“The Manner of Her Paying is a Thing to Make Women Pause”: The Death of Theresa Weinstein Moers by Boxer Kid McCoy, August 1924, Part Three

by Paul R. Spitzzeri

The day following the 13 August 1924 shooting death of Theresa Weinstein Moers, whose surname was recently changed to Mors by her ex-husband, Albert, coverage of the incident involving former boxing champion Norman Selby, who went by Kid McCoy in the ring, was more sensationalized in two other Los Angeles newspaper than the extensive amount undertaken by the Times.

The Los Angeles Express had a big blaring headline of “KID M’COY CONFESSION TOLD TO GRAND JURY,” with the feature article emphasizing testimony to that body was his sister, Jennie Thomas, including her declaration:

Norman came to my house yesterday at 2 a.m. and got me out of bed. He gave me all his personal belongings and then told me: “I had to kill that woman out there.”

Employing the pugilistic metaphor, the paper continued that “with District Attorney Asa Keyes as referee, and with a corps of police detectives as seconds [the fighter’s team in his corner], the former boxer, after a day of useless countering, was brought nearer the mat of an accused slayer.” Advised by counsel to keep his mouth shut and say nothing to Keyes, McCoy, the piece continued, was sure to be charged in Mors’ death.

There was more to the matter, because of McCoy’s terrorizing of a number of persons at the Mors antique shop across from Westlake (now MacArthur) Park and a nearby business, with three individuals shot and wounded, so Herman Cline, assistant captain of detectives with the Los Angeles Police Department, informed the media,

Just as sure as I’m alive, McCoy killed Mrs. Mors. We have all we need to prosecute him as the killer. We also have enough evidence to send him away for life on charges of robbery and assault with the intent to commit murder on three other persons.

The accused’s attorney, Ralph D. Knickerbocker (an interesting surname given that the Morses were from New York City), stated to the press that “several days before the Mors killing friends of the ex-pugilist appeared at his office for advice concerning taking him before the lunacy commission” because “McCoy’s actions [were reported] as ‘strange’ and [they] expressed fears for his future orderly conduct.” Another lawyer, Edward L. Davin, made sure his client clammed up to avoid more incrimination when Keyes began asking questions of McCoy.

As for Albert, who was to face arraignment (it was previously reported a trial) the following days for robbery by taking property from the antiques shop and for threatening his late ex-wife’s life, “after a tearful conference in Keyes’ office . . . Mors was exonerated of all suspicion in the murder.” He gave a notable statement to the district attorney, exclaiming, “God is with me. I was going to study criminal law and come back and hang Kid McCoy, but now I won’t have to. I guess God arranged this mess and that now the law will hang McCoy—not me.”

Considered damning to McCoy was the view by detectives that Theresa “evidently engaged in a desperate fight before the fatal shot was fired,” citing the damage to her lip, such that “the teeth [were] forced far into it,” though he claimed she caused the wound when trying to use a butcher knife to kill herself. There was also a wound under her left breast, said to be from a hat pin, cuts on the left arm and throat, “and many bruises and lacerations on the body.” It was also observed that there were no powder marks on her temple where the bullet entered and that it “was fired from the left side, an awkward and almost impossible thing to do while struggling with another for possession of the weapon,” which McCoy claimed took place.

Police officials, moreover, believed that, readying to leave for New York City in a few days, Theresa told McCoy she was ending their relationship and that this “long and desperate quarrel” led to the physical struggle that culminated in her death. The matter of her terminating her affair was based on interviews with Sam and Anna Schapp, owners of a millinery shop near the antique store and who were shot by McCoy, apparently because of his anger that they counseled Theresa on the matter.

Drama animated a remarkable essay on the incident, composed by Estelle Lawton Lindsey, a journalist for years with the Los Angeles Tribune and the Express and a socialist who was the first woman to serve on the Los Angeles City Council, holding her seat from 1915 to 1917 and, for one day, served as mayor in the absence of the chief executive and council president. In her article, titled “Theresa Mors Pays Toll In Middle-Age Romance,” Lindsey observed that “the manner of her paying is a thing to make women pause.”

She continued that, “‘Kid McCoy’ must face the results of a rampage that would have done credit to a crazed elephant in the Siamese jungles,” but at the Nottingham Apartments, Theresa “was not a pretty sight to see.” While the police referred to the dual crimes as “a tangled situation,” the veteran journalist stated “some things are crystal clear to the understanding” including the fact that Theresa’s death “was a logical climax to what had preceded it.”

