The Murder of Jay Given: 400 witnesses, zero convictions

This article was adapted from Crooked Politics in Northwest Indiana by Jerry Davich (History Press)

Only in East Chicago can a homicide take place at a political fundraiser with four hundred guests just a room away and nobody see or hear a thing. 

Northwest Indiana during the twentieth century had a lot of jobs and growth. According to Calvin Bellamy, president of the Northwest Indiana Shared Ethics Advisory Commission, “Life was good and mostly free for the average citizen.” But the region also had political machines, powerful industrialists, and rampant corruption. 

And that’s how this improbable scenario—fundraiser, four hundred people, witness-free murder—happened on May 15, 1981, inside the East Chicago Elks building at 4624 Magoun Avenue. 

Jay Given, a fifty-one-year-old political power-broker who was once dubbed the city’s “midnight mayor,” was known to make or break politicians. He had a nasty temper and made enemies as fast as he made friends, former associates agreed. 

From 1963 to 1973, Given served as city attorney and then later as an adviser for East Chicago mayor Robert Pastrick. It was rumored that the two powerful politicos had a falling out years later. In fact, on the very night of his murder, Given attended a fundraiser for N. Atterson Spann, Pastrick’s opponent for mayor at the time. Given may not have attended every political function in the city, but since his falling out with Pastrick, he wanted to realign himself with Spann. 

Former East Chicago mayor Robert Pastrick. Jay Given spent years as an adviser to Pastrick. From Crooked Politics in Northwest Indiana by Jerry Davich (History Press, 2017. $21.99)

On the night of the murder, Given won $300 in a ticket drawing at the Las Vegas–style fundraiser in the Elks’ ballroom. He had just left the room when, just after 11:00 p.m., he walked to the first-floor lobby toward the building’s main entrance. One witness claimed he saw Given and a man with dark hair, wearing a dark suit, get into a heated argument as Given left the vestibule. Given had his car keys in one hand and a cigarette lighter in the other, the witness said. 

Police believe this was when the dark-haired man shot Given in the back of the head at point-blank range, execution style. According to the police report, the bullet went through the back of Given’s head, exited through the middle of his forehead, broke through a glass door leading outside and landed on the street, several feet away. The bullet’s casing landed on the vestibule floor, police said. Given’s body fell with his head lodged between the glass doors, the police report states. 

At 11:14 p.m., an anonymous call came into police headquarters. A woman with a Spanish accent reported that a man had been shot. In hindsight, former East Chicago police chief Gus Flores, the primary investigator on the case, regrets that no one interviewed this female caller, who likely feared for her safety. 

When the sound of the gunshot rattled through the ballroom, hundreds of guests made a mad dash out of the building. Some trampled over Given’s body, tampering with potential evidence, police said. No one came forward to admit witnessing the assassination-style shooting. At one point, a Jockey Club employee, Odessa Gamble, spent ten days in jail for contempt for not cooperating with police detectives. 

One key clue, however, was discovered. A bullet casing found in the building’s vestibule turned out to be a match for a rare .45-caliber Detonics pistol. It was widely known around the city that East Chicago deputy police chief John Cardona owned such a handgun. No murder weapon was found and neither was Cardona’s rare pistol. The deputy police chief became the prime suspect in the case, but he was never charged. 

To this day, Flores says the case still haunts him, offering a hint of hope that it can someday be solved. As one veteran attorney who worked that case put it, “It’s the kind of story that only happens in Lake County, Indiana.” 


Buy Crooked Politics in Northwest Indiana
This article was adapted from Crooked Politics in Northwest Indiana by Jerry Davich (History Press)

August a terrible month? Not in Indy.

There’s always something happening in Indianapolis—and in Indianapolis’s history. Still, August is a particularly packed month. Here are some forgotten moments from the Circle City.

August 9, 1902 

On this day day, a city humane officer patrolled the City Market. The reason? To look into “the charge that market gardeners allow their horses to stand on the street all day without feeding them.” The city had just passed a new ordinance to protect the horses, but it didn’t need to worry about the humans eating well. The City Market building had gone up in 1886 just east of the Circle, allowing city residents to purchase fresh foods in season. The “City Market” column on the August 9 newspaper listed crab apples, cooking apples and pears, as well as “Hoosier canteloupes” (two for five cents). “Corn’s up, selling 7 to 10 cents a dozen,” and heads of cabbage “bigger than a wooden bucket” were selling for one nickel each. 

