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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, February 17, 1912, Image 15

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1912-02-17/ed-1/seq-15/

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strapped. We tried to hear what
they were saying as the deputies
'put a white shroud about their
bodies, but we stopped trying
when the white caps were tied
over their heads. Everybody
seemed to be working slowly on
the gallows. One brother turned
his muffled head toward another.
We heard the murmur of his
voice.
"Crash!" that was the next
sound. Then came the scuffling
of the feet of 14 doctors, as they
walked to the two bags, their
contents twitching, which hung
from the swaying ropes.
The reporters rushed to a back
room, where their telephones and
telegraph wires had been placed.
I caught these bits of news' as
they talked : "Just as the writh
ing body of the boy stopped
swaying."- "Strangled and gur
gled." "Twitched like cats in a
bag." "Oh, is that you takmg my
stuff, Bill? Great, show. Great
show. Three more to come."
"What, in Christmas, was that
prayer?" said one reporter.
"I don't know. Tell your office
to look it up in the prayer book.
They can copy it from that."
Two men were fixing up two
other ropes. They carried out
the two bodies on a wheeled table,
covered with a white cloth.
"Both, of their necks were
broken," said a doctor, coming
to the reporters' table.
During the lull' I talked to
seven of the 14 doctors who had
examined I wanted to know
whether they believed in capital
punishment. Not a one of them
did.
"Capital punishment doesn't
keep people from committing
murder unless you hang men on
a high gallows, in a big space,
where all the folks in the city can
see it," said Dr. A. C. Koethe.
"This is my first hanging and
my last," said Dr. I. E. Hoffman.
"After this I don't believe in capi
tal punishment. I can see a
patient die, but to see sane men
kill a well man, in cold blood
excuse me."
All of this talk was "sort of "be
tween the acts."
"Hats off! No smoking!" called
a man in overalls, from the gal
lows. The next sound was that of the
prison fnmates, who were watch
ing the death watch. Then we
heard the shuffle of feet and
again the priest and the deputies
in blue brought two poorly dress
ed men onto the scaffold.
"Well, the other two got across
in time for lunch," said one
deputy in a seat near me, looking
at his watch.
"These fellows'U eat with
them," answered another guard.
"But I guess they'll all get there
too soon to please them."
The two men in poor clothes
stood on the trap where the depu
ties placed them. One of them
wasn't a man, but, a boy, Thomas
Schultz, 18 years old son of im
migrants, who, as one reporter
said, "hadn't done anything but
get into bad company." And now
we knew what the prater was. for
John raised his head and looked

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