We Is Got Him

by Carrie Hagen

  Through the 1870s, police officers could claim part or all of any reward offered for resolving an unsolved crime. So if that police detective also worked as a private detective, he could earn two rewards for one case: as a thief catcher, he could track down a thief, negotiate a price for stolen merchandise, and collect his “finder’s fee” from the victim; he could then put on his uniform as a police officer, provide details about the criminal, and collect any reward that may have been offered to the public for information leading to an arrest. The arrangement, well known to the public, caused plenty of ethical dilemmas by fueling competition between investigators both on the force and off. Editorials complained about compromised officers, but authorities turned a blind eye to the practice, and in so doing, condoned it.

  In order to be a good thief catcher, Taggart had to protect certain informants—otherwise, they would fear arrest and refuse him information. Yet in order to claim reward money and maintain a relationship with the police, he had to assist in making arrests. For a number of years, Taggart had balanced his relationships with cops and criminals very, very well.

  For the last two weeks, Taggart had moved from tavern to clapboard house, picking up undertones of gossip. Somewhere along these muddy streets lurked a man whom he believed could identify the kidnappers. The police trusted the detective’s instincts and gave him access to the ransom letters already delivered to Christian Ross. On July 17, Taggart approached a known hangout for crooks—the southwest corner of Fifth and Spruce Streets—without drawing any attention. And then he arrested Christopher Wooster.

  For the past twenty years, the authorities had known Wooster, sometimes as Christopher Wooster, sometimes as “Frank Wistar,” and sometimes as “Christian Worcester.” They knew him most, however, as a con artist. With his criminal pal “Button Joe,” he had operated brothels, swindled banks, blackmailed businessmen, and robbed a reverend. Wooster’s tall, thin silhouette blended in with the other nighttime shadows that haunted the streets. At the time of his arrest, he had a black eye and a thick, rough beard that failed to fill his sunken cheeks or detract from his oddly shaped nose. Recently, he had been released from Moyamensing Prison in South Philadelphia, for blackmail.

  The Inquirer asked the assistant city solicitor what punishment awaited Christopher Wooster if he was guilty of complicity. According to an act of 1860, kidnapping was a misdemeanor, not a felony. The penalty for taking a person under the age of ten was a maximum fine of $2,000 and a maximum prison sentence of seven years. The reporter wanted to know if the kidnappers would get away with a light sentence.

  “Oh no,” responded the solicitor. “The punishment can be piled up on them by utilizing what I may call the elasticity of the law. For instance, they can be convicted of having engaged in a conspiracy to extort money, which will add several years to the original sentence. Then again, I do not know but they could be given three years for the robbing of the jacket on the boy, three years for stealing his hat, three years for stealing his shoes, and so on, giving three years for the theft of each individual article of clothing on the lad at the time he was stolen.”

  “That would be tantamount to an imprisonment for life?”

  “Practically, yes.”

  “When caught, I suppose, the guilty parties will be arraigned speedily?”

  “That you may safely depend upon. Let the guilty parties be once taken into custody, and if any criminals ever took the short route to the penitentiary they will be the man.”

  The assistant solicitor’s desire to “pile” punishment through “the elasticity of the law” pointed to a need for new state legislation with greater consequences for kidnappers. But even if his office succeeded in identifying Charley Ross’s kidnappers and applying “elasticity” to their charges, the average convict served less time in Pennsylvania prisons than his sentence stipulated.

  Christian Ross didn’t think Wooster was guilty. His family had already suffered through too many rumors and too much advice to believe an easily accessible criminal like Christopher Wooster was responsible. Nevertheless, he agreed to let Walter attempt identification. The five-year-old didn’t recognize him. The Evening Bulletin also questioned Wooster’s involvement. They called him “a man of considerable education, clever, a well-known con artist,” but doubted a petty thief who had served time in New York, Chicago, and Philadelphia prisons would involve himself in such a high-stakes crime.

  The public had tired of waiting for an arrest by the time Taggart nabbed Wooster. Inspired by editorials asking the mayor to offer reward money for new information, parents demanded that Stokley protect their children as much as they searched for Charley. They had read the criticism of the investigation in the papers. Speculation over the kidnappers’ motives rattled their nerves even more. They wanted Charley, but they also wanted the kidnappers behind bars before another child went missing.

  Two more almost did.

  A man in West Philadelphia approached a group of children at play and grabbed a four-year-old named William Painter. A little girl immediately ran to tell an adult, who contacted the police as others chased the man through the neighborhood. Reaching a footbridge, the assailant saw an adult who called William by name. The kidnapper then dropped the boy on the ground and ran away.

  Two miles away from the Ross home on East Washington Lane, ten-year-old Elizabeth Coffin played inside her home with her sister May. The family’s colonial house sat twenty feet away from Main Street, and maple trees obstructed their view of people walking by their property. One morning, when May left Elizabeth to play alone on the first floor, a man appeared at a window next to her. He told Elizabeth he would give her “candy and other nice things” if she would step through the window and walk with him. Elizabeth called for May. The man told her not to tell anybody he was there. Elizabeth said she needed permission to leave, and she called for May again. The man turned and ran through the yard. Elizabeth’s father entered the room in time to see him jump into a buggy and drive off with another man. Germantown’s parents, now panic-stricken, told their children to keep away from walking, fishing, and playing in the woods.

