MURDER AND MAYHEM IN 1882

As October approaches our minds sometimes conjure up memories of long ago Halloweens, when we became nocturnal beings masquerading among the shadows of the night, anticipating the unexpected or even the supernatural. Finally, when every last porch light was turned off, we’d sit with our loot and tell ghost stories by the light of the jack-o-lantern’s sinister smile. Yes, ghost stories, the more deliciously frightening the better; tales of witches and warlocks, ghosts and goblins, murder and mayhem. When the tales were told, we’d shiver with fright and breathe a sigh of relief that they were only stories.

Here is a tale that comes from the very heart of Waupaca. Only this story just happens to be true....

The story revolves around a man named H. C. Mead, who was Waupaca’s first banker. Mead was born in the state of New York on May 2, 1822 and came to Wisconsin around 1850. It was in the early 1860’s that he founded the Exchange Bank of Waupaca.

Banker Mead was well liked and respected by the people of Waupaca. He often made contributions to charity. But the old gentleman was peculiar in many ways. He was a bachelor with many acquaintances, but few friends. He slept in a room at the back of his bank, which, at the time, was located on Union Street. He ate all his meals at the nearby Vosburg House, letting his food stand until it was cold due to his belief that warm meals were unhealthy. It is said that Mr. Mead wore his clothes until they were threadbare and he used his pencils until the stubs would no longer fit in a holder.

Moreover, people regarded Mead as miserly. His business transactions were always exact to the penny. And in the evenings, after dining and lounging at the Vosburg House, he often returned to his back room to count his money and work on his accounts far into the night.

The night of October 7, 1882 was an especially spooky one. Thick swirling fog made local passers-by strangers until they met face to face. H. C. Mead left the hotel on that foggy night to return to his humble quarters. Unbeknownst to him, the banker had just consumed his last meal.

The next morning the waitresses at the Vosburg House thought it odd that the old gent didn’t show up for his breakfast. Two of the women decided to check on Mr. Mead to see if he was ill. When they found the bank door locked, they walked to the back of the building. One of the women stood on a dry goods box as she peered into the window. There was Banker Mead, slumped in his chair, surrounded by his life’s blood. He had been gashed across the head with a club and shot.

Ten years later J. V. Quarles, a Milwaukee attorney, would present a detailed description of what the waitresses saw that is definitely not for the squeamish. According to Mr. Quarles, “great chunks of oozing flesh, forced by those shots, were driven against the wall. One of his eyes was carried over nearly to the bed, his head was shot to pieces, and the force of the discharge threw him back into his chair, his head falling on the table, and his arm hanging down by the side of the table.”

Not only was Mead found in a state of disarray, so was his bank. Many of the bank’s valuable papers were missing. The thieves in their haste, however, overlooked a large sum of money sitting right on the counter. All in all, the culprits escaped with nothing as the missing papers were found in a sack in an alley the following day.

Several weeks after the murder was discovered, a suspicious stranger, William Vandecar, a drifter, was arrested. Vandecar had mysteriously checked into a Stevens Point hotel at 4 o’clock the morning of the murder and he had been seen in Waupaca the day before. Although Vandecar spent many months waiting in jail, he was later tried and acquitted. Evidence following his trial proved that the man had nothing to do with the grisly crime.

The people of Waupaca were confounded by the mystery. In fact, the confusion provided a perfect breeding ground for an abundance of rumors. Citizens gossiped and speculated for a decade until a grand jury was called in 1892.

Anyone who had appeared knowledgeable about the crime was called to the stand. Many of these people, with considerable embarrassment, had to admit to merely repeating hearsay. Others truly believed they had seen things.

Three local men were indicted for the crime: Tab Pryor, a night watchman, Sam Stout, his friend, and Ed Bronson, a merchant. People came from miles around to be first-hand witnesses at the 1893 trial.

Benjamin Goldberg, the district attorney from Clintonville was up against three lawyers for the defense. That is why the fiery J. V. Quarles was engaged as a special assistant prosecutor.

In his introductory address to the jury, Mr. Quarles stated, “There it was on the 7th day of October, 1882, H. C. Mead was cruelly and foully murdered. It was so long ago, witnesses have died, men forget, that the state has had infinite work to collect its evidence. But there is not so much mystery in the case itself, as in that unseen, powerful influence which has for so many years closed the eyes of the officers and sealed the lips of the people who should be witnesses in this case. There is mystery in that.”

And the mystery continued to thrive even after the trial was over. All three defendants were acquitted due to circumstantial evidence. Tab Pryor, however, was later tried for perjury in connection with the case and sentenced to Waupun Prison, where he died soon afterwards.

In 1929 it was made public that one of our Waupaca County’s office holders had found out “whodunit.” Sheriff E. J. Flanagan had obtained a full confession in 1907 when one of the acquitted men was on his deathbed. But before the sheriff could take any action, the confessed evildoer died. Sheriff Flanagan was informed that this left him little chance of convicting the other six participants. Therefore he did not obtain warrants.

According to the confession, seven men were drinking and playing cards in a saloon on the Courthouse Square that foggy night. Their conversation turned to money and what they could do with it. They thought about old Banker Mead, who at the present moment, was probably awake and greedily counting his stash.

The men decided to take action. Seven shadowy figures snuck stealthily through the darkness and the fog to the nearby bank. The first one to enter the back window immediately slugged Mead from behind. While the banker lay unconscious, the scoundrels ransacked the bank and the back room.

Suddenly the old gent stirred. His eyes opened. Propped by one elbow he roared, “I know you! I’ll get you for this!”

Some of the seven fled. One, in his panic, decided to cover up the first crime with a second. He succeeded with the pull of the trigger.

Although the Mead murder case remains unsolved by technicality, substantial evidence still exists. For in the basement of the Courthouse lies a vault. And in that vault lies a common cardboard box. And in that box lies the skull of H. C. Mead, still awaiting justice.

The Old Exchange Bank also serves as a reminder of the crime. Located on Jefferson Street, just around the corner from its original location, the small frame building stands proud, knowing, and perhaps frightfully gruesome. For it is said that under the wallboard of the back room, the walls still bear the stains of Banker Mead’s blood.

So be wary on foggy October nights if you’re walking the streets of downtown Waupaca. The clinking sound of money being counted, mysterious shadows in the night, a yell, or even a scream could be ghostly reenactments of the murder and mayhem of 1882.