By Laraine Stephens
Did you know that William McCloundy, also known as ‘I.O.U. O’Brien’, spent two and a half years in Sing Sing Prison for selling the Brooklyn Bridge to an unsuspecting tourist in 1901? You didn’t? Well, that’s one of the more amusing facts that I gleaned when researching my latest book Lies and Deception.
Someone once asked me how long I spend doing research for my historical crime novels. In truth, I am not sure, but I replied by saying that perhaps fifty percent of my writing time is occupied using digitised newspapers and other online sources to check the accuracy and authenticity of the settings and detail of The Reggie da Costa Mysteries. My research covers everything from crime and criminals, clothes, cars and architecture, to the political, social and economic landscape of Australia in the 1910s and 1920s. I’ve also come to realise that this aspect of my writing life is something I love doing, not only because it provides the information that I require, but also because it satisfies my love of trivia and the bizarre.
So here, for your reading pleasure, are some of those little absurdities that have made me chuckle as I pursue my passion as an historical crime writer.
My first novel, The Death Mask Murders, was inspired by my work as a volunteer guide at the Old Melbourne Gaol. In the cells are displayed death masks of executed felons. This gave me the impetus for a story line: What if the psychopath in The Death Mask Murders had developed a fixation with death masks and created them as ‘trophies’ of his victims?
Back in the real world of Australia in the 1800s, these death masks were created to prove that criminality could be predicted, by applying the pseudo-science of Phrenology. This theory asserted that a person’s character could be determined by the shape, or contours, of their skull. Although this theory has now passed its ‘use-by date’, I was fascinated to learn that
some expressions associated with Phrenology are still used today. For example, describing people as ‘well-rounded’, their interests as ‘high-brow’ or low-brow’, or even suggesting that ‘You should get your head read,’ are derived from Phrenology.
Similarly, there were others in the past who ascribed criminal tendencies to certain physical characteristics. Cesare Lombroso, an Italian criminologist from the late nineteenth century, asserted that most murderers who committed crimes of passion had bright or ‘hard’ blue eyes and persisted in staring. To support his case, examples of serial killers were given: Dr Crippen, Frederick Deeming and George Joseph Smith (the ‘Brides-in-the-Bath’ murderer), amongst them. In Pennsylvania, the killers of Joseph Raber were known as ‘The Blue-Eyed Six’.
Followers of Lombroso also believed that criminals were born with heads one or more sizes smaller than normal, again a variation on the theories of Phrenology: that particular physical characteristics were an indication of criminal tendencies.
In my research for The Death Mask Murders, I discovered that Maximilian Kreitmayer, the proprietor of Melbourne’s sole waxworks, made death masks of that well-known Australian bushranger, Ned Kelly. He also displayed wax models of the Kelly Gang in his Chamber of Horrors. Apparently, Ned’s boots were so popular that they were stolen multiple times, requiring Kreitmayer to nail them to the floor.
My second novel, Deadly Intent, features Squizzy Taylor, Australia’s best-known gangster from the 1920s. My research revealed that Joseph Theodore Leslie Taylor, or ‘Squizzy’ as he was known, was nicknamed for his squint. This diminutive jury fixer, thief, sly-grogger and murderer modelled himself on the bootleggers of America’s Prohibition days. He was a flashy dresser, a dandy, favouring iridescent silk shirts, velvet collared coats, patent leather shoes, fawn gloves, silk socks and diamond rings. It was said that when Detective Piggott raided his home, he was surprised to find Squizzy in bed wearing pink silk pyjamas. Not your usual gangster from the wrong side of the tracks!
Another of Squizzy’s idiosyncrasies was his taste in cars: flashy American models that he would leave parked outside a suburban police station when he committed crimes, giving him the perfect alibi. He was also very disorganised and forgot to organise a getaway car in his first foray into armed robbery, forcing him to hail a taxi.
