Thursday, August 13, 2015

Very Respectfully Yours, HW Mudgett

On November 2, 1895, in the Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Court of Oyer and Terminer, H. H. Holmes was found guilty of killing Benjamin Pitezel, his business partner/friend. The punishment for murder in the first degree: death.

Holmes tried to remove the nails from his rapidly sealing coffin by persuading the Pennsylvania Supreme Court to give him a new trial but they denied the appeal. It was on March 6, 1896, in the article pictured below, that the Philadelphia Inquirer reported, "Governor Hastings today named Thursday, May 7th, as the date for the execution…The Governor thought Holmes should have at least sixty days in which to prepare for death" and repent for the murder of Pitezel.


Holmes used his remaining time in prison to write either two or three different confessions. The most famous and well known was from April of 1896 when Holmes "confessed" to slaughtering 27 people. I write "confessed" with quotation marks because the document was riddled with lies and exaggerations. Some of the victims were still alive. Another had been killed in a train crash. But Holmes was dying regardless of what he did or said and knew people would remember a heartless monster far longer than a man who merely protested his innocence until the end. He was right as his story lives on almost 120 years after his death.


Aside from his various confessions, Holmes also wrote plenty of letters while behind bars. The recipients included Detective Frank Geyer, who found the bodies of the three missing Pitezel children, Carrie Pitezel, the widow of Benjamin, and Samuel Pennypacker.

(Samuel Pennypacker)

The Pennypacker letter still exists. Housed in the Library of Congress Rare Book room, it is tucked away inside the cover of a rare first edition copy of Holmes' Own Story.

A native of Pennsylvania, Pennypacker served as governor from 1903 to 1907. In 1889, he was appointed judge of the Court of Common Pleas No. 2. Pennypacker would eventually be promoted to President Judge but not until after Holmes wrote to him in January of 1896. "The Annual Report of the State Treasurer of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania" for September 1896 (Holmes was executed May 7th) lists Pennypacker as "additional law judge."


In his letter, Holmes stated that he was writing at the request of his attorney, Samuel Rotan. When not representing himself in court, Holmes was represented by Rotan and William Shoemaker.

(Samuel Rotan)

(William Shoemaker)

The letter to Pennypacker reads:

Philadelphia County Prison Jan. 30 1896
To the Honorable Samuel W. Pennypacker
Court of Common Pleas

Dear Sir -

At the request of my attorney S. P. Rotan Esq. Ginard Bld. Phil. I take pleasure in addressing to your Honor these lines to which I append my, at present, very unenviable signature.

I am Sir, Very Respectfully Yours,

HW Mudgett M.D.
alias
HH Holmes



For once, Holmes was not explicitly writing to ask someone for a favor. It seems that Pennypacker may have contacted Rotan about getting Holmes' autograph, Rotan passed the message along to Holmes, and Holmes responded.

This wasn’t the last time Rotan was approached by relic seekers. Once the public learned Holmes would be executed, scientists, doctors, and lovers of the macabre offered to pay Rotan insane amounts of money for everything from Holmes' brain to his entire body. All requests were promptly denied. Though encased in concrete, the body of H. H. Holmes still remains fully intact ten feet under the grass of Pennsylvania's Holy Cross Cemetery. However, a piece of Holmes still remains behind in Washington, D.C.

Civil War General Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain once said, "Forms change and pass; bodies disappear; but spirits linger." It is impossible to touch that thin, worn paper, filled with ink and small bumps where the pen was applied with more than enough pressure and not sense the author coming alive again. And if you close your eyes, you can still feel the hand, the wrist, and the pulse of the man who changed America.


Until next time.

XOXO, Kate

The pictures of the Pennypacker letter are mine so please do not reprint them without permission. 

Friday, July 3, 2015

The 4th at the Fair

(I have written a previous post about 4th of July in the White City focusing on H. H. Holmes. You can read it here: Independence Day in the White City)

The main goal of the World's Columbian Exposition was to exceed even the highest of expectations. In 1889, Paris had hosted the Exposition Universelle (or EXPO Paris). America had a pavilion but it was seriously half-assed and next to bigger, larger displays of lavishness, it became a huge embarrassment for the States. So when Chicago built the White City in 1893, Americans everywhere sought redemption in the form of a titanic fair that not only rivaled the Exposition Universelle but toppled it.