August 13, 1958 

Sidewalk superintendent” pins were given to bystanders watching the construction of Glendale Mall.

By the early 1950s, suburban shopping centers were the newest trend in U.S. retail. Middle-class families who were moving into suburbs wanted conveniently located stores with free and ample parking, as well as access to many stores in one location. On this day in 1958, the first suburban retail center in Indianapolis opened. Glendale Shopping Center attracted attention even before it opened: those who gathered to watch construction were given “sidewalk superintendent” pins with the Glendale logo. The shopping center was an open-air development that offered thirty-seven retail stores in one location, including the very first branch location of the L.S. Ayres department store. 

August 16, 2008 

Interior of Lucas Oil Stadium

In 1984, Indianapolis proudly welcomed the Indianapolis Colts to a new indoor, inflatable-dome stadium. Just like the sports figures who play in them, professional sports stadiums age quickly, and so in August 2008, the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new Lucas Oil Stadium took place not far from where the previous dome had been deflated, deconstructed and hauled away. The new facility could seat more than sixty-seven thousand fans. It featured a retractable roof that could remain open to take advantage of cool fall afternoons and close to fend off snow, rain and preseason summer humidity. The stadium’s large outside plazas, expansive indoor public spaces and massive video boards made Lucas Oil Stadium a hit with fans and sports journalists alike. The stadium’s distinctive profile is visible from much of downtown Indianapolis. 

August 21, 1964 

On the morning of August 20, the editors of the Indianapolis Star sent a reporter and photographer to the Hook’s Drugstore on Monument Circle. The next day, the newspaper printed photographs of two hundred teenagers who were standing in line at 9:30 a.m. to buy concert tickets that would not be available until 2:00 p.m. Evidently, Indianapolis was not immune to Beatlemania—the teens were waiting to buy tickets (three dollars each, with a limit of five per person) to see the British group perform at the Indiana State Fair on September 3. American fans of rock-and-roll had heard the group’s single “I Want to Hold Your Hand” in 1963, but the Beatles had not yet set foot on U.S. soil. They arrived in America for the first time in February 1964, appeared twice on the Ed Sullivan Show and performed in Washington, D.C., and New York City. Their first American concert tour took place in August 1964, when the Beatles performed in twenty-three cities across the country for their screaming fans—including those in Indianapolis. 

August 30, 1916 

On this day, the Circle Theater opened on Monument Circle. The building was the city’s first dedicated movie theater. In 1928, The Jazz Singer, the first “talking picture,” made its Indianapolis debut on the Circle’s screen. Built at a cost of more than half a million dollars, the Neoclassical Revival building featured an interior with elaborate plaster moldings on ceilings, walls and the proscenium frieze framing the stage. For sixty-five years, the facility functioned as a movie theater and a venue for stage shows. In 1981, in a city full of suburban multi-screen movie theaters and modern venues for stage productions, the Circle Theater closed and its already poor condition deteriorated. After a massive $7 million renovation, the theater reopened in 1984 as the new home of the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra. The Hilbert Circle Theater once again operates as a center of culture in downtown Indianapolis. 

How the Hobby House launched a fast food empire

The biggest story to hit Indiana’s food scene recently has been the New York Times’ celebration of the fried chicken in the southern part of the Hoosier state. “If you see a steeple in southeastern Indiana,” wrote Michael Ruhlman, “you can be pretty sure that fried chicken is nearby.”

But there is good chicken—and good chicken history—all over the state. You won’t find a better example than the Hobby House in Fort Wayne. 

Phil Clauss opened the Hobby House in 1948; his 155-seat restaurant served breakfast and lunch every day but Saturday. Over the front door, the Hobby House advertised “popular foods at popular prices.” 

Among Clauss’s employees was a fifteen-year-old (and future Wendy’s founder) named Dave Thomas, whose adoptive family had made the trek north from Knoxville, Tennessee. Thomas elected to stay even as the family prepared to move again. He dropped out of school to support himself, and he did not obtain his GED until 1993. Thomas considered the decision to leave school the worst of his life, and it turned him into an advocate for education—in addition to adoption—causes. 

Fort Wayne history books banner ad.

As Clauss took note of Thomas’s diligence in even the most routine tasks, like busing tables and washing dishes, Thomas rose through the ranks. Clauss eventually made Thomas manager of the Hobby House Ranch Restaurant at North Anthony Boulevard and Crescent Avenue. 

