Pande on child marriage in colonial India

         Ishita Pande (Queen's University, Ontario) has published Sex, Law, and the Politics of Age: Child Marriage in India, 1891-1937 with Cambridge University Press. From the publisher: 

     Ishita Pande's innovative study provides a dual biography of India's path-breaking Child Marriage Restraint Act (1929) and of 'age' itself as a key category of identity for upholding the rule of law, and for governing intimate life in late colonial India. Through a reading of legislative assembly debates, legal cases, government reports, propaganda literature, Hindi novels and sexological tracts, Pande tells a wide-ranging story about the importance of debates over child protection to India's coming of age. By tracing the history of age in colonial India she illuminates the role of law in sculpting modern subjects, demonstrating how seemingly natural age-based exclusions and understandings of legal minority became the alibi for other political exclusions and the minoritization of entire communities in colonial India. In doing so, Pande highlights how childhood as a political category was fundamental not just to ideas of sexual norms and domestic life, but also to the conceptualisation of citizenship and India as a nation in this formative period. 

Praise for the book:  

"In this theoretically rigorous feminist history, Ishita Pande shows us how and why imperial 'age of consent' controversies should more aptly be read as regimes of reproductive temporality that shape minority and majority political claims in South Asian modernity in all its worldly ambition. Sex, Law and the Politics of Age opens up the terrain of 'juridical childhood' to a whole new set of questions and methods, rethinking girlhood as a prism of colonial and postcolonial ambition and a secularizing epistemic lever in the process." -Antoinette Burton

"A fascinating read, this book adeptly and sensitively renders the child as a moral-political category, and a socio-cultural construct, of modernity in colonial India. Through a close reading of the Child Marriage Restraint Act of 1929, Pande brilliantly intertwines debates on sexuality, childhood and age with the carving of a Hindu reformist nation." -Charu Gupta

"Here, finally, is a superbly researched and expansive South Asian/Indian history of the categories of age and consent, and their translations and tribulations within legal and social structures of surveillance and control. An indispensable book for scholars of law, gender and sexuality." -Anjali Arondekar

"Pande brilliantly deploys the generative power of gender analysis and queer theory to reinterpret one of the most widely-debated topics in colonial South Asian historiography: the question of ‘child marriage’. This rigorous and beautifully written book will be required reading for all historians and scholars of gender and sexuality in the twentieth century." -Todd Shepard 

You can join the author for an online book event, "Sex, Law, and the Politics of Age with Ishita Pande" on Monday, August 24, 2020 at 12.30-1.30pm CDT. Register here.

Further information about the book is available here.  

--Mitra Sharafi

Scott Mausoleum Burglary & Extortion

In February 08, 1911, a macabre crime took place in the Erie Cemetery. There was a break-in at the Scott Mausoleum, disturbing the body of the late Congressman William L Scott — a wealthy railroad man. The grave robbers carried away the body of his sister in law, Mrs. McCullum. Several of the crypts were broken into, the copper cases holding the caskets had been opened, apparently with chisels, and two or three of the caskets had been opened, apparently with chisels, and two or three of the caskets themselves practically demolished, while one was taken away entirely.

Private Detectives investigating the desecration of the Scott Mausoleum in the Erie Cemetery reported a body had been taken. Later it was announced that the marauders entered the mausoleum, removed the body, and it was later found in another crypt. The detectives were the only ones giving out information, and most, if not all of it, was false. The detectives formulated a theory that the robbers were after jewels that might have been on the women’s bodies in the tomb. Reporting that the bodies of Mrs. McCullum and Mrs. W. L. Scott were the only ones taken from the caskets, and the jewelry was taken from their corpses — most of which later was found not to be true or correct.

Louis Wadlinger, a milkman, told the police that he saw men come through a hole in he cemetery fence and heard hammering in the mausoleum as the thieves were evidently at work. The break-in though was discovered by two women, passing through the cemetery during the afternoon. When the women approached the mausoleum, on coming to the heavy bronze gates, they noticed that the lock of the other gates were not fastened. A closer view showed them that the panel of one of the inner doors seemed to have been tampered with. One of the women reached in through the bars and touched the panel, whereupon it fell into the mausoleum with a crash. The women then fled and told what they had seen to an acquaintance.

A year later, the two detectives directing the man hunt with the case would be arrested and charged with mail fraud.

The Perkins’ Detective Agency became involved with the case after the mausoleum of the late Honorable William L. Scott was broken into and desecrated in an unsuccessful attempt to remove the remains of its occupants. Mrs. Annie W. S. Strong, who resided at Erie and was a daughter of Mr. Scott, immediately telephoned the Pittsburgh Detective Agency, which, some two years before, had done work for Mr. Strong, to come to Erie and take charge of the case. At the same time, she sent word of the outrage to her sister and the trustee of her father’s estate, both of whom lived elsewhere. In pursuance of her request, two men from the detective agency came to Erie and took charge of the investigation. Mr. Perkins arrived in Erie from his home in Pittsburgh on February 10th, and remained until February 18th; and Franklin from his home in Philadelphia on February 10th, and remained until February 13th. While in Erie both men stayed at the Reed House. They at once went to work on the case, employing ten men, and bringing bloodhounds to Erie from Indianapolis, Indiana. Soon friction developed in the search for the perpetrators. Franklin had been at one time a licensed detective in Erie county, but through a legal investigation of the Erie county courts, which had been the outgrowth of an article concerning Franklin in a newspaper owned by the Strongs, his license was revoked. As a result of this, and of matters called to Mr. Strong’s attention by letters and reports, he insisted, as soon as he learned of Franklin’s employment, that he be dismissed from the case. In addition to this, the trustee of the estate had also employed another detective agency on the case, their men had declined to co-operate with Perkins and Franklin whose agency was on the verge of losing the arrangement they had with the Strongs.

In response, to regroup and capitalize on the situation, Mr. Perkins began working on a plan to create fear within the Strong family, for the personal safety of Mrs. Strong and her family, by telling her that she was in the hands of desperate men. To further this exploitation, and the devising of a plot to extort money from the Strongs, on a Saturday night, February 11th, or Sunday morning, February 12th, a bullet was fired through the window of Mr. Strong’s office. Following the shooting, on February 13th, Mr. Strong received by mail first of the two letters that would be sent to him. Erie’s Chief of Police would also receive a letter on February 23d.

The first letter postmarked on February 13th, read:

P. S. or your bouse will be blown up.

Mr. Strong

Leave $50,000

at 31″ st and

Pennsylvania

Ave

on night of Feb.

29″ at 12 P. M. or you will have

your mausoleum

blown up and

if you bring any

police on 29th of Feb.

my men will shoot

them.

Black Hand

The second letter followed on February 15th, which read:

C. Strong.

You leave $50,000

at 11 P. M. Feb. 28, 1911

at 31 st ant Pennsilvanea

Avenue or you will have

your branes

blowed out. Either you

or your wife. If you

brung eny police along

hey will be shot and

my men will take a

strong battle.

(You

(son-of-a-b ) Black Hand

Deth

They were followed on the 23rd of February by one addressed to the Chief of Police of Erie, which read:

Cheef of Police.

Dont you dare

to send any police

to 31″ st Pennsylvania

Ave on night of Feb. 28

at 11 P. M.

as your men

and mle men will

have a pitched

battle.

