Guest Blog: Ginger Myrick

This week, we're pleased to welcome author Ginger Myrick, whose latest novel WORK OF ART is set in 19th century New York. The author will offer a free copy of To Work of Art to a lucky blog visitor - please leave your email address in the comments for a chance to win. Here's the blurb:

Work of Art is a Cinderella story with a violent twist set 139 years in the past. From the mean streets of Five Points to carriage rides in the park and lunch at Delmonico’s, it evokes all of the extravagance of the age along with the stark disparity between classes.

Every girl dreams of a handsome Prince Charming to whisk her away to a fairytale ending. For Del Ryan it seemed unlikely, but that’s exactly what happened.

In 1874, New York booms with prosperity and conspicuous consumption with a clear social divide between classes. Families have lost their men to the Civil War and do what they can to get by. Del Ryan, an intelligent and talented Irish immigrant, works as a lady’s maid for a society matron to support her invalid mother. Although plain and unassuming, she is an accomplished artist with the gift of clairvoyance. She meets Killian Arthur, a golden god from a privileged New York family. He is flawlessly handsome with impeccable manners and a penchant for bare-knuckle boxing. Fascinated by her, Killian transforms Del into a fine lady, the toast of her new class of friends.

But things are not always what they seem. Rough Jimmy Sheehan is from the same Irish community and has always thought of Del as his own. He has known Del her entire life and has a keen understanding of her plight. Hot-tempered and hard drinking, he is Killian’s polar opposite in form and deed. Jimmy has seen enough of the world to know that there is something not quite right about Del’s suitor and warns her to that effect. Is he simply jealous, or does he want the best for the woman he loves?

Then the fairytale takes a violent turn when girls from the neighborhood start turning up dead. Del witnesses the murders through her disturbing visions and documents them in startlingly accurate detail with her artistic talent. She realizes that with each new victim, the killer is getting closer. Will his identity be revealed before he comes for her?

**Q&A with Ginger Myrick**

How would you encapsulate Work of Art to pique a reader’s interest?

I am my own worst publicist, but I’ll give it a go. Work of Art is a story of love and loss, romance and mystery, with a smattering of tenderness and humor. It is a fairytale gone wrong in which the upper class meets the mean streets of New York. Throw in a love triangle, a bit of bare-knuckle boxing, a serial killer, and a plain Irish clairvoyant who is transformed into the belle of the ball, and I hope I have a story with enough intrigue and action to satisfy a wide variety of readers.

Work of Art is set in the late 19th century in Five Points, New York City. How did you choose the era and setting for this novel?

I was drawn to this era because some of my favorite classic books are set during the late 19th century: Tess of the D’Urbervilles, Anna Karenina, The Age of Innocence, et al. I knew I wanted to set the book on the east coast of the US, after the war and in a city with a large Irish community. I also have a slight obsession with Jack the Ripper, and I guess my subconscious mind chose a time period that would allow me to make the connection.

As Work of Art is a bit of a twist on the Cinderella/My Fair Lady theme, it was imperative that the main characters, Del and Killian, be from two disparate social classes, but their communities had to be located within walking distance of each other. The most notorious Irish neighborhoods in New York at the time were Hell’s Kitchen and Five Points. Of course, there are enough swanky areas in New York that would have suited my needs for either location, but the capper was the proximity to the museum, which was integral to a book titled Work of Art! Besides, I always like to have a visual of the setting I’m attempting to portray. The film versions of The Gangs of New York and The Age of Innocence were invaluable resources. Martin Scorsese is meticulous in his attention to detail, ESPECIALLY when it comes to his beloved New York.

Who was your favorite character to develop in Work of Art?

When you create a character it is very much like giving birth, and you become very attached to him/her regardless of virtues or faults. In fact, sometimes their faults make the characters even more engaging and more fun to write. Del and her mother were both very sweet and endearing, and Killian was so suave and such a gentleman. I even had a great time with the two bad guy boxers, but I loved Mrs. Chester, Mrs. Arthur, Jimmy, and Deirdre for their forthright manner. I have a soft spot for an unabashed, uncensored personality, and these A-type personalities are a writer’s dream. Of course, I am writing for others to read, but I might as well have fun while I do it.

And regardless of the brief mention of him in the book, I really loved Del’s dad. In my mind he was a fully formed person who influenced Del’s character and in turn much of the story. There is something very honorable and valiant about the ideals he represents. A strong bond between father and daughter fascinates me, partly because it’s something I have never experienced myself. The chapter when the ladies were going through the remnants of their life in Ireland was one of my favorites to relate.

If the police came to your house and seized your computer, do you think they would be shocked at your Google searches? Would it be enough for them to open an official file on you?

If the cops came to my house, I would probably be writing my next book from behind bars! My search history would definitely raise some eyebrows. I’ve always been a bit obsessed with serial killers, and even before it ever dawned on me to write, I used to google all sorts of twisted stuff. One of my fascinations is with the Borgias. Their preferred method of eliminating opposition was by poisoning. They used a concoction called La Cantarella, which was supposedly prepared by: “removing the abdominal organs of a sow poisoned with arsenic, salting the organs with more arsenic, then letting them slowly putrefy. The fluids that dripped from the rotting viscera were then evaporated to dryness and collected as a white powder resembling sugar.” Of course, this is highly impractical for a modern-day murderer, so I settled for a less artful but more reliable hands-on method!

Your stories often include mysticism in the form of subtle magic or dreams. Do you have any personal experience with such, or do you simply enjoy incorporating it into your fiction?

I’m sure that by now some people view me as a writer of supernatural love stories, but that is not entirely the case. As is typical of my creative process, the inspirations come fairly complete and the mystical elements are simply what the stories dictate. As for me, I don’t have visions, but I do get little insights now and again. They can be very accurate, but they aren’t crystal clear the way Del experiences hers. However, the way she records what she sees parallels the way my writing takes over.

And I have a touch of healing. Nothing like Arlais in The Welsh Healer, but I can feel where the painful spots are in another person and am able to draw them out to a certain extent. I also have an instinctual knowledge of herbs. I think it must come from genetic memory. My great-grandmother on my father’s side was a curandera, sort of the Mexican equivalent of a shaman. As of this moment, I have no further working ideas that involve the supernatural.

Your other two books, El Rey and The Welsh Healer, are historical novels, but this one falls more under the mystery/thriller genre. When you set out to write this novel, did you know from the start that you were switching, and possibly with a new audience?