Therefore, it is only fitting that the grand Chicago exposition would host an even grander 4th of July celebration. A 4th of July celebration to end all 4th of July celebrations. Devil in the White City (written by Erik Larson, click on the title to buy it) describes the luminous festivities in great detail. Seriously, it is amazing what people could create before our modern technology came along.

The fireworks show was planned by Frank Millett partly because what is 4th of July without fireworks but mainly to boost attendance "which despite steady week-to-week increases still lagged behind expectations." (Remember that the fair was only open until October). However, his work was almost grounded when storm clouds rolled in and threatened to downpour on Jackson Park. Thankfully, the sun returned in the afternoon and eventually yielded to a clear night sky.

Spectators arrived hours beforehand to secure good seats. Soon they were "massed a hundred deep" along the lake (sounds like modern day 4th of July in Washington, D.C.) chatting and occasional even singing to pass time. "One man began 'Nearer My God to Thee' and immediately a few thousand people joined in." Scattered amongst the throng was the entire Columbian Guard, the official police force of the fair. They were easy to spot being the only people wearing pale blue uniforms.

Aside from the shore, visitors wealthy enough to either own or charter boats strung decorative lights on their bows and anchored on the lake. Some spectators stood on the roof of the Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building which doubled as a large observation tower accessible via elevator.



It was here that hundreds unknowingly crossed paths with the Monster of 63rd Street. H. H. Holmes, along with Minnie and Anna Williams, watched the fireworks from the balcony.

As darkness fell, the fair lit up. "Thousands of Chinese lanterns hung from trees and railings and red lights glowed from each car of the Ferris Wheel." In case you were wondering, the wheel had 36 passenger cars. By that time, the crowd, according to Larson, "cheered for anything." Anything included the exposition orchestra's rendition of "Home Sweet Home," the Court of Honor's lights turning on, the searchlights on the previously mentioned observation deck (you can see one in the image above) sweeping the crowd like at a modern day rock concert, and plumes of water (often described in era newspapers as "peacock feathers") shooting from the MacMonnies Fountain (named for its sculptor Frederick MacMonnies).

The uproarious crowd suddenly hushed at 9 PM as if they were watching the ghost of Abraham Lincoln fly through the air. Okay, they were actually looking at a manned hot air balloon which was spotted due to the fact that it was carrying some sort of light flare below its basket. Without warning, the flare burst into sparks of red, white, and blue, forming a huge American flag in the sky. "Seconds later rockets began arching over the lakeshore. Men with flares raced along the beach lighting mortars, as other men aboard barges set off large rotating flares and hurled bombs" (I hope they got paid well for that job) "into the lake, causing the water to explode in extravagant geysers of red, white, and blue." This kept up without delay until the big finale. A network of wires strung on, ironically, Festival Hall exploded into a portrait of George Washington. Happy Birthday, America!

It has been 122 years since the World's Columbian Exposition and 239 years since we gained our Independence. And even though I'm a tad early, have an amazing 4th of July, everyone. From Jackson Park in the Windy City to wherever you are spending the day, may God bless America, from sea to shining sea, in the land of the free because of the brave.

Until next time.

XOXO, Kate

Saturday, April 4, 2015

A Tale of Two Castles

 
I took this picture while reading and documenting the only known original copy of Holmes' Own Story. (It is housed in the Rare Book Room at the Library of Congress).  
 
Pasted in the back of the book is a collection of newspaper articles published around the time of the Holmes-Pitezel Case. This one features a sketch of the World's Fair Hotel. On the right is my custom made Murder Castle hat. I think the likeness is pretty good.  

Until next time.

XOXO, Kate

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Perry's Peculiar Death

Benjamin F. Pitezel (friend/assistant/and business partner to H. H. Holmes) was murdered at 1316 Callowhill Street on September 2, 1894 in Philadelphia.

 
(A sketch of 1316 Callowhill Street from David Franke's The Torture Doctor)

Though his insurance policy was under his actual name, he was using the alias B. F. Perry while operating his phony patent office. Pitezel was under the impression that he and Holmes would work together to fake his death in order to defraud the Fidelity Mutual Life Insurance Company of $10,000. They were to split the money but Holmes had other plans. Wanting the money for himself, he actually killed Pitezel and then staged the room to make it look like an accident. (The company would not pay if they believed Pitezel/Perry had taken his own life). It was only after his arrest that Holmes would claim Pitezel had become distraught and committed suicide, leaving Holmes a note saying he should continue with their plan. However, at that point Holmes was no longer looking to make money. He was looking to avoid the hangman's noose.

