Terror In Ypsilanti Gets Second Wind

Seven months ago, I shelved my promotions for my previous books to concentrate on my current project about Detroit's Purple Gang. Then last week, I received a Canadian media company's inquiry about purchasing a two-year option for the audiovisual rights to develop Terror In Ypsilanti and promote a movie or cable series. No guarantees of course, but the executives at Big Coat Media are optimistic they can market a film project based on my true crime book--especially after the 2019 Netflix success of Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil, and Vile starring Zac Effron as Ted Bundy.

The antagonist in my true crime Terror In Ypsilanti is Michigan serial killer John Norman Collins. Collins would be better known nationally if it wasn't for Charles Manson and his Family. One week into Collins's trial, the Helter Skelter murders blazed across the headlines drawing the national and international press to the Hollywood Hills leaving the Collins case in obscurity.

In 2013, Investigation Discovery produced a documentary for their Crimes to Remember series entitled "A New Kind of Monster." At the time, the working title of my book was The Rainy Day Murders. Before publication, I changed the title to Terror In Ypsilanti: John Norman Collins Unmasked. Collins was convicted for the murder of Karen Sue Beineman, which became the focus of I.D.'s program. But there were six other Collins murders he was never tried for. These brutal murders reveal his demoniacal contempt for women.

For three summers between 1967 until 1969, Collins stalked the college towns of Ypsilanti and Ann Arbor, Michigan creating terror among their residents and taking great satisfaction in taunting the Washtenaw County sheriff and the local police.

I'm hoping this Canadian media opportunity reinvigorates the story and gives viewers a broader understanding of the crimes of John Norman Collins against seven young women who had the grim misfortune to cross his path.

Crimes to Remember "A New Kind of Monster"

Lutes Casino, Yuma, Arizona

When I drive to Tucson from San Diego, I always stop in Yuma at Lutes Casino just across the California and Arizona state line--the Colorado River. Lutes is one of the premier dive restaurants in the United States. Despite its name, the only gambling that goes on is the sale of Arizona lottery tickets. The building was constructed in 1901 as a dry goods store called The New York Store. In 1920, a pool hall moved into the building, and Lutes still has pool tables making it the longest operating pool hall in Arizona. The restaurant/bar specializes in basic American bar food--nothing fancy but always good.

Robert Henry (R.H.) Lutes acquired the business in 1944 as payment for a $10,000 debt. The sixty-eight-year-old Arizona landmark has the look, feel, and smell of an old-time saloon because that's what it is. The twelve-foot-high walls are festooned with old movie posters and photographs of Hollywood icons and vintage neon signs. Lutes displays the most eclectic collection of what-nots on every available surface. The ceiling is hung with all sorts of oddities. The chotchkies are less a collection than an eye-popping assault on the senses. One wall has pinball machines and modern coin operated games, and the pool tables are at the back. The place is also a domino parlor.

Before R.H. Lutes became a casino/restaurant owner, he was Yuma's Justice of the Peace and coroner. R.H. is said to have married 18,000 people and buried 905. He was Justice of the Peace until 1952. In the 1930s, he opened the Gretna Green Wedding Chapel named after a famous Scottish marriage destination.
During the war years, he married many military personnel. Prior to 1957, Arizona did not require a blood test or a three-day waiting period. In Yuma's marriage mill heyday, there were a dozen wedding chapels.

Yuma became a favorite wedding destination for many of Hollywood's famous 1930s and 1940s actors and actresses. Most of the celebrities simply wanted to escape publicity and the studio spotlight--people like Constance Bennett, Charlie Chaplin, John Barrymore, Claudette Colbert, Gilbert Roland, Franchot Tone, Victor Mature, Charles Boyer, Alice Faye, Tony Martin, Bette Davis, Loretta Young, Buster Crabbe, Gloria Swanson, Mary Astor, and studio mogul Louis B. Mayer.

When blood tests eventually were required in Arizona, Lutes opened a serology lab run by his son Bill, who was a graduate of University of Arizona in biological sciences. If a groom or bride tested positive for disease, the law stated that if the infected party was undergoing treatment, he or she could still be married. "Cupid with a Hypodermic"--Dr. Roy R. Knotts--would give the infected person a shot so the couple could marry. The year before the blood test was required, the Yuma county clerk issued 18,000 marriage licenses. The following year, the figure dropped to 2,000.

