The Lost Tribe of Coney Island

by Claire Prentice

  Barker had to hand it to Truman: the showman had chutzpah. Not only had he led the tribespeople off a train in broad daylight, now he was exhibiting them right under the government’s nose. Why had he not spirited them away to some obscure and distant town? The man was delusional. He must think he was untouchable.

  While Barker grappled with the implications of this latest twist in the story, a US marshal arrived at his hotel room and informed him that he and the Igorrotes in his care must appear in court at ten o’clock the following morning, Wednesday, July 18, to answer a writ of habeas corpus. Not content to have snatched fifteen of the tribespeople from the train, Truman was taking Barker to court in an attempt to win back the rest, claiming that the tribespeople “are now held prisoners [by Barker], that they have communicated to [me, Truman Hunt] their desire to join [me] and fulfill their contract but are prevented and restrained from doing so by said F. F. Barker, government agent.” In a statement sworn before a notary public, Truman added that he, Truman, was acting on behalf of Julio, who had told him that “Barker has threatened him with arrest in the event of his, Julio’s refusing to do the bidding of said Barker.”2

  The marshal handed over the papers and Barker slammed the door after him. He did not know whether to laugh or cry. Could Julio have turned his back on the Igorrotes and joined forces with Truman? It seemed impossible but who knew what promises the showman had made. Barker was certain about one thing, however: he would not let that rogue make a mockery of him, the government, and the American justice system. If Truman wanted a fight in court, Barker would make sure he got it.

  26

  Judgment Day

  CHICAGO, JULY 18, 1906

  The Chicago Daily News reports on the Igorrotes’ debut in a federal court. The racist cartoon is typical of the way the tribespeople were portrayed by the press.

  THE CHICAGO COURTROOM of Federal Judge Solomon Bethea was packed. Several hundred spectators crammed the public gallery and spilled out into the corridors. No one but the most high-profile murderers normally attracted this much attention. Pressmen and photographers sat expectantly. A ripple of excitement ran through the room while everyone waited for the Filipinos to appear.1 The cartoonist from the Chicago Daily News sat sketching. The Igorrotes hadn’t even entered court yet, but he drew them as a group of nearly naked savages with wild eyes, unruly hair, thick lips, huge hoop earrings, and skin as black as coal.2

  In the hallway, the Igorrotes stood waiting to be called. “Tell the men they can’t smoke in here,” bellowed a man’s voice down the corridor.3 At this, the tribespeople removed the pipes from their mouths and stooped to knock the ashes out on the tiled floor. An attendant rushed after them with a brush and shovel. The door leading to the courtroom opened and the bailiff, Tom Currier, stuck his head out. He was promptly engulfed by a cloud of the tribe’s tobacco smoke. Coughing and waving the fumes aside, Currier looked the tribespeople up and down, then shouted, “All right, bring ’em in.”4

  Led by Fomoaley, the Filipinos trooped in. Barker looked over at them. He had sent a messenger to buy the tribe new clothes for their court appearance and now, as he gazed at them for the first time, he wondered where the man had found such a motley array of garments. A rummage sale? The tribespeople were certainly eye-catching, in ill-fitting overcoats, pants that were too long or too short, shirts and overalls that drowned their diminutive frames, and brightly colored horse blankets fashioned as skirts.

  The bailiff directed the Filipinos to benches reserved for them at the rear of the courtroom. As ever, the tribespeople inspired the pressmen to new heights of journalistic license. One reporter described how the Igorrotes, in “high pitched voices, like those of children, expressed wonder at the magnificence of Uncle Sam’s big building.”5 There was, reflected another member of the press pack, “a curious contrast existing between [the tribespeople’s] bare brown legs and the white marble walls of the room.”6

  Only when the Igorrotes were seated did Truman enter the court, accompanied by an uncomfortable-looking Julio, dressed immaculately in a new American suit. Barker studied the translator closely. Behind him, Maria craned to get a look at her husband. Julio shot her a worried smile.

