This chapter will be the most difficult for me to write. It involves the death of the man who tried to kill me and my friend Billy Wert.
Bert Gordon and his family lived in the old Salt Box House on Sprout Brook Road. They rented from the Boyd family. Mr. Boyd bought the property from the previous owners, unemployed midget actors from New York City.
Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were about thirty years old. They had two children. He was employed as a construction worker in Peekskill. As I recall he did not own a car. He bicycled, walked or hitched a ride to and from work. Passing motorists would see him on Sprout Brook Road and possibly mistake him for one of the tramps who frequently walked from Peekskill to Graymoor for free food and lodging.
The Gordons were our neighbors. Two empty lots along Sprout Brook Road separated our houses. My mother knew Mrs. Gordon, who occasionally came to our house asking for a loaf of bread or a quart of milk when she was short at home. I remember hearing Mrs. Gordon say, "When I get the money I will pay you back."
On one these visits my mother noticed that Mrs. Gordon had a "shiner" or black eye. My mother had visited the Gordon's house on an errand the previous day, and he answered the door with a whiskey bottle in his hand. My mother mentioned it to my step-father and I overheard their conversation. They both suspected that Mr. Gordon was abusing his wife. Also, my mother thought he was a drunkard. He never came to our house to my knowledge.
When I first saw Mr. Gordon he was sawing wood for winter. It was one week after he and his family had moved into the Boyd house. He was in his backyard and I was walking on the old tractor road that connected Sprout Brook Road with Putnam Road. I watched him toss some wood in a pile. He was wearing a T-shirt and trousers and I noticed the muscles in his arms. He did not speak to me, and I did not speak to him. On another occasion John and I saw him on the old traction road chasing a dog which belonged to Al Zeliph, Jr. We both thought that Mr. Gordon ran very fast for an old man. By our perspective anyone thirty years old or older was old.
During the winter my brother John and I sawed wood for our fireplace. We started with pine but were warned that burning pine in a fireplace could cause a chimney fire, so we switched to hardwood. Maple burning in the fireplace had a nice scent but apple was better. We continued to draw our water from a spring on Gallows hill until Mr. Zeliph got the pump working at the well which served the housing development. When the ice was thick enough, we walked or skated on the lake and studied the animal tracks in the snow.
The following spring the ice and snow melted and the weather was seasonably warmer. I met Billy Wert on the school bus at the start of the school year. He lived on the crest of Gallows Hill. He was an active boy, skinny like me, and we had similar interests. He enjoyed fishing. It was in the month of May that Billy and I went fishing on Cortlandt Lake for largemouth bass. It was still daylight when we started and dark when we quit. On this occasion no fish were caught, although we had several hits on our jitterbug artificial baits. We walked from the beach to Highland Drive, then to Putnam Road, carrying our fishing poles, hand net and a tackle box. We took Putnam Road to the old tractor road. We walked toward the Gordon's house in the dark to access Sprout Brook Road.
When we were approaching the old Salt Box house, we both heard shouting and screaming coming from an open window in the back of the house. Curious, we dropped our fishing gear near the small barn on the side of the tractor road, and sneaked to the rear of the Gordon's house. If we were discovered, we agreed to run full speed to my house nearby. A bedroom window was raised half way with a screen in place, and the shade was up. We saw Mrs. Gordon sitting on the edge of a bed. There were no children in the room. Mr. Gordon was standing at the doorway with a large knife in his hand.
"I'll kill you, you bitch, if you ever tell anyone," we heard him say.
"I don't care," she said. She was sobbing.
Billy, who was near the window, impulsively shouted "No!"
Mr. Gordon turned off the bedroom light. We ran to the side of the house opposite the entrance, and hid behind one of the two huge maple trees. We had no idea if Mr. Gordon had seen us outside the window or if he would come outside and chase us. We were frightened and for the moment speechless.
Mr. Gordon did come outside. We could hear him at the back of the house looking for us. We froze in place. He must have circled around to the front of the house, because we heard him knock something over not far from the other big maple tree near Sprout Brook Road. Then all was silent.
We were scared and afraid that he would hear us if we talked. Having no idea where he was, Billy and I emerged from our hiding place and ran a short distance to Sprout Brook Road. Mr. Gordon was standing in the road as we turned to go north to my house. Billy and I could see his outline in the darkness. He could see us also, but I don't think he recognized us in the dark.
"Come over here, boys. Or do I have to chase you with my bayonet blade?"
His voice terrified us. Billy and I knew that we could not run around him. He was older and faster. We bolted and ran back to the second big maple tree on the side of the house and hid behind it. We did not hear him follow us, so we waited and listened.
Panic took over our thoughts. Our actions became irrational. I suggested that Billy and I could escape by using the footpath on Gallows Hill across from the Gordon's house. The footpath led to Cliff Holmes' house, and to a tree hut. Mr. Gordon, meanwhile, was sneaking around the back of the house to locate us. We heard him knock something over again.
Billy and I left our hiding place behind the second big maple tree, and we dashed across the road. Instantly we heard Mr. Gordon's footsteps. He was following us. We found the footpath to the Holmes' house right away, and we started to climb the hill. We stopped briefly to listen. Not hearing any footsteps behind us, we proceeded more slowly.
The footpath we were taking came to a fork where two paths diverged in the woods. One path led to the tree hut, and the other path led to Cliff's house. When we arrived at this fork, we were shocked to see the shadowy figure of a man standing directly in front of us on the path to Cliff's house. We were close enough to hear his heavy breathing. It was Mr. Gordon.
"On your way to hell, boys?" he asked sarcastically. "Looks like you took a shortcut."
