The Anderson Tapes (21 page)

In all our personal and business relations he radiated strength and purposefulness. As is understandable in such a relationship, I was, perhaps, a little frightened of him. Not because he ever threatened me physical harm. Not at all! But I was frightened as we all poor mortals become frightened in the presence of one we feel and sense and know is of, perhaps, almost superhuman strength and resolve. Let me say only that I felt inferior to him.

I believe that, directed into more constructive channels, his intelligence and native wit could have taken him very far. Very far indeed. Let me give you an example… .

Following our second planning meeting—I believe it was on August 28th—I walked with him to the subway after the meeting was concluded. Everything had gone very well. I congratulated him on the detailed planning, which I thought was superb. I told him I thought it must have taken much thought on his part. He smiled, and this is what he said—as nearly as I can remember… .

“Yes, I have been living with this thing for some months now, thinking of it every waking minute and even dreaming of it. You know, there is nothing like thinking. You have a problem that worries you and nags you and keeps you awake. The thing to do then is to get to the very rock bottom of that problem. First, you figure out why it is a problem. Once you have done that, it is half solved. For instance, what do you think was the most difficult problem in making up the plan you heard tonight?” I suggested it might be how to handle the doorman when the truck first pulled into the driveway.

“No,” he said, “there are several good ways we could handle that. The big problem, as I saw it, was how to handle the tenants who were still at home. That is, how could we get into their apartments? I figured they all had locked doors and chains also.

In addition, it would be after midnight and I could figure most of them—particularly the old ladies in Four B and the family with the crippled boy in Five A—would be asleep. I thought of our possibilities. We could force the doors, of course. But even if their phones were cut, they could still scream before we broke in and maybe alert the people in the house next door. I could ask you to pick the locks—but I had no guarantee that
everyone
would be asleep at that hour. They might hear you working and start screaming. It was a problem to know exactly what we should do. I wrestled with this thing for three days, coming up with a dozen solutions. I threw them all out because they didn’t feel right to me. So then I went to the rock-bottom basic of the problem, just like I told you. I asked myself, Why do all these people have locks and chains on their doors? The answer was easy—because they were scared of guys like me—crooks and burglars and muggers. So then I thought, if they keep their doors locked from fear, what can make them open up? I remembered from the first time I was in that house that the doors above the lobby floor didn’t have peepholes. The doctors’ offices on the lobby floor did, but the doors above were blind. Who needs peepholes when they have twenty-four-hour doorman service and a locked service door and all that shit? So then I thought, if
fear
makes them keep their doors locked, then a bigger fear will make them unlock them. And what’s a
bigger
fear than being robbed? That was easy. It was fire.” And that, my dear sir, is something I can tell you about the man I knew as John Anderson and how intelligent he was at his job, although he was, as I have told you, uneducated… .

Following the events related herein, attempts were made to obtain sworn statements from all the principals involved as soon as possible, while the details were fresh in their minds. Individuals interrogated included the victims and the alleged lawbreakers. It soon became apparent that the key to the proposed plan to loot the apartment house at 535 East Seventy-third Street was Apartment 4B, owned by Mrs. Martha Hathway, widow, and occupied by her and her companion-housekeeper, Miss Jane Kaler, a spinster.

Mrs. Hathway was ninety-one at the time of the crime. Miss Kaler was eighty-two. Both ladies refused to be interviewed or to make statements individually; each insisted the other be present—a rather surprising request in view of the results of their interrogation.

In any event, the statements of both ladies were taken at the same time. The following is an edited transcription of NYPDSIS

recording #146-91A.

MRS. HATHWAY: Very well. I will tell you exactly what happened. Are you taking all this down, young man?

QUESTION: The machine is, ma’am. It’s recording everything we say.

MRS. HATHWAY: Hmph. Well … it was the morning of September first.

Sunday morning. I’d say it was about one o’clock in the morning.

MISS KALER: It was about fifteen minutes to one.

MRS. HATHWAY: You shut your mouth. I’m telling this.

MISS KALER: You’re not telling it right.

QUESTION: Ladies… .

MRS. HATHWAY: It was about one o’clock. We had been asleep for, oh, about two hours or so.