  “Take off your hat,” commanded the bailiff, a giant of a man who weighed in at a colossal three hundred pounds.7 He pointed at the offending hat on the head of a small Igorrote male. The man shook his head, no. Irritated, Currier jabbed a finger at the man’s headgear, stating firmly “Your hat.”8 When the Igorrote shook his head again, Currier raised his voice, explaining that the law dictated that everyone in the courtroom must remove their hats in front of a sitting judge. Antero, who had been invited by Barker to act as the official interpreter, was sitting at a table at the front of the room beside Blum, Barker, and the assistant district attorney, R. W. Childs. Antero explained that the tribesmen could not remove their hats, not due to a lack of respect for the judge, but owing to the fact that the hats were practically woven into their hair. Frowning, Currier approached the judge and explained the predicament. Waving away the bailiff’s concerns, the judge ordered that the Igorrotes could keep their hats on. He had no desire to hold up proceedings over something as trivial as hats.9

  The bailiff read out the names of each Igorrote man, woman, and child involved in the habeas corpus proceeding.

  Then the judge invited Antoinette Funk to speak. Truman’s attorney stood up to her full four feet, eleven inches, and strode forward. Tipping her head right back so that she could see over the top of the judge’s bench, Funk spoke in a deep voice that boomed across the courtroom. Her client had raised the habeas corpus action that had brought them to court that morning in order to prevent the government from deporting the Filipinos. The Igorrotes had been earning a good living in America and wished to stay in the country exhibiting under Truman. Her client was the only person in the room who spoke the Igorrotes’ language. He knew better than anyone present what they wanted. They had never asked him to take them home and, frankly, Funk added, the tribespeople were mystified by the government’s desire to gain control of them. Funk continued: the Igorrotes had no desire to go with Mr. Barker, the government agent, who had tried to hoodwink the innocent, trusting mountain people.

  Barker studied Julio’s face but he betrayed no emotion.

  The assistant district attorney rose to address the courtroom next. These claims were simply not true, said Childs. The Filipino tribespeople had signed contracts in March 1905 to come to America with Truman and exhibit for one year in return for a salary of fifteen dollars each a month, insisted Childs. Their contracts had expired more than four months ago and they urgently wished to return home. Truman had refused to take them back to the Philippines despite the fact that he was legally obliged to do so. Because of this, the government, represented in court by Barker and Blum, had stepped in and proposed to put them on a ship back to Manila as soon as possible. Irritated, Funk sat tapping her pencil on a book.

  Truman had withheld more than ten thousand dollars from the tribe in wages and he had stolen thousands more, which they had earned selling handmade souvenirs. He had failed to properly care for them and had not provided adequate housing. He had dragged them all over the country exhibiting them and was now trying to hold them in America against their will. He had recently boarded a train and kidnapped a group of Igorrotes who were traveling from Syracuse to Chicago where they were due to be taken in to the safe custody of the government.10

  Truman sat shaking his head as Childs characterized him as a cruel, greedy man who had shamelessly exploited his fellow human beings and was set on wringing every last cent out of the tribespeople. Truman had kept the Filipinos in actual slavery and could not be trusted to care for a dog, let alone a group of human beings, he added.

  Lies, all lies, said Funk, with the “unembarrassed directness” for which she was famed in Chicago’s courtrooms.11 Truman Hunt had known the Igorrotes for many years and had been a devoted friend to them. When he lived among them in
the Philippines, Truman, a qualified physician, had risked life and limb to care for the sick tribespeople, even when their bodies were ravaged by cholera. Did this sound like the man Mr. Childs was describing?

  Funk continued: Truman Hunt had proved himself to be a kind and compassionate manager. His overwhelming desire in bringing the tribespeople to America had been to give them a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to earn good American wages, so they could build a better future for themselves. Ever since his very first encounter with the tribe, Dr. Hunt had been true to his word, and had not violated a single condition of his contract with them. The tribespeople had earned a good deal of money and wished to continue working for him. Her client had come to court at the request of his dear friend Julio. The government agent, Barker, had threatened Julio with arrest if he did not do his bidding.