Lindsey was among a team of Express reporters who arrived at the Nottingham and, spotting “a wild-eyed man in handcuffs,” she asked a police officer who told her that the prisoner was McCoy, as “the odor of liquor clung to him and his eyes were bloodshot and glassy.” She briefly spoke to the janitor, a Black man named Hiram David, though she thought it necessary to offer his words in dialect: “Yessum, I found her . . . I didn’t tech her. I lef’.” The journalist went on:

Inside the death chamber was the whole sordid story, a silent sermon.

The exquisite white skin of Theresa Mors had been beaten black. Sooty circles surrounded her closed eyes. A terrific blow had left an ebony area below her right ear. Purple blotches marred the beauty of her throat. And her half-open eyes looked a terrified, dumb appeal.

It is striking, if obvious, that only a woman member of the media would approach the topic in the way Lindsey did, while she also showed a striking attention to detail, including items on a table next to where the body lay, including a bottle of cold cream, cigarette ashes, an Indian doll, photos of Theresa and McCoy in one-piece bathing suits, and perfume, all said to be “the dumb companions and betrayers of the dead.”

What also caught Lindsey’s eye was an enamel box on a dresser, considered the “one exquisite thing” in the apartment and which “offered hope,” though all it contained were cigarette rolling papers, pills and a bottle of poison. Amid the disorder and the depressing atmosphere, the journalist concluded,

Blood and bruises, bruises and blood—and she had “coyly” admitted that she might become the tenth wife of 51-year-old “Kid McCoy.” Middle-age romance. My wandering eyes fell at last on a large octagon-shaped box, and on the lid I read:

ASHES OF ROSES

The sins that ye do by two and two

Ye must pay for one by one.

Another “McCoy Extra” was offered by the Los Angeles Record, also of the 14th, as the paper boasted of its “SPEED, ACCURACY, COMPLETENESS!” when it came to its comprehensive analysis and opinion on the situation, proud that it “beat the town” by 20 minutes when it came to reporting on the killing, adding “it was everywhere in the hands of newsboys and on news stands before the other afternoon newspapers had gotten a start.”

A significant detail was revealed by the paper that, at 3 a.m., seven hours before Theresa’s remains were discovered and just after he left his sister’s home in Highland Park, he appeared at the Hollywood police station and inquired for the officer who removed him from the nearby Mors residence, as mentioned in part one of this post. When a desk sergeant said he wasn’t working, McCoy groused, “lucky for him” and when the sergeant asked why got the rejoinder of “read the papers tomorrow and you’ll find out.” Another officer was ordered to take McCoy home, under the impression he was intoxicated, and, upon reaching the apartment at the Notthingham, where Theresa lay dead, McCoy noticed the officer peering into the room and growled, “I can go to bed all right; you get out of here.”

A new bit of information concerned the fact that Albert’s attorney, Frank M. Andreani, “tied up all Mrs. Mors’ funds in escrow,” while it was added that “Federal authorities confiscated her diamonds . . . on charges that she had smuggled them into the United States several years ago.” Because she lacked ready access to money, Theresa apparently sent McCoy to Andreani’s office, but found the lawyer away. Another interesting disclosure was that the antique store’s books showed that McCoy borrowed company money on several occasions.

There were also reports that the police considered the possibility of a double suicide, with McCoy failing to follow through, while another theory was that he was enraged when Theresa reportedly told her ex-husband she was leaving McCoy “and affectionately kissed him good-bye” the day prior to her death.

In a sensational article, titled “M’Coy Wins Woman’s Love,” the piece began,

Love at first sight—That is the start of a series of events, that flamed into a passionate triangle, wreaked vengeance upon a happy home and culminated Wednesday in one of the most startling murders in the criminal annals of Los Angeles.

It was reported that, in February, while Albert was in New York City, Theresa attended a party thrown by a judge and “Kid McCoy was there” so “the inevitable happened.” Even though she greeted Albert with a hug and kiss when he disembarked from the train on his return, Theresa evidently told him “she had transferred her affections to another.” It was added that Albert “patiently listened, but he did not believe,” until three days later when she brought McCoy home for dinner and “the two men glared at each other” as “the meal was eaten in silence.”

