The Lusitania : Part 8 : A Hint of Scandal

Scandal on the Lusitania Stories

Sonneborn and Schwabacher…

The sinking of the Lusitania had the undesired effect of laying bare the personal lives of those on board. Whether it was having to make one’s financial status public before the Relief Committee, or having to return to one’s wife after the death aboard the ship of the mistress with whom one was eloping, many of those who survived saw aspects of their lives best kept submerged placed in full view. Bigamy, embezzlement, adultery, unmarried cohabitation, financial incompetence and probable homosexuality were among the private stories suddenly made a matter of public record.

The posthumous calumny directed towards Henry Sonneborn by a member of the U.S. Government’s judicial branch was perhaps the most unfortunate exposure of a Lusitania passenger’s private life. Mr. Sonneborn and his friend Lee Schwabacher were most likely in a long term gay partnership. They lived and traveled together for at least fifteen years, and died together in the disaster. A decade later, after a scathing case summary by a U.S. Mixed Claims Commission judge, a distorted version of their friendship became legitimized.

Schwabacher and Sonneborn Courtesy of Paul Latimer Henry B. Sonneborn Leo Schwabacher

So spoke Umpire Edwin B. Parker, of the U.S. Mixed Claims Commission, on January 7, 1925. With these words, he posthumously doomed Lusitania victim Henry B. Sonneborn, of Baltimore, Maryland, U.S.A. to an eternity of being an inside reference, for want of a better term, among researchers who have read through the Mixed Claims Commission Lusitania Case Summaries. Two men traveling together, who were “fast friends” enough to have named one another sole beneficiaries in their respective wills, who arranged to be buried together in the same mausoleum, and one of whom the court stopped just short of calling a “kept man” in its final judgment of the case seems, on the surface, to be one of the more scandalous affairs exposed by the disaster.

We approached the story of Mr. Sonneborn and Mr. Schwabacher from a sensationalistic angle in an article, and when Jim received an email from a member of the Sonneborn family a year or so later, he was initially uncertain of how his reception would be. Mark Praetorius, Henry Sonneborn’s great-nephew, proved not to be angry that we had dragged “the family skeleton” out of the closet. In fact, he quickly revealed that the relationship between the two men had never been the family skeleton. Henry and Leo had not been ostracized within the family during their 15 years together (Henry’s mother considered “Lee” a second son) and they did not become something best left not discussed within the family after the harsh official judgment in the 1920s.

Henry Becker Sonneborn was born in Baltimore, Maryland, to Philip and Wilhelmina Becker Sonneborn, on October 14, 1872. The Sonneborn family ran a tavern on Light Street in downtown Baltimore and lived in rooms above it. Henry was a graduate of Baltimore City College, and along with his brother, Louis, half owner of a successful coal distributing company.

Leo “Lee” Schwabacher was the son of Henry and Virginia Schwabacher, born on January 14, 1873, in Peoria, Illinois. The Schwabacher family made their fortune as liquor merchants, and were more than comfortably well off. The details of how Lee moved from the multi-servant family estate on Perry Avenue, Peoria, to Baltimore have not survived. He was working, as of 1900, as Louis and Henry Sonneborn’s bookkeeper, and boarding in a room over Philip and Wilhemina Sonneborn’s tavern.

Wilhelmina and her family moved from Light Street to a larger and far more elegant house at 896 Battery Avenue, after the death of her husband, circa 1900. Bookkeeper Lee Schwabacher moved with them, still being referred to as their boarder. Simultaneous to the Sonneborn family’s move, Henry Schwabacher died, leaving each of his children a share of his estate large enough to generate $10,000.00 per year income, through interest.

Henry B. Sonneborn and Lee Schwabacher began traveling together in 1906, and after 1910 Henry sold his share of the family coal business. The two men moved to Paris, France, with one another in 1911, allegedly to allow Henry to pursue a singing career.  They returned to Baltimore in October 1914 for an extended visit prompted, in part, by unease over the escalating war in Europe. Lee Schwabacher purchased a mausoleum in which they would one day be entombed together, before their return to Paris in May 1915. Both men altered their wills at this time, each naming the other his sole beneficiary. Schwabacher traveled to Peoria, where he spent time with his relatives while liquidating his remaining assets there; he planned never to return.

A small article about guests of the Gotham Hotel, on Fifth Avenue in New York City, who sailed aboard the Lusitania’s fatal voyage, listed Mr. Sonneborn and Mr. Schwabacher among those lost in the disaster.

Wilhemina Sonneborn traveled to New York City and boarded the Lusitania to make a last minute effort to persuade her son to cancel his passage. His response, along the lines of “A submarine? Don’t worry- we’ll send a telegram when we arrive safely” was quoted on both May 2nd, after the ship had sailed with Mr. Sonneborn and Mr. Schwabacher aboard, and again on May 8th after they died together.

Henry and Lee vanished from the record when the Lusitania sailed on May 1, 1915. Their bodies were never recovered, and as of yet, no account by anyone who knew them has surfaced to fill in the details of their final days. George Kessler later wrote of two men, rumored to be “German spies” who kept to themselves: one can make the case that this was the German surnamed Mr. Sonneborn and Mr. Schwabacher and, if so, that their final week might have been less than pleasant.