We demanded $50,000

from Strongs

Black Hand

deth

Before Mrs. Strong even received the first letter written to her husband, in Perkins’ attempt to support his contention of a threat to the Strong family, Perkins asked Mrs. Strong if she had any threatening letters, to which she replied, "No." Perkins then stated to her “You will have them; they will come, this Is a desperate case. Mrs. Strong. This entire thing is a desperate case, and you will have some letters.”

When Mrs. Strong finally received the first letter Mr. Perkins then asked her if she notice how the letter was torn, then Perkins stated to her “The probabilities are that you will get another letter that was written on a piece of paper that fits into that exactly. It is to show you that it is the same people and that they mean business. They are desperate.”

Mr. Perkins from the very first letter tried to impress upon Mrs. Strong that her situation was of the most serious character, that the people connected with it must be enemies, that she had enemies, that it was done to show her that she had enemies, and they were desperate, and they intended to continue their attempts, and these letter, in other words, was prove to him, as to the fact.

Mr. Walker, Strong’s secretary, received a visited from Mr. Perkins who showed him the letter received as of the 13th, on February 15th; during his visit Perkins commented on the general character of the letter, the way it was torn, and said that the Strong family would probably get another letter. That the other letter would probably be the other half of the one already received, and it would fit right in with the one the Strong family has already, and the possibility, if the writer of the letter was the desecrater of the mausoleum, that the Strongs would receive a piece of copper with it.

Mr. Sobel, the Postmaster at Erie, also received a visit from Mr. Perkins who told him that some threatening letters would likely come, and suggesting the carriers be put on guard so as to locate the mailing place; Mr. Perkins subsequently brought him the first black hand letter that was received; after examining it, Postmaster Sobel called Mr. Perkins’ attention to the fact that several words, which would be misspelled by an illiterate person, were correctly spelled, and that in the second black hand letter subsequently received some of these particular words were misspelled. He also said that Perkins called his attention to the uneven edges of the paper on which the first letter was written, and that he expected to find the corresponding piece in the writer’s possession when he was caught.

Mr. Franklin’s was well known to have hostile feeling toward the Strongs, and expressed them publicly in Erie on the night of February 22d , and on that night, the day before a Black Hand letter to the Chief of Police was mailed, Mr. Perkins had been again seen in Erie. Meanwhile, the United States Postal authorities had investigated the mailing of these letters, and on April 13th, simultaneously ordered the arrest of Mr. Perkins at Indianapolis and Mr. Franklin in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. On his arrest Mr. Perkins was requested to hand over his personal effects, and among them was a large envelope, which he took from his pocket and gave to a Deputy Marshal. Later, Mr. Perkins asked that the envelope be returned, saying it only contained a codicil to his will. The envelope and papers were, however, placed in a large official envelope; the explanation being made to Mr. Perkins that as soon as the papers taken were examined they would be returned to him.

Since the search of Perkins and where he was staying were made under a search warrant issued by the state, rather than the federal courts, the post office inspectors became apprehensive that legal proceedings would be taken in Indianapolis to recover the papers, so they at once left for Columbus, Ohio, taking the papers with them. There they broke the seal of the official envelope, and in the large envelope received from Perkins they found, among others, a sealed envelope having printed on it the name of the Reed House, in Erie. On opening this there were alleged to be found torn fragments of sheets of paper, which would be produced at the trial, and which tallied with the two Black Hand letters received by Mr. Strong. In the meantime, Mr. Franklin had been requested to come to the office of a Post Office Inspector in Philadelphia. While there, on inquiry by the inspector, Franklin gave an account of his connection with the Scott case at Erie, and at his request wrote copies in pencil and ink of the black hand letters; thereafter, the post office authorities arrested Franklin as being the writer of the letters.

In the forthcoming trial, Perkins and Franklin, would go on the stand and deny-in-whole of any involvement with the writing of, or mailing of the letters, or of any knowledge of them, and a most explicit denial by Mr. Perkins of ever having had in his possession the alleged incriminating fragmentary papers, and of any statements alleged to have been made to Postmaster Sobel and Mrs. Strong tending to show predictions by him that black hand letters would be forthcoming.

Both Perkins and Franklin were charged in federal court with placing or causing to be placed letters in a post office in executing a scheme to defraud. In the trial, the government gave in evidence the alleged black hand letters laid in the indictment, and submitted the copies thereof made by Franklin, then called two experts in handwriting, who were examined and cross-examined by the respective parties at great length. These men gave as their opinion that the same man had written both. On their side, the defendants called four handwriting experts, who were likewise examined at length by both sides, and who testified to a contrary conclusion. The testimony, thus adduced by both sides, was received without objection or exception, and was now assigned for error. In the course of the trial it subsequently developed that this whole line of expert testimony given by both sides was open to objection. After a long legal courtroom debate, the court decided to allow all of the testimony of both the governments and the defendant’s handwriting experts to go to the jury for their consideration and verdict. The decision was an important one because the governments case revolved entirely around the letters that was written.

After the trial, which lasted ten days, the case went to the jury, who found the defendants guilty on July 29, 1911, as indicted. On entry of judgment the court imposed separate and different sentences on the defendants to be served at Leavenworth prison. Thereupon the defendants joined in a writ of error to the court. The court’s response to the writ was the following:

As no question was raised as to the propriety of the method of procedure, the court refrain from any discussion of the question whether, in a criminal case, a single and joint writ of error will lie on the petition of two defendants upon whom separate and different sentences have been imposed. We here simply note the fact, lest our silence might hereafter seem to warrant the contention we had decided that question.

In short, the defendant’s appeals were rejected.

It remains a mystery as to whom really burglarized the mausoleum. Did Perkins and Franklin ransack the mausoleum, did they hire someone to do it, or did they had nothing to do with the burglary, but merely took advantage of the situation. It may never be know.

Scott Mausoleum.

Erie’s Mafia Myth

The myth of a mafia crime family in Erie has existed since...but in recent years the myth has been perpetrated to new heights by the mystifying and glamorization of Erie native Raymond W. Ferritto who was associated with the Licavoli crime family in Cleveland, not Erie. Ferritto at the time was associated with a criminal element in Erie who would love to brag that they were connected to the mafia because of their association with Ferritto, but in reality they were only common criminals, with no real connection to any family within the American Mafia.

Ferritto took a percentage from Erie's criminal activities, but his personal associates in Erie were that, not associates in the Licavoli crime family — An associate is not a member of the Mafia, but works for a crime family nonetheless. Associates can include a wide range of people who work for the family. An associate can have a wide range of duties from virtually carrying out the same duties as a soldier to being a simple errand boy.

Erie was Ferritto's sideline operation. The Licavoli crime family did not recognize any of Ferritto's associates in Erie.

Early in his 20s, Ferrito left Erie for ambitious reasons. He had the connections. He had skills that made him useful to mafia in Cleveland and Los Angeles. From burglary to murder, Ferritto carried out the wishes of made men, the kind of gangsters who provide the cinematic lore and legacy that fascinates so many people. But they were interested in Ferritto, not his small time gambling associates, not Erie. Ferritto’s legend preceded him in Erie; where, when he wasn’t moonlighting for the mafia in Cleveland and Los Angeles, he partnered with local bookmaker Frank "Bolo" Dovishaw.

Frank Dovishaw, an associate of Ferritto, lived in Erie’s Little Italy. From his west side neighborhood, Dovishaw controlled the local gambling book — including sports-betting and numbers — and became one of the most successful bookmakers in northwestern Pennsylvania. Ferritto benefited from the relationship until Caesar Montevecchio — a burglar — hired Robert E. Dorler Sr of Medina, Ohio, in 1983, to murder Dovishaw for the purpose of stealing his keys to a safety deposit box. Both Montevecchio and Dorler were freelancers who had no association with the mafia.

