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#Post#: 5607--------------------------------------------------
The Writers Section
DIR By: HowBrown1953
Date: October 10, 2025, 4:18 pm
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I wrote six factional short stories back in 2024....all within
an 8 or 9-day span.
Anyway, this thread serves as a place for aspiring true,
fictional, or faction writers
to share their stuff.
The one in the PDF is titled, 'Serendipity'.
The second one is titled The One-Nighter. The third is 'The
Trap'...the fourth, West Side Story.
#Post#: 5608--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Writers Section
DIR By: HowBrown1953
Date: October 11, 2025, 3:44 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
THE ONE NIGHTER
It had been a while since Frank Dahl had kicked up some dust and
even longer since he'd been with a woman. Ever since arriving
in Manhattan on March 26th, on the SS Hekla from Copenhagen,
he'd
been too occupied.
When he landed in New York, he stayed with a fellow sailor down
in
a room on the Lower East Side for one night. On the 7th, a
Tuesday, he was down front and center in south Manhattan with
other recent arrivals hoping to be chosen to work by whomever
and
wherever it might take him. Dahl was fortunate to get steerage
on the Hekla in
the first place. He'd robbed a former employer, sold some
silverware
and found a buyer. He immediately headed to America. With no
immediate family in Grindsted, save his grandfather, there was
nothing to hinder him from a trans-oceanic voyage.
It was Dahl's lucky day. A man from New Jersey, accompanied by a
working man whose arm was in a cast, walked up to Frank and
asked him if he could speak English. Frank replied, 'Ja. I can
speak some
English good." For the potential employer, that was enough. The
man in the suit asked Dahl if he'd like to work on his land.
Dahl understood
things better when the businessman pantomimed digging with a
shovel.
This made Dahl smile and he nodded his head in the affirmative.
Dahl was hired.
The new boss, Mr. Damon, and his hired hand, William, shook
hands
and walked out of the hiring area. It was a few minutes walk
to the ferry, which took the three across the Hudson to Jersey
City. It
would be a few more minutes walk to the train depot.
The train to the businessman's home took Dahl through some
pretty
country. Granite hills, rolling mountains, and the first signs
of
springtime in New Jersey. Dahl thought back to just a week
earlier
when he left Denmark in a hurry. The near freezing temperature
and the heat of local police who just missed Dahl as he slipped
silently
aboard the vessel to the States and freedom.
At the home of his new employer, Dahl was shown his quarters
before following William to the Damon home for a meal. There
he'd
meet two of the three Damon boys and Mrs. Damon, a middle-aged
woman
who looked a little sickly. The maid, Mary, escorted Frank to
his
seat at the table. She smiled at him and then went off to the
kitchen
to bring William and Frank their meals.
After the supper, they went out to the stable where the boss
gave
instructions to William for the day's work on the 8th. For the
remainder of the day, Frank began raking the area where he'd
begin grading on
Wednesday. At sundown, both Frank and William went to the
stables
where they smoked and engaged in a strained exchange. William
was
having difficulty in understanding Frank's broken English. After
a
few minutes, William put his pipe out and said good night. Frank
lay
awake for a while, wondering whether this was a job he could
hang
on to for as long as he wanted. He had no problem with physical
chores but had no plans for making it a life-long career.
Two weeks passed. On the 22nd, Frank had become acclimated to
his
surroundings but was desirous of a night out. Being a
red-blooded
man, that meant drinks and women. By this time, William
understood
the broken English well enough to converse with Dahl.
It was 5:00 am on Wednesday, the 22nd. Soon Damon would be
coming
out to go to work in New York. He always came out to give
William
instructions before leaving the estate. They had a small chat
before their
morning visit from the boss.
#Post#: 5609--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Writers Section
DIR By: HowBrown1953
Date: October 11, 2025, 3:45 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
"William...where do you go in Cranford to drink? I have not seen
you drink yet."
"Well, Frank, its like this. I got this broken arm by having too
much
whiskey one night, but not in Cranford. There's no
place in Cranford where a man can sit and drink like in a bar.
You
understand?"
"Ja, I understand. Where did you go to break your arm?"
"Ha ha....well, I didn't go to break it on purpose, but break it
I did. I
went to New York down on Water Street."
"What is Water Street? It has the bars, no?"
"Yes, it does have bars, Frank. You have to be careful when
you're
down there. I wasn't. I sat with a woman in a saloon, buying
her drink after drink. I went to a hotel with her for some
itching
Jenny, and..."
"Wait! What is itching..jelly..jenny?"
"You know, Frank,", as William pointed to his crotch with both
hands. "What do you call it over there in Denmark? Pussy?
" Oh, I see. You mean Kusse! Well, then how did the kusse break
your arm?"
"The kusse didn't break my arm, Frank...that's funny. No, I saw
the
woman going through my jacket for money. So I got up and chased
her but fell in the hallway. I had had one too many drinks.
