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the corpse with small feet

1/10/2019

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Today, technology uses computers to replicate people. One hundred years ago, technology was using chemistry to replicate nature. Great fortunes awaited those who could synthesize rubber, timber and other natural products.
But silk, the Rolls Royce of textiles, held perhaps the greatest rewards. Not only was silk the world’s top luxury product, but because of its light weight and strength, it was becoming an essential ingredient in the growing automobile and aeronautics industries. In 1884, the first artificial silk was made from cellulose, but it was too flammable for practical use. In the four decades that followed, no one succeeded in creating synthetic silk that had the durability, feel or quality of the real thing …
So in 1924, when Charles Henri Schwartz, a French chemical engineer living in Berkeley, said he could revolutionize artificial silk manufacturing, people invested heavily in his Pacific Cellulose Company. Married with three children, Schwartz, 36, had been developing a secret formula. He set up a laboratory and offices in Walnut Creek, a few miles from his home.
Some believe that for every person there is an exact double — a doppelganger.
Schwartz’ doppelganger was Harold Warren. Warren, a successful construction engineer and bachelor, had come to Berkeley a few years after Schwartz and often spent time with his good friend Charles Heyward, who owned the Nottingham apartments in North Oakland.
By mid-1925, Schwartz had spent most of the investment money and seemed no closer to a solution. His investors became restive. To make matters worse, a young woman named Elizabeth Adams sued Schwartz for breach of promise. In her $75,000 lawsuit, Adams claimed Schwartz, posing as a single man, had seduced her with promises of marriage. Schwartz fought back and claimed that her charges were part of an international plot to blackmail him into revealing his secret formula.
A few weeks later, Schwartz announced that he had completed the formula and that the company would soon begin production. Around 9:30 p.m. on July 30, 1925, having just sent the night watchman to one of the other buildings, Schwartz was working alone in the laboratory building.
A few minutes later, a huge explosion rocked the lab. The night watchman called the fire department, which arrived quickly and extinguished the blaze. Though most of the windows were still intact, there was massive damage inside the lab. A body, almost completely incinerated except for the top of the head and the feet, was found under a workbench. Schwartz’ keys, his pocketwatch and chain were found on the body.
At 2 a.m., Mrs. Schwartz was brought to the scene and identified the body as that of her husband. The coroner agreed and ordered the corpse removed to the morgue. Mrs. Schwartz requested an early cremation of the remains.

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At 4 a.m., Heyward was awoken by Warren, who said that he had been injured in a minor automobile accident and wanted to rest in the Nottingham Apartments while he recovered. Warren was given an empty unit in the apartments. Over the next seven days, Warren proved to be a lively guest, playing cards and entertaining Hayward and his wife with many stories.
On July 31, 1925, after suspicious blood stains were found at the lab, Professor Edward Heinrich was asked to investigate. A pioneer in the field of criminology, Heinrich determined the fire that caused the explosion had been deliberately started outside the lab. His analysis showed the blood stains occurred at least an hour before the fire.
Schwartz’s wife and doctor strongly disagreed with these conclusions, and his attorney suggested that Schwartz’s shoes be matched to the body as a means of identification, since he had unusually small hands and feet. The coroner decided on a more standard approach: an autopsy.
The autopsy revealed the body was that of a 50-year-old man who had been killed by severe blows to the head. His eyeballs had been punctured and his fingers dipped in acid to hide his eye color and fingerprints. Further investigation of Schwartz’s background revealed that his advanced degrees in chemistry from European universities were fraudulent. Police began a nationwide search for Schwartz.
Heinrich continued to sift through the ruins of the lab, looking for a clue to the victim’s identity. He found a bundle containing soap, coffee, needles, thread and some religious pamphlets with the name “Barbe” written on one of them. He deduced that the victim was probably an itinerant preacher. A man reported that Barbe told him he was headed up to Walnut Creek. Another man said Barbe told him he was on his way to answer an ad for a man who had small hands and feet.
On August 7, Heyward made a disturbing discovery: While reading about the Walnut Creek case, he saw a photo of Schwartz in the newspaper. Except for the mustache, Schwartz looked exactly like his friend, Harold Warren. Heyward reported this to police, who knocked on Warren’s door. As they forced it open, a gunshot rang out.
Inside the apartment, police found Schwartz dying of a self-inflicted bullet wound. Had Schwartz succeeded in his plan, his wife would have collected $190,000 in life insurance …
The search for artificial silk continued until 1938, when nylon, the most successful synthetic product in U.S. history, was developed at DuPont. In 2015, the value of U.S.-produced artificial fibers, such as nylon, was $76 billion.
Charles Schwartz’ scheme was brilliantly planned. Years before the crime, he established a new identity, that of Henry Warren. He selected a victim with similar physical characteristics to his own, a man who would not be missed — except for one slip.
“Schwartz made one big mistake when he poured benzyl on the floor of the laboratory,” said Professor Heinrich. “Benzyl fumes are heavy, and Schwartz didn’t wait until the fumes had sufficient time to rise above the level of the benches. Had he done this, there would have been an explosion which would have completely wrecked the building and destroyed all the evidence.”
Had Schwartz been a real chemist, he might have committed the perfect crime.

