Martin woman still missing; sensational 1955 Palm Beach County murders led to conviction without bodies
Where’s Tricia Todd?
Authorities in Martin County will be back out today searching for the body of the 30-year-old hospice nurse, whose ex-husband has confessed to killing her but so far won’t say where he put her, beyond indicating a wooded area somewhere around Hobe Sound. Sheriff’s deputies already have searched the area for nearly a month without result.
Can a person still be convicted of a murder without a body?
That legal issue came into play in Palm Beach County in what still is regarded the county’s crime of the century: the assassination of Palm Beach County Circuit Judge Curtis Eugene Chillingworth and his wife Marjorie.
Former municipal judge Joseph Peel, was convicted, mostly on the testimony of one of the two hit men, of ordering the murder. The Chillingworths were seized from their oceanfront Manalapan cottage on June 15, 1955, taken by boat out to sea, bound, and tossed overboard. Their bodies never were found. Florida State University criminal justice professor Dale Nute, who rubbed elbows with some of the Chillingworth investigators at the forerunner to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, said he believed it was in fact the first murder conviction obtained in Florida without a body.
By John Kelly Columnist
In the summer of 1955, Capital Transit employees went on strike. You might find some stories in The Washington Post’s archives that would be interesting to current riders coping with Metro’s service interruptions.
— Arnold Moore, Alexandria, Va.
If you lived in Washington in July 1955 and walked into any of the 81 stores operated by Peoples Drug, you may have seen a bulletin board that invited you to jot down your name, address and phone number, along with the time you needed a lift — or could offer one — and your destination.
That’s one way our forebears dealt with the last major, long-term interruption in the District’s public transit system: lots of ad hoc carpools.
Of course, the disruption 61 years ago was more extensive than Metro’s current “SafeTrack” year-long maintenance program. Today’s single-tracking, station closures and early shutdowns affect only the subway, while on July 1, 1955, all 375 streetcars and 750 buses of Capital Transit stopped moving, as union workers struck for higher wages.
When the strike ended 52 days later, The Post reflected on the experience and concluded that “the reaction left no doubt that a large metropolitan city — no matter how well it improvises — is sorely hit when its mass transportation facilities are taken away.”
On the first workday of the strike, traffic was “chaos,” but things improved. How did people cope? Like this:
They took their own cars. Rates of car ownership were far lower in 1955 than they are today, but they were higher than they had been in 1951, when a three-day Capital Transit strike bedeviled the city.
There were obvious downsides to driving. Between 6 and 7 a.m., vehicle volume increased 23 percent. In the first two weeks of the strike, 966 traffic accidents were reported, compared with 749 for the same period a year earlier.
Even so, AAA — that reliable booster of car use — claimed that people were getting to work faster, because the streets were clear of pesky Capital Transit trains and buses.
They formed carpools. The District’s traffic director,George E. Keneipp, implored Capital Transit patrons to share rides. He urged people to go door to door in neighborhoods and office to office at work to arrange carpools. Not everyone listened. Keneipp complained that too many cars carried only one or two people.
And not everyone felt comfortable in a carpool. Many single women were loath to ride with strangers.
They took taxis. Cabdrivers reported that business was up but that the work was harder because of the increased traffic congestion.
The police were mobilized. As the strike deadline approached, all annual leave was canceled for D.C. police officers. Once the strike began, hundreds of cops spread out to direct traffic. There was at least one police officer on every downtown street corner. Some had two or three. (When the strike was over, three of the city’s newspapers — The Post, the Evening Star and the Daily News — presented a plaque to the police chief thanking him for the “patience, courtesy and cheerful spirit” his officers had shown.)
There was free parking. To accommodate more cars headed downtown, District officials greatly relaxed parking rules. Parking at meters was free and without time restrictions. Commuters were allowed to park on the trolley tracks that ran down the middle of city streets. This turned Pennsylvania Avenue into a massive parking lot.
The District estimated that it lost $36,800 a month in parking revenue. Oddly, 1 in 10 motorists were still feeding the meters.
“They must be out-of-towners, or people who absentmindedly put a nickel in,” said the District’s tax collector, Guy W. Pearson.
They walked. There was no mention of cycling in the stories of the 1955 strike, but plenty of people employed shoe leather.
This had several benefits. A reader named John B. Wentworth wrote The Post to say that things were quieter during the strike, the air was cleaner. Walking to work in the morning was invigorating. Walking home at night made people tired, sending them to bed earlier. Wentworth wrote: “This will save their eyes from television, it will save light bills, and tomorrow they’ll feel 100 percent better than they’ve felt in the morning for weeks.”
