The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst (38 page)
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Authors: Kenneth Whyte
BOOK: The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst
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Crane told the court that he had been studying human nature in the Tenderloin for descriptive use in his journalism and gave his account of the evening’s events. When he finished, the magistrate discharged Dora Clark. She thanked the court but added, “They’ll only arrest me again.”
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A
Journal
reporter caught up with Crane at his home later in the day. The novelist allowed that he knew nothing of the girl’s character: “I only know that while with me she acted respectably, and that the policeman’s charge was false.” Crane also acknowledged that he was risking both his personal and literary reputations by standing up for Miss Clark, but he felt it his duty: “[If] a man should stand tamely by in such a case, our wives and sisters would be at the mercy of any ruffian who disgraces the uniform. The policeman flatly lied, and if the girl will have him prosecuted for perjury I will gladly support her.”
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Journal
reporter caught up with Crane at his home later in the day. The novelist allowed that he knew nothing of the girl’s character: “I only know that while with me she acted respectably, and that the policeman’s charge was false.” Crane also acknowledged that he was risking both his personal and literary reputations by standing up for Miss Clark, but he felt it his duty: “[If] a man should stand tamely by in such a case, our wives and sisters would be at the mercy of any ruffian who disgraces the uniform. The policeman flatly lied, and if the girl will have him prosecuted for perjury I will gladly support her.”
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The reporter asked Crane if he had thought his feelings on rising in court at risk of public censure were at all like those experienced by the hero of
The Red Badge of Courage
before his first battle. Crane played along. “Yes I did. I was badly frightened, I admit, and would gladly have run away, could I have done so with honor.” With admirable thoroughness, the
Journal
’s reporter returned to the station house to get police comment. One officer lent credence to Miss Clark’s fear of rearrest. “I only hope she’ll be out tonight, and be run in here.” The policemen were as yet only mildly curious as to the identity of her defender, Stephen Crane. “An actor?” they wondered. “Never heard of him.”
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The Red Badge of Courage
before his first battle. Crane played along. “Yes I did. I was badly frightened, I admit, and would gladly have run away, could I have done so with honor.” With admirable thoroughness, the
Journal
’s reporter returned to the station house to get police comment. One officer lent credence to Miss Clark’s fear of rearrest. “I only hope she’ll be out tonight, and be run in here.” The policemen were as yet only mildly curious as to the identity of her defender, Stephen Crane. “An actor?” they wondered. “Never heard of him.”
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The
Journal
’s next-day story was headlined “Badge of Courage in a New York Police Court.” Crane had “boldly avowed he had been the escort of a Tenderloin Woman” who had been arrested. He had risked censure “by manfully championing a woman of whose antecedents he knew nothing.” An editorial called for an official investigation into the arrest, and concluded that if Crane was telling the truth, Policeman Becker was guilty either of perjury, which should be prosecuted, or of “a blunder so gross and unpardonable as to call for his removal from the force.” Consistent with this position, the
Journal
’s photo-illustrators produced a portrait of Crane sitting at a well-appointed writer’s desk—a respectable literary gentleman.
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Journal
’s next-day story was headlined “Badge of Courage in a New York Police Court.” Crane had “boldly avowed he had been the escort of a Tenderloin Woman” who had been arrested. He had risked censure “by manfully championing a woman of whose antecedents he knew nothing.” An editorial called for an official investigation into the arrest, and concluded that if Crane was telling the truth, Policeman Becker was guilty either of perjury, which should be prosecuted, or of “a blunder so gross and unpardonable as to call for his removal from the force.” Consistent with this position, the
Journal
’s photo-illustrators produced a portrait of Crane sitting at a well-appointed writer’s desk—a respectable literary gentleman.
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That picture of Crane hardly fit the reality of his life. Since dropping out of Syracuse five years earlier, his home turf had been midtown Manhattan. Typical of his living arrangements was an apartment at the Art Students League on East 23rd, which he shared with a group of young men he affectionately referred to as “the Indians.” They slept three to a bed, pooling their shoes and overcoats. Crane was almost always broke. He got by on two meals a day and a heavy diet of coffee and cigars. He slept in his clothes, and wrote notes on his cuffs. His friends described him as frail and undernourished, narrow in the chest and shoulders, like “someone who’s been skimped on.”
