The East Liverpool Borgia.

Daniel Van Fossen and his wife hosted a dinner party for their extended family on January 8, 1885, at their home in East Liverpool, Ohio. Fourteen people were in attendance, including members of the Van Fossen, McBane, and Collins families. Coffee and Tea were served after the meal, and almost immediately, the coffee drinkers complained of a burning, bitter sensation in their throats. Soon, they all became violently ill with symptoms of arsenic poisoning. Around midnight that night, six-year-old Allie McBane died after suffering great agony. Soon after, Ann Collins, Mrs. Van Fossen’s 85-year-old mother, succumbed.

Eleven people who drank coffee became ill, while three who drank tea remained unaffected. An examination of the coffee pot revealed a package of “Rough on Rats,” a popular brand of rat poison, at the bottom of the pot. Daniel’s 19-year-old daughter, Annie Van Fossen, was suspected of intentionally poisoning the group. She had prepared the meal and the coffee, and although she drank some coffee, she was not as ill as the rest of the party.

Annie Van Fossen was a bit unstable. She was addicted to laudanum, and three times in the past two years, she had taken so much that she needed her stomach pumped. Some believed these were suicide attempts.

The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette reported a strange trip Annie took two weeks before the poisoning. She went to Bellaire, Ohio, where she met some young men, “without the formality of an introduction.” She told them that on Saturday, her mother had given her $5 to buy groceries, but she didn’t want to stay at home. She slipped down to the Cleveland & Pittsburgh depot and traveled to Bellaire with a brakeman. She remained until Sunday evening, then went to Wheeling ostensibly to see a sister. She returned to Bellaire on Christmas night in company with a drug clerk from Wheeling. They were both drunk and remained out overnight. She told the Bellaire boys that she “was not going home as long as she could keep on the turf.” After the poisoning, they spoke to the press out of fear that they would be somehow connected to the affair.

When Annie Van Fossen was arrested and charged with first-degree murder, she denied committing the crime. The press quickly turned on her, accusing her of malice and calling her “The Coffee Poisoner” and “The East Liverpool Borgia.” After waiving a preliminary hearing and pleading not guilty, Annie was remanded to the county jail in New Lisbon, Ohio, to await trial.

She spent five months in jail, but her cell was quite comfortable on the second floor across from the sheriff’s sitting room. The cell was carpeted and furnished by her friends and appeared more like a parlor than the cell of a murderess.

She was free to associate with the male prisoners and became quite attached to George Hunter, one of the inmates. Hunter was also awaiting trial for murder; he was accused of killing his sweetheart, Gertie Phillips. Annie’s friendship with Hunter blossomed into romance, and the couple vowed to wed if both were acquitted.

The murder trial of Annie Van Fossen began on June 15, 1865, and lasted a week. More than sixty witnesses were summoned. Annie testified that the “Rough on Rats” had accidentally fallen into the coffee pot without her knowledge. The jury accepted her defense and found her not guilty, though many believed her beauty and graceful figure had also worked in her favor.

George Hunter was ecstatic when he learned of Annie’s acquittal. However, he was found guilty of second-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison. Sadly, the wedding never took place.

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Sources: 

“Annie Van Fossen,” The Dayton Herald, February 10, 1885.
“Annie Van Fossen Acquitted,” The Sun, June 22, 1885.
“Annie Von Vossen's Trip,” Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, January 14, 1885.
“East Liverpool Briefs,” The Saturday Review, January 17, 1885.
“A Girl Saved from the Gallows,” The Sentinel, June 23, 1885.
“A Girl's Awful Malice,” Morning Journal and Courier., January 10, 1885.
“Miss Annie Van Fossen, the East Liverpool O, Borgia,” Illustrated Police News, January 24, 1885.
“The Murder of Gertie Phillips,” Stark County Democrat, April 2, 1885.
“Pleaded Not Guilty,” Grand Rapids Eagle, January 12, 1885.
“Telegraphic Sparks,” Plain Dealer, January 9, 1885.
“Two of the Victims of the Poisoning Dead,” Canton Daily Repository., January 12, 1885.
“The Van Fossen Poisoning,” Illinois State Journal., January 12, 1885.