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TheĀ  baby bandits

10/29/2018

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 “Live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse,” is a maxim rarely quoted by high school commencement speakers.
 But some, who attended Preston, a different kind of
learning institution took this adage seriously, with fatal results. On November 23rd two young bandits, about 18 years old, robbed three bars in the early hours of the morning. One of the robbers w
as stocky, the other average size. Two days later two places in North Beach were robbed, this time by the same robbers with a
third man acting as their leader. Their young age caused the newspapers to call them
the “Baby Bandits.” But their actions showed sophistication and planning. They would
steal a car from a garage, use the car in holdups and then abandon it the same night.
In their second crime spree, the holdup men used sawed off shotguns stolen from a
hardware store on Mason Street in North Beach. Police assumed that the gang was
from this neighborhood and circulated photographs of criminals from this area but none
of the victims recognized the photos. Police Captain Dullea was still convinced there
was a connection, so he called in John Dooling, the North Beach beat cop, and asked
him to canvas the neighborhood.
For the next three days nothing happened. Then, on Thanksgiving, November 26th,,
Mike’s Saloon on 14th Street was robbed. Dan O’Connell, a customer, was shotgun in
the stomach when he moved too slowly. Later that evening O’Connell died. The “Baby
Bandits” had graduated to murder.
The next day Officer Dooling came in with his first lead. Frank Crone, a recent graduate
of The Preston School of Industry, was not working, yet he had been seen sporting a
fancy new wardrobe. Preston, a legendary reform school, opened in 1894, and counted
such notables as rapist and writer Carryl Chessman, serial killer Gerald Gallegos, Beat
Generation icon Neal Cassidy, and musician Merle Haggard among its graduates.
Further digging revealed that Crone had been hanging out with Ernest Pla and William
Daly, two other recent Preston School graduates. Photographs of the three men were
positively identified by the victims of the gang’s latest holdups.

Preston was considered the rookie league of crime. Just as minor league baseball
players in the 1930s dreamed of being Lou Gehrig, young criminals dreamed of being
John Dillinger. Though he was a hardcore bank robber and a killer, John Dillinger was a
folk hero to many whose homes had been foreclosed on by the banks.
Police, assuming that the bandits had left town had put an all points bulletin for the state
of California. “Use every precaution in apprehending these men. They are dangerous
killers.”
The bandits split up. Ernest Pla hid out with relatives in Merced.
Crone and Daly kidnapped a young couple and forced them to drive to Sacramento,
where they let them go. Crone and Daly drove onto Merced, apparently to hook up with
Pla. Hungry after their long ride they stopped to eat at the Square Deal Café. There they
were observed by a young friend of Pla’s who hurried to notify Merced Police Chief Fred
Zunker.. Zunker and police officer James Turner questioned Crone who gave them an
International Seaman’s Union card. When Daly was questioned, he pulled out a gun
and ran. Turner fired a warning shot and then squeezed off two shots at Daly, who was
hit but kept on running.
Crone, who was unarmed, lunged at Chief Zunker, who pulled his gun out. “ I could
haven't killed him,” Zunker later said, “but I don't shoot kids.” Instead, Zunker clubbed
Crone over the head with the barrel of the gun. Turner returned to the cafe to find Chief
Zunker in a life and death struggle with Crone. Turner clubbed Crone over the head
with his nightstick, knocking him unconscious.
Other police followed the trail of Daly’s blood from for four blocks until they reached the
First baptist Church. Then they heard a shot. Crawling under the church they found
Daly dead of a self inflicted bullet wound.
At about the same time, Ernest Pla, convinced by his mother, surrendered peacefully to
police. Pla and Crone were reunited in the Merced jail and shared the same cell.
Crone awoke in jail on his birthday. “I’m twenty one. I suppose I’ll get the rope before I’m
twenty two,” he said. Crone described Daly as the leader of the gang and said their
ambition was to be as famous as John Dillinger.