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His hair was usually a tangled mess. When not writing or playing cards or drinking beer with the Indians, Crane wandered the Bowery and the Tenderloin.
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His hair was usually a tangled mess. When not writing or playing cards or drinking beer with the Indians, Crane wandered the Bowery and the Tenderloin.
These adventures were research inasmuch as everything Crane saw and experienced was useful to his work, but the line between partaking and observing was blurry, and he never pretended to be operating under cover of a social agenda. Crane loved the streets as they were. He got a charge from their illicit pleasures. In sexual matters, he was ready and indiscriminate. “He took up with many a drab,” recalled a friend, “and was not overly particular as to her age, race or color. Many a time I have heard him say he would have to go out and get a nigger wench ‘to change his luck.’”
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A few months before the Dora Clark incident, Crane had given
McClure’s
a detailed story entitled “Opium’s Varied Dreams.” “The influence of dope is evidently a fine languor. . . . The problems of life no longer appear. Existence is peace . . . until the next morning.” Crane left his readers to guess if he had actually tried the drug.
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A few months before the Dora Clark incident, Crane had given
McClure’s
a detailed story entitled “Opium’s Varied Dreams.” “The influence of dope is evidently a fine languor. . . . The problems of life no longer appear. Existence is peace . . . until the next morning.” Crane left his readers to guess if he had actually tried the drug.
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Still, Crane’s pose of literary probity might have held if Dora Clark had not insisted on charging the police with harassment. The strongest part of her case was the witness of Stephen Crane, and she had not forgotten his promise of support. On learning that she intended to press ahead, the police suddenly became very interested in Crane’s identity. Reporters began to hear rumors from police sources of the author’s high times with Tenderloin women, and of an opium pipe in his rooms.
Crane was now worried enough to send a telegram explaining his involvement in the Clark affair to one of New York’s three police commissioners, Theodore Roosevelt, whose acquaintance he had recently made when Roosevelt had asked Crane to autograph his copy of
The Red Badge of Courage.
Thirty-seven years of age, beaming energy and confidence through his wall of white teeth, Theodore Roosevelt was on a mission to clean up a New York police force notorious for its manifold corruption and to improve its enforcement of the law. Prostitution was a particular target for him: convictions for solicitation had more than doubled in the previous twelve months. He upheld the view that a woman’s presence on the streets late at night was sufficient cause for arrest. Long before he’d ever met Dora Clark, Crane had protested in print this overzealous policing of prostitution and other aspects of Roosevelt’s crusade. Roosevelt, not surprisingly, offered no assistance in response to Crane’s letter, only advice: drop the Dora Clark matter and keep it out of the newspapers.
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The Red Badge of Courage.
Thirty-seven years of age, beaming energy and confidence through his wall of white teeth, Theodore Roosevelt was on a mission to clean up a New York police force notorious for its manifold corruption and to improve its enforcement of the law. Prostitution was a particular target for him: convictions for solicitation had more than doubled in the previous twelve months. He upheld the view that a woman’s presence on the streets late at night was sufficient cause for arrest. Long before he’d ever met Dora Clark, Crane had protested in print this overzealous policing of prostitution and other aspects of Roosevelt’s crusade. Roosevelt, not surprisingly, offered no assistance in response to Crane’s letter, only advice: drop the Dora Clark matter and keep it out of the newspapers.
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Another of New York’s three police commissioners, Frederick Grant, heard the charges brought by Dora Clark against Patrolman Becker on October 15. Miss Clark appeared in a black dress, a large black hat with black feathers, and a veil. Her only jewelry was a diamond star at her throat. The newspapermen rated her a cut above the other streetwalkers in the hearing room. Under cross-examination, it came out that she had been arrested six times for soliciting and fined once. Her real name was Ruby Young and she confessed to being a kept woman. She gave credible accounts of how the police had harassed her.
Becker’s lawyer, also named Grant, summoned policemen and a series of what the
Journal
called “women with yellow hair and big diamonds” to corroborate his client’s version of the arrest. The
Journal
reporter found Becker forthright and intelligent, in no manner the bully. He claimed to have seen Dora Clark speak to three men before he arrested her. Asked what he meant by “soliciting,” he replied, “Any woman who appears on the street alone late at night and talks to a man is a prostitute.”
