Chicago Daily Tribune, Chicago, Illinois, September 25, 1887, pg. 26
Dropped Into Eternity
George Malidon’s[sic/Maledon] Memories of Fifty-Two Executions
Sixteen Years’ Experiences with Condemned Men on the Scaffold
Hanging Six Men at One Time
Curious Incident Attending the Taking Off of an Indian Murderer
Nervy Men Who Shed Tears
Indians Usually Make Less Trouble than White Men
Fort Smith Letter in St. Louis Globe-Democrat: There is probably but one man in the world who has been the chief actor in the execution of fifty-two men, and that is George B. Malidon[sic/Maledon] of this city, who has prepared the ropes and attended to the preliminary arrangements for the hanging of the numerous criminals who have met their fate here, fifty-two in all.
Meeting Mr. Malidon recently, your correspondent took occasion to interrogate him as to his experience in the hanging business.
“The first man I ever had anything to do with,” said he, “was John Childers, who was executed Aug. 15, 1873[?], and, by the way, John was the first man ever hung at Fort Smith by the United States Court. There were probably 500 people present, hangings in those days being public. Childers had many friends in the Indian Territory and the report had reached here that an attempt would be made to rescue him; hence there were about 100 guards and Deputy Marshals stationed around the gallows inclosure. A singular incident of this execution was that when Childers was taken from the jail to the gallows the sun was shining beautifully. While the ceremonies on the gallows were being held a storm came up, and just as the trap was sprung the keenest flash of lightning I ever saw rent the air, accompanied by a tremendous clap of thunder. By the time the body was cut down the storm had spent its fury, and the sun was again shining brightly.”
“Do you keep a record of these executions, Mr. Malidon?”
“O, no. I pay very little attention to criminal records of any kind and could not even give you the number that have been hung here if I did not occasionally see it in print.”
“Do you ever have any trouble with the Indians that are hung, more than with whites or negroes?”
“As a rule, Indians are less trouble than whites, and seldom give their keepers any annoyance. They walk out to the gallows without a murmur, seldom make any talk, and the job is soon over. John Billy, a full-blooded Choctaw, who was hung, I think, the same year that John Childers was, displayed more feeling than any Indian I ever saw, and was so troublesome that it became necessary to chain him to a post in a room over the courthouse. He would beg me to shoot him every time I went about him. He died game, though, and was defiant and stoical. Two other Indians were hung at the same time that Billy was.”
“Isn’t hanging a man an extremely irksome and disagreeable duty to perform?”
“It certainly is not a very pleasant job, but I have become so accustomed to it that it now has no effect on me. I have got the business down fine, and know just how to prepare a noose and how to adjust one to make a complete and successful job. Of course I feel sorry for any man who is so unfortunate as to get himself hung, but at the same time think a larger share of my sympathy is due the other fellow – the one that has been murdered.”
“Did you ever hang a man that you thought might possibly be innocent!”
“No. I believe every man executed here was guilty and deserved his punishment, though, of course, there have been many who deserved it more than others, but I seldom make any distinction between murderers.”
“How many did you ever hang at one time?”
“Six was the largest number ever taken out at one time, and they were, with one exception, fine-looking young men – William Moore, Dan Evans, Sam Fooy, William Whillington, and Ed Campbell, a negro boy. Moore was the first man I ever saw go off mad. He glanced over the immense crowd surrounding the gallows defiantly, and when asked if he had anything to say, remarked that there were worse men than he standing around looking on. A striking contrast to Moore, however, was Sam Fooy, whose mother, wife, and children were near at hand, and who was well acquainted with many who had come to see him hanged. During the ceremonies on the gallows he stood facing the crowd with a pleasant smile on his face, nodding his head frequently as his eye caught that of some friend. When asked if he desired to say anything, he glanced around and said in a pleasant tone of voice: ‘I am as anxious to have this thing over with as these who have assembled to see it, and therefore will not delay matters – farewell to all.’ There would have been seven to hang this time; but Ed Butler, a negro, attempted to escape after receiving sentence and was killed by a guard. There have been five hung at one time on two different occasions since this execution.”
“Have you ever met with any accidents in hanging criminals?”
“I remember but one occasion where I failed to break their necks, and that was in the case of a little negro named James Diggs, who turned his head just as I sprung the trap and displaced the rope. He died hard, strangling to death.”