A Horrible Butchery.

Three teenage boys made a shocking discovery in Philadelphia’s East Fairmont Park on December 26, 1888. They were in a secluded area near the reservoir where the Water Department stored pipes. Sitting atop a large steel pipe, one of the boys noticed two coarse gunny sacks inside the three-foot mouth of a nearby pipe. He thought they contained the clothes of a tramp. Another boy took a pocketknife and cut a hole in one of the bags, large enough to see that they contained the remains of a human body. Horrified, they ran to inform the clerk at the reservoir office. 

The police arrived with a patrol wagon and took the bags to the station house. They opened them and found that one bag contained a man’s legs, and the other contained his trunk and head. His hands were tied across his breast with a stout cord. He was wearing three shirts, but his legs were unclothed. The head was crushed as if by a blow from an axe or sharp-cornered club. The left leg had been severed near the trunk with a knife, and the bone sawn through. The right leg was similar, but the bone was partly sawn, then broken.

Beside the body was a page from the Philadelphia Record, dated December 6. On the lower margin was written, “Kohler Kelab, Hoboken Hotel.”  The face was covered with clotted blood, but when washed, the features were plain and apparently those of a light-complexioned man about 30 years old. Chief of Detectives Wood stated that the man had been murdered within the last 48 hours, somewhere near where the body was found.

The discovery caused great excitement in Philadelphia, with the population as anxious as the police to identify the body. The Hoboken clue brought Mrs. Kohler, proprietress of the Hoboken Hotel, to Philadelphia to look at the body. She positively identified the man as a Mr. Kreutzman, who had stopped at the Hotel on December 3 and then left for New York City. Despite the identification, the police continued their investigation.

Antoine Schilling had been missing since Christmas Day, and one of his friends thought a picture in the newspaper resembled Antoine. Six of his friends, including Susan Schroop, the daughter of Schilling’s landlord and business partner, Jacob Schroop,  went to view the body. They all identified the dead man as Antoine Schilling. 

The police visited the home of Jacob Schroop, four miles from where the body was found. They asked what had become of Antoine Schilling, and Schroop said, “I don’t know, he left here Monday night.” In the cellar of the house, police found a bloody axe and saw, as well as evidence that the floor had been cleaned and scrubbed. The police took Jacob to the stationhouse and put his wife and daughter under surveillance. 

Schroop was extremely nervous, and he collapsed on the steps of the stationhouse. He was helped inside, where he denied any knowledge of the murder.

Antoine Schilling boarded with the Schroop family, which consisted of Jacob Schroop, his wife Wilhelmina, and Susan, daughter from a previous marriage. Schilling, 24, and Schroop, 49, were business partners. They ran a small grocery and provisions store, but business was not going well. Early speculation said that Schilling had been murdered for his money, but he only had $80. 

Schroop maintained his innocence until Chief of Detectives Wood visited his cell at midnight on the night of his arrest. Around 2:00, Wood came out saying that Shroop had confessed. Schroop told him that he got up at about 5:00 on Christmas morning and found no food in the cupboard. He accused Schilling of eating all that was left. Schilling denied it, and a fight ensued. Schroop knocked him down and beat him to death with a heavy piece of wood. He left the body in the kitchen until that evening, then took it to the cellar and dismembered it, loading the parts into two bags. The next morning, he carried the bags by wagon to the park.

The police were happy to have a confession but did not believe Shroop’s account of the crime. They viewed the murder as a conspiracy involving the whole Schroop family, and it was beginning to break down. Wilhelmina Shcroop was prostrated with grief over the arrest of her husband, so much so that she had to be hospitalized. Under oath, in the presence of her father, Susan Schroop told the police that a few weeks earlier, her mother had begged her to put poison in Schilling’s coffee and became very angry when Susan refused. Her father denied this.

