One of the earliest buzzard freaks I knew was a boy named Dietz, who was several times in the Tombs for misdemeanors before he was finally sent to Elmira for a felony. I found Dietz to be one of the most expert and finished liars ever I met. It was no trouble for him to lie in three languages! It seems that he could hardly make a statement of any kind, without crowding into it a few lies. He had a way of his own by which he could palm off on an unsuspecting missionary a harrowing tale of persecution that would bring tears to the eyes and his tales were so well arranged that all would believe them.
For daring criminality he could give points to Western bandits and shame them in the end. A car load of such characters dumped on a peaceful city of fifty thousand people would disrupt it in a week. Dietz gloated on blood and thunder yarns of the wild and woolly West, most of the time and was unhappy unless he was draping demons from the cesspool of his soul.
When I meet a chronic liar I readily conclude—no matter what his age may be, that the bottom has dropped out of his character. The liar is the best evidence of total depravity, and this particular characteristic of the individual cannot long be hid.
The second time Dietz was an inmate of the Boys’ Prison I remember how I raced all over the city on a wild goose chase on one of his lies, not knowing at the time that his story was a fabrication from A to Z. I found out by mere accident that his brother, who was a clerk in a large shipping firm in the city, had aided him out of his first scrape, but refused the second time to have anything more to do with him. He knew this and took pains to conceal the fact that after many chances to do the square thing his brother considered him “no good.” His wanton deeds and prodigality he considered virtues and when he recited them to those who would listen to him he was in smiles.
The third time he was in the Boys’ Prison was for a felony. He came in under an assumed name. He did not call upon me for help this time as I knew his record too well. But he had some women to work for him till they found out that his stories were only lies from start to finish, after which they gave him up. He was finally sent to Elmira Reformatory, but what became of him afterwards I have never learned.
It seems as natural for criminals to tell lies as to breathe, when in most cases the truth would serve to better purpose. Some time ago a young Russian named C—— was before Judge Cowing for stealing a diamond pin. The crime was committed in the Thalia Theatre on the Bowery. While his pedigree was taken in General Sessions he was asked if he had ever been arrested before and, as usual, his reply was a lie. When he was sentenced to Elmira Reformatory he replied to the Court, “Judge, would rather go to hell than to Elmira.” After he came back to the Tombs I asked him why he hated to go to Elmira so much. He then told me that he had been there already while Superintendent Brockway was in charge. I then made an investigation and found the lawyer that had defended him at his first trial, who after he had been in the Reformatory two years and a half had secured a pardon for him so that he might return to Russia, which he did. He joined the Russian Army, but is said to have deserted soon after the breaking out of the war in the Far East. In less than two months after reaching New York he committed another crime and sought to cover it with a lie.
This man’s career shows him to be nothing less than a human buzzard. Criminality is written on his countenance, which, to say the least, is forbidding. After he was sent to Elmira Reformatory he was soon after transferred to Auburn Prison, where he will have an opportunity to serve his full sentence of five years.
Another criminal of the Buzzard species was Chump of Harlem. He was only twenty-six years of age, the son of a sergeant of police. He is so indolent that he prefers to beg or steal rather than earn an honest living. Those that know him best call him “a gin-mill sucker,” as he spends most of his time there for the “drinks” he can pick up for nothing. He was arrested in midwinter for stealing a forty-dollar chair from a furniture store in the upper part of the city. Like most of his kind, Chump said he was innocent and that it was the first time he was ever arrested. As he gave a fictitious name and wrong address it was impossible to trace his record. Under the impression that he was a first offender, he was allowed a plea of petit larceny. When he came up before Recorder Goff he found his match. Some person must have given the Court an “inkling” of Chump’s record. When he stood at the bar of General Sessions the Recorder had him sworn on the Bible so that he might tell the truth. Then the tug of war began. “Chump,” said the Recorder, “Tell the truth, were you ever convicted before?” Chump hesitated. There was a painful silence in the room. “Now tell me,” said Judge Goff, “How many times were you sent away in your life? Were you ever in the penitentiary?” said the Recorder. “Yes,” said Chump, “once.” “Is that all,” said the Recorder; “Now tell the truth.” “No,” said he, “Twice.” “Any other times?” He hesitated again. It seems that this young vagabond had no less than six convictions standing against him prior to this time. While he was under the Recorder’s scrutiny he must have suffered torture of conscience. But his real character was brought out which showed him to be an A1 degenerate and a notorious liar. Before he started for the penitentiary I asked him why he had lied by saying that he had never been up before. He coolly replied, “Well, you know if I had told the truth nobody would have done anything for me.”
Dark Records
In the following sketch I have selected crooks of maturer years. They are types of modern brainy criminals. I have said nothing of Orrin Skinner, the well read Illinois lawyer who became a jailbird in early life and afterwards died in Auburn prison, nor of Rue Ralley, the scholarly criminal who was master of several languages; nor of other well known crooks who got away with millions of dollars from several New York banks. I have said nothing of “Jimmie” Hope, who robbed the Bleecker Street Bank of three million dollars, and was called the Prince of Safe Crackers and who at one time was said to be worth a big fortune, the “pickings” of several bank burglaries; nor of the young crook who went boldly to a Broadway Bank at the noon hour and with only an empty soap box under his feet, leaned over the cashier’s cage and got away with $10,000. But the city is full of such bold crooks who simply wait their chances.