From the desk of Steve Willis, Central Library Services Program Manager of the Washington State Library

By day he was a respectable insurance salesman, a churchgoing man. But by night he was one of the most dangerous criminals Seattle police had seen, performing “dark deeds of the wildest type.”

Eugene F. Boucke, born around 1865, appears to have surfaced in Seattle around 1900-1901 as a carpenter, but quickly took up the occupation of insurance salesman. His secret activity of “sallying forth at night on deeds of depredation” was revealed to the public in the following article from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, April 12, 1903:

A DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

E.F. Boucke, Alias Forrest, Brought from Sacramento

ACCUSED OF ROBBERY

Police Declare Dual Life of Crime and Seeming Respectability Will Be Laid Bare

IMPUTE MANY DARK DEEDS

“E.F. Boucke or E. Forrest, the man the police accuse of leading a double life, one of seeming respectability and religious pretensions, and the other of crime, which startled and terrorized the community, has been brought back to this city from Sacramento, Cal., by Detective Lane of the police department, arriving yesterday morning. Boucke is charged with binding, gagging and blindfolding the Blick family at Green Lake, while he, with a companion, robbed the household of money and valuable possessions, some of which he later gave to his wife–to the woman with whom he ran away–and placed in jewelry stores and pawn shops.”

“The police regard Boucke as one of the most remarkable criminals with whom they have had to deal. They say they trace his hand in highway robberies, in such crimes as that committed in the Blick home, when the inmates were threatened with cremation in case they did not reveal the hiding place of money, and in dark deeds of the wildest type. All the while he was respected as a business man and bore the appearance rather of a minister of the gospel than of a daring criminal.”

“Finishing a series of crimes of the most extravagant nature, the police say they have evidence that Forrest, as he was known here at the time, abandoned his wife and three children, to travel under the still different name of Tennant to San Francisco in company with Lena May Molitar, a woman about whom little good is known by the detectives and police officers. The two went to Aberdeen and thence to California. In San Francisco Boucke became an insurance agent, as he had been employed by an insurance concern in this city.”

Detectives Get Wise

“By chance the detectives learned of his whereabouts after they discovered his alleged connection with the various crimes which they were investigating. The San Francisco authorities were instructed to arrest the man and word soon came that he had been taken by the police of Sacramento, where he seemed to be living with his paramour as man and wife and under the name Tennant. He admitted he had left his Seattle wife, but declared he was forced to do so through her Christian Science vagaries and his unpleasant domestic life.”

“Requisition papers were procured on the Governor of California and Detective Lane started immediately after the fugitive. He feared some trouble might be encountered there in bringing the prisoner northward, but this was done without incident. Boucke maintains that he is innocent of any crime, asserting that his change of name was due to his desire to conceal his identity and whereabouts from his wife.”

“It was to cover an alleged shortage in his accounts and also to secure money to lavish on the woman who had found favor in his eyes that Boucke was led to live his life of duplicity, say the police, appearing to the world during the day as a man of exemplary character and sallying forth at night on deeds of depredation. These officers declare they have almost positive proof of the acts which they impute to the man under arrest.”

“Boucke was in the employ of an insurance company having offices in the Arcade building. He is of dignified and reserved mein and from his appearance would scarcely be termed a dangerous man.”

His Victims Women

“Nearly all the robberies charged to Boucke were from women. A sort of epidemic of crime was begun when a woman was held up in one of the suburban districts and relieved of her jewelry, and soon after one or two similar highway robberies were reported. Then the Moore home was entered on Thirty-second avenue and $750 worth of jewels and money was taken, while the aged Mrs. Moore and her grandson, merely a lad, were bound to their chairs and pillowslips were placed over their heads. A $30,000 shawl of ancient weave was missed by the robbers.”

“Not long after that another woman was nearly killed with fright on entering her house when two men jumped from a closet and bound and gagged her, while her valuables were stolen. Soon after that the Blick robbery occurred. In the meanwhile between these affairs there occurred a number of highway robberies and other crimes of lesser magnitude.”

“Toward the latter part of this epidemic it was suggested to the police that Boucke might have some knowledge of the operations which seemed to be connected through their similarity, but the detectives at first scoffed at the idea. They could not find that Boucke’s associates were of a bad type, and as far as could be learned his life was as it should be.”

Pawned Jewelry the Clew

“The intelligence that the man might be the highwayman forced itself on the minds of the police officers through finding at a jeweler’s a nugget pin which had been taken from the Blick home. The jeweler stated that there was something in the manner of Boucke to cause suspicion when he left the pin to be repaired. A few days later a physician in conversation with Detectives Lane and Adams remarked the prevalence of crime and said a man of his acquaintance had pledged a watch with him, and incidentally had remarked that the police were trying hard to find the robbers, while he could lay his hands on them at any time. This man proved to be Boucke.”

“Thus the connection was established, and almost at every turn the detectives were confronted with more evidence against the insurance agent. About that time the latter left the city, and for several weeks all clews were lost, until a letter was received by the Insurance company which said he intended to make up the deficiency in his accounts and would send the money soon. The name of Tennant was signed and an address in San Francisco was given. The letter stated that the writer was doing well there and did not wish to return to Seattle.”

“The specific charge of robbery is made against Boucke in a complaint and a preliminary examination will be held shortly. The detectives are trying hard to locate the accomplice and believe they will make an arrest or two very soon.”

According to the State Auditor’s 8th Biennial Report (1905), Washington taxpayers paid a grand total of $46.20 to transport Mr. Boucke back from Sacramento to Seattle.

