Sing Sing 614

By Charles Grosso and Brent Buell

Sing Sing 614 represents the # of inmates executed at this historical prison. Joe Wood (cover) was the first black man executed in 1891. Learn why his electrode was switched from his right leg to his left. Meet Gordon Hamby, deemed the handsomest man on death row. Eight-hundred women wrote not to execute him. On the day of his execution Hamby told Warden Lewis E. Lawes "don't worry warden, in 24 hours I'll be back!" The trouble is, not only did Hamby come back, but he also brought everyone else from Sing Sing's death house with him, including Joe Wood. This book will entertain you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662451515

Book preview

Chapter 1

If you want to see how civilized a society is, look inside their prisons.

—Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Sing Sing Death House

May 31, 1915

A white handkerchief slowly descends toward the gray waxed floor as dark allegorical shadows remain motionless on the barren wall. Once the handkerchief touches the floor, the shadows on the wall begin dancing to the crackling sounds of electricity. A spectator raises his arm yelling, One more time, John!

Your wish is my command! says Executioner John Hulbert, as he once again sends two thousand volts of electricity into the condemned man strapped on the electric chair. The illuminated dance on the wall resembles a vintage 1970s night at Studio 54, with the executioner’s bobbing head corresponding to a modern-day disc jockey.

Hulbert is no novice to executions; in fact, he will oversee 140 of them in his 13-year career from 1913 to 1926. The man brightly burning in the chair transforms the darkness of the Death House into a colorful carnival celebration, Vincenzo Esposito, that celebrated burning man. The newspapers called him the Opera-Singing Murderer. Unfortunately, Esposito’s final curtain call is a series of deaths with jolting bows.

The extreme discordance does not stop the salivating cries of a second spectator, He’s still alive!

Then a third spectator piggybacks. Leave the lever down, John!

Obediently, Hulbert sends another two thousand more volts of electricity, overcooking Esposito’s body.

Blue sparks from the electrode on Esposito’s right pants leg begins to wickedly sizzle. The leather mask starts contorting his lifeless face as it swells within the skullcap. By now, all eyes are fixed on the burning body strapped on the electric chair.

The Death House reeks of burnt flesh coupled with the scent of singed hair. The hissing sound of sparks leaving the condemned man’s head creates a surreal music. Just as the spectators think the show was over, the thick straps fastened to Esposito’s waist give way, triggering oohs and ahhs from the spectators. The condemned man surrealistically begins to rise. Immediately, Hulbert checks to make sure that the breakers are turned off. The horror show does not end as Esposito’s mask bursts off, exposing his glowing bright red forehead.

Oohs and ahhs from the spectators once again.

Two spectators move closer to get a better look at the burnt body. As they begin conversing about what they just witnessed, they are interrupted by the screaming cries coming out of the mouth of investigator John Purdie. An avid supporter of the death penalty, John Purdie is at Sing Sing to witness and report on how Esposito’s execution actually went. So it is a surprise seeing a supporter of the death penalty sitting in dismay and hysterically crying as he stares at the burnt and disfigured face of Vincenzo Esposito.

The opposite of Purdie’s reaction is the unflappable Roman Catholic priest named Father William J. Cashin. Everyone can see how annoyed Father Cashin is witnessing Purdie’s sniffling display of cowardice. Father Cashin begins to move closer to the whining investigator and forcefully takes hold of his hand.

Across the room, witnessing the pathetic display of Purdie’s cowardice, is Medical Examiner Amos Squire, who is discussing the horrific execution with Warden Lewis E. Lawes.

These men are flanked by two groups of spectators. One group is whispering about how cruel and unusual Esposito’s punishment really was. The other group, which includes Warden Lawes’s principal keeper and right-hand man, John Sheehy, all seem immensely pleased. Both are ear-hustling to catch what the evil-minded priest is telling the pitiful, sobbing investigator.

Meanwhile, Medical Examiner Amos Squire presses a stethoscope over Esposito’s heart and quickly declares, He’s dead as a doornail, Warden!

