Joe Bruno's Mobsters - Six Volume Set (62 page)

Sadly, the show was a huge flop, so Guinan went back to Hollywood and
starred in an all-talking movie called
Queen of the Night Clubs
. But alas, that movie flopped as badly as
The Padlocks of 1927
had on Broadway, putting Guinan back to square No. 1.

In 1930, Guinan was still trying to make a go of it at the
Argonaut
. But the Depression had hit New York City hard, and the Prohibition agents were intent on closing every speakeasy in town; and Guinan's was the most visible. With profits dwindling and the Feds breathing down her neck, Guinan's manager, John Stein, convinced Guinan to close down the
Argonaut
, before the Feds did it for her, and take her show across the pond to Europe.

Guinan and 40 of her girls, and a jazz band for accompaniment, boarded the French liner
Paris
. Her first destination was London, England. But while the
Paris
was still out at sea, Scotland Yard detectives notified Guinan that she and her crew was not welcome in England. For some reason, Guinan's name was on a Scotland Yard list of “barred aliens.” The British government also felt, that because of the Depression that had stretched to Europe, their own entertainers would lose work if Guinan and her scantily-clad girls were allowed to perform there.

Guinan was indignant. She issued a statement to British reporters
, saying that, “I will gladly give a check for a hundred thousand dollars to any charity if anyone can substantiate statements made against my character. What has England against me? My parents were born in England.”

Her parents were actually born in Ireland, but as usual, Guinan did not always have the best relationship with the truth.

However, the British would not budge, so Guinan and her crew continued on to Havre, France. When the ship arrived in Havre, it was immediately boarded by French special police. They examined the Guinan gang's passports, and they said that the Guinan gang must stay on the ship until it returned to New York City. The reason the French police gave Guinan was, “that instead of obtaining visas required of entertainers, who intended to exercise their profession in France, the 'Guinan gang' had come equipped only with tourist authorization.”

Yet
, the real reason for the French government’s refusal to let the “Guinan Gang” into their country was stated in the Paris newspapers. They wrote, “The French Syndicate of Entertainers have been protesting to Premier Pierre Laval against the employment of foreigners ... and this circumstance may have actuated the special decree.”

Guinan again was livid at being refused entrance to a European city.

“I have been turned back at the frontier for reasons which are vague, even in the minds of Frenchmen,” she told French reporters. “I am an American citizen, and I have never been convicted of a crime (which was true. She was arrested many times, but never convicted). There is no scandal about me, and my passport is O.K.!”

Still, the French
would not budge, and although Guinan's gang was allowed off the ship to see the sights, they were not allowed to perform their show.

On June 3, 1930, Guinan's gang was ordered to travel back to New York City on the
Paris
. Guinan had already spent $50,000 for the trip to Europe and was destined to spend the same amount of money to get back to America. But as a bone to Guinan, the French Lines agreed to take Guinan's gang back to America, in first-class accommodations, at no charge.

As she boarded the ship to leave France, Guinan told French reporters, “I was a sucker to come 3,000 miles to go to jail, when every jail in America is waiting for me.”

Then she winked at the reporters and said, “But – you know – an indiscretion a day keeps depression away.”

Guinan returned back to New York on June 9, and
she immediately started arranging her new venture – a Broadway review called
Too Hot For Paris
.

Within weeks,
Too Hot For Paris
was such a huge success, Guinan decided to take her show on the road for a one-year engagement. The tour, which was sponsored by the Orchestra Corporation of America, booked 200 one-and-two night stops in cities and towns across America.

“This show can be set up on a prairie if need be,” Guinan told the press. “We even carry our own applause.”

The show, originally scheduled to travel only for a year, was still going strong into 1933. Guinan even implemented some of her Wild West routines into the show, which went over big in places like Texas, Colorado, and Nevada.

Guinan interrupted her trip only to head to Hollywood in early 1933 to star in her last movie,
Broadway Through a Keyhole
, which stared Paul Kelly, singer Russ Columbo, Eddie Foy Jr., and Constance Cummings. The screenplay was written by syndicated columnist and radio commentator Walter Winchell, who had been a frequent visitor at many of Guinan's nightclubs.

Broadway Through a Keyhole
opened at the
Rivoli Theater
on November 1, 1933, but Guinan was not there to see the opening. Instead, Guinan's gang had embarked on a grueling tour of the Pacific Northwest. In Oregon, Guinan suddenly became ill, but she sucked it up and continued on the tour to Vancouver, British Columbia.

