In the winter of 1933, the empty store stayed dark all day, dusty wooden crates piled high behind the windows. But if you lived close by, you knew that the door opened at night and that behind the stacked boxes was a bare-bones little speakeasy, a sofa, four tables, a plywood bar along the back wall, a fair supply of bootlegged whiskey, and a bartender who slept it off at night on the sofa.
If only one of them had a wealthy relative or, barring that, a sick one with a good insurance policy. The right kind of dead family member would have really come in handy right then. Too bad none of them had an expendable relative. But perhaps, Marino suggested, they could create one — someone no one would miss, someone hardly worth keeping alive anyway.
The conspirators in the Malloy scheme finalized their plans in January of 1933, clustered around a table at that no-name speakeasy. They persuaded their amiable victim to pose as the brother of bartender Red Murphy – in exchange for free whiskey. They took out two insurance policies with a combined payout of $1,800, big money in the breadline days.
In addition to Murphy, the others in the oddly assembled plot included Marino, a fruit vendor named Daniel Kriesberg, and Frank Pasqua, an increasingly money-strapped funeral home director. Their initial idea was simple. Prohibition was still in effect, and New York City was awash in poison alcohol, the product of shoddy home brews, government efforts to contaminate the liquor supply as an enforcement tool, and bootlegger concoctions. They would provide Malloy with a generous allotment of bad alcohol and watch him go down to the floor, just another victim of the speakeasy life.
A frustrated month later, the conspirators had yet another plan. They waited one night until he passed out, carried him to a park bench on a freezing February night and poured water on him. He didn’t even wake up during the soaking. But he was back next night without so much as catching a cold. Finally, the exasperated would-be killers bribed a cab driver to run over Malloy in a nearby street. And – just their luck – a policeman found him after the accident and took the battered victim to a hospital. Malloy was back in the bar, bragging about a broken collar bone, asking for a drink, a few weeks later.It wasn’t until the end of February that they found the right weapon. Two of the men rented a room in an old boarding house with gas lighting. Once Malloy was again good and drunk, they hauled him there, connected a hose to the gas valve, ran it into the old man’s mouth. The illuminating gas was dense with that lethal poison, carbon monoxide. This time, Malloy barely lasted ten minutes.
The conspirators got the body buried quickly, quickly went to collect their payout. But unfortunately – at least for them – the story of the indestructible Malloy was too good to stay secret. It started circulating in other bars, making its way round other card games, until the Bronx police picked the rumors and, skeptically at first, began an investigation.
Both the cab driver and the physician made deals and testified for the prosecution. And Murphy, Marino, Kriesberg and Pasqua all went to the electric chair in the summer of 1934. A reporter for the now-vanished New York Daily Mirror recorded the execution in a grim staccato: “The kw-e-e- of the dynamo. Two thousand volts and ten amperes. The rip-saw current that tears one apart. Three shocks.” It was, he wrote, “the State’s toast to old ‘Mike the Durable’.”
An absolutely fascinating read, Deborah. I used to be completely obsessed with the true crime genre – it was actually the type of reading that got me hooked into books as a kid. While my friends (of those who read books) liked Stephen King’s creepy stories, I was always more fascinated with real monsters: Charles Manson, Jack the Ripper, Paul Bernadro, Ted Bundy, etc. Not surprisingly, my parents were a bit concerned about me during this stage. Reading this post just reinforces the notion that true stories can often be more ‘out-of-this-world’ than fictional ones. Great work.
This made me laugh, Peter, because my high school age son is absolutely fascinated by serial killers, right down to ones like Albert Fish, the Brooklyn Vampire. Of course, when he’s not reading up on serial killers he’s deep into computer animation. Probably not a bad match.
After Norris and Gettler, obviously, Indestructo-Man was my favorite character. This story alone should get those few holdouts to buy your book. Definitely the treat of my summer and something even my crime story-fixated 8 y.o. daughter loved.
I can’t imagine the magnitude of work it took to comb through archives and medical reports to bring this story to life for us but I am SO glad you did.
If you ever get a chance, I think readers might be interested to know just how much work it takes to bring each of these brilliant historical narratives to us. I’m getting allergies just thinking of the primary sources you had to go through to write this story alone.
I should write about all the work it takes to resurrect a really vanished scientist. I think that’s one of the things I’m proudest of about the book that I was able to remind people that these forgotten men, Norris and Gettler, were such dedicated public health researchers and that they really did make a difference.
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This post inspires me to read your book.
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I just stumbled across your website, which is a coincidence because I just bought the Poisoner’s Handbook three days ago.
The Mike the Durable story I have heard before…it appeared in a Readers’ Digest magazine, probably back in the 70s. It made such an impression on me I never forgot it. I imagine your book will have other similar stories in it, and I’m quite looking forward to having my impressionable self impressed once again.
And done. Read it in two sittings…had a hard time putting it down. Very enjoyable, thanks.
Thanks so much, Daniel. You made the author’s day!
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