American Gangsters Footnotes: Stephanie St Clair; the Black lady gangster

 Gang leaders of the Prohibition era are ususally seen as being White males, mostly Sicilian; which is perhaps why Stephanie St. Clair, the Black female gangster of Harlem, has been largely forgotten. But in her time she was able to rank with some of the most notorious organised crime leaders of New York.

  Details of Stephanie St. Clair's early life are obscure: she seems to have been born in 1897 in Guadaloup, a French-speaking island in the West Indies, and to have come to Harlem, the Black district of Manhatten, around 1911. She first became noticed in the Prohibition era after the First World War, when organised crime flourished throughout New York and other cities.

 The "Numbers" racket, a kind of illegal lottery, was especially popular in the New York Black community. But even when honestly conducted it was a very dangerous game, involving collecting and distributing money under constant threat from thieves, while the immense profits to be made inevitably attracted both of the men of violence and the deeply corrupt New York police. 

By the late 1920s, St. Clair had acquired sufficient money and power to set up her own "policy shop": that is, her own Numbers operation, and emerged as a major force in Harlem. She used Ellsworth "Bumpy" Johnson as her enforcer and right-hand man, and they built up a team that was prepared to take on any challengers on their home turf. She was described as "arrogant, educated, sophisticated, with a fiery temper", and she was also completely without fear; but she knew that more than the threat of violence was needed. She understood the importance of "image", so she always appeared in public dressed in the height of elegance, with expensive furs and jewellery, as she paraded with her bodyguards round the streets of Harlem. She was nicknamed "Madam Stephanie" or even "Queen Stephanie". She also used local newspapers to boost her role as a spokesperson for the Black community, denouncing police corruption and racism. When in 1929 she was arrested, she complained about the unfairness of the proceedings, saying that she had always been careful to pay off the police!

After the ending of Prohibition on 1933, the gangsters looked around for alternative sources of income, and St.Clair's success in Harlem, making around a quarter of a million dollars a year, attracted the attention of Dutch Schultz. "The beer baron of the Bronx", as he was styled, was exceptionally violent even by New York crime standards, and headed a much-feared gang of Jewish gunmen. Schultz had his own Numbers racket, and now tried to muscle in on St. Clair's territory. Soon all-out war erupted on the streets of Harlem, with shootings and firebombings in which over 40 people were killed. Stephanie St. Clair stood her ground. "What kind of man would desert a lady in a fight?" she challenged her friends. She spread the slogan "Buy Black!" in the Harlem press and launched attacks on White-owned stores that traded with Schultz. The war only ended when the leaders of the New York crime combine (Lucky Luciano, Meyer Lansky, Lepke Buchalter and others) decided that Schultz was a dangerous loose cannon who must be eliminated. In October 1935 Schultz and his gang were gunned down in a Newark restaurant by two Jewish hitmen. As Schultx lay dying in hospital, St. Clair sent him a telegram reading, "As you sow, so shall you reap." But soon after this, St. Clair handed her operation over to Bumpy Johnson and retired from the rackets.

The rest of her life was less successful. She had a disastrous marriage with Eugene Brown, a flamboyant but unreliable Black activist who called himself "Sufi Abdul Hamid" and was nicknamed "the Black Hitler" for his violent antisemitic rants. After three years of marriage, St. Clair was so enraged by his infidelities that she shot and wounded him, for which she was convicted and imprisoned. 

After the war, she lived in obscurity, and was thought to be seriously short of money. She was reunited with Bumpy Johnson, who lived with her until his death in 1968, and she herself died next year, aged 72. So, as with most leading gangsters, Stephanie St. Clair's career at the top was brief, but, unlike most of them, she died peacefully of old age at home. 

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Footnote: Most of these details are taken from "The world of Stephanie St. Clair", by Shirley Stewart.

The aged Black madwoman in the film "Come back, Charleston Blue" is loosely based on Stephanie St. Clair after the  Second World War

Security, and how to get past it

Tight security is a very serious matter nowadays, guards are everywhere, and sporting events, which are my chief interest, can be hard to penetrate. Nevertheless, I have had a few successes, mostly dating from the time when I followed gymnastics events.

