Joe Bruno's Mobsters - Six Volume Set (33 page)

“Before I hand over the girls share,” Hummel told Alger, “the girl and I have a little talk. She listens to me dictate an affidavit saying that she has deceived me, as a lawyer, into believing that a criminal conversation (what they called an act of adultery in those days) had taken place, that in fact nothing at all between her and the man involved ever took place, that she was thoroughly repentant over her conduct in the case, and that but for the fact that the money had already been spent, she would wish to return it. Then I'd make her sign this affidavit; then I gave her the money. Whenever they'd start up something a second time, I just called them and read them the affidavit. That always did the trick.”

So much money was coming into the law firm of Howe and Hummel, it is extraordinary that neither of the two lawyers kept any financial records at all. At the end of each day, both lawyers and their junior associates would meet in Hummel's office. There they would all empty their pockets of cash onto the table. When the money was finished being counted, each man would take out his share of the money in accordance with the proportion of his shares in the business. As time went on, this procedure was changed to take place on Friday nights only.

In 1900, Howe and Hummel were forced from their offices at 89 Center Street (the city needed the site for a public building). They relocated to the basement of New York Life Insurance Building at 346 Broadway.

Soon after they moved, Howe became sick; and then incapacitated. Howe stopped coming into the office, and instead he stood feebly at his home on Boston Post Road in the Bronx. Howe was said to have been a heavy drinker, and this had affected his liver. Howe suffered several heart attacks, before he died in his sleep on September 2, 1902.

After Howe's death, Hummel muddled on as he had befor
e, handling all the civil cases and an occasional criminal case. However, the bulk of the trial work Hummel designated to two of his former assistants: David May and Isaac Jacobson.

Hummel was 53 years old at the time of Howe's death. He must have figured he had a good 10 to 15 more years to accumulate more wealth. However, New York City District Attorney William Travers Jerome had other ideas.

It was the Dodge-Morse divorce case that was Hummel's undoing. For years, Hummel had skirted around the law, and sometimes, in fact, broke the law. But there was never enough evidence to indict him.

However, this time Hummel
had gone too far.

The Dodge-Morse divorce case dragged out for almost 5 years (Hummel was able to finagle delay after delay, using his thorough understanding of the procedures of the law). But in the end, District Attorney Jerome was able to get an indictment against Hummel for conspiracy and suborning perjury.

Hummel went on trial in January 1905. The trial lasted only two days, and Hummel was found guilty as charged. Still, Hummel was able to avoid jail for another two years. He hired the best lawyers available, hoping they could find some loophole in the law, or some technicality, that would keep Hummel from going to prison. But nothing could be done, and on March 8, 1907, Abraham Hummel was imprisoned on Blackwell's Island, the same island, where in 1872 Hummel was able to have 240 prisoners released on a technicality.

Hummel left prison after serving only one year of his two-year sentence. Upon his release, Hummel traveled to Europe, and
he spent the rest of his life there, mostly living in France. Hummel, as far as it can be determined, never returned to his former stomping grounds in New York City.

After Hummel's conviction, he was also disbarred. Furthermore, in 1908, the law firm of Howe and Hummel was enjoined by law from further practice, thus ending an era of lawless lawyering that has never been duplicated.

Howe and Hummel are accurately portrayed in the annals of American crime as the most law-breaking law firm of all time.

J
ewett, Helen, The Murder of

She was a beautiful
prostitute; he was a handsome clerk. They seemed destined to live together, happily ever after. Yet,
w
hen the disfigured and charred body of 23-year-old Helen Jewett was found smoldering on April, 10, 1836, in a brothel bed at 41 Thomas Street in downtown Manhattan, the prime and only suspect in her murder was her boyfriend, 19-year-old Richard Robinson.

Helen Jewett was born Doras Doyen in Augusta, Maine in 1813. Her father died when she was 13, but a local judge, smitten by her remarkable beauty, took her under his wing. This judge spent a small fortune on Doras' education, and he provided her with all the tools
she needed to attain a successful status in life.

