Empire of Sin by Gary Krist Page B

four abreast,” the Daily Item would later report. “The vanguard was composed of the most wealthy and respected citizens of New Orleans. They were followed by honest, hard-working mechanics, tradesmen, and laborers … Here was a body of men on their way to do what the law had failed to do.”
    The mob moved “like a mighty roaring stream” along Canal and then turned right up Rampart toward Congo Square. Along the way, crying women waved handkerchiefs from galleries; shouting men climbed on beer and grocery wagons, on awnings and rooftops, encouraging the marchers forward. Some began chanting, “Who killa de Chief? Who killa de Chief?”—a hateful ethnic taunt that would be flung at the Italians of New Orleans for decades to come. The few policemen in the crowd were driven out of the path under a salvo of stones and clumps of mud.
    The armed men at the head of the procession marched on with almost military discipline. “It was the most terrible thing I ever saw,” Parkerson would later boast to the newspapers, “the quiet determination of the crowd. There was no disorder.” With a Winchester rifle in one hand and a revolver tucked into his pocket, Parkerson led his followers to Congo Square, just one block from the prison. Here he stopped and addressed them again about the grave duty they were about to perform.
    Two municipal detectives left the park and ran ahead to the parish prison to alert Warden Lemuel Davis of the approaching mob. The warden realized that it was too late to move the inmates to another location; he and his men would just have to hold off the mob as best they could. Moving quickly, he ordered that the doors to the prison be barred from the inside. After calling the Central Station with an urgent request for reinforcements, he went to see the prisoners in their cell on the second floor—a large, low-security area called the Star Chamber—where they were waiting for their release. When told of the approaching mob, Joseph Macheca, the most prominent of the prisoners, asked the warden that they all be given arms to defend themselves. Davis refused, but did agree to release them from the cell for their own safety. He sent a guard over to the women’s section of the prison, ordering that the female inmates be moved to allow the Italians to hide there. Then he turned a set of keys over to the prisoners and allowed them to scatter throughout the cavernous building.
    By this time, the mob had reached the front gate of the prison. Officers from the Fourth Precinct station, which shared the same building as the prison, made futile attempts to keep the banquette clear in front of the entrance. One deputy sheriff pushed a man away from the gate, only to have the man silently raise a pistol to his head. “I’ve done all I can,” the officer declared, backing away from the gate with his hands raised.
    Eventually, Parkerson himself stepped up to the iron gate and called out to Warden Davis. He asked that the keys to the gate be turned over, on the authority of the people of New Orleans. Davis refused, and refused again after Parkerson threatened to break down the gate. Frustrated, the lawyer ordered that gunpowder and some stout pieces of wood be found to batter through the gate. He also sent a contingent around to the side of the massive prison, where a far less imposing wooden doorway led from the street to the warden’s private office.
    It was the side door that eventually gave way. Though prison guards had nailed wooden boards across the inside of the door, Parkerson’s men were able to batter it in with cobblestones and railroad ties taken from a nearby construction site. Parkerson stationed several guards at the splintered door while his handpicked squad of executioners entered, leaving everyone else outside. A locked gate still stood between the armed men and their prey inside the prison, but this proved to be just a temporary hindrance. The men quickly broke the padlock and threw the gate