Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 18, No. 3, September 18, 1926

All New York was puzzled, and the police were baffled, while one of the strangest of torture devices was practiced

In the month of February, 1880, there was not a man in New York City who stood in higher esteem or acknowledged fewer enemies than the Rev. Dr. Morgan Dix, rector of Trinity Church. Yet he was singled out for an apparently aimless persecution, which was carried on with such malicious ingenuity that the venerable clergyman was reduced to despair and the police were at their wits’ ends before a happy suggestion enabled them to lay hands upon “Gentleman Joe.”

To this day those who were instrumental in the capture of this scoundrel are uncertain whether his extraordinary ingenuity in harassing Dr. Dix was a madman’s prank or whether it was part of a deep design to extort money. He was convicted of attempt to blackmail and sentenced to serve a term in Sing Sing, where he died.

Yet, from the manner of his persecution, it appeared that money was not the main object he had at heart. In carrying on his campaign against the rector he spent considerable sums and involved himself in almost as much annoyance as his victim; blackmail alone could have been sought with a minimum of labor and of the publicity which his behavior brought about.

In the month of February, 1880, almost every large manufacturing concern in the West received a postal card, purporting to come from Dr. Dix, stating that the writer desired to make large purchases for the supply of certain charitable institutions under his control, and requesting the fullest information regarding prices.

During the same month all the principal boarding schools and female seminaries in America received letters, signed with the rector’s name, asking terms with a view to the placing of three little girls with them.

During the ensuing week hundreds of letters and circulars, together with samples of dry goods, were delivered at the rectory; communications were received from innumerable boarding schools, offering special terms with a view to securing the wards of the distinguished clergyman. Members of faculties, educators and commercial travelers called hourly at Dr. Dix’s home in order to expatiate upon the advantages of their various institutions or firms.

A Method of Torture

Agents traveled from many Western towns and college instructors came from all over the country in order to set forth the advantages of contracting for their goods or putting the little girls to school in the seminaries which they represented, and Dr. Dix was kept busily explaining that a hoax had been perpetrated.

The matter soon became public and the police took up the matter. It was found that all these communications were in the same handwriting, and that the sender had even procured paper engraved with the address of the rector.

It was thought that some clew to his identity might be obtained through the medium of the engraver, but the hoaxer had covered his tracks thoroughly. The order had been received through a messenger boy, and another boy had called and paid the bill. Neither of these boys could be located.

A week or so later, when the matter was beginning to fall into oblivion, several bishops and a number of the leading clergymen of the Episcopal Church received letters, apparently from Dr. Dix, demanding to be informed why his letters had been ignored. As a result Dr. Dix began to be the recipient of numerous replies, some apologetic, some angry, and all insisting that no previous communication had come.

This necessitated an immense amount of correspondence on the rector’s part, and he had just begun to complete his task of explaining that no such communication had ever been sent out by him when circulars, letters, and agents from the various Bible societies began to arrive at the rectory in response to postal cards requesting information as to the price of books for Trinity Sunday school.

The amusing feature of these communications was that, although the fullest publicity had been given to these various hoaxes, the communications were so artfully worded, reference being made to the hoaxes that had previously occurred and assurance being given that these letters were genuine, that the recipients were always deceived.

On February 21 the rector’s tormentor sent him his first communication. It took the form of a postal card, which briefly informed Dr. Dix that on the following Monday he would receive visits from the “old clothes ladies” of Chatham and Baxter Streets, who would be prepared to take his wife’s wardrobe off his hands for a fair price.

Sure enough, while the rector was concluding his breakfast a rickety wagon, drawn by a broken-down horse, rattled up to his door. From the seat descended a fat and stately woman, who climbed laboriously up the steps. Dr. Dix himself opened the door and informed her that this was a hoax.

Competition Among the Ladies

But the story had not penetrated into the recesses of the East Side, and the prospective purchaser saw in this statement of the rector merely a device to obtain a higher price.

“Trade with me once,” said the matron, “and you buys from nobody again.”

“But, madam, I assure you that I have no clothes to sell,” persisted Dr. Dix.