“You know I am telling the truth,” she said to him, “and you ought to be ashamed of yourself to ask me to lie.”

“Your stepmother is innocent,” said Schroop.

“That is not true,” she replied, “Oh, father, if you had never met that bad woman, you would never have killed this man. She has been your ruin.”

On the witness stand at the inquest, Wilhelmina denied any knowledge of the murder. As the coroner read Susan’s sworn statement, Wilhelmina exclaimed, “Oh! My God, such a lie; such a lie. Terrible, terrible! That girl’s down on me; she’s down on me, and that’s why she lies so.”

Other witnesses revealed more dirt on the family. Rosa Hatrick, landlady of Wilhelmina and Jacob before they were married, said that Wilhelmina, who was Mrs. Richter at the time, had left her husband and married Jacob while Mr. Richter was still alive. Special Officer Henry testified that Susan told him that her father wanted her to marry Schilling and then poison him. Owen McCaffery, their current landlord, testified that Jacob had ill-treated his daughter and that Wilhelmina had once told him that Schilling was her brother.

The coroner’s jury charged Jacob Schroop with the murder of Antoine Schilling and Wilhelmina (whom they now called Mrs. Richter) as an accessory before the fact. The crowd around the courthouse was so thick that several policemen had to clear a path to the patrol wagon that took them to jail.

Jacob Schroop was tried and easily convicted of murder in March 1889. He was sentenced to hang. The grand jury indicted Wilhelmina, but her attorney asked for a test of her mental condition to determine if she was fit for trial. She was examined by the prison physician and the prison agent, who determined she was of unsound mind. The Judge committed her to the Eastern Hospital for the Insane.

On February 20, 1890, at a double execution in Moyamensing Prison, Jacob Schoop was hanged on the same gallows with Thomas J. Cole, who murdered his roommate. Both men died quickly.

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Sources: 

“Accused by Their Daughter,” Chicago Daily News., January 3, 1889.
“Confessed He Murdered Schilling,” Kingston Daily Freeman., December 31, 1888.
“Doomed to the Gallows,” Sunday Inter Ocean, March 3, 1889.
“Foully Slain for $80,” Daily Inter Ocean, January 1, 1889.
“A Horrible Butchery,” Philadelphia Inquirer, December 27, 1888.
“A Human Body in a Water Main,” Illustrated Police News, January 12, 1889.
“Is it Kreutzman?,” Philadelphia Inquirer, December 29, 1888.
“Last Sunday On Earth,” Philadelphia Inquirer, February 17, 1890.
“Mrs. Schoop Adjudged Insane,” New-York Tribune, June 25, 1889.
“Mrs. Schoop indicted for Murder,” Philadelphia Inquirer, March 15, 1889.
“The Murder Rehearsed ,” Philadelphia Inquirer, January 9, 1889.
“The Mystery Solved,” Chicago Daily News., December 31, 1888.
“The Noose,” Evening World, February 20, 1890.
“Park Mystery Solved Important,” Philadelphia Inquirer, December 31, 1888.
“The Philadelphia Murder,” Evening Post, December 31, 1888.
“The Philadelphia Murder,” Cleveland Leader and Morning Herald., January 3, 1889.
“The Philadelphia Murder,” Daily Evening Bulletin, January 16, 1889.
“That Bad Woman,” Daily Saratogian, January 4, 1889.
“Two Executed on One Gallows,” New York Herald, February 21, 1890.

The Walworth Parricide, in New York.

 Read the full story here: The Walworth Patricide.

Shot by a Prodigal Son.

Foully slain by his scapegrace son -- Emanuel Breist meets a terrible fate at Kikngerstown, Pa.

Emanuel Breist was one of the wealthiest farmers in Mahantongo Valley, Pennsylvania. He had four daughters and one son. In 1880, Breist fought with his 17-year-old son, Henry, and as a result, Henry ran away from home.

The family heard nothing from Henry for four years; then, on December 4, 1884, the prodigal son returned. The hatchet was buried, the fences were mended, and Emanuel welcomed his son with open arms. He was so happy to have his son back that he gave Henry all the money he asked for.