She got down the stairs while I lay on the floor in pain. I got
my pants
on and went downstairs where this man told me to get my things
and get my arm taken care of. It was the middle of March and
still
cold outside. It was an awful trip home. Mr. Damon wasn't happy
with me but kept me on anyway. He put off the grading for two
weeks and then decided to go to Castle Garden and
hire someone...which was you."
"William, I am going to ask Mr. Damon for the day off tomorrow.
I
want some beer and maybe get a girl, too."
William sat back and mulled over Frank's request. There had been
enough rain yesterday to prevent any grading work. William would
only have to plant some of the flower seeds Mrs. Damon gave him
on
Monday. William told Frank he'd ask for him.
The next morning, Thursday the 23rd, William and Frank woke up
at the regular time. They sat and smoked their pipes until they
heard
Damon come outside. He was checking the carriage for the ride
down
to Union Street to catch the train to Jersey City.
William went outside and approached Damon. He brought up Frank's
idea to him.
Damon listened to William's suggestion. He said yes and jokingly
begged Frank not to break his arm down in New York. It didn't
take
two seconds for Damon to realize where Frank had planned on
going.
He told Frank that he would take him along on the ride to the
station so they
both could catch the train and then ferry together. Frank took
mental
notes so that on his way back that night he wouldn't get lost.
Damon
told him that the trains operated almost all day and that one
went
through Cranford at 8 pm, should he be coming back around that
time.
As they rode the ferry, Damon reached inside his jacket and
pulled
out a five dollar bill. "Here, consider this an advance on your
pay,
Frank."
Frank looked at the bills. It was a week's pay in advance. He
felt
good. He also knew that the bill would burn a hole in his pocket
once
he hit the streets of Lower Manhattan.
He and Damon said goodbye to each other. Damon took a carriage
to
Beekman Street while Frank made his way to the Third Avenue El.
From here, he'd have a few hours to kill sitting at a bar or
two. Bars
opened early down on the Bowery. He tried Wintermeyer's first.
After an hour or so, he walked into an old clothes store hoping
he
could find a hand for under a dollar. His hat, which he'd
brought
with him from Denmark, had seen better days. He found one, a
derby,
for 50 cents. From there it was on to the next watering hole.
It was 7:00 pm by now. There was a steady trickle of women
coming
in and out of Speckman's down on Oliver Street. Frank was shy by
nature, with a slight stutter. The fact he spoke in broken
English
added to his insecurity. Although a couple of local women
approached him, he declined their company and continued to
drink.
He nursed his beer, all the while growing in confidence.
Around 9:00 pm, Frank had a real load on. There were still a
good
number of the women weren't even awake and walking about yet. A
lot of them slept up until now because many seamen and local
workmen hadn't hit the bars yet, having worked their 10 hour
shifts
and were just now coming out.
#Post#: 5610--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Writers Section
DIR By: HowBrown1953
Date: October 11, 2025, 3:46 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
A gray-haired woman entered The Glass House, the bar that Frank
had somehow drifted into down on Catherine Slip. He'd been in at
least 5 saloons today and he planned on this one being his last.
He'd
either find a lady here or he'd call it a day. He now had
enough 'Dutch
courage' to accept any invitation or approach women without
trepidation.
The woman walked over to Frank, seated with his back to the
entrance. She ran her hand on the back of his neck which rattled
Frank momentarily. She asked if she could sit next to him. He
stood and
let her sit before sitting back down. In the process of being a
gentleman,
he dropped his hat, which Carrie sat one of the chair legs on
top of. It
left a noticeable dent, but Frank maintained decorum and didn't
react.
Frank may have had way too much to drink, but Carrie looked
alright in his book. Her skin was smooth and not flushed like
most of
the women he'd seen today. Yes, she was a number of years older
than
him, but he'd made his mind up that it was a matter of 'any port
in a
storm' by now. If she propositioned him, he was ready to take
her up on it.
They sat and drank quietly. She looked as though she was waiting
for
him to make the first move. Frank began to drink faster,
ordering
three beers to add to the dozen he'd had already. She had no
problem
keeping up with him.
It was 10:15 pm. Carrie broke the stalemate and asked him if he
was
ready to go to bed. Frank wiped the beer foam from his heavy
blonde
mustache and said, "Ja!" followed by a hiccup. The two got up
and went
outside. Carrie grabbed his hand and the two walked around the
corner
to Water Street. This was the entrance to the East River Hotel.
Carrie rang a buzzer on the outside of the door and a young
woman answered.
The two entered the hotel. Carrie did the talking while Frank
shuffled back and forth
nervously. The young woman, who looked like she was a prostitute
herself, handed Carrie a candle and put her hand out towards
Frank. Frank looked
at the young girl, momentarily unaware why she'd stuck her hand
out. Carrie spoke up, "It's fifty cents for a room." Frank
smiled
sheepishly, fumbling in his cloth money purse for the correct
change.
Carrie asked if he'd like a pail of ale. He really didn't but
felt obligated to buy one.