Warden Lawes, who publicly opposes the death penalty and regrets each of the 303 executions that he’s witnessed, turns to the still whimpering John Purdie. With disgust, he barks, "John! You love capital punishment. Now you’ve seen it for yourself. Make sure you tell them bloodthirsty politicians who support you, tell ’em the whole story, John. Tell ’em how death looked at close range today! And make sure you tell ’em all how you cried like a little girl!"

More like a little bitch! added Principal Keeper John Sheehy, enjoying the torment of Purdie.

Lawes’s and Sheehy’s words are lost on the still-incoherent Purdie. Sheehy winces as he watches Father Cashin slowly rubbing the crying investigator’s back. He thinks Cashin is being too soft.

Squire has seen enough and shakes his head in disgust as he says to Lawes, Warden, Esposito’s eyes burnt completely away!

Lawes takes a deep breath and tells his medical examiner, "Amos, make sure that you write about that in the autopsy report!"

Lawes then motions to John Sheehy that he’s ready to leave, but Dr. Squire, fascinated with his medical examination, insists, Warden, his eyebrows are gone—and his nose! His friggin’ nose burnt down to his bone!

Lawes directs Squire’s attention to the priest who is still rubbing the sobbing Purdie’s back and says, I’ll lay odds that he’s telling crybaby over there that he’d better tell the commission that the execution was painless!

Squire smirks, Or, maybe he’s holding his hand in confession? ‘Yes, my son, just say ten Hail Marys and Jesus will forgive you for being a little bitch!’

Lawes chuckles at Sheehy mimicking the priest and tells him, John, I don’t know who’s more demented, you or the priest. Now let’s get out of here before it starts to rain. Just before Lawes exits the Death House, he warns Squire, You know, Amos, you can rest assured that Father Bill will be asking you to lie in your medical report!

Let your conscience be your guide! adds Sheehy.

The two of them leave the Death House. Squire glances at Father Cashin, who is slyly whispering in Purdie’s ear. Squire clears his throat and walks toward the priest and the investigator.

Is he all right? he asks, nodding toward Purdie.

He’ll be fine, Amos. The bigger issue is that the world is a safer place now that Esposito is rotting in hell! His statement made, Father Cashin turns to reassure Purdie again, saying, He’s gone, John, and he’s not ever coming back!

Suddenly, Father Cashin stops rubbing Purdie’s back and motions to Squire to come over to the table so he can talk without Purdie overhearing. Amos, when you submit your report, omit the part about his eyes and nose burning away. We don’t need any of those bleeding-heart liberal Protestants getting word! Sarcastically he mimics a Protestant minister throwing his hands in the air and proclaiming, Hallelujah to that!

Squire takes a step back and removes his pad from his pants pocket, saying, But, Father Cashin, I already made note of how Esposito’s nose burned down to his bone, and—

Goddamn it! Just omit it, Amos! The priest seemed to be spewing sulfur fumes.

Hearing their conversation, Executioner Hulbert proudly walks over to add his own two cents, so to speak. He says, Father Bill, don’t forget to tell the press how I kept the lever down for ten extra seconds!

"Enough of that, John! You did good. Now why don’t you go and get us all some coffee while I convince your buddy Amos here to get on the same page as us!’

Hulbert asks no questions and leaves the Death House to get coffee. Squire waits for the door to close and braces himself to oppose the priest. He takes a deep breath and says, Father Cashin, I need to submit an honest account as to what really happened during the execution. It was horrific, to say the least, Father!

The priest doesn’t answer. He just stands there listening to Squire. If one didn’t know any better, they would think that the priest was now practicing meditative prayer.

Squire isn’t finished and adds, Besides, Father, isn’t it wrong for a priest to lie about such a terrible execution in the first place? Especially since you were the one who administered Esposito’s last rites?

The priest still remains silent, but it is clear he isn’t going to remain that way much longer.

Squire pleads, Father, what about his soul?

That animal had no soul! Father Cashin hits back.

