Sometimes far away events that normally draw little local attention can trace their genesis right back to Irvington. On the morning of July 1, 1934 a Jefferson, Wisconsin fisherman named Charles Bartel was heading down to the Rock River to wet a line. As he walked through a city park carrying his tackle box and fishing pole, he noticed a car parked smack dab in the middle of the park. Although he didn’t notice anyone inside, he paid little attention to the vehicle, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand — fishing. After all, it was still dusk outside and there could be many reasons why that car was there: a traveling salesman catching a quick nap, weary travelers resting during a long trip, or maybe a couple of frisky teenagers necking while their parents slept back home. None of which were Charles Bartel’s business.
Charlie didn’t have much luck that day and decided to pack it in early and head for home a few hours later. As he passed back through the park, he noticed the car was still there. Curiosity drove Mr. Bartel to saunter over and check it out. As he cautiously peered into the car windows, he cupped his hand above his brow to cut the glare and was met with a horrifying sight. Blood stained towels and a rug covered a huddled form in the backseat of the car. The car interior was caked with dark stains of dried blood. He could see enough to recognize the form of a man. It was a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Jefferson, Wisconsin is a small town of less than 8,000 citizens located halfway between Milwaukee and Madison. The only claim to fame was that it was once home to John, Robert and Ted Kennedy’s sister Rosemary, who was sent there in 1949 after a botched lobotomy effectively incapacitated her until her death in 2005 at a facility known as the St. Coletta Institute for Backward Youth located there. Jefferson is nicknamed the “Gemütlichkeit City,” a German beer hall term meant to describe a space of warmth, friendliness, coziness, belonging, well being, social acceptance and good cheer. Nestled at the confluence of the Rock and Crawfish rivers, its very name denotes fishing. In 1934, the town had a population of less than 2,700 and when Charles Bartel began screaming, it seemed like every one of those 2,700 citizens came running.
When Sheriff Joseph T. Lange and District Attorney Harold M. Dakin appeared on the scene and announced the name of the dead man, it seemed that all 2,700 citizens heaved a collective sigh of relief. Earl Gentry was dead and Jefferson County was glad of it. Authorities said it looked like he had been “taken for a ride” and “polished off” in a gangland shooting. No locals mourned the passing of this self-styled gangster with the itchy trigger finger, brass knuckles and concealed switchblade.
Local lawmen dubbed Gentry as Jefferson County’s Public Enemy No. 1 (John Dillinger was still alive and roaming the area although he would die three weeks later). The 6-foot-3-inch 230 pound Gentry relished his role as an all-around tough guy. He came to Wisconsin and brought along his well earned reputation as a bully earned in Irvington. He was the same Earl Gentry who had gained national notoriety in 1925 as an accused and indicted accomplice n the murder of Madge Oberholtzer. Gentry had been the bodyguard, longtime friend and adviser to D. C. Stephenson, grand dragon of the Indiana Ku Klux Klan.
It was Earl Gentry who Stephenson dispatched to fetch Madge back to his Irvington mansion on that tragic night of March 15, 1925. It was Gentry who stood sentry in that doomed Pullman railroad car bound for Chicago. It was Gentry who casually climbed into the upper berth as his boss savagely attacked Madge below him. It was Gentry who woke Madge up the morning after the attack to escort her off the train. It was Gentry whom Stephenson dictated a fake wellness telegram from Madge to her parents and Gentry who sent it. In a rare moment of compassion, it was Gentry who put hot towels on Madge’s head and gently bathed her wounds in witch hazel while Stephenson passed out on the bed next to her.
It was in Gentry’s bathroom in room 417 of the Indiana Hotel in Hammond where Madge took six tablets of mercury bichloride and collapsed on the floor. It was Gentry who rode in the backseat with Madge and Stepehenson drinking whiskey from a brown paper bag while resting his feet on the doomed girl’s back while she vomited into the floorboard. And it was he to whom the nonplussed Stephenson remarked, “This takes guts to do this Gentry. She is dying.”
Despite the fact that he admitted witnessing the fatal attack, on November 14, 1925, Earl Gentry was acquitted of the murder of Madge Oberholtzer. D.C. Stephenson was convicted of murder in the second degree and sentenced to life in the state prison. Stephenson was transported to the state pen at Michigan City to begin sentence on November 21, 1935 and his house was set on fire shortly afterwards. Earl Gentry and fellow bodyguard Earl Klinck were indicted for arson, but the case was dismissed for lack of evidence. Immediately after the arson trial in Indianapolis, Gentry fled to Jefferson, Wisconsin to stay with Mrs. Carrie GiII, a wealthy widow known to everyone in Jefferson County as the “Sunshine Lady,” because of her ready smile and willingness to help the needy. She was a devout churchwoman determined to serve the less fortunate citizens in her community for the rest of her life.
Carrie Gill believed that under the thick skin of this hard-drinking bully beat the heart of a misunderstood man. She furnished the cash bail of $6,000 during the trial and undertook to reform Gentry, despite the objections of fellow church members, neighbors and friends. It didn’t take long for Gentry to prove them right. He immediately embarked on a reign terror that had the entire community cringing. Once, Gentry decided he didn’t like a drinking pal’s remarks so he stabbed him to death.
None of the witnesses in the bar had the courage to testify against him and Gentry went free. Time and again he was hauled into court on charges, but witnesses were too frightened to take the stand against him. Even Gentry’s victims refused to prosecute for fear of violent reprisals. No, Earl Gentry’s murder was no surprise and even the godly Bible-thumper crowd didn’t mourn his passing.
After an examination, the sheriff said, “Typical gangsters wouldn’t take the trouble of covering their victim with a rug. This looks to me like the attempt of an amateur to create the impression of a gangster slaying.” D.A. Dakin examined the floor around the body. “I agree with you,” he said. “Had Gentry been shot in the car, the cushions and floor rug would have been soaked with blood. You will notice, however, that they are only stained. Gentry must have been slain elsewhere and then dumped into his own car and driven here.” Both men didn’t have to look far for a suspect. It seemed like everyone in Jefferson had a reason to wish Earl Gentry dead.
Next week: Part II
Al Hunter is the author of the “Haunted Indianapolis” and co-author of the “Haunted Irvington” and “Indiana National Road” book series. His newest book is “Bumps in the Night. Stories from the Weekly View.” Contact Al directly at Huntvault@aol.com or become a friend on Facebook.