Billy and I were terrified anew. Desperate now for any place of safety, we sprinted on the path to the tree hut and got to the big oak tree before Mr. Gordon could catch us. We climbed up the nailed-on ladder steps. I was ahead of Billy and I opened the trap door and climbed inside. Billy followed me. We closed the trap door, latched it and stood on it. We were out of breath and scared nearly to death.
Seconds later we heard Mr. Gordon's raspy voice: "Two raccoons in a tree. Should I smoke them out, or carve them out?"
We froze in place, and did not say a word to each other.
Billy and I never heard him come up the ladder beneath us. It was the sound of his hands trying to push up the trap door and his swearing which announced his presence. He pushed and hammered at the trap door for several minutes, muttering invectives of unknown meaning and invention. We held firm even when he tried to hammer and carve a hole through the heavy trap door with his bayonet blade. We never spoke a word to him. We were too frightened.
Mr. Gordon paused his effort to break in, but only for a few minutes. He then tried to break through the trap door again. But the trap door had heavy metal hinges on the inside, and he kept hitting them with his knife. Not succeeding the second time, and a third time, he resorted to another tactic. He tried to climb above us. We heard him grappling with the woodwork and grunting with every effort. We feared that if he could get above the floor of the hut, he could smash through the siding.
There followed a long period of silence. Billy and I were in a steady state of panic and we were trying to imagine what would happen next. We whispered about shouting for help but decided no one would hear us except Mr. Gordon. We hoped that he would give up and go home. We took turns standing on the trap door, which only opened upward. After an hour or two we got tired and both of us sat down on the floor. In the middle of the night we both heard a grasping noise, like a cough, outside the tree hut. The large oak limb holding the tree hut seemed to vibrate for a moment. We assumed Mr. Gordon was still on the ladder or on the ground below, waiting for us to try to escape. We remained vigilant as the long night ended, not hearing Mr. Gordon's voice or any of his movements.
Daylight came. We looked through the cracks of the floor boards to locate Mr. Gordon. We did not see him. Then we looked through the cracks of the siding. We still did not see him. Thinking he was on the ground waiting for us to appear, we stayed in the tree hut another hour or so. We searched again with the same result as the first search. Finally we decided to unlock the trap door and look again. Billy looked first. What he saw shocked him.
"Mr. Gordon is hanging from the tree. He's dead!"
I stuck my head through the trap door opening and looked out. Mr. Gordon was hanging by a wire, almost invisible, around his neck. I was shocked. It was the first time in my life that I saw a dead man. Around his neck was a strong wire loop, a snare trap that had been set and baited for raccoons.
The shock and surprise of his dead body made us want to get away from the place immediately. Billy and I climbed down the ladder and ran down the hill to my house. It took us less than eight minutes. We burst into the house talking as fast as we had run. At first my mother could not believe our story. Our excitement and our rapid answers to her questions soon had her believing us. Now she was excited too.
"Bert Gordon is dead," she said. "God help us."
My mother phoned the state police. Reporting what had happened and asking for help, she was told that the state police would respond as soon as possible. My step-father was not at home. He was working overnight at Fort Schulyer in the Bronx.
Next my mother phoned and spoke to Billy's mother. Mrs. Wert then spoke with Billy. She got in her car and drove to our house.
My memory of subsequent events is hazy. I remember how Billy and I led two state policemen to the tree hut on Gallows Hill. We answered a number of questions on the way to the tree hut and while we were there. The state police saw the body and found the bayonet knife in the leaves on the ground. I remember that Mr. Gordon's body was perfectly still; there was no wind blowing at the time. I don't remember how long we were there. When we returned to my house, Mrs. Wert gave Billy a big hug. I don't remember how and when the state police got the body down.
As the excitement of the night's events subsided, Billy and I realized we were hungry. We had not eaten since the day before. My mother prepared an oatmeal breakfast which we ate right away. The two state policemen who were with us used our family telephone to contact their superiors, and afterward they conversed with my mother and Mrs. Wert. In answer to my mother's concern, one of the policemen said that Mrs. Gordon would be notified and questioned as time allowed. We were told not to speak to anybody about the death of Mr. Gordon or the ongoing state police investigation. Billy and I missed school that day. We missed school the next day too, as the state police had arranged separate interviews with us. My mother and Mrs. Wert were told that the state police would notify them of the results of their investigation when it was completed.
Two days later the state police phoned my mother and Mrs. Wert with only a few details of the investigation. The county coroner or medical examiner had examined the body and he heard or read the details of the case. It was determined that Mr. Gordon's death was accidental.
My mother told me to never talk about Mr. Gordon's death with anyone. She was concerned that the case might be reopened. How she sealed my lips may be interesting to those who want to know. Long before Mr. Gordon's death, she had cured me of the habit of sucking my thumb by using a bottle of mercurochrome and painting my thumb orange every night for a month. She told me that if I tasted or sucked my thumb I would get very sick. I kept my thumb out of my mouth for the full month and never went back to that habit again. It was my own fear that cured me of the habit. In like manner she convinced me that if I talked among my friends and family about the death of Mr. Gordon and if the police reopened the case on a legal complaint, "You may go to jail!" Billy's mother must have spoken to my mother on this subject because Billy was given the same warning.
There were several state police cars on Sprout Brook Road the day of the accident. Mrs. Gordon was notified about the death of her husband. Five days later she and her children moved out of the Salt Box house and back to Peekskill to be with her mother. Before she left, my mother spoke to her. My mother told me later that when questioned by state police, Mrs. Gordon had confirmed my story and Billy's story of the events which occurred at the Salt Box house on that fateful night.
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