Poppy's Prison: A New York City Bootlegger Murder Mystery

By Thomas Riddell

The Bootlegger Murder Mystery involves the grandfather/adopted father of the author. Below is an interview excerpt taken from the newspapers, just days after Russell Brice began serving more than twenty years in Sing Sing Prison. "Brice is a cheerful chap, with smiling gray eyes and blonde hair. He is twenty-six years old and is not a bit ashamed of the many crimes of which he has been accused or of the time he has spent in prison.“Behind the downfall of every man there is a woman,” he remarks with the wisdom of the ages. “A woman has placed me where I am. It was her talk which gave me the reputation of being ‘a second Hamby’”. Gordon Hamby was a notorious bank robber and killer who was executed in Sing Sing Prison's electric chair in January of 1920. Thomas Riddell lives in Liverpool, New York.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716349287

Book preview

POPPY’S PRISON

A NEW YORK CITY BOOTLEGGER

MURDER MYSTERY

                                  Thomas Riddell

Copyright © 2020 by Thomas Riddell

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2020

Magic Pen Publishing

For special order or correspondence, contact the

author at: [e-mail]

DEDICATION

To the incarcerated:

There is hope. Hang onto it.

FOREWORD

Poppy’s Prison tells the story of my adopted father/grandfather Russell Brice, who, during the prohibition years of the 1920’s, was involved in car thefts, bootlegging crimes and was a suspect in the murder of a bootlegger king, who was also his friend and business partner.

I only knew Pop as a very responsible, loving, humorous and caring man. Imagine my shock when the story of his earlier life began to emerge in the early 1990’s. Unable to question him, since he passed away in 1979, I was left to decipher a puzzle that is now one hundred years in the past. I invite you to read this bootlegger murder mystery and decide for yourself. 

In the process of writing Poppy’s Prison, I intended for it to be historical fiction, realizing that most stories in this genre weigh more heavily on the fiction end of telling the tale than on the factual end.  Being that the main character of this story is a beloved relative of mine and after engaging in years of research, I didn’t want to skewer the facts, which weighed in favor of him and against him. I wanted to present as true a representation of my grandfather’s life back then as I could, so I felt I didn’t have the license to totally fictionalize the story or his character as some in Hollywood and other authors often do when venturing out to present a historical fiction piece. 

My guidance in writing this book flowed solely on the timeline which news articles provided me from back in the 1920’s. (Sources include Fulton Post Cards, The New York Times, The Brooklyn Daily News, and Ancestry.com) I have italicized newspaper stories and factual quotes, in an effort to highlight what was documented in the newspapers and other sources. Other portions of the story were taken from stories that I was told when growing up and in my research of ancestry records etc.

In sculpturing the fictional aspects of Poppy’s Prison, I had to rely on my memory of my grandfather’s characteristics and I researched the other characters in the story in an attempt to gain as much information as I could gather regarding their personal and professional lives.  From these seeds of memory and research, I endeavored to grow a world and a life around these people that might closely match with the reality of the time.  I hope that in doing so, that you the reader, will absorb yourself into the history of the 1920’s and therefore, be able to relate to the people back then, who were really the ones who brought this story back to life.

I would be remiss in not mentioning that even through all the exhaustive research I did regarding this murder mystery, there are still many questions that have been left unanswered.  I leave those questions for you, the reader, to consider.

In regards to the unanswered questions, if you decide to do your own research of the case and the events associated with it, and find information that’s not included in this book, I would be very much interested in what you find.  Contact me at: [e-mail]. I’d like to thank all who have supported me in the writing of this book, especially my special lady, Kay Camic.

Thomas Riddell- August 8, 2020

PROLOGUE

POPPY AND TOMMY

In the first twenty-three years of my life, my Pop brought to me many pleasurable memories. When the great snowstorms of winter began to roll through the Southside of Syracuse in the late 1950’s, Pop would put me down on an old wooden sleigh, wrap a rope around his waist and pull me along the snow-covered streets. He would trudge through shin deep snow, with me happily in tow; on our way to the plaza down the street, to buy me a favorite toy.  He spent hours in our backyard, building snow forts and tunnels for me and when the day was done, I would sit with him in his chair where he would mesmerize me by making a little red ball disappear and he would call it magic! 

When sleep was difficult for me or after I had a bad dream, Pop would pick me up in his big strong arms, take me out to the kitchen and through the window, he’d show me the man in the moon. That would usually stop the crying and I would smile up at my pop as he winked at the man in the moon.

His good cheer was especially evident with the neighborhood kids. Me, along with a mob of four or five other kids would greet and crowd Pop as he stepped off the bus at the end of his workday. We loved this daily summer routine because he would reach into his pocket and remove a hand full of coins and give each kid a nickel, which meant popsicles for everyone. We would run off to the corner store to buy our frozen treats. 