  Judge Bethea called Truman to the stand. The showman thanked the judge for giving him the opportunity to defend his reputation. The happiness and well-being of the Igorrotes was more important to him than anything else, Truman insisted. To this end, he would willingly sign a bond guaranteeing their safe return to their homeland and deposit their wages in a bank of the government’s choosing. He continued, emphatically, “It is absolutely false that I ever had the least trouble with the people who toured under my management. They were well treated and were perfectly willing to go to the different parks where they appeared.”12

  Julio stared intently at Truman.

  There was worse to come. Truman claimed that before they left Bontoc, he had informed Julio that the Igorrotes would not be paid a penny of their wages until they returned to the Philippines at the end of their contracts. The tribe’s current frustration was due entirely to an error on the interpreter’s part.

  Julio turned and looked directly at Barker. His face burned with anger. Slowly he shook his head.

  The judge called for an adjournment for lunch. A clerk led the Igorrotes out to an anteroom, where they were served rice and water. When they had cleaned the last grains of rice from their plates, the tribespeople lit their pipes. After a while a clerk called to tell them they were wanted by the judge. The Igorrotes extinguished their pipes and trooped back into the courtroom.

  Judge Bethea wanted to hear from the tribespeople next. He instructed Antero to ask each of them whether they wished to remain in America with Truman or return to the Philippines under the care of the government. The interpreter worked his way along the first bench of Igorrotes, asking each man, woman, and child what they wished to do. He moved on to the second bench and the third. Each time the answer was the same: Go home. The judge nodded and asked whether there was anything else the tribe wanted.

  There was a moment’s silence.

  In that case . . . the judge began.

  Julio stood up and asked if he might be permitted to speak. The judge nodded yes. Truman stared hard at him. In a loud, clear voice Julio stated firmly that he and his countrymen and women wanted nothing more to do with Truman, who had treated them wretchedly and stolen their hard-earned wages. He added, “All I want is [my] money. All my people want is [their] money—then we go home.”13

  Truman was aghast. He had not seen this coming.

  Barker sighed with relief and sat back in his seat.

  Judge Bethea thought for a moment. It was not his job to punish Truman, or to determine who owed whom what. He was simply required to decide into whose custody the Filipinos should be delivered that day. Looking at the showman, however, the judge was unable to refrain from scolding him for parading the Filipinos around the country like “elephants or monkeys.”14 He continued, “I think that these people should be wards of the government. There is no one better able to take care of them. They should not be rushed about like a lot of animals and [Truman Hunt] should not come into court to get them back from the government for that purpose. Dr. Hunt, you should have turned these people over to the government like a man . . . [This writ] is dismissed.”15

  Truman’s attorney jumped to her feet. “But, your honor, the government set the example of exhibiting the people. The government was the first to bring them to this country for show purposes,” said Funk. Looking at her, Judge Bethea—a prominent member of the Republican Party and a personal friend of President Roosevelt’s—declared, “Well, it should not be done.” Undeterred, Funk interrupted again, “My client merely followed the example set by the government.”16

  The judge raised an eyebrow. Turning to face the tribe, he said any Igorrotes in Truman’s original group who wished to stay in America could do so and those who wished to return to the Philippines would be sent home as soon as possible under the charge of the government.

  Truman cursed under his breath and shook his head with the incredulity of a man who’d grown to believe his own lies.

  Julio rushed into Maria’s arms.

  Outside the court Truman stopped to give a brief interview to the press, dismissing the verdict as nonsense and the claims against him as lies, then excused himself and disappeared into the street. He needed a drink.