The strike had ripple effects. Church attendance was down. A Nationals baseball game was postponed. Downtown merchants reported a 7 percent drop in sales. (Suburban sales were up 10 percent, as consumers shopped closer to home.) Private parking lots suffered a loss of revenue as motorists took advantage of free parking at meters. Hotels reduced their rates to lure tourists worried about transit.
“The situation is not normal,” District Commissioner Robert E. McLaughlin said as the 1955 strike loomed. “And we’ve got to face it. Don’t go to town if you don’t have to. Leave earlier than usual if you have to go. Be patient in delay, particular if you’re driving.”
That’s still good advice.
BY TRACY CONNOR
It was swiped from a display case at a convention in 1955. Now, six decades later, a rare misprinted stamp known as an "Inverted Jenny" has been returned to its owner.
Federal authorities announced the handover Thursday at the World Stamp Show in Manhattan, two months after a man who inherited it from his grandfather brought it to an auction house and then waived claims to it after learning it was stolen property.
"They did the right thing," Manhattan U.S. Attorney Preet Bharara said of the man, Keelin O'Neill, who received a $50,000 reward for the stamp, which could be worth up to $200,000.
O'Neill, who is from Northern Ireland, expressed no regrets. "It's been a great experience overall," he told reporters, wearing a tie emblazoned with images of one of the most famous stamps in U.S. history.
The mystery of the missing stamp has long fascinated philatelists. It's a tale that stretches back to 1918 when a collector bought a sheet of 100 airmail stamps at a Washington post office and discovered to his delight that the image of a biplane was accidentally printed upside down.
The 24-cent stamps were numbered on the back and sold off to postage enthusiasts, and four of them wound up in the collection of a wealthy New York woman, Ethel McCoy, who paid $16,000 for the quartet.
In September 1955, she put them on display at a show in Norfolk, Virginia, where they were brazenly stolen despite tight security.
"The thief cut a cord binding two of the exhibit frames and slid back the covering sheet of glass several inches," author George Amick wrote in his 1986 book, "The Inverted Jenny: Mystery, Money, Mania."
Diego Rodriguez of the FBI's New York office said it was a whodunit from the start.
"There were no witnesses, no suspects and very little evidence to pursue," he said.
One of the four stamps, No. 75, resurfaced in Chicago in 1977 and was seized by the FBI; McCoy donated it to the American Philatelic Research Library. Another one, No. 65, turned up in New York in 1981 and was donated to library, which was given ownership rights by McCoy before her 1980 death.
The whereabouts of the last two stolen Jennys — nicknamed as such because the misprinted plane was a Curtiss JN-4 model — remained a riddle.
Fast forward to March of this year, when O'Neill contacted the Spink auction house and said he thought he had found an Inverted Jenny in a box he inherited from his grandfather, who had bought it at a rummage sale.
"I had no idea about the history and importance of the stamp," O'Neill said.
George Eveleth, the head of the philatelic department at Spink, said he at first assumed it was a forgery.
"I didn't take it seriously because I know where 90 of the 100 are," Eveleth said. "The chances of him having the real McCoy, so to speak, were between slim and none."
O'Neill made an appointment to bring the stamp to Spink's New York office in mid-March, but he never showed up.
Eveleth said he guessed the young man had determined the stamp wasn't real after all. In actuality, Eveleth said, O'Neill got to New York and decided to take a detour, traveling to Florida for spring break.
Two weeks later, he re-emerged in New York, Jenny still in hand, and presented it to Spink. The specimen had been altered at some point in its history, probably to hide its identity, and Spink's experts couldn't immediately determine if it was genuine.
They brought it to the Philatelic Foundation, where experts confirmed that it was, indeed, the stolen Inverted Jenny No. 76. Scott English of the American Philatelic Society got the FBI involved, and the stamp was put under a protective order through the federal courts until it was legally transferred to the research library.
Although the Jenny has been turned over to the rightful owner, O'Neill won't go away empty-handed. He got a check for $50,00 from the Mystic Stamp Company, which offered the reward several years ago in hopes of cracking the ice-cold case.
No. 76 is worth between $150,000 and $200,000, according to English. Another Jenny sold just a few days ago for more than $1 million, but the stolen stamp is not in as good condition.
Its discovery has thrilled the stamp-collecting world. Even Bharara, the federal prosecutor, said he was captivated by the case, having collected stamps himself as a child.
But key questions about remain unanswered, including who stole the McCoy block in 1955, where the fourth purloined stamp (no. 66) is now, and who had No. 76 before O'Neill's grandfather.
"That's a mystery that remains to be solved," Eveleth said.
Editor's note: On Dec.11, 1816, Indiana became the 19th state in the Union. Lake, Porter and Newton counties originally were one, but on Jan. 28, 1836, Porter County was created. A year later, on Jan.18, Lake County became independent. As the state celebrates its bicentennial, the Post-Tribune will be taking a regular look back at the history of Northwest Indiana.