The young girl walked away for a minute to the barroom. She
returned with a tin pail full of beer. Then the two walked up
the four flights to
the fifth floor, Frank twirling the iron key by its tag upon
which the number
31 was stamped.
When they reached the third floor, a man with a waxed mustache
and a scowl on his face came lumbering towards them.
Carrie greeted the man, "Hello there, Tommy boy! How's it
going?"
Tommy Thompson had just spent 20 minutes in a room on the fourth
floor, trying to open the window in the room which was stuck.
Lesser
inconveniences would only anger him, this one had him steaming.
He was intoxicated, having celebrated earlier in the evening
in the barroom with two friends he hadn't seen since his days in
Sing
Sing. Thompson was the manager of the hotel when the proprietor
was absent. The hotel ran on a short staff that day, so it was
up to
him to fix the problem.
"It's not going, Shakespeare," said Thompson, angrily. Thompson
brushed up against Frank on his way down the stairs.
Frank, feeling the beer already, stared at Thompson and stood
his
ground. Thompson, never one to look the other way if an
altercation
was possible, walked back up the stair and stared Frank in the
eye.
"Want to make something of it, buddy boy?" Thompson glared at
him, the veins in his forehead bulging.
Frank clearly didn't want to fight, so he turned away and
continued
up the stairs. Thompson called up to him, "I thought so. Keep
walking." It took about a half hour before Frank had calmed
down. Carrie
finished off the beer and laid back on the bed. Frank looked at
her as
she took her clothes off and placed them in a pile on the
rickety, well-worn chair.
Frank now was sobering up. The near fight had done the trick.
Just when Frank had taken his clothes off and got in bed, he
realized
Carrie was asleep.
It had turned out badly, this trip to the city. Frank would wait
until a
little after 1:00 am before heading back home. All he had to
show for his travels were the memories of spending five dollars
worth
of nickel beers in six saloons and the onset of a headache from
all that beer.
He got his hat and coat and looked down on the now snoring
Carrie
Brown. He shook his head and smiled. He didn't think of locking
the door when he pulled it to behind him. The room key was in
his
jacket pocket. He quietly walked down the hall, nearly stepping
on a dark-skinned man sprawled out in the hallway. Frank bent
over to see
if he was okay.
The man sprang to his feet and in a strange tongue which sounded
like French said, " Je suis désolé!" several times and went
toward a
room right across from the one he'd just left. Frank then made
his descent
down the stairs.
#Post#: 5611--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Writers Section
DIR By: HowBrown1953
Date: October 11, 2025, 3:46 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
At the door he and Brown had entered, that man with the mustache
and scowl was talking to a hotel guest. It was Thompson.
Thompson looked at Frank and chuckled, "She too much for you,
country boy?" Frank replied, "Gĺ ad helvede til!!", 'Go to Hell'
in
Danish.
It didn't matter to Thompson what it meant. He reared back and
smashed his hammy fist into Frank's face. Frank reeled from the
blow.
Thompson grabbed Frank, now bleeding from his nose, and in one
motion, opened the door to Water Street and pushed Frank out.
"Nighty night, son!" Thompson couldn't resist getting one more
word in as Frank trudged up Catherine Street toward Chatham
Square and the train.
Frank was able to remove as much blood as possible from his
nose,
which stopped bleeding within a few minutes. He walked through
a small crowd at the intersection of Catherine and Cherry
Streets. No
one watched as he wiped a little of the remaining blood off his
face onto his shirt.
Standing in front of the Glenmore Hotel, Frank was rethinking a
trip
back to New Jersey. After a minute, he decided to rent a room
and make himself more presentable. They were only 25 cents for
single men.
When he entered the hotel, he looked to his left and saw a
washroom.
Maybe if he asked to use it, he could save that quarter.
The man behind the desk asked him what price room he wanted.
Frank lied, told the clerk he had no money, and could he just
use the
washroom. The clerk noticed blood on the back of Frank's hand
and
a few drops on his right cheek. Frank had not removed the
remnants of his
encounter with Thompson, it seemed. The clerk refused Frank. He
came out
front from behind the desk, opened the door, and held it while
Frank left, dejectedly.
Frank walked up the stairwell to the train platform. It was 2:15
am.
He boarded the train which dropped him off within walking
distance of the Liberty Street ferry. There, he'd wait until
after 3:00
am for the boat ride across the Hudson. In Jersey City, he would
take the first train heading west, which came at around 4:15 am.
The
conductor on the train noticed his slightly disheveled
appearance and
attributed it to Frank having had too much to drink. Frank had
removed all the blood from the front of his person and wisely
buttoned his coat to conceal his shirt which had traces of blood
from
when he'd wiped it earlier.
The train arrived shortly after 5 am in Cranford. From there, as
the dawn
was just making its appearance in the east, he walked to Madison
Avenue,
arriving at around 5:15. His rough night over, he planned on
getting a little
shuteye.
Henry was roused by Frank's entry into the stable. He asked him
how his night went. Frank grumbled something in Danish, giving
Henry the impression that it had been a rough night for the man.
