Judge on Jury

Last of the great pre-Repeal gangsters left alive or at liberty is blank-faced, chicken-hearted Arthur ("Dutch Schultz") Flegenheimer, onetime master of The Bronx beerage, reputed boss of the policy-game racket. "The cooler ain't never so cold as the morgue," quavered this pulpy nervous underworking last winter on giving himself up on a Federal charge of evading $92,103.34 in taxes on a 1929-31 income of $481,637.35. At his trial in Syracuse, N. Y. last spring he got a hung jury. Last week in rural Malone, N. Y.

it began to look like another disagreement.

The jury had been out more than 27 hours when Federal District Judge Frederick H. Bryant returned from dinner at 8 p. m., took his place on the bench. Just before 9 o'clock the jurors--eight farmers, a school superintendent, a storekeeper, a baker and a guide--shuffled into the box.

"Gentlemen, have you agreed upon a verdict?" asked the court clerk.

"We have," replied the foreman. "We find the defendant not guilty." Judge Bryant jerked upright, a grey forelock falling over his wide, incredulous eyes. From the courtroom rose a shrill burst of female cheers. The judge banged his gavel, got quiet. Turning to the jury, he cried in a voice sharp with scorn: "You have labored long, and no doubt have given careful consideration to this case. Before I discharge you I will have to say that your verdict is such that shakes the confidence of law-abiding people in integrity and truth.

"It will be apparent to all who have followed the evidence in this case that you have reached a verdict based not on the evidence but on some other reason.

You will go home with the satisfaction, if it is a satisfaction, that you have rendered a blow against law enforcement and given aid and encouragement to the people who would flout the law. In all probability they will commend you. I cannot. The clerk will give you your vouchers." Like suck-egg dogs, the jurors slunk out of the room, their eyes on the floor.

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