True Crime Fiction

I recently finished Broadway Butterfly by Sara DiVello.  The novel tells the true story of the 1923 murder of Broadway flapper Anna Marie Keenan, aka Dot King, and the corrupt police investigation that followed.  While the crime remains officially unsolved, at least one character in the story stands out as the probable killer, with other prominent figures implicated in the cover up if not the actual crime itself.  As someone who has done a fair amount of research into Broadway crimes of the 1920s, I’m familiar with this case and the murders of other Broadway flappers of the era.  Sara DiVello does a masterful job of bringing the characters and the setting to life.  The story is compelling enough when experienced through the lens of old newspaper accounts, but DiVello’s storytelling animates the setting and brings a depth to the characters that is seldom found in most true crime novels.

The work is marketed as true crime fiction, but DiVello poured an enormous amount of research into the story.  She spent nearly ten years assembling 1700 pieces of research that she weaves into the tale.  It is a fascinating story and she provides a complete picture of the facts and circumstances surrounding the case.  The fiction comes in when she imagines moments of private conversations that took place behind closed doors, or when she sets out the interior thoughts of the four main characters on whom the novel is focused.  While there is no way she could know everything that was said or thought by these characters, the extensive research so thoroughly backs up what is written that it becomes entirely believable that these conversations could have taken place.  

As a work of true crime fiction, all the facts are expertly assembled, and the fiction layer makes the work three dimensional, keeping the narrative moving along and the pages turning.  The fiction elements animate the characters and show them wrestling with internal conflicts that undoubtedly would have troubled them as the investigation proceeded.  This adds a layer of drama that a reader is generally not going to get from a nonfiction or journalistic approach.

However, after finishing this true crime novel, I’m left wondering, what is the difference between true crime fiction and creative nonfiction?  As a work of creative nonfiction, Dean Jobb’s A Gentleman And A Thief has come in for some criticism from this blog.  Jobb flatly asserts in his note to readers that he is presenting facts, that “all scenes and events unfolded as described,” and “an essential element of true crime, after all, is truth.”  But, as I’ve shown in previous posts, he has taken some pretty big liberties with the truth.  At best, he’s providing a version of the truth flowing from conman and thief, Arthur Barry.  At worst, he’s making a deliberate choice to ignore the facts as reported by much more reliable sources whose job it is to present the truth.  Why does Jobb get to hang a nonfiction label on his product, while DiVello’s work, which is much more thoroughly and painstakingly researched, comes in as a work of fiction?

Jobb’s approach misleads readers.  In one instance, he asserts that Noel Scaffa knowingly lies to the police on behalf of Arthur Barry regarding an alleged exchange of cash for stolen jewelry.  Setting aside the problem of taking the word of a thief and conman over that of a private investigator, where does Jobb get off portraying Scaffa as a liar without providing a shred of proof of Scaffa’s deception?  Presenting a work as nonfiction ought to require a good faith rendering of all relevant versions of the events you’re attempting to portray.  If you’re choosing to exclude relevant information or mislead the reader in order to shape a narrative, then you’re not writing nonfiction.  It’s pretty ironic that DiVello’s work of true crime fiction comes off as more truthful and honest than Jobb’s alleged work of creative nonfiction.

Queen of the Con: Buda Godman Marries Tell Taylor

Safely ensconced at convent school in Adrian, Michigan, Buda Godman was midway through her time at St. Joseph’s Academy when a group of travelling players came through town.  It was Christmas Eve and the students were allowed to give a late supper.  One of the invited guests was Mr. Tell Taylor, a young actor and aspiring songwriter from Findlay, Ohio.  He sat across the table from Buda Godman and the pair seemed to hit it off.  However, when the dinner ended, the two parted ways without any intention of continuing the friendship through future meetings or correspondence.

A few years later, a nineteen-year-old Buda Godman was out of school and back in Chicago where her family resided.  One evening in 1907, Buda attended a performance of The Girl Question, a hit musical that enjoyed a run of over a hundred performances at the Lasalle Theater.  There she recognized the man playing the part of Harold Sears as the same actor she’d met a few years earlier.  After the performance, she sent him a note and “their acquaintance was renewed.”  Buda Godman and Tell Taylor proceeded to embark on a whirlwind courtship.  “Several times during the course of the week the young couple were out together, lunching and driving, and Monday evening after dinner together at a downtown hotel Judge Arms was called to the parlor and joined them in marriage,” the Lafayette Journal and Courier reported.  Before going to the theater to catch her husband’s performance that evening, Buda called her parents and notified them of the marriage.  Buda’s father joined her at the theater and after the performance took the couple back to his house where the Godmans held a dinner for the newlyweds. 