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Journal
called “women with yellow hair and big diamonds” to corroborate his client’s version of the arrest. The
Journal
reporter found Becker forthright and intelligent, in no manner the bully. He claimed to have seen Dora Clark speak to three men before he arrested her. Asked what he meant by “soliciting,” he replied, “Any woman who appears on the street alone late at night and talks to a man is a prostitute.”
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Crane was the next to last witness called. His contention, under cross-examination, that he was in the Tenderloin collecting material for stories drew a hearty laugh from the policemen in attendance. The lawyer suggested that Crane had been living on money given him by women of the Tenderloin, and was particularly interested in one of his former residences on West 27th, which was “redolent of opium.” Crane denied having smoked opium. He looked frail during these exchanges, the
Journal
reported, frequently putting his hands to his face. Captain George S. Chapman, Patrolman Becker’s supervisor, dredged up the last witness—a janitor who testified that Crane had lived off a prostitute at the aforementioned 27th Street address. Commissioner Grant excluded his testimony, but the newspapers reported it regardless.
34
Journal
reported, frequently putting his hands to his face. Captain George S. Chapman, Patrolman Becker’s supervisor, dredged up the last witness—a janitor who testified that Crane had lived off a prostitute at the aforementioned 27th Street address. Commissioner Grant excluded his testimony, but the newspapers reported it regardless.
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The coverage focused on Crane and ignored the accused policeman and Dora Clark (the commissioner had reserved his decision). The
World
’s headlines were harshest:
World
’s headlines were harshest:
“CRANE HAD A GAY NIGHT—RACY STORY BROUGHT OUT IN THE TRIAL OF BECKER...—A JANITOR TESTIFIED THAT THE NOVELIST LIVED WITH A TENDERLOIN GIRL—AN OPIUM SMOKING EPISODE.”
The
New York Press
wasn’t far behind:
New York Press
wasn’t far behind:
“RED BADGE MAN ON A POLICE RACK—STEPHEN CRANE’S CHARACTER ASSAILED AT BECKER TRIAL—VILE CHARGES ARE MADE—NOVELIST STICKS TO HIS DEFENSE OF THE TENDERLOIN WOMAN HE SAYS WAS ARRESTED UNLAWFULLY. ”
The
Journal
was more sympathetic but nonetheless hurtful to Crane’s reputation:
Journal
was more sympathetic but nonetheless hurtful to Crane’s reputation:
“CRANE RISKED ALL TO SAVE A WOMAN—HIS BOHEMIAN LIFE IN NEW YORK LAID BARE FOR THE SAKE OF DORA CLARK. ”
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A final
Journal
editorial was outraged that Clark’s charges had not been taken seriously because she was from “the lower half world.” The courtroom assault on Mr. Crane’s private life was a “deliberate and despicable scheme of police intimidation, of which any voluntary witness in a trial for police outrage may become a victim.”
36
Journal
editorial was outraged that Clark’s charges had not been taken seriously because she was from “the lower half world.” The courtroom assault on Mr. Crane’s private life was a “deliberate and despicable scheme of police intimidation, of which any voluntary witness in a trial for police outrage may become a victim.”
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Apart from the
Journal,
which immediately assigned Crane to cover a football game, most editorial opinion considered Crane to have disgraced himself. A few days later, he slipped out of New York, rarely to return. Within a week of the hearing, Dora Clark was arrested again and returned to Jefferson Market Police Court. Becker survived the whole incident and rose to the position of police lieutenant. He developed a specialization in extorting money from Manhattan brothels and casinos. He was eventually convicted of ordering the murder of a bookie and was executed in the electric chair at Sing Sing on July 30, 1915.
37
Journal,
which immediately assigned Crane to cover a football game, most editorial opinion considered Crane to have disgraced himself. A few days later, he slipped out of New York, rarely to return. Within a week of the hearing, Dora Clark was arrested again and returned to Jefferson Market Police Court. Becker survived the whole incident and rose to the position of police lieutenant. He developed a specialization in extorting money from Manhattan brothels and casinos. He was eventually convicted of ordering the murder of a bookie and was executed in the electric chair at Sing Sing on July 30, 1915.