Mark Praetorius has speculated on what his ancestors’ reaction to the loss of both men must have been. The family was proudly German and to lose loved ones in an act widely condemned by anti-German forces must have led to a number of conflicting emotions. A 1915 news clipping, kept by the Sonneborn family, is an interesting window into how the Sonneborns may have felt:

For a year Mrs. Sonneborn’s health has been gradually failing, and her sons and daughters are now experiencing the added anxiety of shielding her as much as possible from the shock of news of the ship’s disaster although the bare fact has not been kept from her. Mrs. Sonneborn, in spite of her anxiety, is bearing no resentment towards the German torpedo boat that brought disaster to the Lusitania. She was born in Wiesbaden, Germany, nearly 80 years ago and lived there with her father when he was a professor at the university until she was 20 years old. Before her marriage, she was Miss Becker. She believes that Germany has given sufficient warning to all prospective travelers on this side of the ocean of the risk they were running to place the responsibility entirely on their shoulders when disaster occurs. This opinion is also shared by Mr. Sonneborn’s sister, Mrs. Philip Praetorius who, with her husband and children, makes her home with her mother. Their German blood makes it impossible for them to forget that the Lusitania is an English liner.

Perhaps the article offers true insight into Mrs. Sonneborn’s mindset two days after the death of her son and a man she reportedly viewed as a “second son.”  Yet, one wonders how, if she was being kept in seclusion and denied news of the disaster, she managed to form so definite an opinion and how she managed to articulate it to a reporter. One also wonders if, in the first stages of shock at losing their family member and friend, any Sonneborn, no matter how proudly German, would voice a blame the victim sentiment to the press. Another odd detail is that Mrs. Sonneborn, described as being “in decline” had managed to travel to NYC to plead with her son not to board the ship, as reported on May 2nd. Neither Mrs. Sonneborn nor her son was anything approaching a celebrity, which vouches for the veracity of that particular story: the press would have had no reason to invent it before the disaster had it not actually occurred. Our interpretation is that no matter how pro-Germany Wilhelmina was, she was also afraid of what Germany might do, and made a last minute attempt to keep the two men off the ship. Would an ailing woman, who made a long train trip in an unsuccessful attempt to save the life of her son and his traveling companion, be inclined to let the world know that they had brought their deaths upon themselves, just nine days later?

The Mixed Claims Commission’s posthumous opinion of the two men, particularly Mr. Sonneborn, was harsh. The most damaging part of the case summary was the declaration that Henry Sonneborn was a man of slender estate, unemployed, and seemingly being supported by Leo Schwabacher. “The inferences from the meager statements contained in the record are that the resources of decedent were slender and his income small. The property of his estate, both real and personal, inventoried only $13,107.653.” One wonders what criteria Umpire Parker was using to judge “slender.” Sonneborn’s yearly income, prior to the sale of his share of the coal business was listed as $8,400.00, a more than adequate amount upon which to survive ca. 1910, and only $1,600.00 per year less than Mr. Schwabacher was earning in interest on his inheritance. $13,100.00 was one of the larger estates left by any of the American victims. Mr. Sonneborn’s lost personal effects were valued at $2,230.50. It may be noted that Allan Loney, socially well connected Lusitania victim, was described in the record as having the earning potential of $10,000.00 per year as a broker and bond salesman, of having lost $1235.00 worth of personal property in the disaster and “…died intestate…his daughter inherited his entire estate which does not appear to have been large” without any additional editorial comment being made by the commission. Likewise, the fact that Charles Williamson not only died broke but also owed a large sum of money to some of the most socially correct residents of New York City was allowed to pass without remark, as was the fact that he was traveling with a woman to whom he was not married. It would seem that Mr. Parker was basing his evident disapproval of Mr. Sonneborn on something other than dollar figures, because by 1925 standards, Henry was far from poor.

It is apparent from the financial data presented in the case summaries, that the two friends were more or less on equal footing, and although there is no known surviving evidence of who paid for what, other than that Mr. Schwabacher bought their shared mausoleum, it is obvious that this was not a case of an opportunistic poor man bleeding a well off friend.

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Thomas Snowden, of Lynn, Massachusetts, was another survivor who saw a personal scandal made public as a result of his Lusitania experiences.

The shoemaker was returning to his native Leicestershire, where he was born in 1885, to visit with friends and family and, perhaps, to enlist.  His excellent first person account omits but a single significant detail regarding his experiences aboard the ship:

Snowden gave a second account to the local newspaper in Lynn, Massachusetts, on the fiftieth anniversary of the disaster:

No mention was made, in either article, of the fact that Snowden had been married for several years in May 1915.

Mrs. Marion Snowden sued her husband for divorce in early 1916, on the grounds of cruel and abusive treatment.  She revealed, in court, that her husband had abandoned her to elope to England with another woman, from Lynn, but that she did not wish to draw the name of the woman- who drowned- into the public eye.

Mrs. Snowden, perhaps gleefully, revealed the woman’s name to the press upon receiving her settlement,. Thomas Snowden had informed his wife, around April 1915, that he was leaving her and returning to Leicestershire with Mrs. Eva Finch. Mrs. Snowden did not object, in light of the abusive treatment she had received during the course of her marriage.  A 1916 newspaper trenchantly commented:

Snowden and Mrs. Finch sailed on the Lusitania. When the vessel was torpedoed, Snowden was rescued but Mrs. Finch was drowned. At the time, reporters noted that neither Mrs. Snowden nor Mr. Finch expressed any interest in the fate of their mates.

Thomas Snowden died in Lynn, on February 15, 1966, at age 81.

