|Fact or Fiction? Near murder committed in S.P. Box Car|
|Written by Holyoke Enterprise|
These stories from local history are sometimes so extraordinary it’s hard to believe they actually happened. Check out ‘fact or fiction’ stories: they’re actual Enterprise news clips reprinted from the past.
On a Sabbath afternoon in June, last Sunday to be correct, Chief Mason was peacefully strolling down the railroad track in search of adventure. Like all true guardians of the law, he has a nose for crime—in fact, he was embodied at this time with the same peculiar feeling which always hovers within him when a crime is about to be committed within the peaceful realm which he is detailed to guard.
As he neared a string of box cars, the feeling grew more intense. An unknown voice from above seemed to whisper that his victims were somewhere within that string of cars. The terrible deed was being did, he now knew, but alas! they could not escape him now.
He stopped for an instant, gazed officially to the north, the south, the east and the west, drew forth his trusty young cannon, put the last of a ten cent plug in his square jaw and started forth in actual quest of his quarry.
At last, excited voices were heard pealing forth from within a Southern Pacific box car. “O, Lord! Give me Little Joe,” wailed the voice. Then again the voice wailed: “Come on, Big Dick!” Then again, the same voice shrieked: “Phoebe’s in the hay mow.”
Not to be outdone, the chief extracted his notebook from his side pocket and took down the evidence he had heard. It was a plain case of murder. Little Joe had been murdered by Big Dick and his pal over a love affair with Phoebe, who awaited in the hay mow for the return of the gladiator who had slain Little Joe.
Our chief chuckled with glee over the arrests he was about to make. He crept to the door of the car, and his fairy-like form bounded through the entrance. There before him sat an even dozen of Holyoke’s future rulers, all in a ring, except one who was on his knees, with a pair of ivory cubes rattling in his right hand, which upon closer investigation were found to be dice.
From the floor the chief picked up four bits in fifty different pieces, and try as he would, the owner of the money could not be found. This lovely little crap game was broken up and the boys ordered to appear before Judge Weir Monday morning.
Up to this writing none of the lads have appeared as ordered to do, and it might be necessary to issue the necessary papers to compel the boys to conform with the chief’s order.
Our advice to the younger generation is to “lay off” this simple but fascinating game, and if you must engage in a contest on Sunday afternoons, try progressive tiddle-de-winks.