Damon came out to the stable a few minutes later. Henry got up
and
told him that the new guy had a bad night in the city. Damon
asked
Henry if he thought Frank would be fit to work that day. Henry
said he'd
try to rouse him later on. With that, Damon shrugged and turned
towards the house. Within a half hour, Damon's carriage to the
station arrived and he took it for just another day at work in
the city.
The 52 year old didn't realize what awaited him on Beekman
Street.
It would be noon time before Damon, like thousands of others on
the
East Side, learned of the murder. He sent an employee out to get
the
latest paper. The boy came back with the Evening World's
Baseball
Extra at around 4:30 pm.
Damon left for home at 6:00 pm. Reading the Evening World's
account, he saw the suspect was described as looking either
Greek or
Italian, yet on another page where the description was
elaborated on
more fully, the appearance of the man resembled someone other
than
a man of Mediterranean background.
Frank had worked on the 24th, but later on in the afternoon. He
didn't seem
out of sorts by this time and the day wasn't too strenuous. He
ate his meal and
relaxed in the stable afterward, thinking over the previous
night's disaster.
Henry had gone to town as soon as Frank began working to pick up
some
supplies where he learned of the murder from one of the
customers in Cranford
Hardware. He instantly thought of Frank and his night out. A few
seconds later,
he shrugged the idea off. After all, Frank didn't seem like a
killer. These past
two weeks, he'd been a good addition to the Damon's household.
When Damon came home, he summoned Henry from his work up to
the porch. Out of earshot of Frank, Damon asked what Frank had
done during the day and whether he was able to work after all.
Henry sensed a
degree of concern in Damon's voice. He answered in the
affirmative
and that Frank seemed fine and worked well.
Damon paused before asking Henry to keep his eye out for any
change in Frank's behavior on Saturday. Henry replied, "I
thought
the same thing you did when I heard of the murders, Mr. Damon".
Damon nodded his head, turned and entered his house.
#Post#: 5612--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Writers Section
DIR By: HowBrown1953
Date: October 11, 2025, 3:47 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
The evening concluded peacefully and the stable mates went to
bed
On Saturday the 25th, Mary Nasbit brought in the morning paper,
the New York Times. When Damon reached page five, he came across
the reference to the suspect's ancestry, corrected by this time.
It said
German. This caused Damon to rise from his seat. His wife, Anna,
asked him if something was wrong. Damon replied in the negative.
He walked outside looking towards where Frank was digging in the
garden.
Soon, Henry joined Damon on the lawn, at first looking at Damon
as
he stared at Frank and then reading the newspaper which Damon
handed him.
Henry uttered a slight groan, which Frank heard. For the rest of
the
day, Frank felt unwelcome for some reason. Partly because Damon
seemed different in how he addressed him and the distance Henry
kept from
him wherever the two would go on the property that day. Frank
felt his time
in Cranford was up. That night, while Henry was sound asleep and
snoring
loudly, Frank grabbed his grip and calmly left the grounds. He'd
left his old
shirt from the night in New York and the key to the hotel room.
He no longer
needed them. He assumed the servants would cut the shirt up and
use it for
a cleaning rag and as far as the key was concerned, they could
throw it away.
Frank was oblivious to the murder, not being able to read
English. Neither
Damon or Henry had mentioned anything about the crime from two
days earlier.
Frank made his way south and wound up in Rahway, early on the
26th, a Sunday. Rahway was less than five miles from Cranford
and
was basically a farming community. Friendless, and nearly
penniless, he
waited around until he saw a local farmer driving a wagon into
the
center of town. In his limited English, he asked the man "You
have
the work? I work,"
The local asked Frank in Swedish if he were a Swede or knew
Swedish.
Frank enthusiastically replied, "Ja!". The man patted the seat
next to him
on his rig and Frank climbed aboard. They spoke in Swedish to
each other for
the trip to Mr. Solberg's farm. Eventually, Frank confided he
was from
Denmark.
Frank eventually learned that the man he'd seen sprawled on the
floor on that fateful night had been arrested, convicted,
sentenced,
and eventually released in 1902. The description originally
given
matched him, from what Frank would eventually learn from fellow
Swede and Danish farm hands within a month or so of his hiring.
Frank stayed on for 25 more years until 1916, when he passed
away
at the age of 56. During that time, he often wondered what would
have happened if he had ever returned to New York. Would he be
remembered for being with Carrie Brown back in late April 1891?
Thirteen years after the murder, a newly arrived Swedish
farmhand named Peter asked Frank if he'd ever been to New York.
The young
man was looking for a place to drink and Rahway's rural
atmosphere
provided no such places. He also complained that he'd not had a
woman since he came to this country.
Frank smiled and rocked back on the chair in their mutual
quarters. He took the pipe from his pocket, filled it, and lit
it, blowing a perfect smoke ring which rose to the top of the
room.
'Do you want to hear a story about New York, Peter?
