When the Dancing Stopped The Real Story of the Morro Castle Disaster And Its Deadly Wake

From PROLOGUE Verdict ImminentSeptember 24, 1954 After all these years, he could still pack a house. They loitered on the courthouse lawn, a sea of dark suits, narrow ties and gray fedoras that ebbed and flowed as he was led up to the building. The ones who had given up on a seat inside stood on the sidewalk, leaning against pastel-colored cars and smoking Chesterfields as the golden sky faded to a deep autumnal blue. From there, they could at least get the verdict before moving on to their Friday nights. The crowd grew thicker as he approached the imposing stone building. So many people fought for a position on the steps, straining for a closer look, it was nearly impossible for his huge frame to squeeze through. Jersey City was buzzing and he felt, once again, like a celebrity. Inside, the Hudson County Courthouse was chaotic, standing room only. They filled the narrow courtroom benches and spilled out into the second-floor lobby, a mass of gawkers silhouetted against the giant murals of angels decorating the rotunda. The roar of their conversations bounced off the marble floors and dark, wood-paneled walls, filling his head like so much radio static. The noise stopped only when the gold elevator doors closed behind him. George White Rogers knew almost every person he passed in this voyeuristic crowd. Most of them had come up from Bayonne just to hear the verdict. They were bank tellers, businessmen, a large contingent of police officers -- many of them witnesses who had testified against him in the past week. They had no reason to be there but couldn't stay away, lured by the sensational tales in theBayonne Times. It seemed the newspaper could barely fill its pages without him. TheTimesreporter had been there every day, gavel-to-gavel, desperately scribbling down every detail and publishing it on the paper's front page -- titillating headlines alluding to stolen money, messages from the grave and, worst of all, the "Death Hammer." How they had turned on him. These were his neighbors, people he had known for years, who had come into his shop seeking help, given him medals, held parades in his honor. Not a trace of that former courtesy remained. Now they wouldn't greet him when he walked into court, handcuffed to a police officer, a cigarette dangling from his lip. Most of them, in fact, made a point of looking away when he caught their gaze. Only one, the man with the mangled hand, returned his stare. The significance of the date amused him, although it seemed no one else had noticed. Twenty years earlier -- to the day -- Rogers had played the Rialto theater on Times Square. On September 24, 1934, the marquee had screamed his name, followed by the most coveted words on Broadway: Sold Out. The audience loved him, lavished him with standing ovations, angled for autographs. Reporters supplied generous reviews. He had enjoyed the attention, and ticket sales did little to dampen his ego. At $1,000 a week during the Depression, a certain cockiness was unavoidable. For a very brief time, it was safe to say, he had been one of the most famous people in the world. Twenty years. So much had changed in that time. To anyone who had not seen him since his run on Broadway, Rogers would have been barely recognizable. What was left of his hair had turned gray. Time, or perhaps circumstances, had diminished his paunch ever so slightly. Normally joking at all times, even when it was inappropriate, he was now wooden, stolid. As witnesses made horrible accusations, describing terrible things they believed he had done, Rogers had no reaction. It was as if he didn't care what people said or thought anymore, which wasn't entirely true; appearances mattered to him intHicks, Brian is the author of 'When the Dancing Stopped The Real Story of the Morro Castle Disaster And Its Deadly Wake', published 2006 under ISBN 9780743280082 and ISBN 0743280083.