  Fearing criminal histories would incriminate them, some former convicts offered to help the police search. Others capitalized on the vulnerability of fearful people. A Philadelphia merchant received a letter threatening to ruin his reputation if he did not pay the author a specific sum, and a father from Northeast Philadelphia opened a letter threatening his son. On yellow paper, small letters spelled “Look after that youngster of yours, Harry. He is watched by English snatchers. He’s been watched at Norris square. Others had better be careful. ONE OF THE GANG BUT FRIENDLY.” Police detectives dismissed both letters as jokes.

  A reporter asked Mayor Stokley why he wouldn’t offer a reward for Charley and his kidnappers.

  “I would be liable to a criminal prosecution if I did that,” the mayor said. “I could not offer a reward without the direction of the Common Council. They have had one meeting since the kidnapping, but they took no action concerning it. They will not meet again for some time.”

  “That is unfortunate, isn’t it?” responded the reporter.

  “Yes; but then if I had the power, I wouldn’t offer a reward for the boy. It is his abductors that we want. When I became mayor of Philadelphia I said to my detectives, ‘There is to be no more compounding of felonies. When goods are stolen, I don’t wish them returned so much as I wish those who stole them brought to justice. I must have the thieves. If any one on the force turns up stolen goods without bringing the thief to prison, the officer will be discharged from the force.’ You see?”

  The reporter didn’t ask the mayor why he equated a stolen child with other forms of property theft. He did ask if Wooster’s arrest encouraged the investigators.

  “I don’t believe it does,” Stokley said. “Many arrests have been made.” The mayor then suggested that perhaps Christian Ross knew some things about the kidnapping that he had not yet shared with the authorities. />
  City Solicitor Charles Collis publicly disagreed with Stokley’s thoughts on Wooster. After hearing a rumor that the suspect had an alibi, an Inquirer reporter met with Collis during his lunch hour at his office on South Seventh Street.

  “Do you think Taggart has the right man?” asked the reporter.

  “I have not the slightest doubt of it, and future developments will prove what I say.”

  “Of course, he must have had accomplices.”

  “Certainly. A man like Wooster would not act alone in such a matter.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he is too well known to the police, and his haunts, habits and associations are too familiar.”

  “His reputation is none of the best, then?”

  “No; it is very bad, and he has been in prison on several occasions.”

  “Have you an idea as to who assisted him in the present case?”

  “That is a question I would not like to answer at this time. A few days at the furthest will, I think, bring the matter to a close. Things are looking very well, and I have great confidence in the ability of the detectives to bring the perpetrators of this crime to justice.”

  Unless Collis was quite naïve, he didn’t believe one word of this interview that he gave. It is exactly because Wooster was “too well known” that the police should have hesitated to detain him in the first place. Detective Taggart found Wooster on July 17, one day after Christian Ross received the fifth ransom letter and two weeks after the kidnappers abducted Charley and Walter Ross. In spite of his decades-long record of forgery and blackmail, he was also a clown. Prison guards in South Philadelphia enjoyed his tall tales, and the warden wrote that over the course of his stays at the prison, Wooster entertained other inmates and their visitors. He was a rash thief, a sloppy liar, and a likable crook.

  But he was exactly the kind of person that the police could pin the crime on. The city leaders’ fears were beginning to materialize: citizens were reporting copycat threats, the public was growing more paranoid, and instead of commending authorities for their Centennial preparations, the New York press vilified it for mismanaging the Ross case. Christopher Wooster had no family, a lengthy criminal record, a bad reputation, and an interest in swindling funds through the mail. He was the perfect scapegoat. And then, one day after his arrest, another ransom letter arrived.

  PHILADELPHIA, July 18—Ros: The blasted editorials have got the city in such a feve bout the child that we can hardly do anything. i tel yu they endanger the child’s life at every stroke of the pen. one editor wants to kno why we dont give yu some prof that we ever had the child by sendin some of his close or a lock of hair we have our reason for not sending them. to satisfy yu we have him yu remember his striped stockins are darned in two or three places were they had holes in. ask Walter if we did not put the blanket up in front of him an Charley in behind to hide them. ask Walter if we did not say we wold go down to aunt Susans befor we went out on the mane street to buy torpedos. we wil notice al yu have to say either in ledger star or herald or sunday dispatch anything you wish to communicate to us head it C R R instead of Ros. This man Woster is innocent he has nothing to do with us, do as yu please with him an make the most out of him yu can. the brokers we se have had a metin an think they can restor yu child an bring us to justice—they mean wel to yu but they be actin under a great delusion—if they be friends to yu let them make the mony up which is the only thing can restor the child—if they will not do that yu drop them unless yu want to cut yu child’s throat.