Not every Hollywood movie star got married in Yuma to escape the press. Western movie star Tom Mix and his co-star Mabel Ward were married on the steps of the Yuma County Courthouse before 3,000 guests--memorialized by Yuma Daily Sun photographer Bob Werley.

 
Ghost Adventures in Lutes Casino on Travel Channel

Literary Classics: Author Gregory A. Fournier on his award-winning bo...

Literary Classics interviewed me a couple of months ago in concert with my Gold Medal award in their 2018 crime category for The Richard Streicher Jr, Murder: Ypsilanti's Depot Town Mystery.

Looking forward to the awards ceremony in Rapid City, South Dakota this May--especially a tour of Mt. Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Memorial. Many thanks.

Author interview: Literary Classics: Author Gregory A. Fournier on his award-winning bo...:

Detroit's Edgewater Park--A Fading Memory

Pay-One-Price Ticket

The Rouge River ran behind Edgewater Park--a twenty-acre amusement park on the West Side of Detroit. The park opened in 1927 on West 7 Mile Road and Grand River--just in time for Depression and World War II generations to escape the dire headlines while having some fun and diversion during hard times. 

Throughout the 1950s and 1960s--my era--the amusement park was one of the most popular recreation spots in the Detroit area. When we were kids, my parents took us to the park every year or so, but when my friends and I started to drive, Edgewater park was a regular after dark destination. We drove north up Telegraph Road from Dearborn Heights. It took no time at all to get to this oasis of affordable amusement and cheap thrills.

Popular rides and attractions were the one-hundred and ten foot tall Ferris Wheel with its great neon lighting effect at night, the Wild Mouse that would give riders whiplash, the always popular Dodge-Em cars, the reality-altering Hall of Mirrors, and the Fun House where many a male got to first base for the first time.

Clicking and clacking before The Beast's first drop.

Edgewater Park's premiere ride was a wooden roller coaster named "The Wild Beast." During the days of Pay-One-Price admission, some riders would see how many consecutive times they could ride The Beast in a day. I remember riding it seventeen times and having bruises all over my body afterward. One person claims to have ridden it twenty-seven times in one day, but I'm not certain how many of those rides were pre- or post- mortem. He must have worn protective clothing. The real record is lost to history.

In the 1960s, the Teen Scene became a popular weekend spot. Admission to the park and the concert were included in the ticket price. Popular Motown groups often appeared at the park--as did the likes of Del Shannon and David Cassidy. Corn dogs, Coney dogs, cotton candy, and real French fries with malt vinegar drew teens to the park in huge numbers.

Roller Coaster Ruins

Declining revenues and competition from modern steel roller coaster amusement parks like Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio proved to be more than the old park could handle. The last click of the turnstile was on September 13, 1981. The park operated for fifty-four years, but little is known of its history. Today, the site is home to the Greater Grace Temple.

Photos of Edgewater Park: http://photos.metrotimes.com/15-nostalgic-photos-of-detroits-old-edgewater-amusement-park/#16

Vernor's Gnome Found

The Vernor's gnome--created by artist Noble Fellows--is one of Detroit's beloved corporate mascots. In the 1970s, the company ran a Gname the Gnome contest. The chosen name--Jerome the Gnome--happily never caught on. The Gnome was forced into an early severance program in the 1980s. The bearded man in the green hat faded from sight until the Dr. Pepper-Snapple Beverage Group--present brand owners--brought the logo out of retirement in 2002. They renamed the gnome Woody. That didn't catch on any better than Jerome. Most people call him the Vernor's Gnome.

In case you aren't from Detroit and don't know what Vernor's is, I'll try to describe it for you. Vernor's is a mildly sweet, highly carbonated ginger-flavored soda, with a touch of caramel for golden color and a kiss of vanilla for flavor and bouquet. Warm Vernor's was grandma's remedy for upset stomach or nasal congestion. It is a great hydrating fluid.

In summer, few things go down better on a hot day than a Boston Cooler--ice cold Vernor's blended with vanilla ice cream thin enough to draw easily up a straw. Cafe D'Mongo's Speakeasy on Griswald Street in Downtown Detroit combines Vernor's with Royal Crown and bitters and calls it a Detroit Brown.

A friend of mine--Renee Reilly Menard--from my Allen Park High School days--was going through a box she hadn't opened for many years and found a Vernor's Gnome mascot plush toy from the 1960s in its original packaging. Renee's father worked for Vernor's and brought the plush doll home one day. This stuffed mascot was a point-of-sale promotional item. At some point, it was thrown into a box and forgotten about.