#Post#: 5613--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Writers Section
DIR By: HowBrown1953
Date: October 11, 2025, 3:49 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
THE TRAP
During the last week of Benjamin Odell's tenure as
Governor of New York, his staff was busy putting all
his official papers, individual letters, and the affidavits
accumulated during his four years in office.
Christmas had just passed and most of his staff were
still on vacation. One of them who stayed on, Odell's
long time friend, Herbert Lowe, was in charge of the
filing of affidavits.
Organized by the individual cases, he'd come across
a number of affidavits, the largest body in fact, 15
affidavits in all, the affidavits presented by men on
behalf of the convicted murderer, Amer Ben Ali, from
back in 1891.
Lowe was more than a little familiar with the case. In
fact, he was what one might call fascinated with the
events which culminated in the eventual release of the
Algerian 32 months ago. He personally knew a few of
the reporters and knew full well how interested the
French Government had been in getting him out with
a pardon or simply released. To an outsider, how he
had garnered such support was a bit of a mystery. He
didn't seem to warrant such attention or support but
being a French subject the French worked towards his
freedom. A little bit of saber-rattling by the French.
What made Herbert Rowe leap from his chair in his
office this cold December day wasn't the weather, but
something he'd just noticed in one of the affidavits. It
had serious implications to the Algerian's release and
Governor Odell needed to see it as soon as Herbert
Lowe's legs could take him to the Governor's private
office.
"Ben, er, Governor....may I have a minute?"
"Come in Herbert. What's got you in an uproar?!"
Lowe caught his breath and sat in the chair on the
side of Odell's desk, the chair his wife Linda would sit
in and confer up close to her husband.
Adjusting his glasses, he placed four affidavits on the
desk as well as two letters New York City DA Philbin
had sent in response to requests made by the
Governor.
"What's this, Herbert?"
" I believe you need to read the third affidavit from
this George Damon, dated July 2, 1901."
" Yes, that murder case down in New York. The New
Jersey printer. What's wrong with it?"
" Well, take a look at the description of the hired
hand." Lowe could feel his blood rising.
" Hmm, it says..no facial hair or mustache...flat
nose, walked with...Lowe...what do you want me to
see in this?"
Lowe handed a clipping from the New York Sun
which was filed on the same day the affidavit from the
New Jersey businessman. It had been sent by Robert
G. Butler, newspaper editor, who had accompanied
George Damon to the Mulberry Street station the day
before the date on the affidavit. Lowe recited the
description of the man, known as C. Kniclo, to the
Governor, given by the only person who saw him at
the hotel and in no way did it correspond to the one
Damon provided.
Odell stood up and held both items in his outstretched
hands. Lowe watched him walk to the window and
look out on the mounds of snow covering most of the
capitol grounds.
Odell turned and said, "Herbert...didn't the
Governor...Governor Voorhees...send a letter along
with the pardon letters and petitions?"
"Yes he did. We have it. It's a recommendation of the
Damon fellow. Said he was a trustworthy sort."
"You still think about that decision of mine, don't you
Herbert?"
"I do, Governor. It always bothered me that it took
this Damon man 10 years before he did the right
thing. It scares me to think...if his story was true...that
that Ali character could have been sentenced to death
and sat in the electric chair in Auburn. This Damon
would never have come forward. He didn't appear at
the time of the jury verdict or by the time of his
sentencing to life in prison. Plus it was the excuses he
gave for not coming forward. There wasn't just one,
there were, if I recall correctly, six."
Odell smiled at Lowe and said, "If you say it was six,
it was six, my friend."
There was a pause...an unsettling pause, which Odell
broke.
"Didn't someone from the DAs office in New York
look into the issue of the key? That was the item this
Damon brought forward."
"Yes, Governor. His name was McNaught. Philbin
sent him over to the hotel to see whether the key
matched the rooms on that floor.
He returned and told the DA that would be impossible
as the hotel had had a renovation after the murders
and door locks had been changed."
"That's right. Now I remember. Didn't the former
owner, a man named Jennings look at the key? He
didn't authenticate it did he as I recall."
"No, Governor, he didn't. He said that at that time the
keys used on the top floor were made of iron. Keys on
other floors were made of brass....but not on the floor
in question."
"Herbert...I released that man because of the inability
to disprove the key as being authentic. I also had that
letter from Voorhees, the NJ Governor. I was handed
affidavits from several men who said they hadn't seen
blood on the floor where the police claimed they
found it. There was always that lingering rumor that
the man was set up. Then there were all the petitions
and the requests made to Frank Black, Roosevelt, and
to the DA before Philbin. I based my decision on
those things, not just one thing. But now it appears
that I may have been hasty since this description the
Damon fellow gave is nothing at all like the one from
1891 given by the person who saw him. That woman
was the only person who described him differently,
wasn't it, Herbert?"
Actually, Governor, there was one man at another
hotel who described a man very similar to the one the
woman at the hotel saw. Of course, it could have been
just a man just involved in a fight as he had blood
spots on his face and hand, looking for a room at the
other hotel, but it does match that woman's."
