Over the years, I have come to appreciate the immense value of the Clerk of the Court’s office as a repository of historical information. This sentiment was greatly reinforced during my recent visit to the Atlantic County Courthouse in May’s Landing, where I had the pleasure of meeting County Clerk Joseph J. Giralo.
When I stepped into the Clerk’s office, I was struck by his passion for local history and commitment to preserving the rich tapestry of the past in the Jersey shore county. Rather than simply handing me a stack of dusty files and sending me on my way, Clerk Giralo took the time to personally guide me through the meticulously organized records housed within his office.
Atlantic County Clerk of the Court Joseph J. Giralo discusses an official volume.
As I pored over the aging bound volumes, I found his expertise and deep knowledge of Atlantic County’s public records invaluable. He pointed out hidden gems that would have otherwise eluded my search and offered insightful explanations about the significance of these often-overlooked documents.
Clerk Giralo’s enthusiasm and commitment to his role as the custodian of public records transformed what would have been a routine research experience into an enlightening and energizing journey. His guidance helped me uncover connections and insights I would have likely missed had I not had the privilege of his expertise.
By the way, a few years ago, I discovered that the clerk had digitized Atlantic County newspapers and provided free access to them online.
When tackling challenging research questions, remember that the Clerk of the Court’s office can be a source of elusive traces. Within these constitutional offices, the public records custodians maintain official documents, naturalization papers, land records, court proceedings, and other historical records. Of course, practices vary from state to state and county to county, so having a public official orient you to the practices of the jurisdiction is helpful.
While researching the history of capital punishment in New Jersey, a peculiar artifact in the catalog of collections at the Atlantic County Historical Society caught my attention: the hangman’s noose with its twisted fibers and knots.1 This seemingly simple object, a piece of material culture, embodies a complex history that intersects directly with the evolution of capital punishment in the State.
As part of my research into the history of judicial executions, I have visited courthouses, jails, historical societies, and archives. Yet no artifact has captured my attention like this rope, a stark symbol of the ultimate punishment once wielded by New Jersey Sheriffs.
This is an artifact in the collection of the Atlantic County Historical Society. It was donated in 1961, and the record notes that Sheriff Daniel E. Iszard used it.
According to the Historical Society, the noose was used during the tenure of Sheriff Daniel E. Iszard and was involved in three executions in Atlantic County. For centuries, the noose has served as a potent symbol of the ultimate authority of the state, an instrument of execution that evokes strong emotions.
The presence of this grim artifact raises additional questions for research about the lawmen who used it, the prisoners who faced the gallows, and the criminal justice system that grappled with its use. It serves as a tangible link to an era when sheriffs were tasked with carrying out judicially ordered death sentences in New Jersey.
Understanding the history of capital punishment requires more than a chronological account of laws and executions. It demands an exploration of intricate primary sources, court records, and material culture. This noose, preserved among the collections of the Atlantic County Historical Society, is a grim artifact that is representative of the legal, social, and cultural shifts in state-ordered executions.
Among the countless artifacts of local history at the Atlantic County Historical Society, the hangman’s noose stands out as physical evidence of the evolution of capital punishment in the state and nation. While I often see photographs of executions and even preserved gallows in my research, this is the first time I have encountered the actual instrument, although I see newspaper stories about spectators taking pieces of the rope as souvenirs.
Notes
John Estell Iszard, Hangmen’s Noose. (Somers Point, NJ: Atlantic County Historical Society) 1961.018.001-.002-.003, artifact in collection. ↩︎
As part of my ongoing research on the history of capital punishment in New Jersey, I recently completed fieldwork along the Jersey Shore. This included visiting various county courthouses, where I examined 19th-century court records. I also visited historic jails and local historical societies.
Last week, I focused specifically on Atlantic County, where I investigated records related to the old jail in May’s Landing, the county seat. Built in 1879, this sturdy structure underwent numerous modifications over the decades. According to a 2000 architectural report, the jail is notable for its distinctive Jersey ironstone walls, arranged in a unique pattern that enhances its historical significance.1
The 1879 Atlantic County Jail in May’s Landing,
In 1906, the county erected an additional structure—the sheriff’s house and office—which still stands on the courthouse square. Despite changes in corrections philosophy and various structural alterations, the aging jail housed inmates until 1964. In 1984, a modern county prison went up outside May’s Landing, leading to the demolition of most of the original complex, except the stone 1879 structure and the sheriff’s house.
While uncovering traces of the past, I noted that Atlantic County executed at least four men before the disagreeable responsibility for capital punishment shifted to the State Prison in Trenton. The last hanging at the Jail occurred on September 20, 1907, when Sheriff Smith E. Johnson hanged Joseph Labriola. It was striking to note that the convicted murderer wearing a tuxedo met his end in the recreation yard. He was served lobster as part of his final meal.2
The convicted murderer wearing a tuxedo met his end in the recreation yard. He had been served lobster as part of his final meal.
