Jack the Strangler Post-Mortem.

Strangler Suspect, Jacob Tolker
(New York Journal, May 14, 1897)

Eight women were strangled—seven fatally— on Manhattan’s East Side, between May 1894 and August 1900. While the police closed three of the cases, their solutions were so weak that the New York City newspapers continued to list them all as unsolved and continued to speculate that one man committed all eight crimes. “It is not difficult to construct a hypothetical 'Jack the Strangler' who prowls up and down Second Avenue and from time to time surrenders himself to his cruel, cowardly mania.” Said the New York Journal. Was there a mad strangler at loose on Second Avenue, or was “Jack the Strangler” the product of sensational journalism?

Kate Scharn.

Kate Scharn.
(New York American, August 20, 1900.)

It had been more than two years since a murder was reported in New York City’s East Side, but on August 20, 1900, the pattern was all too familiar. A young woman was found murdered in her room after 1:00 a.m. No one heard a sound. Her jewelry was stolen. A variety of men were suspected, but with very little evidence against any of them. Kate Scharn was the latest victim of “Jack the Strangler.”

Maggie Crowley.

Maggie Crowley.
(New York Journal, March 16, 1898.)

On March 15, 1898, a woman was found strangled to death in the courtyard of a New York City tenement.  She was the seventh strangulation victim in the area over the previous four years. What made this case different was that even before the victim was identified, the police had a suspect in custody. Some believed he was responsible for all seven murders.

Shortly before 5:00 a.m. Robert Hoey told Policeman Peter Dillman that there was a dead woman in the courtyard at 27 Monroe Street, where he lived. Hoey said he was returning from his job on the docks, unloading the steamer, Gulf Stream. Coming home in the dark, he literally stumbled over an obstruction that turned out to be a woman lying on the ground. He thought she was sleeping and tried to rouse her, but his efforts were in vain.

"Diamond Flossie" Murphy.

"Diamond Flossie" Murphy.
(New York Journal, March 18, 1898.)

Flossie Murphy was a flamboyant character, notorious in the demi-monde of New York City’s Tenderloin. She had a fondness for diamond jewelry, which she wore conspicuously, earning her the nickname, “Diamond Flossie.” With her striking public display of diamonds and gold, Diamond Flossie was an obvious target for the many jewel thieves operating in the area. But when she was found on the floor of her room on April 22, 1897, with a rope tied around her neck and all her jewelry gone, the coroner ignored evidence of theft and murder and ruled her death a suicide.

Diamond Flossie was born Flossie Reilly in Albany, New York, and had come to New York City six years earlier. She lived at 228 W. 24th Street with her common-law husband, Alexander Frederick Murphy, taking his last name. The police knew Diamond Flossie as a woman of the street and a thief. She was arrested in March with her friend Ida Carr for picking the pocket of one William Bishop. When caught, they returned the money, $80, and Bishop withdrew the charge.

She was addicted to opium, and, on the night of her death, Mr. Murphy prepared a pipe for her before going out. The last thing she said before he left was that she was planning to meet the Dutchman at the corner of 27th Street and 7th Avenue.

Hannah Altman.

(New York Evening Journal, March 18, 1898)

Around 1 a.m. on September 2, 1896, Samuel Meyers ran out of the tenement at 202 East 29^th Street, screaming, “Murder! Murder! Police! Police!”

Patrolman Tyler heard his cries and ran to the spot.

“My wife is murdered!” said Meyers, “Somebody has killed my wife. She’s dead.”

Tyler and another officer followed Meyers to a second-floor apartment. The first policeman who entered the bedroom recoiled in horror. In flickering candlelight, he saw the distorted features of a young woman, wearing only a yellow shirtwaist and a chemise, with her head hanging over the edge of the bed. A black stocking was wrapped tightly around her neck and tied under her chin.

Annie Bock.

(New York Journal, August 5, 1896)

Annie Bock and her husband, Jacob, were spending the summer at Rockaway Beach in Queens, New York. On Sunday, August 1, 1896, Annie went back to their flat at 207 E. 21st Street in Manhattan’s East Side to pay their monthly rent. She had $300 in the Dry Dock Savings Bank, and on Monday morning, she withdrew $50 and paid $20 rent. Her plan was to return to Rockaway that afternoon, but instead, she went to Coney Island, possibly accompanied by a man. “At 9:00 she was on 14th Street,” said the New York Journal, “the pavements of which she knew well.”  

Her movements were observed by others who knew the pavements well. Rosa Schwartz saw Annie stop and converse with a man, 5’ 6”, slender, graying hair, wearing a black frock coat and a straw hat. They walked to 3rd Avenue and took a cable car uptown. Hattie Stein and Lillie Field saw them alight from the car on 21st Street and enter No. 207 together. Mamie Freidman saw them leave the house about 20 minutes later. At about 12:30, Mrs. Feltner, who had a view of the entrance to 207 from her window, saw Annie return to the house with another man, of medium build, with a swarthy complexion and a black mustache. This was the last time Annie Bock was seen alive by anyone but her killer.

Mamie Cunningham.

(New York Journal, May 31, 1896.)

On the morning of Memorial Day, May 30, 1896, Mrs. Annie Cunningham had to go to work, while her 13-year-old daughter, Mary (known as Mamie), was home from school for the holiday. Mrs. Cunningham asked Mamie if she planned to go to the parade. Mamie said no, she wasn’t interested, and she planned to do housework and study. At 8:30, Mrs. Cunningham said goodbye to her daughter; it was the last time she saw Mamie alive.

Minnie Weldt.

(New York Evening Journal, March 18, 1898.)

Helen Kahlert, a washerwoman, came home from work at 8:00 on the evening of Wednesday, May 30, 1894. After working all day at a home on Park Avenue in New York City, she climbed the stairs to the humble, second-floor apartment on East 61st Street that she shared with Minnie Weldt. To her surprise, the door was unlocked, and the apartment was dark. Minnie should have been home, but there was no response when Helen called out to her. Helen went into the bedroom and struck a match. She saw Minnie lying on the bed with a handkerchief tied tightly around her throat. Her face was badly discolored, and her eyes were bulging from their sockets. Helen screamed in horror, then rushed from the room down to the street, crying for help.

Jack the Strangler.

(New York Journal, March 18, 1898.)

When the news of London’s 1888 Whitechapel Murders, attributed to “Jack the Ripper,” crossed the Atlantic, Americans were instantly fascinated. The vision of a dark, elusive killer, mutilating women without motive, was morbidly titillating, and the name Jack the Ripper fired the popular imagination. In the nascent age of yellow journalism, no one was more fascinated by Jack the Ripper than newspaper reporters who began seeing Ripper-like murders everywhere they looked.

Sensational murder reporting had been a staple of American newspapers since the 1830s, and multiple murderers (serial killers) were active in America throughout the 19^th-century. But the fear of deranged killers roaming the streets and killing at random was something new. Journalists instinctively saw the value of linking murders to a single killer, and they invariably attributed groups of unsolved murders to some local version of Jack.