A twisted tale of toxic friendship, murder, and karmic justice
Sunday, October 17th 1920, 6:30am: A lamplighter on Mascher Street in Oak Lane (aka Feltonville today), Philadelphia encountered a drunk man passed out against a lamp post. The fellow was seated, slumped forward with his head resting on his knees, which were drawn up to his chin with folded arms. His long, black overcoat was tucked around him like a blanket, and a light gray cap tipped down over his forehead, covering his eyes.
“Rise and shine, mister, this ain’t the place for a snooze.” With a firm shake of his shoulder, the sot’s hat slipped off, revealing a cavernous gunshot wound to the head. The police who soon arrived would find his wallet held $900 and the ID of Elmer C. Drewes, a finance major at Dartmouth College.
The subsequent manhunt and arrest of his friend, William Purdon Brines, made headline news across the country. The rigged trial that followed would devastate Elmer’s parents, denying them any peace or reprisal. The defendant’s well-paid attorney would brag for years about how he “snatched” the verdict from the jury against all proof. Unfortunately for William, though, Fate would not let him off so easily.
Elmer and William had been close friends at West Philadelphia High School — William was two years younger and twice as extroverted. He was also kind of spoiled. His father, a Reverend, had died suddenly weeks before he was born, and instead of remarrying, his mother focused all her energy on their son. By contrast, Elmer was the quiet, studious child of hardworking Danish immigrants. Both families lived close to each other in the middle-class neighborhood of Cobbs Creek.
When Elmer graduated in 1916, he enrolled at Dartmouth while William dropped out to join the Marines, then got in some minor trouble overseas. When he got back to Philly, he started pursuing an Engineering degree from U of P. The two friends would hang out whenever Elmer was back in town from New Hampshire.
That fateful summer break of 1920, the two worked together for a mapmaker who’d offered a handsome sum for completing a project – about $12,000 in today’s money, which they were going to split. But William was lazy or stupid or didn’t understand Elmer’s directions. They missed their deadline, and forfeited payment. Both men blamed the other, and a terrible resentment brewed between them.
By October, the men hadn’t spoken for months and William would openly tell his roommate at Penn that he would exact revenge “if it’s the last thing I ever do.” Unaware of this target on his back, Elmer took a train home to his parents the day before he was murdered. They were lending him money for a second-hand car – he’d been in contact with a seller in Reading who was offering an exceptional deal.
Turns out, it was a set-up.
With no clear leads to follow from the scene of Elmer’s death, lawmen began interviewing his family and friends for clues about who would want to murder him. Suspicions quickly fell on William, whose roommate sang like a canary about his vengeful intentions. Tellingly, William had also been absent from classes all week, and no one had seen him or his mother in their home for days.
A warrant was issued for William’s arrest, and a police sweep went out across multiple states. They found William’s car in Germantown, at Tulpehocken and Chew. Inside, they found a .42 Colt revolver that had been fired twice, two empty whiskey bottles, and a bloodstain.
William’s mother soon turned up at a hospital in Strawberry Mansion – seems she’d snapped under the stress of hiding out with her son, a fugitive. She wouldn’t talk to police, but it didn’t matter. Police easily traced Elmer’s correspondence with the mysterious Reading automobile-seller, whose handwriting exactly matched William’s.
As the police closed in, William’s mother hired a prominent lawyer to negotiate a deal so that her son could safely surrender. When he turned himself in to Moyamensing Prison, he would say nothing to interrogators but “I have nothing to say.” His trial was big news at the time, on the front page of every newspaper in the country. Yet, curiously, the DA took a vacation to Florida and left his Assistant DA to handle the trial instead.
Also interesting: William’s uncle was a well-connected politician and building contractor who would later be convicted of defrauding the city, yet conveniently let off by a judge who surely was acting from the goodness of his heart and not accepting bribes or whatever.
So you see where this is going.
The State brought 50+ witnesses but it didn’t matter that people said they saw Elmer and William quarrel, had heard William’s repeated threats. They had a Coroner’s statement attesting that the bullet that killed Elmer was the same caliber as the gun found in William’s car, and the shell bore a tell-tale rust streak that lined up with an imperfection in the gun’s barrel – which was caked with blood that forensics tests had confirmed was human. The pawn shop clerk even identified that it was William who purchased the firearm!
They had the car that was registered in William’s name, they had the phony note he wrote to Elmer that had lured him home from Dartmouth (confirmed by two handwriting experts). But as soon as the prosecution rested their case, William’s lawyer filed a motion that the judge dismiss the case due to lack of evidence. “We don’t even know if it was a suicide!” he exclaimed, and indeed there were questions. If William did it, why didn’t he take the money he thought was owed to him? If it wasn’t him — then who?
The next morning, the Judge upheld the motion to acquit William, refuting all the evidence to declare that the State failed to connect William to the crime scene, or to even prove Elmer’s death was murder and not suicide (with no weapon on the scene? 😖). Elmer’s mother crumpled into stunned despair as William was released from custody. His mother exclaimed it the happiest day of her life, and his lawyer demanded the return of his client’s car and gun. “We can prove ownership of them even if the Commonwealth could not,” he quipped.
Free as a bird, William sold his possessions and moved to Los Angeles to begin a new life. He was killed soon after in a horrific automobile crash near San Diego. He was only 22 years of age, the same age Elmer had been at the time of his shooting. Funny how the Universe has a way of settling the score.
READ MORE! 👀 Get the full story in Bob McNulty’s original narrative that brings his history to life with names, locations, and context (printed in October’s LOCAL newspaper).
📖 For more great history, follow @PhiladelphiaStoriesbyBobMcNulty on Facebook. And check out Bob’s previous Local column HERE about America’s first hitjob.
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