In the spring of 1955, the United States was continually on alert in preparation for an attack by our enemies. The Cold War raged quietly and citizens were told remain vigilant against the threat of Communism.
On June 15, 1955, the nation was put to the test: a national Civil Defense exercise called for a mock atomic bomb attack on 50 U.S. cities — including Gary, Fort Wayne and Chicago.
The exercise, "Operation Alert 1955," was a test to determine the readiness for a "near saturation assault" on industrial regions in the Midwest, Northeast and Pacific areas of the country.
Promoted stories from PoliticsChatter.com
President Dwight D. Eisenhower participated in the mock state of emergency and was whisked away from the nation's capital by car to a "wooded mountainous area," according to news reports at the time.
Gary Civil Defense estimated the rescue operation would take 26 hours and would be directed by county staff. But a "what-if" article featured in the Post-Tribune offered a harrowing account of what might have happened in Gary if the simulated bombing of Gary had been real.
According to the story, "Thirty-thousand were reported dead and upwards of 40,000 injured in the atomic holocaust which engulfed Gary at 2:22 this afternoon. Nike battalions were reported to have downed 15 enemy bombers over Lake Michigan but one slipped through to hit Gary with an atomic bomb believed to be five times as powerful as the one which leveled Hiroshima. From Griffith, the atomic cloud could be seen rising up to 40,000 feet."
Gary Mayor Peter Mandich and Civil Defense Director Z.R. Bardowski remained in the city to observe the test, but other city employees relocated to a county highway garage near Crown Point.
The day kicked-off in Gary with a leaflet drop by the Gary-Hobart Civil Air Patrol of 60,000 pamphlets telling citizens they "are helping the Reds" if they aren't cooperating with the Civil Defense organization. The leaflets were to target the downtown area of the city, but wound up in other areas.
The first siren sounded at 11:03 a.m. to warn that simulated enemy planes had been detected over the Arctic region on their way to the U.S., according to a Post-Tribune article. The take-cover alert came at 2:12 p.m., and the police department aimed to clear the streets of pedestrians. "Motorists, while complying with police orders to stop, did not get out of their cars to take cover. This was due primarily to the fact that many were out-of-towners who didn't know what the test was all about," the Post-Tribune reported.
Though today there are renewed fears of a terrorist attack on U.S., local defense operations have changed quite a bit.
"In 1955, the (Porter County) Civil Defense was a one-man operation," said Russell Shirley, director of Porter County Emergency Management and Commander of the District 1 Task Force.
Emergency Management evolved from the civil defense program and "now we have two full-time staff members a part-time secretary and 30 volunteers. The District 1 Task Force has more than 300 volunteers throughout Jasper, Lake, LaPorte, Newton and Porter counties," said Shirley.
The district volunteers come from all walks of life, said Shirley, and they include police officers, firefighters, EMS and citizens —men and women. "There's one female on the hazmat team and about 100 women on the District Task Force. Porter County has 10 women volunteers — one of our volunteers is a psychiatrist," Shirley said.
One of the biggest differences between today's Emergency Management and the Civil Defense effort is the ability to deploy to other areas using the District 1 Mobile Command Center. The vehicle is equipped with computers, radio, camera and other high-tech tools. The Mobile Command Center is booked locally throughout the summer and can be seen assisting with security at event in the various counties.
"Mike Webber, deputy director, has been to Alaska. He was there as a learning opportunity during wildfires and to assist," Shirley said. "We would never have done that in the 1940s and 1950s."
In addition, the district also has a mobile canteen truck and trailer unit donated by Task Force Tips, a Valparaiso-based national maker of firefighter equipment
Recently, Porter County Emergency Management overhauled its tornado siren system.
"The old sirens were anywhere from 10 to 50 years old. Some were from the World War II air raid sirens. We have 57 locations, mostly in the north as that is more populated," Shirley said. "They get tested at 2 a.m. every day. They rotate and we make sure they are in good working condition. ... On the first Tuesday of each month, there is a sound test."
The Greg Phillips Emergency Services Center in Valparaiso includes a radio room where radio operators can "communicate with people anywhere in the world," said Shirley.
Nancy Coltun Webster is a freelance reporter for the Post-Tribune.
By Brian Lada, Meteorologist
Alex became a hurricane over the middle of the Atlantic Ocean on Thursday, Jan. 14, and passed near the Azores on Friday morning, local time, before diminishing.
The system will lose tropical characteristics as it moves over colder waters of the Atlantic this weekend.
Alex was the first Atlantic hurricane to form in the month of January since 1938 and is the first Atlantic hurricane to exist during January since Alice in 1955.
The system made the transition from a non-tropical storm to a subtropical storm to a full-featured tropical system during the first part of the week.