“I gives you money down,” answered the woman, producing a roll of dirty bills, evidently to tempt the rector into immediate acceptance of her terms.

Just at that moment a second cart rattled up to the door and a second matron leaped from the seat and ran nimbly up the steps. “Don’t you buy from that woman,” she cried. “I gives the best price in the market.”

Dr. Dix retreated into his home just in time to escape the ominous rattle of another creaky cart. Soon a congregation of old clothes dealers was assembled upon his doorstep, pulling the bell from time to time, and wrangling and quarreling over the privilege of purchasing the wardrobe of the rector’s wife.

The presence of this throng soon attracted the attention of the street urchins, and the neighbors also began to manifest a considerable interest in these doings. After plainly attempting to force an entrance the women retreated to the lower steps and placidly sat down, evidently determined to starve out the unfortunate gentleman within.

Victime Who Won’t Believe

As none of them evinced any desire to leave, and the number had increased by noon to twenty-eight, not to speak of the innumerable children, Dr. Dix finally telephoned to police headquarters, and a squad of officers was sent to disperse the besiegers — a task which was not accomplished without considerable difficulty.

The last of the carts had finally rattled away and Dr. Dix was beginning to congratulate himself upon his freedom when a carriage whirled swiftly around the corner from Fifth Avenue and stopped before the rectory, and one of the chief physicians of the city alighted and ran up the steps.

When he was admitted he told Dr. Dix that he had been summoned in urgent haste by a messenger, who stated that the rector had suffered an epileptic fit and was in a dying condition.

While he was still explaining and receiving the rector’s explanation two other carriages came racing up and two more physicians came running up the steps. They had received similar notifications. Before this affair had terminated some twenty-five or thirty doctors had called at the rectory, each ready to have the honor of saving the doctor’s life.

On the next day Dr. Dix received a letter from his persecutor in which he stated that he had witnessed these various spectacles from the window of his apartment with great amusement, and suggested that Dr. Dix would have found the old clothes women more agreeable if he had had the forethought to order out the fire engines to play a stream of cologne upon them.

The police at once began a systematic search of all houses that commanded a view of Dr. Dix’s residence, and a complete census of their inhabitants was taken, but without the slightest success. On the same afternoon the shoemakers of the city began to visit the rectory in troops; each of them had received a request to come for the purpose of measuring some children for shoes.

But this was not all, for a peculiarly distressing incident was the appearance of some fifty or sixty men and women who, having advertised for employment, had received communications upon the Trinity Rectory notepaper requesting them to call during that afternoon and evening. These people were very persistent, and many of them refused to believe that the letters they had received were really hoaxes.

The Joker Tires

Dr. Dix received a letter from his tormentor on the following day in which he said that he had been one of those who had applied for aid, and he congratulated the rector upon the courtesy and consideration which he had shown toward him.

Dr. Dix had two days’ respite now, and then the various dry goods stores began to receive letters in which they were informed that their impudent communications had been received, and that they had been turned over to the rector’s lawyers, who would proceed against them. These firms made haste to disclaim the writing of any such letters, only to learn that no such letters had been written to them.

On that or the following evening many prominent clergymen of the city received invitations to dine with Dr. Dix, to meet the bishops of York and Exeter, and arrived at the rectory only to find their invitations were also a hoax.

The joker seemed at this juncture to have tired of his game, for he turned his attention from Dr. Dix to several of the prominent members of churches, to each of whom he sent a communication from some well known liquor dealer threatening prosecution unless he paid for the liquors which he had purchased.

The recipients were naturally incensed, and many turned these communications over to their lawyers before the truth was learned. But it was this incident which seemed to show that the writer was rather engaging in these pranks for his own amusement than out of any desire to levy blackmail.

His Most Daring Coup

However, he soon disclosed another purpose, for he sent a letter to Dr. Dix informing him that all further persecution would cease upon the payment of one thousand dollars. Dr. Dix was instructed that, in the event of his accepting this proposition, he should insert a communication in the personal column of the New York Herald, addressed to “Gentleman Joe,” saying “All right.”