While the Journal and Courier reported that the new bride “would not go on the stage,” Jack Lait and Lee Mortimer wrote in Chicago Confidential that Taylor got Buda work in the chorus of The Time, The Place, and The Girl.  According to Lait and Mortimer, following Buda’s performance “Chicago woke up to the discovery of a new rave, Buda Godman.  She was wooed and pursued and she fell.  Taylor tried to kill her and fired several shots at her, but missed.”

There are more than a few inaccuracies in Lait and Mortimer’s account of the life of Buda Godman, so it’s difficult to know how much, if any, of this episode actually happened.  However, one thing that is undeniable is that Tell and Buda’s relationship was stormier than a water spout off of Ohio St. Beach.  To hear Tell Taylor tell it, “I married Buda when we were both drunk and I found out she was quite incapable of loyalty to anyone.”  As Variety put it when Taylor filed for divorce from Buda in 1910, “his complaint mentioned several vaudevillians as ‘affinities.’  Their names were omitted from the final record.”

One thing that is never mentioned in the ‘love story’ of Tell Taylor and Buda Godman is the erratic behavior of Taylor himself.  Life with the songwriter wasn’t always blissful romance by the old mill stream.  Taylor did start a successful music publishing company in Chicago, and he managed to author his most famous tune “Down By The Old Mill Stream” in 1910 while still married to Buda.  However, Taylor had his own ‘affinities’ that caused him to make headlines on more than one occasion.  

In July of 1908, Taylor was fined $3 for disorderly conduct over a fight that took place at Freiberg’s Dance Hall 182 22nd street, Chicago.  In his defense, “Taylor declared to Judge Crowe that as a result of the fracas he was carrying around two highly decorated eyes as well as several and sundry abrasions on different parts of his anatomy and that he did not deserve any additional punishment,” The Inter Ocean reported.  Apparently, Taylor, Tim Jordan of the Brooklyn Superbas professional baseball team, and several other individuals were out “doing the levee” when they wandered into Freiberg’s at around two a.m.  As the Inter Ocean reported, Taylor “created a disturbance in the dance hall, and that when asked to leave he had started a row.”  He was then ejected by two waiters and later arrested when he tried to return to the dance hall.

During a separate incident in August of 1910, Tell Taylor again tangled with waiters at George Silver’s basement saloon at Clark and Randolph streets.  After Taylor made a request to cash a check, he was attacked by Silver and several waiters who “threw him to the floor” and “pounded his head with a billy.”  Silver maintained that Taylor “started the row” when he “used abusive language” and “refused to leave when ordered,” the Chicago Tribune reported.  “O, no, he wasn’t beaten up.  He was just thrown out gently,” Silver said.    

The following month, on September 13, 1910, Buda’s father, Otho Godman, died in New York City at the age of 53.  Less than two weeks later, Tell Taylor filed for a divorce.  While Taylor blamed Buda’s lack of loyalty and affinities for fellow vaudevillians as the reason for the break up, it is pretty clear that his adventures in the levee, his brawling, and public drunkenness demonstrated that he was no more committed to the marriage than Buda.  

Within a few years, Buda Godman would be deploying her theatrical skills to con rich men out of large sums of money.  How a former convent school girl managed to fall in with a highly organized gang of international blackmailers is a bit of a mystery.  She certainly could have encountered some of these characters in Chicago.  Lait and Mortimer write that “her father’s calling threw him in with shady people….”  Could Buda have come in contact with underworld figures among her father’s business associates?  Otho Godman’s obituary said he worked “at race tracks in the big cities, and his services were always in demand.”  As an expert in telegraphy, morse code and wireless communications, Otho Godman’s work at horse racing tracks would have placed him directly in the sphere of big-time gambling interests.  Was it only a matter of time before Buda Godman adopted the life of crooks and conmen?  Whatever the case may be, it appears that once the protective influence of Otho Godman had fallen away, and her marriage to Tell Taylor dissolved into ruin, Buda Godman was set free to relieve rich, philandering fat cats of their beefy bankrolls.

Local man achieves New Year’s fitness goals in record time

A mere two weeks into 2025 and local resident Thurston Winpenny is already on the verge of accomplishing his New Year’s fitness resolutions, cutting in half the amount of time it took him to shape up in 2024.

