But his opinion no longer mattered. The jury had decided, and its verdict was upheld. Helloian was sentenced to serve eight years at the state penitentiary in Fort Madison, Iowa. He was also ordered to pay a fine of $1,000, which would either be paid in cash or in time served, even if he had to stay in prison longer than the allotted eight years.
Ultimately, it did not matter what everyone thought of the verdict of the case. John David was still dead. Helloian, wanting so desperately to get his money back from his friend so that he could return to Armenia and take care of his brothers, got neither. Instead, he was going to spend the next several years in prison and pay more money back to the state than the $400 that he had killed for.
In the end, everyone lost the moment a heated conversation turned into murder on a snowy February morning in 1921.
CHAPTER 6
THE LONG GROVE BANK ROBBERY OF 1921
Harry Hamilton and Roy Purple looked at the two bank employees. Harry had roughed up the old man pretty good; he knew his place in the pecking order now. The young girl was terrified. They had done their absolute best to keep her calm and reassure her that things would be all right, but she was still afraid. And who could blame her? They were tough men taking what they needed.
Hamilton looked at Purple, his face serious. He had taken his time and planned this heist correctly this time. Except for a minor problem at the outset, everything had gone smoothly. Purple gave a little smile and gripped the small black bag a little tighter. The revolver in his other hand made him feel strong. Giving a quick nod to his partner, he opened the door and started down the stone stairs just outside, his eyes scanning his surroundings as he went.
Suddenly, Purple stopped. Harry’s eyebrows knitted together in an expression of puzzled concern. Without warning, Purple pointed his gun and began firing at something, then broke and ran.
Fully alert now, Harry tried to see what Roy had been shooting at. Inwardly, he groaned. Why did everything always have to end up going so badly?
HARRY HAMILTON HAD NOT been born in Iowa. His life journey had begun in Niagara Falls, New York, in 1881. As time passed and Harry grew older, his choices led him to live in Davenport, Iowa. He needed a job, so he decided to become a police officer.
Policemen, by the very nature and definition of their profession, are drawn into close contact with criminals, both amateur and professional. Some officers are paragons of virtue, driven to help people in need and serve their community. Others, like individuals in so many other professions, are just doing a job. They clock in, do what they have to do and go home to their families. Unfortunately, there are also those who cross that line and become very much like the criminals they are sworn to protect us against.
All these decades later, it is hard to determine what effect the job had on Harry Hamilton, if any at all. Maybe he was a good policeman, maybe he was not. For whatever reason, he quit law enforcement and decided to enter into a new profession, one that had him working in tandem with some of the most notorious criminals of the region at that time. He agreed to be an editor for the Rock Island News in nearby Rock Island, Illinois.
Started in 1905 by local crime kingpin John Looney, the Rock Island News was notoriously corrupt. Looney had started the paper primarily to use as a weapon against the Rock Island Argus, one of the most upstanding newspapers of the city, in retaliation for a perceived slight against him. Not known for turning the other cheek, Looney was determined to ruin the paper’s reputation. But this was not the only purpose of the News.
Looney, being an enterprising man, also made use of the News for blackmail. He did not care whether the things published in his newspaper were true or not, just as long as they served a purpose. Outlandish articles were written about people with money, potentially ruinous things that could destroy careers if they were ever made public. Even if a powerful individual never did what he was being accused of, the accusation alone could be enough to permanently damage his reputation.
Once the article was prepared, Looney or one of his people would approach an individual, show him the said newspaper piece and threaten to publish it. However, if that individual wanted to pay a fee to Looney to make sure the article never appeared in the paper, then it would never be seen.
While Looney was living on a ranch in New Mexico, Dan Drost, the publisher of the News and one of Looney’s trusted associates in the criminal underworld, convinced him to hire Hamilton as the editor for the Rock Island News. Looney agreed, and Hamilton started the job. Most people knew the kind of man that John Looney was, as well as the kind of men who worked for him. Hamilton, having been a police officer, probably had absolutely no illusions about who he was working for or what he would be asked to do.
Hamilton had no issues telling lies in the paper. He managed the slurs printed on the pages of the Rock Island News and made sure the vile words were spread far and wide. Having been a policeman, Hamilton also had a firm sense of his surroundings and what was in them. He noticed things. Certain details came to his well-trained eyes, such as the fact that Dan Drost could hardly read or write. The job was steady and it put food on the table though, so he carried on, simply filing away some of his observations in the back of his mind.
Eventually, Hamilton’s lying caught up with him. He was arrested on charges of criminal libel and sent to serve a year-long sentence in prison. After being there for ten months, prosecutors approached Hamilton about testifying against his former boss, Dan Drost. Hamilton readily agreed and turned state
’s evidence against Looney’s lieutenant in exchange for a shortened sentence.
Released in 1920, it did not take Hamilton long to get in trouble with the law again. This time, it was for his part in the burglary of a general store in Wheatland, Iowa. Hamilton was arrested and questioned about his partners. Stubbornly, he refused to give authorities any names.
Once again, he was convicted and sent back to jail, this time to serve a ten-year sentence. Luckily for Hamilton, fortune smiled on him, and he was released from prison after spending only a short time there in late 1921, and the free air never smelled sweeter. He gathered up what belongings he had and returned to Davenport.
Unfortunately for him, Davenport was experiencing an economic downturn. Jobs were scarce, and there were many people who could not find employment. Harry soon found himself joining their ranks. It probably did not help him much that he was a twice-convicted criminal, fresh from a jail cell. What jobs he did find were in the realm of short-lived manual labor. The temptation to return to a criminal lifestyle must have been tremendous at that point. Hamilton, stubborn as ever, refused. He told several people that he was going to be an honest, upstanding citizen. But even his prodigious stubbornness had its limits.
By the end of November, Hamilton was getting desperate. It was all well and good to be honest, but when you could not find work and were looking poverty straight in the eye, it was a little harder to be noble. Desperation gnawed at his resolute refusal to return to his criminal lifestyle, gradually weakening his resolve. He kept struggling for a bit, but finally, it all became too much for him. Once again, Harry Hamilton decided to give up being noble and to return to the life of crime that he was so familiar with.
AS HAMILTON STOOD AT the doorway of the bank, trying to see what Roy Purple was shooting at, these thoughts were probably far from his mind. The decision had been made, and the robbery had been committed. Foremost in his thoughts must have been getting away clean, and his partner firing at some unseen threat had almost surely ruined any hope of that.
Murder & Mayhem in Scott County, Iowa Page 8