The key to walking past security guards is an air of self-confidence, as if you had every right to be there. You might give the guards a friendly nod, as if you had already met them. Wearing a lanyard round your neck always helps, especially if it bears your photograph. I have a useful one that simply says, "Volunteer", and could mean anything. If the lanyard has no revelance to the situation in question, turn it back to front so that it displays the blank side. I remember an ingenious lady at a gymnastics tournament in France, who found that the official lanyard hung from a multicoloured piece of string. She bought an identical piece of string and stuck the ends of it down inside her blouse. She was never challenged to display it. At another tournament, a Belgian friend had a sort of tabard which admitted him to the press photographers' area. He lent it to me for the events that didn't interest him.

The choice of clothing is important (also, see later). It is best to dress respectably, conservatively, if in doubt. A blazer with an official-looking badge would serve well. An old colleague of mine possessed an M.C.C. tie with the distictive stripes, which he had bought in a jumble sale. To my mind, he did not not make sufficient use of the opportunities it offered.

Rather than wait to be challenged by a guard, ask him for help. If you happen to know the name of some official who will be there, ask where to find him. It would help if you carry a bundle of  bundle of papers and look harrassed. As an alternative strategy, I once gained admission the the teams' hotel by asking to see a journalist who was staying there, and whom I hoped would remember me; which he did.   

But never argue with security guards. If challenged, apologise: say that you've never been there before and don't know your way around. At my time of life, I can plead old age and incompetence - or, for that matter, incontinence: begging the need to find a toilet sometimes works. I once gained early admission to the old Wembley Pool when several eminent press photographers had been turned away, by pleading the urgent need for a lavatory.

My father, who was a civil engineer, reckoned he could gain admission anywhere that building work or repairs were taking place if he carried a rolled-up blueprint. These days, wearing a high-viz jacket would probably work, especially if also wearing a safety helmet. A schoolfriend who became an accountant suggested that announcing, "I'm from Peat Marwick and I've come to audit the VAT." would admit him anywhere. Indeed, he said, early in his career he and another young accountant had spent an enire morning examining the books of a company in Birmingham before it dawned on them that they'd come to the wrong firm!

So, bluff you way in! You've nothing to lose, and it may work!  

Cricket: a day with the women cricketers at Edgbaston

Saturday April 11th marked the start of the Women's Metro One-Day Cup, with a match between Warwickshire and Surrey. Since I have been interested in the women's game ever since my (entirely unqualified, but most enjoyable) stint as master i/c girls' cricket at Wellington College, I decided to venture down to Edgbaston to see the day's play. There was hardly anyone else about, probably linked with the fact that it was Grand National day. 

It was always likely to be a hgh-scoring match, because there was a very short boundary square with the wicket, where building work was under way behind a low fence. A considerable number of balls were lost there during the course of the match. And it proved to be a real runfest, with over 700 runs scored and with 18 wickets falling during the day!

The visitors batted first, and soon found themselves in a tricky position at 95 for 4, with two of their England stars, Sophia Dunkley and Alice Capsey, both out; but at this point Danni Wyatt-Hodge, who had been held back to number 6, entered and proceeded to smash 124 off just 80 balls, including 8 sixes. She shared in a century partnership with Alice Davidson-Richards, and then another big stand with Jemima Spence, a teenage kid whom I didn't know but who looked very good scoring a half-century. The innings ended at 389 for 9. Since Danni Wyatt-Hodge has long been one of my great sporting heroines, I was thrilled to be there watching her.

When Warwickshire batted, Tilly Corteen-Coleman opened the bowling with slow left-arm spinners, and did very well, taking 3 wickets for 43 runs in ten overs. The home team never looked like winning, but an aggressive 90 late in the day from Em Arlott enabled them to reach the respectable score of 337 for 9

I was told I could sit wherever I liked, so I found myself a seat beside the steps where the teams came out onto the field, behind mid-off.  I listened to the teams chatting, and was able to congratulate Alice Davidson-Richards and Danni-Wyatt-Hodge on their performances. But I probably shouldn't have been there, because when I attempted to return after the mid-match break, a security guard shooed me away! 

Having arrived early, I enjoyed the bonus of watching the teams warm up. I was particularly interested in seeing Sophia Dunkley and Danni Wyatt-Hodge receiving one-to-one batting practice:-.

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"Some half-volleys, and then some waist-high full tosses!" BANG! BANG! BANG!: the crisp noise, so evocative of an English summer, of a cricket bat cleanly smiting a ball: a sound I have greatly missed over the last few years. After the session was over, the coach working with Danni, but clearly one of the Warwickshire staff, asked her, "Just don't score any runs today, okay?", a request that she completely ignored!