By the advice of the police Dr. Dix did so, but on the following day “Gentleman Joe” was made the recipient of three personal notifications in this column. Whether he had inserted two of them himself, or whether two came from other victims was never determined, but at any rate no response was elicited, and the scoundrel now gave the rector a couple of weeks’ respite.

The persecution began again upon St. Patrick’s Day, when Dr. Dix received a letter demanding the sum of one thousand, five hundred dollars, enclosing a name and address to which the money was to be sent. No notice was taken of this communication, and on the day which “Gentleman Joe” had mentioned in his communication, a member of a well-known firm of lawyers arrived at the rectory, having received a letter purporting to come from Mrs. Dix stating that she desired to consult with them regarding a divorce.

Other lawyers called during the day on the same errand; besides these there came an agent of a steamship line, carrying with him two tickets to Havana, and a number of persons who had advertised offering rewards for lost or stolen property, and had received notice to call at the rectory and bring their rewards with them.

One of these callers had advertised a reward of one hundred dollars for the return of two thousand dollar bonds, and, not being aware that the house in question was the residence of Dr. Dix, had brought a private detective with him.

The arrangement was that, if the bonds were turned over, the gentleman was to leave the house scratching his leg, whereupon the private detective, who was stationed in the street opposite, was to rush in and arrest the man who had received the reward. All these callers felt particularly foolish at having been made the victims of a prank that had been so extensively advertised in the newspapers.

On the following afternoon Mrs. Dix received a pair of soiled stockings, with the intimation that a new pair would be placed at her disposal when these had been sufficiently worn.

“Gentleman Joe” having apparently exhausted his resources in providing himself with amusement, now achieved his most daring coup. About ten o’clock one morning, shortly after the last of these occurrences, the rectory bell was violently rung, and the servant who opened the door was confronted by a determined-looking man carrying a cane.

“You Infernal Liar!”

“Is Dr. Dix at home?” he demanded sharply.

“Yes, sir,” replied the servant, surmising that her master’s visitor was probably the victim of another hoax. “What do you wish to see him about?”

“It’s none of your business what I want to see him about,” the visitor returned. “Tell him to come down immediately.”

The girl fled in affright and informed her master, who descended the stairs and approached his visitor with his customary urbanity.

“What can I do for you, sir?” the rector asked.

The stranger looked the rector over from head to foot and then burst out into a torrent of profanity and abuse.

“You sanctimonious old rascal, you make a fine minister of the Gospel!” he exclaimed, threateningly. “Don’t you dare to open your mouth until I’m through with you, or I’ll call an undertaker.”

“My dear sir, what is the matter?” inquired Dr. Dix.

“Matter?” shouted the stranger. “Do you mean to say you don’t know what the matter is, you infernal liar? Now I tell you what I mean to do with you. I ought to take you out into the street and cane you in the presence of the public, but I’m going to be lenient and thrash you in your own house instead. Don’t you dare to yell for help or it will go all the worse with you.”

A Threat of a Thrashing

“May I inquire why you propose to thrash me?” demanded the rector.

The stranger, who had already grasped the clergyman by the collar and raised his cane in a threatening manner, stared at him and released him.

“Well I’m damned!” he exclaimed. “If you don’t win the prize for nerve! I’m going to thrash you for writing that letter to my wife, you scoundrel.” And he pulled a letter from his pocket and thrust it under the rector’s nose.

“I’ll teach you to make an appointment with a respectable married woman and call my wife your ‘darling Annie,’ when you never spoke to her in your life! I’m going to give you such a thrashing that you will wish you had died before you had ever been born.”

“I never wrote a letter to your wife,” the rector exclaimed.

“You damned liar, there’s your name to it,” shouted the man.

“It’s a forgery!”

“Oh, it is, eh?” the visitor sneered. “Well, I tell you what I’ll do. Get some of your own handwriting and compare it with this signature.”

“I will do so at once,” said the rector. “I am just finishing a sermon and can show you the very manuscript.” And he started for the stairs.

“Come back here!” cried the other. “You’ve got some dodge to get a revolver or escape along the roof! You can’t play any of those tricks on me, you rascal. You and I will go upstairs together.”

