 |
| John Lee (aka Albert Kling) |
This story didn’t end in murder, but—it was touch
and go several times.
After her husband threatened to kill her and
behead their seven children, Mrs. Kling told authorities it didn’t matter. She
loved him “more than life.”
“I love that man better than my own life,” she
said. “He is the father of my ten children. I still love him with all his
drinking and degrading talk, his efforts to force me to lead a life of shame,
and his abuse and neglect. I have loved that man as I never loved another.”
John Lee (aka Albert Kling) 39, worked at
Zimmerman Steel on Rockingham Road in Davenport, but he had big plans for
freeing himself from the day-to-day drudgery of work.
If his wife would cooperate.
Times were tough. The family had ten children, and
Lee didn’t enough money to support them. A day didn’t pass that someone went
without food or needing new clothes. Someone always had their hand out asking
for more money.
One day, he told his wife there were easier ways
to make money. All she had to do was sleep with other men. Pretty soon, they’d
have everything they wanted.
When she refused, Lee threatened to kill her and the kids. When that didn’t work, he told her to get out.
She didn’t.
Things came to a head on Saturday, June 9, 1917.
Mrs. Kling asked her husband for grocery money. He shook his head and headed for the bar. She dogged him in and out of several saloons every step of the way.
If Lee noticed her, he didn’t let on. He drank a few rounds—and told a few stories. Maybe he cast a wry glance at his wife as he chugged a beer. His plans were firming up.
It just required a little cooperation from his wife and some money from his friends. She could earn as much in an hour on her back as he could make in two days at the foundry. If she worked two, maybe three, hours a day, all their problems would disappear.
 |
| Mrs. Albert Kling |
Lee invited Curley home with them. Both men were stumbling, drunk. Lee had most likely shared his plans with Curley. Maybe he bought him a round or two to prime the pump.
Whatever Lee or Curley expected, things went horribly wrong.
“My husband renewed his suggestions and insisted that I get the money,” said Mrs. Kling. “You can guess the rest. Both men were drunk and soon fell asleep.”
When he woke up, Lee flew into a rage—swearing and screaming at his wife. He landed a few well-placed punches to her head and face.
Hanley slipped out the door and put as much distance as possible between himself and the Lee’s house.
“He said he was going to kill me,” said Mrs. Kling. “I told him I didn’t care what he did. He grabbed me by the hair and threw me across the room. Then he said he was going to kill the children.”
Thirteen-year-old Leo grabbed a shotgun and threatened to shoot him.
Lee grabbed the gun and shoved the boy down the stairs. After that, the boy disappeared. Mrs. Kling told detectives she feared he was dead. Leo “often said he would kill himself if his father did not stop beating me.”
Lee pulled a razor from his pocket. “I’ll cut their heads off, and then get you.”
Mrs. Kling grabbed the razor from him. Lee pulled a second razor from his pocket.
He pummeled her with his fists, then grabbed a club and knocked her insensible.
Two of the younger kids ran to get Marshal Smithinger. When the sheriff arrived, he found Lee with the shotgun cocked and ready to fire.
Smithinger grabbed the gun and took Lee to the station house.
Mrs. Kling told the sheriff her husband was wanted for murder in St. Louis and robbery in Madison.
Lee confessed.
His real name was Albert Kling. He didn’t kill anyone. That was just his wife talking. After he pulled the job in Madison, they moved to Davenport, and he took the name John Lee.
Mrs. Kling changed her story the next day.
Her son Leo never pulled a gun on his father. He got scared and ran away. They hadn’t seen him since, but she was worried he had killed himself.
Leo turned up on a farm near Stockton four days later. He told Sheriff Smithinger he got scared and took a job to avoid the abuse.
When the case came to trial the next week, Mrs. Kling refused to press charges. “I’d rather go back to him and make a man of him,” she said, “than a convict.” Albert Kling signed the pledge not to drink, and things were good for a few weeks.
Judge Phil Daum reluctantly dismissed the case.
Kling threatened his wife again in July. He flung a heavy dishpan across the room and said he’d “start a cleaning,” then left.
Detectives arrested him later at a saloon on Third and Brady Streets, but once again, Mrs. Kling refused to press charges.
Things must have quieted down after that.
In 1922, the family resurfaced at 2103 Olive Street in Davenport. Eighteen-year-old Leo got arrested by federal authorities for bootlegging. Agents found 200 gallons of whiskey mash at the home and two stills operating in the kitchen.
Mrs. Kling told authorities poverty drove him to it. Her husband was too sick to work, and the children were starving.
No comments:
Post a Comment