Renee entrusted me with it. I'm tempted to tear open the sealed plastic bag and enjoy the gnome in the moment, but it's rare. I'm thinking it belongs in the Detroit Historical Museum so more people can enjoy seeing it too.
 

The label reads: Canasia Toys & Gifts Inc, Downsview, Ontario, Made in Korea.

Vernor's Ginger Ale Story: https://fornology.blogspot.com/2014/09/detroits-liquid-gold-vernors-ginger-ale.html

Detroit's Numbers Racket

Today's state run lotteries are first cousins to the illegal policy rackets of the early twentieth century--known by players as the numbers game. Curious how things once illegal become legal when the government gets involved. The grass-roots game had much better odds but much lower payouts than today's state-run lotteries. To win, a player needed to match only three numbers rather than the six or seven used today with astronomical odds against winning. Then as now, some of the most avid players were the people who could least afford it.

Beginning in the 1920s, the Purple Gang-controlled numbers game in Detroit was a profitable money machine for the Bernstein Brothers and their associates who were many. Numbers runners, bag men, and accountants kept the money flowing. There was a fortune to be made from the pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, and dollars of working-class immigrants--particularly Italians, Jews, and the Irish. Members of Detroit's black community developed into major players in the innercity numbers racket where the game was popular.

Many people made tax-free extra bucks running numbers. Seemed like everybody had a favorite number or several numbers they played daily if they had some small change. Playing was convenient, bets could be taken over the phone. People could also place more costly combination bets of any permutation of their three numbers. For example, 127 could win with 127, 172, 217, 271, 712, and 721. Every place where liquor or soda pop was consumed became a numbers drop. Every grocery store, barber shop, beauty shop, candy store, and virtually every business within a runners assigned territory was a potential numbers drop. The more money a numbers runner collected, the more money he or she made. 

The numbers game appealed to people who were not habitues of the “high-class” gambling establishments of Detroit’s high rollers, social climbers, and underworld figures that mingled nightly with unsettling familiarity. The urge to gamble was not limited to the well-heeled public and wealthy industrialists. Everyday people wanted to place bets. If they couldn’t afford to chase Dame Fortune, they were content to wink at Lady Luck.

Spare change and small bills made up the bulk of the daily take. The game was easy to play—pick three numbers ranging from 000 to 999 and wait for the daily winning number. Players placed bets with a numbers runner who collected the money and recorded the bets in a handbook with the bettor’s name and date written in. A receipt with a serial number printed at the bottom was given to the bettor to prove he or she placed the bet in the event they won. A more sophisticated version of the game we known as Keno had greater payouts but greater odds.

The odds for the basic game were one in a thousand. If you were the only person to hit that number that day, your payoff could be 600 to 1, otherwise the jackpot was split among the winners. Bagmen collected the money from the runners and took it to a central location called a numbers bank where a group of accountants processed the bets, counted the money, and passed it on to a central drop at a secret location.

At first, the numbers were drawn from numbered balls in a ball cage or three spins of a wheel of fortune. These methods could be manipulated and soon fell out of favor. Players wanted three numbers that were certified random. Bernstein’s game used the last three numbers of the United States Treasury Department balance which was printed daily in the business section of newspapers. When the Treasury Department began to round off their numbers—so they wouldn’t be a party to illegal gambling schemes—the three last digits of the number of shares traded on the New York Stock Exchange became the daily winning number. That number was found conveniently in the daily papers. Choosing today's lotto number picks have gone back to the numbered-ball drops which are televised to prevent fraud.

Accounting books seized by treasury agents in a 1940 raid of a Paradise Valley numbers drop revealed as many as 6,000 men and women were employed by Detroit numbers operators. The average payout was 16% of the take divided among the winners. The number runners who took the bets filled out the betting slips and got 25% of their daily take. The bagmen who collected the money and betting slips from the bookies took them to a secret central location. They made 10% of what they brought in. Finally, the promoters took 49% for themselves and their overhead. All of those accountants needed to be paid—not to mention the occasional bail bondsman.

Because of the large territories where the game was played, the profits were huge. But this scheme was not without its dark side. Anyone skimming money off the top, holding out on winners, compromising the operation, or attracting unwanted attention from the authorities would be quickly eliminated.