Only a few jurors and official witnesses were present to observe the hanging. However, a crowd gathered in the county seat that September day. Just before Labriola was led to the gallows, Deputy Sheriff Enoch Johnson summoned the official spectators to enter the execution yard.
Labriola’s execution marked the last hanging at the Atlantic County Jail and was the next-to-last hanging in New Jersey. A new law mandated the use of the electric chair for executions, ending the era of hangings in the Garden State. Following this change, those sentenced to death were transferred to the state prison in Trenton for execution in the electric chair.
My research into this aspect of New Jersey’s criminal justice history continues.
In the summer of 1916, the well-known “Charlestown Booze Boat” made waves in Penns Grove, New Jersey, becoming the talk of the dry town. Anchored just off the New Jersey shore in the Delaware River, this floating speakeasy from Maryland quickly became a popular destination for those seeking to tipple the forbidden indulgence. Dinghies and small boats ferried eager patrons from Penns Grove, providing them with access to beer and whiskey.
This photo illustrates a typical tavern from the second half of the 19th century: the Erving House Barroom in Erving, Mass, in 1865.1
The lucrative market for a booze boat opened in 1915 when temperance crusaders in Salem County spearheaded a fight to keep the borough dry.2 Local churches rallied alongside organizations such as the Salem County Woman’s Christian Temperance Union and the Penns Grove Camp Meeting Association. Even the Mother’s Club of Carney Point, the home to Du Pont Powdermakers, opposed the opening of barrooms. They feared the degradation of their “pretty little model village,” a newspaper reported.3,4 Speculation also circulated regarding the involvement of the Du Pont Company in this anti-alcohol campaign, as too many workers showed up drunk.
Penns Grove, a Dry Town
After the borough went dry, the “floating beer ark” from Cecil County, MD, anchored in the river, dispensing drinks to the thirsty “who were sober enough to walk the gangplanks,” the Penns Grove Record remarked. The craft’s captain claimed he operated beyond New Jersey jurisdiction as he did business on the river beyond the low water mark with cables and anchors cast loose every time they sold a drink.5
The captain’s assertion was based on land claims going back to 1682 when The Duke of York leased land—that would eventually become Delaware– to William Penn. Years of simmering, argumentative negotiations involving complex legal concepts followed as Delaware claimed the boundary line went right up to the shoreline on the New Jersey side. However, a compact hammered out in 1905 helped calm the litigation as the states affirmed the boundary at the low tide on the Jersey shore while also granting the Garden State riparian rights on the river.6,7,8
Nevertheless, this operation did not evade the watchful eyes of Penns Grove dry advocates—a vigilant group determined to keep the town legally and literally dry by stamping out speakeasies. Pushed by this growing public outcry, Deputy Sheriff J. O. Banks, along with Constables William S. Ray and Arthur Racher, responded to the disgruntled citizens’ chorus.
Undercover as thirsty customers, the officers boarded the vessel, successfully purchasing beer and witnessing whiskey transactions. Armed with this incriminating evidence, they arrested the two-man crew, charging them with the unlawful trade of alcohol. The authorities were determined to put an end to this profitable venture.
Jurisdiction Debate
As the case unfolded in the Salem County Court, the crew admitted to selling spirits but argued that transactions occurred while the anchor was hoisted, suggesting they were outside local jurisdiction in the Delaware River. However, their plea was promptly dismissed. The prosecutor reminded the court that New Jersey law mandated licensing for liquor sales, and the state’s authority extended to the river’s midpoint. To support his argument, he pointed to the accord between state officials, granting them the power to pursue and detain culprits until they reached the shores of Delaware.
The Verdict: The jury delivered a guilty verdict following a thorough trial. Judge Edward C. Waddington imposed a fine of $1,000 and costs on each of the two Maryland men. Their attorney, however, served notice of an appeal, challenging the court’s jurisdiction over selling booze in the Delaware River. Additionally, they argued that Baltimore customs authorities licensed the boat, and no sales occurred while the boat was at anchor. The outcome of their appeal remains a mystery, as nothing more was heard of the case in the Salem County newspapers.
The “Charlestown Booze Boat” case reignited age-old boundary disputes between Delaware and New Jersey, underscoring the complexities of territorial jurisdiction amidst the nation’s growing prohibition movement.
Endnotes
“Erving House Barroom.” Photograph. [ca. 1865]. Digital Commonwealth, from the Erving Public Library Archives (accessed April 03, 2024).[↩]
“To Keep Pennsgrove Dry,” Penns Grove Record, Nov 20. 1915, 1.[↩]