As Theresa and McCoy carried on a less-than-clandestine affair, Mors had his chauffeur drive him to rendezvous scenes, hired a private detective and then filed for divorce (though recall from part one that she earlier filed, but then looks to have dropped the matter.) After the divorce was finalized, the piece remarked, “Mors had heard that McCoy was planning to double-cross him and cheat him out of his interest in the business” and this led Albert to take the items from the store that led to the complaint and arrest on the robbery charge.

It was Andreani, however, who suggested a compromise in the from of Albert receiving a cash payment for leaving the business and its inventory to Theresa, but the stock certificates for the firm placed in escrow in return for the charge to be dismissed. When McCoy learned of the maneuver by Albert and his counsel, he encouraged Theresa to pawn her diamonds, but the feds swooped in and took them as evidence regarding the assertion that they were smuggled in the country to avoid duty charges.

It was then related that, angered over the proceedings in recent hours, McCoy “charged Mrs. Mors as being a willing party to the transaction, with the intention of cheating him out of the money he was to receive from Mrs. Mors as compensation for assisting her in settling her business.” The passionate argument erupted, McCoy wrote out his note leaving his property to his mother, and, within a short time, the killing took place.

The Record took the opportunity to include an article on “10 Big L.A. Murders in 5 Years,” highlighting such examples as the murder of film director William Desmond Taylor, a topic of a post on this blog, the killing of Alberta Meadows by Clara Phillips, and strange homicides involving Madelynn Obenchain and Dolly Oesterreich—all of which should definitely be topics of future entries here. The paper opined,

Los Angeles, in the past five years, has leaped to an eminent station among the world’s communities famed for their crimes of violence.

In this city, the student of the fine art of murder can find a perfectly appointed laboratory for scientific observation—all the elements being present in varied and voluminous development.

This very much sounds like the verbiage of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle through his famed private consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes, when it came to the teeming hordes of late Victorian-era London. We can also, however, look back to the 1850s through mid-1870s for no shortage of often-extreme levels of murder in the City of the Angels.

Continuing its sensationalizing, the Record published photos of the guns used in the killing of Theresa and the wounding of the trio at and near her store, as well as the portion of the apartment with numbered arrows indicating where her death was consummated—this latter taken by Al Wheeler, a staff photographer.

Elsewhere in the Record, popular song lyricist Alfred Bryan, best known for his 1915 hit “I Didn’t Raise My Boy to Be a Soldier,” which tapped into strong American sentiment for remaining neutral in World War One, claimed that his pal McCoy could not have killed Theresa because “he is Scotch, and they don’t murder” and asserted that suicide was possible because he knew she’d tried to take her life before. He cited his friend’s earnest declarations of love for Theresa and attributes that he considered were evidence of McCoy’s inability to take a life “unless he has changed greatly in the last few days.” The paper also reported that the police were unable to contact the antique store’s vice-president Gladys Barbieri, wanted for questioning on what she knew regarding what would have led to Theresa’s death.

Separately, the Record provided readers with two articles on McCoy’s marital record, while adding that he owned an ill-fated café in New York City that was oft-raided by the police; was indicted, though the charges were dropped on the oil stock sale allegations referred to in part one of this post; fired a gun at sheriff’s deputies who tried to get into his apartment, though he evaded issues there based on explanations that were found acceptable; and, in 1912, was held in a London jail for a month on suspicion of stealing jewels from a German princess.

W.W. Ferguson wrote of the “Mors’ Marital Tangle,” offering the strange simile of “the ominous bird of tragedy which hovers where the parallel lines of domestic felicity diverge to form a [love] triangle” in rehashing the conflicts between the divorced couple and McCoy since the beginning of the month. Sports editor Ed Frayne interviewed Tommy Ryan, a Culver City resident who went toe-to-toe with McCoy in the ring after hiring him as a sparring partner and recounted grudges he held, but expressed some sympathy, saying “he’s signed for a finish fight with old John Law and that’s one battle he can’t win.” Ryan added, “what a pity that he has wound up in such a mess as this!” and attributed McCoy’s troubles to the common twin problems of too many women and too little money.

John C. Arrington, the Record‘s police reporter and said to be the first journalist on the scene when McCoy was nabbed by the police and, in fact, wrote of having witnessed it as it happened. It was in his car in which McCoy was taken to the Nottingham Apartments and, while the prisoner affected an air of insouciance upon leaving the Westlake park area, that changed on the short ride to the scene of Theresa’s death. Arrington wrote that,

When we neared the house, however, the battle light left his eyes and he half slunk down in the seat of the car . . .