Ferritto got involved in criminal activities in his youth. In 1942, at the relatively young age of 13, he was convicted of burglarizing two gas stations and was sentenced to two years of probation. At the time some of the criminals who worked Erie’s streets after World War II knew people, important people in the LaRocca family in Pittsburgh, and in the Licavoli crime family in Cleveland, as well as the Youngstown faction of the Pittsburgh crew. But none of those families set up shop in Erie. It was this environment with its connections that provided Ferritto with his opportunity to further his ambitions.

During his twenties, Ferritto was a bookmaker and vending machine route man in Erie before moving to Warren, Ohio, where he met Ronald "The Crab" Carabbia and Tony Delsanter. Carabbia and his three brothers were all known as the Crab, which was a play on their last name, and they had become prominent in the organized crime scene in Youngstown. Delsanter was a made man in Cleveland’s Licavoli crime family.

By the late sixties, Ferritto had moved to Los Angeles where he was associated with a group of Cleveland mobsters, including Julius Petro. In the forties, Petro wriggled free from a death sentence on a retrial in a murder case. Ferritto and Petro were associates of Jimmy Fratianno, who was closely associated with the Los Angeles crime family. By the 1970s, Danny Greene, an Irish American associate began competing with Cleveland’s Licavoli crime family for control of union rackets, resulting in a violent mob war. During this period, there were almost 40 car bombings in Cleveland and eight failed attempts to kill Greene. Finally, Cleveland family bosses Jack "Jack White" Licavoli and Angelo "Big Ange" Lonardo contracted Ferritto to assassinate Greene.

This assignment was the beginning of the end for Ferrito’s career and any connection to the mafia that Erie would have. When a search warrant was executed at Ferritto’s house in Erie, police found the registration papers for the bomb car and arrested him. The search of Ferritto's house also turned up a copy of Cleveland Magazine with a picture of Greene in it. Upon hearing of Ferritto’s arrest, Licavoli put out a hit contract on Ferritto. When Ferritto learned that the Cleveland family wanted him dead, he became a government witness and testified against his co-defendants in the 1978 trial. The State of Ohio indicted Licavoli, Lonardo, Ferritto, Carabbia and 15 other members of the Cleveland Family for the Greene murder. With his career ended in the mafia, Ferritto eventually moved to Florida, where he died of congestive heart failure at age 75.

Bookmaking was the primary vehicle for Erie’s local brand of organized – and sometimes disorganized – crime. It was controlled by local members of the community, and just as it was with Prohibition, bookmaking in Erie was largely overlooked, or ignored by the mafia, which suited the bookies, giving them the freedom to run their business without interference from outsiders.

In 1954, Erie’s Mayor, Thomas Flatley, was arrested — alongside several people in his administration, officials at the police station, and several bookmakers — on charges of corruption, abuse of power, and facilitating illegal gambling, to which he pleaded guilty to charges of conspiracy and violating his oath of office, leaving him to resign facing jail time and fines. Bookmakers at the time were paying the city for protection, which guaranteed them to operate freely not only from any interference from the city, but the mafia itself.

Erie’s only real connection with the mafia was through Ferritto’s association with the Licavoli crime family in Cleveland.

Florence Genevieve Polillo

One of the most infamous crimes in Northeast Ohio were the Torso murders of the mid-1930s, also known as the Kingsbury Run Murders. Still unsolved, the killings were committed in Cleveland, Ohio. The gruesome crimes were the talk of the decade, challenging Cleveland’s safety director Eliot Ness and the Cleveland Police for years.

Erie was not only interested in the crimes, but shared a connection to the killings in Florence Genevieve Polillo, the third victim of the torso killer in 1936.

Florence’s body was found on the 26th of January in 1936, when a woman discovers about half the body of a female neatly wrapped in newspaper and packed in two half bushel baskets. The baskets were left alongside the Hart Manufacturing building on Central Avenue near East 20th Street in Cleveland. In the following month, upon another discovery made on February 7 by a young mechanic, everything except the head was recovered in a vacant lot on nearby Orange Avenue. The cause of death had been decapitation, but for some reason the killer had waited for rigor mortis to set in before disarticulating the rest of the body. Fingerprints allowed the identification of one Florence Genevieve Polillo, waitress, bar maid, and prostitute. At the time of her death, she resided at 3205 Carnegie Avenue, right on the edge of Cleveland’s Roaring Third Street, which at the time was the red-light district of Cleveland.

The official number of murders credited to the Cleveland Torso Murderer is twelve, although recent research has shown there may have been more. The twelve victims were killed between 1935 and 1938. The victims were usually drifters. Four of the victims were identified, the identities of the other eight were never determined.

The Torso Murderer always beheaded and often dismembered his victims, sometimes also cutting the torso in half; in many cases the cause of death was the decapitation itself. Most of the male victims were castrated, and some victims showed evidence of chemical treatment being applied to their bodies. Many of the victims were found after a considerable period of time following their deaths, sometimes a year or more. This made identification nearly impossible, especially since the heads were often not found.

During the time of the official murders Eliot Ness held the position of Public Safety Director of Cleveland, a position with authority over the police department and ancillary services, including the fire department. While Ness had little to do with the investigation his posthumous reputation as leader of the Untouchables has made him an irresistible character in modern torso murder lore.

Born Florence Genevieve Sawdy, December 6, 1891, in Ashtabula County, Ohio, Florence spent her early youth, sometime around 1900, in Erie’s 4th ward with her mother, Nellie Eliza (Robinson) Sawdy; and father, Fred Othello Sawdy. The family resided at 236 West 3rd Street. Florence’s family, on her father’s side, originates from Platea, in Erie county; Florence, her father, and other family members are all interred at the Platea Cemetery.

Florence’s mother worked at home, while her father freelanced as a day laborer. Her father’s employment was never steady, which kept the family on the move. The Sawdy family was in flux, moving to Buffalo, New York, then back to Erie; to Cleveland and Ashtabula, Ohio, and back to Erie again. Not much is known about Florence’s youth. Records for the Sawdy family are sparse and spread throughout three states.

By the 1920s, Florence is an adult and more records can be found, which describes her as an alcoholic who had a history of abuse by paramours. She was a prostitute and her associates were at the very bottom of the social class, they were pimps, bootleggers, and prostitutes. She was also believed to be emotionally unstable.

Around 1922 to 1923 Florence meets Andrew Polilla, a Postal Worker from Buffalo, New York. The couple marries and continue to reside in Buffalo for the next 5 to 6 years until 1928 when Florence (Florence Genevieve Polillo) tells her husband that she is leaving for two weeks to Ashtabula to visit her mother to straighten herself out. Two weeks later, having not return home, she is spotted in the company of a man at Charles Restaurant in downtown Buffalo by her husband. The next night she packs her clothes up and leaves their apartment. Florence agrees to a divorce and moves back to Erie in 1928. That same year in August she is arrested for solicitation. Except for the arrest, the two years that Florence spent in Erie was uneventful.

In 1930 Florence shows up in Cleveland, Ohio, and is arrested for soliciting. The following year on June 14, 1931, Florence is arrested again in Cleveland for renting a room for immoral purposes.

On May 2, 1934, Florence makes a radical departure from her normal pattern of activity and travels to Washington, D.C. where she is arrested for soliciting. The authorities agreed to drop the complaint against Florence if she agrees to leave the capitol and never return, which she did.

