The Library Detective

Stop by any police district during the day shift. It won't take long before a veteran officer blurts out a remark about 'these young coppers nowadays.' The City of Milwaukee established its police force in 1855, four full generations before I was born. By 1875, I would be willing to bet, some crusty constable at day shift roll call probably scoffed about 'these young coppers nowadays.'

In reality, however, each generation of men and women in blue continues to improve. Today's younger officers are substantially more educated than the crew of the day shift at District 5, where I was assigned as a rookie officer in the late 1970s. Each generation of law enforcement improves by coupling new technologies and new techniques with the experiences gleaned from their predecessors.

As generations of detectives pass along, some interesting cases collect dust, and over time, slowly fade from memory. An old episode of the television series Homicide: Life on the Street, entitled Finnegan's Wake, chronicled the story of a young girl murdered in the 1930s. The case investigator, who had long since died, had passed the file to his younger colleague, Detective Tommy Finnegan, who doggedly pursued all leads but never solved the crime. Believing that the killer likely died of old age, Finnegan took the file home when he retired in the 1970s. When a firearm used in the 60 year-old homicide turned-up in a nearby lake, the current generation of Baltimore homicide detectives located their elderly predecessor, who had the reports stashed in his basement.

During my travels, I haven't had the good fortune to speak with a retired homicide detective a generation or two removed from the job. Then last fall, I reviewed The Library Detective -- an essay written by a local high school senior in support of her application to a prestigious private college. During a visit to the Milwaukee Public Library, this young woman stumbled upon the book Strange People, published in 1961 by Frank Edwards. Inside she located The Case of the Psychic Detective; a story based on the predictions of Arthur Price Roberts, a local Milwaukee man with "strange talents."

On October 18, 1935, the 69 year-old Roberts offered this eerie warning to officials from the Milwaukee Police Department (MPD): "Going to be lots of bombings -- dynamitings! I see two blanks blown up and perhaps city hall. Going to blow up police stations. Then there's going to be a big blow-up south of the river and then it'll be over."

Roberts apparently had some creditability, as the MPD's Detective English immediately contacted his supervisors. The department beefed up patrols, but, just six days later, the bombings began. The village hall in the "small, gold coast suburb" of Shorewood became the first target. Then, on October 27, two bombs exploded outside Milwaukee banks. The culprits later detonated several sticks of dynamite on the doorsteps of two Milwaukee police precincts.

Stunned by the accuracy of these predictions, Detective English rushed to find the aging psychic. Roberts provided this final caveat: "On Sunday, November 4th, there'll be a big one south of the Menomonee [River], and that'll be all."

English quickly contacted the department's brass. Officers soon flooded the "Menomonee District" with orders to shoot first and ask questions later. Then, on the afternoon of November 4, a large blast ripped through Milwaukee's south side, the force of which was felt eight miles from its epicenter. Investigators found the body parts of 21 year-old Idzi Rutkowski and 19 year-old Paul Chovonee spread over several blocks after the 50-pound bomb they constructed unexpectedly detonated.

Curious for more details, the high school senior searched the library's newspaper microfiche.

"Federal agents, deputy sheriffs, and all available members of the police force," said an article in the October 28, 1935 edition of the Milwaukee Journal, "joined Monday in a search for the gang of dynamiters..."

In some instances, unfortunately, law enforcement is its own worst enemy. On November 2, 1935, the Milwaukee Sentinel ran the story Path from Crime to Crime Cleared with Siren, suggesting the bombers procured a police cruiser from the parking lot of a suburban police station to escape detection.

The big news came on November 4. Tragically, the blast also killed nine-year-old neighbor Patricia Mynarek, whose bedroom rested "only a few feet adjacent to the decimated garage" occupied by the bomb makers. The Milwaukee Sentinel quickly identified Rutkowski as a leader of a shadowy south side street gang.

The day after the blast, the Milwaukee Journal published a photograph showing scores of well-dressed men with brimmed hats standing three deep on the sidewalk. "Thousands of curious Milwaukee people," the caption reads, "continued Monday to visit the 2100 block of W. Mitchell Street, where a terrific dynamite blast Sunday afternoon wrote the fatal end to the depredations of Idzi Rutkowski, youthful bomber."

Over the course of time, some things never change. Seventy-four years later, south side gang violence is still in the news, and curious gawkers continue to mill around crime scenes. But unlike the detectives from Homicide: Life on the Street, I never had an opportunity to compare death investigation notes with a throw back like Tommy Finnegan or the MPD's Detective English, even though a high school senior's essay made me wish I had.
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Steven Spingola is a former Milwaukee Police Department lieutenant and author of The Killer in Our Midst: the Case of Milwaukee's North Side Strangler.

Copyright, Steven Spingola, Milwaukee, WI 2009