Both Pla and Crone blamed Daly for the murder of O’Connell. But O’Connell’s dying
statement described Crone as his killer. Later that night Crone made his prediction
come true by hanging himself with Pla’s suspenders. “That dirty bastard. Now he’s left
me hiding the bag alone,” Pla complained bitterly “and I’ve got no suspenders to wear to
court.”
Ernest Pla pled guilty to murder in 1937 and was sentenced to life imprisonment. He was  paroled in 1949 and died in 1984.

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The peephole murder

7/10/2018

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​“There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks.”
— Raymond Chandler, “Red Wind”
There must have been a Santa Ana wind blowing in San Francisco on Oct. 1, 1951, when the body of Allen B. Friedman, president of Atlas Paper Company, was found in the front hallway of his house at 597 17th Ave.
 
At first, police thought it was natural causes. Friedman was lying peacefully near the front door, and there was no sign of violence or disturbance in the house. It wasn’t until the pathologist found that Friedman had been shot through the eye with a .22 rifle that police took a closer look.
 
Detectives found the means and motive for the crime in the bullet hole in the door peephole and in the stories in Friedman’s diary. Friedman had written about an affair between his estranged wife, Blanche, and a man named Elbert “Ray” Belote, and his fear that they were trying to kill him. On a pad next to the phone, Friedman had written, “Belote called 9:42 p.m. Saturday.”  Friedman was killed shortly after that time.
 
Police went to Guerneville, where Friedman owned a cabin, and found Blanche floating in an alcoholic haze.“I don’t know anyone who might have killed Allen,” Blanche said, “but I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t enjoy killing him.”
Police later found Belote hiding under the bed and questioned him. Belote admitted he had a .22 rifle. He said he was using it to go deer hunting, even though it wasn’t deer-hunting season.
 
Where was his rifle? It was stolen when he stopped at the Willow Brook Inn for a drink, Belote explained. His alibi? Belote was up in Guerneville, 76 miles north of San Francisco, all weekend and wouldn’t have had the time to go to San Francisco, shoot Friedman and return.
Arthur Dias, who was at the Willow Brook Inn, told police a different story. The night of the murder, Belote told Dias that he was on his way back from San Francisco to Guerneville. Belote also wrote his name on a piece of paper and gave it to Dias, who showed it to police. With his alibi completely demolished, Belote confessed.
“I killed him because I loved his wife,” he admitted to police before leading them to the missing rifle.
​There was more than one logical explanations for Belote and Blanche Friedman’s illogical behavior on the weekend of the murder — there were 80 of them. That’s how many glasses of whiskey the couple consumed between the night of Sept. 28 and the morning of Oct. 1.
“It takes about a fifth to get me started,” explained Belote, “but I am not a drunkard.”
 
A TALE OF TWO ALLENS
Was Allen Friedman a raving alcoholic who brutalized his wife? Was he an invalid, terrified of Blanche and Belote’s plotting?
“For the last three-and-a-half years, my husband was alcoholically insane,” insisted Blanche. “He drank steadily, a quart or more a day.”
Lilian Cherney, Friedman’s sister, put the onus on Blanche.
“She kept plying him with liquor, week after week, to get an inheritance. Then, she drugged him,” Cherney said. “As long as 15 months ago, Allen told me that he wanted a bodyguard. He told me that Belote and Blanche were out to get him.”
 
The coroner’s jury’s decision was that Belote killed Friedman and that Blanche conspired in her husband’s killing. The police, however, did not have enough evidence to indict Blanche.
At the trial in March 1952, Belote changed his story and insisted the killing was done in self-defense. Belote said he was angry at the divorce settlement Friedman had offered Blanche.
“He offered her $1,000 and the house in Guerneville. She said this was not enough,” Belote testified.
Belote decided to come to San Francisco, see Friedman and get a better settlement for Blanche. Belote said he fired the gun only to frighten Friedman.
“It never occurred to me I had hit him when I fired through the door,” Belote testified. “I knew he had other enemies, and no one liked him. I thought someone else might have shot him.”
Needless to say, the jury convicted Belote of first-degree murder. He was sentenced to life imprisonment. Under California law, Blanche received $38,000, half of her husband’s estate. She used $8,000 to pay for Belote’s lawyer.
In 1965, after 13 years in San Quentin, Ray Belote was released on parole. He died in 1994 at the age of 89.
 