"A subtropical storm has both tropical and non-tropical characteristics and has a large wind field," said AccuWeather Senior Meteorologist Dan Kottlowski.
This was the same system AccuWeather meteorologists were tracking since development near Florida early in the month.
Alex was named in the Atlantic Ocean on Wednesday, Jan. 13, 2016, making it one of the earliest tropical systems to form in the Atlantic Hurricane Basin since records began in 1851.
By ANDREW GLASS
The first televised press conference was held on this day in 1955 when President Dwight D. Eisenhower came into the Indian Treaty Room — a chamber with poor acoustics and limited seating — and announced the “experiment” they were about to be part of.
“Well, I see we’re trying a new experiment this morning, “Eisenhower said. “I hope that doesn’t prove to be a disturbing influence.”
The president was asked whether “in light of the latest fighting, would you consider that it would be useful to have a cease-fire between Communist China and National China, if that could be arranged through the U.N. or by some other means?"
He replied: “Well, I should like to see the U.N. attempt to exercise good offices, I believe, because whenever there’s any kind of fighting and open violence in the world, there is always a — it’s always sort of a powder keg.”
The next reporter to be recognized said: “Sir, the congressmen on Capitol Hill say that if they can find a copy of the budget to read, that they can’t understand it. Is there anything you can do to tell these people who have to vote on this where the money is to be spent?”
“It’s my understanding that’s what the committees of Congress are for,” an irritated president responded, adding: “And that’s what the people that appear before these committees are for. And I can’t be expected to take the details of a volume like that, which I forget the number of pages, and explain that in detail to individuals anywhere.”
“Tomorrow,” another questioner noted, “is the second anniversary of your inauguration. I wonder if you would care to give us an appraisal of your first two years and tell us something of your hopes for the next two or maybe even the next six?”
“It looks like a loaded question,” Eisenhower said, eliciting laughter before the video camera.
In subsequent decades, before social media and the Internet began to also make a major impact on White House press operations, television continued to play a major role in the staging of presidential press conferences. It has indeed been a “disturbing influence” — presidents have made mistakes, if somewhat rarely. But these increasingly infrequent sessions also have been a resource for presidents as they sought to explain their policies and themselves directly to a wider audience.
Christmas Eve 1955 was much warmer. Three fourths of the country was over 60 degrees, and Ashland Kansas, Geary Oklahoma and Encinal Texas were all over 90 degrees. Fort Lauderdale was 85 degrees. All of the stations below were over 60 degrees on Christmas Eve, 1955.
Last winter, the East Coast had record cold. That was ignored because it was “less than 1% of the Earth.” But this week, the Eastern US defines the global climate.
In Irving Berlin’s 1954 musical “White Christmas” – the story line was 70 degrees in Vermont on Christmas eve and no snow. That was why they were “Dreaming of a White Christmas”
Sixty years ago, an illegal abortion killed her. The case made national news. We still have much to learn from her story.
By Gillian Frank
On Christmas Eve 1955, Jacqueline Smith died from an illegal abortion at the apartment of her boyfriend, Thomas G. Daniel.
Jacqueline Smith was born in Lebanon, Pennsylvania, in 1935. She graduated from high school in 1953 and moved to New York City, where she intended to become a fashion designer. In June 1955, Smith began to date Daniel, a sales trainee in a riding equipment shop. Although Smith spent most nights in Daniel’s apartment, the stigma surrounding cohabiting and having premarital sex was so great that she kept an apartment with three other women in order to maintain appearances. (Unless otherwise noted, primary source information in this piece is based either on contemporary newspaper accounts or on district attorney files and transcripts from the 1956 trials of Daniel and Leobaldo Pijuan; these records can be found in the New York City Municipal Archives.)
In November 1955, Smith discovered she was about six weeks pregnant. When she shared the news of her pregnancy with Daniel, she hoped that he would marry her. At that time, unmarried pregnant women faced harsh consequences for their sexual activity, including job loss and stigmatization. Unwed mothers, pilloried and pathologized, faced limited prospects for marriage, and their children had the wordillegitimate stamped on their birth certificates. Many young women went to maternity homes in other towns, where they would have their babies and then give them up in closed adoptions, all done in secrecy. Upon returning home, these women were expected to pretend that the pregnancies never happened and to make the most out of a second chance at respectability.
Daniel did not want to marry Smith and began looking for a means to terminate her pregnancy. Over the next month, he asked colleagues and friends if they knew how to cause a miscarriage. Daniel persuaded Smith to take abortifacient pills, but these did not work. In the meantime, Smith went to her OB-GYN twice for examinations, made plans for future checkups, and made arrangements to deliver the baby.