On a more serious note, Deadly Intent also features the police strike of 1923, when 600 members (or one third) of the Victoria Police failed to report for duty. The newspaper reports were firmly on the side of the government, despite the fact that the strikers had valid reasons to protest. Long hours, poor pay, no pension, working seven days a week with one Sunday off a month, and being required to buy their uniforms, made up the major part of the strikers’ complaints. The final straw was the appointment of four Special Supervisors to secretly monitor or spy on ordinary constables on the beat.
The response of the public to the news that the police were on strike was enthusiastic, to say the least. Yippee! Let’s have some fun! Thousands poured into the city of Melbourne, smashing windows, looting shops, getting drunk, even upending a tram and setting it on fire. A menswear shop, The Leviathan, had an unfortunate and prescient sign in their front window: ‘GENUINE CLEARING SALE’, ‘WHY GO SHABBY?’ The suggestion was taken literally by the mob who helped themselves to the clothing on display.
Baton wielding police and volunteers drove the rioters back with fire hoses. Army, air force and navy leave was cancelled. A detachment of 200 men from Queenscliff Garrison Artillery and Engineers was sent to Melbourne, each man issued with 200 rounds of ammunition and carrying a rifle fitted with a bayonet. At the Victoria Barracks, machine guns were also held in readiness. Soldiers and sailors guarded the banks, the treasury, government house and other public buildings. It was interesting that the government of the day was prepared to deal with the strikers using lethal force.
Another interesting aspect of my research revealed that although the ensuing Royal Commission recommended that the strikers’ demands be granted, not a single striker was re- employed. Another interesting fact was that the government of the day prohibited the export of newsreel footage so that this embarrassing event should not be viewed overseas.
My third novel, A Deadly Game, will be published in June this year. One of the most interesting aspects of researching the book was discovering that the excavation and discovery of the Egyptian pharaoh Tutankhamun prompted an obsession with all things Egyptian. Theme parties, Egyptian style jewellery, décor and artefacts became immensely popular. The downside was that this interest fostered a burgeoning black market in Egyptian treasures throughout the world.
We often think that scam artists and con men and women are a blight on the present day alone, but their presence was felt in the 1800s and 1900s too. In my research for Lies and Deception, due to be published in 2024, I researched some of the more outrageous confidence tricks seen in ‘Scam History’.
Apart from William McCloundy, there have been many other examples of infamous scam artists. Not to be outdone, George C. Parker sold Madison Square Garden, General Grant’s Tomb, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Statue of Liberty to gullible buyers. He too took up residence in Sing Sing. And then there was Victor Lustig, who became infamous for selling the Eiffel Tower twice for scrap metal. Not to be outdone, Elizabeth Bigley, alias Cassie Chadwick, posed as the illegitimate daughter of industrialist Andrew Carnegie, ripping off the banks for millions of dollars in loans, at a time when women were not allowed to borrow from banks or vote.
On a smaller scale, but just as effective in drawing in the gullible and the naïve, were the snake oil salesmen, peddling patent medicine drugs containing alcohol, morphine, opium or cocaine. Phony claims of their efficacy and lack of government regulation in the late 1800s and early 1900s led to their widespread use. The tragic case of Eben Byers, who took Radithor (radium water) to ease the pain of an injured arm, is perhaps a more extreme example of the effects of pills, salves, lotions and syrups pushed by fake doctors. Byers died of ‘radium poisoning’ in 1932, after his jaw fell off and his bones disintegrated. He was buried in a lead-lined coffin.
No doubt, other crime writers apart from me have shaken their heads, chuckled and thought:
‘If I wrote that, no one would believe me!’
Laraine Stephens lives in Beaumaris, a bayside suburb of Melbourne, Australia. With an Arts
degree from the University of Melbourne, a Diploma of Education and a Graduate Diploma
in Librarianship, she worked in secondary schools as a Head of Library. On retirement,
Laraine decided to turn her hand to the craft of crime writing. She is the author of The
Reggie da Costa Mysteries and has a six-book contract with Level Best Books (USA).