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Aino Antila had immigrated to the United States from Finland at some point prior to 1910. She had two sons, Carl in 1911, and Jan ”John” in 1912, in Rockledge, Michigan. She and her sons were deported to Hanko, Finland by way of Liverpool during the summer of 1914; traveling aboard Cunard’s Carmania as part of a large group of Finnish deportees. The Antilas arrived in Liverpool on August 7, 1914, and a day later were placed aboard the Cunard liner Laconia and deported from England back to the United States. The entire family was detained upon arrival in New York, on August 17th, and hospitalized at Ellis Island. The separate paperwork pertaining to the nature of the illness, and who among the family was ill, has not been placed online. Cunard, as the shipping line which accepted these undesirable immigrants, was compelled to pay Ellis Island for their upkeep. The Antilas were detained at Ellis Island until January, 1915,  and then held elsewhere until the following April, when they were again deported. They boarded the Lusitania, as third class passengers, and on May 7th were among the handful of families to survive intact.

The Cunard Line  later sued the U.S. government for the approximately $50 it paid for the upkeep of the Antila boys during their internment at Elis Island. Their rationale was that only Mrs. Antila was a ward of Cunard; the boys, as U.S. citizens, were not the company’s responsibility. The suit was decided in Cunard’s favor, and the cost of maintaining the brothers from August, 1914 thru January, 1915 was refunded to the company.

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“Constance Eda Stroud gave birth to a child of which your petitioner is not the father…”

They say looks are deceiving. Edward Stroud, his wife Constance, and daughter Helen appeared to be a typical family sailing home aboard the Lusitania. Passengers they encountered had no reason to believe otherwise. In reality, the fair haired couple with the red headed daughter was divorced, and the reason for the divorce was an illegitimate child – Helen.

Edward Percy Wallace Stroud was born in early 1877 to Colonel Henry and Ann Stroud. He grew up in Ramsgate and Eastbourne as the middle child of eleven children.  When he was of age he signed up for the Navy and served in the Mexican war as a ACV/Sub Lieutenant. A few years later, he met Constance Eda Simpson, daughter of Charles and Alice Simpson of Streatham. They were married in a civil ceremony on August 19, 1907 at the Christ Church in Mexico City, Mexico. A second ceremony followed less than a month later, on September 3rd. They settled into their lives, while he first worked as the manager of the American Creamery Co. and then as the marine superintendant of the Anglo Mexican Petroleum Co.

Constance made frequent trips home to visit her family, and on March 19, 1912, she gave birth to Helen Wallace Stroud at the hospital in Westminster. A year later, Edward Stroud sailed home on the Oceanic, and began divorce proceedings in June. He wrote out the reason in his deposition:

How he came about this information is unclear. Did a friend or family member warn him? Did Constance send a confession? Did he always suspect the child was not his? Although a co-respondent was not named, the court felt that Edward had proven that Constance had committed adultery, and agreed for the dissolution of the marriage. The final decree was reached on December, 19, 1913 and the marriage dissolved on June 29, 1914.

That was not the end of the marriage, however. Constance began a series of regular trips to Mexico, with Helen, to visit Edward, with the first commencing less than a month after the final decree. Was  a reconcilliation in the works? It is hard to say. The final trip was in March 1915, and the three of them booked passage on the May 1 crossing of the Lusitania. Mrs. Stroud and Helen traveled from Mexico to New York separate from Mr. Stroud, aboard the San Urbano, and checked in to the Phildelphia Y.W.C.A., before traveling on by train.

Second class was over-booked, but the ex-spouses were befriended by the gregarious Archie Donald and Mr and Mrs. Cyril Pells. Edward, having served in the Navy, chatted with several men who were going overseas to join up.   People apparently did not know the Strouds were divorced, and it was not noted as such. They appeared to blend in with the many young families with children.

Edward was on deck when the torpedo struck, and Constance was below. He brought his family on deck, and made two subsequent trips down to the cabins for lifejackets. The final trip back on deck had him climbing on his hands and knees due to the sharp angle. Archie Donald saw them on deck, and watched as Edward stripped Constance of her clothing so that she would be able to swim better. He held Helen in his arms during the plunge, but lost his grip. Edward and Constance survived, but Helen was gone. The former Mrs. Stroud supposedly lamented to Donald, “Well, we will have another.”

Whatever bond that tied them together soon evaporated, and by the end of 1915, Constance had married Francis John Newton Dunne. Edward married Dora Williams a few months later . Both of these marriages would be short lived. Francis became a Captain in the Royal Field Artillery. He died on December 9, 1918, possibly of an injury suffered during the war. Constance was overcome by the news. She ingested a narcotic that put her into a coma, and passed away on December 10.

History repeated itself, and a year after Edward had married, he was in court divorcing his second wife on the grounds of adultery. This time a co-respondant was named.

Having received an opportunity elsewhere, he boarded a ship in 1923 bound for South Africa. He became a Senior Cultivation Protector. While there, he met Ethel Mary Bisgers. They married and had a son, Edward Peter. They decided to raise their family back in England, and  returned in October 1930 on the Llangibby Castle.  Ethel died in the first quarter of 1941 on the Isle of Wight. Several years later, when Edward was living in Wimbledon, the pain of the past was erased when he succumbed to mycardial degeneration on March 9, 1949.

Constance Stroud Dunne’s grave
Courtesy of Peter Kelly

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Rose Ellen Murray, of Dublin and Boston, became a minor celebrity after she survived the Lusitania disaster. However, her celebrity proved to be her undoing twenty years after the vessel was destroyed.

Rose Ellen was the wife of a U.S. Naval officer, Christopher Murray. She loved ships and travel, and crossed the Atlantic at least fifteen times between 1910 and 1926. She would claim 34 crossings, a number which remained constant in her press releases between 1925 and 1932, despite other voyages made in the interim.

