history | Elise's Ghosts, Murders, and Mayhem

Today’s blog post is an excerpt from my book Ghosts and Murders of Manhattan from Arcadia Publishing, to be released the week of July 29, 2013.

Madness and murder visited Madison Square Garden on June 25, 1906. A syndicate of wealthy men built this the second Garden in 1890 at 26th Street, overlooking Madison Square Park. The architect, Stanford White, incorporated Moorish characteristics in the Beaux Arts structure. White occupied a studio in the tower for his work, and he would die in the rooftop restaurant.

Madison Square Garden Btwn 1900-1910, Courtesy of Library of Congress

Stanford White, born in New York in 1853, studied architecture in Europe. Using elements of Italian Renaissance, he composed a new style called Free Classical. Designing banks, the Boston Public Library, the Washington Square Arch, and private residences made him rich in the 1890s. Although married, he grew interested in the 16-year-old model and showgirl, Evelyn Nesbit. At age 47 he convinced Nesbit’s mother he wanted only to be a benefactor.

Stanford White (1892)

Evelyn Nesbit’s beauty and talent attracted White. An artist first discovered her at the age of 14 and turned her into the most recognizable fashion model of the period. Growing up poor and fatherless, she must have been dazzled by White’s wealth. When her mother went out of town, White plied her with alcohol and took her virginity.

Evelyn Nesbit (1900) Courtesy of the Library of Congress

Nesbit also gained the attention of millionaire Harry K. Thaw who had a history of mental illness. When she appeared in a show called “The Wild Rose”, Thaw attended 40 performances and begged to marry her. Knowing he valued chastity, she divulged her experiences with White. The revelation unhinged him. He imprisoned, beat, and raped her. Despite her ordeal, Nesbit married Thaw, knowing that her reputation was ruined because of White.

Harry K. Thaw (Btwn 1910-1915) Courtesy of the Library of Congress

On June 25, 1906 Harry K. Thaw booked tickets to a revue at Madison Square Garden’s rooftop restaurant. At the last minute, Stanford White changed his plans and took his regular seat to watch the show. At 11:00 p.m., Thaw approached White from behind and fired three times, killing White instantly. Raising the gun high in triumph, Thaw allowed himself to be carried to the Tombs prison where crowds would gather. Newspapers dubbed his case the “Trial of the Century”, and it would end in a hung jury. His second jury found him guilty by reason of insanity. He never regretted the killing, convincing himself he had avenged his wife’s honor.

Courtesy of the Library of Congress

Thaw Jury – Courtesy of the Library of Congress

Although sentenced to life at the Matteawan State Hospital for the criminally insane, Thaw was declared sane on July 16, 1915. The following December, Thaw met 18-year-old Frederick Gump in Kansas City and earned the trust of Gump’s family, convincing them he would pay for their son’s education. Gump arrived in New York City on Christmas Eve, 1916, and Thaw directed him to the Hotel McAlpin.

Hotel McAlpin (Btwn 1910 and 1920) Courtesy of the Library of Congress

Early Christmas morning, Thaw entered Gump’s bedroom and attacked the boy, whipping him into a bloody mess. Thaw stepped out, leaving his bodyguard in charge, but Gump escaped. Thaw went into hiding at this boarding house in Philadelphia. On January 11th he attempted suicide by slashing his throat and was sent to Kirkbride Asylum in Philadelphia until 1924. Thaw died in 1947 at age 76.

Courtesy of the Library of Congress

Tweed Courthouse at 52 Chamber Street in New York City may be recognizable as it appeared in movies such as The Verdict, Kramer versus Kramer, and Gangs of New York, but this building now the home for the New York Department of Education began in infamy because of the shady dealings of William ‘Boss’ Tweed. (Image courtesy of The Library of Congress.)

Tweed rose to power while overseeing one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city, the Seventh Ward. He setup programs to aid the poor Irish immigrant population to bribe them for their votes. Then as a member of the democratic political machine, the Tammany Society and as the Commissioner of Public Works, Tweed set in motion various corrupt business dealings. The courthouse would be his last. He used the construction to embezzle what today would be millions of dollars. (Image courtesy of The Library of Congress.)

Cartoons by Thomas Nash of Harper’s Weekly and stories by The New York Times brought about Tweed’s downfall. Ironically he would be tried and convicted in his own courthouse. Although convicted of 204 counts, a higher court reduced his jail time from 12 years to 1 year. However, New York State filed a civil suit to recoup some of the stolen funds, and Tweed was rearrested when he couldn’t pay up. While on a home visit, he escaped and worked as a seaman on a Spanish ship until someone recognized him, and he was turned over to U.S. authorities. (Image courtesy of The Library of Congress.)

He died in the Ludlow Street Jail and still visits his courthouse. Some of the early accounts of Tweed’s activities come from an article first published in the Ohio State Journal in 1911, recounting George F. Lyon’s experiences while serving as Jury Clerk in the Tweed Courthouse. Lyon stated that while waiting in a vacant courtroom for a jury to adjourn, he felt a presence in the room and saw the shadowy figure of a man cross from a door on the right side of the room to the left. (Image courtesy of The Library of Congress.)

Lyon also told how one morning, he over heard the Justice who had officiated Tweed’s trial, Noah Davis, point out a crack in courtroom’s Northeast window. He said and everyone in attendance agreed that the crack, which had occurred some time during the night created a perfect profile of Boss Tweed. (Image courtesy of The Library of Congress.)

Nighttime seems to be the time for paranormal activity. During Lyon’s tenure at the courthouse, he learned that the janitor found the night watchman, Larry O’Hara, on the Chambers side-portico one cold, stormy night. O’Hara refused to go inside the building even if it meant his job. He claimed that he heard sounds and saw things moving about the dimly-lit corridors. A few months later, the janitor discovered O’Hara’s replacement, John Riordan, on the steps outside one night. When asked if he would go in, Riordan replied, “Begora, but O’hara was right; the damned place is haunted!”

I haven’t heard of any recent accounts of activity in the building, but apparently paranormal events spike with news reports of political corruption.

Elise's Ghosts, Murders, and Mayhem

History through the lens of dramatic human experiences

Tag Archives: history

The Crime of the Century

The Ghost of Tweed Courthouse