Again, the story dictated itself, and there was not much I could do to the contrary. I had concerns that my readers might not make the switch, but my worries turned out to be unfounded. The book hasn’t sold enough to garner very many reviews, but my handful of loyal readers have loved it. I think that if you strike a chord with readers and they come to love your use of language, the way you portray your characters and tell your story, they are more willing to listen to what you have to say, even if it is a bit out of the norm for them. I am the same way. I will go along with just about anything as long as the storytelling and compatible writing style are there. The real risk will come with the book I plan to write after my current WIP. If my readers will stick with me through a pre-zombie apocalypse love story, they’ll be loyal for life!

What’s next?

My current WIP takes place during the US Civil War and is a return to a simple old-fashioned love story with extended historical backgrounds for the pertinent characters and no supernatural elements. It was shelved in favor of The Welsh Healer and Work of Art, because I thought putting out a couple of books that were shorter in length would help build a following before I returned to the type of sweeping saga of El Rey. I don’t like to jinx myself, because things in our household never run according to plan, but it should be finished mid-autumn. 

Ginger Myrick was born and raised in Southern California. She is a self-described wife, mother, animal lover, and avid reader and knitter. Along with the promotion for THE WELSH HEALER, and EL REY, she is currently crafting her third novel, which takes place during the U.S. Civil War. She is a Christian who writes meticulously researched historical fiction with a ‘clean’ love story at the core. She hopes to persevere with her newfound talent and show the reading community that a romance need not include graphic details to convey deep love and passion.

Excerpt Thursday: Work of Art by Ginger Myrick

This week, we're pleased to welcome author Ginger Myrick, whose latest novel WORK OF ART is set in 19th century New York. Join us on Sunday, when the author will offer a free copy of To Work of Art to a lucky blog visitor. Here's the blurb:

Work of Art is a Cinderella story with a violent twist set 139 years in the past. From the mean streets of Five Points to carriage rides in the park and lunch at Delmonico’s, it evokes all of the extravagance of the age along with the stark disparity between classes.

Every girl dreams of a handsome Prince Charming to whisk her away to a fairytale ending. For Del Ryan it seemed unlikely, but that’s exactly what happened.

In 1874, New York booms with prosperity and conspicuous consumption with a clear social divide between classes. Families have lost their men to the Civil War and do what they can to get by. Del Ryan, an intelligent and talented Irish immigrant, works as a lady’s maid for a society matron to support her invalid mother. Although plain and unassuming, she is an accomplished artist with the gift of clairvoyance. She meets Killian Arthur, a golden god from a privileged New York family. He is flawlessly handsome with impeccable manners and a penchant for bare-knuckle boxing. Fascinated by her, Killian transforms Del into a fine lady, the toast of her new class of friends.

But things are not always what they seem. Rough Jimmy Sheehan is from the same Irish community and has always thought of Del as his own. He has known Del her entire life and has a keen understanding of her plight. Hot-tempered and hard drinking, he is Killian’s polar opposite in form and deed. Jimmy has seen enough of the world to know that there is something not quite right about Del’s suitor and warns her to that effect. Is he simply jealous, or does he want the best for the woman he loves?

Then the fairytale takes a violent turn when girls from the neighborhood start turning up dead. Del witnesses the murders through her disturbing visions and documents them in startlingly accurate detail with her artistic talent. She realizes that with each new victim, the killer is getting closer. Will his identity be revealed before he comes for her?

**An Excerpt from Work of Art**

Perhaps something had arisen to keep Mr. Arthur from showing up. Would it really be so bad never to see him again? She had made it through her life so far without a man to muck it up. Why was it suddenly so important to garner male attention? She could continue on in the same emotionally unattached state and be perfectly fine. Absorbed in these self-placating thoughts, she failed to notice a large shadowy figure approaching from a darkened doorway.

“Well, if it ain’t the high an’ mighty Del, Queen o’ Five Points,” the deep voice rumbled, startling her out of her attempts to quiet her inner demons.

“Jimmy Sheehan!” she said, putting a hand to her heart to stop it leaping out of her chest. “You scared me half out of my wits!”

“An’ where’s yer dandy escort this afternoon, or did he have to stay uptown with his wife an’ kiddies on a Sunday?”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean, ya great muscled-headed buffoon?” she asked angrily, her violet eyes flashing and her speech reverting to the neighborhood patterns.

“It means that no upper-class nancy boy is gonna want anythin’ beyond a roll in the hay with the likes of a poor Irish Points girl like yerself!” he shouted. Then more gently he said, “Del, can’t ya see that we have to stick to our own?”

“I see no such thing, Jimmy,” she shook her head stubbornly. “Besides, Points girls have made it out before.”

“Yes, only the most beautiful ones an’ only to become mistresses, locked away in their apartments, kept by the richies. That’s what I’m sayin’, Del. Do ya want to become a kept woman?” He waited expectantly for a moment before continuing, “I always thought you an’ I would … ya know …”

She looked up into Jimmy’s face and for a moment was at a loss how to answer. Del was taller than any other woman she had ever encountered, but Jimmy towered over her by a full head, the crown of hers only reaching as high as his chin. He was powerfully built from the physical labor he performed, broad-shouldered and rock hard without an ounce of excess flesh on his lean frame. His whole rugged person looked as if it had been carved from stone. He was brutally handsome with devilish good looks. He had jet black hair and brown eyes with russet highlights, and as a child he had been called ‘Satan’s Spawn’, because he was hot-tempered as Old Scratch himself.

Del shook her head slowly to clear it then looked him straight in his reddish-brown eyes and said, “No, Jimmy. It’s not to be.”

For a moment he stared blankly back at her. Then his red eyes blazed and his temper flared. “So now that you’ve drawn the attention of a society boy, I’m not good enough for ya anymore? Is that it?”

“No, Jimmy,” she glared back at him, “that’s not it at all. You’re like a brother to me, aside from the fact that you treat me so shabbily.”

She spun on her heel to leave, but Jimmy would not be dismissed so easily. He grabbed her arm to turn her to him and, in doing so, spilled the bundle of almond limbs from her arms. They tumbled into the dirt, and with a little cry, Del stooped to recover the sweet-smelling bounty that Mr. Flynn had so generously bestowed.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done! They were a special present for my ma!”

“I’m sorry, Del,” Jimmy said repentantly. “Here, let me help ya.” Then he knelt down to assist her.