On the night of October 30, 1933, Guinan played to a packed house. But immediately after the show, Guinan was in such horrible pain she was rushed to the Vancouver General Hospital. There Guinan was told the bad news by Dr.
MacLachlan that she had amoebic dysentery and that an immediate operation was necessary to save her life. Guinan was in such horrible pain, she told the doctor she was willing to die, if only to stop the pain. Then she re-iterated to the doctor what she said many times in court - that she had never touched a drop of alcohol in her life.

On November 4, before she was wheeled into the operating room, Guinan received the last rights from the Reverend Louis Forget of St. Patrick's Church. Then she told her advance man, Eddie Baker, that if she died to return her body to New York City. “I’d rather have a square inch of New York City than the rest of the world,” she told Baker.

The next day, Mary Louise Cecilia “Texas” Guinan died at 8 a.m at the age of 49.

On November 11, Guinan's body was returned to New York City. She was taken to the Campbell Funeral Church on Broadway between 66
th
and 67
th
Streets. In a single afternoon, more than 12,000 people viewed Guinan's body.

The
New York Times
wrote, “Miss Guinan's body was dressed in a white chiffon sequin gown – she had been partial to sequins. In her left hand was a rosary and upon the third finger a large diamond. Another diamond of comparable size was upon the little finger of her right hand. Around her neck was a diamond pendant. Part of the silver-colored coffin was covered with orchids.”

The following day, more than 7,500 people were gathered in front of the Campbell Funeral Church for Guinan's funeral. But only a few hundred people with admittance cards were allowed inside the chapel.

After the funeral ceremony, Guinan's body was taken to the Gates of Heaven Cemetery in White Plains, New York. The police estimated that more than 500 cars joined in the funeral procession.

On December 5, 1933, one month to the day after Guinan's death, Prohibition, which had made Guinan rich and famous, was repealed.

Give the little lady a great big hand.

M
cFarland/Richardson Murder Case

She was a famous
New York City stage actress named Abby Sage. But after her ex-husband, Daniel McFarland, murdered her lover, journalist Albert Deane Richardson, it was Sage's lifestyle that was put on trial, not just McFarland.

Daniel McFarland was born in Ireland in 1820, but he emigrated to
America with his parents when he was four-years-old. McFarland's parents died when he was 12, leaving him an orphan. Determined to make something of himself in America, McFarland worked at hard labor in a harness shop, saving his money so that he could attend college. By the time he was 17, McFarland had saved enough cash to attend a distinguished Ivy League university, Dartmouth. At Dartmouth, McFarland studied law, and he did extremely well. Upon graduation, McFarland passed the bar exam, but instead of practicing law, McFarland took a position at Brandywine College, teaching elocution, the skill of clear and expressive speech.

In 1853, McFarland traveled to Manchester, New Hampshire, where he met a beautiful 15-
year-old girl named Abby Sage. Abby came from a poor but respectable family; her father was a weaver. However, Abby was quite bright, and soon she became a teacher as well as a published writer. Four years after they had met, McFarland and Abby Sage married. She was just 19; he was twice her age.

Later Abby wrote in an affidavit concerning McFarland's murder trial, “At the time of our marriage, Mr. McFarland represented to me that he had a flourishing law practice, brilliant political prospects, and property worth $30,000, but while on our bridal tour he was forced to borrow money in New York to enable us to proceed to Madison, Wisconsin, which was decided upon as our future home. We had resided in this town but a short time when he confessed that he had no law practice of any consequence, and that he had devoted himself solely to land speculation, some of which had resulted disastrously.”

In February 1858, the married couple moved to New York City. McFarland told Abby that in New York City he had a better chance of selling the $20,000 to $30,000 worth of property he owned in Wisconsin. However, McFarland sold nothing at first, and soon Abby had to pawn most of her jewelry to pay the rent.

With the bills piling up and still no money coming in, McFarland figured it was better
if he went at it alone. As a result, McFarland sent Abby back to her father's home in New Hampshire. In late 1858, McFarland was finally able to sell some of his Wisconsin properties. Soon after, he brought Abby back to New York City, and they settled in a rented cottage in Brooklyn. There their first son, Percy, was born in 1860, and a second son, Daniel, in 1864.