Henry, however, had not changed his prodigal ways. He spent his father’s money on wild women, and he became notorious around Klingerstown for drunkenness and dissipation. Henry became intimate with Mary Heckman, the wife of William Heckman, proprietor of the Klingers Gap Tavern. The Heckmans had always borne a bad reputation.  Mary Heckmen was described as “34 years of age and very ugly.”  William, apparently, had no problem with his wife’s dalliance with young Henry.

When reports of this relationship reached Emanuel, he was livid. He told his son to have nothing more to do with Mrs. Heckman. Henry agreed, but later that evening, he and Mary Heckman went on a sleigh ride and came home intoxicated. Emanuel drove his son out of the house. After some friends intervened and Henry solemnly vowed to cease intimacy with Mrs. Heckaman, Emanuel relented and let Henry back in.

On December 29, Emanuel’s son-in-law, Isaac Mock, told him that Henry and Mrs. Heckman were enjoying themselves at the Klingers Gap Tavern. Emanuel did not believe him, so Isaac took him to the tavern. William Heckman told them that Henry was not there, but Emanuel pushed his way into the back room. There, he found his son and Mrs. Heckman sitting at a table with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

“This is no place for you,” Emanuel said to Henry, “Go home.”

“I guess I know what is good for myself. I’m old enough now,” Henry replied and burst out laughing.

Enraged, Emanuel struck a sharp blow across his face. He was ready to strike again when Henry drew a revolver and shot his father, point blank, in his right side. The old man fell to the floor. Henry dropped the pistol and fled the scene.

Emanuel Breist died at 11:00 the following morning. The search for Henry proved fruitless; he was never apprehended.

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Source: 

“A Fatal Infatuation,” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, December 31, 1884.
“Killed by His Rake of a Son,” Illustrated Police News, January 17, 1885.
“Killed His Father,” Wilkes-Barre Times Leader, the Evening News, January 1, 1885.
“Killing His Father In A Tavern,” New-York Tribune., December 31, 1884.
“A Rake Kills His Father,” New York Herald, December 31, 1884.
“Shost by a Prodigal Son,” Alexandria Gazette, December 31, 1884.

The Montville Tragedy.

On Saturday, January 25, 1879, George Rowell returned home to Montville, Maine, from a trip to Bath, eighteen miles away. He lived in the house owned by John and Salina McFarland, a married couple in their seventies. Rowell, 40, married their son’s widowed wife, Abby, who had a 14-year-daughter, Cora McFarland. She also had an infant son with Rowell. All six lived together in the Montville farmhouse.

George W. Rowell.

Rowell was a big, muscular man weighing over two hundred pounds. Due to his erratic behavior, he was viewed as somewhat insane, but he was generally quiet and considered harmless. Tired from his trip, Rowell went to bed about 6:00 that evening. A short time later, he got up and went into the room where the family was sitting.

“Why, George,” said Abby, “what are you up for?”

“I do not like to sleep alone,” said George, “I want a woman with me.”

He grabbed Cora then and tried to carry the struggling young girl into the bedroom. He told her to be quiet, he wouldn’t hurt her and said their child would be an angel. Rowell carried her into the bedroom, but John McFarland put his foot in the door to prevent it from closing. Rowell dropped Cora, knocked down McFarland, and went for his rifle. Abby and Cora grabbed the baby and ran outside to the house of a neighbor, Alonzo Raynes. John and Salina McFarland followed them.

Mattie Collins.

Mattie Collins lived with her mother in a large farmhouse in Buckner, Missouri, about 9 miles from Kansas City.  Also living in the house were her brother, Davis “Doc” Collins, and her sister and brother-in-law, the Darks, with their four children. 

Twenty-year-old Mattie was described as beautiful, intelligent and talented. In February 1879, she was engaged to marry John Bast. Some in Buckner believed Bast was an average young man who would make a good husband, while others thought he was a ne’er-do-well. Mattie’s family was in the latter camp and did not approve of the engagement.