Florence resurfaced in Cleveland in October of 1935, where she is arrested for selling liquor at 1504 St. Clair Avenue.

A few months later, in January of 1936, Florence would become victim number three in the Cleveland Murders.

Florence Genevieve Polillo.

Florence’s partial remains was found on the 26th of January in 1936 along the side of the Hart Manufacturing building on Central Avenue near East 20th Street in Cleveland.

The Disappearance of Doris Hatch

In 1953, Doris Hatch was a 22-year-old girl who lived in the small college town of Cambridge Springs, about 25 miles south of the city of Erie. She was tall, dark-haired, wore glasses, and was generally attractive. She lived with her widowed mother, Mrs. Lucy Hatch, then 54. After graduating from high school Doris had taken a commercial course in Erie before going to work as a clerk in the First National Bank of Cambridge Springs. She also took a local part-time job in Cambridge Springs keeping books for the Park Hardware Store, which was managed by William Ray Turner, a native of Cambridge Springs.

William Turner, a graduate of both the University of Pittsburgh and the University of Pennsylvania School of Law, failed the bar exam. He attempted to join the FBI, but failed. During World War II Turner served in the Philippines as a lieutenant in the military police. Turner also worked as a personnel investigator at the Keystone Ordinance Plant in Greenwood Township, Crawford county. Before returning to Cambridge Springs Turner worked for the Erie Dispatch Herald as a police reporter and editor of the newspaper’s Sunday edition in Erie county.

Monday, July 27, 1953, was a typically warm summer day and Doris’ mother later remembered: “She was wearing an orange organdy dress and white, low-cut shoes.” About 11:00 a.m. Doris received a telephone call at the bank, where she worked, from Turner. “Can you stop over at lunch-time and look up an invoice?” he asked her. At 11:30 a.m. Doris left the bank. She walked across two streets (altogether a couple of hundred feet) to the store. Inside were Turner and two employees, Irving Stanford and Ronnie Caldwell.

Doris looked up the invoice. Meanwhile, Stanford and Caldwell left. Ronnie later recalled, “After she came in, Turner told me, ‘Ronnie, take Stanford out and have lunch.’ ” Caldwell did so, and returned alone a short time later. As he afterwards told it, “Turner was by himself then. About 12:45 p.m. he left, saying he was going to Erie to buy something.”

At 1:00 p.m. with Doris overdue at the bank, a bank official telephoned Mrs. Hatch at her modest frame home several blocks away. “I haven’t seen her,” said the mother. “She should have been home for lunch.” Mrs. Hatch called the hardware store. No one had seen Doris since noon. Mrs. Hatch thought no more of it until that night when Doris still failed to come home. For Doris not to return home, or to call her mother, was unthinkable, according to Mrs. Hatch.

Mrs. Hatch in an interview would recalled the day that her daughter disappeared:

I called Bill Turner and asked him if he knew where Doris was. He said she’d walked out of the store shortly before noon. I told him I was worried and wanted to notify the police. He said that probably wasn't necessary, that she’d be home.

Mrs. Hatch didn't take the advice. She telephoned Police Chief Albert Hutson that night. Hutson, a one-man force, would or could not do much. At 9:00 a.m. the next day Hutson telephoned the state police in Meadville, the Crawford County seat. State troopers, when they got to town, regarded Doris as a run-of-the-mill missing person. They felt that Mrs. Hatch wasn’t cooperative, and ended up with the impression that she was a small town woman who didn't want to broadcast her family troubles for small town gossips. She was even reluctant to let the town’s weekly newspaper print anything on the case.

Two days later, with Doris still not back, a bank director telephoned Raymond Shafer, Crawford County district attorney, and advised him that there might be more to the disappearance than met the eye. Shafer drove in with the county detective and visited Turner, who was well known in town, a deputy constable, and an old acquaintance of the prosecutor. Turner had even once tried to obtain a county detective post himself.

Turner admitted to the district attorney that there was one remark that Doris made when she left his store that day that puzzled him. “On the way out, she said, ‘Goodbye, Bill, thanks for everything.’ I don’t have any idea what she meant by it.” By then it had been established (and has never been disproved) that Turner was the last person to see Doris before she disappeared. Turner was quite cooperative with the police. He explained his theory that he believed that Doris had an unhappy home life and must have fled from it. He willingly supplied information when Mrs. Hatch didn't talk freely.

The state police based a significant portion of their first circular about Doris on Turner's statement, which read:

Miss Hatch is alleged to have led a very dull life at home. Her father was dead and she has been responsible for taking care of her mother, paying the bills and doing most of the housework. She has been very restricted in her social life and was not believed to have been a happy person.

When Mrs. Hatch was asked about this later, she verbally tore that portrait to shreds. “Doris didn't have any beaux hanging around her, but as far as I know she was happy, She just wasn't a gadabout.” Later editions of the circulars would appeared without the paragraph based on Turner’s statement.

Turner’s assistance, however disputed, was short-lived. On July 31 he left by car for Magnolia, Massachusetts, where his wife and small daughter were vacationing with his wife’s parents. Shafer and the police soon found that there were mysteries in the case, which gave it a very unusual complexion. One troubling aspect was that Doris had not taken anything with her that day to work but the clothes on her back, a pair of shoes in a bag to be repaired, and $30 in her purse. The First National Bank of Cambridge, where Doris was employed, checked her accounts and found them to be in order — Doris had some $700 of her own money deposited, which she’d left untouched.

In mid-November the bank offered a $500 reward for any information as to the whereabouts of Doris. A week later it was raised to $700 when two local men, J.C. Allee, bank president; and George Klandatos, restaurant owner, added a $100 each. The total eventually reaches $8,500 with a generous contribution by the Erie Daily Times.

For a number of weeks all that one could get out of Cambridge Springs were hints of undue influence in Doris’ disappearance. People were close-mouthed. Late in 1953, according to one man in the community, it was believed that Doris was bumped for knowing too much; not so long before some money had been embezzled from the Park Hardware store. Turner was under routine scrutiny, but an employee made a settlement with the firm after Turner had threatened to have him arrested.

There had been a couple of arson investigations; one about a fire at a property owned by the Turner family. Doris had been one of the people questioned. It wasn't until later that an investigating officer stated, “The state police fire marshal was ready to arrest Turner, but a Crawford County official vetoed it.”

The police wanted to talk to Turner again. But he was still in Massachusetts. While he was gone they made an unsuccessful search of the hardware store, which he and his mother owned jointly. The turning point in the investigation came early in September. Mrs. Hatch and her brother came to Erie County and laid the facts before Captain Frank Milligan, commanding officer, of the state police in northwestern Pennsylvania; they wanted the investigation pushed. That was when Milligan assigned Trooper Lew Penman to the case. Penman was a member of Milligan’s crack criminal investigation detail, a veteran of some 13 years on the force. He didn't have an easy start. Cambridge Springs had become touchy about the Hatch case. On one of his first trips there a prominent citizen asked him belligerently: “What makes you think you’re qualified to investigate a case like this?”

By that time Turner had returned to Cambridge Springs. Shortly afterward, he traded in his 1950 Chevrolet at a garage located next door to his store, which lead to an informant tipping off a state police auto safety inspector that the car ought to be checked. There were two curious things about the car: Turner had supposedly turned down a trade-in offer before his Massachusetts trip and while he was gone he’d installed new seat covers. So the police visited the garage and took a look. What they saw underneath the seat covers prompted them to impound the vehicle and have it towed some 400 miles to the FBI laboratories in Washington, D. C. The photographs of the car’s interior were ugly dark stains throughout. The car was saturated — seats, floor, sides and ceiling. There was a noticeable concentration on the right front seat. The stains were human blood, according to the FBI report. The report also said that there had been an attempt to wash them off.