MISS KALER: You might have been asleep. I was wide awake.

MRS. HATHWAY: Oh, you were indeed! I could hear the snores!

QUESTION: Ladies, please… .

MRS. HATHWAY: Suddenly I woke up. There was this pounding on our front door. A man was shouting, “Fire! Fire! There is a fire in the building and everyone must vacate the premises!” QUESTION: Were those the exact words you heard?

MRS. HATHWAY: Something like that. But of course all I heard was

“Fire! Fire!” so I immediately rose and donned my dressing gown.

MISS KALER: Naturally, being awake, I was already suitably clad and standing near the front door. “Where is the fire?” I asked through the door. “In the basement, ma’am,” this man said, “but it is spreading rapidly throughout the entire building and we must ask you to leave the premises until the fire is under control.” So I said to him, “And who might you be?” And he said, “I am Fireman Robert Burns of the New York Fire Department, and I would—” MRS. HATHWAY: Will you stop gabbling for just a minute? I own this apartment, and it is my right to tell what happened. Isn’t that correct, young man?

QUESTION: Well, ma’am, we’d like to get both… .

MISS KALER: “And I would like all the occupants of this apartment to leave immediately,” he said. So I said, “Is it serious?” And he said—all this was through our locked door, you understand—he said, “Well, ma’am, we hope it won’t be, but for your own safety we suggest you come down to the lobby while we get the fire under control.” So I said, “Well, if you’re—” MRS. HATHWAY: Will you shut your mouth, you silly, blathering creature? Just be quiet and let me tell this nice young man what happened. So, seeing we were both perfectly covered in our dressing gowns and we had on our carpet slippers, I told the girl to open the door… .

MISS KALER: Mrs. Hathway, I’ve asked you times without end not to refer to me as “the girl.” If you remember, you promised to… .

MRS. HATHWAY: So she opened the door… .

QUESTION: It was locked at the time?

MRS. HATHWAY: Oh, my, yes. We have the regular lock, always double-locked whenever we’re in the apartment. Then we have a chain lock which allows the door to be opened slightly but held with a powerful chain. And we also have something called a policeman’s lock which had been recommended to me by Sergeant Tim Sullivan, retired now but formerly of the Twenty-first Precinct. Do you know him?

QUESTION: I’m afraid not, ma’am.

MRS. HATHWAY: A wonderful man—a very good friend of my late husband’s. Sergeant Sullivan was forced to retire at an early age because of a hernia. After we had so many robberies on the East Side, I called him and he suggested we have this policeman’s lock installed, which is really a steel rod that fits into the floor and is shoved against the door, and it’s impossible to break in.

MISS KALER: Ask her how this “wonderful man” got his hernia.

MRS. HATHWAY: That is of no importance, I’m sure. So the man outside kept shouting, “Fire! Fire!” and naturally we were quite upset, so we opened the three locks and threw open the door.

And much… .

MISS KALER: And there he was! A monster! He must have been seven feet tall, with this terrible mask and a big gun in his hand.

And he snarled at us, “If you—”

MRS. HATHWAY: He was, perhaps, six feet tall, and he had no gun that I could see, although I believe one hand was in his pocket so he might have had a weapon. But really, he was quite polite and said, “Ladies, we must use your apartment for a short while, but if you are quiet and offer us no resistance, then we can—” MISS KALER: And right behind him were two other monsters—sex fiends, all of them! And they had masks and revolvers. And they pushed us back into the apartment, and I said, “Then there is no fire?” And the first man to come in said, “No, ma’am, there is no fire, but we must request the use of your apartment for a while.

And if you don’t scream or carry on, it won’t be necessary to tie you up or tape your mouth shut. And we will not tape your mouth shut if you act intelligently.” And I said, “I will act intelligently.” And then the first man said, “Keep an eye on them, Killer, and if they scream or act up, you may destroy them.” And the second man—who, I am sure, was a darkie—he said, “Yes, Butch, if they scream or act up, I will destroy them.” And then the darkie stayed and watched us through his mask, and the other two men… .

MRS. HATHWAY: Will you shut up? Will you just shut your mouth?

QUESTION: Ladies, ladies… .