But you’re a priest, and—

For crying out loud! Amos, spare me all of that righteous crap.

But—

No fucking ‘but’! He killed a helpless couple over four hundred dollars. Father Cashin slammed his fist against his thigh in emphasis. Ouch!

Squire seized the moment. What about forgiveness, Father? Aren’t you a man of the cloth? The priest remains silent. Squire is beginning to think that he had finally won the priest over, and decides to make sure he drives his point home, saying, "Father, the question then is what would Jesus do?"

Everyone in the room sees how irate the question makes the priest. He moves closer to Squire, practically touching nose to nose. Just before the priest speaks, Squire gingerly takes a few steps back.

Assuming his full religious stature and direct imaginary link to God, Father Cashin growls, To answer your first questions, Amos, yes, I am a man of the cloth, as you say. Second, if it is your conscience that is bothering you, since you feel that Jesus would not change the report, I’ll get you off the hook. Do what I say and I promise you, I will pray an extra ten Hail Marys in your behalf! With that exclamation, Father Cashin stops, coldly staring into the medical examiner’s eyes.

Hulbert returns holding two hot cups of coffee. Seeing how Cashin and Squire are silently staring at each other, practically touching noses, Hulbert decides not to say a word, but rather stand there, waiting for them to reach for their own coffee.

It’s not long before Father Cashin breaks the silence. I’m waiting for a yes, Amos.

Squire looks down at his notepad and pauses.

Father Cashin immediately elevates his tone, snapping, Is that a yes, Amos Squire?

Hulbert cuts in, Amos, just say yes and take your coffee.

Squire looks at the cup of coffee, but before he has any chance to grab it, Hulbert quickly snatches it away after seeing the priest hatefully staring at him for interrupting. Father Cashin watches Hulbert retreat and turns again to the medical examiner.

This is my last offer, Amos. I’ll even add ten Our Fathers to go with the ten Hail Marys!

I won’t do it! Squire plants his feet firmly as he speaks.

The priest practically screams, I’ll do it my fucking self! Father Cashin’s hand was too fast for Squire to protect his notepad. The next thing he knew, his hand was empty, and Father Cashin proudly displayed the autopsy notes. When Hulbert tries easing the tension by motioning for the priest to take his coffee, he, too, becomes a victim of Father Cashin’s hand speed. Hulbert looks down at two empty cups of coffee on the Death House floor. All Squire and Hulbert can do is wipe the coffee off their clothes.

Father Cashin leaves them cleaning the coffee off their clothes and goes to gather up his last rites book and holy water. He looks at the empty cups on the floor and jokes, Want a drink of this? He extends a vial of holy water toward Hulbert.

Really, holy water, Father? Even the executioner can’t accept the blasphemy.

With no more to say, Father Cashin is just about to exit the Death House when Amos Squire finds the courage to confront the priest once again, threatening, Father Cashin, just so you know, I’m going to tell Warden Lawes what you did to me!

The priest glares at him, saying, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, because I’m going to tell him how you willfully changed the autopsy report yourself!

Squire fires back, If you tell that lie, Father, I will go to the press and openly deny it!

As if he was handing Squire a trump card, the priest spits out, If you do that, my son, the archdiocese will have you transferred to the ASPCA on the Bowery. I’m sure your horrid reports of dogs being put to death will draw interest from those bleeding-heart liberals that you so care about!

Stunned by the response, Squire just shakes his head.

With that, Cashin ends his lecture with Jerk-off, nobody cares about how a murderer gets murdered, ha ha ha…

Father Cashin’s screeching laughter can be heard all the way up to the chapel. Executioner Hulbert somberly begins checking the five leather straps fastened on the electric chair. He picks up the charred mask and makes a note to purchase a new one before the next execution. He then starts to think about his dreaded ride back home to Auburn, New York.

Meanwhile, Squire is contemplating his future role as Sing Sing’s medical examiner. He wonders if he should fill out another autopsy report. Would the priest really have him transferred to the ASPCA on the Bowery like he said he would do?

