It is no doubt pretty nearly forgotten, that the first time the “moral insanity” racket was ever introduced into New York was by James T. Brady, in the trial of young Huntington for forgery, about twenty-five or twenty-six years since.
Huntington was of good family, and had married a bang-up young lady. He was a popular young fellow, and had any quantity of friends–friends who stuck to him, too, though some of ‘em were stuck by him. He fairly flooded New York one fine mornin’ with forged papers, and New York went wild, for a day. The forgeries amounted to over a million, and were as reckless as they were clever. Of course Huntington was found out and arrested, and then the wonder began–that he should have been so reckless, and yet so successful. Belden & Harbeck, and other big firms “in the street” were mixed up in these forgeries, and were victimized more or less. But the funniest thing seemed to be that nobody seemed to think hard of Huntington, not even those who suffered by him. Nobody seemed to want to prosecute him. Everybody seemed to be turning Christian all of a sudden, and took to “forgivin’” him. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the looks of the thing, and for the shame of the thing, Huntington wouldn’t have gotten into any legal trouble at all. He had a big family influence, and that was worked heavy; but at last his trial for forgery came on, and then his lawyers began to try to save him on the homeopathic plan. They tried to prove that he was innocent of forgery by confessin’ that he had committed not only these particular forgeries, but a whole lot of other ones. That in fact he had been committin’ forgery from his cradle almost, and had got so used to forgin’ that it had become second nature to him–just as natural as drinkin’ or smokin’–and done without any intention of harmin’ anybody, just by way of innocent pastime. This queer style of defendin’ a forger made a great stir, and everybody watched the trial closely.
One of the Witnesses on the trial was Dr. Fullgraff, a homeopathic doctor still living, who was great on attending actors and opera singers. Fullgraff was a jolly good fellow, as well as a smart doctor, and very fond of good music and a good joke. Well, Huntington gave him all the music he wanted, accordin’ to his own account.
One evenin’ Huntington sent for the doctor to come at once to attend his sick wife. Huntington lived then on Twenty-second street near Fifth avenue, and when the doctor got to his house, instead of finding it closed and quiet and darkened, as the house of a sick woman ought to be, he found it all lit up from cellar to attic, as though there was the biggest kind of a swell party. Then, when he got into the house, he found about a dozen young men in the parlor, makin’ the deuce of a racket. Some of ‘em were making a Dutch band of ‘emselves, and were playin’ on the cornet, and blowin’ their cheeks off. Others were makin’ negro minstrels of ‘emselves and were playing on the “bones,” like “the end man” of a show. The doctor thought he had made a mistake and got into a lunatic asylum, sure. But no; there was Huntington in full evenin’ dress, who came up to him, shook hands with him, offered him a cigar, asked him to have a drink, and told him to sit down and enjoy himself. The doctor thought that Huntington must have sent for him for a lark, and so made himself one of the boys. But pretty soon Huntington stepped up to him and asked him if he wouldn’t go up-stairs a minute and see his patient. Like a man in a dream, the doctor went up-stairs, and there was Mrs. Huntington in bed, quite sick, and with all this infernal noise down-stairs ringin’ in her ears, enough to drive a well woman crazy, let alone a sick one. The doctor told Huntington that all this hubbub wouldn’t do. But Huntington laughed, and said that this was the way to get his wife well; he didn’t believe in makin’ sick people worse by keepin’ ‘em still; he believed and makin’ ‘em marry even if they were sick. And he began to dance around the room, and then to whistle, and at last to sing. Now the doctor was a good judge of music, and Huntington had a voice like a peacock, so rather than stand Huntington’s singin’, he abandoned his patient and got out of the house as soon as possible, hearin’ the noise over a block off down the street.
From all this the doctor inferred that Huntington was not in his right mind, and that was the idea of the defense all through the trial–to prove that Huntington was “queer” and that this forgery was only one of his many “queernesses.”
Accordin’ to his lawyers, his friends and his family, Huntington was the most constant, and steady, and inveterate forger that ever lived, and, therefore, wasn’t a forger at all. His first forgery was makin’ out a bogus family record in his father’s handwritin’ in the family Bible. Then he used to forge letters from his father, and show ‘em to his teachers at school, to get him a holiday. Then he forged an order on one of the professors at college, to get a magnet he wanted. Then when he got older he got bolder, and tried all sorts of dodges. He issued bogus stock for a cemetery, then for a laundry, then he got up a bank at Washington, and went through all the forms of a first-class banker, save payin’ out any money, the unredeemed notes all goin’ into Huntington’s pocket. Then he started the Citizens’ Bank, makin’ himself “the citizens,” and forgin’ his brother-in-law’s name. Then he got up a first-class fraud of a concern up in Maine. Then he tried luck and different styles of handwritin’ in California, and then, comin’ back to New York where, all this was well known to a good many, he got people’s confidence and people’s money, and got so intimate with moneyed men that he could and did imitate their handwritin’s with tremendous success. This was the kind of a life Huntington’s father, and his friend and chum Randall, and a lot of others all made up for him, and it was this kind of a life that was supposed to prove that he was morally insane.
Then his extravagance was held up as a proof of his “moral insanity,” though by that kind of showing nine out of every ten in New York would be morally or immorally insane.