Odell dropped heavily into his chair.
'All this means that either Damon's description was
made up on the spot; that the real culprit, whoever he
was or is, is still out and about bearing the description
given by the woman at the hotel: and that, on the other
hand, I may have freed a guilty man."
"I'm afraid it does, Governor." "If I may be so bold, I
now don't believe the story given by Damon. The key
was never proven to have come from the hotel and the
description he gave is all wrong." There's no way that
a man with what Damon claimed was a noticeable
hitch to his step would go unnoticed by this hotel
woman. Nor could she mistake Damon's flat nose
character for one with a long and pointed one. But the
greater of the disparities is the absence of facial hair.
Damon swore his man had no facial hair nor
mustache. The man at the hotel had a heavy
mustache...just look at that mustache in the
article....and that nose!!!!"
#Post#: 5614--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Writers Section
DIR By: HowBrown1953
Date: October 11, 2025, 3:50 pm
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Odell stood and said, "Herbert...what about the two
men who knew Damon and who also provided
affidavits? Refresh my memory if you would..."
Lowe replied, "The two men...one a neighbor and the
other an employee...corroborated much of what
Damon said. Yet...when you look at the papers they
signed, they were on different dates and yet look as if
the content was scripted for them. The employee's
affidavit, assuming he wrote it when Damon wasn't
present at the notary with him, looks a lot like what
Damon wrote in his."
Odell replied, "I must admit I also noticed that....but
that letter from Voorhees was what made it easy for
me to accept what Damon presented." "Herbert, what
do I do....and should I try to do anything? I have four
days left in office before Higgins takes the reins."
Lowe .."If I only had paid attention 3 years ago when
I was reviewing the affidavits. I blame myself to some
extent for this dilemma."
Odell replied, "The dilemma is that perhaps too much
time has passed to get the truth or at least a reasonable
explanation for the difference in the facial and
physical descriptions" The Frenchy character is long
gone. Who knows? He might be dead...or a
prosperous man by now.We'll never locate that man
who went to the hotel with the Shakespeare
woman.The bottom line, Herbert is that I may have
done the right and proper thing in releasing the
Algerian or freed a guilty man based on false
testimony. Affidavits are not iron-clad proof of
evidence, but if more than one affidavit contains
statements which supports the testimony found in
another, the statements are often accepted without too
much thought."
Lowe replied, "After your tenure expires, I'm moving
back to Manhattan. Perhaps I could try and contact
that detective McNaught. He might be interested.
What do you think?"
Odell replied, "I'll telephone New York and see if he's
still there."
"He's still there, Chief. He was sent to Nebraska a few
months back to pick up an embezzler. He's one of the
Central detective office's best."
Odell called New York and spoke to the DA., William
Jerome. Jerome listened to what Odell had to tell him
and unhesitatingly agreed. It would be a good idea to
re-investigate the matter and bring Damon in for a
follow-up to go over his third affidavit.
Jerome had the option to postpone Odell's request
since Odell's days in office were just about to end, but
as a friend of Odell and as a man who voted for him
back in 1900. He went ahead and arranged for Lowe
to meet McNaught to discuss strategy.
The plan was to have Damon appear before Jerome to
go over statements he'd made and to emphasize to
Damon he was not in trouble.
To persuade Damon to appear, they'd suggest he bring
his attorney along and the City would pay the lawyer
fees.
Odell turned to Lowe, "Well, that's all settled, Herb.
What you'll need to do is take photographs of all the
Damon affidavits...."
"I know, Governor," interrupted Lowe. "I prepared a
list in my head while you and Jerome were speaking
to each other."
The day after Odell passed the reins to Frank Higgins,
Lowe and Odell met for the last time as Governor and
right-hand man.
"In the spirit of fairness, Herb...give Damon a chance
to explain away the disparities."
"I will, Governor...er, I will, Ben.". With a smile,
Lowe turned to catch the train down to Manhattan
while Odell watched him go, hoping he'd get some
resolution to the possible oversight he'd made in
releasing Ali back in 1902.
McNaught met Lowe at the latter's requested meeting
spot: Delmonico's on 5th Avenue and 44th Street. It'd
been some time since he dined at Delmonico's, having
been in Albany for the past four years. As soon as
they were seated, Lowe opened up his leather folder
and pulled out the copies of files he'd made in the
capitol.
"Mr. Lowe...what exactly do you intend to do and to
whom?"
Lowe replied, "What I'd like you to do is contact the
businessman, Damon, and ask him to come in for a
few questions. Be sure to tell him that should he
decide to bring an attorney, we'd be glad to pay for
the, let's say, inconvenience."
McNaught, who had been in touch with DA Jerome
on Lowe's plan, brought up an idea he'd come up with.
"I suggest that we should consider it less than likely
that he'll come forward voluntarily, Mr. Lowe."
"Call me Herbert."