Christopher Murray and Rose Ellen Murray

Mrs. Murray’s frequent appearances in the papers hinged on her claims of being a survivor of both the Titanic and Lusitania disasters.  She would tell eager reporters of her long wait for the Carpathia, and of her hours spent atop an overturned Lusitania lifeboat.  The latter, at least, could be proved true. She had jumped from the sinking liner and been saved from atop a lifeboat, as had her brother, Patrick Ginley.  Mrs. Murray was a good sport, gave great quotes about how she loved “the sea to the extent that she cannot now sleep on land” …and if her Titanic story seemed sparing in details compared to her Lusitania account, no one questioned. She was also aboard the Celtic when that liner was involved in a minor collision and apparently added that tale to her recitation at some point.

Mrs. Murray maintained a home for her husband and two of her brothers on South Circular Road, in Dublin.

One day, in July 1935, Mrs. Murray was accosted at her residence by three young women who said that they were there to escort her to a mental institution. Mrs. Murray refused to go with them and, instead, went to The Four Courts in Dublin, in order to discuss the situation with her lawyer and to instigate legal proceedings against an unnamed party.  There, she was again confronted by the three women. A scene ensued when Mrs. Murray learned that they had been sent to take her to Verville, a private mental hospital. She was forced to her knees and her arms restrained. The women pulled Rose Ellen into a taxi with great difficulty, and broug

ht her to the facility. She remained in Verville from July 5, 1935 through October 10th.

Mrs. Murray was released after a sanity hearing determined that she was sane and capable of maintaining her own affairs. Incredibly enough, it seems that someone used Mrs. Murray’s frequently told Titanic, Lusitania and Celtic stories, and an incident in which Rose Ellen had been blackmailed over some indiscretion, to have her committed.  She proved by affadavit and other evidence, that all four claims were partially true and not melancholy ravings, and was released.  The identity or identities of whoever had her committed was not made public, but the fact that Mrs. Murray thereafter lived apart from her husband and brothers seems to point a finger.

Her actual Titanic story, as sworn in court, was that she was supposed to have been aboard the ship, but did not sail due to a missed train.  This was far different than the tale told to the pier side press in NYC and Boston, and conceivably true.

Mrs. Murray sued Dr. Sullivan, of Verville, in November 1939, claiming that she had been falsely committed, and was physically assaulted by another patient while in the hospital. She had been punched in the face, driving her eyeglass in to her eye, and when she complained was told that she had to learn to watch out for herself when “in a place like this.”   The jury found in favor of Doctor Sullivan in December, stating that Mrs. Murray had been legally committed with papers filed June 28, 1935, and that the assault was not due to specific negligence on his part.

Rose Ellen Murray was found dead on the floor of her home at Merrion Square, Dublin, on January 12, 1942.  She was 62 years old. Rose left an estate of three thousand five hundred pounds. Her husband and three brothers were bequeathed fifty pounds each, and the bulk of her money went to charity.  Her brothers opposed the will, and in July 1942 were each granted an additional two hundred pounds. Her husband, still in naval service, wrote the court to say that he in no way wanted to interfere with his late wife’s wishes.

Patrick McGinley, Rose Murray’s brother, was formerly a teacher at St. Gall’s National School, Clonard. He had been an employee of Park and Telford in New York City for five years as of May 1915, and was returning to Belfast for his first visit home since emigrating:

Patrick McGinley died in 1951, at Cathcart, Scotland.

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Several accounts bolster the unbelievable-seeming claim McGinley made about the crewmember with the severed arm. George Harrison, a third class passenger, gave this account to his local newspaper:

“Immediately afterwards,” said Mr. Harrison, “I dived into the sea with a lifebelt. When I came to the top again the Lusitania‘s stern was lifting and the propellers showing partly out of the water. A few seconds later the great liner lurched and dived into the depths.

“The ocean was calm, and I clung to some broken boxes. Then I saw a young Irish girl floating near, and I managed to get hold of her. Another young fellow joined me later, and eventually we made our way to an upturned boat, which was supporting 48 others. We were the last to join it.

“Dead bodies were almost everywhere,” commented the surviving miner,” and we sometimes collided with them. Men, women, children were floating head downwards all around us, and some were wearing lifebelts. There were scores of them, and the sight was awful. For over two hours I and the other passengers clung to the upturned boat, and then we were rescued by a merchantman.

“One man” concluded Harrison, “had his arm severed just above the elbow. He was one of the crew and said he received the injury through being in the part of the ship struck by the torpedo.”

Carl Elmer Foss…

Dr. Carl Elmer Foss, of Montana, was one of a group of doctors traveling on behalf of the Red Cross.  His fall from grace a few years after the sinking is made all the more surprising when it is contrasted with his behavior on May 7th, 1915.

Dr. Carl Foss returned to the United States, where he resumed his practice in Havre, Montana, in July 1916. He became embroiled in a bitter property dispute with neighbor Jake Krause, which culminated with Krause being gunned down in November 1917, shortly before the dispute was to be heard in court.

Foss and his ‘gang’ were arrested for the murder, and in October 1919 he was sentenced to one year and one day in Leavenworth Penitentiary for his role in the affair. Paroled, Carl Foss returned once again to Havre, where he died of acute nephritis, after an operation for appendicitis, on February 25, 1924. He was 36 years old.

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Alfred Russell Clarke, a first class passenger, wrote in a note to his son Griffith before the Lusitania sailed. He did not have time to be afraid of submarines; he was too busy with plans to expand his business by securing leather contracts with British Army.