You couldn’t get into his reception room for the fine furniture that was in it; he paid $700 apiece for several vases; he wore twenty-five pairs of pants, eight coats and twenty vests in little more than a year; he ate off of silver dishes, gave $800 to a man to pay a bill of $700 with, and told the man to keep the odd $100 for his trouble; he paid a man for a pair of horses more than the man asked for ‘em; he handed a man a twenty-dollar bill once for holdin’ his horses; he gave a big pile of money for a big dog, over 150 pounds in weight, and then gave a bigger price for a dog less than two pounds in weight. Then he did all sorts of queer things–cut his slippers every now and then into bits, pulled his hair out of his head, got up a wild scheme to turn water into wine, spent a lot of money in redeemin’ negro women from slavery, and had the best pew in three different churches, and didn’t go to any one of the three.
Brady thought that all this was enough to prove certain that Huntington was “morally insane.” But somehow the jury thought that Huntington had never been crazy, but that he managed to feather his own nest and have plenty of money. His “moral insanity” was all on one side–his own side–and so for a wonder they brought him in not crazy, but guilty.
About the time of this Huntington Affair another great excitement stirred up New York, or rather stirred up New Yorkers, for it came home to every New Yorker, and made every man, woman and child feel as if he or she might be the next victim to the “excitement.”
One night a man by the name of Rose was walkin’ along about eleven o’clock. He saw three men comin’ along the other side of the way, but didn’t think anythin’ of it particularly. All of a sudden the three men crossed over to Rose’s side of the street. Rose turned the next corner on his way home, and didn’t think any more of the three men. But the three men kept behind him, turned the corner right after him, and all of a sudden the biggest man of the three rushed up to Rose, threw his arm around his neck, pressin’ the neck almost enough to cause strangulation, so that Rose could hardly breathe, let alone holler. Of course, while the big man’s arm was pressin’ his throat, Rose’s head was drawn upwards, his chin was kept away as far from his breast as possible, and he couldn’t see faces, or call out, while at the same time in the grasp of the man from behind he was powerless to move. In short, he was completely at the big man’s mercy, whose arm kept squeezin’ at his throat; meanwhile one of the other two men stood around watchin’ to see if anybody was comin’, and the third man went through Rose’s pockets, took his money and his watch and chain. Then the big man gave Rose’s neck an extra grab, and the three ran off, leavin’ poor Rose more dead than alive.
This was the first case of garrotin’, as it was called, in the city of New York. It was a style of robbing that had been introduced into London from Spain, and had found its way into New York. it was called garrotin’ from the Spanish garrote, which chokes the life out of a man.
This was a novelty, but in a little while garottin’ got to be a regular “institution”–a kind of epidemic, like the diphtheria or smallpox. People were garroted every week–every night almost–and got afraid after a while to go out of doors after dark.
For several months decent men, even if strangers to each other, used to walk together in the streets at night, so as not to be taken unawares alone; and if three or four men were seen strollin’ about in a party they were at once looked upon with suspicion as a gang of garroters.
The police authorities and the doctors published a list of directions to people, tellin’ them what to do when they were getting’ garroted–how they must not let their heads be thrown upwards by the arm of the garroter, but must, at all hazards, bend their chins towards their breasts, give the lungs full play, and roar out and alarm the neighborhood. All this was mighty well to publish, but it was deuced difficult to follow, and most people prefered to stay at home or to have a knife or pistol with ‘em (although that wasn’t of much use, as the garroter didn’t give one a chance to use ‘em); or, best of all, never to allow ‘emselves to be followed by any man or men, so that no man or man could steal up behind ‘em and get ‘em to advantage.
Once a party of three respectable citizens out rather late at night came across another party of three respectable citizens, whom they didn’t know, and both parties happened to be goin’ the same way. Each party mistook the other party for a gang of garroters, and wouldn’t allow the other party to get behind ‘em. Well, in two parties of three, one set or party has got to go first, it would seem, but this time neither party would go first; so after a lot of circussin’, one party took the sidewalk and the other party took the middle of the street.
At last one of the party on the sidewalk found courage to look carefully at the party stumblin’ along in the middle of the street, and right in the middle of the three in the street he recognized old Alderman Cannon. The alderman recognized him; both called out to each other; both got a laughin’, and in less than no time the two watchful, careful, timid parties of three became one jolly party of six, who went into some saloon that happened to be open, and had the best kind of a time. From that day on, for some six or seven years afterwards, that party of six formed ‘emselves into what they jokingly called “The Garroters Club,” with old Alderman Cannon for president.
This was rather a funny episode, but there was nothin’ funny about garrotin’ itself. For a while it really frightened the life out of New York. But Judge Russell hit upon the right plan. He sent two characters, who had been caught and brought before him, to State Prison for life, and announced his determination to treat everybody else that tried garrotin’ the same way. Then the police authorities began to take matter in hand, and between the people, the policeman and the Judge, garrotin’ soon got to be “played out” in New York.
[Editor’s notes: Otto Fullgraff was an amazing individual. Born and educated in Germany, he became ione of the leading homeopathic physicians in America. He patented several medical devices, and pioneered several procedures for treating disorders of the mouth and throat. Adiitionally, he was a talented musician and composer of several published songs:
