A Crook Whose Specialty Was Knock-Out Drops
On October 9th, 1903, a gentleman of the crooked profession named Walter Wilson, alias George Hill, alias Herman Fentner, alias Mr. Hawkshaw et al., was sentenced to thirty-three years imprisonment in the Court of General Sessions. There were eighteen indictments pending against him but he pleaded guilty only to four, with the above results. Wilson has had a criminal record extending over twenty years. His specialty in crime is said to be in the scientific use of knock-out drops, which in the medical profession is known as chloral, and at this he was an adept.
For some years he has worked in the Tenderloin, giving his entire attention to all kinds of robberies, including panel work in which he seems to be expert. He has labored assiduously for several years with women of the street and made a large amount of money, only to lose it as fast as it came to him. How many persons have received his “drops” and with fatal results God only knows.
Wilson is a most interesting character, is intelligent, wide awake, and has the ability and genuine reserve force in sufficient quantities to command an army or govern a republic or quell an insurrection. He is a “crack” criminal of the twentieth century type and while in the panel business usually went for big game. He is alert, daring and muscular and would have been a dangerous character to meet in a lonely road. He has the brains of a leader and could handle men. His gray piercing eyes and the facial expression show that he would allow nothing to stand in his way if put to the test. His weakness seems to be that when he has plenty of money and is full of “booze” he becomes garrulous and says too much.
Wilson began crime shortly after he was twenty years of age; his first sentence was less than a year on the Island for the robbery of a diamond pin; he claims to have “done time” on this occasion innocently; he had taken the blame for Nellie’s sake, his common law wife, who afterwards went back on him. Away back in the early nineties he stole a trunk of clothing from Hazel Thorne, the actress. For this he was sent to Sing Sing for four years.
For several years past he has spent his summers at the races at Gravesend and Saratoga. While in the latter village he nearly got away with a bag of jewelry valued at $1,500.00, but as he returned the “stuff” the lady refused to prosecute him.
How many more times this man has been in prison under old and new aliases we have no means of knowing at the present moment, but that he has been in prison a number of times we have no doubt whatever. During all these years he seems to have had an intense dislike to honest labor. Like most other “gentlemen” of the crooked profession, he preferred to live like a “dude” on his ill-gotten gains rather than be a man and work like other men.
As soon as Wilson had secured his freedom after serving his first sentence he made up his mind to be a man and do the right thing. He says:
“I accepted employment with a man uptown for five dollars a week and board. I was willing to do anything to outlive my past life—if that could be done.
“One day some of my old companions who had known me in the Penitentiary came to me while at work and threatened to expose me unless I gave them ten dollars. I refused at first and was willing to fight them to the bitter end. I would not be blackmailed. As they kept it up for several days, I gave them money rather than lose my job. Then they came again, and told others who made the same demand on me. After this I refused every appeal and told them to go and do their worst; as a result I lost my job. I searched the city for honest work for weeks, but could find none. Then I became a gambler. I went to the races all around New York, where I made money easy. I confess as a gambler I have had a checkered career, and even now do not wish to tell all the escapades through which I passed. But they were not of the best quality and many of them were deeds of darkness.
“Some months ago I returned to the city. I wanted money badly and resorted to crime, as I did not want to work. This is straight—I did not want to work,” and he said it with an emphasis.
“I located in the Tenderloin and worked in partnership with a woman of the street. We played the panel game between us and made lots of money. We succeeded in robbing men of means who fell into our net. Every week when I divided the graft, we had a big roll of bills each.”
Perhaps I ought to say that panel thievery is the old game of robbery in which injured innocence takes part. It is still practised in many parts of the city—especially the Tenderloin, but not as much as in former years. The three parties in such a crime are (1) a woman—elegantly dressed, with plenty of borrowed jewelry, but dissolute, (2) her so called profligate husband, and (3) her victim. The woman goes to the street—Fifth Avenue—and inveigles some young blood, a banker or rich merchant to her apartments. Then the so-called husband shows up unexpectedly. Then there is trouble but it is averted by a heavy cash payment, after which the victim goes free a wiser man.
The same thing is continued night after night for years. Not one victim in a hundred ever squeals—he is willing to pay any amount of money rather than do so. Sometimes the so-called husband shows himself to be an adept in the use of knock-out drops administered in wine. After the victim becomes senseless he is robbed of all he has and left on the premises. After a few days rest in Long Branch or Saratoga they return again to the city where the same thing is carried on nightly. This is what is called the Panel Game. Within recent years the Courts have been very severe with such people and justly so, as they are a most dangerous class.
Wilson continued: “After a while I became reckless and careless and got caught red-handed. I have found once more that the way of the transgressor is hard. But now I am done with that life. Ever since my return to the city I have been living in hell. I knew I was doing wrong.
“I wish they had sent me to the electric chair—I would be better off in the end.
“Just think of it—thirty-three years in prison, and yet it is all my own fault.
“When I come out, if I live out my sentence, I will be an old man—sixty years of age. Such a sentence is simply a civil death.”