Below is one of the first newspaper accounts published about Perry's Peculiar Death. (Pitezel would not be identified as Pitezel until Holmes contacted the company). It was printed by The Times in Philadelphia on September 5, 1894 (3 days after Pitezel was killed and 1 day after his body was discovered by inventor Eugene Smith).

The text reads as follows:

     B. F. Perry, who lived at 1316 Callowhill street, was found dead at his home early yesterday morning under extremely peculiar conditions. Perry was about 45 years of age. He came to this city two months ago and rented the house from S. K. Shedaker, who lives at 519 South Eleventh street. At the time that he secured the house he paid one month's rent in advance, exhibiting before Mr. Shedaker a large roll of bills.  

     At the house he used a room on the second flood as a laboratory, where he manufactured a washing powder and a cleansing compound. In making the latter he used benzine and several acids.

     Perry was last seen alive on Saturday evening when he appeared to be in the best of health. In the evening a messenger boy went to his house and handed him a telegram. Perry went into a saloon a few doors above, read the message and then returned to his house, closing the door after him, but not locking it. That was the last seen of him alive.

     On Monday morning Eugene Smith, who lives at 1827 Rhoades street, called at the house to help Perry unpack some goods which were to arrive there, and finding the door unlocked went in and called Perry. Receiving no answer he waited for a half hour and went away.

     Yesterday morning he went in the place again and found the door unlocked as before. Smith then became suspicious and started an investigation. As he climbed the steps he smelled a strong odor, and in passing an open door discovered Perry lying on his back on the floor with his right hand clasped over his heart and what appeared to be blood above his head. Smith was very much frightened and went to the Buttonwood street station where he informed the police of his discovery. Policeman Lewis and Special Policeman Sauers went to the house and made an investigation.

     It was discovered that an explosion had taken place, as the body was badly burned on the right arm and the hair was singed. It is supposed that Perry held in his right hand a bottle of benzine and was in the act of lighting his pipe when a terrible explosion occurred, knocking him to the floor. A doctor who was called in stated that the man's bladder was burst by the concussion evidently causing his death.

     The Coroner was notified and has the body taken to the Morgue. Two letters were found in his pockets dated St. Louis, August 29, from his wife and daughter, in which they expressed pleasure that he was getting along well, and said that they were coming on in a few days to live with him. Other things found on him were a Swiss watch, a pair of cuff pins, $2.00 in silver and a number of business cards.  

Few statements are correct.


It has never been mentioned anywhere else that Pitezel used the second floor for anything but a bedroom and the chance is rare that he would have. Since he was supposed to be operating a patent office, it seems unlikely that he would have also been running a lab to make "washing powder and a cleansing compound." The paper claimed that he used benzine and several acids to make the latter. Pitezel was a carpenter and sort of jack of all trades. He did not work with chemicals. But benzine and acids were tools of both the medical and pharmaceutical profession. (Holmes ran a pharmacy from his Castle and had worked in quite a few after graduating from college). And since benzine was one of the chemicals used to burn and disfigure Pitezel's face, it is likely that they were brought to Callowhill Street by Holmes and then used to fabricate a reason for the "accidental" death.

This was the tall tale printed in the article and later spun by Holmes to the company. Pitezel/Perry had lit his pipe too close to the bottles resulting in an explosion. This, Holmes believed, would explain why Pitezel was on the floor and account for his singed hair and disfigured body. The explosion, being at close range, badly burned the victim on his face and right arm. Though the article mentions how Pitezel/Perry might have "held in his right hand a bottle of benzine," this was later proved to be untrue and replaced with the equally incorrect theory that the bottles might have been on a shelf.

The investigators were much smarter than Holmes had predicted (Holmes thought he was the smartest man in the world) and started noticing holes in the plot that would not spell out an accidental death. First, if an explosion had occurred, the body would have been thrown backward, possibly into the wall, and landed in a disheveled heap on the floor. As the newspaper reported, "Perry [was] lying on his back on the floor with his right hand clasped over his heart," his left arm positioned straight out, and his clothes in perfect condition minus some burn marks. He looked as peaceful as if he were merely asleep. Second, if lighting his pipe too close to the chemical fumes (the bottles were supposedly open) caused the explosion, the pipe would have been shattered. Instead it was sitting in tact above Pitezel's head like it had been placed there. In a similar sense, the chemical bottles, though broken, appeared to have been dropped on the floor. An explosion would have caused them to break into tinier shards than the ones found.