Like a wild stallion needing to run free, Doras, at the age of 17, abandoned her benefactor and took off with a prosperous young banker from Portland, Maine. In Portland, the banker provided Doras with every luxury. They lived in a palatial mansion, where swanky parties and flowing champagne were the or
der of the day and especially of the night.

It was apparently during this period of time that Doras first became a prostitute. Yet, Doras was an impetuous person. She and the bank
er quarreled often, and finally, Doras left him flat. She traveled to New York City, and she changed her name to Helen Jewett.

In New York City, Helen Jewett threw herself eagerly into the profession of prostitution; working in the most luxurious brothels in town. To increase her business, Helen used to
stroll invitingly down Broadway searching for old flames or for new men to seduce. Helen always dressed entirely in shades of green, which matched the color of her captivating eyes. As a result, Helen became known as “The Girl in Green.” In time, Helen was the most sought-after prostitute in New York City. It was said Helen had a voracious sexual appetite, and she enjoyed the company of several wealthy men each night, sometimes in groups or two or more.

Helen's beauty was such, Warden Charles Sutton wrote in his book,
The History of the New York Tombs,
“She was beautifully formed; had large green eyes which snapped with mischievousness and one of the most fascinating faces that ever imperiled a susceptible observer. Her disposition was as beautiful as her face and figure, and she was charitable to a fault with all who required assistance.”

Richard Robinson was born in Durham, Connecticut in 1818. His parents had considerable means, and they spared no expense in raising and educating their young boy. Richard grew up to be a very handsome young man, tall and broad, and always immaculately dressed. Yet Richard,
like Helen, was a free spirit, and when he reached the age of 17, he ran away from his parents’ home and absconded to New York City.

Richard, due to the fine education he had received through the good grace of his parents, was immediately hired at a dry goods store on Maiden Lane owned by Joseph Hoxie. Richard soon became what the people of those times called a "roisterer," or someone who was part of the "jet set," motoring about
from one fine event to another with nary a care in the world. Richard made a fine appearance, resplendent with dark curly hair and dressed in his usual rich Spanish cloak.

As fate would have it, Richard
was entering a downtown theater when he saw a thug attack a beautiful young woman, who was also about to enter the same theater. Richard, by far the bigger man, was able to easily throttle the ruffian, thereby thrusting himself as a hero in the young woman's eyes. This young woman was none other than Helen Jewett.

Immediately enthralled with the handsome young man, Helen h
anded Robinson a business card that read, “Helen Jewett, Palais de la Duchesse Berri.” This was Helen way of telling Robinson that she was a high-class prostitute, who only serviced the upper crust of society.

The place where Helen worked at that time was what was called, “a furnished resort,” owned by Mme.
Berri on Duane Street. Soon, Robinson became a frequent visitor of Helen at Mme. Berri's. Instead of using his real name, Robinson introduced himself to Mme. Berri as “Frank Rivers.” This was a common practice at the time, since men who had respectable jobs didn't want people working in not–so–respectable places, like brothels, to know their real names.

Within a few weeks, Helen, although she was four years older than Robinson, was obviously more infatuated with Robinson than he was with her. Sensing something was wrong, Helen was obsessed by the idea that Robinson was possibly sharing his affections with another woman. One night, Helen disguised herself as a boy, and
she followed Robinson around Lower Manhattan. After he had made the rounds of several bars, Helen spotted Robinson entering a brothel on Broome Street. Helen somehow gained admission to the brothel, and she found Robinson in bed in the embrace of another woman. Incensed, Helen attacked the woman, striking her repeatedly, with blow after blow on the woman's face. Helen's gaudy diamond rings slashed several bloody tears in the woman's cheeks, forehead, and nose.