Esposito’s body remains inside the confines of Sing Sing’s forty-foot wall. Soon the other death row inmates will be hearing the whining saw, cutting through Esposito’s skull to free his brain for science. Then his remains will be laid to rest outside the north tower wall in Potter’s Field.

Can anyone imagine what a condemned mind is really thinking moments before the executioner pulls down the lever? Or what the condemned man who’s locking in the adjourning cell feels after hearing the crackling sounds of electricity? Then come the silent cries, the total quiet before the smell of burnt flesh seeps into the cells. At first, a rag covers their nose to stop the smell. But then, they want that rag wrapped around both ears to stop the sound of the screeching sound of the coroner’s saw, as it cuts through the skull for the autopsy. It has been rumored that the practice of sawing through a dead man’s head at the Death House was done purposely. The criminal justice system claimed that it acted as a deterrent, but who was being deterred if the only ones hearing it are those in the Death House, scheduled to die anyway? The truth is it was solely for punishment, to bestow fear in the remaining minutes of a condemned man’s life.

Squire hears the rain beginning to fall on Sing Sing and calls out to Hulbert, John, it’s starting to rain, just as Warden Lawes said it would!

With a grave tone, Hulbert answers, Yes, the angels are crying from heaven! Then he ominously turns to Squire. You know Amos, I’m getting tired of killing people!

Squire replies, I know, John, I’m getting tired of doing their autopsies and sawing their heads off too. Now go and get your $150 killing fee and get out of here.

As if on cue, something, or someone, slams the door shut at the Death House chamber.

Chapter 2

That was then…

—Anonymous

Alleyway, Brooklyn, New York

September 25, 1918

The sound of swearing voices emits from the dark alleyway. In an instant, the swearing switches to laughter ricocheting off the cobblestoned street and returning into the alleyway. Dozens of lightning bugs are seemingly harbored in the dark alley. They continue to rhythmically exhibit short bursts of circular lights. Yet, at a second glance, one can plainly see that the bugs are glowing cigarette tips, as each hooligan drags on a Lucky Strike before throwing the dice off the wall. Four years ago, these ruffians were too young to get drafted. Now, in forty-seven days, the game of war in Europe will end, but the crap games in this Brooklyn alleyway will not. Truthfully, outside of committing an armed robbery, craps is all that matters to these eighteen-year-old hoodlums. A tall lanky kid takes a drag on his cigarette, blows a good-luck prayer on his hand, and slams the dice against the wall.

The swearing continues in the distance as two young punks have a sidebar discussion. One is Gordon Fawcett Hamby, a blond-haired nineteen-year-old with aristocratic features. The other is Hamby’s childhood friend, a skinny snot-nosed punk named Jimmy Swartz. As always, Hamby is doing all the talking. Swartz is listening to him the same way a student listens to a professor’s lecture. For the next ten minutes, Swartz appears to be hypnotized while listening to his friend speak. Some say it was Hamby’s movie-star looks that kept these young hoodlums thinking that he was automatically smart. Young women, on the other hand, were just plain mesmerized by his devilishly good looks and charm.

The screams and laughter continue as Hamby convincingly boasts, Jimmy, there’s this girl who works at the East Brooklyn Savings Bank. When I was passing the bank yesterday, she kept looking like she wanted to say something to me!

Jimmy’s mind was somewhere else. Nevertheless, Hamby kept on talking. Jimmy, you know how mesmerized them skirts get when they see me?

Jimmy is now in a full-blown Walter Mitty state of mind. Hamby is so into telling his side of the story, he doesn’t pay any attention as to whether Jimmy is listening or not.

Jimmy, remember the last skirt, you know, that cute cashier at the grocery store we robbed down on Prospect?