“Go away, Jimmy!” she cried. “You’ve done quite enough!” She struck out blindly at him to swat his hands away. In doing so she accidentally poked him in the eye, and he bellowed out in wounded rage.

“Ya did that on purpose!” he yelled. Del continued gathering her flowers and paid him no heed, which enraged him even further. “Look what ya did!” he roared and grabbed her chin to make her do it.

The moment his bare skin contacted hers, Jimmy felt the tingle of foreign current sizzle through his body, and Del’s deep purple eyes opened wide, a mixture of bewilderment and fright on her blanched face. He released Del’s chin, but the damage was already done.

“You wanted to strangle me right then,” she whispered.

“No, Del, I’d never hurt ya. You know that,” he pleaded. “You can just be so maddenin’ sometimes—”

“I saw it, the whole scene. You had me by the neck. My feet were dangling off the ground!” Jimmy instinctually reached for her in an effort to allay her fears, but Del quickly backed away from him and stood to her full height, leaving a few scattered almond branches where they lay in the dirt. “Don’t touch me, Jimmy! Don’t ever touch me again!” Then she turned and hurried off toward home, her shoes making muffled staccato sounds on the rickety boardwalk.

“Del!” Jimmy called after her, but she was already too far gone.

As Del distanced herself from him, her heart slowed back to normal and her breathing eased. Her mind began to clear, and she replayed the entire incident in her head, noting every little nuance. She supposed that she was not really surprised at Jimmy’s reaction. He was notorious for losing his temper, and everyone felt like they could throttle a person from time to time, but one thing stood out to her as odd.

Jimmy had always exuded the musky scent of primal masculinity, but this time he had reeked with the sharp tang of pure menace, overpowering even the fragrant cloud of almond blossoms. And there had also been a subtle underlying smell, one that she had never experienced before. She had nothing to compare it to, so she had no idea what it signified, but she was sure that she could name it. It was sulfur.

Ginger Myrick was born and raised in Southern California. She is a self-described wife, mother, animal lover, and avid reader and knitter. Along with the promotion for THE WELSH HEALER, and EL REY, she is currently crafting her third novel, which takes place during the U.S. Civil War. She is a Christian who writes meticulously researched historical fiction with a ‘clean’ love story at the core. She hopes to persevere with her newfound talent and show the reading community that a romance need not include graphic details to convey deep love and passion.

Photo Essays: Summer in the City, 1920s Style

Anna C. Bowling

A hot summer day can make anybody cranky. Add a toddler and subtract modern conveniences such as air conditioning, television, computers, mp3 players, DVDs and refrigeration. For many, this may sound like the start of a story of modern horror. For those who lived before the age of modern conveniences, it was just summer, and family and friends provided plenty of entertainment.

One of the best parts of historical research is remembering that no matter what era it might be, the people who lived then have the same needs we do today. Since primary sources are the most accurate research tools, vintage photographs can be a window into a world of generations past.

Today, we'll join a young couple and their toddler son enjoying the great outdoors in 1924 New York City. Though these photos may not all be from the same day, it is the same family, and they've invited you to their summer outing.

Either this water is very interesting or someone is looking for the plug.


Gathering with friends means dressing up for everyone. Note the matching caps on the couple and the menswear on the Mrs.



No matter what the era, everything is better when shared with friends...



...and it's always good to go home at the end of the day.



Vintage photos give us the opportunity to exercise our creative muscles. Who are these people and what was important enough about this particular moment that was worth capturing to share with generations to come? Is it so that we can drool over the details of gorgeous clothing, play forensic psychologist and analyze subjects of the photos, or something else altogether? What is it about vintage photos that catches your interest?

Writing historical romances allows Anna C. Bowling to travel through time on a daily basis and make the voices in her head pay rent. Her current release, ORPHANS IN THE STORM, is available from Awe-Struck E-books.

Money Matters: If You Don't Want Our Money, New York...

By Anna Randol

In the 1870s in New York, the Knickerbockers and Old Money families that made up the city's elite were in trouble. Rich newcomers were swarming New York, demanding acceptance and recognition. They were families that had made their money through industry--railroads, armaments, and machinery. And these upstarts knew nothing of the Knickerbocker ideals of thrift, modesty, and conservatism. For instance, rather than leaving a dress from Paris in a trunk for a year to avoid being too showy and ostentatious as a proper women should, these gauche women would wear a new gown the very season they bought it.

The ruling women of New York society fought back against the interlopers by closing ranks and inventing increasingly intricate rules for how things should be done properly. Seeing the futility of trying to break into New York society, the mothers of some the upstart families whisked their young, beautiful, wealthy daughters to Europe.

One of these women was Clara Jerome. Knowing her husband's scandals had made it impossible for her three daughters to be accepted into New York society, she packed them up and moved to Paris. When a Prussian army invaded Paris a short time later to end the Franco-Prussian war, however, the family moved to London. To her delight, English society proved far more accepting than what she'd left behind in New York. Leading this acceptance was Albert, Prince of Wales. The prince was especially fond of these new, charming American women and English society followed his lead. After all, by this time, many of England's aristocratic families were deeply in debt. They took one look at the gloriously wealthy American girls and saw a way to mend roofs on manor houses and modernize drafty old castles.

All three of Clara's daughters married into well-respected English families. But perhaps the most famous was Clara's middle daughter, Jennie. She was considered one of the most beautiful women of her time. In 1874, she met and fell in love with Lord Randolph Churchill, the second son of the Duke of Marlborough. In exchange for marriage to the duke's son, the Jeromes provided a dowry of ₤50,000, an exorbitant amount for the time. Eventually the couple had two sons Winston (yes, that Winston Churchill) and John.

Following Clara's lead, wave after wave of American mothers found that money bought their daughters not only the acceptance they craved but spouses among the aristocracy of England and Europe.

Anna Randol writes sultry, adventurous Regency romances. Her debut novel, set in the heart of the Ottoman Empire, will be released by Avon in the beginning of 2012.

Tragic Tales: The Tenements and the Muckraker

By Karen Mercury

Jacob Riis emigrated to New York in 1870 from Denmark. Unable to find work, he was forced to spend the night in police station lodging houses. His experiences led to ground-breaking writing with the New York Evening Sun, establishing our version of "muckracking" journalism, busting things open before the public was even aware of them. "The poor were the victims rather than the makers of their fate."