The clergyman and his visitor accordingly mounted the stairs side by side and entered Dr. Dix’s study, where it was readily seen that there was no resemblance between the rector’s writing and that of the letter.

The stranger seemed taken aback at first, but quickly recovered himself, and, muttering something about a disguised hand, threatened to put the matter into the hands of his lawyer, saying which he departed downstairs and left the house.

On the next morning the rector received another communication from “Gentleman Joe,” in which he stated that he was the visitor of the day before, that he had greatly enjoyed his call, and hoped the doctor had recovered from his fright.

It now became evident that stringent methods would have to be taken to protect the rector against any further persecution of this character. In spite of all the annoyance that “Gentleman Joe” had caused, there was only one thing which could afford grounds for criminal proceedings, and that was the fact that the persecutor had written a letter threatening to make certain scandalous charges against the rector through the medium of the press.

Who Laughs Last

Strange as it may seem, he had not technically violated any law in any of his other actions. But this new act enabled the police to invoke the aid of the post office for the discovery of his identity. Detectives were accordingly posted to watch every letter box and branch post office in New York City, being provided with keys and with samples of “Gentleman Joe’s” handwriting.

Throughout several days these men stood at a short distance from the letter boxes, and every time that a letter was mailed the letter box was at once opened and the handwriting examined. This went on for a week, detectives being withdrawn from practically every branch of the police service, but “Gentleman Joe” did not make use of the mails.

And now came a singular piece of chance which enabled the police to run down the scoundrel. All the clergymen in the city had been personally consulted upon the matter without being able to throw the slightest light upon the subject.

One of them, however, belonging to a different denomination, happened to mention casually that a few days previously he had seen in the city a man calling himself Williamson, who had once been a teacher in Trinity Church Sunday school, and had been dismissed by the trustees on account of degrading conduct.

This seemed to supply a possible motive, and the detectives were not willing to let even so remote a possibility of discovering the culprit escape them. It happens that every person who writes to the post office desiring to have his address changed has had his handwriting filed by the department, and, since almost every one at some time or other changes his residence, the writing of practically every citizen of New York City is thus placed on file at the post office.

The superintendent at once began to investigate his books in order to ascertain whether Williamson’s peculiarly neat handwriting was to be found. Surely enough, a postal card was discovered in the same handwriting as “Gentleman Joe’s,” but signed by Williamson, and requesting that his correspondence should be forwarded to the Windsor Hotel.

The detectives hurried to the Windsor Hotel and found that Williamson had registered there on February 17, and had that day left for Baltimore, instructing the clerk to forward all his letters to Barnum’s Hotel in that city. The detectives hurried south upon the trail and traced the man from one place to another, until finally they arrested Williamson in a Baltimore boarding house.

Williamson was brought back to New York and placed upon trial on the charge of blackmail. He pleaded guilty, admitted that he was the author of all the trouble, but declared that his only motive was the desire to have some fun at the expense of the rector.

Investigation of Williamson’s antecedents revealed the fact that he suffered from a peculiar form of abnormal mentality which led him to the commission of acts having as their end the obtaining of notoriety. He had devoted many years of his life to the commission of petty crimes, wholly unprofitable — in fact the total sum of his thefts would not have paid a single week’s board bill — but causing trouble to his victims.

He had traveled extensively abroad, and had served a year’s imprisonment in London for having committed a series of offenses there precisely similar to those in New York, having sent out false invitations and business propositions in the name of a prominent financier, hiring a room opposite his house in order to witness the fun. He had also lived in Turkey and entered into all the customs and vices of Oriental life.

The only misdemeanors in America that were brought home to him were the theft of small articles of little value from a stationer’s shop on Broadway, whose proprietor was an intimate friend of his, and the swindling of jewelry firms out of small sums of money.

Williamson had written a quantity of poetry, and was the author of a play which had met with favorable comment, although it was subsequently alleged that this was the work of a nun in a convent in New Orleans. His death in Sing Sing, while he was serving the term of his sentence, removed the most dangerous practical joker since the days of Theodore Hook.