At Christmas time, without fail every year up until my seventh year, Santa Claus would call me on the phone and ask me what I wanted for Christmas. Santa’s very deep delightful voice would boom with a big joyful belly laugh. My eyes would get big and round with excitement as my young heart and soul was quickly filled with the magic of Christmas. That was my Pop. He had this special ability to put people at ease and even the neighborhood dogs loved him as he would never miss a chance to bring bones home for his four-legged friends.

He was clever, witty, and funny with his many one-liners and the hilarious nicknames that he gave others were sometimes biting but always meant in good humor. Peg Leg Pete, Dirty Mary, and Louie The Lump were just a few of the monikers he would hand out to friends and family.

Poppy and Tommy 1969

One of my first memories of him and a favorite story of mine was when he teamed up with my grandmother to pull one over on me, when I was about four years old.  My grandmother had just completed setting up a vegetable garden in our back yard.  I would sit on the back steps for hours and watch her dig and she would take great care in her work at planting and watering the seeds.

It was a very hot summer and watermelon was a big favorite of mine.  I would sit on those steps and munch on that juicy watery fruit until my arms and clothes were dripping wet, then I would spit the seeds out. That was the best part, as I would try to see how far I could spit them.  My grandfather would sometimes sit with me and we would both eat the watermelon as if we were two little kids enjoying the wonderful traditions of summer.  He however, wouldn’t spit out his seeds; instead, he would spit them in a paper cup.  One time he handed me the cup and told me to follow him to the garden.  He dug three little holes in the ground, placed a seed in each of the holes, and covered them back up with dirt.  He told me, Come back tomorrow and watch the magic begin!

The next day I was so excited and went quickly to the garden. My mouth hung open in wonder at what I saw. There were three little round things growing there and they were the size of tennis balls. The next day I went out there and I couldn’t believe it; the size of the fruit had tripled in size. I began to jump up and down. I was happy and excited. On the third day, I walked slowly to the garden, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. There, in the middle of the garden, where we had planted three tiny seeds a few days ago, sat three huge watermelons.  I shouted, It’s magic!!

Of course, it really wasn’t. I was told years later that Pop had gone to the store and bought green apples, squash, and three full sized watermelons. He placed them in the garden in the early morning hours before I woke up. This was the wit, humor, affection, and fun of the man that I grew to love.

He was a good provider for our family; his work ethic was admirable and impeccable. He never missed a day of work even when he was sick.

He was a very likable guy. I never knew anyone who didn’t like him and I never knew him to do anyone wrong.  Therefore, it was a shock to me when I heard some very troublesome words come out of my grandmother’s mouth.  I was eighteen years old and I was in my room when I overheard my grandmother yell out to him during an argument they were having:

"Russell, if you don’t cut it out, you’ll get bread and water like you use to get…" The first thought that came to me was, that’s what they give people in prison.

After Pop had left the apartment, I came out of my room. I questioned my grandmother about what I had heard her say and she very tearfully sat me down and told me, "It’s time you knew.  Your grandfather had a very dark past… She also told me, If he knew that you knew about his past, it would kill him."

During his remaining five years, he died in 1979; he would never know what I would find out about his extraordinary life and so, starts the beginning of his story.

Russell and Grace with great granddaughter.  (Cira1976)

CHAPTER 1

ON THE TRAIN

Russell sat with his back against the hard-cold wall of the boxcar, listening to the jagged sounds of the freight train as it rumbled and squeaked along the tracks.  The frequent blasts of the steam whistle were both pleasant and eerie to his ears; it stimulated memories of his past, and it reminded him of the unknown future that lay in front of him down the miles and miles of tracks ahead. The memories lingered. 

Green Bay, Wisconsin was just beginning to shake off a cold and brutal winter in March of 1911. Russell Brice was a strappingly strong seventeen-year-old when the snow began to melt away that spring and he had a lot on his mind as he rode his bike through the muddy ruts and snow-covered roads of the city of Green Bay. He was a delivery boy for the local drug store but his mind was swimming with fantasies and thoughts of being in New York City. He was wondering what it would be like if the adventure of moving to the big city actually came true. He intended to act on his plans and to leave his boyhood home as soon as the last of the snow melted away.

It was a busy time to be growing up at the turn of the century. Motorcars were the talk of the town’s people and a man by the name of Henry Ford was just a few years shy of mass-producing them in the form of the Tin Lizzy or Model T. 