This was sufficient evidence to invite Turner in for questioning. Turner cooperated — up to a point. His explanation for the blood was that he’d picked up a couple of accident victims and taken them to a hospital. The trouble was that on different occasions his version of the accident location varied. Police patiently checked each version. They could find no accident records and no hospital admissions. Even this didn't explain the blood on the ceiling.

For that, Turner had another answer:

On his Massachusetts trip, he’d cut his right thumb opening a beer can. The blood, he said, spattered as he waved the thumb in the air to stop the bleeding. He displayed a scar on his thumb. At this point, Turner refused to take a lie detector test arranged by Shafer. “After all, I’m not charged with anything,” he replied.

This sort of evidence should shatter a suspects’ composure under interrogation. In most cases it would. But it didn't faze Turner, who was 38 years old in 1953, he was not the stereotypical small town merchant. He came from an excellent family in the community. Having earned a law degree, he worked as a newspaper reporter, even wrote several detective stories, and for a time in Manila was assigned to homicide investigations while serving in the military police; then afterwards, working briefly as a personnel investigator for an ordnance plant, Turner knew and understood the science of interrogation. Turner was no man to be bulldozed into making incriminating statements. He knew as much, or more about law and police work than many of the men he encountered in the case, and that’s what frustrated them. “He knows his rights and he insists on them,” one officer said despairingly.

There were good and bad things to be said for Turner. During his military service he saved a pilot from the wreckage of a plane crash in which he himself was injured. He was decorated for bravery. Some people thought the experience left an unfortunate mark on his mind. His first marriage to an Erie woman in 1940 had broken up. In 1946 he married a nurse he had met in the Army. At some time in his later life he became an alcoholic. Police who checked his habits found that he would consumed as much as a fifth of whiskey a day. He seemed to have a sadistic touch and some of the investigators insisted that he was a psychopath.

A friend of Turner recalled:

One time when he was drinking he decided to show me ‘how we took care of arrests in Manila.’ He twisted my arm behind me and would have broken it if his wife hadn't hit him with a shoe. He didn't know his own strength.

Turner stood six foot three and weighed more than 200 pounds. He was considered brilliant, somewhat egotistical, and manipulative in his relationships with women. Some of the most important evidence being held in reserve indicated that Turner was a philanderer and that one of the girls he had been stringing along was Doris. The extent of their relationship was never completely clarified. But there was reason to believe, police said, that Doris was in love with Turner, no matter what he felt.

Captain Milligan eventually disclosed some of the facts on which this conclusion was based. “Ten days before her disappearance,” he said, “Turner took Doris to Erie to buy her a pair of shoes. Two days later he took her to a baseball game in Cleveland. He was even with her the night before she vanished.” It took two years for Doris’ mother to accept the possibility that these statements were true. She was heard to say before, “I never knew Doris to go out with him. She wasn't a gadabout, and I certainly wouldn't have approved.” Finally, on the second anniversary of her daughter’s disappearance Mrs. Hatch conceded, “I suppose Doris could have been seeing him all that time without my knowing it. He used to drive her home a lot, but I never thought anything about it.” Contrary to rumors, Mrs. Hatch was insistent that Doris was not pregnant in 1953. She added that while she couldn't give up the hope that Doris was alive, “She didn't leave of her own free will.”

It was later learned that at the very time of the disappearance Turner was carrying on a deceptive romance with a woman in Cleveland. He had her convinced that he was an international lawyer working for the State Department. To cover up when he couldn't get away to visit her once, he pretended that he was engaged in secret intelligence work overseas. His ruse was to send a letter to Casablanca and then have it re-mailed to her with proper North African stamps and cancellations — This letter was written the night before July 27, 1953.

Two months after Doris’ disappearance Turner sent $200 to another woman in Denver, Colorado. Questioned about his relationship with Doris, Turner laughed it off, calling her a “good kid” and admitting, “I bought her a few drinks.” This background wasn't known to the general public until after February, 1954, when Harold Sullivan, executive editor of the Erie Times, invited Turner to his office. He and Turner had covered a beat together years before. Sullivan thought Turner might talk more freely to him. But Turner had the same answers plus a ready retort to all accusations. “Where’s the body?” he wanted to know. “If I’m guilty of anything, let them find the body.” From his legal experience Turner knew the rules of corpus delicti. Without producing positive evidence that Doris was dead no one could take a step against him.

Penman and the other men who’d worked on the case had compiled plenty of other evidence. Some of it they’d talk about frankly; other parts they’d only hint at. For instance, it was known that Turner was absent for about three and a half hours on the afternoon of Doris’ disappearance. He said he’d been driving the store truck — not the bloodstained car — and had gone to Erie on business. Police checked the places where he said he’d been, but none of his story could be accounted for except by a sales slip from one store. This showed a purchase by the Park Hardware Store (Turner’s store) on that date, but not when or by whom. “The same night,” Penman stated, “someone made a telephone call from the hardware store to the airport at Erie. The airport has no record of its nature.” Turner’s answer was: “I didn't make it, and if I had, I wouldn't tell you.” The fact remained that someone with access to the store must have used the telephone.

Turner couldn't afford to kid about his position in the case when Sullivan broke the story, shortly after his talk with Turner. Within a week, Turner was admitted to the Veterans’ Hospital in Erie suffering from a liver ailment apparently produced by his hard drinking. A day or so later he was stricken with a nervous breakdown and was sent to the state mental hospital, in Warren county. Little was heard of the case until he was released on May 11, 1954. He left with his family to settle in Massachusetts.

Developments were slow. Thousands of circulars on Doris were mailed to police agencies across the nation. An automatic stop was put on all state driver’s license files so that police would be notified if the name Doris Hatch ever appeared. Once it did in Indiana — a different girl. Scores of leads were checked. A grave in a cemetery near Cambridge Springs, which “didn't appear to be settling right,” was examined. The Park Hardware Store, since sold, was searched from the eaves to an old sewer in the basement. One of the new owners stated irritably, “I wish they’d solve it. Every time you write a story people stare in the windows — but they never buy anything.” Some such stories were the targets of caustic counterattacks. A Cambridge Springs newspaperman, who insisted that Doris could just as well be a runaway, or an amnesia victim, as she could be dead, accused the state police of pointing the finger of suspicion at Turner to cover up their own failure to solve the case.

There were other tips. One about a decaying odor in a nearby county was traced to organic fertilizer. Another was passed along, an equally bad one, from a girl who was convinced she’d seen Doris in a Cleveland diner. But the rewards, along with the contribution from the Erie Daily Times, expired with no solution in sight.

On November 1, 1955, After two years, three months and six days, the answer was uncovered in a thicket in northern Connecticut by a man who’d set out that day to train his beagle for hunting. Martin Genholt, of Stafford Springs, Connecticut, had turn loose his dog, Queenie, in underbrush just off Route 32, an uninhabited road leading to Massachusetts, which was less than a mile away. Genholt heard the dog thrashing in the leaves 50 or 60 feet off the road. Queenie wouldn't heed his calls. Genholt went in himself. He came to a spot that looked to him, at first glance, to be just a leaf-covered area at the foot of a small tree. When he looked again he discovered that there was a skeleton. Genholt called the state police. They came with the coroner and removed the bones. Nearby they found a fragment of an orange dress, the remains of some white shoes, and a woman’s gold wrist watch.