Clarke was an ambitious man. Born in Peterborough, he moved to Toronto at age 18 and founded A.R. Clarke & Company, Limited, which eventually became the foremost producer of patent leather in the British Empire. His factory employed over 350 people, and produced leather linings, leather vests, moccasins, and other articles of leather clothing. He was married to Mary Louisa, and had a son, Griffith, and a daughter, Vivien. He belonged to many organizations including the Riverdale Business Men’s Association; Toronto Housing Co.; Toronto Civic Guild; Canadian Manufacturers’ Association, Ontario Motor League; and Masonic Order. He was also the treasurer of the Metropolitan Methodist Church.

Clarke was comfortably settled in a chair on the top deck, on May 7th:

Clarke stood at the back of the crowd, adhering to the rule women and children first, and did not push his way forward. Talking with others, he heard that the Captain had ordered that boats not be lowered:

(Author’s Note- He had a small inside cabin, D-3, which on the original deck plan for the Lusitania appears not to have had a connecting door. However, one may have been added later or, more likely, he may have upgraded while onboard to a cabin that did.)

He met a young man who had sat his table in the dining room. He was tying on a lifejacket and asked Clarke if he wanted one:

Clarke felt something gripping his chest, “Crushing me. Something else seemed to wrench me around. I was twisted and racked. All this time I was fully conscious. I remember hoping this would soon come to an end. Suddenly, what was holding me let go, and I rose rapidly to the surface.” The next thing he recalled was floating near a boat, and two sailors pulling him aboard. The only person he recognized was fellow Canadian Leonard McMurray. “The sea was full of people. There were perhaps five or six boats around. Bodies floated by us. The corpse of a baby clung to the bottom of our boat. We could not reach it. A woman floated by, foam coming from her mouth. I put out my hand, but as I touched her hair, she passed away.” They drifted about for three hours until they were rescued.

Leonard McMurray

Clarke did not remain in Queenstown long before making the trip to London. He called for doctors to attend to his injuries once settled in the Hotel Cecil. They discovered that he had a broken rib, and he was taken to the Fitzroy House Hospital. His temperature rose to 102 and the doctors found that the broken rib had affected a lung and pleurisy had developed. His wife, Mary Louisa, was sent for at once, and she sailed for England; arriving in London on June 12.

Pneumonia set in. Mrs. Clarke at first was optimistic about her husband‘s condition. She sent telegrams home saying that his improvement was “more than maintained” and that great hopes were entertained for his recovery. Griffith Clarke intended to come also, but his mother told him it was not necessary.

Alfred, unfortunately, took a turn for the worse. His family received two telegrams. The first: “Your father very weak. Mother very discouraged. Time very short. Advise you not to come” and the second, received shortly thereafter; “Mr. Clarke is sinking rapidly. We are with your mother and will give her every attention.”

Alfred Russell Clarke died on June 20. A family friend cabled Griffith and Vivien, “Your father passed peacefully at 9:20 tonight. We will take care of your mother and arrange everything for her, including her passage and your father’s home. Cable me any instructions.” Mrs. Clarke came home on the Lapland and proceeded to Toronto with her husband’s body.

Clarke left an estate of $521,825.28, part of which was comprised of $34,845 in life insurance and $50,000 in accident. His real estate holdings were valued at $41,140 and the fair market value of the stock in A.R. Clarke and Company, Limited was shown to be $393,000. Griffith Clarke was appointed managing director of the A.R. Clarke Company.

Griffith died in 1923.  His mother alleged that he ran the family business into the ground, in her case against Germany. She sued for compensation on the grounds that had her husband survived, the business would have prospered. How true this is, cannot be determined, but what is known is that Mrs. Clarke herself had an active interest in the company. She took full charge when her son died,. She was drawing a salary of $24,000 a year at the time of the 1925 hearing. Mrs. Clarke’s claim totaled $125,000. Commissioner James Friel was not sympathetic to the various claims and awarded the widow $7,500, which he deemed ‘fair compensation.’ He stated that “the insurance money alone at her age would have purchased for her an annuity of over $6000 a year. I do not think it can be said she suffered any pecuniary loss resulting from the death of her husband.”

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Hickson’s, a styling house in New York City that specialized in both high fashion and select ready-to-wear, was another internationally famous business run into the ground by an heir, after the death of its founders aboard the Lusitania.

Caroline Hickson Kennedy, 53, and Catherine Hickson, 57, were sisters.  Mrs. Kennedy had advanced her brother, Richard Hickson, a sum of $800 to establish himself in the women’s garment industry in 1902. She began working for the company at an approximate salary of $50 per week plus expenses, which by 1915 had increased to the sum of $5000.00 per year.

Left: Catherine Hickson; Right: Caroline Hickson Kennedy

Miss Hickson had subsequently been brought into the company at the same initial rate as Mrs. Kennedy. Mrs. Kennedy apparently designed the apparel sold by Hickson and Co, but the bulk of the money went to her brother who had a yearly income from the business of $30,000.00. The Hickson’s showroom was at Fifth Avenue and East 52nd Street, directly across the street from the William K. Vanderbilt mansion.

The sisters were embarking on an extended Parisian buying trip for their business when they were lost. Caroline Hickson Kennedy had traveled to Europe aboard the Lusitaniaon one of the early 1915 crossings, and her presence aboard the ship had prompted the Cunard Line to urge other fashion buyers to get over their war fears and head to Europe for the spring buying season. One of the sisters was quoted, on May 1st 1915, as saying, “They wouldn’t dare!” regarding the submarine threat.