Riis went into the slums of New York City at night. He was the first to use "flash powder" to light up the interiors of these dark dens. Teddy Roosevelt, the NYC Police Commissioner, read Riis's How the Other Half Lives, a monumental life's work, and shut down lodging houses. Thus although the conditions he reported were indeed tragic, Riis's commitment to social reform helped re-shape how politicians and the well-to-do viewed their responsibility toward the city's poorest citizens. He wrote:

It was the stir and bustle of the trade, together with the tremendous immigration that followed upon the year of 1812 that dislodged them. Large rooms were partitioned into several smaller ones, without regard to light or ventilation, the rate of rent being lower in proportion to space or height from the street; and they soon became filled from cellar to garret with a class of tenantry living from hand to mouth, loose in morals, improvident in habits, degraded, and squalid as beggary itself.

While reckless slovenliness, discontent, privation, and ignorance were left to work out their invariable results, until the entire premises reached the level of tenant-house dilapidation, containing, but sheltering not, the miserable hordes that crowded beneath mouldering, water-rotted roofs or burrowed among the rats of clammy cellars.

The proprietors frequently urged the filthy habits of the tenants as an excuse for the condition of their property, utterly losing sight of the fact that it was the tolerance of those habits which was the real evil, and that for this they themselves were alone responsible.

Greatest Hits: So You Wanna Re-Create a Revolution?

By Anna C. Bowling

Long ago, in a not so faraway (for me) land called New York state, I gloried in the splendor of an autumn afternoon, my long skirt swishing about my ankles as I traversed the dirt road adjacent to the home of John Jay, the United States' first Chief Justice. To my left, behind a stone wall, an endless sea of identical white tents covered the green lawn. I felt a rumble behind me, and a deep male voice called out, "Make way for the king's men." I stepped quickly to the side, and a long column of scarlet-coated soldiers streamed by, posture ramrod-perfect, marching in step behind a Union Jack toted high.

The actual calendar year was of somewhat more recent vintage, 2003, but for that one particular day, I found myself swept back in time to when a native New Yorker could well have been a loyal British subject...and also to my own childhood, when the Bicentennial meant fife and drum corps everywhere, beginning a fascination with those gents in the red coats that continues to this day. Cue music. Leonard Bernstein British Grenadiers

The procession was only the start of the day's events, followed by a muster, where the historical interpreters demonstrated how their unit might attract new recruits. Hint; free liquor was involved for any able bodied male of adult years willing to sign or make his mark. This, apparently, was a valid recruiting technique. Speeches of the glory of king and country, of the sterling reputation of soldiers (which one may snort at without qualms once one mucks about the tents for a while, as I did) and thus swelled the ranks.

Being the nosy historical author I am, I took the first opportunity to venture into the tents and hunt down the interpreter playing the commanding officer. What was life really like after the free liquor wore off or commissions were purchased? What sort of men would have inhabited these tents two hundred plus years ago, and furthermore, what sorts of men recreate British Army life in the country where the redcoats were the antagonists during our revolution?

The answers to the above may surprise some readers. Reenactment units such as His Majesty's Tenth Regiment of Foot can give a different perspective on what we think we know about life in the eighteenth century British Army. Though the unit I saw that day was re-creating 1740s life, the gentlemen (and that they were, to a man) were more than happy to discuss Redcoat life up to and beyond the Revolution. Whatever the period, a soldier's life was seldom one of comfort. Even the officers' tents I inspected were of necessity small, to be easily packed up and moved to the next site at a moment's notice. A cot, a trunk for personal items, perhaps a few comforts of home such as a deck of cards or musical instrument, perhaps a book for those so inclined, but with space at a premium, functionality ruled over pleasure.

The soldier's life might not always be a lonely one; those who could afford it could sometimes bring along wives, and where wives (and other women) go, babies could follow. Even bringing one's dog was not entirely unheard of, and visitors to reenactments can often see all of the above as important parts of the units as a whole. Add in camp followers, noting that "laundress" did not always mean laundress, wink wink, and my mind started to fill in those rows of tents with people who might have inhabited each one. Some aspects of the military life are universal, no matter what era or affiliation.

The soldiers themselves, on these colonial shores, could come from any walk of life. A younger son from a noble English family might have bought his commission, to find himself shoulder to shoulder with a young recruit born to laborers in the colonies, or during the Revolution, even a German Hussar or a former slave. Male slaves who enlisted in the British army would be considered immediately freed from slavery, certainly an extremely appealing incentive. After the Revolution, when British and Hussar forces returned home, several former slaves stayed with their units, making new lives for themselves in England or Germany. Great story potential right there, methinks.

Story potential as well in the Grenadiers, those gentlemen memorialized in the music above. Dealing with explosives at such close range takes a special sort of man; calm under pressure, willing to do what it takes to get the job done, knowing, as all soldiers do, that any engagement may be their last, but hoping to come through to the end of the day.

Why would a modern American choose to devote his (or her) free time to interpreting the other side of our country's first war? Perhaps the most succinct answer is that somebody has to. The British Army is part of our history, and those who comprised it were individuals who also deserve to be remembered. While some British (civilians and military alike) did oppose colonial independence, others were actually for it, but believed that a different time or method for that independence would be better for all involved. Some interpreters do also interpret patriot units, and I spoke to one, an actor by trade, who has appeared on the History Channel, in different productions, as both Benedict Arnold and George Washington. Talk about seeing things from both sides.

Which is, really, one of the best parts about historical reenactments. We can muck about in as close as we can get to the real thing, interact with those who study hard to get the feel of the era and convey it to those who may not be as familiar with the big picture. If the reenactment includes a battle, consider traipsing over to those re-creating the other side, whatever that might be, for a different perspective. Who knows, you might meet a new character along the way.

Places You've Never Heard Of: Fishkill

Carol A. Spradling

As an historical fiction author, doing research is as important as finding readers. And hopefully, if done well, one will follow the other. My favorite haunt is the 1700s. Sadly, this is not a time period where minute details are in abundance. Yes. It is easy to trip over bulky facts which we learned in school, but to find detailed information, that's when a researcher hears the Hallelujah Chorus.

Naturally, as society progresses, information is lost. Tales being retold from one generation to the next, monuments, signifying places of importance, and a desire to honor past events help us remember what led to the life we live today. The battle to retain these memories must sometimes be fought with as much fervor as the initial conflict.