The discovery at first was just a routine investigation for the local authorities. There were no missing persons reported in the area. But the Pennsylvania state police had a circular on Doris Hatch filed with the Connecticut state police. In a matter of hours the watch was traced back through the manufacturer to a jeweler in Cambridge Springs whose initials were scratched on it. “Yes,” he told the Connecticut authorities on the telephone, “I sold that watch to Doris Hatch.” The next call went to Captain Milligan in Erie county.

The news broke November 2, and reporters were asking Penmen if the watch was enough identification. “Don’t worry,” Penmen said. “We brought Doris’ dental chart along. A dentist just looked at the skeleton’s teeth in Hartford Hospital. It’s Doris, all right.” Penmen went on to say “It looks good. We can tell from successive falls of leaves on the ground that the bones were there at least two years. The location is just 11 miles off Route 20, the main route from Erie county to Massachusetts. But best of all, the pathologist says she was stabbed to death with a sharp, thin instrument — stabbed in the neck, back and right side. You can still see the slices on the bones.” Then Penman smiled, and revealed his next move. “To Massachusetts, to talk to Turner,” he said. “A secret warrant charging him with murder has already been issued in Crawford County.”

That morning Penmen left for Boston where Turner worked as advertising manager for a soft drink machine company. He arrived about noon, and about 2:00 p.m., after a conference with Boston police, Penmen with follow officers went to the company to bring in Turner. At 3:00 p.m. Detective Lieutenant James V. Crowley of the Boston force, who’d accompanied them, returned to police headquarters red-faced with anger. “Somebody telephoned his house this morning with a tip that he was going to be picked up,” Crowley said. “He left the office.” At 3:30 p.m., Penman looking grim, stated “Turner just shot himself to death near his home.” Turner had returned home about 12:30 p.m. and had stopped only long enough to change clothes and pick up a note-pad, pencil, thermos jug of coffee, and a .45-caliber semi-automatic pistol. His wife saw only the coffee. He told her he was going to take a drive and think over his predicament. At 1:15 p.m. an off-duty Manchester policeman saw a car parked near a seawall along the ocean two miles from Turner’s home. Then he saw a man’s head jutting above the wall. He walked over. There was Turner lying dead against the wall with a bullet through his chest. There was a half-drunk cup of coffee nearby.

Turner had written two notes on the pad, both to his wife.

The first read:

Forgive me for what I am about to do. I’m innocent, but I refuse to expect the family to go through this, and of course you. Believe me, it’s better this way. Bill. Get the insurance and my will.

The second, told his wife to write a friend of Turner’s to obtain some letters, which were not concerned with the case.

Neighbors and fellow employees of Turner’s were shocked by the suicide. In the year and a half they’d known him they’d never heard of the Hatch case. To them he was just another commuting executive. Some women in his office cried when they heard the news. But proprietors of newsstands, which he frequented, recalled that he seemed more than usually interested in the news. Every day, they said, he bought every morning and evening Boston newspaper and always managed to scan the important news pages. Back in Cambridge Springs Mrs. Hatch cried with relief. “I’m just happy I lived to know the answer,” she said.

Doris Hatch (1953)

Mother Lucy Hatch with a photograph of her missing daughter, Doris (1953)

William Turner (1953)

Suspect William Turner, 40, dead from self-inflicted gunshot wound (1955)

The Murder of Debbie Gama

In August of 1975, Debbie Gama had an argument with her mother, Betty. Debbie stormed out of her mother's house in Erie, and wasn't heard from for days. Betty thought maybe her daughter had run away. "We started looking for Debbie, going to her friends' house, calling people," Betty said. After days of agony, the family received some devastating news. Debbie's body had been found in Cussewago creek, in Crawford county, with wire around her hands, neck and ankles. She had been raped and strangled, according to the coroner's report. Debbie Gama was 16 years old. Months dragged by and the police found few leads in the case.

Early in 1976 Daniel Barber, a private detective that Betty hired, soon found a connection to what most people believed to be the most unlikely suspect — Debbie's favorite high school English teacher, Raymond Payne. But police still dragged their feet, says Betty. It took several months for the police to test the wire and make a connection to Payne. The wire used in the killing matched wire he had in his possession, and he was arrested.

Two years after Debbie's murder, Payne pleaded guilty to a homicide charge. Payne admitted to tying Debbie to a tree, but insisted that he didn't rape or kill her; that he didn't know how she died. A three-judge panel didn't believe Payne's story and convicted him of first-degree murder; he was sentenced to life in prison.

Payne had been previously employed in Bradford, Pennsylvania, by the city's school district, where he resigned amid allegations of misconduct. But Erie school officials insisted that they didn't know anything about Payne acting inappropriately with students in his previous employment with another district, or at that time, with the Erie School District, despite repeatedly receiving complaints about his behavior.

Raymond Payne was a predator, and a pedophile, who groomed his female students for sexual favors. Nearly everyday, during the school's lunch hour, Payne would place a sheet of paper over the window of his classroom door, and draw the blinds over the classroom's windows, and begin the molestation of his female students.

Payne was unstoppable. Coming out of the era of the 1960s, Payne was considered progressive. He was young, the next generation of teachers in a school district where the majority of the teachers were reaching retirement. The school district was not interested in the complaints made by the faculty of Roosevelt Junior High School, and parents were unaware of his activities.

Debbie Gama appeared to be a trouble girl who had problems at home. She was popular, always striving for attention. Her and Payne appeared to be close, she was one of the many girls who would visited Payne during lunch hour. At the end of the school year in 1975 Debbie and Payne appeared to have had a falling out. Debbie was very distraught about him, but wouldn't discuss it with anyone.

Raymond Payne, 39 years old at the time of the murder, lived on a farm near Cambridge Springs, in Crawford county. Cussewago creek ran near or through the property. John Laskaris, a student at Strong Vincent High School, which is in Erie, was an associate of Payne's. While in Erie, Payne and Laskaris came across Debbie. Later, Debbie was at Payne's farm. While partying — using drugs — Payne and Laskaris raped and murdered Debbie, strangling her with wire. Afterwards, they dumped her body, wire around her hands, neck and ankles, in the Cussewago creek.

On April 11, 1977, Payne pleaded guilty to a general charge of murder regarding the strangulation death of Debbie.

At the guilty plea hearing, the court advised Payne that he was being charged with the murder of Debra Lynn Gama by means of ligature strangulation. Further, he was informed of his rights attendant to a trial by jury, except for the unanimity requirement of a guilty verdict. Also, the court defined the different classifications that makes up the offense of murder in Pennsylvania's statutory scheme, and the possible penalties that accompany their violation. Finally, the court posed the question to Mr. Payne, ". . . knowing all of this and having conferred with counsel over a period of six or seven months, is it your desire here this morning to enter a plea generally to the charge of murder?" To which Mr. Payne responded, "Yes, Sir." Immediately after the rendition of the guilty plea colloquy and the court's acceptance of Payne's plea, a degree-of-guilt hearing was commenced with the testimony of a Pennsylvania State Trooper assigned to investigate the case. However, when the presiding judge heard a factual accounting from this witness, as to the manner in which the body was found (wire located around the neck, ankles and wrists of the victim as she floated in the Cussewago Creek, Crawford County), he discontinued the proceedings and directed that they begin anew before a three-judge panel because, "based upon these matters...the crime charged might rise to murder in the first degree."

