The Flip Side of History. Steve Silverman
C. E. Appleby, superintendent for the Houston SPCA, declared that confining Alice to the glass bottle was “sheer cruelty.”
Roco vehemently denied that Alice was suffering in any way. “Some lady called me yesterday—wouldn’t give her name—and said she heard this chicken’s feet were so sore she couldn’t stand up.” He added, “If there’s a chicken in this town with any more perfect feet, or any more perfect anything than Alice, I’ll donate $1000 [approximately $10,650, adjusted for inflation] to the SPCA.”
Roco’s attitude simply enraged those at the SPCA, who were determined to free Alice from her glass jug. They threatened legal action against Roco if he did not let her out immediately.
But Roco refused. He told the press that placing Alice in the glass jar was an experiment designed to prove that a chicken could thrive on quality feed and a minimal amount of exercise. He stated, “Without all that running around that other chickens do, she’ll really make good eating.”
Mrs. Appleby was outraged and told the press, “This thing has gone beyond the experimental stage, and we’ll take the chicken out of the bottle and hold it at the shelter until this is settled.”
Roco did admit that his so-called experiment had been sponsored by an unnamed feed producer, and was done to generate publicity for both the store and the manufacturer.
The war of words between the two sides continued, and with the SPCA moving closer to filing charges against him, Roco was forced to hire an attorney.
Texas Civil Statute Article 761k, which was intended to protect poultry from cruelty, required that the birds be housed in “coops, crates or cages made of open slats or wire on at least three sides, and of such height, that the fowls can stand upright without touching the top, and shall have troughs or other receptacles with ease of access at all times by the birds confined therein.” The law made no mention of allowing for glass jugs.
On Saturday, April 16, 1949, Roco made the decision to put an end to this entire controversy. He grabbed a hammer, smashed the glass jar, and fractured it into several pieces.
After six weeks of confinement, Alice was finally free and…
She just stood there and didn’t move. After some time, Alice finally began to cautiously walk around the table on which her former home once stood.
G. A. Briscoe, a representative for the company that supplied Alice’s feed, stated, “I’ve seen this thing done before.” He added, “A chicken will stay still for a week or so, out of habit, you know, if it isn’t moved.”
It appeared as if the SPCA had won. Mrs. Appleby later commented, “I surely do consider it a big victory for the SPCA. I’m glad it’s all over and was settled peaceably. Now I can get some sleep.”
It would prove to be a shallow victory.
Shortly after Alice gained her freedom, Roco gave her to his attorney, W. Giles Roberts. He accepted her to cover his “fee.” Roco stated, “Hey, she will make a good meal.”
The next day, April 18, 1949, was not a good one for Alice, as her forty-ninth day of life also became her last. Mr. and Mrs. Roberts made Alice the centerpiece of their Easter Sunday dinner, later commenting that she made for “fine eating.”
It is difficult to say which side won here—the SPCA for freeing Alice, or Clyde Roco for getting the last dig in. Either way, it is very clear that the only one who lost was Alice.
1925
Police arrested William English, John Carner, and Thomas Simpson on July 1, 1925, for the theft of chickens from a coop located at the home of John D. Fell on Upper Lake Street in Elmira, New York.
Simpson was found sleeping in the back of Carner’s car and told the judge that he had played no part in the theft of the chickens. He explained that he had simply hitched a ride from Ithaca to Elmira with Carner. The judge dropped the charges and Simpson was released.
Carner, however, was caught red-handed. In one hand he held apparel stolen from the Fell’s clothesline, while his other held several chickens. He told the judge that the police had gotten it all wrong. He wasn’t taking the chickens from the Fell yard. Instead, he said that he had been transporting the chickens from Ithaca when they escaped from his car. At the time of his arrest, he was in the process of placing those escaped chickens back into his automobile.
It was soon determined that fifty-six-year-old Carner was responsible for a number of chicken thefts around the region. While none of the thefts individually amounted to grand larceny, altogether they caused a great loss to the farmers.
Carner, who had previously served time in prison, pleaded guilty to the charges of burglary in the third degree, and petit larceny. He was sentenced to a five-year term at Auburn Prison. His co-conspirator, William English, pleaded guilty to a charge of burglary in the third degree. He was given a ninety-day sentence and ordered to pay a fine of $200 ($2,900 in today’s money).
1938
Just what happens when person A attempts to kill person B, who unknowingly gets person C to kill person D instead?
Dolores Myerly. That name probably means absolutely nothing to you. And there is a good reason for that: she was born in obscurity, she lived in obscurity, and if it weren’t for one little sip of alcohol, she would have died in obscurity.
Little is recorded publicly about Myerly’s life, but here is what I was able to piece together. First, Dolores Myerly was not her real name. She was born Marie Bayouth in Oklahoma on April 19, 1919, to Alex and Bessie Bayouth. She died a bit shy of her nineteenth birthday. Her body was identified by her sister, Mrs. Ted Myerly of Jacksonville, Florida, and then transported back to Tulsa for burial in the Rose Hill Memorial Park Cemetery. Just how and when Marie Bayouth transformed herself into Dolores Myerly is neither known, nor needed, to tell her story.
Perhaps the most important thing to note was that Myerly was supposedly a member of the world’s oldest profession. She had been staying at the San Juan Hotel in Orlando, Florida, for the ten days prior to her death. On February 15, 1938, Myerly found herself in Jack Holloway’s, a bar within a short walking distance of her room at the hotel. It was there that she met forty-one-year-old Robert Etty of nearby Pine Castle, and the two struck up a conversation.
A pudgy, balding painter by trade, Etty was making ends meet through a combination of legitimate work at the bar and dealing illegal card games in the rear of the establishment to supplement his income. Etty later said, “I’d never been with her before, but I’d heard several of the fellows talking about her. She asked me for $15 to pay her room rent, and I told her that I didn’t have it but that I’d try to get it.” He added, “She told me that I was just giving her the runaround, but I told her I’d see her about midnight, after I got off from work.”
Dolores Myerly had just made a date with death.
Around 11:45 that evening, Etty made his way up to room 208 at the San Juan. He was greeted by Myerly, who was scantily clad in a thin silk slip, stockings, and shoes. As Myerly got closer to Etty, she could feel a miniature bottle of alcohol in his pocket. He offered her a drink, and she mixed the bottle’s contents with water in a tumbler. Etty said, “Hey, don’t drink it all, save some for me.”
He then described what happened next. “She put the tumbler to her lips, took a sip, started to walk toward the bathroom and came back toward me, asking, ‘What did you put in this?’ ”
Those were the last words that Dolores Myerly, a.k.a. Marie Bayouth, ever said. She suddenly dropped to the floor near the foot of her bed.