On the night of February 8, 1879, Bast came calling and Mattie’s brother-in-law, Jonathan Dark, met him at the door. He would not let Bast in the house and told him he must cease his visits. Mattie was livid. She spent the rest of the night berating Dark, her anger becoming increasingly fierce.

The next morning, she was still angry. She went into a fit of rage, smashing windows and threatening Dark with an axe. Her mother was alarmed and sent for Deputy Constable James M. Adams. Mattie left the house for a while. When she returned, she was still angry but seemed more subdued. Constable Adams believed the danger was over and left the house.

When Adams was gone, Mattie approached Jonathan Dark.

“I have you now,” she said, drawing a pistol from her pocket. She fired, hitting Dark in the right breast. He fell to the floor.

The Murderer's Attack on His Mother.

Frank Gouldy was a wild and restless young man. Unable to hold a job, he lived in idleness and dissipation in his father’s house. He was sometimes pleasant to his brothers and sisters but more often morose and vengeful, with an uncontrollable temper.

Frank came home at about ten o’clock on October 26, 1858, and his father reprimanded him about money he had taken. Frank responded with “a low chuckling laugh, full of moaning and fiendish wickedness.” He entered his stepmother's room, and as she lay in bed, he hit her several times on the head with a dull hatchet. She rose up, trying to ward off the blows, then fell to the floor. He continued his violent spree, leaving three family members wounded and one servant dead.

Read the full story here: The Thirtieth Street Murder.

Pantomime Witness.

 

4-year-old Rosa Lochner witnessed her mother’s murder, but Rosa had been deaf since birth, so no one believed she could provide any information. However, after she regained composure, she gave a detailed account in pantomime: mamma rocked the baby to sleep, then Papa woke her up, pointed a revolver at her head, and fired; mamma fell dead on the floor, papa took off her rings, then fled.

Read the full story here: A Murder in Pantomime.

"Give Me Back My Children."

Margaret Howard learned too late that the man she married was a violent, two-timing gambler. After they separated, he kidnapped their children to be raised by another woman posing as his wife. Margaret snapped and took her revenge on the false Mrs. Howard.  

Read the full story here: Margaret Howard.

A Fatal Frolic.

James L. Daniels returned to Hillman, Alabama, from a trip to Birmingham, the night of December 26, 1890. While he was there, he purchased a hideous mask and thought it would be a good joke to put on the mask and frighten the family of his brother-in-law, Joe Tarpley. He knocked on their door and Tarpley answered. Not knowing it was Daniels, Tarpley told the masked man to go away. Instead, Daniels barged into the house. Thinking his home was invaded by a masked burglar, Tarpley grabbed his Winchester rifle and shot his brother-in-law dead. Daniels left behind a wife, who was Tarpley’s sister, and five children.

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Sources: 

“A Fatal Frolic,” National Police Gazette, January 17, 1891.
“Fate of a Practical Joker,” Aberdeen Weekly News, February 20, 1891.
“State News,” Blount County News-Dispatch, January 1, 1891.

A Murderer Murdered.

Charles Jefferds shot and killed his stepfather John Walton, in New York City, the night of June 30, 1860. He also killed John Mathews, who chased him after Walton’s murder. Jefferds was acquitted of killing Walton due to lack of evidence. 

Jefferds later bragged that his mother paid him to murder Walton. He correctly assumed he could not be retried for Walton’s murder, but Jefferds forgot he had also killed Mathews. His confession to Walton’s murder provided enough evidence to convict him of Mathew's murder.

Charles Jefferds was sentenced to hang. But as he awaited execution, Jefferds made some enemies in Sing Sing Prison, and one of them, who had been chopping wood in the prison yard, turned his axe on Jefferds and killed him.

Read the full story here: The Walton-Matthews Tragedy.

The Murdered Congressman.

The Honorable Cornelius S. Hamilton was the Congressional Representative of the Eighth District of Ohio. In December 1867, he received word that his son Thomas was in a bad way, so the Congressman hurried back from Washinton, DC, to his home in Marysville, Ohio.