During the Revolutionary War, Fishkill, NY, a seventy-acre small town, served as a supply depot, barracks, prison, hospital, and cemetery for the Continental Army. George Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette, among others, used Fishkill as a troop gathering point.
Although listed on the National Register of Historic Places, historic preservationist and local developers recently squared off. Each troop gathered their information and prepared for victory. You see, although Fishkill was vitally important throughout the war, it was not as celebrated as Valley Forge. There were no archaic buildings marking the field, and although there was the mention of a cemetery, where were the graves? As far as developers were concerned, these seventy-acres were nothing more than a vacant field.

Ground-penetrating radar sided with history, and old bones rattled, revealing hundreds of Revolutionary War soldiers' graves. This archeological find provided physical proof of Fishkill's historic importance and ended the shopping mall project.

I can almost hear the whoops and cheers of all who benefited from this unknown community’s service. Cue the Hallelujah Chorus, this author has found a treasure trove of historic details that have been omitted from our history books.

Food & Drink: Painting the Town Red

By Vicki Gaia

World War II had come to an end, Europe was in shambles, and New York City had become the New World View. Eating out, listening to music, drinking and dancing, theater, movie houses--whatever your pleasure, you could find it in Manhattan.

Good ol' American food could be found at many of the restaurants. The Plaza offered boiled salt mackerel, fried hominy grits, pecan waffles, clam juice, little pig sausage and fried cornmeal mush. You had the modest delis serving Jewish bagels and lox with cream cheese and hot pastrami. If you liked to stroll in Central Park on Sundays, you could dine at the Essex House on summer prune juice, cherrystone clams, Scotch woodcock, sweetbreads, creamed finnan haddie on toast.

Drinking became an obsession after the repeal of Prohibition on December 5, 1933, which was only twelve years before. Every neighborhood had its local saloons, and many trades had their favorite hang outs. Mad men, those advertising gurus, hung out at the East Side piano bars, newspapermen at Bleeck's, next door to the Herald-Tribune. Cedar Tavern on University Place catered to artists, and you could find writers drinking at their favorite bar of the Algonquin Hotel or Costello's on Third Avenue. And for the sailors and seamen, their home away from home was The Horse.

When I think of the forties, I think of cocktails. This weekend I had a bittersweet orange Manhattan at PF Chang's. Served in a wide fluted glass, I sipped the elixir and thought of my mother's generation. The Manhattan was invented at the Manhattan Club, or so it's said. One part vermouth, two parts whiskey, a dash of bitters, stirred with ice and garnished with a cherry. But the cocktail of the forties was the dry martini. Barely touched with vermouth, it was mostly pure gin.

Cafe Society thrived. A mix of theater people, old families, musicians, sportsmen, actors, sprinkling of military men, and a few writers, and of course, the gossip columnists who reported on their comings and goings. The society could be seen listening to jazz at the Cotton Club in Harlem; sipping afternoon tea at the Plaza; dancing at the Starlight Roof on a perfect summer night; dining at Sardi's; or drinking at the El Morocco.

After the war, New York City heralded the new way of life in America. For a few years it held its "... particular mixture of innocence and sophistication, romance and formality, generosity and self-amazement...", quoted from Manhattan '45' by Jan Morris.

Picture of Sardi's taken by Walter Sanders was published in Life Magazine.

Expansion & Invasion: New Amsterdam

By Christine Koehler

If you never read (or heard of ) The Island at the Center of the World: The Epic Story of Dutch Manhattan and the Forgotten Colony that Shaped America by Russell Shorto, you should. It's a wonderful story about the founding of New York. Granted, he's a little long-winded in the middle, but it's a well-researched book and a fascinating piece of our history.

New Amsterdam developed outside of Fort Amsterdam on Manhattan Island in the New Netherland territory (1614–1674). Because the Dutch believed their territory was what they could 'own' and use, it was situated between 38 and 42 degrees. Yup, it's now New York City.

The harbor and river was discovered, explored, and charted by an expedition of the Dutch East India Company captained by Henry Hudson in 1609. From 1611 through 1614, the territory was surveyed and charted by various private commercial companies on behalf of the States General of the Dutch Republic and operated for the interests of private commercial entities prior to official possession as a North American extension of the Dutch Republic as a provincial entity in 1624.

To secure the settlers' property and its surroundings according to Dutch law, Pieter Minuit, created a deed with the Manhattan Indians in 1626 which signified legal possession of Manhattan. Minuit negotiated the "purchase" of Manhattan from the Manahatta band of Lenape for 60 guilders worth of trade goods. No, they didn't by it for $20-some odd dollars. It was an extremely complicated agreement involving alliances against neighboring tribes, trade, and the general well being of each side.

Because the Dutch themselves believed in equality among all, everyone was welcomed in the colony regardless of race, sex, creed, or origin. This law superseded any individual’s intolerance or individual bigotry.

The city, situated on the strategic, fortifiable southern tip of the island of Manhattan maintained New Netherland's provincial integrity by defending river access to the company's fur trade operations in the North River (Hudson River) and to safeguard exclusive access to the Delaware River and the Connecticut River.

On August 27, 1664, while England and the Dutch Republic were at peace, four English frigates sailed into New Amsterdam’s harbor. They demanded New Netherland's surrender. Director-general Peter Stuyvesant provisionally ceded the city to the English. This resulted in the Second Anglo-Dutch War, between England and the Dutch Republic.

In 1667, the Dutch didn't press nor relinquish their claims on New Netherland in the Treaty of Breda, in return for an exchange with the tiny Island of Run in North Maluku and the guarantee for the factual possession of Suriname. The New Amsterdam city was subsequently renamed New York, after the Duke of York (later King James II) who was granted the lands by his brother, King Charles II with the simple stroke of his pen.

The English had a very different view of colonization. They believed they owned all the land they saw on their maps. Didn't matter if they could use it or had enough people to colonize it. That land was theirs.

However, during the Third Anglo-Dutch War, the Dutch recaptured New Netherland in August 1673 and installed Anthony Colve as New Netherland's first Governor. The city was renamed New Orange. After the signing of the Treaty of Westminster in November 1674 the city was relinquished to English rule and the name reverted to New York. In return, Suriname became an official Dutch possession.

NPS.Gov

The Island at the Center of the World: The Epic Story of Dutch Manhattan and the Forgotten Colony that Shaped America by Russell Shorto

Women: Police Matrons

By Eliza Tucker

Responding to demands made by the American Female Reform Society and the Women's Prison Association of New York City, in 1845, the city hired six women to work as "prison matrons." Their job was to look after female and minor inmates on Blackwell's Island and in The Tombs in Manhattan.