Following the continuation of the degree-of-guilt hearing before the en banc court, Payne was found guilty of first degree murder and, thereafter, was sentenced to a state institution for the rest and remainder of his natural life.

An appeal was perfected to the Pennsylvania Supreme Court, which resulted in an affirmance of the judgment of sentence on the ground that the conviction was amply supported by the evidence. Commonwealth v. Payne, 483 Pa. 256, 396 A.2d 630 (1979). No other issue, aside from the sufficiency of the evidence, was raised. Also, it was noted that throughout the adjudicatory process the appellant was represented by private counsel (Leonard G. Ambrose III and Jess S. Jiuliante Jr.).

Raymond Payne, though pleaded guilty, now maintains that he is innocent. He attempts to communicate this with a wordpress blog that he has written from prison.

Debbie Gama.

Raymond Payne's appearance in court.

Raymond Payne

The Edna Mumbulo Case of 1930

On March 24, 1990, Edna Deshunk Mumbulo died of old age. At age 99, she had not been the oldest resident at the Erie County Geriatric Center, but she may have been the most famous — if they had only remembered. In the following days, Edna’s body was taken from St. Vincent’s Medical Center in Erie where she had died, to St. Joseph’s Cemetery in Perry, New York. There, in the small local cemetery grounds, in a plot freshly dug, despite the frozen ground, Edna was buried.

Edna Deshunk Mumbulo was a mystery to those people who surrounded her; to those who came in and out of her life just before her dying days in 1990. She was, likewise, a mystery to the people who she encountered in 1930. Edna Deshunk Mumbulo was not simply a little old lady, frail and sweet. Edna was the Torch Killer of 1930.

In April of 1930 Edna Mumbulo was charged with the murder of her stepdaughter Hilda. It was alleged that Edna deliberately set fire to the eleven-year old girl with the hopes of obtaining the girl's $6,000 estate and receiving the sole affections of the girl's father. Edna Mumbulo's case was the most sensational murder case in Erie to that date.

It all begun on March 21, 1930, when Mrs. Edna Mumbulo threw a pan of gasoline on little Hilda, setting her on fire, not only killing her, but inflicting a slow and agonizing end. Later that morning, as Hilda lay in the hospital gasping her last breath, her father and stepmother were already in their insurance man's office cashing in her $6,000 life insurance policy. Edna was viewed to have admitting it to the police when she stated that she didn't intend to throw the gasoline on little Hilda, the pan accidentally ignited and that she was only trying to throw the blazing pan outdoors; she claimed that she was aiming for the window in the girl's room, but it was closed, and the lit gasoline splashed back six feet onto Hilda's bed, and the girl — that was her defense. It appeared that the case was to be open-and-shut.

In the trial one lone juryman held out for an acquittal, and hours of wrangling with others who wanted to send her to the electric chair led to a compromise verdict of second-degree murder. Mrs. Mumbulo's imprisonment was a mere lull in the legal battle that was to come afterwards. It was a common prejudice in 1930, that only ugly women could commit such brutal crimes. Edna was an attractive young woman and a mother. During her trial, she was reunited with a daughter that she didn't raise, and everyone saw them weep and fall into one another's arms. What is clear from the newspaper coverage of the case — which was sparse — is that the men on the jury and on the bench did not want to believe this attractive woman — a mother, could commit such an atrocious crime. Over time, they convinced themselves that it might have been an accident after all. Mrs. Mumbulo’s lawyer appealed her conviction and the judge recommended a pardon. Instead, the governor gave her a Christmas commutation in 1938, sentencing her to time served.

Edna served a mere eight years and three months for murdering her stepdaughter.

Edna was born December 1, 1890, in North Baltimore, Ohio, to George Shunk and Mary Agnes Arbogast. George was a glassblower for a small company run by Philip Arbogast, Mary's father. Several branches of the Arbogast family were well-known in southwest Pennsylvania and West Virginia for their glass-making skills. George and Mary met through that industry. Their fourth child was Edna. When Edna was a small child, the family moved from their home south of Toledo to Pittsburgh's Homewood District. There, as Catholics, they joined the Holy Rosary Catholic Church where Mary played the organ for Sunday Masses and her eight daughters served as members of the church choir. Around 1906, however, Edna strayed from her faith and fell in love with a local boy named Harold Van Sickle. By her sixteenth birthday, Edna was the mother of twins. Unable to care for the twins, the children were sent off to live with her older sister. Nonetheless, Harold and Edna were married. After only ten months of marriage, Harold passed away. With his death, Edna had to go to work. She held various jobs between 1907 and 1909, including working as a bundle wrapper for Kaufman's Department Store in Pittsburgh, and as a freelance dressmaker in the city. In 1910 with nearly the entire family in tow, George, Mary, and Edna moved to the small town of Coudersport in northern Pennsylvania.

By the mid-1920s Edna had relocated from Coudersport to New Berlin, New York. There, she found work in the silk mill. One of Edna's co-workers at the silk mill was Ralph Mumbulo. Very quickly, over the course of 1926-1927, the two formed a friendship. Despite her new job and new friends, Edna was plagued by family problems. Her elderly father, who was close to 90 years old, was without a home and assistance and bounced around from child to child. With his mind rapidly failing, he was increasingly a burden on those family members who cared for him. By 1927 it was Edna's turn to care for her father, who lived with her in New Berlin for one year before returning to another of Edna's siblings in Arkansas. It was during her father's stay that she and Ralph solidified their relationship.

Their relationship was an illicit alliance. Ralph was married. In August of 1927 Ralph was brazen enough to introduce Edna to his eight-year old daughter, Hilda. The following year, Hilda's mother, Edith Chapen Mumbulo, died suddenly in late 1928. In the wake of her death, Hilda received an estate valued at over $6000, the bulk of which she would receive when she turned twenty-one. By the time the estate papers were formally recorded and the family apprised of the nature of the settlement, the country found itself amid an economic tailspin that would soon become a Great Depression that would depress the lives of millions of Americans for a decade. The silk mills temporarily closed and both Edna and Ralph were released from their jobs. For several months, the threesome (Ralph Mumbulo, daughter Hilda Mumbulo, and Edna Shunk) wandered across the United States. Ralph took day jobs, while Edna continued to find work as a dressmaker. Finally, on November 8, 1929, the threesome found their way to Erie.

In Erie the three set up house in a second-floor apartment at the corner of 6th and Lighthouse on Erie's Lower-East Side. Ralph found work at the Standard Stoker Company in Erie as a welder, while Edna designed and made dresses out of their apartment. She also earned extra money, and the trust of her neighbors, by babysitting their children. Together they made less than twenty-five dollars per week. The cost of food and rent ate up much of those earnings. Despite the low income, the Mumbulos could afford to buy a new Ford automobile. Bought on credit, the purchase of the new Ford will later be viewed with suspicion. Hilda was enrolled in Wayne School and quickly developed friends from among her classmates. Over the course of the next four months, Edna and Hilda endeared themselves to their neighbors.