18-year-old Thomas Hamilton had been experiencing some mental problems—“mild insanity,” the newspapers said, “such as would only be readily detected by medical men.” But recently, Thomas had been exceedingly melancholy, prompting his teacher to take Thomas to Columbus to be examined by his uncle, Dr. J.W. Hamilton. After meeting with his nephew, Dr. Hamilton advised his brother and the teacher to watch Thomas closely. The diagnosis prompted the Congressman’s return. 

The Dansville Poisoning Case.

David J. Wood and his wife Rhoda lived happily in Dansville, New York until David's younger brother Isaac came to live with them. In 1855, David died of a mysterious illness. Rhoda died the same way a few days later, and Isaac took control of their estate. When the coroner determined that the Woods died of arsenic poisoning, Isaac was arrested and convicted of Rhoda's murder.

The newspapers called Isaac L. Wood's hanging in 1858 a "theatrical execution." Sixty witnesses viewed the hanging inside the Genesee jail, while 500 spectators waited outside. Two military companies maintained order, and a band was playing. Wood's long-winded, self-righteous last words added to the drama.

Read the full story here:

A Theatrical Execution.

An Affair of Blood and Mystery.

Mrs. Amelia Berry (or Berri) was a German widow living in Jefferson City, Missouri. In 1864, her husband died, leaving her a sizable estate, including a drug store with a residence on the upper floors. Her brother, Edward Hofius, lived in California until 1870, when Amelia invited him to return to Jefferson City and reside with her. Mary Clarenbach, a niece of Amelia and Edward, also lived in the large house.

Around 8:00, the night of Sunday, June 11, 1871, neighbors heard gunshots from the drug store. They went inside and found Amelia Berry lying on the floor, mortally wounded. On the floor above, they found Edward, insensible, with a bullet through his brain. The room was in disarray, and some of the furniture was broken. Edward died soon after, and Amelia died around 11:00 the following night. 

Phrenological Character of Reuben Dunbar.

Reuben Dunbar murdered his two young stepbrothers to protect his inheritance. The root cause of his problem, said phrenologists in 1851, was the shape and size of his head. He had “an unfortunate organization” in which his moral faculties were not sufficiently large to balance his animal propensities.

Read the full story here:  An Unfortunate Organization.

Tragedy on 30th Street.

Residents of West 30th Street, New York City, were startled on the night of October 26, 1858, when a servant ran from the house in her nightclothes, screaming, “Help! Help! Oh, my God! Frank is murdering the whole family. Rouse the neighbors!”

Read the full story here: The Thirtieth Street Murder.

A Deathbed Marriage.

Frank and Charles Zabel lived with their widowed mother in Reading, Pennsylvania. Though in modest circumstances, the family lived happily together. Everything changed on June 5, 1886, when 18-year-old Frank Zabel, for reasons never made clear, fired three shots into his brother’s chest then attempted suicide by desperately wounding himself.

Both brothers were in critical condition, but it was soon apparent that Charles would not survive. Charles was engaged to Salome Reeser; the marriage was to occur a few weeks later. As Charles lay on his deathbed, the couple decided to marry immediately. Rev. Dr. J.J. Kuendig, pastor of St. John’s Lutheran Church, came to the house, and as Salome stood sobbing by the bed, he performed the service. Charles died the following afternoon, leaving both his mother and his bride prostrate with grief so severe that they both required the care of a physician.

The coroner’s inquest charged Frank Zabel with the murder of his brother Charles. Frank was still bedridden, so the police put the house under surveillance until he was well enough for prison. The only explanation the family could provide for Frank’s behavior was that, on the day of the murder, Frank had taken an overdose of a drug used for dyspepsia, which affected his mind, causing him to commit murder and attempt suicide.

The district attorney sent the drug to be analyzed by a chemist to see if the claim was justified. The result of the analysis was not strong enough for him to drop the murder charge against Frank Zabel, but when the case went before a jury the following March, Zabel was acquitted on the grounds of insanity.