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A Tale of Two Theories

5/25/2018

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​It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, Issac was happy, Issac was miserable, Issac loved his wife, Issac hated his wife, Issac was murdered, Issac killed himself.
 
Only this was certain; Issac was dead.  On June 1st 1897, at 6:45 pm, a night watchman found Issac Hoffman, a partner in Hoffman, Rothschild, & Co. lying on the floor of his office with three bullet wounds in his head. Another bullet hole was in the wall.
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The autopsy report reported,  “one bullet entered the skull at the top of the head, upon the left side.  It split from contact with the bony structure part passing under the scalp, emerging from the cheek at a point half way between the eye and ear, producing the second wound.  The remainder of the bullet passed straight down and tore through the skull, passing between sections of the brain.  The second bullet entered the left cheek upon a line with the other two wounds.” 
 
Circumstances pointed to Theodore Figel, Hoffman’s bookkeeper.  Figel was seen with Hoffman thirty minutes before his body was discovered, and it was Figel’s gun that shot Hoffman. Police Chief Isaiah Lees, San Francisco’s legendary detective, questioned Figel.
 
Two days later, to everyone’s surprise, Lees declared that Hoffman had committed suicide.  But why? Hoffman’s business was prosperous and he seemed to be in the best of spirits.  The answer was a subject near and dear to 1950s comedians: his mother in-law.  There was great discord in the Hoffman household. Hoffman’s mother-in-law, was the widow of his former business partner. She felt cheated by the amount that Issac had paid her for her husband’s share and was suing him. His wife sided with her mother and complained bitterly about her husband’s stinginess.   Letters Issac had taken from his wife suggested a tempestuous relationship between them.  Just minutes before his death Hoffman told a friend, ”How can I be happy when I have such a mother-in-law?”
 
At the inquest Mrs. Hoffman painted a different picture, that of a close knit family.  The letters were a minor misunderstanding. Each night his family waited for his entering footsteps before starting dinner. Hoffman hated guns and never owned one.
 The coroner testified against the suicide theory, pointing out that Hoffman had been shot three times on the left side of his head, even though he was right handed.
A number of doctors, and Isaiah Lees, still believed that suicide was a possibility. The police department was split between Lees’ suicide theory and his detectives who believed the death was murder.

Soon troubling information about Figel came to light. Figel was a gambler and had lost thousands of dollars at the racetrack. There was also a discrepancy of over $10,000 in the Hoffman company books.  But it wasn’t an open and shut case. Figel had a number of alibi witnesses who placed him away from the office when the shooting occurred. And his father Joseph, a retired businessman spent his fortune on the legal defense of his son.
Figel was arraigned on embezzlement and murder charges.  The murder case was tried first. At the trial Figel explained away the embezzlement by saying that Hoffman had given him the money to bet at the track. He also blamed the financial irregularities on his assistant. Figel produced witness after witness who testified that they saw him at a saloon and on a trolley heading for the Tiburon Ferry at the time the shooting would have taken place.  Two doctors testified that Hoffman’s wounds were self-inflicted.
​
On March 7, 1898 a jury found Figel not guilty of the homicide but the jury also rejected the idea that Hoffman had committed suicide.
The embezzlement and forgery charges were later dismissed as well on a motion of the District Attorney. Figel’s father had spent all his money defending his son and he was forced to go back to work. In 1904 he left the business to his son. Three months later Theodore Figel was arrested for forging a check for $965 at Wells Fargo Bank to replace money he lost at the track.  After paying bail Figel disappeared, leaving his wife and children penniless.

Postscript:  I sent the autopsy description and illustrations of the bullet’s path to Ken Moses, former head of San Francisco Police Department CSI. Ken is a nationally recognized leader in the field Crime Scene Investigation and has testified in over nine hundred trials.  To my amazement Moses said that a finding of suicide was not only possible but likely.  “Some suicides use their non-dominant hands to shoot the gun. This makes the hand shaky and you often get downward and unusual paths of the bullet.  From the description, it doesn’t seem that much brain tissue was destroyed. Of course I’d have to see much more information to make a definite call.”
 

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