Investigators also got a lucky break when the autopsy discovered a large amount of chloroform that had yet to be digested in Pitezel's stomach. Before CSI and advanced crime scene technology, large quantities of chemical substances needed to be present in order for them to be properly identified. Less chloroform and the chemical would have been passed over. Instead, it helped tighten the rope around Holmes' neck. He was never able to conjure up a believable explanation for the chemical's appearance. He claimed that Pitezel had committed suicide by drinking it but expert witnesses from the medical field said that Pitezel would have experienced spasms before death and been unable to place himself in the calm position he was found in. Holmes then claimed Pitezel had killed himself on the third floor and he had moved him downstairs and repositioned his body. The witnesses again stated an impossibility as, upon his death, a red fluid had seeped from Pitezel's mouth into the cracks in the bedroom floor boards. No fluid was found in any of the third floor rooms. Pitezel had died in the second floor bedroom. Holmes' final claim was that Pitezel had laid on the floor, put a towel over his face, and sucked chloroform from a jar into his mouth via a tube. The statement was so unbelievable that the court scoffed at the absurdity of it. What really happened was that Holmes, having found Pitezel in a drunken sleep, used chloroform first to sedate him, tied him up to prevent his clothes from showing signs of a struggle, and then administer a lethal dose of chloroform, saturated his face and clothing with benzine (so his "confession" states) and burned him so as to disfigure the features of his face. (Whether Pitezel was alive or at least conscious we will never know).

Why would Holmes sedate Pitezel first? Why would he then disfigure his face even though he had never done that to other victims?

Holmes knew that his ill-muscled 5 foot 8 inch frame was no match for the well built 6 foot 1 Pitezel, even if Pitezel was slightly drunk (Holmes must have known that Pitezel sometimes got into bar fights). In fact, Pitezel did not become Holmes' assistant until after the Castle was built. Before construction was complete he served as Holmes' bodyguard. Second, Pitezel told his wife, Carrie, that Holmes was going to procure a cadaver (a dead body used mainly for dissection practice in medical school classrooms) and disfigure it so they could claim it was Pitezel. However, the cadaver would not have the exact same features as Pitezel (obviously). Furthermore, the insurance company mandated that a family member of the deceased must positively identify the remains before any money would be paid. At the time Holmes thought this relative would be Carrie Pitezel who bore no special fondness for Holmes and was already leery about the plan. Should Ben Pitezel's features not be masked enough, she would recognize the man in the morgue as her husband, not a lookalike, and instantly reveal the scheme and declare Holmes a murderer, sending him on a one way trip to the gallows. Holmes would be happy to learn later that he would have to take the Pitezel's 15 year old (easily persuaded) daughter, Alice, to identify the body since Carrie had fallen ill.

The newspaper reported that Pitezel's body was taken to the city morgue after it was found. What they failed to mention was that the morgue was, ironically, located directly behind the Callowhill street house. Seriously. Only a small alley kept the buildings from bumping into each other. I have always found this interesting since Benjamin Pitezel did not get to choose the location of his patent office façade. That decision belonged to only one man: H. H. Holmes.

 
(A newspaper sketch of Pitezel which incorrectly spells his name)

Until next time.

XOXO, Kate

Saturday, October 11, 2014

The Strange Case of Dr. H. H. Holmes

This afternoon found me working on a research paper proposal for my Gilded Age class. Now that I'm finally finished for the night I have decided to relax by...doing more writing. I know. My brain is weird. But in my defense, Castle is not on right now. Also, I was told this class was going to have some Holmes discussions and midway through the semester I can report that my favorite (very handsome) multi-murderer has NOT BEEN MENTIONED ONCE! And since he's not included in any of our books, I'm starting to wonder if I've been duped into this three hour lecture course with a promise as hollow as a chocolate bunny. I swear, if Holmes is thrown into a sentence for two seconds and then never brought up again...well I'm not sure what I'll do at the moment. Maybe I'll show up to my professor's office hours dressed like Holmes and ask for directions to the nearest medical school while discreetly motioning to the (fake) skeleton hand sticking out the top of my valise. (My professor thinks I'm a wee bit obsessed with Holmes, which I deny, so that would definitely freak him out).

