City of Scoundrels: The 12 Days of Disaster That Gave Birth to Modern Chicago by Gary Krist
Authors: Gary Krist
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Dill Robertson rushed to the collector’s office. They, too, were unable to identify the victim bysight, but a key ring in a trouser pocket established his identity. It was Judge Harry P. Dolan, an associate justice of the Municipal Court.
When word reached the eleventh floor, the judge’s coworkers were incredulous. “I went to the judge’s courtroom shortly after noon to get him to go over to the Illinois Athletic Club with me,” attorney Eugene O’Reilly later said. “He was on the bench when I entered, but he beckoned me to come up, and he asked me what I wanted. I told him and he said, ‘No, I don’t think I can go over. You’d better go yourself.’ ”
O’Reilly decided to wait for the judge anyway. He sat in the courtroom while Dolan finished his case—that of two boys accused of stealing and then wrecking an automobile. After letting the boys off easily, as was his wont, the judge went to his chambers, presumably to take care of a few last details before joining O’Reilly for lunch at the club. But he didn’t come out for some time.
“After a few minutes, I and the bailiff decided we would go in and see what was detaining the judge,” O’Reilly said. “The room was empty. He had taken off his coat and left it on the coat tree. His white Panama hat and $50 were on the table.”
At first, no one could believe that the fall was a suicide. Friends and associates discounted the witnesses’ statement that the judge had paused on the ledge and voluntarily jumped. They claimed instead that he had probably been overcome by the heat and fainted while standing at the window. Judge Dolan, they pointed out, was a highly regarded jurist in the Municipal Court, “a sort of father to the boys of Chicago” who had been prominent in the fight to reform the court’s handling of youthful offenders. “I can account for no reason for this act,” one person close to him said afterward.
But as other information emerged, it began to look more likely that Dolan was a suicide. Back in April, the judge had suffered a nervous breakdown, apparently as a result of an attack of Spanish influenza. At the time, he had allegedly remarked to friends that he “saw nothing more in life to live for.” But a two-month stay ata Wisconsin sanitarium had restored him to good health. In June, he had apparently felt well enough to play catcher for the judges’ team in the annual Judges vs. Lawyers charity baseball game, raising money for the Tribune ’s Algonquin Hospital fund (Clarence Darrow played first base for the lawyers, with State’s Attorney Hoyne on third). His friends believed that he had completely recovered. “He seemed jolly and carefree,” O’Reilly insisted. 14
For most Chicagoans, then, the judge’s suicide was just one more mystery, one more ghastly and inexplicable tragedy to augment the already pervasive sense of chaos in the city. Something seemed fundamentally wrong, and who was working to steer Chicago through this crisis? The mayor was absent, the police appeared helpless, even the governor seemed incapable of taming the disorder. And now the city’s distinguished judges were jumping out of downtown windows. This was supposed to be “Chicago’s greatest year,” and yet the city now seemed in danger of spinning entirely out of control.
At 4 p.m., temperatures peaked at ninety-five degrees, with more heat forecast for the next few days. The early editions of the evening newspapers were just hitting the streets, and they contained more bad news about the transit negotiations. Fed up with what they called a “gross breach of confidence” on the part of the car companies, the unions had bolted from the official talks that afternoon. “Negotiations are over,” the president of the streetcar employees had declared, backed up by six other union leaders. “We are going into conference now to draw up a statement explaining our position.”
The Evening Post was fatalistic: “Chicago is in for a
When word reached the eleventh floor, the judge’s coworkers were incredulous. “I went to the judge’s courtroom shortly after noon to get him to go over to the Illinois Athletic Club with me,” attorney Eugene O’Reilly later said. “He was on the bench when I entered, but he beckoned me to come up, and he asked me what I wanted. I told him and he said, ‘No, I don’t think I can go over. You’d better go yourself.’ ”
O’Reilly decided to wait for the judge anyway. He sat in the courtroom while Dolan finished his case—that of two boys accused of stealing and then wrecking an automobile. After letting the boys off easily, as was his wont, the judge went to his chambers, presumably to take care of a few last details before joining O’Reilly for lunch at the club. But he didn’t come out for some time.
“After a few minutes, I and the bailiff decided we would go in and see what was detaining the judge,” O’Reilly said. “The room was empty. He had taken off his coat and left it on the coat tree. His white Panama hat and $50 were on the table.”
At first, no one could believe that the fall was a suicide. Friends and associates discounted the witnesses’ statement that the judge had paused on the ledge and voluntarily jumped. They claimed instead that he had probably been overcome by the heat and fainted while standing at the window. Judge Dolan, they pointed out, was a highly regarded jurist in the Municipal Court, “a sort of father to the boys of Chicago” who had been prominent in the fight to reform the court’s handling of youthful offenders. “I can account for no reason for this act,” one person close to him said afterward.
But as other information emerged, it began to look more likely that Dolan was a suicide. Back in April, the judge had suffered a nervous breakdown, apparently as a result of an attack of Spanish influenza. At the time, he had allegedly remarked to friends that he “saw nothing more in life to live for.” But a two-month stay ata Wisconsin sanitarium had restored him to good health. In June, he had apparently felt well enough to play catcher for the judges’ team in the annual Judges vs. Lawyers charity baseball game, raising money for the Tribune ’s Algonquin Hospital fund (Clarence Darrow played first base for the lawyers, with State’s Attorney Hoyne on third). His friends believed that he had completely recovered. “He seemed jolly and carefree,” O’Reilly insisted. 14
For most Chicagoans, then, the judge’s suicide was just one more mystery, one more ghastly and inexplicable tragedy to augment the already pervasive sense of chaos in the city. Something seemed fundamentally wrong, and who was working to steer Chicago through this crisis? The mayor was absent, the police appeared helpless, even the governor seemed incapable of taming the disorder. And now the city’s distinguished judges were jumping out of downtown windows. This was supposed to be “Chicago’s greatest year,” and yet the city now seemed in danger of spinning entirely out of control.
At 4 p.m., temperatures peaked at ninety-five degrees, with more heat forecast for the next few days. The early editions of the evening newspapers were just hitting the streets, and they contained more bad news about the transit negotiations. Fed up with what they called a “gross breach of confidence” on the part of the car companies, the unions had bolted from the official talks that afternoon. “Negotiations are over,” the president of the streetcar employees had declared, backed up by six other union leaders. “We are going into conference now to draw up a statement explaining our position.”
The Evening Post was fatalistic: “Chicago is in for a
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