It wasn't until 1891 that women were officially inducted into the New York City Police Department. Before this,

...the task of searching female prisoners was performed by male officers, their wives, widows of policemen, or by the maid at the police station. The widows, known as "bedmakers," were paid out of the Policemen's own pockets. Female prisoners were not housed separately from the male prisoners. In addition, men and women (called "casuals") who came to New York City without money were often forced to find shelter at the station houses. In 1887, at various times, up to 42,000 of these homeless women spent at least one night in a station house.
~ New York City Police Department website

In 1891, after a case of a male police officer assaulting a 15-year-old female detainee, a bill passed that required male and female inmates to be housed separately, and for female officers to attend to female prisoners. After passing the civil service test and each garnering 20 recommendations by "women of good standing," four women were sworn into the position. They were assigned only to the second and fourth precincts, received one day off per month, and were paid $1000 a year (approximately $24,6000 in today's currency). Their rate of pay did not increase until 1918.

1892 -- Police Matrons required for every precinct.

1912 -- Police Matron Isabella Goodwin is the first woman to become a First Grade Detective.

1917 -- Police Commissioner Arthur Woods gives special patrolman's badges to two women, which allowed them to make arrests.

1918 -- Police Matron Mary Sullivan is the first woman to make Homicide Detective.

1919 -- Cora I. Parchment is the first African-American woman to join the NYPD.

These women women, along with their fellow works and the women's organizations that fought alongside them, pushed open doors occupationally, but they worked hard to protect the displaced, suffering women in our communities.

Weapons and Armies: So You Want To Re-Create A Revolution

By Anna C. Bowling

Long ago, in a not so faraway (for me) land called New York state, I gloried in the splendor of an autumn afternoon, my long skirt swishing about my ankles as I traversed the dirt road adjacent to the home of John Jay, the United States' first Chief Justice. To my left, behind a stone wall, an endless sea of identical white tents covered the green lawn. I felt a rumble behind me, and a deep male voice called out, "Make way for the king's men." I stepped quickly to the side, and a long column of scarlet-coated soldiers streamed by, posture ramrod-perfect, marching in step behind a Union Jack toted high.

The actual calendar year was of somewhat more recent vintage, 2003, but for that one particular day, I found myself swept back in time to when a native New Yorker could well have been a loyal British subject...and also to my own childhood, when the Bicentennial meant fife and drum corps everywhere, beginning a fascination with those gents in the red coats that continues to this day. Cue music. Leonard Bernstein British Grenadiers

The procession was only the start of the day's events, followed by a muster, where the historical interpreters demonstrated how their unit might attract new recruits. Hint; free liquor was involved for any able bodied male of adult years willing to sign or make his mark. This, apparently, was a valid recruiting technique. Speeches of the glory of king and country, of the sterling reputation of soldiers (which one may snort at without qualms once one mucks about the tents for a while, as I did) and thus swelled the ranks.

Being the nosy historical author I am, I took the first opportunity to venture into the tents and hunt down the interpreter playing the commanding officer. What was life really like after the free liquor wore off or commissions were purchased? What sort of men would have inhabited these tents two hundred plus years ago, and furthermore, what sorts of men recreate British Army life in the country where the redcoats were the antagonists during our revolution?

The answers to the above may surprise some readers. Reenactment units such as His Majesty's Tenth Regiment of Foot can give a different perspective on what we think we know about life in the eighteenth century British Army. Though the unit I saw that day was re-creating 1740s life, the gentlemen (and that they were, to a man) were more than happy to discuss Redcoat life up to and beyond the Revolution. Whatever the period, a soldier's life was seldom one of comfort. Even the officers' tents I inspected were of necessity small, to be easily packed up and moved to the next site at a moment's notice. A cot, a trunk for personal items, perhaps a few comforts of home such as a deck of cards or musical instrument, perhaps a book for those so inclined, but with space at a premium, functionality ruled over pleasure.

The soldier's life might not always be a lonely one; those who could afford it could sometimes bring along wives, and where wives (and other women) go, babies could follow. Even bringing one's dog was not entirely unheard of, and visitors to reenactments can often see all of the above as important parts of the units as a whole. Add in camp followers, noting that "laundress" did not always mean laundress, wink wink, and my mind started to fill in those rows of tents with people who might have inhabited each one. Some aspects of the military life are universal, no matter what era or affiliation.

The soldiers themselves, on these colonial shores, could come from any walk of life. A younger son from a noble English family might have bought his commission, to find himself shoulder to shoulder with a young recruit born to laborers in the colonies, or during the Revolution, even a German Hussar or a former slave. Male slaves who enlisted in the British army would be considered immediately freed from slavery, certainly an extremely appealing incentive. After the Revolution, when British and Hussar forces returned home, several former slaves stayed with their units, making new lives for themselves in England or Germany. Great story potential right there, methinks.

Story potential as well in the Grenadiers, those gentlemen memorialized in the music above. Dealing with explosives at such close range takes a special sort of man; calm under pressure, willing to do what it takes to get the job done, knowing, as all soldiers do, that any engagement may be their last, but hoping to come through to the end of the day.

Why would a modern American choose to devote his (or her) free time to interpreting the other side of our country's first war? Perhaps the most succinct answer is that somebody has to. The British Army is part of our history, and those who comprised it were individuals who also deserve to be remembered. While some British (civilians and military alike) did oppose colonial independence, others were actually for it, but believed that a different time or method for that independence would be better for all involved. Some interpreters do also interpret patriot units, and I spoke to one, an actor by trade, who has appeared on the History Channel, in different productions, as both Benedict Arnold and George Washington. Talk about seeing things from both sides.

Which is, really, one of the best parts about historical reenactments. We can muck about in as close as we can get to the real thing, interact with those who study hard to get the feel of the era and convey it to those who may not be as familiar with the big picture. If the reenactment includes a battle, consider traipsing over to those re-creating the other side, whatever that might be, for a different perspective. Who knows, you might meet a new character along the way.

Social Movements: The Newsboys' Strike

By Eliza Tucker

This is a busy week for a lot of our members (have fun at Romantic Times, ladies!), so I'm posting again!

At the turn of the twentieth century, the Socialist movement gained momentum throughout the Western world. Unions and labor parties sprung up, comprised of working- and middle-class people who were tired of eighty-hour work weeks, low pay, and minimal occupational support. While men and women began to demand better treatment, children toiled, tucked into windowless hovels.