McFarland's land-selling business went flat
, and he started drinking heavily.

Abby later wrote: “At first Mr. McFarland professed for me the most extravagant and passionate devotion, but soon he began to drink heavily, and before we were married a year, his breath and body were steaming with vile liquor. I implored him to reform, but he cried out: 'My brain is on fire and liquor makes me sleep.' ”

At the start of the Civil War, the McFarlands briefly returned to Madison. Soon McFarland realized, under the right circumstances and with the right training, his beautiful, young wife could be the better wage-earner of the two. To implement his plan, the McFarlands traveled back to New York City in order to school Abby to become an actress.

In New York City, Abby tried her hand at dramatic readings, and she discovered she had a talent for the stage. One thing led to another, and soon Abby was acting in several plays and making the tidy sum of $25 a week. Abby's career advanced so quickly, soon she appeared opposite the great actor Edwin Booth in the
Merchant of Venice
(Edwin Booth was the older brother of John Wilkes Booth, the man who shot and killed Abraham Lincoln). Abby also supplemented her income by writing several articles about children and nature. She even penned a book of poetry entitled
Percy's Book of Rhymes
, after her son Percy.

Abby's artistic achievements allowed her to increase her circle of friends. She became fast pals with newspaper magnate Horace Greeley, his sister Mrs. John Cleveland, and
New York Tribune
publisher Samuel Sinclair and his wife.

However, his wife's successes did nothing to placate the wild nature of McFarland. He used his wife's new friends and their connections to get himself a political appointment.

Abby later said, “Through the influence of Horace Greeley, founder of the
New York Tribune
, I procured a position for him (McFarland) with one of the Provost marshals.”

Soon
, McFarland became jealous of Abby's new friends and his drinking increased exponentially. McFarland kept the money Abby made from her acting and writing, and he spent it all on booze. McFarland started opening Abby's private mail, and if he didn't like what he read, he would threaten to kill Abby and himself.

“By this time he had become a demon,” Abby said. “He would rise in bed, tear the bed clothing into shreds and threaten to kill me. When he became exhausted, he would tearfully beg my pardon and go to sleep.”

One time McFarland became so enraged, he struck Abby in the face, so hard, it caused her to stumble backwards. From that point on, their relationship changed dramatically.

“There was a look in his eyes that made him burst into a paroxysm of tears and to beg wildly that I should forgive him,” Abby said. “But from that moment, I could never tell him that I loved him or forgave him, because it would not have been the truth.”

In January 1867, the McFarlands moved into a boarding house at 72 Amity Street in New York City. Soon after, Albert Deane Richardson, who was in his mid-30’s at the time, moved into the same boarding house. Richardson was already known to Abby, since they had met at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. Richardson had an orange-colored beard and hazel eyes, and was considered to be a very distinguished-looking individual of the highest character.

Richardson, born in Massachusetts, was one of the most famous reporters of his time. He was well known for his writings as a war correspondent for the
New York Tribune
during the Civil War, and he also spent time acting as a spy for the Northern army.

In 1862, Richardson was captured by the South at Vicksburg, and he spent a year and a half in two separate Confederate prisons. In December 1863, while imprisoned in Salisbury, North Carolina, Richardson and another war correspondent escaped from prison and traveled four hundred miles on foot, until they reached the Union lines in Knoxville.

At the time of his imprisonment, Richardson had a wife and four children. When he returned home, he discovered his wife and infant daughter had died. Richardson assumed the support and care of his three other children, which at the time of his death, were 13, 10, and 6.

Back at his desk at the
New York Tribune
, Richardson capitalized on his Civil War heroics by writing about his escape. The title of his newspaper article was
Out of the Jaws of Death and Out of the Mouth of Hell.
It was considered one of the finest pieces of journalism that came out of Civil War era.

Richardson expanded this article into a book, and combined with his other writings, Richardson had transformed himself from a war prisoner into a wealthy man. So much so, Richardson bought shares in the
New York Tribune
, making himself a minority owner of the newspaper.

At the time he moved into the same boarding house as the McFarlands, Richardson was now an editor/writer for the
New York Tribune
. (Author’s note: I was a sports columnist for the reincarnation of the
New York Tribune
in the 1980s.) Richardson used his room at 72 Amity Street as an office as well as a place to sleep. As his staff at 72 Amity Street, Richardson employed a stenographer, an artist, and a messenger boy to deliver his work to the
New York Tribune
offices downtown on Park Row.