My final piece of good luck was that it was a bright spring day without a drop of rain, whereas elsewhere in the West Midlands there were gale-force winds and storms of hail!

Who could wish for more on a day out?

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From the Surrey website:-

Danni Wyatt-Hodge on the attack

Tilly Corteen-Coleman bowling. I cannot fault this action

Stories: Robin Hood's last fight

The year: 1330. The place: a building near Nottingham castle 

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Humphrey de Bohun watched as the young king and his friends examined the fellow that Sir William Eland had brought before them. He was an old man, but his upright stance and firm tread indicated he had once been strong and lithe. He wore the clothes of a prosperous peasant or craftsman, but there was no fear in his eyes. Without effort, he fell on his knees before the king, and his gaze was respectful but steady.

  "Is this the man you mentioned?" Edward asked. "What is his name, and how can he help us?"

"Yes, sire. His name is Robin, and he is known to many here in Nottingham as Robin Hood. He was a notorious outlaw for many years".

"An outlaw? Then why have you brought him to us?"

The kneeling figure stirred. "It is true, sire", he replied, speaking Norman French, though strangely pronounced, "But I had been most falsely accused, and unjustly denied a hearing. I spent many years in hiding, until I was pardoned by your grace's illustrious father, who was lately treasonously overthrown and murdered by the traitor Roger Mortimer."

Edward and the young nobles who were with him turned to Eland, who nodded in confirmation. "This Robin came to me and told me his story, and so I brought him here".

"But how can he help us?"

The man they called Robin Hood answered, "There are tunnels under Nottingham castle, leading to an entrance within the walls. I know the way well; but Mortimer and his friends may not. I can lead you through them, and catch the traitor by surprise." 

The lords looked at each other, then Lord Clinton ventured to say, "But why should we trust this fellow? We're told he was an outlaw. What if he's leading us into a trap?" Humphrey de Bohun had much the same thought, but said nothing.

Robin Hood answered, "Sire, I act from love of your father, who pardoned me. He was the only king who cared for the common people of England. This is my revenge, for his sake, on the traitor Mortimer. I shall lead you into the castle, and if I betray you, then kill me!"   

Lord Montacute now spoke: words he had long been pondering. "Sire, it is now three years since Roger Mortimer overthrew and murdered your father, since when you have been king in no more than name. Mortimer even dared execute your uncle, the Earl of Kent, without consulting you. Now Mortimer is in the castle above us, and is at this moment holding in his arms your mother, Queen Isabella, whom some call the she-wolf of France. They say she is with child by him. We must act now! Mortimer has spies everywhere. I have little doubt that by tomorrow he will be told of our meeting here, and then we are all as good as dead."

There was a pause, then Edward suddenly made up his mind. "I do not wish to have a bastard half-brother. You are right; we must act this very night. Robin, we shall trust you, for we have no choice. My friends; are you with me on this?"

They all nodded.

"Very well then. We set out tonight. By tomorrow, I shall rule as king, or we shall all perish. But, my friends, my mother is not to be harmed in any way, and let us seize Mortimer for trial as a traitor rather than kill him. Now arm yourselves!" 

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There were eight of them, carrying swords and axes, who walked through the moonlit streets and alleys of Nottingham that night. Two carried torches. At Robin Hood's advice, they wore no armour and were shod with their softest shoes for silent movement in the castle. No-one was stirring. They knew the danger, but the thrill of the hunt was on them.

Robin led them to a spot on the rockface below the castle, where he pulled aside a mass of brambles to reveal the low opening to a cave. Inside it was wholly dark, and those who had no torches clung to the coats of those who did. Their slippers were soon soaked with water on the rough wet floor. After what seemed an eternity, Robin halted before an ancient door, which he very slowly pushed open. It creaked, but there was silence on the other side, They passed through and found themselves in what seemed to be an old kitchen, long since abandoned. At the far end, a stairway led upwards. Robin signalled to them to stand motionless and silent, and faint noises were heard from the level above, where there was the flickering glimmer of torchlight. He drew a dagger from his belt and crept up the stairs on his own. He was gone for some time, but having come so far, what could the king and his friends do but trust him now? 

After what seemed an age, Robin returned. "The room above us is now empty", he reported, "There was a solitary guard, but he will no longer trouble us. I ventured further, and there I saw a dozen armed men asleep on the straw."

"That will be the main guardroom", said Sir William Eland,  "We must pass through it to reach the bedchamber. What now?"

