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The question had seemed silly at the time, but on the morning of May 18, after reading the article in the Oregonian, suddenly it didn’t any more. Brownell picked up his telephone and called the police. The constituent, he told them, was a young man named — uh-huh, that’s right: Charles Montgomery.
Detectives were on their way to have a word with both men just a few hours later.
Magone, as befitted the ringleader of such a gang, was silent as the very grave and would not tell the cops a thing. But Montgomery, who, although already somewhat hard-boiled, was still young, cracked under questioning and copped to the rap. He then led the cops to the spot by the riverbank where he and Magone, with their hired helpers Rector and Long, had cached their, uh, prize.
Then he spilled the beans, very thoroughly.
This is the story that came out:
DANIEL MAGONE, AT the time of Ladd’s death, had been a wealthy and respected citizen. He had a valuable piece of farmland on the banks of the Willamette about a mile and a half downstream from Oregon City, which he’d inherited from his father; a beautiful wife named Henrietta; and an adorable young daughter. Life was good.
Until suddenly it wasn’t. The depression known as the “Panic of 1893” caught Magone at the worst possible time and he found himself unable to make his mortgage payments, and he lost his farm.
And then, two years into the depression, he lost his daughter, who drowned in the river before his eyes as he struggled to reach her and save her.
This double blow seems to have sent Magone over the edge. He took to muttering darkly about how the fix was in, and the rich were getting richer, and the big-spending elites needed to be made to pay. Many of his neighbors started avoiding him.
One who did not was Charles Montgomery. “Charlie,” 22, was a much younger man than Magone, who was in his 40s. But Montgomery was also probably just a little cracked, as evidenced by the murder charges. In any case, the two men became regular drinking buddies.
One day after the two of them had had supper together, Magone asked Montgomery to come out for a short walk with him. They strolled halfway across the Madison Street Bridge, and then, in the middle of the river, Magone stopped and took hold of Montgomery’s coat.
“These are desperate, hard times, Charlie,” he said, according to Montgomery’s confession. “I don’t know how we are going to get along, getting poorer all the time. I think if I can’t get ahead some other way pretty soon I’ll go out to the cemetery and dig up Ladd’s bones. I guess they’d give me something handsome to get them back. What do you think about it?”
Montgomery did not at first think Magone was serious. But, over the following months, he learned that yes, he was. And although Montgomery did not at first want to get involved, the thought of the fabulous riches they could shake the Ladds down for finally brought him around. The sum Magone had in mind was $50,000, which would be worth $1.8 million in modern money.
So, Magone got everything ready. He stole the telephone from the train station and hid it near the graveyard, ready for use. He found a pair of laborers hungry enough to take on resurrection work — Rector and Long — telling them the corpses were those of paupers who were being exhumed to sell to the medical college as cadavers, and promising them each $50 for the night’s work — the equivalent of about $1,800 in modern currency.
Then came that supper at the Rheinpfalz, and that memorable stealthy trip to the graveyard, shovels in hand.
Before getting started, the resurrection gang slipped up to the Ladd home, which was adjascent to River View cemetery — William Ladd had actually been one of the cemetery’s founders. There, Montgomery tapped the phone line out of the Ladd house, attaching it to the stolen telephone, so that he would know if an alarm were given.
Then, leaving Montgomery there to listen on the phone, the other three went to the grave.
“Magone’s first work was to stoop over the grave, and slash about its borders with a hay knife,” the Oregonian’s reporter wrote. “‘I guess that will fix their burglar alarm,’ he said.”
Then the four of them got busy with their shovels.
“They worked more furiously as they realized what the consequences might be, Magone growing frenzied as they neared the coffin,” the Oregonian reporter recounts. “He turned around several times and thrust his pistol before him into the darkness, at a fancied sound; then replaced it in his pocket and worked like a fiend.”
Finally, they got the casket out on the grass, and Magone hacked it open with the hay knife.
Considering Ladd had been dead for nearly four years, the patriarch’s mortal remains were in tip-top condition; they had, of course, been very carefully embalmed. So at least he wasn’t smelly, or falling apart. But Ladd was a big and heavy man, and, being prosperous, was very well fed. The four lads struggled to wrangle their heavy burden down the steep hillside to where their getaway boat lay tied by the river. And by the time they got there, they were too exhausted to go back for their second intended prize, the much fresher body of the late Mr. Lewis.
(Lewis was also a wealthy Portland merchant, although not of the same social prominence as Ladd.)
The four of them were so exhausted, and the morning was by now drawing so near, that they just dumped the body into the boat and cast off, leaving all their tools behind in the graveyard for the detectives to find. And in so doing, of course, they more or less sealed their legal doom.
IN COURT, MONTGOMERY pleaded guilty and was sentenced to two years in prison.
Rector’s attorney, S.H. Gruber, had a good deal to say, but he had to be somewhat delicate about it. The thing was, because body-snatching is illegal, it didn’t really matter, legally, that Rector basically went through with the corpse-napping scheme at gunpoint. Since he knew very well that stealing corpses for medical experiments was against the law — a point he couldn’t very well dispute, being as the operation was undertaken with great stealth in the middle of the night — the fact that he’d thought he was helping steal a less important corpse for a less unpopular purpose was really no defense at all.
Nonetheless, the attorney made that case to the judge; the judge patiently explained that it would not help his client; and the attorney thanked him and withdrew it.
Then the real audience for Gruber’s speech went back to the newsroom and wrote the story up. Gruber’s client was going to jail, that was clear and unavoidable; but at least his neighbors, and his wife’s friends, would know it wasn’t entirely his fault.
ALTHOUGH MONTGOMERY AND Rector both cooperated with the authorities, and neither Magone nor Long would speak a word, in the end all four men ended up drawing the same sentence: Two years. The charge was illegal disinterment.
“Lucky for them it wasn’t blackmail or ransom or kidnapping yet, or extortion. Because they hadn’t even had time to write a note to the Ladd family,” said Oregon Historical Society Executive Director Kerry Tymchuk, in an interview with KGW’s Ashley Korslein for an episode of the Wicked West podcast. “Their thought was that they were going to hold it for ransom, but they were so awful at what they did, that they left too much evidence. I guess that was the good thing for them, was that they were found out quickly, otherwise they would have spent a longer time in prison.”
Magone’s trial took a while, because he was so obviously unhinged and the question of insanity had to be doped out: Was he crazy enough to need to go to the asylum rather than the prison? In the end, the answer was no, and he ended up finishing up his two years in the regular penitentiary (he’d already served 16 months of it by then, waiting for trial), as did the other three.
As far as I’ve been able to learn, none of them got in any further trouble after they were released.
As for the Ladd family, they purchased a new coffin to replace the one Magone had hacked up, laid their patriarch to rest in it, and re-buried him. But this time, they dug an extra-wide hole, and instead of filling it back in with dirt, they poured in concrete!
It seems a pretty safe bet that no grave robber, resurrection man, body snatcher or ghoul has disturbed old Mr. Ladd’s long-suffering bones since.