Frick_NYHerald
On July 22, 1892 a young man named walked into the offices of the Carnegie Steel Company in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, eager to execute a plan he had devised with his girlfriend. He was a “dark-complexioned young man with a Jewish cast of countenance, of medium height and fairly well-dressed”, wrote the Grand Forks Herald. He had been in the building several times in the previous few days, so when he asked to be let off the elevator at the second floor and directed toward the chairman’s office, the elevator operator “thought nothing of the request” and showed him the way.
The young man was there to find an industrialist named Henry Clay Frick and to put an end to “a great struggle going on between capital and labor in this city”.
He had at his disposal a revolver and something the Grand Forks Herald called a “dagger”.
About two minutes later, three rapid gunshots startled people in and around the building, the paper reported.
“Intuitively the victim was divined and ‘Frick was shot’ were the words soon passing from mouth to mouth on the street”, the newspaper read.
Mr. Frick, an infamous industrialist who was the chairman of the Carnegie Steel Company (yes, that Carnegie) had survived an attempt on his life by a young Russian idealist named Alexander Berkman, who had planned the steel-boss’s murder with Emma Goldman, a woman who had been a prominent figure in anarchist circles, women’s movements, and draft resistance.
The particular grievance against Frick was an intractable and hostile dispute between the Carnegie Steel Company and a labor union at a facility in Homestead, Pennsylvannia.
The first shell did not explode. The second lodged itself in Frick’s neck.
Frick then “made an exclamation” and vainly tried to climb out of a window. Berkman walked to the desk, and fired into Frick’s neck again. The bullet “entered the muscle on the back of the neck and passed around to the lodgment under the right ear…” said the story.
The paper mentions the heroic efforts of John Leishman, another executive at the Carnegie Steel Company, though the writer of the piece manages to misspell Leishman’s name five times, and in two different ways—3 for Leshman and two for Lesham. I would not have known to check if there had not been the discrepancy.
In any event, Leishman pounced on the assailant and wrestled him to the ground. They fought for the revolver, which then fired again into the ceiling.
Frick, with two bullets in him, saw Berkman draw a knife in the tussle with Leishman. As Frick tried to jump between them, Berkman stabbed Frick three times, though we are told, “he was merely scratched at these last attempts to kill him”.
A man identified as Sheriff May had, by this time, entered Frick’s office and was about to shoot Berkman when Frick shouted “Don’t kill him. We have got him all right. Leave him to the law.”
A few minutes later, several doctors were present. Both the Grand Forks Herald and the New York Herald reported that Frick was soon the calmest man in the room. He eventually made a full recovery.
From time to time I watch a crime show on television and muse at the ridiculous plots that seem both far-fetched and dog lame. Often someone will remind me that TV writers—perhaps because they are TV writers—poach material for their plots from news stories. Often they even have to tone down some elements of the true stories they borrow to make them believable.
I don’t know if I believe this news story as it is told here. I would like to read more accounts of it and identify incidents of variance among them.
But I chose this story because it popped into my head when trying to find something to write about for a graduate school assignment on historical news research. Henry Clay Frick, and the attempt on his life by a member of the anarchist movement of the late 19th Century are fascinating for the story they tell and for what they represent.
This was a remarkably fertile time for the American economy. The Civil War had just ended, industrialism was on the rise, there were some of the first true tycoons of the country—people like Vanderbilt, Carnegie and Frick. These men were merciless businessmen who later bequeathed large portions of their wealth to education and culture. Frick would later donate his entire Manhattan estate and all of the art in it to the City of New York—what we now know as the Frick Collection on the Upper East Side.
On the other hand, he is often reviled as a brutal businessman, who became obsessed with breaking the strike at Homestead.
Then, there are people like Berkman and Goldman: both fanatical, idealistic, immigrants who occupy strange places in history, not terribly unlike those of John Brown and Che Guevara. We do not really know what to make of them. Should we like or admire them at all? Berkman and Goldman were trying to stand up for the rights of workers and had been involved in progressive causes. But the assassination attempt seemed actually to turn public opinion against the strike. In another article in the New York Herald, another story about the assassination read,
“In the business community of Pittsburgh, there is the deepest indignation and a feeling of revolt against the tyranny of unionism, which has so long, with threats and strikes and boycotts, absolutely dominated the community, and now, in the excited minds of men of substance, has indirectly resorted to assassination to carry out its purposes.”
When he was finally arrested, as this story from the Grand Forks Herald says, Berkman had very little on him: a few thirty-eight caliber bullets, some pieces of candy and a nickel-plated watch. When officer finally sat Berkman down in a chair, Police Surgeon O’Meara noticed that the young man was moving his jaw oddly. The police officer then choked the man until he was “nearly black in the face”, whereupon Berkman spit out a small shell of dynamite “of the same kind used by Lingg, the Chicago anarchist, to blow himself up.”