Link to the wine brick racket: https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7073297057923413840#editor/target=post;postID=2979020335839039617;onPublishedMenu=postsstats;onClosedMenu=postsstats;postNum=5;src=postname

The Elusive Purple Gang

Purple Gang lineup in 13th Precinct--the Canfield Street station.

Since May 2018, I've been researching Detroit's Prohibition-era kingpins--the Purple Gang--for an untitled book I'm writing. As helpful as the Midtown Detroit Public Library Burton Historical Collection and the Walter Reuther Library were to my early research, a couple of trips to the Windsor, Ontario Library, Biblioasis bookstore, and landmarks where the liquor trade flourished were information-rich finds. Seems like the Canadians have done a better job documenting their Prohibition history than Americans have.

One thing I've learned is that Al Capone had more to do with smuggling on both sides of the international border than most people realize. He was the larger than life figure who defined the Big City gang boss. Capone ruled from Chicago and his organization financed affiliates in Detroit, St. Louis, Kansas City, and Cleveland.

Rather than muscle in on the Purple Gang's Detroit territory, Capone cut a fat deal with the gang to take all the uncut liquor they could hijack or smuggle across the Detroit River. The Purples were not the only gang in the liquor acquisition business. They competed with the Italian Dago Mob to the east and the Italian Moustache Pete's to the west for control of the illegal booze business. The Jewish Purple Gang worked with anybody who could help them make money. They worked with members of both gangs and acted as a buffer between them until the 1931s.

Some background reading.

In addition to reading books on the various aspects of the liquor trade and scouring the Internet for information, my most fertile area for details on the gang is coming from Newspapers.com. The site carries Detroit Free Press archives dating to the nineteenth-century. Patient navigating brings up the original headlines and articles. The gang's bloody history reported on by the yellow press of the time is well-known--their arrest records, acquittals, convictions, murders, and assaults. What isn't known is much about their personal lives.

Tommy's Bar 1928 Purple Gang roundup at the height of their power.

I'm struggling to find out some factual information about gang members families. Obtaining death certificates should be routine, but these are proving difficult to get. Purple Gang members I'd like to know more about are the Bernstein brothers Abe, Ray, Joe, and Isadore; the Keywells Harry and Phil; Harry Millman; Irving Milberg; Abe Axler and Eddie Fletcher. If any of these wise guys have relatives with some basic information, contact me at www.gregoryafournier@gmail.com. I want to portray them as accurately as possible.

Right now, I'm most interested in Joe Bernstein's wife. One source says she was Marguerite Ball--a dancer with the George White Follies based in Chicago. Ancestry.com disputes this. She may be the Yoko Ono of this story. After her husband took a slug in the spleen in 1930, she gave him an ultimatum, "Either the gang or me." I know there is more to that story than is readily apparent.

The Purple Gang members were real people beyond the headlines but little documentation is available. I have two theories why so little personal information is available about these "well-known" underworld figures. The first and most obvious reason is they fiercely protected their wives and kids and kept them out of the public eye. Reporters who harassed or threatened the security of family members soon felt the wrath of a gang inspired beating. My other theory is that their Jewish families were ashamed and embarrassed by their hoodlum sons. Photos and other memorabilia must exist, but they are surely closely guarded family artifacts. After eighty years, it would be wonderful if some of that history were preserved and shared.

Tough street kids with a rifle.

Many immigrant children from Detroit's lower east side worked as hard as their parents to rise above poverty and squalor to become doctors, lawyers, teachers, nurses, rabbis, priests, policemen, firemen, and tradesmen. But others were too smart for that. These boys saw how tough life was for their struggling immigrant parents. They wanted to short-circuit the system and snatch the American Dream rather than work a real job. The Purple Gang developed into one of the most feared, wealthy, and successful crime organizations in the country. They were the only Jewish gang in the country who dominated a large American city. But in time, most of the gang members pushed their luck and ended up in either prison or the cemetery. By the mid-thirties--after a bloody Italian mob war--the Mafia consolidated and took over the Detroit underworld. The Purple Gang was finished as an organization.

I'm surprised how many Detroiters have never heard of the Purple Gang. There are some people who maintain there never was a Purple Gang--that they were only a media creation of the yellow press looking for headlines. Back in the day, whenever alleged Purples were questioned by police about the gang, their answer was always the same, "The Purple Gang? Never heard of them." One thing is for certain, every one of them broke their mother's heart.


The Las Vegas Mob Museum: https://fornology.blogspot.com/2018/11/las-vegas-mob-museum.html