In 1899, ten thousand of New York City's homeless kids locked themselves into lives identical to adults', complete with full days of sweatshop work with little to no time devoted to schooling or play. The most prodigious of these urchins learned to read and took independent jobs as street vendors, messengers, and newspaper boys and girls.

Newspaper sales increased during the Spanish-American War, but the costs of supporting field reporters and running the press had risen. During the war, New York's media moguls had raised the wholesale prices of their papers from fifty cents per hundred papers to sixty cents per hundred, without raising the customer's price.

The price hike cost the newsies, mostly orphans and runaways between the ages of six and fifteen, an average of fifty cents a week. In a time when a bed in a lodging-house could be bought for ten cents a night, and meals for six cents a piece, the price increase hit the children on fundamental levels. While magnates like Joseph Pulitzer (the New York World) and William Randolph Hearst (the New York Journal) decided to go back on their initial promise of lowering the price after the war, the kids took a cue from the adults and went on strike.

This seems to be the season for strikes. Although the Brooklyn and New York street railway strike has subsided and peace once more reigns, the newsboys and messenger boys of the great city have gone on strike. The newsboys refuse to handle the New York World and Journal (newspapers) unless they are allowed a larger margin of profit, and the messenger boys insist on shorter hours and better pay.

These strikes, while they cause some annoyance and inconvenience, are hardly worthy of serious thought in comparison with the dreadful struggle that is taking place in Cleveland. In that city, a street railway strike has assumed such terrible proportions that the strikers have gone to the length of using dynamite to blow up cars with passengers in them.

-- The Great Round World, vol. XI, The Great Round World Company, New York, 1899.

World and Journal newsies stopped selling papers from July 19 through August 2. Overshadowed by the Cleveland railway strike, the papers' editors "laughed off the children's strike--at first. But they found themselves outsmarted and outnumbered as the newsies succeeded in organizing a metropolitan boycott of the Hearst and Pulitzer dailies. Led by the Brooklyn Union District Master Workboy, Spot Conlon, attired in his pink suspenders, the Brooklyn boys marched across the Brooklyn Bridge to join forces with their Manhattan comrades. Together, the boys not only shut down street circulation of the afternoon Journals and Worlds in Manhattan, Brooklyn, Long Island City, and up and down the Atlantic seaboard, but they enlisted the public in their crusade by staging a series of parades, open-air rallies, and a huge mass meeting at the New Irving Hall." (The Chief: the Life of William Randolph Hearst, by David Nasaw, Houghton Mifflin Books, 2000).

The children put a severe dent in the papers' circulation: the World alone suffered a sales decrease from 360,000 to 125,000 during the two-week strike (Big Town, Big Time, by David Nasaw, New York Daily News, 1999).

The editors took notice. Instead of lowering the distribution price, they offered the kids an acceptable compromise: the ability to return unsold papers at the end of the day. This policy may sound familiar to those of us involved in the publishing industry--major publishers allow booksellers to return remainders.

The Newsboys' Strike garnered the notice of then-governor Theodore Roosevelt, who eventually championed child labor reform

Standards of Beauty:The Price of Beauty in the 1860s

By Eliza Tucker

In an essay entitled, "A Lady of Fashion", historian Herbert Asbury looked at the price of keeping couture in the decade following the American Civil War. He detailed the usually painful trends in garment construction and cosmetics, and the price thereof.

"The butterfly of the eighteen-sixties and the early eighteen-seventies staggered forth under the burden of an infinite variety of beautifying apparatus constructed of steel, iron, wire, cotton, wood horsehair, and wool, all attached to her person by straps, tape, and mucilage."

The exaggerated hourglass figure was a must-have for dames of postbellum New York: a small, rounded head, full chest, tiny waist, voluminous skirt, and diminutive feet. The dentist of the day went far above simple teeth-whitening when it came to cosmetic procedures, and would regularly "provide plump cheeks...by filling them out with hard composition pads running upward along each side of the mouth. These were called 'plumpers,' and some were so large as to give the appearance of mumps. They often shifted position, so that a woman wearing them was apt to speak in a sort of whispering mumble."

False calves, cotton or wool padding for the arms, foot wrapping, and pads for "sharp and angular knees" all contributed to the desired effect. Wigs, false curls, and "ratting" were popular, and once the hair was piled, knotted, or braided into place, it was topped with powder, flour, glitter, or gold dust. The "widow's peak" was so vogue that women clipped or shaved their head around the hairstyle.

While tattooing was still improper, it was all the rage to paint the palms of a woman's hands in a vivid color, either solidly or with shapes or patterns, and to delicately trace the veins on the back of the hand with blue ink. Women painted their eyes with India ink and dropped or rubbed Belladonna to dilate their pupils. Not surprisingly, most society women eventually went blind.

The crème de la crème in New York didn't just paint their faces, they had the makeup set with a plastic enamel. Shops advertised the ability to keep the face and bosom enameled for up to a year (this cost $1000, almost $15,000 now), but there are no records to indicate that any woman had this done. Arsenic and white lead were the bases to these skin enamels, and if properly applied it did not interfere with muscle movement. "It was eventually abandoned because the flashier branches of society carried it to ludicrous extremes."

In The Women of New York, George Ellington gives us a very long, very detailed price list of what it took per annum to keep a fashionable woman in New York: approximately $20,000 a year. That's $300,000 of our US dollars. Can you imagine? If you want to check out Mr. Ellington's views of New York's women (and the infamous price list), you can read The Women of New York online.

reference: Herbert Asbury, "A Lady of Fashion", All Around the Town, 1929

Thursday Thirteen: Gangs of New York

By Eliza Tucker

In New York City, the gangs of the 19th and early 20th century had some "killer" names--even though historically not all gangs were violent, and worked instead as racial, religious, or vocational unions.

1. Daybreak Boys
2. Dead Rabbits
3. Old Slippers*
4. Cherry Hill
5. Bowery Boys
6. Five Points
7. Midnight Terrors
8. Plug Uglies
9. Gophers (as well as the Lady Gophers and Little Gophers)
10. Roach Guard
11. Hudson Dusters
12. Whyos
13. Swamp Angels**

* Great name, huh? They were a bunch of angry kids--bookbinders apprentices--who made life heck for residents around the Manhattan street Old Slip, according to Luc Sante in Low Life.

** Wouldn't think about a New Yorker relating much to the swamp, eh? Consider that much of Lower Manhattan was more or less wetland and eventually drained and filled in.