  The Philadelphia Public Ledger. July 21.

  “C R R. Mony is ready. How shall I know your agent?”

  BURLINGTON, July 21. —Ros. we have seen yu own state-ment that yu would not comply with our terms an yet yu say (the money is redy how shal I no yu agent) the fact of us having yu child and you having paid us every dollar we demanded what further use could we have for him? He has answered the end for which we took him; this is one reason why we should give him up. if these terms suit yu answer the followin in the Ledger personals.

  C R R. i will agree to the terms in every particular.

  P. S. —have the money ready as we described we wil send prof with him so yu can no him when he comes.

  The Philadelphia Public Ledger. July 22.

  “C R R. ‘I will agree to the terms in every particular.’”

  we wil send prof

  AN INQUIRER REPORTER RETURNED TO CITY SOLICITOR COLLIS and asked if he had enough evidence to keep Wooster since ransom notes had arrived after his incarceration.

  “Does not the fact that letters have been received by Mr. Ross since Wooster’s confinement, evidently penned by the same hand that wrote those in which you believed you detected the chirography of Wooster, weaken your belief that he was the author of the former letters?”

  “Not at all,” Collis replied. “The class of men to which he belongs are practiced in all kinds of villainy, and it is not at all improbable that they may all have accustomed themselves to write the same handwriting. In this way they may hope to clear their confederate of suspicion.”

  The Philadelphia Inquirer disagreed that men could share “the same handwriting” and continued to question Wooster’s authorship in editorials, citing the debate over Wooster as another reason for the police to release the letters.

  A police spokesperson again defended the decision to hold them back, saying the letters would “shock and incense the community beyond conception.” On July 22, the Evening Bulletin stepped back from its public defense of the force and echoed New York’s attacks and the Inquirer’s questions. The paper blamed the “shameful and unbearable” incompetence of the police for making kidnapping an “easily committed” crime. The same day, the Inquirer asked citizens to hire “the whole detective force of the country.” It challenged readers to contribute $10,000 within twenty-four hours towards a reward for finding Charley. Prominent bankers and merchants raised funds, and a bank president offered his services as a treasurer. Twenty-four hours later, the paper published the names and donations of contributors. They had raised only $410. However, even though they fell tremendously short of their initial goal, the Inquirer had successfully, and somewhat indirectly, encouraged the city to rebel against its leadership. By investing their faith and their finances in a reward fund, Philadelphians were actively challenging the mayor’s authority and questioning the ability of the police to maintain public safety.

  Stokley watched as his constituents’ actions validated New York’s verbal assaults on his administration. Less than three weeks before, he had paraded around the city in his carriage on the Fourth of July, preparing himself for the fame that would come with hosting the world at the Centennial celebration. Those who had applauded him on that day now accused him of ineffective leadership. As figurehead of the city, Stokley would receive either blame or accolades for the Centennial preparations and execution. If the mayor wanted to reclaim his public approval and refocus the spotlight on the city’s Centennial plans, his only choice was to agree to his voters’ demands and convince the city leaders to offer a municipal reward. On July 23, the city papers published the official notice.

  MAYOR’S OFFICE, CITY OF PHILADELPHIA, July 22, 1874 – At the instance of the citizens of Philadelphia, I hereby offer a reward of twenty thousand dollars for the arrest and conviction of the abductors of Charles Brewster Ross, son of Christian K Ross, of Philadelphia, and the restoration of that child to his parents.”

  W. S. STOKLEY

  Mayor of Phila.

  The statement included descriptions—of Charley, the kidnappers, the horse, and the buggy—as well as a reminder that the kidnappers could have altered Charley’s hair and clothing to make him look feminine. Stokley asked for “every newspaper in the United States and Canada” to give his notice “the widest publicity.” Clerks in the mayor’s office printed large reward posters soliciting the help of detectives nationwide, and Chief Jones wrote a letter asking stationmasters and postmasters to attach the
signs to prominent places along their railroad routes. Packages of these posters and letters were then mailed throughout the country.

  The municipal reward angered Christian. He insisted that the kidnappers’ behavior would become more erratic and violent with a price on their heads. Increasingly longer ransom notes reinforced his concerns: the kidnappers continued to betray their fears by repeating demands, arguing with statements in the press, and explaining new procedures for a ransom exchange. Detectives had continued to try to shift public attention from Charley toward the kidnappers, explaining that regardless of the child’s fate, copycat crimes were sure to multiply nationwide, and the only way to forestall future crimes was to arrest the criminals. Although they didn’t fully realize it, much of the public agreed with Christian’s position. They had asked the mayor to offer money for the child, not the criminals, as the Inquirer’s fund stipulated.

  The mayor’s reward also revealed to the public that his police probably had the wrong man in custody. An Illustrated New Age reporter applied and received a permit to speak with Wooster in his cell at Moyamensing Prison. The criminal used the opportunity to identify himself as a pawn in the ongoing tensions between police officers and private investigators.