"If that's the most likely scenario, then I suggest we
locate that Miniter woman. She may still be in
Manhattan. It's been ten years, I know, but people
from that class have limited mobility....they usually
stay in the city, but occasionally move to the Bronx or
Brooklyn."
"What could Miniter do to help?"
"We might run a bluff on this Damon fellow.
Persuade him to appear to confirm the identity of the
man we have in custody for that Shakespeare woman's
murder."
"What man we have in custody?" Lowe was puzzled.
"That's my idea, Herbert. It might persuade Damon to
come forward with less resistance since he'll think we
have the man in custody.
Instead of coming back down to the notary office to
go over the affidavits again, he'll think it's for
something else. We can get one of our older officers,
say from the Bronx or Queens, to substitute for the
man."
"And then what, Mr. McNaught?"
"Call me Robert."
"And then what, Robert? How will Miniter fit in?"
"When she's located... we'll pay her for her time of
course...she'll listen to what Damon says when we
bring in the man for his viewing."
"I guess its up to us to find this Mary Miniter." With
that, the man began their meal, Lowe in earnest. They
then went to McNaught's home, where the detective
had a room set aside for Lowe.
The next day, both men went to the last known
address Miniter gave of her mother's home, which
she'd done at the Coroner Inquest.
Fortunately, Mary had moved back in with her mother
and put her street walking days behind her. After the
trial back in 1891, she bounced around on the Lower
East Side until one day she just decided she'd had it.
She went to see her mother to find out if it were
possible she could come back and live with her. The
old animosities between the two melted instantly
when Mary's mother saw her.
It was a good thing for Mary. She contemplated
ending her life. She saw no way out and no way to get
back in her mother's good graces.
It was just as good for Mary's mother, Catherine.
She'd lamented throwing her out of her home. Mary
was 16 at the time of the fall-out and she drifted down
to Water Street. She was a young girl who couldn't
say no after two drinks. She'd be damned if she
worked in factories for 12 hours a day and still not
have two nickels to rub together. Her mother could
use the help around their home and her regrets from
1885, when Mary was told to leave, were now hugs of
gratitude and love for her wayward daughter, now a
23 year old woman. It would be in July 1892 during a
heat wave when Mary would return. She'd found some
jobs locally to help support herself and had even
caught the attention of a young man at the local
grocer.
#Post#: 5615--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Writers Section
DIR By: HowBrown1953
Date: October 11, 2025, 3:50 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
When Lowe and McNaught arrived at 9th Avenue,
Mary opened the door and immediately sized the two
up as cops.
"What's your business, gentlemen?", the now 34 year
old Mary asked.
After securing entrance into the home, Lowe and
Macnaught presented their plan with the offer of
payment for her time.
Considering the 80-odd day ordeal she'd suffered for
being in the wrong place at the wrong time, time had
healed that 13
year old wound. She, like a few other witnesses at the
time of the affair, was put in The Tombs as a material
witness.
She'd heard that one of the defense attorneys pressure
the late Judge Fred Smyth to keep the witnesses in a
further nine weeks
because one of the trio of attorneys was exhausted.
She harbored a deep resentment towards that attorney
for his outrageous callousness. More than anyone
else, she really had a score to settle with the New
Jersey no-show, Damon. Had he come forward with
that supposed evidence when he should have, she may
have been out of jail within a week. Now that Lowe
and McNaught appered to have a plan which might
get Damon in hot water, she enthusiastically agreed to
help them.
Mary smiled and asked,"When do we start,
gentlemen? More tea?"
The Trap
It would take a week to set up the meeting at the
notary. The notary was located close to where
Damon's printing business, now in the hands of two of
his sons, stood on Beekman Street, close by on
William Street. Damon knew the notary and had used
him on numerous occasions when the co-owner of
Damon and Peets, Printers. It was Leeds idea to find
out who had done notarial work for Damon in the
past, an idea based on his gut-feeling that Damon
would feel more comfortable in coming forward.
Damon, sixty-six years of age, still lived in Cranford
NJ with his wife and servants. He retired with the
hope of enjoying his remaining years and had few
social engagements.
Leeds and McNaught went to visit Damon on the 6th
of January, introducing themselves as representatives
of the DA in Manhattan. Damon was, at first, gracious
to his guests but became a little reserved as they began
to explain the purpose of their visit.
"Mr. Damon, we frankly need your help. We have a
man in custody who resembles that farm hand who
worked for you back in '91, and who you felt was the
killer of that Shakespeare woman."
Damon replied, "Where did you find him. What has
he done?"
McNaught said, "He's been charged in the murder of
Mamie Koslowsky back in July. In fact, not too far
from your old business on Beekman." 'It took us six
months to track him but we got lucky. Leeds here,
remembered the description you gave of your hired
hand in the Shakespeare murder, and began to
question him when we had him down at the Oak
Street station. He looks remarkably similar to the
description despite the additional 13 years. Would you
mind coming in and looking at him?"
Neither Leeds or McNaught had brought up the idea
of Damon coming to the meeting with his attorney.