The lumber and paper industries were flourishing in Green Bay and it seemed that everyone was excited about life. Roads, trolley cars, and train tracks were expanding at a rapid rate and the city of Green Bay had just recently expanded by uniting with Fort Howard in 1895, just as Russell turned two. There was a great celebration when Green Bay expanded. Cannon fire, whistles, and kazoos could be heard all around the city as people celebrated their city’s expansion. Not one arrest was made during the celebration and all was well with the people as they began to prosper.

When Russell turned five, he found a kazoo in the house and had fun running around and playing it.  He was told of the story of the Green Bay expansion and how the kazoo played a part in the celebration.

It was undoubtedly a good place to grow up as a boy and he was well cared for by his grandmother, who took him and his older sister Sylvia in after his mother Emma died of pneumonia in 1897. Russell’s father Albert kept busy as a house painter and fireman for the city of Green Bay, after the death of Emma, so he was forever grateful to his mother for stepping in to help the children during that very difficult time. 

Russell always had quite a strong appetite for a young boy and his grandmother Cecelia never disappointed, as she was a great cook, who was pleased to be able to help her grandkids to many a good and wholesome meal.  Russell had been pampered a lot more than his sister was because at the age of six and a half he came down with typhoid fever and it almost killed him.

The year was 1900 and while most of the homes in Green Bay were equipped with in-door plumbing, Russell’s friend Harold lived in a household where they still dumped their chamber pots out behind their house.

Russell played outside with Harold during the hot summer months and when they needed a drink they would go to the well, which had recently been drilled about forty yards from a pile of sewage. The sewage seeped into the well and on a bright summer day in July of 1900 Russell began to develop a fever and cough and rose-colored spots began to appear on his stomach and chest. A week later, his fever spiked to 104 and he was admitted to the hospital where he soon went into a coma.

He would never forget what it was like when he woke from his two-week sleep. His sister Sylvia was at his bedside when his eyes finally opened.  She was so excited that she ran out of the hospital room, yelling to her family who had gathered. He’s awake! He’s awake!

Russell, while just waking up, felt something in his mouth, reached in with his finger, and pulled out a large glob of crud that had built up on the roof of his mouth over the two weeks.

With much rest and hospital care he soon recovered but the typhoid had damaged some of the circulation in his left leg. This condition would plague him for the rest of his life but it never held him back physically as he ran and got around as well as any of his friends.

In the June of 1900, a month before Russell’s battle with typhoid fever, and just ten years after his first wedding, Albert wed again with Etta Whelan, hoping that he could bring back some form of stability to his life so that he could once again provide a good home for Sylvia and Russell. 

For several years after the wedding, Russell would travel by stagecoach and sometimes by horseback between the two households but most times, he could be found at his grandparents helping his grandmother and grandfather with their chores. 

He loved his grandparent’s property, which featured a large red barn and a house with a stone foundation and seven rooms.  It was much larger than his dad’s five-room house, which had a much smaller barn. 

Aside from keeping busy with school work, Russell enjoyed reading the newspapers whenever he could and he was especially fascinated in stories about a famous magician who had lived only thirty miles from him in Appleton, Wisconsin.  His name was Harry Houdini.

In 1907, right after Russell’s fourteenth birthday, Houdini came to Green Bay and performed a straightjacket and handcuff escape. Russell squeezed himself into a mass of people who were watching the master showman perform his amazing stunts.

Russell was hooked on Houdini and followed the magician through his stories in the newspaper. He was especially amused at a story that told of Houdini escaping a jail cell in the nation’s capital on January 6, 1906. The newspaper story read:

"Houdini was shown to murderers’ row in the south wing of the jail. Current residents included seven convicted murderers, a man named James Backus, a money order raiser and a burglar named Clarence Howlett. Houdini was stripped to the skin and searched by all three jail physicians in attendance and placed in a cell with a guy named Hamilton, who was convicted of smothering his wife. After the jailers left, it only took Houdini two minutes to escape from the cell. The lock on the cell was located on a wall outside the cell and was described as being unreachable from inside the jail cell."

Russell read everything he could get his hands on in regards to the magician and escape artist. In fact, one of several reasons why Russell was leaving home to live in New York City was the fact that the city is where Houdini moved to with his father and family in 1887. Russell was hoping to someday meet Houdini.

On a late April day in 1911, just as his grandmother’s red roses began to bloom outside of her front door, Russell gathered up his courage and he told his Grandmother and sister about his plans to move to New York. They both shook their heads at him but they knew how stubborn and determined Russell was and they knew that nobody could stop him once his mind was made up and it was. 

Russell explained that once he got a job in New York he would send back money to help them with living expenses. It was the least he could do after all his grandparents had done for him. Sylvia had spoken up before his grandmother had the chance to and voiced her opinion and concerns.

Russell, this hurts me to see you go but you have to do what you feel you must do. I know you can look after yourself. You’re a big guy with big hands but use those hands for good. You know the trouble and the fights you’ve been in? she grimaced and said, Well, just be careful. When are you leaving?

