The Kidnap Years: by David Stout (popular books of all time TXT) 📗

has always been a shabbier Albany, one in which tawdry scandals bubble up occasionally like cesspool gas. Bribes for liquor licenses, do-nothing jobs, bloated contracts for public projects, backslapping, and backstabbing—all have been part of the political circus of Albany. One kidnapping in particular offered a glimpse of some of these goings-on.

The car was found in front of his father’s house, the driver’s side door open and the engine still warm, early in the morning. The vehicle belonged to John J. O’Connell Jr., a prince of a powerful political clan. Twenty-four years old, “Butch” O’Connell, as he was known, was mature, sensible. He wouldn’t have left his car with the door open. Other young men might be stupid enough to get drunk and just stumble off, but not Butch.

So where the hell was he?

His uncles, the brothers Daniel P., known as “Big Dan,” and Edward J. O’Connell, were bosses of the Albany County Democratic machine. Big Dan was the big boss of the family. He was born in 1885 in Albany, son of a tavern owner, and dropped out of high school. As a brash thirtysomething, he ran for city assessor and won. His victory surprised everyone in city politics, as the Republican city organization had been considered invincible. But Dan and his brothers worked tirelessly, and within three years, they were in command of a Democratic organization that controlled both city and county government.

Butch O’Connell’s father was widely known as “Solly” O’Connell, and he was also active in politics. Solly’s brother Edward was chairman of the Albany County Democratic Party.

Butch was expected to maintain the family’s power in the capital of the Empire State. Sadly, a death in the clan, that of another uncle, Patrick O’Connell, just a few weeks before had created a possible stepping stone for Butch. Patrick had been clerk of the state senate, and there was speculation that Butch might succeed him.

Nor need Butch have worried about his future outside politics. His uncles were stockholders in the Hedrick Brewery, and Butch was learning all about the beer business. He would prosper, no doubt about that. Then as now, Albany politicians knew how to use their connections to succeed in business.

Though not particularly handsome, Butch was impressive looking in a square-jawed Irish way, and he looked good in a uniform, which he often wore as a lieutenant in the National Guard. He was still single, but his status was expected to change soon. He had a steady girlfriend, Mary Fahey.

Relatives and a few trusted friends gathered in Butch’s home on Putnam Street in a quiet residential section of Albany. On Friday afternoon, the phone rang. It was picked up by George Myers, a family friend. “Tell Ed we have his nephew, and if he wants to see him alive again, tell him not to call the police.”86 Samuel Aronowitz, Edward O’Connell’s law partner, got a similar call on Friday.

On Saturday morning, there was a third phone call, this one for Daniel O’Connell: “Look in your mailbox at the post office.”

The mailbox contained a letter, hand-printed and with Butch O’Connell’s signature, demanding $250,000 for Butch’s safe return. Soon, there was another letter, this one instructing the family to insert an ad in the Knickerbocker Press on Sunday, listing men who would be trustworthy intermediaries.* The list was to be in code, using numbers for letters: 1 for A, 2 for B, and so on.

When the list was compiled, it was inserted in the newspaper by Walter V. Johnson, a friend of the O’Connells and the Democratic leader of neighboring Rensselaer County. This list showed a preponderance of Irish names whose bearers were familiar figures around Albany sporting venues.

The kidnappers found the list unsatisfactory and demanded a fresh list of possible intermediaries. This second list was also printed in code, although in the Albany Times Union. How the O’Connells came up with the new names or whether the kidnappers offered hints isn’t known. In any event, as the New York Times put it, several men on the list “were members of or in direct contact with the Albany underworld.”87

Despite the kidnappers’ warnings, the O’Connells had notified the Albany police early on. Governor Herbert Lehman pledged “every resource of the state” to recover the young man. But very quickly, the O’Connells let it be known that they didn’t want the police or federal agents in the way, that they wanted to negotiate for Butch’s release.

Five New York City detectives were sent north to aid their Albany counterparts, stirring speculation that the kidnapping had been carried out by a New York City gang. But another, more plausible theory was that the kidnapping had been conceived and carried out by upstate enemies of the O’Connells, perhaps by beer distributors who had been chased out of Albany and supplanted by the O’Connell family’s beer business.

Five days after the kidnapping, there were signs that the victim was about to be set free. There were rumors that the family had raised between $75,000 and $100,000 (the original demand of $250,000 was out of the family’s reach), and several automobiles stood ready in the driveway of the home of Solly O’Connell in the Catskills for a possible rendezvous with the kidnappers.

Deep in a New York Times account of the episode there was this telling passage, which reflected the state of the battle against the crime of kidnapping: “In the meantime state troopers, federal agents and the New York City detectives, keeping out of sight, were carrying on their investigations, each group working independently.”

Adding to the confusion was a demand from the kidnappers to see a third list of possible go-betweens.

The press coverage took on a tone that was remarkably cynical and, it seems, properly so. In case any reader had missed earlier allusions, the Times noted that for the most part the agreed-upon intermediaries between the kidnappers and the family “have no social standing except in the Albany underworld.”88

One of the men on the list, Sylvester Hess, was a celebrant at a party