They didn't need to. Damon surprisingly didn't bring
up that possibility.
The meeting was set up on January 13th, a Friday,
down on William Street, at high noon.
McNaught recruited Adam Heinz, a 25 year veteran of
the NYPD and from a precinct in Queens,
guaranteeing that Damon would not be familiar with
their decoy. Heinz practiced his 'limp', a characteristic
which Damon claimed his hired hand had. Heinz also
fit the bill having a flat nose and being clean shaven.
Heinz met up with Leeds and McNaught at the notary.
He had handcuffs put on by McNaught and was led
into the back of the notary, where Mary Miniter was
waiting.
Leeds felt it would be better if the three men sat at a
round table rather than rectangular one. They had
contacted the notary in advance and learned the day
before the meeting that the office, in fact, had a round
table. The three entered the office and sat.
The notary sat on the side at the ready if needed.
There was a pause before the proceedings. Leeds
placed the third of Damon's affidavits he'd signed
back in July of 1901 in front of him.
Leeds had underlined the items in dispute. Damon
looked at it, nodding his head as if to say he was in
agreement.
McNaught stood up and went into the back room. He
brought Heinz out in handcuffs. Heinz portrayed his
role to the hilt, limping
noticeably and uttering a swear word complaining that
his handcuffs were too tight.
"Mr. Damon.."
"Call me George."
"George, is this the man who worked on your land in
1891?"
Damon noticed the limp immediately. That he had a
flat nose, blonde hair, and no hair on his
face...features he'd sworn to back
on that hot July day....he asked, "What is his name?"
"Frank Anderson. He's from Sweden, originally."
Damon stood and in an animated gesture pointed at
Heinz, "He's the man!" I will swear to it! By God,
you've got him!"
Leeds and McNaught looked at each other, barely able
to contain themselves. Damon watched as McNaught
removed Heinz from the room and placed him in the
custody of a uniformed officer who had accompanied
the party.
Leeds got up and walked to the room Heinz had just
been taken to. Damon asked, "Is that all, gentlemen?
Will you be letting the District Attorney know that the
Shakespeare murderer has finally been brought to
justice?"
McNaught replied, "Not exactly, Mr. Damon. That
man you saw is a police officer. No one had been
picked up for the murder of the Koslowsky woman. In
addition, your original description doesn't match that
of this person's..." McNaught opened the door and
Mary Miniter walked out.
#Post#: 5616--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Writers Section
DIR By: HowBrown1953
Date: October 11, 2025, 3:51 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
"What is this?", exclaimed Damon.
"This is the person who actually saw the man who the
police were looking for 13 years ago. She, and she
alone, saw that man. Now you have to explain why
the man you claimed back in 1901 was not that man
she saw!"
Damon froze. At first, he made an attempt to brush
aside that element of his 1901 depositions. He claimed
the man, Heinz, looked a lot like him and that he
might be mistaken, not realizing what was in store.
"No, Mr. Damon. The man who entered the hotel with
Carrie Brown had no noticeable limp, a long,sharp
nose, and a heavy mustache....like this." Leeds got up
and placed the New York Sun article with the sketch
of C. Kniclo as well as two other newspaper clippings
with sketches from two other Manhattan papers in
front of the now sweating George Damon.
McNaught spoke up, "That key you brought in was
accepted but never authenticated, George. The former
owner swore to that fact. Why don't you make it easy
for everybody and just admit you brought in phony
evidence?"
Damon put his head in his hands and sunk down in his
chair. Wisely, he said nothing and thought of a way
out.
McNaught nipped that in the bud.
"You either are covering up for someone you know,
Mr. Damon, or I'd guess you got caught up in the 'free
Frenchy' pardon efforts.
Am I correct?"
Damon, upon hearing the second option McNaught
brought up, looked around the room and meekly said,
"Yes. Yes, I thought it would be doing something
good for the man. I hear he was sent to prison to
prison and had suffered greatly. What will happen to
me? Do I need an attorney?"
Leeds said, "No, Mr. Damon. You can't be prosecuted.
You've cleared the matter up for us. We'll never find
the man who entered the hotel and we'll also never
know if your actions led to a guilty man being
released. We're going to keep all of this to ourselves.
Some things you can never get back."
Damon exited the notary and walked down to his
former business. Someone there could take him to the
ferry back to New Jersey.
McNaught addressed Leeds for perhaps the final time.
"Well, Herb, if you ever need me again, you know
where I'll be. Are you going to tell Governor Odell?"
Leeds shook his head, "Yes...but as I said to Damon,
there's nothing that can be done now. I'm sure he'll be
gratified to know that the issue is resolved and that no
one will be bringing it up in the future."
The men shook hands and McNaught, along with
Heinz and the other officer, walked to a waiting cab
stand.
Mary asked Leeds as they walked to the carriage
waiting outside to take Mary home, "Mr. Leeds..."
"Call me Herbert."
"Herbert, would you like to have some tea with me?"
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