On Dec. 29, 1903, Boucke was handed a 16-year sentence for robbery by King County Superior Court Judge W.R. Bell. Boucke applied for a pardon from Gov. Mead in Aug. 1905, but was turned down. The State Board of Pardons released Boucke in 1908, and after that point he vanishes from history.

Random News from the Newspapers on Microfilm Collection: James Fitzgerald, the Human Ostrich

From the desk of Steve Willis, Central Library Services Program Manager of the Washington State Library:

“No, sir. This is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

I was reminded of this quote from the movie The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance after breezing through several old newspaper articles regarding the life and adventures of James Fitzgerald, who was known on both sides of Washington State as “The Human Ostrich.” The facts are very inconsistent from story to story, but each story makes fascinating reading.

It all started when the microfilm reel I grabbed at random for this installment turned out to be the White Bluffs Spokesman, from the now extinct town of White Bluffs. Somehow it seems fitting to this story the town had the word “Bluffs” in it, as we shall see. This article was on the top of the fold for the February 18, 1916 issue:

 Human Ostrich Checks Out

 “James Fitzgerald, once a resident of White Bluffs, and who became notorious after he left here by eating considerable glassware and a hardware store or two, is dead. He was 69 years old and his death occurred a short time ago in the county hospital at Prosser, of dropsical complications.”

“Fitzgerald was a man of unique appearance, being six feet and six inches tall. He had a double set of teeth and could chew glass as easily as most people chew gum.”

“He was operated on in Seattle a few years ago and something like 50 different articles were taken from his stomach. The list included knives, nails, pieces of glass and one ten dollar gold piece. For a time before his death, this ‘human ostrich’ was the star attraction at the Gibbs moving picture show in Richland.”

Both of the Prosser papers covered Fitzgerald’s death. The Independent Record and its rival The Republican-Bulletin repeated the Human Ostrich story, as well as the double set of teeth. But both added that Fitzgerald had been living in the east end of Benton County for several months and had been in ill health for awhile. Also, he had worked in the circus. The latter paper had additional information: Fitzgerald was born in Ireland, and “In his younger days he is said to have traveled with circuses and museums.”

The ten dollar gold piece found earlier in Fitzgerald’s stomach was also mentioned by The Republican-Bulletin: “At the time the operation was made the surgeon doing the work offered his services free if Mr. Fitzgerald would give him what he found. Fitzgerald, however, demurred at this arrangement insisting that he should be allowed to retain the gold piece, and the matter was adjusted in that way.”

As it turns out, Fitzgerald had been the subject of an operation only a few months before, not years, in May, 1915. He died January 17, 1916, apparently having never fully recovered from the surgery.

According to the 1910 census from King County in the appropriately named Novelty Precinct, Fitzgerald was born in Ireland and arrived in the United States in 1884. He was 62 years old in this census, working as a railroad section hand. He never married.

There were several acts in United States history billing themselves as “The Human Ostrich,” performers who could consume anything and did, for a price. It is possible Fitzgerald was the true identity of “The Original Human Ostrich” who was an attraction at Seattle’s Luna Park starting in 1907.

On May 1, 1915 the Post-Intelligencer took The Human Ostrich under its wing (get it?) when the paper ran a long feature article on Fitzgerald after the surgery which resulted in the removal of over a pound of metal and glass debris from his stomach. He told the press he had stopped eating nonfood items a couple years earlier, but didn’t start experiencing severe pain until recently. According to the P-I, the following items were retrieved from the patient’s stomach:

8 knives

1 bolt, two and a half inches long, with a nut on the end

1 dime

1 penny

1 nickel

1 shoemaker’s awl

1 loaded 30-30 Krag-Jorgensen cartridge

1 key

5 pins

9 parts of jack-knife handles

11 knife blades

9 flat springs

4 German silver ring tags

3 nails

100+ bits of broken glass

A photo displaying these items accompanied the news piece. The article did not mention a ten dollar gold coin.

Fitzgerald told the paper he discovered he could eat almost anything without ill effect in 1885 while in Quincy, Illinois. Despondent and unemployed at the time, he ate rocks and shingle nails, hoping it would kill him. But not only did he live, he didn’t suffer any discomfort. He appeared to have made a living out of making bets in taverns based on what he could or could not eat. It is probably safe to assume a goodly amount of alcohol was a major contributing factor in these wagers.

The story said he had lived in Seattle since the late 1890s, “occasionally working in the lumber camps or mines.” The reporter mentioned Fitzgerald’s “rich brogue” and described his subject as “a brawny, big-framed two-fisted man, who stands more than 6 feet tall in his stocking feet and weighs nearly 200 pounds.” No mention of the double set of teeth, although this was included: “With considerable relish Fitzgerald yesterday told how easy it was to eat a beer glass if one were careful about biting off the chunks and to chew them thoroughly. That the habit is not more general seemed strange to Fitzgerald, who was obviously of the opinion that any person could do it who had ambition and the appetite.”

A follow-up P-I article on May 25 explained how Fitzgerald had become a national celebrity in the medical community. Dr. Don H. Palmer was the operating surgeon. The King County Medical Society wanted the patient to appear before them for more examination and questions.

It would seem Mr. Fitzgerald never quite recovered from the surgery. He died less than a year later, and is buried in Prosser’s Odd Fellows Cemetery. I could make another wordplay here, but that would be in bad taste. (That was a double-score two-in-one-sentence set of puns in that last line!)

White Bluffs, the town hosting the newspaper article that started this whole little trail, ceased to exist in 1943, when the federal government took over the area as part of establishing the Hanford Nuclear Reservation. Exactly when, why and how long Fitzgerald lived there is unknown.

If you have any information on this interesting character in Washington State history we would love to hear from you.