Recording NYDA-#146-98B. See NYDA-#146-98BT for corrected and edited transcription.

QUESTION: The recorder has now started, Mrs. Bingham. My name is Roger Leibnitz. I am an assistant in the office of the District Attorney, County of New York, State of New York. It is the eleventh day of September, 1968. I wish to question you about events occurring during the period August thirty-first to September first of this year at your residence. If for any reason you do not wish to make a statement, or if you wish counsel of your choice to be present during this interview, or if you wish the court to appoint such counsel, will you please so state at this time?

MRS. BINGHAM: No … that’s all right.

QUESTION: Very well. You understand, it is my duty to notify you of your rights under law?

MRS. BINGHAM: Yes. I understand.

QUESTION: For the record, will you please identify yourself—your full name and your place of residence.

MRS. BINGHAM: My name is Mrs. Gerald Bingham, and I live in Apartment Five A, five-three-five East Seventy-third Street, Manhattan, New York.

QUESTION: Thank you. Before we get started—may I inquire about your husband’s condition?

MRS. BINGHAM: Well … I feel a lot better now. At first they thought he might lose the sight of his right eye. Now they say he will be able to see, but the sight may be impaired. But he’s going to be all right.

QUESTION: I’m very happy to hear that, ma’am. Your husband is a very brave man.

MRS. BINGHAM: Yes. Very brave.

QUESTION: Are you all right, Mrs. Bingham?

MRS. BINGHAM: Yes … I’m all right.

QUESTION: If you wish to put this questioning over to another day, or if you’d like to rest at any time, please tell me. Would you like coffee … a cup of tea?

MRS. BINGHAM: No … I’ll be all right.

QUESTION: Fine. Now I want you to state in your own words exactly what happened during the period in question. I’ll try to avoid interrupting. Just take your time and tell me what happened in your own words… .

MRS. BINGHAM: It was the thirty-first of August. Most of the people in the house had left for the Labor Day weekend. We rarely go away because of my son. His name is Gerry—Gerald junior. He is fifteen years old. He was in an accident at the age of ten—he was hit by a truck—and he has lost the use of his legs. The doctors say there is no hope he will ever walk normally again. He is a good boy, very intelligent, but he must be helped. He uses a wheelchair and sometimes crutches for short periods. From the waist up he is very strong, but he can’t walk without help. So we very rarely go anywhere.

QUESTION: You have no other children?

MRS. BINGHAM: No. On the night of August thirty-first, my son went to bed about midnight. He read a while, and I brought him a Coca-Cola, which he dearly loves, and then he turned out his bed lamp and went to sleep. My husband and I were in the living room. I was working on a petit point cover for a footstool, and my husband was reading something by Trollope. He dearly loves Trollope. I think it was about fifteen minutes after one. I’m not sure. It could have been fifteen minutes either way. Suddenly there was a pounding at the front door. A man’s voice shouted, “Fire! Fire!” It was a very cruel thing to do.

QUESTION: Yes, Mrs. Bingham, it was.

MRS. BINGHAM: My husband said, “My God!” and jumped to his feet.

He dropped his book on the floor. He rushed over to the door and unlocked it and took off the chain and opened it. There were two men standing there with masks on their faces. I could see them from where I sat. I was still in the easy chair. I hadn’t reacted as fast as my husband. I could see these two men. The one in front had his hand in his jacket pocket. They were wearing these strange masks that came to a knot on the tops of their heads. I didn’t know at first, but later I realized they were stockings—women’s stockings. My husband looked at them and he said again, “My God!” Then he … he struck at the man in front. He reacted very quickly. I was so proud of him, thinking about it later.

He knew at once what it was and he reacted so quickly. I was just sitting there, stunned.

QUESTION: A very brave man.

MRS. BINGHAM: Yes. He is. So he hit out at this man, and this man laughed and moved his head so that my husband didn’t really hit him. Then this man took a gun out of his pocket and hit my husband in the face with it. He just smashed him with it. We found out later it had broken the bones above and below my husband’s right eye. My husband fell to the floor and I saw the blood. The blood just gushed out. Then this man kicked my husband. He kicked him in the stomach and in the … in the groin. And I just sat there. I just sat there… .