In a you-can’t-make-this-stuff-up twist, the Hobby Ranch site is now home to a Wendy’s restaurant. Thomas visited that store—the 5,300th in the Wendy’s chain—in 1998. 

In 1954, a cowboy star named Kenne Duncan,  stopped by the Hobby House. c/o News Sentinel, via Classic Restaurants of Fort Wayne by Keith Elchert and Laura Weston (History Press, 2019. $21.99)

“Yep. It all started right here,” Thomas reminisced to a newspaper interviewer during that stop. “I used to live around the corner and this is also where the Colonel walked in and eventually became one of my mentors.”

That would be Colonel Harland David Sanders, who was growing his fried chicken empire of franchised KFCs. Thomas remained on the Colonel’s radar when in 1962 he accepted Clauss’s offer to take over four KFC franchises that Clauss owned and that were floundering in Columbus, Ohio. Thomas was promised a 45 percent stake if he was able to turn the stores around. His success was evident when he and a partner sold those stores back to KFC for $1.5 million in 1968. Thomas opened his first Wendy’s in Columbus a year later. 

Wendy’s grew to become the world’s third-largest hamburger chain. Legend has it that the signature square hamburgers got their shape as Thomas kept in mind the advice of his grandmother: “Don’t cut corners.” And Thomas became a television commercial staple through the late 1980s and 1990s as the folksy pitchman for the restaurants named for one of his daughters. He was estimated to have filmed more than eight hundred spots, a record for a company-founder/pitchman. In a previous Wendy’s advertisement campaign, Clara Peller introduced America to the well-remembered catchphrase, “Where’s the beef?” 

A former Hobby House patron shared her own insight into Thomas during his 1998 visit to his old stomping grounds. 

“The thing I most admire about him is that he still remembers who we are,” said Lorraine Shubert. “We’ve never been in one place together where he didn’t recognize us. He’s just a wonderful guy.” 

As for the Hobby House, its flagship downtown restaurant closed in August 1999. Its owners cited a recently enacted city ordinance that banned smoking in restaurants, which they said led to an almost immediate 20 percent drop in business. Phil Clauss’s daughter Carol continued her father’s restaurant tradition. After working at the Hobby House for years, she went on to open the Family & Friends Café in Time Corners. 


American Palate food history books banner ad.

This article was adapted from Classic Restaurants of Fort Wayne by Keith Elchert and Laura Weston (History Press, 2019. $21.99 )

The Worst-Kept Secret in Texas

While certainly not the first whorehouse in Central Texas, the so-called Chicken Ranch was, for decades, the worst kept secret around. Just outside the city limits of La Grange, along a gravel road, was an unassuming 9-room boarding house where women would sell sex, while remaining out of public view. La Grange, along the highway from Houston to Austin, had the benefit of being near Texas’ other giant college town College Station. Generations of students from University of Texas and Texas A&M helped spread the word about the whorehouse, perhaps too much. Businessmen, farmers, and politicians spent their money at the Chicken Ranch.

La Grange’s famed bordello succeeded where other town’s did not. Galveston, the island city on the Texas Gulf Coast, also know as the “Playground of the Southwest,” could not manage its mix of gangsters, politicians, bootleggers, madams, and prostitutes who ran Galveston’s vice. La Grange kept itself well-managed and well-hidden, until 1973, when it was closed for good.

How did the obviously illegal act of prostitution remain under the noses of the law enforcement community for nearly 130 years? It was three sly Texas legends who sustained the Chicken Ranch, and one tenacious Houston TV personality who burned it down.

By the middle of the century, the Chicken Ranch—or Chicken Farm—had become so well known throughout the state that Southwestern Bell made a sly acknowledgement of it on the cover of the April 1958 telephone directory. Courtesy Gary McKee, via Inside the Texas Chicken Ranch by Jayme Blashke. (History Press, $24.99)

Aunt Jessie

In 1913, Fay Stewart left Austin and its vice-busters, and moved to nearby La Grange. Renaming herself Aunt Jessie, she relocated the town’s whorehouse outside of the city limits, where it became the county’s problem. “Out-of-sight, out-of-mind” was enough to allow brothels to remain open, especially around small towns. The social purity movement of the era worked to embarrass the sheriff through righteous indignation, but Aunt Jessie convinced the county’s top cop that the prohibition approach didn’t work, prostitution was a necessary evil, and inevitable. Meanwhile, it didn’t hurt that she was caring madam who was also a generous philanthropist. Finally, the masterful madam gets the credit for “camouflaging” the compound with free-roaming chickens, hence the name “Chicken Ranch.”