On February 19, 1867, McFarland returned to the boarding house
, and he found his wife standing outside Richardson's door. Abby claimed Richardson and her were discussing one of his articles, but McFarland would have none of that.

Abby later wrote: “When we entered our apartment, my husband flew into a rage and insisted that an improper intimacy existed between Mr. Richardson and I.”

McFarland immediately went on a three-day bender, during which he again threatened Abby's life and said he would commit suicide. Finally, on February 21, Abby left McFarland for good. She grabbed her two children and took up residence with Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Sinclair.

At the Sinclairs, Abby summoned her father, who now lived in Massachusetts, and
she enlightened him as to her marital situation. It was agreed upon that McFarland would be invited to the Sinclair residence. When McFarland arrived, Abby, in the presence of the Sinclairs and her father, told McFarland that their marriage was over.

That same evening Richardson called at the Sinclair residence. Richardson offered Abby his condolences and said he would do anything he could do to help her in her time of need. Then, as he was leaving, Abby followed him out to the hallway.

With tears in her eyes she said: "You have been very kind to me. I cannot repay you."

Referring to Abby's two children, Richardson said, “How do you feel about facing the world with two babies?”

She answered, “It looks hard for a woman, but I am sure I can get on better without that man than with him.”

Before leaving, Richards
on told Abby, “I wish you to remember, that any responsibility you choose to give me in any possible future, I shall be glad to take.”

Two days later, Richardson asked Abby to marry him, telling her that he wanted to give her his motherless children for her to care for as she would her own.

Abby later said, "It was absolutely impossible for me not to love him.”

On the night of March 13, 1867, Richardson met Abby at the theater where she had just finished a performance. As they turned a corner, McFarland rushed up beh
ind them and fired three shots, one of which pierced Richardson's thigh. It was a superficial wound, and Richardson was not badly hurt. McFarland was arrested by the police, but due to some inexplicable courthouse dealings, McFarland somehow managed to escape jail time.

When it was obvious to McFarland that his wife was lost to him forever, he decided to sue to get custody of both their children. The courts came to a split decision, whereby A
bby would get custody of Daniel and McFarland the custody of Percy. In April 1868, Abby attempted to see her son Percy, but she was denied doing so by McFarland, who flew into a rage and threatened to hit her. At this point, Abby had no choice but to file for divorce.

In the state of New York, the only grounds for divorce was adultery. So
, in July of 1868, Abby decided to go to Indiana for her divorce, where the grounds for divorce were more extensive. Those grounds included drunkenness, extreme cruelty, and failure to support a wife. Abby stayed in Indiana for 16 months until her divorce from McFarland was final. Then Abby traveled to her family's home in Massachusetts, and Richardson met her there to spend Thanksgiving Day 1869 with her and her family.

On November 25, 1869, at 5:15 p.m., McFarland walked into the Park Row offices of the
New York Tribune
. He hid quietly in a corner for about 15 minutes until he saw Richardson enter through the side entrance on Spruce Street. While Richardson was reading his mail at the counter, McFarland rushed up to him and fired several shots. Richardson was hit three times, but he was still able to walk up two flights of stairs to the editorial office, where he flung himself on the couch, mortally wounded with a bullet in the chest. When the medics arrived, Richardson was carried across City Hall to the Astor House and laid down on a bed in room 115.

At 10 p.m., McFarland was arrested in room 31 of the Westmoreland Hotel, on the corner of 17th Street and Fourth Avenue. The arresting officer, Captain A. J. Allaire, told McFarland he was under arrest for the shooting of Richardson. At first, McFarland said he was innocent of the charges.

Then he shockingly said, “It must have been me.”

Captain Allaire took McFarland into custody and brought him to the Astor House, room 115.
After Captain Allaire asked Richardson if the man in front of him had been his attacker, Richardson rose his head off the pillow weakly and said, “That is the man!'

Abby Sage was immediately summoned to New York City. As soon as she arrived, at Richardson's request, arrangements were made by Horace Greeley so that Abby and Richardson could be married at Richardson's deathbed. The marriage ceremony was performed by Rev. Henry Ward Beecher and the Rev. O.B.
Frothingham. Three days later on December 2, Richardson took his last breath, leaving Abby Sage Richardson a widow.