Cover image of "The Murder of the Century"

William Randolph Hearst thundered into New York City in 1895, intent on making history with a brash new approach to writing and selling newspapers. The following year he bought the ailing New York Evening Journal to compete with his old mentor, Joseph Pulitzer, who published the city’s then-dominant paper, the New York World. Within a year, Hearst began pouring a fortune into reporting on a sensational murder case that vaulted the Journal into the top spot in newsstand sales. In his fascinating true crime account of that murder case and the spectacular trials that followed, The Murder of the Century, author Paul Collins tells the colorful story of Hearst’s rivalry with Pulitzer and the dramatic changes they wrought in the field of journalism. Hearst is as much the protagonist of this story as the man and woman who committed the murder.

The largest newspaper in the world

Hearst’s success could hardly have been more spectacular. When he began in 1896, the Journal was an also-ran among the many daily newspapers published in the city. His antics drove the paper’s circulation upward with every screaming headline. Eventually, with its over-the-top reporting on the Spanish-American War, the Journal reached an unheard-of daily circulation of one and a half million copies. Within a year, Hearst had made his pet project into the largest newspaper in the world—and it only cost him half of the Homestake Mine fortune he had inherited from his father. But what was the fuss all about? What was this “murder of the century” that could sell so many newspapers?

The Murder of the Century: The Gilded Age Crime That Scandalized a City & Sparked the Tabloid Wars by Paul Collins (2011) 336 pages ★★★★★

Photo of an upscale intersection in New York City in 1897 when the "Murder of the Century" took place
The intersection of 5th Avenue and 59th Street in New York City in the year 1897, when the events that lead the story in this book took place. Image: Pinterest

A race for evidence between the press and the police

Today we’ve grown weary with countless accounts of serial killers, mass murderers, and all but indifferent when yet another horrific murder case surfaces in the press. But in 1897, the people of New York were agog when the headless and legless torso of a man turned up in the East River. The leading newspapers hired extra hands and devoted their front pages to the case. Hordes of reporters from all the city’s newspapers crowded into the morgue and hounded the police for tidbits of information about their investigation—often manufacturing their own facts.

When the victim’s legs later turned up, the frenzy grew, driven by Hearst, Pulitzer, and the city’s other newspapermen in a relentless drive for greater circulation. Often, reporters from the Journal and the World turned up evidence faster than the cops. And sometimes they even kept their findings secret.

The evidence steadily accumulated

Meanwhile, the underfunded police demonstrated surprising investigative skill. The detective in charge of the case proved to be both honest and competent. A rookie officer ferreted out the shop where the murderer had purchased the oilcloth wrapped around the torso. And the city’s forensics lab quickly corrected the initial impression that the mutilated torso was the work of medical students.

Day by day, between the police and the press, the evidence accumulated. Eventually, two suspects emerged. And it became clear even in the absence of the body’s head who the victim was: William Guldensuppe, a German immigrant who was a “rubber” in a Turkish bath. He proved to be the odd man out in a three-person affair involving his mistress, a midwife named Mrs. Augusta Nack, and her boyfriend, Martin Thorn. Like both Guldensuppe and Mrs. Nack, Thorn was a German immigrant. He’d been born Martin Torzewski and worked as a barber in the city. But knowing all that, and proving it, were two entirely different things.

Two spectacular murder trials

As the case went to trial in Manhattan, the DA boasted a wealth of evidence. A worldwide search for Martin Thorn had eventually found him hiding in plain sight in the city. Mrs. Nack had confessed. And Thorn had admitted committing the murder to a friend, who reported it to the police. Everything was in place except for Guldensuppe’s head. And counsel for the defense made the most of it.

The notorious William F. Howe of the firm Howe & Hummel was the city’s leading criminal defense attorney. “Until its demise in 1907, Howe & Hummel defended more than one thousand people charged with murder or manslaughter; Howe himself handled 650 of these cases. At one time all but two of the twenty-five men awaiting trial in New York’s Tombs, the prison across the street from the law office, were Howe & Hummel clients.” A giant of a man weighing in at 300 pounds and a histrionic speaker with a booming voice, Howe intimidated witnesses and dazzled the jury with misdirection and bluster. And he managed to force the judge to call a mistrial, sending the case across the river to Queens to be retried.

John Grisham could not have written a more engaging account of the two trials than Paul Collins does in The Murder of the Century. And you may well be surprised by their outcome. This is a story for the ages.

About the author

Photo of Paul Collins, author of this book about the "Murder of the Century"
Paul Collins. Image: Amazon

Paul Collins chairs the English department at Portland State University in Oregon. Born in Pennsylvania in 1969, he is a graduate of the University of California, Davis, and the College of William and Mary. He is the author of ten books, all of them nonfiction.

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