Edna, however, was growing disillusioned over her relationship with Ralph. She had not been able to care for her twin boys twenty years earlier and now, as she approached her fortieth birthday, she was saddled with the care of an eleven year old girl, who was not biologically her own. Ralph worked hard at the forge and she spent her days in the apartment alone or with Hilda. The conditions in the apartment were clean, but crowded. It was, by design, a one-bedroom apartment, but because of Edna's desire for privacy, the sitting room adjacent to the kitchen was converted into a bedroom for Hilda. The family, as a result, was forced to spend their time in the apartment either in their own bedrooms or together in the 8 by 14-foot kitchen. The existing tensions between the three were exacerbated by the crowded living conditions. Moreover, Ralph freely spent their limited money on Hilda. He frequently sent her to the movies and bought her new clothes. Edna, as a result, grew jealous of Hilda. On at least one occasion, Edna threatened to leave Ralph because she believed he thought more of his daughter than he did of her. The tensions between Ralph and Edna were further compounded by their growing economic problems. The bills were adding up, and they all needed to be paid. Edna’s father back in Arkansas, needed money as well. And Hilda wanted more. The problems seemed insurmountable. In the back of both of Edna’s mind, however, there was a chance — a $6000 chance.
 

The Edna Mumbulo Case of 1930
— A newspaper clipping.

The Death of Corporal Robert Owen

Robert Owen was 30 years old when he left his job as a local ironworker and joined the Erie Bureau of Police on June 14, 1971. An Erie native and a U.S. Navy veteran, Owen was persuaded to join the police by two young officers who had befriended him.

"When (Police Chief Charles Bowers) and I were rookie patrolmen we used to stop by Bob's house and have coffee. At different times Bob would ride in the cruiser with us," said Dennis Tobin, former deputy chief. Tobin, who first met Owen in 1963, described him as a big, tough guy who knew the streets of Erie well. Owen never took a back seat to anybody, Tobin said, and brought his assertive, no-nonsense style with him to the job. "He enforced the law the way it was supposed to be enforced," Tobin said. "If he knew he was in the right and you were wrong, he would enforce the law. Some people could consider that hard. I consider that good police work."

Owen became a motorcycle patrolman in the bureau's Traffic Division in 1972. He was promoted to corporal and unit supervisor six years later. Three years later Corporal Robert Owen was a nine year veteran of the Erie Police department when he was found dead at about 1:40 a.m. on Monday morning, December 29, 1980. Investigators believe that he was shot shortly before midnight on Sunday. His body was lying about 75 feet away from his patrol car — Car 113 — with a single bullet wound to the chest. The murder weapon was his own — a Colt Trooper Mark III .357 with a 6-inch barrel, bearing serial number 235575L.

Owen’s patrol car, which was parked in a secluded industrial area known where Erie police officers often gathered, was idling. It’s lights were off and the driver’s door was open. In addition to being known as a police nest for patrol officers, the area was also known for drug addicts looking to steal chemical solvents, like toluene, often stored outside the warehouses located off of West 18th Street. The police radio inside Owen’s vehicle was turned to channel three, which was a car-to-car channel used by officers to privately talk to each other.

About 70-75 feet away from the patrol car was the lifeless body of Corporal Robert Owen. The condition of Owen’s jacket and shirt indicated that he was likely involved in a struggle before he was shot. His keys, a set of handcuffs with one cuff partially open, were found near the start of a bloody trail north of the patrol car and several feet away from the body, suggesting perhaps that Owen might have either attempted to reach his car or was partially dragged in that direction. Also present were cigarette butts from two different brands of cigarettes and a lighter — Owen’s weapon was not immediately found.

According to investigators, a man walking his two dogs saw Owen’s unattended patrol car and a flashlight, and notified Erie Police about 1:40 a.m., Monday morning. What that man, identified as David Cambra, reportedly did not initially mention is that he also found and pick up Owen’s gun, and kept it. When questioned on January 09, 1981, Cambra reportedly admitted to picking up the weapon then later disposing of it about a mile from the scene near the railroad tracks west of Pittsburgh Avenue, near West 15th Street and Greengarden Boulevard — ostensibly when he learned it was used to kill a police officer.

He ultimately led police detectives to the spot where he claims to have tossed the weapon, which laid exposed to harsh winter elements for over 11 days. The weapon was found to have traces of Owen’s blood in and on the barrel, indicating the gun was fired at close range. David Cambra reportedly underwent polygraph examinations about his possible involvement in the murder of Robert Owen. He allegedly passed those examinations.

Many problems were encountered with the investigation. The crime scene was destroyed by the many police officers, paramedics, and others who rushed to it after the initial reports of Owen's shooting came in. Footprints and tire tracks were ruined of any chance of being preserved as evidence by a decision to have firefighters hose down the area to wash away the blood stains that littered the snow. It was the first time in 30 years that an Erie policeman had been murdered on the job and everyone wanted to take charge of the crime scene, but no one preserved the crime scene. One potentially valuable piece of evidence police thought they had was a lighter found at the scene. The lighter was bagged as evidence, but disappeared on its way from the crime scene to the Erie police station.

At about midnight on the night of Owen’s death, two truck drivers reportedly saw the silhouettes of three (3) people, including one who appeared to be a police officer, standing near the warehouse where the body of Owen was found. They also reported seeing the idling police cruiser nearby.

The murder of Corporal Owen has been the subject of much speculation over the years. Although ruled a homicide by coroner Merle Wood, some investigators believed Owen committed suicide. The death of Robert Owen was officially ruled a homicide by Pennsylvania’s Attorney General, LeRoy Zimmerman, on April 14, 1983.

Small organized groups, whose members later claimed they had the help of police, had been looting homes of jewelry, cash and other valuables. Also, Gambling, including numbers running and sessions of a high-stakes illegal dice games called barbotte, was rampant, which lead to the controversy that surrounded Robert Owen’s role in the investigation of a high-value burglary that took place on or about November 25, 1980 at the home of Louis Nardo, who resided at 605 Hilltop Road in Erie. According to criminal records, the burglary resulted in the loss of jewelry and other valuable items from the Nardo home estimated $550,000 in value.

Owen and other police officers responded to the burglary and were at the premises when a diamond ring that was not taken in the burglary turned up missing. Owen and eight other officers were questioned about the theft. Owen and two other police officers were administered polygraph tests. According to initial reports, the test results of the two other officers were inconclusive, while it was reported that Owen’s polygraph results were off the charts. The other two officers were retested and reportedly passed, while Owen never had the opportunity to take the test that was scheduled on the day he was found dead. The issue regarding the missing ring has since been solved.

At that time, an active burglary ring associated with Erie crime figure, Caesar Montevecchio and Samuel Fat Sam Esper, was active. Esper would later be a cooperative witness with police and agreed to wear a wire during a conversation with Montevecchio about the murder of Robert Owen. The conversation reportedly fell flat, with Esper saying to Montevecchio “I wonder who killed Owen?” Montevecchio reportedly replied “you know who killed Owen” and ended the conversation.

According to investigative reports, Owen, a traffic investigator with a no-nonsense reputation who ran an auto wrecking business on the side, was on duty while at a card game at a close friend’s house, off of West 16th Street, near the location where his body was found. While there, Owen called his wife, then called a fellow police officer before placing a telephone call to an unknown party at about 11:45 Sunday night, but investigators were unable to determine who Owen called.

In March 1991, the investigative murder file of Robert Owen was found in a file cabinet inside the City of Erie Solicitors office. According to reports at the time, City Solicitor, Paul Susko, found the file and was stunned by the contents, which included confidential police reports and reports from the Pennsylvania Attorney General’s office.

The case has never closed. It was passed on to other Erie police detectives, state police investigators and the State Attorney General's office. All developed thick case files, but none found that key piece of information or evidence to solve it. The Attorney General's office gave the case back to local investigators in December 2000 and Erie County District Attorney Brad Foulk turned it over to state police investigator Trooper Dana Anderson and Erie Deputy Police Chief James Skindell.

Corporal Robert Owen.