He was caught. He was despairing and haunted with his own thoughts.

In yet another section, Mors was interviewed by an unnamed Record reporter in “a dingy little restaurant in Hollywood” and asserted “my wife and I were very happy until [McCoy] came across our path,” despite her filing and then withdrawing the divorce suit the prior year. He went on to insist that the former boxer “taught my wife to fight me” because it was after McCoy came into her life that “she developed the habit of striking and scratching me” and displayed a trio of scars he said were from her attacks.

Albert discountenanced the idea, discussed by a pair of taxi drivers in the eatery, that Theresa was going to return to him, saying that, while once he “loved her better than life itself,” it was too late for a reconciliation and he posited that McCoy killed Theresa for monetary reasons. Notably, Albert, after saying “at times it felt as though my head would burst and my heart seemed to crack,” told the journalist, “if it hadn’t been for the old negro servant,” apparently at the Hollywood house, “I would never have pulled through.”

Alternately citing the intercession of God and Fate, Albert ended his interview, as the reporter noted that “tears were streaming down his cheek” as he remarked,

I do want you to know, though, and please put it in your paper, that there was never a sweeter, more lovable woman than my wife before McCoy crossed her path. Then through his degrading influence she became the most violent, vehement person I ever met. She was—well, it seems that everything McCoy touches turns to ashes.

José Rodriguez, a rare Latino journalist in the Angel City’s newspapers of the era, penned a “Kid McCoy In Trouble” article, in which he reported on his sojourn at the jail where the accused killer was questioned by detectives. Rodriguez, who knew Mc Coy, asked what was going on and got the reply, “It just that I loved Mrs. Mors more than I did my own life, that’s all.” The usually dapper ex-fighter was rumpled and disheveled as he insisted he didn’t kill Theresa and that she committed suicide, though there was some apparent incoherence as he jumped from being hungry for love to wanting food and the reporter ended with the pathetic scene of a handcuffed McCoy being taken away and giving a wan smile and the farewell of “got to go—I’m hungry.”

Finally, columnist Don Ryan offered his “Words of Death” essay, somewhat echoing Lindsey as he visited the scene and invoked an avian metaphor for Theresa Mors. The location of the killing also took on a notable simile:

Like a cage in which the canary has been stifled, this apartment on the second floor of the Nottingham—the tall, expensive building with a front of blazing white tiles.

While the yellow bird was alive—flitting and singing—the cage seemed a pretty thing. Now with the canary dead, it is a dirty cage, tawdry and crusted with birdlime [used to trap birds to put into cages.]

The canary is dead on the floor of this soft room that seems so close—impinging with walls and ceiling—close like a cage . . .

She lies dead in an unpleasant disarray that is not art but death . . .

The figure on the floor. Hair waves and hennaed, perhaps. Redly, dankly—plume for a face disfigured by a bullet home. Eyes purpled. Blood on the bare white arms. And this photograph—of “the Kid.” Clasped like a rosary to the breast, flat now, and hard; retreated as a woman’s breast retreats when she is on her back.

The Kid placed the photograph in the white hand. A gesture of drama, a futile touch of the romantic school that heightens the grotesquerie . . .

Ryan also wrote, apparently seeing something more comical, of what transpired at the Mors’ antique shop, relating what those who were robbed told of the two hours that McCoy held them, with one, Sam H. Stern, saying that he was “crazy as a bedbug,” while a business figure who arrived to negotiate terms for the divorcees yelled “took $90 from me!” and “he gave me an awful wallop on the jaw.” There were eight people, including customers, who came to the store, were pulled in by McCoy and relieved of money and personal property and, when William G. Ross made a run for it and was shot in the hip, with McCoy following him outside, some in the store ran and bolted the door, put on their clothes they were forced to discard and called the police.

Seeking to elevate his account with high-minded thoughts and “Words of Death,” Ryan ended his piece with,

Death.

Mors, mortis, morti [the death of death to death]—tragic and comic the mask that laughs with a two-sided grin, one corner up, the other down. The canary is dead. Three men without their pants. A hulking figure bowed and shaking, stammering out words to the puzzled police detectives, who look with bovine eyes and shake their heads.

Words—

“I love her better than life!”

Words.

Mors, mortis, morti, mo—what is death?

Words.

We’ll return tomorrow with part four, including more developments in the case and Ryan’s ongoing ruminations, so be sure to join us then.