“Yeah, I set some pretty ambitious goals this year, and I’d have to say I’m about a workout or two away from busting out the new me,” Winpenny boasted.  “Last year, it took me almost the entire month of January to achieve this level of transformation.  Anyway, I should be able to drop my membership before the free trial expires.”

Indeed, fitness centers across the country are already seeing the tsunami of new sign ups begin to subside as these January gym rats hang up their shorts and check another New Year’s resolution off their list.

“I feel great.  I increased my explosiveness, enhanced my mobility, and improved my endurance  in only five workouts.  Now I’m able to use the bathroom, fix a snack and refresh my beverage all during the span of one TV timeout,” said Tim Thomas, trial member at Fantastic Fitness.

“We’re just cranking out healthy people right and left,” said fitness trainer Jim Jones.  “We’re all about rapid results.  It’s amazing what you can do with two weeks and a burning desire for a new you.”

Before Oom became omnipotent: A needle pulling thread

Following the negative publicity surrounding the Edward Kline incident, Perry A. Baker decided a name change was in order.  Adopting the last name of his step-father, John Bernard, Baker next made headlines in January of 1898 when he conducted a demonstration of self-induced hypnosis as Professor P. A. Bernard of the San Francisco College of Suggestive Therapeutics.  Dr. Semple Turman of the college presided over the demonstration, while a Dr. D. M. McMillan assisted Bernard.  There were ten physicians and a number of reporters present to witness Bernard’s powers of mesmerism.  None of the newspapers appeared to make the connection that this was the same hypnotist who only six months earlier had used his hypnotic abilities to hold a local couple’s son captive and exploit him for financial benefit.  Instead articles painted him as a recent arrival in San Francisco from Des Moines, Iowa. 

Dressed in a flowing white robe, the white-haired Dr. Turman positioned the newspaper photographers present at the exhibition and requested soothing music from the college’s resident piano player.  “Soft music, you know, is of great assistance in putting the professor to sleep.”  The college was housed in the woman’s home at 911 Van Ness ave.  As Professor Bernard sat quietly in an easy chair, the pianist tapped out a gentle melody on the vintage piano.  Soon the mood was set and the great and powerful Oom rose to address those assembled, embarking on the next step of his journey to omnipotence.

“I’m doing this purely for the benefit of science and I want the M.D.’s present to pay strict attention.  Of course, I ain’t doing nothing for my health, and I want to tell you right here that my classes will be opened right away.  This is business with me, and I don’t want any of you people to think that you are going to get something for nothing.  But this exhibition tonight is for the benefit of science and the M.D.’s here.  I’m going to let you do anything you want to me within reason.  You can sew me up in any style you’ve a mind to, but you can’t cut off an arm or a leg, or do any monkey business like that.  We ain’t here for monkey business nohow.  I’m here to give you the straight thing.  I’m telling you that any physician can learn how to do suggestive hypnotism if he wants to, and I’m in this town to teach it to those who want to learn it.  I will now, with your kind permission, go to sleep.”

As tranquil music flowed from the piano, Professor Bernard, again seated in his easy chair, composed himself and momentarily drifted off to sleep.  Next, Dr. McMillan invited the physicians to examine Bernard.  One by one, they poked and thumped the subject, took his pulse and peeked under his eyelids.  While there was no response forthcoming from the sleeping Bernard, the doctors remarked that he did not show signs of being under anesthesia.  Then McMillan took out a needle and thread of the variety used in surgeries.  He dipped the needle in alcohol, passed it through Bernard’s right cheek and proceeded to sew Bernard’s ear to his cheek.  Next, McMillan sewed the professor’s upper lip to his nose, and as a grand finale, ran a hat pin through the professor’s tongue.  Alas, a slick yoga move of sewing the professor’s ass to his face was, in this instance, overlooked.  Once the thread and the hat pin had been removed, McMillan revived the professor.  Despite the towel placed around Bernard’s neck being soaked in blood, the professor declared that he felt no pain.  As Bernard’s face slowly reverted back to its original form, he then demonstrated how to produce sleep in a subject using his techniques of scientific hypnotism.  

Bernard’s demonstration garnered national attention and stirred some debate among medical doctors regarding the usefulness of hypnosis as an alternative to anesthesia.  However, most physicians agreed Bernard’s techniques were of little value to medical science, and it appears the San Francisco College of Suggestive Therapeutics experienced little demand for Bernard’s course on suggestive hypnotism.  But the Great Oom was in no way discouraged and in very short order was, once again, embroiled in scandal. 

Sources:

Census records

The Chicago Tribune 

The Leon Journal-Reporter

The San Francisco Call and Post

The San Francisco Examiner