On Christmas Eve 1955, Daniel paid Pijuan, a hospital attendant, $50 to perform an illegal abortion. Legal abortions, done at hospitals, required approval from a committee of doctors, which acted as deterrents for women seeking elective abortion. Hospitals usually authorized abortions in rare cases when a pregnancy endangered the health of the woman. Those unable to obtain hospital abortions would turn to underground abortionists, some of whom were skilled and some of whose lack of medical training physically endangered women. Pijuan was one of the latter.
Before beginning the surgery on Smith with equipment he had stolen from the hospital, Pijuan created a crude operating area in the living room of Daniel’s apartment in the Kips Bay neighborhood of Manhattan, just blocks from Bellevue Hospital. Pijuan covered the couch and floors in old newspaper and blankets, jerry-rigged an intravenous drip out of a broomstick and a bottle, and fashioned makeshift stirrups out of two dining room chairs. Pijuan instructed Smith to sit on the edge of the couch, then tied her legs to the backs of the chairs and her arms to the couch. He then anesthetized Smith with sodium thiopental, using rubber bands instead of a tourniquet. Pijuan, however, did not properly control the drip. During the 10 minutes in which he performed a dilation and curettage, Smith received 1,000 cc of the anesthetic— about 50 times the required dosage.
In Smith’s time, women unable to obtain hospital abortions would turn to underground abortionists.
Noticing that Smith was in respiratory distress, Pijuan and Daniel did not call for a paramedic or take Smith to the hospital. Instead, Pijuan phoned his friend, Dr. Ramiro Mireles, for help. Later, when questioned by police, Mireles recalled finding Smith unconscious on Daniel’s couch, naked from the waist down, legs splayed in the makeshift stirrups, her face blue from lack of oxygen. Mireles applied artificial respiration and injected a heart stimulant, but it was too late. Just before midnight, he declared Smith dead and advised Daniel to call the police.
Daniel and Pijuan did not call the police. Instead, they began Christmas morning by transferring Smith’s body into the bathtub, where they used a large kitchen knife to hack up her body. They placed her body parts in plastic bags and bundled these with Christmas paper and tinsel cords. The two men drove Smith’s dismembered body to Pijuan’s apartment and placed it in his bathtub. From Dec. 27–29, Pijuan systematically cut up the body into even smaller segments, again wrapped up the parts in bright Christmas wrapping paper, and disposed of the remains in garbage receptacles across the Upper West Side.
On Dec. 30, Smith’s father, Chester Smith, traveled 6½ hours by bus from Lebanon to New York City to look for his daughter after her workplace notified him that she hadn’t showed up for days. Unable to locate her, Smith reported his child missing to the New York City Police Department. On Jan. 10, 1956, the police arrested Daniel at his apartment; he eventually confessed to the circumstances of her death and how he and Pijuan disposed of her remains.
* * *
The horrifying circumstances around Jacqueline Smith’s botched abortion made headlines in newspapers across the United States. Wire services relayed the minute details of the homicide and offered readers biographies of the major players. Reporters described the frantic and ultimately unsuccessful police search for Smith’s body, detailing how detectives dragged the Hudson River and searched through garbage dumps for her remains. Jurists explained the legal precedents for prosecuting a crime without a body, and a medical expert clarified the correct dosage for sodium thiopental. Articles lingered on details such as the 800 stolen medical tools, some still covered in blood, discovered in Pijuan’s apartment.
As the state of New York tried Daniel and Pijuan for manslaughter, the media and the public obsessed over the personal details of all involved in the case. The New York Daily News hired a plane to fly Smith’s father from Pennsylvania to New York, housing him with one of its reporters; this arrangement gave the paper the inside scoop on a bereaved and traumatized father. Smith’s hometown paper, the Lebanon Daily News, interviewed her high school teachers and friends and featured Smith’s artwork and poetry. The New York Daily News likewise featured clothing that Smith designed; one of its employees modeled her scarves. In June 1956, a jury found Daniel guilty of manslaughter; he was sentenced to 8½–20 years in prison. Pijuan was sentenced to 7½–14 years.
Smith’s death and the literal absence of her body enabled commentators to inscribe their own sexual scripts about women, sexuality, and reproduction upon her. Daniel’s defense lawyer characterized his client as “the victim of a girl who pretended to her family and friends that she was a little angel when she was in fact just a girl who like to enjoy so-called free love.” The prosecutor and the media turned Smith into an innocent daughter in need of protection from predators like Daniel. To do so, they used ethnic signposts to contrast “Jackie, the pretty blonde daughter” with “dark Thomas G. Daniel,” “Greek born”; the Puerto Rican nurse Pijuan; and the “Mexican doctor” Mireles. This racial and gendered narrative sought to rehabilitate Smith’s reputation and to convey that she was a good girl who did not deserve her fate,a small-town naïf seduced by the big city. “She actually was a lamb,” stated one co-worker to reporters, “and New York is not the right place for lambs.” Another told reporters, “Jackie was well-equipped in every way, except to cope with the advances of a predatory male.”
* * *
How should we remember Jacqueline Smith’s life and death 60 years later? One way is to highlight the silences surrounding her story. Of hundreds of reports about Smith’s death, all depicted it as a personal tragedy; none of them flagged the conditions that made her unplanned pregnancy possible and dangerous.
The literal absence of Smith’s body enabled commentators to inscribe their own sexual scripts upon her.
Focusing on the gory details of the case enabled readers to look away from the plight of unwed mothers, the laws that prevented unmarried women and men from accessing reliable contraceptives, the lack of comprehensive sex education for young people, and the inadequacy of educational efforts in schools that promoted abstinence until marriage. Commentary on Smith’s death omitted the severe restrictions on legal abortion, which made them costly and rare and drove between 200,000 and 1.2 million women a year to obtain illegal abortions. None of the media coverage included the trial testimony of the chief medical examiner of New York City, who noted that over the course of his career he had overseen the autopsies of a minimum of 1,200 women who had died from abortion. The media didn’t mention that a white unwed mother such as Smith who carried a pregnancy to term likely would have done so at a maternity home, where she would have been expected to give up her baby with no hopes of seeing him or her again. Largely excluded from the booming postwar adoption industry, unwed mothers of color bore additional burdens, including forced sterilization, exclusion from public welfare, and police surveillance.
The reproductive rights struggles of the past half-century have sought to transform these conditions. Today, as conservatives fight to erode these modest gains, we should remember Jacqueline Smith and what it meant to live in a society that normalized abstinence until marriage, did not offer medically accurate information about reproduction, shamed women for engaging in premarital sexual activity, made many forms of contraception costly and inaccessible, and criminalized abortion. On Christmas Eve 1955, Jacqueline Smith was 20 years old and had her whole life ahead of her. The men who killed her went to jail, but there was no indictment of a society and policies that were also culpable. For too many Americans, Jacqueline Smith’s past is still all too present.
This post originally appeared on Notches: (Re)marks on the History of Sexuality, a blog devoted to promoting critical conversations about the history of sex and sexuality across theme, period, and region. Learn more about the history of sexuality at Notchesblog.com.
Gillian Frank is a visiting fellow at Center for the Study of Religion and a lecturer in the Program in Gender and Sexuality Studies at Princeton University.
BY ALAN SCHERSTUHL
The best of all heist movies, Jules Dassin's tough-minded clockwork thriller Rififi, from 1955,is also one of the great films about process, about prepping for and grinding through small challenges, about improvisational teamwork within the framework of a plan, about the satisfaction of the last few cranks of a wrench at the end of a complex project.
The sublime break-in and safe-cracking sequence bests its 60 years worth of imitators in its rigor and cleverness and attention to detail, the very qualities it celebrates. The film turns grim by the end, and even before the heist we see the lead hood (Jean Servais) go after his ex with a belt, but the centerpiece caper is light and inviting. As a crew of four hack their way into a Parisian jewelry shop, we're shown their tools and their problems and given plenty of silent time to consider how the former might be set to the latter. Viewers become something like collaborators, invested in working out what, say, that umbrella is going to be used for — and then pleased to discover whether we've gotten it right or not.
Contrast that to the cheats that the impatient directors of such scenes usually get away with. When he faces a locked safe, it's a given that Paul Rudd's Ant-Man bro will crack it — and that it will take a ream of dialogue to explain the quasi-magical hows of it. Without painstaking visual storytelling like Dassin's to engage us, we wait out such scenes from a remove rather than feel like imaginative participants. Too often we have to take the movies' word for it that we've seen something worth seeing.
The rest of Rififi is almost as strong, but it's the opposite of inviting. (The film is being shown in a handsome DCP restoration.) Despite the whimsy of that umbrella maneuver and Dassin's interest in balloons, kids' toys, shadow-play cabaret numbers, and just barely covered breasts, this is tough-guy noir of the highest proof, the kind of movie where the putative hero has to put down a much more likable character because of the Code of Thieves or whatever. (An American director of crime hits, Dassin exiled himself to Europe after being blacklisted in the House Un-American Activities Committee witch-hunts; Rififi throbs with his anger and let's-see-the-bastards-top-thisshowmanship.)
Dassin shows us that murder from the first-person perspective of Servais's crook, the camera backing slowly away as his compatriot, trussed to a post in a cabaret nightclub's wondrous basement prop room, stoically awaits the killing slug. An earlier shot, from the perspective of Marcel Lupovici's Grutter, the ostensible villain, had glided us through that same space, past memorable set decorations: a daisy, a man-sized ukulele, and three simple white eye masks of the sort that Shakespearean types can hide a whole identity behind. Besides their beauty and for-the-ages technique, these scenes are richly suggestive about the theater of character, about how easily our ideas of hero and villain can slip into each other, about just how much darkness we're willing to accept from a protagonist with whom we identify. Rififi mirrors the arcs of the criminal lives it examines: It seduces you in, and then won't let you out cleanly.
Directed by Jules Dassin
Opens September 2, Film Forum
ZEYNEP KARATAŞ / ISTANBUL
A memorial Divine Liturgy was held at the Yeniköy Panayia Greek Orthodox Church in İstanbul on Sunday morning for the first time in Turkey to commemorate the lives that were lost during the pogroms targeting İstanbul's Rum -- Greek Orthodox Turkish citizen -- population on Sept. 6 and 7, 1955.
Important representatives of minority communities in Turkey attended the service, including Laki Vingas from the Greek Community Support Foundations (RUMVADER), Selina Doğan -- a Republican People's Party (CHP) deputy of Armenian ethnicity -- and Toros Alcan of the Communities Foundation.
In a statement on social media, Doğan wrote: “Democratic states must confront these types of events in recent history and share their grievances, even if years have passed. There are certain legitimate demands put forth by people whose homes, business, and places of worship were attacked during the event. The perpetrators of the events must be uncovered and they should apologize. Citizens should be given back their rights.”
This year marks the 60th anniversary of the attacks that predominantly targeted the Rum population but included other non-Muslim populations such as Jews and Armenians. According to some estimates, 15 people were killed, 300 injured and 400 women were raped by Turkish men. In addition, 4,214 homes, 1,004 businesses and 73 churches were damaged. The 1955 pogroms were sparked by announcements that the house in which Turkey's founding father Mustafa Kemal Atatürk was born in the city of Thessaloniki in northern Greece had been bombed. Rioters were then assembled by the Turkish Army's Tactical Mobilization Group and sent to raid and destroy Rum-owned businesses and churches and assault Rum citizens.
"More than 500 men from Beale Air Force Base were on the fire lines in the Klamath National Forest near Yreka today. The men left Marysville yesterday under command of Lt. Col. Robert G. Liebhardt, brigade operations officer.
The first Beale units arrived at firefighting headquarters at the Siskiyou County fairgrounds on the outskirts of Yreka about 3:30 p.m. yesterday after a six-hour trip. Two hours and 50 miles later the first Beale contingent of 100 men was on the fire line in the McKinney Creek area.
By 11 o'clock last night Beale personnel had relieved the entire contingent of 500 men from the Presidio of San Francisco who had been in the area since Tuesday."
— Appeal-Democrat, Sept. 10, 1955
This week, when the Independent Television Authority starts its broadcasts, an experiment will begin in harnessing advertisers’ money to this powerful new medium of information and entertainment. With the example before it of American commercial television, Parliament has hedged the new organisation around with rules and safeguards; these are the conditions on which it has accepted the experiment.
The new programmes will be watched with keen interest for fresh ideas and new uses of a medium which is still in its infancy. Already the good effects of competition are to be seen in the more lively and alert programmes of the BBC. But it would be unwise to judge the result of the experiment too early. At first the new service has everything to gain by giving no offence to those critics who fear that commercialism in this medium will lead to vulgarisation. The real test of the ITA will come as the pressure grows to subordinate other considerations to the necessity of providing large audiences for the advertiser, who will be paying this piper.
Miss Delaware Barbara Woodall and Newark Chamber of Commerce President Hugh F. Gallagher Jr. draw the winning entry in Newark Shopping Center’s car giveaway on July 29, 1955.
By Josh Shannon email@example.com
Newark Shopping Center opened in July 1955 with much fanfare.
Pomeroy Realty, Inc., led by Newark resident Aron Handloff, had broken ground on the $1 million project nine months earlier on a 16-acre “weedy plot,” as the Newark Post described it at the time.
It was said to be one of the first downtown shopping centers in the country.
On opening day, the shopping center featured eight businesses: Equitable Security Trust Company, Newark Department Store, Sun Ray Drug Store, Woolworth’s, Terry Shop, Minster’s Jewelers, Crichton’s Beverages and Liedermann’s Bakery. Four more businesses opened in the ensuing weeks, including Acme Market, Miles Shoes, Singer Sewing Machine Company and an annex for the United States Post Office.
The basement of Newark Department Store featured the Newark Room, which could be used for social meetings by businesses and organizations. Sixty years later, Newark Natural Foods carries on that mission, also using the basement space as a community room.
Today, Minster’s Jewelers is the only original tenant still in the shopping center.
Local officials and business owners celebrated the 1955 opening with a 10-day gala that kicked off with an opening ceremony July 20.
A Newark Post headline read “Newark Shopping Center opens as thousands throng city.” Mayor Wallace Johnson cut a ceremonial ribbon, folk singer Jimmy Carter performed, children were offered pony rides, and the U.S. Navy exhibited a 40-foot model of a ship.
The main attraction, however, was a contest that gave away a 1955 Chevrolet station wagon, courtesy of William H. Porter. At the end of the 10-day period, July 29, 15,000 people returned to the shopping center to watch Miss Delaware, Barbara Woodall, draw the winning ticket out of some 200,000 entries. The Newark Post proclaimed it the biggest crowd in Newark since V-E Day 10 years earlier.
The winners were Stephan and Roswitha Zemko. Stephan Zemko, a Korean War veteran and DuPont employee, had never owned a car before.
The opening was a success, except for mechanical problems that plagued a miniature train ride, resulting in “hundreds of disappointed children,” the newspaper reported.
By Paul Biasco
HUMBOLDT PARK — As a 7-year-old in Humboldt Park in the 1950s, John Guzlowski and the countless kids on his block had free range.
They wandered the park, day and night, took bus trips to the Loop to catch movies and ventured to the beach and museums.
"This was in the mid '50s at the height of the baby boom, and there were millions of us kids outside living large and — as my dad liked to say — running around like wild goats," Guzlowski, now 67, recalled.
That was until a gruesome triple murder shocked the city.
The murder of three young boys in 1955 ended an era of innocence, of unlocked front doors.
The murder sent a scare through the neighborhood — for parents and kids alike. It also provided the inspiration for Guzlowski's new novel "Suitcase Charlie."
The novel begins with a statement from an Associated Press wire report on Oct. 18, 1955.
The bodies of three boys were found nude and dumped in a ditch near Chicago today at 12:15 p.m. They were Robert Peterson, 14, John Schuessler, 13, and brother Anton Schuessler, 11.
They had been beaten and their eyes taped shut. The boys were last seen walking home from a downtown movie theater where they had gone to see “The African Lion.”
"We would sit around at night outside and start scaring each other with these stories about Suitcase Charlie," said Guzlowski, a poet and author.
Suitcase Charlie was a ghastly legend the neighborhood kids made up, as salesmen walking the block with a suitcase were commonplace at the time.
"I'm sure what we had in the back of our minds were the Schuessler-Peterson murders of 1955," Guzlowski said. "That must have been fresh in our minds, the idea of those three boys being killed so horribly."
Paul Biasco explains how the novel mimics life in Chicago in the 1950s:
The Schuessler brothers and Robert Peterson were on a train to the Loop when they disappeared back in 1955. Their bodies were found two days later, strangled, in a ditch in the Robinson Woods forest preserve.
The actual murders which inspired the historical fiction went unsolved for nearly 40 years before Kenneth Hansen, a horseman and former stable hand was tied to the crimes, according to reports.
The novel, Guzlowski's second, was a dream of the author's since he was young, and much of it dates to his experiences growing up in Humboldt Park — where his family moved as World War II refugees who survived the Holocaust.
Guzlowski was born in a refugee camp in Germany, and, as an immigrant in Humboldt Park, he was neighbors with Jewish hardware store clerks with Auschwitz tattoos on their wrists and Polish cavalry officers who mourned their dead horses.
As kids in the neighborhood they knew about fear from hearing about it from their parents. They overheard horror stories from their parents of seeing their mothers and fathers shot in German-occupied Europe.
That fear became their own when they heard about the brutal murders of boys around their own age from nearby Jefferson Park.
"There were always rumors about the terrible things going on in Humboldt Park," said Guzlowski, who now resides in Virginia.
Most of those stories, which neighborhood kids made up, were set on an inaccessible island in the lagoon.
"As kids we talked about suicides on that island, murders on that island and terrible things happening on that island," Guzlowski said. "All of that sort of fear, the fear of what happened to those two brothers and their friend."
Guzlowski's novel, "Suitcase Charlie," focuses on two detectives who are investigating the case of a murdered schoolboy found shopped up into small pieces in a suitcase
The story takes them throughout Humboldt Park and to various parts of Chicago.
Guzlowski's research gave him an opportunity to revisit the old bars of the neighborhood, where he would go on Saturday nights as a kid with his parents and drink ginger ales.
He dug through old photographs, documents about the Shakespeare District police station and talked with nuns from his old elementary school.
Most important, he dug through memories of the characters in the neighborhood.
Mr. Fish, a character in the book, is based on a survivor of the Buchenwald concentration camp who lived two doors down in Humboldt Park.
"When I was growing up in that area just east of Humboldt Park, there were some really fascinating people," Guzlowski said. "Revisiting the novel and bringing this stuff back to my imagination was really such an experience for me."
"Suitcase Charlie" is available in bookstores now, including Amazon and Barnes and Noble.