Neither sister survived. Lost with them was a wardrobe and jewelry collection valued at $14,000.00. Church bells along Fifth Avenue were tolled in their honor a week after their deaths. Caroline Hickson’s body was recovered (#160) and returned to NY aboard the Cymric on June 2, 1915. She was buried alongside her parents in Toronto’s Mount Hope Cemetary.

The profits of Mrs. Kennedy’s designs in the last completed work year of her life were $125,587.56, according to the paperwork provided at the subsequent court case. The net assets for Hickson, Inc. for 1915 were $179,078.98 “exclusive of goodwill” but after that, things fell apart, and by 1920 the business had failed.

Richard Hickson claimed it was Caroline’s “genius as a designer of women’s apparel and her peculiar and exceptional business abilities” which had kept the company afloat. The court pointed out the odd disparity between what she brought in by her labors and what she was paid by her brother, and also pointed out that released from her “exceptional business abilities” Richard Hickson had withdrawn $50,000.00 from the company to establish a fashion industry magazine for his son which was “a complete failure and the investment a total loss” and had also spent about $100,000.00 on furniture and fixtures in 1915/16. Richard Hickson would be awarded $14,000 for the lost personal effects of his sisters.

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Shipbuilder Albert Lloyd Hopkins, 44, died aboard the Lusitania leaving a wife and a seven- year- old daughter, both named May. The resolution of the case that Mrs. Hopkins, who remarried and was going by the name of Mrs. Ellison Gilmer, brought against Germany was one of several that make present day readers feel vaguely uncomfortable.

Albert Hopkins

Albert Hopkins had worked for the Newport News Ship Building and Dry Dock Company since at least 1904, a year in which his salary was $4,000.00. He was the president of the company by 1915, and earning a yearly salary of $25,000.00. He was physically slight, but healthy and active, and his life expectancy was measured at 25.5 years beyond 1915.

Hopkins’ death left his widow and daughter in dire financial straits:

In other words, the Hopkins were what a future generation would call “$50,000.00 per year millionaires;” living a showy lifestyle, but without savings or investments and carrying substantial debt.

The court award of $80,000.00 to Miss May Hopkins seems just compensation. But, in light of the hard line taken with Edith and John Williams by the court, the award of $50,000.00 to the remarried Mrs. Hopkins seems inexplicable, since her dire financial straits were, ultimately, half of her own doing, and several other remarried widows saw their settlements negated by the fact of their remarriage.

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David Loynd, Baptist missionary and Evangelist, and his wife, Alice Grimshaw Loynd, led a roving life.

David and Alice Loynd

Their travels took them from Africa, to Canada, to Chattanooga, Tennessee. But, they always returned to David’s hometown of Bolton, in the U.K.  Their known travels within North America consisted of:

1896:  David, single, arrived on the Majestic. Listed as an “Evangelist,” en route to Chicago.
1896:  David and fellow missionary left Chicago for Lake Chad, Africa, via NYC.
1900:  David, single, arrived on the Germanic, as an “Evangelist” en route to Newburgh NY.
1905:  David and Alice Loynd, Mary Grimshaw, entered Canada as “Missionaries” to Hamilton, Ontario.
1906:  Same party, to England via NYC.
1907:  David and Alice Loynd, Mary Grimshaw, plus entire Loynd family; consisting of David’s widowed mother, brother, sister in law, niece and sister arrived on the S.S. Sicilian. Glasgow to Boston. The family was en route to Chattanooga, Tennessee.
1910-1911:  Preached at Thompson, Illinois.
1913:  David and Alice arrived on the S.S. Haverford to Philadelphia. They were en route to Mr. Pridgeon’s Bible School, Pittsburgh.
1914: David and Alice arrived on the Devonian, to Boston. David was listed as a missionary, en route to Thompson, Illinois. Last US residence, Midway, Illinois.
April 1915. David and Alice left Ottawa, Illinois. David preached three weeks at the North Side Mission, Richmond, Indiana, while staying with Mary Grimshaw. They traveled to NY via Pennsylvania.

Courtesy of Cliff Barry

 

David and Alice Loynd, according to some accounts, were thrown from the first lifeboat to be wrecked.  Both bodies were recovered, and David’s was returned to England for burial. Alice Loynd, body # 75, was buried in Queenstown. A photograph of Alice Loynd, in her coffin, has been widely circulated since the 1970s.

An account by Joseph Glancy, a friend of theirs from the voyage, survives. He wrote to David’s family in Bolton:

Joseph Glancy

Joseph Glancy’s grave
Courtesy of Gavin Bell

David Loynd was at the center of a mystery that saw him propelled into newspapers across the east coast of the United States fifteen years before his death.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And, with that, the press coverage ended. If Reverend Creighton wrote to David Loynd or his family in Bolton for an explanation, the response was not made available to the press.

The details surrounding the Reilly family, and their involvement with David Loynd, remain puzzling.  One suspects that Mr. Loynd either fell victim to a confidence game, or a blackmail attempt surrounding the night he and Frank Reilly spent together, and fled the country at the first available opportunity. Reverend Creighton’s imposter theory, although possible, makes little sense since one can think of practically no gain in impersonating an impoverished evangelist.

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Several bigamists traveling aboard the Lusitania saw their double lives exposed after the disaster.

The case of Maurice Medbury was one of the more intriguing, and acrimonious affairs to go public in the wake of the Lusitania. Medbury was a dealer specializing in antique jewellery and curios. He was making on average $10.000 a month by buying jewelry from impoverished European families and reselling them to American collectors. It was rumored that he was carrying $100,000 of jewelry with him on the final voyage.

