When there is a clear motive for someone’s murder, the police are usually at least half-way to solving the crime. However, when a cold-blooded killing happens for seemingly no reason whatsoever…you have a real problem, one that usually ends with the murderer getting clean away and the victims winding up on the pages of this blog. The following haunting mystery is a prime example.
Included in yesterday’s trip to Fall River was a stop at Miss Lizzie’s Coffee shop and a visit to the cellar to see the scene of the tragic demise of the second Mrs. Lawdwick Borden and two of the three little children in 1848. I have been writing about this sad tale since 2010 and had made a previous trip to the cellar some years ago but was unable to get to the spot where the incident occured to get a clear photograph. The tale of Eliza Borden is a very sad, but not uncommon story of post partum depression with a heartrending end. You feel this as you stand in the dark space behind the chimney where Eliza ended her life with a straight razor after dropping 6 month old Holder and his 3 year old sister Eliza Ann into the cellar cistern. Over the years I have found other similar cases, often involving wells and cisterns, and drownings of children followed by suicides of the mothers. These photos show the chimney, cistern pipe, back wall, dirt and brick floor, original floorboards forming the cellar ceiling and what appears to be an original door. To be in the place where this happened is a sobering experience. My thanks to Joe Pereira for allowing us to see and record the place where this sad occurrence unfolded in 1848. R.I.P. Holder, Eliza and Eliza Ann Borden. Visit our Articles section above for more on this story. The coffee shop has won its suit to retain its name and has plans to expand into the shop next door and extend its menu in the near future.
It’s been seven years since the closure of Coffee Shop, a pioneering cafe on the west side of Union Square that since 1990 emanated coolness—especially with its vertical neon “Coffee Shop” sign. A few years later, what moved into the space of this former model and celeb hangout? A Chase bank branch—which then put up […]
An article I recently wrote for the British online magazine, New Politic, is now available online. The article, “The Criminal Origins of the United States of America,†is about British convict transportation to America, which took place between the years 1718 and 1775, and is the subject of my book, Bound with an Iron Chain: […]
A driverless horse and wagon wandered aimlessly in the prairie
between Fort Gibson and Tahlequah in Indian Territory on December 3, 1883. Jim
Merrill heard the wagon come up to his front gate and went out to investigate.
In the bed of the wagon, he found the body of Arch Casey with a large bullet
hole in his left breast. The wagon tracks were clearly visible in the dirt. They
followed a
(Click image to enlarge)
ce Box Murphy
Did He Exist?Anyone reading my book, Alias Soapy Smith: The Life and Death of a Scoundrel, and this blog, might have wondered why I have not included the history of the soap gang member, “Ice Box” Murphy. The early biographies introduced me to Murphy, whose story was also included in most of the later biographies and articles. Today, many writers repeat
Youth With Executioner by Nuremberg native Albrecht Dürer … although it’s dated to 1493, which was during a period of several years when Dürer worked abroad. November 13 [1617]. Burnt alive here a miller of Manberna, who however was lately … Continue reading →
At Eureka, Nevada, about three weeks ago, the monotony of life in one of the faro-banks of the town was relieved about midnight by the advent of a woman, closely veiled, accompanied by an escort. Her presence of course excited considerable curiosity, and the game—faro—was temporarily interrupted, the players and dealers taking more than ordinary interest in the newcomer. They recovered their composure, however, on failing to penetrate her veil, and continued their game, keeping a good watch, though, lest she might draw some instrument from under the ample folds of her dress and castigate or scatter the crowd from their wrestle with the tiger.
A number thought she was an outraged wife in search of her husband, whose absence she had mourned and whom she wanted to catch at the green table. All conjectures were, however, soon dispelled. The case-keeper had risen from his seat and turned in his checks, when the fair incognito deliberately planted herself in his chair, opened the case-keeper, piled up several twenty-dollar rolls of silver alongside of it, and appeared ready for business. All eyes were turned upon her, and Purdy's nimble fingers trembled perceptibly. A slight paleness was noticeable in the dealer's face, but like the hoy who stood upon the burning deck, he was bound to stand it, win or lose. Luck favored the fair stranger, and from white cheeks she turned to red, and the red resolved themselves into blue ($25 each). She kept the cases carefully and played with all the pluck of an old hand at the business. She won and lost, but kept gathering in the blue checks. Finally, when she was a couple of hundred ahead, she handed them to the dealer and received her eagles in exchange, and, with her escort, left the room and disappeared from view. The eyes of the boys stuck out like bung-holes on a molasses barrel, aid they looked at each other in perfect bewilderment. They were mystified by the fair stranger beyond conception, and it was some time before the game was resumed. Who she was no one knew, but they would give something to find out.
"We follow vice and folly where a police officer dare not show his head, as the small, but intrepid weasel pursues vermin in paths which the licensed cat or dog cannot enter."
The Sunday Flash 1841