Russell shrugged and said, Probably within a week or two.

His grandmother had tears welling up in her eyes but she stepped up to Russell. Like your sister said, you be careful out there in that city. Have you talked to your father?

I saw him the other night. Russell said. He was with Uncle Frank. They were on their way to Uncle Frank’s tailor shop. I told him. He just reached out and shook my hand. He wished me well.

Ceceila nodded her head, still trying to hold back the tears. Your grandfather is working at the saloon. I think you should stop by to see him before you go. 

I will, Grandma.

Tears were now spilling down Ceceila’s cheeks as she moved into Russell’s chest to hug him tight. Russell, you write me, okay? I will, Grandma. 

Five days later, Russell packed a sack, swung it over his shoulder, and began his walk to the train yard.  Half a mile to his destination, someone shouted out his name. Russell turned around and saw his Uncle Frank sauntering up to him, hands in his trouser pockets, projecting an unassuming, non-confrontational approach to his nephew.

Frank Brice was a former well-respected Green Bay police officer before he hung up his badge and opened up a tailor shop in 1900. Russell wasn’t close to his uncle and they very rarely saw eye to eye, but they tolerated each other because of family.

Frank stopped within five feet of Russell. Hi, Russ.  I guess this is it, isn’t it?

Russell nodded assertively and said, Yes, I’m on my way, Uncle Frank.

Frank sighed, raised his eyebrows, and sadly looked to the ground before he lifted his head to gaze back at his nephew, carefully choosing his words. Look, Russell. We haven’t hit it off very well in the last few years but I want you to know that I wish you well. 

Russell looked down and scuffed the ground with his foot. He looked back at his Uncle Frank and said, Yeah, you’re right about what happened at the drug store. 

Frank nodded and smiled but it was forced. Russell, you know my history in this town. I have worked hard to make things right. I’d like to know that you learned a lesson- Frank paused and cut himself off and then said, Have a safe trip to New York City, Russell. Don’t ever forget your family.

  Frank turned around and walked back toward the way he came. Russell turned and continued his walk toward the train yard.

CHAPTER 2

THE SALOON GAME

With the soft sack of clothing snugly under his head and a long day of riding the rails behind him, sleep came quick and easy and dreams of his life in Green Bay soon played on the dream screen in young Russell’s mind.

Four hours of his box car slumber brought back the enjoyments of log rolling on the East River, picnics and horse racing in Hagemeister park, along with many visits to the Brown County Fair with neighborhood friends and family.

The dream shifted to a one-room schoolhouse where Russell twisted and squirmed in his seat, as the teacher, Mrs. Nelson, screeched a piece of chalk across the length of the chalkboard. This caused Russell’s eyes to pop open and it was then that he realized that the screeching was actually the sound of the great train’s brakes bringing its cargo to a shrieking stop.

It was late at night. A bright luminous full moon, with a smattering of stars around it, shown brightly through the boxcar’s open door. Everything was peacefully quiet as a damp dewy chill began to settle onto Russell’s skin.

As Russell stared at the brightness of the full moon, it brought back a memory of a night, many years ago, when he had kissed a girl for the very first time. Her name was Stephanie-Ann Stanton, a blonde-haired girl who often went bicycle riding with Russell. It was during that moon lit night that Russell fought with a boy named Edward Duncan over Stephanie-Ann.

Eddie was a scrawny kid but he threw a hard punch and he was quick. Eddie came at Russell in a flurry, both fists were flying, and he connected. The first punch was a hard blow to Russell’s gut, which knocked the wind out of him. Then, while Russell was doubled over, Eddie sent a quick and powerful upper cut to Russell’s chin, which broke off a bottom tooth.

Russell, now fueled with hot boiling anger was determined to not let this skinny kid walk away with a victory. He moved forward like a train and over powered Eddie with his size and drew blood after landing a stinging punch to Eddie’s nose.  Russell didn’t let up; he lunged at Eddie’s small frame and knocked him down so hard that he thought he had killed him. Russell got his final revenge against Eddie when he grabbed him by the belt of his pants and tossed him like a sack of potatoes into a nearby mud pit.

Russell laughed at the kid as he tried to regain his footing but he flailed around, skidded, and kept falling down in the slippery muck. Russell coined the boy’s new nickname as Slippery Ed. Kids soon picked up on the story and the name stuck. Russell had won the fight and he had won Stephanie-Ann but three months later Stephanie-Ann and her family moved to Minnesota and he never saw her again.

Russell hopped down from the freight car and quipped at the memory. Eddie, you’re lucky I didn’t pulverize you with my fists.

By the light of the moon,