Maurice Medbury had not seen his wife, Lora, for 10 years prior to the disaster. He had made payments of between $150 and $1,000 per month during that time. There had been no contact at all between the couple in the two years prior to the disaster. The Medbury family resided at 1622 Clinton Ave., Alameda, California, from the time they were abandoned.

Medbury sailed on the Lusitania on May 1, 1915, in cabin B101. His cabin steward was Thomas Dawes. Medbury was with passenger Isaac Lehmann in the smoking room, when the Lusitania was struck. Lehmann exclaimed, “They’ve got us at last! Let’s get outside!” Once on deck, Lehmann told Medbury to get away, as debris hit the deck and the roof of the Verandah Café. He did not see Medbury after that.

Initial letters of administration were refused by Judge Wells, in California, as there was no proof that Mr. Medbury had died in the disaster. Mrs Lora Medbury appointed attorney Milton Sheppardson to locate Mr. Medbury’s estate. Had Maurice’s body been recovered and identified, Lora Medbury made it clear that she did not want it buried anywhere near the family.

According to Lora Martin Medbury, the Medbury family fortune was built up from a $100,000 foundation, which had been left to her on the death of her father, a Utica, NY, business man. Sheppardson located $30,000 in a New York bank, $75,000 in a bank in St Louis Mo., and $75,000 in a Chicago bank. Accounts were also found in Berlin, Paris, Spain and Italy.

Rumors abounded that various women friends who Medbury acquired throughout his final ten years held property for him , but this was never proved. Then, it was discovered that there was a second Mrs. Medbury, in England. The English “wife” was a lady named Mrs. Maude Hare Danby Medbury, who lived with Maurice Medbury in Horsley, Surrey. If not legally married, they gave the impression that they were.

Researcher Zach Schwarz noted that in 1913 Mrs. Hare Danby, sailed on the Rotterdam for her yearly visit to her son in Texas. The next person below her on the manifest was Mr. Morris Wallace, a US citizen. Mr. Wallace’s place of birth, oddly enough, is exactly the same as Medbury’s! Apparently Mr. Medbury had an alias to go along with his shady double life

Probate reports in England showed that Medbury left no estate, suggesting that his property and financial assets may have been in the name of Mrs. Danbury Medbury. Given the fact that Medbury had two wives, the question was asked; did he die, or did he survive the disaster and then vanish, with the aim of starting a new life anonymously? The fact that several large bank accounts were left untouched points to the former, but given the cloudy state of his finances and his rather unconventional lifestyle, the latter cannot be ruled out.

Lora Medbury was awarded $7,500.00 as compensation by the Mixed Claims Commission, in Washington D.C. on January 7, 1925.

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Third-class passenger, James Williams, was married in England in February 1902, and had one child. He deserted his wife and child in 1905, with his wife getting a separation order on March 14, 1906. Williams went with another woman to Canada, where he was imprisoned and deported as an undesirable person. He went to the United States in 1911, and married a woman who had a daughter from a previous relationship, on December 15, 1914, in Hoboken, New Jersey. His reasons for boarding the Lusitania are unknown; what is established is that he never divorced his first wife in England. He was lost in the disaster and his body never recovered.

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One of the more compellingly bizarre scandals to surface in the wake of the Lusitania was that involving a figure from the past of Canadian passenger John Napier Fulton.

Mr. Fulton died in the sinking and his wife brought suit against Germany for $80,750.00. A settlement of $30,000.00 was almost finalized when the angry Mrs. Olympe Eugenie Chanteloup Geradin surfaced. It seems that Mr. Fulton had drained her late uncle’s estate of $300,000.00, and converted it into property while acting as liquidator. “The estate worth $300,000.00 was solvent when her uncle died and after Fulton got through with it her was not a cent left for her, the sole devisee.”

There was a court case following that revelation, which lasted from around 1894 onward. However, the case was deferred after Fulton was sentenced to 3 ½ years in prison, commencing in September 1900, for doing the same thing to a Mrs. Coristine, to the sum of $12,541.75.

Judgment was passed in 1922 that Mrs. Geradin was owed $120,143.02. The paperwork establishing proof of the other missing $180,000.00 had been lost in the 28 years since the beginning of the case.   Things got ugly during the course of the trial, with Mrs Geradin’s lawyers revealing in court, with witnesses, that Fulton’s daughter was not legitimate. They established that he had fathered her with a local girl, in order to expedite a personal inheritance, which was conditional upon the birth of an heir.

Mrs. Geradin lost her case in the end, because there was nothing specific the claims court could do for her, and the property which her money had bought was placed in Mrs. Fulton’s name.  With John Fulton dead, and no evidence present that Mrs. Fulton was party to the fraud, the property was untouchable. The Court however DID believe the story about the daughter being illegitimate and made it a point to say that they did not believe Mrs. Fulton on that detail.

The final score: Mrs Geradin: $0. Mrs. Fulton: $3750.00 (plus the income from Mrs. Geradin’s money, so she did alright in the end) Christian Fulton Fraser (the daughter): $6,000: “….whether he was her father or not, she was dependent on him and had much to expect from him by way of bringing up and education. With everything discredible that happened in his business he was an educated man of many good qualities, devoted to his family, who had the regard of influential friends to the last.”

Joseph and Evelyn Dredge

JOSEPH ALAN DREDGE 1872 – 1915 and EVELYN NORMAN DREDGE 1868 – 1915

They say that every family has a skeleton in the cupboard, this was one whose bones had been rattled a few years previous to their untimely demise aboard the RMS “Lusitania”.