"It is too late to retreat," Edward announced. "Let us press on and trust in God to help us, for our cause is just."

In the upper room there was a body slumped on the floor, the victim, no doubt, of Robin's dagger. The young king walked past it without a glance. Then, seeing now the value of wearing only soft slippers, they tiptoed past the sleeping men and out through the doorway at the end, but then suddenly a rasping whisper called "Who are you, and what do you want?" By the light of the torches they beheld an armoured serjeant, sword in hand, barring their way, his grizzled face suspicious and hostile.

Edward came forward. "I am your king!" he announced. "Will you serve me?"

There was a long, agonising pause while the serjeant considered whether to rouse his guards; then suddenly he lowered his sword and fell on one knee before the young king. Edward touched him on the head. "I shall remember your loyalty. Now, do not let anyone follow us until we have dealt with the traitor Mortimer." 

Led by Eland they ascended more stairs until they came to a locked door. "Come out, Mortimer!" they called. There was no reply from within. Humphrey de Bohun was the first to step forward, and at a nod from the young king, swung his axe agaist the door. After several more blows it splintered and they rushed in.

There on a bed lay Isabella, the widow of King Edward II. The woman who was called the "she-wolf of France", now had fear in her eyes and her arms protectively clasped the man beside her. Roger Mortimer, the mighty Earl of March and for the last three years the real ruler of England, was clad only in his shirt. He was a strong, heavy man, but his black hair was streaked with grey. He made no move to defend himself or to defy his foes, but rose from the bed and allowed himself to be led away, as if he had accepted his fate, which was to suffer a trairor's death. As they left the room, Isabella cried out, "My son, spare gentle Mortimer!" 

As they passed out through the guardroom they found that the serjeant had roused his soldiers to stand in file on either side, and he himself saluted royal party. The men who had been hired to defend Mortimer did not now move a muscle to save him.

King Edward looked around for Robin Hood, to thank and reward him, but he was nowhere to be seen. His task fulfilled, the old outlaw had vanished.  

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Historical note: In 1327, King Edward II of England was overthrown by his wife, Isabella, the daughter of King Phillipe IV of France, and her lover, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March. Isabella was nicknamed "the she-wolf of France". The former king was, according to rumours, then grusesomely murdered in Berkeley castle. The new king, Edward III, was only 15 at the time, and Isabella and Mortimer ruled England for the next three years until young Edward and his friends were able to seize Mortimer at Nottingham castle and execute him as a traitor.

There is more about Isabella and her family at an earlier post: 

https://petergshilstonsblog.blogspot.com/2026/01/history-king-philippe-iv-of-france.html

  

Annunciation

 March 25th marks the Feast of the Annunciation, when the Archangel Gabriel appears to the Virgin Mary. (If Jesus was born on December 25th, then he should have been conceived on March 25th. Although the Bible does not provide us with any dates, it seems appropriate that the Holy Child should have been conceived at the spring equinox and born at the winter solstice).

This event has always been a popular subject with artists, but here is a most unusual one by Lorenzo Lotto. The cat has seen the Archangel, and, not suprisingly, is scared out of its wits! 

Musings: Virginia Woolf as a cricketer

Virginia Woolf demonstrates the forward defensive shot, in a hitherto unexplored aspect of her personality. The bat is admirably straight, but a harsh critic would draw attention to the large gap between bat and left leg, leaving her vulnerable to being bowled "through the gate". Do I sense possibilities for postgraduate research investigating the influence of cricket upon her prose style? Who will be the first to write a Ph.D. dissertation on the subject?

England: The ghost in St Mary's, Shrewsbury

 I discovered a ghost in the church of St Mary the Virgin in Shrewsbury! In the Trinity Chapel there is the 14th century tomb of Sir Simon de Leyburn. 

This part of the church was once a much smaller chantry chapel, where priests were paid to pray and celebrate masses help his soul through Purgatory. What I tell parties of schoolchildren is that there is a ghost of someone, probably a nun, still praying! She can sometimes be persuaded to manifest herself if a screen is placed at the correct angle beside the tomb:-

She looks a very friendly ghost!

   When I ask the school parties if they'd like to see the ghost, and also hear about the headless skeleton once excavated nearby, they are always very keen, but on one occasion the teacher-in-charge said, "I think it's time we went for lunch!"

  It's surprising how many adult tourists also want to see the ghost!