Robinson was incredulous at the ferocity of Helen's attacks, and he told her, in no uncertain terms, their relationship was over. Helen was crushed, and she started bombarding Robinson with letter after letter, begging him for forgiveness. But it was not to be. Robinson discarded Helen like an old newspaper, and Helen, dismayed at the tur
n of events, left New York City for places unknown.

Helen returned to New York City in October 1835, and
she immediately became employed at the brothel of Rosina Townsend, located at 41 Thomas Street. As luck would have it, while Helen was strolling on the docks by the East River, she ran into Robinson. They reconciled, and “Frank Rivers” became a frequent visitor at 41 Thomas Street.

A few months later, Helen found out, that while she was away, Robinson had become involved with another girl, who inexplicably had died
from ingesting poison, allegedly administered to her by Robinson. Helen confronted Robinson with this accusation, which he vehemently denied. Ultimately, Robinson was able to convince Helen of his innocence in the death of the girl in question. Robinson also told Helen that he was so in love with her, he wanted her to abandon her wicked life at 41 Thomas Street and marry him instead.

On April 10, 1836, Robinson, the cad that he was, informed Helen that not only was he not going to marry her, but that he was, in fact, engaged to be married to a young
woman of great wealth and position. Helen was heartbroken.

She wrote Robinson a letter saying, “You know how I have loved, but for God's sake don't
compel me to show how I can hate.”

On the following day, Robinson wrote Helen a letter in a disguised hand, telling her that he would come to her place of business at 9 p.m. that evening. Robinson also insisted that Helen should be the one to greet him at the front door.

On April 11, 1836, at exactly 9 p.m., “Frank Rivers” knocked at the front door of 41 Thomas Street. However, by coincidence, Rosina Townsend was near the front door at the exact moment Robinson knocked, and she admitted Robinson instead of Helen. As was his custom, Robinson wore his distinctive long Spanish cloak.

Helen, upon hearing Robinson's voice, rushed to the front door and hugged Robinson. She said, “Oh, my dear Frank, how glad I am that you have come.”

Robinson and Helen then retired to Helen's apartment.

Marie Stevens was another prostitute, who occupied the apartment next door to Helen's. At approximately 1 a.m., Stevens heard noises emanating from Helen's apartment. Stevens later said it sounded like someone had been struck by a heavy blow, and then the injured person had emitted a long, mournful moan. Moments later, Stevens heard Helen's door being opened. Stevens opened her door just a crack, and she spotted a tall man, wearing a long cloak and holding a dimly lit candle, slither out of Helen's apartment. Terrified, Stevens locked herself in her apartment.

A few minutes later, Stevens heard a knock on the front door. Rosina Townsend answered the front door and admitted another male guest. After this guest went to the apartment of the lady he was visiting, Townsend noticed that there was a lit lamp in the parlor. Townsend examined the lamp and determined it belonged either to Helen, or Stevens. Townsend also noticed that the back door to the building was ajar. She yelled out, “Who's there?” But there was no answer.

Townsend first knocked on
Stevens's door. After determining that the lamp did not belong to Stevens, Townsend knocked on Helen's door. Upon hearing no answer, Townsend opened the door to Helen's apartment, and she was overcome by a large cloud of smoke. Townsend's screams aroused the rest of the house's occupants. In a panic, the male guests put on their trousers, dressed quickly and ran from the building, lest they be caught in an embarrassing situation by the authorities.

Townsend opened the window
, and she began screaming into the night air, “Fire!”

A night watchman, who was the precursor to the New York City policeman, heard Townsend's cries. He rushed into the house, into Helen's room, and he extinguished the fire. What h
e saw next, caused Ms. Townsend and the rest of the female inhabitants of the building to scream in horror.

The scantily clad body of Helen Jewett was lying on the bed. Her skull had been split open with three powerful blows, apparently made by a hatchet. Any one of the three blows would have been enough to kill her. The left side of Helen's upper body was charred, from her ha
ving been set on fire after she was savagely attacked.