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Sources: 

“Berks County Murder Cases,” Patriot, December 11, 1886.
“Current Events,” Daily Gazette, June 7, 1886.
“In General,” Delaware gazette and state journal, March 31, 1887.
“Married and Died,” Plain Dealer, June 7, 1886.
“Married on his Death Bed,” National Police Gazette, June 26, 1886.
“News Summary,” Delaware Republican, June 8, 1886.
“The Zabel Tragedy,” Patriot, June 8, 1886.

Concealing his Bloody Work.

In April 1866, Antoine Probst murdered eight men, women, and children with an axe and a hammer, on the Deering farm outside of Philadelphia. He arranged the bodies in straight rows and covered them with hay.

Read the full story here: Horror!

The Wife's Lament.

In 1870, Peter Kenney and Richard O’Keefe opened a liquor store and barroom on the corner of B and 4th Streets in South Boston. Kenney was married to O’Keefe’s sister who owned the building. The Kenney’s lived on the second floor and in 1872, O’Keefe boarded with them.

The business was doing well, and the two men got along until O’Keefe moved in. That winter they frequently argued over the way Kenney was treating O’Keefe’s sister. Kenney was a quiet man when sober, but aggressive when drunk, which became increasingly frequent. The arguments sometimes turned violent with punches thrown and bottles broken. Kenney ordered O’Keefe out of the house. O’Keefe refused to leave, and his sister took his side. O’Keefe remained but the two men barely spoke to each other.

At dinner on May 2, 1872, O’Keefe asked Kenney about the store. Kenney had been drinking heavily for several days and O’Keefe worried that it would hurt their sales. Kenney told him to mind his own business, but since the store was O’Keefe’s business, the argument escalated. When the subject of Kenney’s cruel treatment of his wife arose again, Kenney jump up and said, “Come down to the green and we will settle this matter.” Mrs. Kenney interceded then and separated them. 

Around 8:00 that night, as Kenney was waiting on a customer and O’Keefe came to the barroom door and looked in. When Kenney was through with the customer, he went outside, and the argument started up again on the sidewalk. A scuffle ensued, they clinched and fell to the ground. O’Keefe pulled a jackknife from his pocket and stabbed Kenney in the neck. Kenney exclaimed, “I am killed.” O’Keefe took off down the alley. 

Kenney managed to raise himself from the sidewalk and staggered into the store with blood streaming from his neck. Medical aid was summoned, but O’Keefe had severed Kenney’s jugular vein and he died before the doctors arrived. His wife bent over him, frantically imploring him to speak to her. “Who did this?” she asked, “What did Peter do that they should kill him.” She continued to lament over her husband’s body until someone removed her to a neighboring house.

O’Keefe entered the house through the backdoor, ran upstairs, and changed his clothes. He went back out through the barroom door where officers Dudley and Johnson were waiting for him. At the police station, O’Keefe confessed to the stabbing. The police searched his room and found the knife in his pants pocket. It was just a small penknife with a 3-inch blade, but it was long enough to kill.

Richard O’Keefe was indicted for manslaughter. 

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Sources: 

“Affairs About Home,” Boston Herald, May 11, 1872.
“Committed for Trial,” Fall River Daily Evening News, May 3, 1872.
“Murder of Peter Kenny by Richard O'Keefe,” Illustrated Police News, May 9, 1872.
“The South Boston Murder,” Boston Evening Transcript, May 6, 1872.
“Terrible Murder in South Boston,” Boston Herald, May 3, 1872.

Very Pathetic and Truly Remarkable.

In the autumn of 1882, in Uniontown, Pennsylvania, Nicholas L. Dukes learned that his fiancée, Lizzie Nutt, had been intimate with other men. Dukes broke his engagement to Lizzie in a letter to her father, Captain A.C. Nutt, accusing Lizzie of promiscuity. Grievously insulted, Captain Nutt confronted Dukes setting off a family feud that resulted in two murders and two controversial trial verdicts.

Read the full story here: A Matter of Honor.