Joseph Alan Dredge had been born in Hungerford, Berkshire, in early 1872, the third child of Joseph and Margaretta Dredge. Joseph Snr was an auctioneer and the family lived comfortably, employing a housemaid and enjoying the privileges of their rural life style.

Thousands of miles away, in Bengal, India, Eva Norman Graves, as she had been Christened, also enjoyed the comforts of a middle class life, albeit a much warmer one! Eva was from a highly respected Anglo Irish family whose roots went back hundreds of years in both countries.  Eva had been born in Bengal on 5^th June 1868, the first child of Henry William Graves and his wife Kathleen Sophia Seale. Her birth was followed by two further children, Lillian in 1872 and Henry George in 1884.

On 28^th August 1886 Eva married, at the age of eighteen in Quetta, Harry Seymour Hazelgrove who had been born on 26^th December 1860 and was working towards his ultimate goal of Colonel in the British Army. In 1888 a son was born and named Norman Seymour Hazelgrove. Like the sons of many British Army families of the era, Norman was sent away to England to be educated, attending a public school in Abbotsham, Devon.

Later events would suggest that the Hazelgrove marriage was not a happy one, but the couple lived together in India until October 1902 when Harry was ordered on active service to Aden. Rather than leave Eva behind in India Harry, who had by now attained the position of Colonel, arranged for her to travel to England until his posting was over, providing her with a very generous annual allowance of four hundred pounds.

Shortly after her arrival in England Eva, who was now calling herself “Evelyn” met Joseph Alan Dredge. Joseph had long since left the family home and was working as a produce manager. He had certainly lived in Nyasaland, West Africa, at one time and the meeting must have taken place following his return to England.  Strangely, Colonel Hazelgrove’s sister appears to have been a willing participant to the affair and kept it secret from her brother. Hazelgrove travelled to England in May 1906, probably to re-claim his wife, only to find that Eva had given birth to an illegitimate child on 16^th August 1904, naming one “Alexander Francis” as the father.

Eva had written to Colonel Hazelgrove before the birth of her child, but the letter appears to have gone astray and been returned to England where it eventually found its way into the Colonel’s hands. It read:

Dear Harry,

What I am now about to say to you will not, I fancy, surprise you very much, because our married life has for years past been such a farce. I do not intend at any time to return to you, as I have made up my mind to spend the remainder of my life  with a man for whom I care more than I do for you, and with whom I have lived since the beginning of last year. Because you and I have not been happy together, there is no reason why you should not be happy in future with more congenial companionship, and I hope that you will be.

Yours

ENH

This was too much for Colonel Hazelgrove and he petitioned for the dissolution of his marriage on the grounds of his wife’s adultery with Alexander Francis. The case was heard by Mr Justice Bargrave Deane in January 1907. The proceedings stated that in April 1904, Mrs Hazelgrove had communicated with a Mrs Morice of Horsell, near Woking, Surrey on behalf of a friend, Mrs Francis, who was supposedly returning from India in May for her expected confinement in August.  Arrangements were made for “Mrs Francis” to be received by Mrs Morice. In due course, Evelyn, passing herself as Mrs Francis, went to stay in Woking and was confined of a daughter. The child was duly registered on 5^th November as that of Alexander Francis, shipping merchant and of Mary Evelyn Francis, formerly Dalton of The Cottage, Horsell.

Before pronouncing a decree nisi, Mr Justice Bargrave Deane declared that every enquiry had been made to find the true identity of “Alexander Francis” without avail and it was believed that the name was a fictitious one assumed to avoid discovery of the man’s true identity. Custody of Hazelgrove’s son, Norman, was also given to Harry, although it would only be a couple of years until he reached the age of twenty one.

At the time of the divorce, Joseph and Evelyn were living in West Africa where Joseph was employed as a produce manager. Their daughter, Margaret, appears to have remained in England. Over the following years they made a number of trips back to England to see the child and once the divorce was finalised were able to marry in London during the first few months of 1908. A few days after their wedding, Joseph re-wrote his will, leaving his effects to “My dear wife Evelyn” and in the event of anything happening to both of them, placing young Margaret in the care of his friend Theophilus Davies.

Possibly Evelyn wasn’t comfortable with the slight age difference between herself and Joseph as all her visits back to England indicated on the ship’s passenger manifests that she was several years younger than he. Possibly even Joseph didn’t know her true age! She invariably gave her place of birth as “London” on the manifests too instead of Bengal.

By 1915 Joseph was working for the Belize Estate and Produce Company in Belize, British Honduras. He and Evelyn planned a visit to Margaret and duly set sail for the USA from where they intended to finish the journey to England aboard the RMS “Lusitania”.

Several survivors mentioned the Dredges as “A nice couple” but little is known of their experiences during the sinking. It seems that they entered the sea and were carried out by the current.

A notice in the Personal Column of the London Times for Friday 14^th May read:

“If any survivor of RMS Lusitania saw anything of Mr & Mrs Alan Dredge during the voyage & especially at the time of the disaster, he will confer a great favour by communicating with Clive Davies, 2 George Street, Mansion House E.C.”

The following Thursday there appeared in the Deaths Section:

“DREDGE – In the sinking of the Lusitania, Joseph Alan Dredge of Belize, British Honduras, son of Joseph Dredge of Barnet. Also Evelyn, his wife. They were last seen with their life-belts in the water. Indian and West African papers please copy.”

Margaret Dredge (Daughter) was cared for by Theophilus Davies and educated privately, going on to attend university.

Norman Seymour Hazelgrove  (Son) eventually settled in New South Wales, Australia.

Colonel Harry Hazelgrove (Husband) re-married and had another child.

Geoff Whitfield (2008)