Okay, that's a joke. I won't dress or act like Holmes. However, I am finding ways to incorporate Holmes, Pitezel, and the rest of the gang into my various class assignments. (It's not hard considering Holmes was the human embodiment of the Gilded Age. I'm serious. When we talk in class about the skills needed to survive in Gilded Age America, my mind is all like, "Holmes, Holmes, Holmes, Holmes, Holmes"). (Alright. Maybe I am a wee bit obsessed with him).

Anyway, the last essay I had to write was about how the idea of democracy changed during the Gilded Age. I used the example of Pitezel and Holmes' partnership to show how workers were dependent on bosses.

Today I worked on the proposal for the final paper in which Holmes is one of two people I will discuss in depth. Among the sources I am planning to use for research is the book The Strange Case of Dr. H. H. Holmes by John Borowski and Dimas Estrada. It is the written accompaniment to the documentary (also by John Borowski) H. H. Holmes: America's First Serial Killer.



The book is a collection of four primary sources, some published for the first time since 1895. The titles include Holmes' Own Story, the autobiography Holmes wrote while awaiting trial in Moyamensing Prison. The same one in which he claimed to tell the real story about his life and supposed crimes (ahem-bullshit-ahem). It, along with his prison diary, was originally printed in 1895 and until this book was released the only way to see it was to visit the Library of Congress (where one of the few known copies is housed) and transcribe all 200 something pages yourself. (I cannot imagine doing that. It took me all day just to photograph the book).

The Holmes-Pitezel Case was also printed in 1895. It was written by Detective Frank Geyer (his attempt to cash in for his role in the unfolding events) and details his search for the missing Pitezel children. Also included is some word for word dialogue from the trial which is helpful since the actual transcript has never surfaced.

The Holmes Castle is a lesser known book from 1895, authored by Robert Corbitt. It gives some descriptions of the Murder Castle and talks about the lives of Holmes and a few of the known victims (though not always accurately since there were still many conflicting stories about who died where, when, and how).

Finally, the book includes The Confession of H. H. Holmes. Though there are a few confessions, this is the main one, published shortly before Holmes' execution, in which he "confesses" to murdering 27 people and attempting to kill 6 more. I say "confesses" because no one really knows how much truth can be given to statements that were born in Holmes' twisted mind. My guess is that he blended fiction and (some) fact to make his notoriety something history would remember.

Since these writings can be difficult to find, I would recommend purchasing this book (which is readily available on any book selling website). Even if you are not as obsessed with H. H. Holmes as I am, you will still find the information fascinating. After all, the words on the page (even if they aren't always truthful) came from the hands of the real people who experienced the stories we now learn about. You can't get any closer to history than that.

It's also humorous to watch Holmes try and explain away his guilt with fanciful tales of his innocence and good will toward others. (Nice try, Holmes. But no one believes that bullshit about how Benjamin Pitezel committed suicide. You still lose).

Until next time.

XOXO, Kate

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

A Message from the Mistress

Hi everyone.

I know it has been some time since something new has been posted. These past few weeks have been very busy and filled with various time consuming tasks, including an end of summer trek to Washington DC.

This week I began my third year of college and have been working on completing assignments, getting comfortable back on campus, and memorizing my constantly changing schedule (I had to switch around a few classes this semester).

Anyway, since I refuse to write, post, and have you read half formed thoughts, this message is here to tell you that the World's Fair Hotel will be closing for the next few weeks so the owner can focus on school work and finding an internship. I am NOT closing the blog forever. This is merely a short hiatus. In fact, I have some great posts planned (including one that concerns a fun little find from the Library of Congress) so make sure you stay tuned.

Until next time.

XOXO, Kate 

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

H. H. Holmes: Fan Maker

The other day I was out searching for a new bedroom fan since my old one began making this squeak noise that was impossible to sleep through. I finally found this one.

 

H. H. Holmes: Doctor, architect, businessman, multi-murderer, fan maker. I like it. (Imagine how that would look on a business card).

I'm happy to say that the fan works well. Which is good considering I purchased it mainly because Holmes is written on the front and it matches some of the décor. (I have a sign that says World's Fair Hotel and a hat that says Murder Castle as well).

Until next time.

XOXO, Kate