  Judge Bethea’s decision made headlines from coast to coast and over the border in Canada. The newspapers described how Truman had squandered the tribe’s wages “leading a fast life in Chicago” while abandoning the tribespeople “to the tender mercies of civilization.”17

  Despite Truman and Funk’s best efforts to wrest back control of the Igorrotes over the next two days, all the surviving members of Truman’s original group were under Barker’s care when the time came for them to leave.

  Julio had spilled out his story to Maria and Barker. Truman had kidnapped him, kept him in a hotel room, made him drink liquor, ranted and raved and tried to charm him into staying with him. In a final bizarre gesture he had even bought Julio a beautiful new American suit, with the money he had stolen from Julio and his compatriots. Julio was more determined than ever to do everything he could to ensure that Truman was held responsible for his lies.

  Julio, Maria, Feloa, Dengay, and Tainan were staying on to act as witnesses in Truman’s prosecution. The others would take the train from Chicago to San Francisco, where they would board a ship to Manila. Judge Bethea had ruled that any of them who wished to stay could, but the tribespeople had had enough of their American adventure.

  Maria could hardly bring herself to bid farewell to her countrymen and women. She turned to Daipan. How she would miss her dear friend. The two women held each other tight. Barker shouted that it was time to leave. The parting was one of unspeakable sorrow for the tribespeople. They had endured so much together and knew they would never come together as one group again.

  27

  Vanishing Act

  COOK COUNTY COURT, CHICAGO, SEPTEMBER 4, 1906

  William Pinkerton in the Chicago offices of the Pinkerton Detective Agency

  FOR SEVEN WEEKS, Blum and Barker worked tirelessly to build a case against Truman while the showman raged, drank, and grumbled his way around Chicago, telling anyone who would listen that he was the victim of a conspiracy that went all the way to the top of the US government. Finally, on September 4, 1906, Truman was arrested for embezzlement and taken before Justice Wolff. Wolff found in favor of the Filipinos and Truman was taken to the county jail. But he was not about to go down without a fight. The showman said that he was unable to pay back the money that he was accused of taking and Funk filed a motion, seeking to have her client released under the insolvent debtor’s act, a statute under Illinois law. At 10:20 the following morning, Truman was led into the Cook County courtroom by a deputy sheriff. As he entered, a hush descended. The showman had become a well-known figure in the city since his arrival with the Igorrotes three months earlier. On this particular morning, he looked tired, agitated, and uncharacteristically shabby.

  Judge Houston called on Antoinette Funk to speak. She said she was seeking to have her client freed from jail on the grounds that he was insolvent. The judge turned to Truman and asked him to give an account of his assets. The showman, who had frequently b
oasted that the Igorrotes had earned him hundreds of thousands of dollars, stood up and stated in a loud, clear voice, “[my] entire worldly wealth consists of $2.50.”1 That one of the most successful showmen in the business had so little money sounded incredible and yet, judging by reports of his extravagant spending, it could just be true. Either that or he had hidden his fortune away someplace where the authorities would never find it.

  Standing in court watching proceedings was a heavyset man with a bushy gray mustache. He was William Pinkerton, the eldest son of Allan Pinkerton, founder of the world’s most famous detective agency. Together William and his brother, Robert, had taken over the running of the agency following their father’s death in 1884. The brothers were arguably even greater detectives than their father and had expanded his sleuthing business into an international operation.

  Pinkerton was in court at Barker’s request. Truman and his attorney didn’t know it, but an officer was currently on his way from Tennessee to collect the showman. Fearing that Funk would keep using delaying tactics and underhanded tricks like this infuriating insolvency plea to keep her client at liberty, Blum had recently filed separate larceny charges against Truman in Memphis, where he now believed they stood a better chance of securing a conviction and a prison sentence. The charges related to the violent incident in the North Front Street house, when Truman had stolen money from a number of the men. Barker had taken the precaution of hiring Pinkerton to shadow Truman from the moment he entered the Chicago courtroom until the Memphis officer snapped the handcuffs on his wrists.