“All these condemned men are uneducated, rough characters, are they not?”
“As a general thing they are, many of them being Indians and negroes. The nicest man I ever pulled a black cap over was Dr. Henry Stewart, who was hung in 1879, I think, for the murder of Dr. Jones at Caddo, Choctaw Nation. He was a polished gentleman in appearance, and well educated. He displayed extraordinary nerve all the way through, asked no special favors, and complained at nothing. On the gallows he had little to say and was much less nervous than those who surround him. Bill Elliott, known as “Colorado Bill,” was hung with him, and also displayed great courage, saying he had killed his man in self-defense, and if it was to do over again he would do the same thing. As I was adjusting the ropes Elliott said: ‘For God’s sake, boys, break our necks – don’t punish us.’”
“Do they ever break down on the gallows?”
“I have seen several of them weaken, but never had to brace up but one or two, and that was only for a moment, just before the trap was sprung.”
“Isn’t it necessary to give a light man a longer fall than a heavy one?”
“No. I usually give them a six-foot drop. Little Ed Fulsom – hung, I think, some time in 1884 – did not weigh to exceed 115 pounds, and his neck was broken by a six-foot fall.”
“do they all think they are going straight to Heaven?”
“Well, a majority of them get some sort of religion before the day of execution comes around and say they are ready to go, having no fears, as to their future, as they have made peace with their God; but some go off without making any religious preparation, and, in my opinion, they have about as good a show to climb the golden stairs as the others.”
“In all these executions has there never any extraordinary scene occurred?”
“None worth mentioning. On one occasion, when five were being conducted to the gallows, one of them, William Brown, fainted on the way, but I think this was caused more by exposure to the sun after long confinement than by fear, as he braced up and displayed good nerve on the gallows. And, by the way, I have seen many commuted to life imprisonment who deserved hanging worse than Brown did.”
“A majority of them make confession before death, do they not?”
“As a general thing those convicted on circumstantial evidence make no direct confessions, but there are exceptions to the rule, where they make a clean breast of it, and those who do are mostly Indians. Those who adopt the Catholic faith seldom, if ever, have anything to say, one way or the other, but none of them will admit that he deserves to be hung.”
“Do they show much feeling on the scaffold?”
“Some of them cry and sob freely, but those crying fellows stand as firmly on the trap as any of them, and are sometimes more nervy than those who step forward with dry eyes.”
“How much preparation is required for the execution of four or five?”
“I always prepare the ropes a week or more before the day of execution and stretch them with dummies, adjusting the trap and letting them fall through five or six times each day. The condemned men always know when I am preparing for them, as they can easily hear the noise made by dummies falling through. They frequently ask me how she works, etc., sometimes in a sincere and sometimes in a jocular manner. While only fifty-two have been hung I have prepared ropes for nearly a hundred, many death sentences having been commuted to life imprisonment after their ropes had been prepared.”
“They all know you, and are aware of your duties, I suppose, long before their day of execution arrives?”
“O, yes, my duties as guard at the jail throw me in contact with them every day for months. Frequently they ask me on the gallows to make a sure job, and I always tell them to follow my instructions and there will be no mistake. The main thing for them to do is not to move their heads after the rope is adjusted, and in nearly every case they do just as I tell them. I always shake the hand of each one and bid them good-by just before pulling the black caps over, and I have become so accustomed to it that it is no more than bidding farewell to a friend who is starting out on a journey, perhaps never to return.”
“How long have you been connected with the Federal Court?”
“I think it was removed from Van Buren to this place in 1870 or 1871, and I have been employed at the jail almost constantly since that time. I had considerable experience with criminals prior to this – had for several years after the war served as deputy sheriff, city policeman, etc. While acting as deputy sheriff, I was, unfortunately, compelled to shoot three men, but only one of them died. Two of them tried to escape from jail one morning by overpowering me, and I had to shoot both of them. They were horse thieves. On another occasion a horse thief named Wilson attempted to escape, and he received a fatal wound. In 1872, while turnkey at the United States Jail, I had to shoot Ellis McGee to prevent him from escaping but he recovered.”
George Malidon is a Bavarian by birth and is 57 years of age, though he looks much younger. He came to this country when a child and lived for many years at Detroit, Mich., where he learned the trade of machinist. In 1856 he came to Fort Smith and has since resided here. During the war he served as an artilleryman in the Union army.