Edna Milton at age forty-two in this photo dated March 2, 1970. Courtesy Edna
Milton Chadwell via Inside the Texas Chicken Ranch.

Miss Edna

When Aunt Jessy’s health declined, Edna Milton, a former prostitute herself, bought the business outright. Miss Edna, as she had always been known, insisted on high standards, and even wrote a lengthy rulebook for her “boarders.” Actually, her ladies paid a boarding fee and a percentage of their earnings. Weekly medical check-ups  and informal “examination” of clients for infections slowed the spread for venereal disease. She forbade pimps and gangsters from setting up shop, which allowed it to remain a local law enforcement matter.

“I just wanted to be a cowboy,” Big Jim once said. His work as a ranch hand in South Texas, a Texas Ranger in the Big Bend region and sheriff of Fayette County gave him plenty of opportunity to live that dream. Courtesy La Grange Visitors Bureau via Inside the Texas Chicken Ranch.

Sheriff T.J. Flournoy


Miss Edna’s colorful co-conspirator was the the county’s sheriff, Big Jim Flournoy. At six feet four inches, Big Jim was everyone’s image of a Texas sheriff — think John Wayne. He was such a respected lawman that he was recruited to join the venerable Texas Rangers. He moved back to La Grange and worked with respected madams Aunt Jessy and Miss Edna to ensure the Chicken Ranch conducted its business within the mutually-agreed boundaries. There was no organized crime. No one complained, so the illegal brothel stayed open.

Marvin Zindler

Less than a year into his tenure as the consumer affairs reporter for KTRK-TV, Marvin Zindler set his sights on taking down the Chicken Ranch. Courtesy Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries, via Inside the Texas Chicken Ranch.

Self-made television personality Marvin Zindler saw the news story of a lifetime in La Grange’s “hidden” whorehouse. Zindler had spent years on the edge of Houston’s law enforcement community, sometimes as a deputy sheriff, but mostly as their spokesperson. With support from the Texas Attorney General, Texas Rangers found a way to “reveal” the whorehouse to the public. Frustrated but persistent, Texas Department of Public Safety officers, with support from the new Attorney General, leaked case folders that allowed the crusading TV showboater Zindler to bust the Chicken Ranch with undercover video broadcast onto Houston televisions in the summer of 1973. The final blow came when Marvin Zindler ambushed the governor with his “findings.” Political will to conceal and protect the Chicken Ranch evaporated overnight. But a star was born. Zindler remained a local TV star until his death in 2007.


This article was adapted from Inside the Texas Chicken Ranch: The Definitive Account of the Best Little Whorehouse by Jayme Lynn Blaschke (History Press, 24.99)

Infamous Figures of Galveston’s Red Light District

Galveston, the island city on the Texas Gulf Coast, has long been seen as the “Playground of the Southwest.” Its beaches call out to tourists and conventioneers, who come ready to play. Where fun unfurls, vice follows. 

In the early 20th century, Galveston’s official and unofficial leaders sought to manage gambling and prostitution by limiting it to a few blocks know as the Line, and essentially “looking the other way.” 

Pirate Jean Lafitte

Forced to retire from New Orleans, Lafitte brought his band of privateers to Galveston, and found the native Karankawa women to be irresistible. They sought the company of the plundering sailors, who plied them with jewels. The Karankawa men objected and fought the Lafitte camp over the women. Both pirates and natives disappeared as Mexican control increased on the island in the 1820s.

Madam Mary Gouch-EyeRussel

Russel who ran a bordello for over two decades, partnered with the mayor whenever he needed a special girl for a visiting big-shot. His gratitude was repaid when she would be tipped off to law enforcement house raids, which were mostly for show only. Within the boundaries of the Line, bordellos served johns and kept prostitution off the streets. At their peak in the 1940s, some houses could earn as much as $20,000 in a week!

A former bordello located at 2710 Postoffice, circa 1966. Courtesy of Rosenberg Library via Galveston’s Red Light District: A History of the Line

“They had only one thing to sell, but they knew the law of supply and demand; as far as they were concerned, that was the only law that mattered.”