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THE SAME CAPTAIN GEORGE S. CHAPMAN who had called the last damaging witness against Stephen Crane featured in another headline-winning drama at the other end of the social spectrum shortly after Dora Clark’s hearing. On the evening of December 19, 1896, Herbert Barnum Seeley, a young nephew of the late P.T. Barnum, hosted an all-night stag party for his brother, Clinton. The guests, twenty in all, were drawn primarily from the membership register of the Larchmont Yacht Club. They were affluent young men, about half of them married. The venue was a private dining room at Sherry’s, a fashionable restaurant. The carte du jour consisted of thirteen courses interspersed with displays of “art”—singing, dancing, and comedy provided by a variety of performers, most of them known to local theater audiences. The dinner guests wore evening dress. What the performers did or didn’t wear became a matter of some dispute.
The trouble started around 11 p.m. when a man named Moore walked into the Nineteenth Precinct station in the Tenderloin and advised Captain Chapman that an “indecent” performance by a dancer called Little Egypt was about to take place in a private room at Sherry’s on 37th Street. Moore said that a theatrical agent named Phipps had offered Moore’s daughter, Anabelle, a sweet and comely girl of eighteen, $15 to dance without her tights at the very same event. It would later emerge that Anabelle had wanted at least $20 to dance without her tights and that her father, who lived off the avails of the girl’s dancing, was upset at losing lucrative business to Phipps, who had also booked Little Egypt for the evening.
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Not long after midnight, Chapman and a couple of patrolmen burst into Sherry’s through a side door and climbed upstairs in search of lewd behavior. They stumbled first into a dressing room, where a handful of women rested in various states of undress. One of them was the singer-dancer Cora Routt, who ordered Chapman out of the room. He answered that she was a disgrace to her sex and instructed her to leave the premises immediately. A handful of gentlemen heard the commotion and rushed to Chapman’s side, easing him out the door and attempting to assuage his concerns about indecent activities. Unconvinced, Chapman stormed the private dining room occupied by the Seeley party and lectured the guests on prohibited forms of entertainment. They invited him to sit down, have a drink, and enjoy the show. Chapman made his exit without finding either filth or Little Egypt.
The story, such as it was, troubled the three-cent papers more than it did the penny press. That Chapman would barge, without a warrant, into a dinner party in a private room in a respectable restaurant on a seemingly spurious allegation of indecency was viewed as a gross assault on the privileges and freedoms of club life. The
Herald
predicted that the diners would all be making out complaints against the police. Louis Sherry protested that he catered to only “the very best people in New York” and threatened to lodge a complaint against Chapman and to sue the city.
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Phipps, who had supplied much of the night’s entertainment, accused Chapman of trying to harm his agency. He, too, was threatening legal action. The
Journal
played the story on an inside page and could muster only a yawn of indignation in its editorials.
Herald
predicted that the diners would all be making out complaints against the police. Louis Sherry protested that he catered to only “the very best people in New York” and threatened to lodge a complaint against Chapman and to sue the city.
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Phipps, who had supplied much of the night’s entertainment, accused Chapman of trying to harm his agency. He, too, was threatening legal action. The
Journal
played the story on an inside page and could muster only a yawn of indignation in its editorials.
The Seeley story did not make the
Journal
’s front page until December 24, when it became apparent that none of the young men who attended the bachelor party was prepared to swear a complaint against Chapman. The paper attributed their reluctance to the fact that Little Egypt had indeed appeared at the dinner and “given it to them hot.” It was reported that she had actually been on the premises during Chapman’s raid, hiding in a private dressing room on the fourth floor. She waited there until 3:30 a.m. before finally emerging to dance the coochee-coochee.
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Journal
’s front page until December 24, when it became apparent that none of the young men who attended the bachelor party was prepared to swear a complaint against Chapman. The paper attributed their reluctance to the fact that Little Egypt had indeed appeared at the dinner and “given it to them hot.” It was reported that she had actually been on the premises during Chapman’s raid, hiding in a private dressing room on the fourth floor. She waited there until 3:30 a.m. before finally emerging to dance the coochee-coochee.
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