Crowley and his Tweets?
Originally published in the Gainesville Times on September 27, 1988, Prof. Taylor examines the case of a young, sinister criminal called Francis “Two Gun” Crowley. You may glean a few takeaways from this story, but if there’s any one in particular above the rest, it’s that a little love often goes a long way in preventing one’s descent into an evil tragedy.
A transcript follows the column.
TRANSCRIPT:
A violent man tamed by a bird
If you believe the old West is gone forever, spend an evening reminiscing with ancient reporters and police officers. They’ll tell you the story of Billy the Kid in modern America.
In 1921, a 10-year-old boy, deserted by his mother on the streets of New York City, was picked up by the police and taken to a “foundling” home. For two years, he lived there until adopted by an older woman. The kid’s name was Francis Crowley, and he was to become the 20th century’s counterpart of Billy the Kid — outlaw.
Working hard at various jobs from the time he was 12, Crowley soon became a street urchin, wise in the ways of surviving in depression-weary New York. But his method of surviving was at the expense of others, because Crowley soon turned to violent crime as a way of life. His first big job was a bank robbery where Crowley shot up the interior and attempted to shoot several of the employees. He soon robbed a small store and shot the owner, apparently for no reason other than the thrill of violence. He soon murdered Virginia Bramer, a dance hall hostess who refused him a partnership in her hall.
But the most brutal killing engineered by Crowley, was the murder of Frederick Hirsch, a Long Island police officer.
By then, newspapers all over New York had labeled the slightly built 19-year-old as “Two Gun” Crowley, and his legend began to build as a massive manhunt spread throughout the city.
On May 7, 1931, Crowley, his 16-year-old girlfriend and partner Rudolph Duringer, were surrounded and trapped in a small apartment on West 90th Street. Three hundred police officers and more than 15,000 bystanders crowded around the building as the most savage gun battle in New York’s history began.
True to his name, Crowley raced from window to window, firing two revolvers and throwing back tear gas canisters lobbed by police. Several bystanders were overcome by gas, then the battle settled into a vicious exchange of bullets. More than 700 rounds were fired by the officers, blasting away mortar from the front of the building. Those who witnessed the battle said Dodge City could not have been worse.
Shot four times and weakened by loss of blood and the tear gas, Crowley was finally arrested when a tough squad of policemen smashed through his front door.
He wasted no time in bragging about the incident, joking with reporters, lawyers and the judge. But veteran officers noticed that something was different about Crowley — he seemed to enjoy smashing and killing. When sentenced to death in Sing Sing, Crowley tried several times to escape, assaulting and injuring three guards.
Then one day, a small starling flew into Crowley’s cell and ate from a pile of bread crumbs. As Crowley began to feed the bird daily, Warden Lewis E. Lawes noticed a change in the violent young man. No longer wanting to smash and kill, Crowley was seen for what he was — a pathetic orphan with the mental capacity of a 10-year-old boy.
When he was executed a few months later, all the violence seemed to have left Crowley. As they placed the hood over his head, he said simply, “Give my love to mother.” No one seemed to know who she was.
Do you suppose William Bonney would have?
-Alex Taylor’s column on history and criminology appears in The Times on Tuesdays.