Ruth Levy Kempner

Kempner  married into one of Galveston’s most prestigious families. She had progressive and pragmatic views that sex workers would ply they trade no matter what, so why not have a little oversight by the cops? Never a prissy or hypocritical Victorian, Kempner stood up to conventional thinking as an advocate for prostitutes. She was also fearless, standing up to corrupt law enforcement officials, who profited from shaking down underworld figures, madams, and even prostitutes themselves. In 1961, her endorsement from famed madam Big Tit Marie probably won Kempner election to city government.

The first segment of this layered tally appears to account for sixteen customers. Photo by Kimber Fountain.

Crusaders were hell bent on 86ing prostitution altogether, and would close the Line periodically. When vice pushed back underground, it corrupted the cops, who were susceptible to bribes. Mayoral candidate Roy Clough resisted the crusaders, knowing the economic value the illicit activities brought to the city; and, like Ruth Kempner, encouraged the red light district’s “out-of-sight, out-of-mind” philosophy. He reasoned that bribed cops were worse than monitored, behind-closed-door vice. He reopened the Line, but state officials, tired of the embarrassing national headlines, wore down his political support. Clough served from 1955 to 1959.

This building at 2727 Market Street operated as a brothel after the Line was shut down in 1953. Photo by Kimber Fountain

Adapted from Kimber Fountain’s Galveston’s Red Light District: A History of the Line

The Exaltation of the Breakfast Taco*

(*not just for breakfast anymore)

What’s your favorite breakfast taco? How do you take it? Are you a flour or corn tortilla person?

These are important questions, especially in Austin, Texas.

Austin, the small college town filled with big ideas and ambitious dreamers, loves to find simple things and make them larger than life. Behold the lowly taco. Once the simplest and cheapest way to serve meats, beans, rice, or whatever might be leftover in the kitchen, and wrapped in a tortilla, today has become a culinary art form. The capital city has recently exalted the taco to iconic status on the food landscape. While tacos aren’t unique to Texas, they have been the focus of constant attention since receiving the Austin treatment in the early 1990s. It took many decades, but the taco, especially the breakfast taco, is now fully-gentrified into pop food culture.

Take your pick: carne guisada, puerco en chile verde or bacon and egg at Marcelino Pan y Vino. Photo by Dennis Burnett.
Take your pick: carne guisada, puerco en chile verde or bacon and egg at Marcelino Pan y Vino. Photo by Dennis Burnett.

Pioneers

Certainly, Austin benefitted from being perfectly situated geographically, ethnically, and philosophically. And, while no single community can take full credit with popularizing the Mexican dish, Austin has shown the world that it worships tacos and the taco makers. Throughout Austin, Hispanic families trace their Austin roots back several generations. Restaurateur Diana Valera tells the story of her immigrant grandparents opening Tony’s Tortilla Factory, and then the beloved Tamale House. She boasts that, “Every taco is a little piece of art.” Now, her children are in the biz and honor their family tradition.

Natives

Among native Austinites, it’s difficult to get a complete history of the breakfast taco. Yes, it has always been a staple on Mexican-American tables, but outside of Spanish-speaking homes and restaurants, Austin natives witnessed the breakfast taco crossing over in the mid-1990s, right around the time the general public was realizing a taco wasn’t required to be in a crispy, yellow shell. Natives always knew that crossing I-35 to the east, where historically segregated Latino communities lived and worked, was how to find the best tacos in Austin. Today, that boundary line has been blurred, if not permanently lost.

Innovators

Now that the breakfast taco has “crossed over,” it has become big business for some — look at popular chains like Tacodeli, Torchy’s, and Taco Cabana. Even the beloved Texas chain Whataburger offers the legit Taquito. Barbecue rockstar Aaron Franklin prefers brisket on his breakfast taco (of course). Austin American-Statesman journalist and proud “non-hipster” Juan Castillo, Jr. declares, “This is a foodie town, but we’re not fussy or pretentious about it. Austinites appreciate good food, no matter if it’s from a trailer or a four-star restaurant.”

Author’s note:
If you’re in Austin, here are my standout breakfast taco can’t-misses: Tamale House, Tacodeli (order the Otto), Magnolia Cafe, Juan in a Million, and Rosie’s on Highway 71.

Breakfast tacos, served all day at the Pueblo Viejo trailer. Photo by Dennis Burnett.
Breakfast tacos, served all day at the Pueblo Viejo trailer. Photo by
Dennis Burnett.

Hungry Yet? If not, here’s a taco slideshow to get you going…

 


GET THE BOOK!

Austin Breakfast Tacos: The Story of the Most Important Taco of the Day