Dutch Treat

Growing up in New York state, only miles from Sleepy Hollow (yes, that Sleepy Hollow) I had early exposure to Dutch history and folklore. Maybe numerous retellings of Washington Irving's "Legend of Sleepy Hollow" (though I can't bring myself to see the Johnny Depp version; I know he's brilliant, but I can't bear anyone tampering with Ichabod Crane.)planted the seed and later the Valerie Sherwood novels I gobbled in college watered it. However it started, I'm noticing Dutch references in my own stories more often than not.

An urban legend about the ghost of a Dutch settler spooks the heroine of my first historical, My Outcast Heart. The hero of "Never Too Late" has a Dutch name, the heroine of my time travel WIP is proud of her Dutch heritage and one of the core families in the saga I'm co-writing with a partner is Dutch. In a novel I'm shopping around now, Jonnet and Simon fall in love while in the Dutch exile of the English Civil War. So, what's the appeal? Beyond the wooden shoes, cheese and tulips?

The Netherlands, or The Low Countries, depending on the period, enjoys a golden age during my favorite periods to set my romances. Duking it out with England and Spain for mastery of the seas, and the booming trade of the Renaissance, Dutch merchants and explorers traveled across the oceans to the Caribbean, and the New World. Tons of story potential both on the respectable side, and during the golden age of piracy that followed.

When a college friend tracked me down across campus to physically put a Valerie Sherwood novel in my hand and tell me I had to read it, the history and legends I'd absorbed in childhood took on a new dimension as I read her tales of love and adventure, in the bustling city of Amsterdam and the wilds of New Amsterdam colony with the wealth of the patroons contrasted with the new land. I knew I had to know more and more. In fact, I gleaned so much that I was able to ace a colonial history exam with an essay question about Dutch contributions to colonial society. Trust me, we can thank Dutch ingenuity in ice travel for keeping colonial trade going during the colonial winters.

Dutch women, historically, often had more rights and freedoms than their English sisters. They had an easier time if they wanted or needed to fend for themselves economically, even instigate divorce. Now wouldn't that be an interesting twist?

Ingenuity flourishes throughout Dutch history, with farmers, artists, artisans, scholars and nobles abounding. With the current market expanding to include a wider variety of settings, and the Fox network about to debut their New Amsterdam drama series, maybe readers will be interested in discovering a few Dutch treats of their own.

CSI: New York (1900-style)

On April 14, 1903, on Avenue D in New York City, a man's mutilated body was found, having been stuffed in a sugar barrel. While most of Atrocity Gods is fictional, I've integrated this murder as a springboard for the events in the book. The murder was directly related to the extortion group called The Black Hand, or La Mano Nera.

In Joe Petrosino by Arrigo Petacco (MacMillan, 1974), Pettaco details the NYPD's investigation into the murder. Petrosino was the NYPD's first Italian detective, and founded the Italian Squad, a special division of the NYPD that serviced the Italian community. At the beginning of the twentieth century, the Italian community comprised more than a half a million, or one-fourth, of New York's population. At that time, there were thirty thousand policemen in the NYPD. Only eleven understood Italian.

[The American authorities] contented themselves with symbolically enclosing the Itallian ghetto inside a cordon sanitaire, leaving the minority of criminals free, or virtually free, to levy tribute on the vast majority of their compatriots. In short, let the Italians straighten things out for themselves; what mattered was to keep them from overflowing into the better parts of the city.
- Joe Petrosino by Arrigo Petacco

Since the body in the barrel was found in a predominately white part of the city, the big newspapers covered the investigation. The discovery made the front pages of The Sun, but it was pushed back to page 14 of Pulitzer's The World. In The New York Times, the murder received equal billing with a Vanderbilt wedding and a gust of wind that blew so hard past the Flatiron Building that it knocked a few women off their feet.

Even though the brutal killing might not have been high on the editors' news priority, the reporters did great jobs with their stories. It's interesting to see how journalism has changed in the past hundred years: in those days, the reporters were allowed to go into great detail, even about crime. Each of the papers mentioned differ slightly: one claims the murdered man was a Greek, another supposes he was Syrian or Polish, and only The World said early on that he was Italian or Sicilian. The articles lay out all the clues that the police found, too.

Check out The World's article and see for yourself.

The clues all came together for Petrosino and his men:

• Established that a cigar butt found in the barrel (among other ashes and cigarettes) was an Italian Toscano cigar.
• Examined the sawdust and determined that the barrel had been packed wth sweepings from the floor of a saloon, because the dust contained cigarettes and ashes.
• The crucifix read, "Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum", or "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews", which pointed to Catholicism or Protestantism rather than Judaism.
• The note was identified as being written in Italian.
• The sugar barrel was marked "W. T.", and Petrosino established that it had come from a confectionary on Washington Street called Wallace & Towney. The confectionary supplied pastries to two saloons near the Italian district. One was a German Bierstube on Prince Street, and the other was The Star of Italy Bar on Elizabeth Street.

With all the clues in mind, Inspector Schmittberger and Detective Petrosino decided to visit The Star of Italy first.

"Petrosino recognized, sitting at the tables where they were playing cards, bottles of wine at hand, a great number of gangsters who in his view ought to have been thrown out of the country or into prison...He had noted on entering that the floor of the restaurant was covered with a layer of sawdust, which gave the customers full freedom to spit. It was precisely this sawdust that interested him most. Pretending to tie a loose shoelace, he bent down, scooped up a few pinches of sawdust and emptied them into his trouser cuff." ib.

Back at the Second District offices, Joe compared the sample of sawdust from The Star of Italy against the sawdust from the barrel and made a match. Soon after he made eight arrests, including Pietro Inzerello, the owner of The Star of Italy, who was a member of the Morello-Terranova gang. The police felt sure the murder was solved.

Two of the arrested men were Ignazio Lupo, known as "The Wolf" (pictured left) and Tomasso Petto. During the trial, it came out that the man accused of the actual murder, Tomasso Petto, turned out to be Giovanni Pecoraro. Because Pecoraro couldn't speak English and he'd had no access to a translator until the day of the trial, he could not prove the misidentification. The hearing was called a mistrial, and even though the police maintained that Lupo and crime boss Giuseppe Morello were directly responsible for the murder of Benedetto Madonia, they only did time for a lesser charge: counterfeiting.

The Barrel Murder and the investigation that followed made Police Commissioner McAdoo and the Board of Aldermen realize the need for judicial diplomats (who spoke the language and its various dialects) into the Italian quarters of the Lower East Side, East Harlem and Brooklyn.