Jimmy nods yes, and keeps reminiscing about that young red-lipped gum-chewing cashier. Boy, did Jimmy enjoy thinking about that robbery! It wasn’t because they got away with $380. It was because Jimmy could still imagine how the sweet cashier handed the money over to him. It put a stir in his loins—especially because of the way she had her skirt hiked high above her waist as Hamby kept pounding away. He loved remembering how she reacted while Hamby was inside her—as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She kept on chewing her gum and moan-moan-moaning away. But the best part was how, during penetration, she was conscious enough to reach into the cash register and continue handing a bug-eyed Jimmy the money.

For a few moments, Hamby stops talking and just stares at his friend. He knows what Jimmy is thinking. How could he not? Jimmy had talked about that cashier for weeks. Hamby has seen enough of Jimmy’s daydreaming and starts snapping his fingers again and again. Then he yells, "Jimmy, Jimmy! Are you listening to me or what?"

Jimmy slowly comes out of his stupor and sounds a million miles away as he says, Ahhh, yes, cuz, sure, ah, the cashier at the grocery store, how could I forget her moans?

Jimmy, are you paying attention to me?

No response.

Hamby gestures again, saying, Well, Jimmy?

Yes, Gordon, without missing a hump, ah, I mean beat. Poor Jimmy is flummoxed.

Hamby now loses it and shouts, "You idiot! Forget that skirt at the grocery store, Jimmy, are you friggin’ with me or not?"

Palsy, you can count me in! Jimmy is shaken, but knows what he’s saying.

Hamby feels satisfied, shakes Jimmy’s hand, and goes back to the dice game. He picks his money off the pavement and exits the alleyway. Jimmy takes hold of the dice and, before he throws them against the wall, turns to watch Hamby walking down the cobblestoned street. He mumbles admiringly, That’s one sure muthafucker there!

I hear you, cuz, says a gang member.

Now trow da dice already! says another.

Jimmy blows on his hand, and…

Chapter 3

New York World Office

Christmas Eve, 1888

A dozen journalists are preparing their eye-catching op-ed pieces for a busy Christmas Eve. Reporters are piling in from the snow-covered Manhattan streets. Joe Cockerill, the manager of Joseph Pulitzer’s famous New York World newspaper, seems to be paying more attention to his watch than to the chattering sounds of typewriters churning out tomorrow’s headlines. Known for his bossiness, Cockerill could never quite get the upper hand over one reporter, Ms. Nellie Bly, the most popular columnist at the World.

Once again, Ms. Bly is twenty minutes late from her lunch break. Some reporters are glancing into the manager’s office to gauge Mr. Cockerill’s mood. He is animatedly writing in his logbook, upset with Nellie Bly’s tardiness. It’s his obsession to record each incident of her misbehavior. That takes up more pages than any other subject recorded in his log. As if on cue, the entire office turns from what they are doing to see Nellie Bly entering the World office twenty minutes past her lunch break. As always, acting as if she’s done nothing wrong, Nellie joins right in on the nearest conversation with her co-workers. Everyone loves to hear what she has to say. After all, she is the most popular gal on the planet, let alone the World’s office. The petite dynamo possessed stylish never-ending legs that always rushed her first to any breaking news. Everyone at the World grew to love this outrageous, irrepressible reporter. Everyone, that is, except her manager, John Cockerill. Staring out of his manager’s office, Cockerill has seen enough. He closes the logbook in anticipation of the inevitable confrontation. In a few more seconds, Cockerill will burst out of his office and confront Nellie Bly.

Knowing she is about to be confronted, Bly seductively gyrates her buttocks in Cockerill’s direction as she waits for him to rush toward her. Infuriated, Cockerill quickly exits his office and moves toward her. Nellie sees him coming and continues to gyrate her butt. The office workers begin anticipating the show. As Cockerill nears Nellie Bly, she gives her co-workers a wink. A ring of spectators forms. Cockerill stops directly behind Bly as she turns to face him.

Slowly grinding his teeth, Cockerill begins. "What is it this time, Ms. Bly? Before she could answer, Cockerill brings his finger to his lips. Shh, let me guess. Gus moved his hot dog cart off of Broadway, right?"

Slowly moving