effort concluded: “May God have mercy on your soul.” Barty, meanwhile, seemed indifferent to everything that was going on. [5]
In the days following his conviction Barty was questioned repeatedly about a triple murder that occurred in Hamilton on June 25, 1925. Sometime that afternoon someone carrying a cold-set hammer climbed a back stairway to a seedy apartment occupied by a bootlegger and his wife. That particular day they had a guest, although it hardly mattered. All three victims were both drunk and asleep. Their killer struck each in turn with the sharpened blade of his weapon, apparently with sufficient force that none of his victims had time to raise an alarm. In fact, there was not a single sign of a struggle. That initially confused investigators because when they walked in it seemed everywhere they looked there was a body. The head and neck of all three people were struck repeatedly, and each body bore evidence that the killer used both ends of his weapon on their faces. No one connected to the investigation had any doubt who committed the murders. A week or so before the slaughter, the bootlegger obtained a judgment against Barty for what he said were groceries, although that was no doubt a euphemism for bootleg wine.
The trap doors on which a condemned prisoner stood before being dropped were huge, heavy affairs, capable of holding at least two prisoners. When the executioner pulled a lever to which the doors were attached, the noise made by the two halves separating could be heard clearly by prisoners celled near the execution chamber. When several prisoners were to be hanged one after another, the sound must have been terrifying to those awaiting their turn on the gallows. John Pawluk stood on these very doors on August 21, 1936.
Author’s photo.
On December 22, the day before Barty was to hang, his lawyer applied for a stay of execution to the Ontario Court of Appeal. The court dismissed his application, and then in a legal oddity, the lawyer walked from the courtroom to the office of one of the justices who just said no, and persuaded him to grant a temporary reprieve. In the end Barty’s fate was the same, except that instead of being hanged two days before Christmas, he was executed in the Hamilton jail on January 12, 1927.
John Kooting and John Pawluk:
Confessions on the Prairies
According to Saint Augustine, the confession of evil works is the beginning of good works. In the case of two Manitoba men, it was the first step on the way to the gallows.
Shoal Lake farmer John Kooting always got along with his neighbour Dymtro Czayka, and when Czayka left his job at the local creamery it did not seem out of place that he boarded for a time with Kooting and his family. What did seem unusual was that in the first week of November 1921, Czayka would leave the community to return to his native Austria without telling anyone of his plans.
Two months after the former creamery worker was last seen, police questioned Kooting about his absence. Kooting’s suggestion that his lodger was staying temporarily with a friend was quickly proven to be a lie, and the farmer was arrested and charged with murdering the missing man. After a short preliminary hearing he was committed to stand trial. When a grand jury heard his case in the spring of 1923, its members were convinced Kooting was likely guilty, and it brought in a true bill. But there was no evidence that Czayka had been murdered, and instead of prosecuting his alleged killer, the Crown was forced to stay his charge and allow the accused killer to return home a free man.
For the next two years everything returned to normal, at least for the Kootings. Then in early 1925 Kooting became bedridden. Convinced he was going to die, the farmer got in touch with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and asked if a couple officers might come by to hear what he had to say about the disappearance of Czayka. In his written statement, Kooting said he killed his former
In the days following his conviction Barty was questioned repeatedly about a triple murder that occurred in Hamilton on June 25, 1925. Sometime that afternoon someone carrying a cold-set hammer climbed a back stairway to a seedy apartment occupied by a bootlegger and his wife. That particular day they had a guest, although it hardly mattered. All three victims were both drunk and asleep. Their killer struck each in turn with the sharpened blade of his weapon, apparently with sufficient force that none of his victims had time to raise an alarm. In fact, there was not a single sign of a struggle. That initially confused investigators because when they walked in it seemed everywhere they looked there was a body. The head and neck of all three people were struck repeatedly, and each body bore evidence that the killer used both ends of his weapon on their faces. No one connected to the investigation had any doubt who committed the murders. A week or so before the slaughter, the bootlegger obtained a judgment against Barty for what he said were groceries, although that was no doubt a euphemism for bootleg wine.
The trap doors on which a condemned prisoner stood before being dropped were huge, heavy affairs, capable of holding at least two prisoners. When the executioner pulled a lever to which the doors were attached, the noise made by the two halves separating could be heard clearly by prisoners celled near the execution chamber. When several prisoners were to be hanged one after another, the sound must have been terrifying to those awaiting their turn on the gallows. John Pawluk stood on these very doors on August 21, 1936.
Author’s photo.
On December 22, the day before Barty was to hang, his lawyer applied for a stay of execution to the Ontario Court of Appeal. The court dismissed his application, and then in a legal oddity, the lawyer walked from the courtroom to the office of one of the justices who just said no, and persuaded him to grant a temporary reprieve. In the end Barty’s fate was the same, except that instead of being hanged two days before Christmas, he was executed in the Hamilton jail on January 12, 1927.
John Kooting and John Pawluk:
Confessions on the Prairies
According to Saint Augustine, the confession of evil works is the beginning of good works. In the case of two Manitoba men, it was the first step on the way to the gallows.
Shoal Lake farmer John Kooting always got along with his neighbour Dymtro Czayka, and when Czayka left his job at the local creamery it did not seem out of place that he boarded for a time with Kooting and his family. What did seem unusual was that in the first week of November 1921, Czayka would leave the community to return to his native Austria without telling anyone of his plans.
Two months after the former creamery worker was last seen, police questioned Kooting about his absence. Kooting’s suggestion that his lodger was staying temporarily with a friend was quickly proven to be a lie, and the farmer was arrested and charged with murdering the missing man. After a short preliminary hearing he was committed to stand trial. When a grand jury heard his case in the spring of 1923, its members were convinced Kooting was likely guilty, and it brought in a true bill. But there was no evidence that Czayka had been murdered, and instead of prosecuting his alleged killer, the Crown was forced to stay his charge and allow the accused killer to return home a free man.
For the next two years everything returned to normal, at least for the Kootings. Then in early 1925 Kooting became bedridden. Convinced he was going to die, the farmer got in touch with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and asked if a couple officers might come by to hear what he had to say about the disappearance of Czayka. In his written statement, Kooting said he killed his former
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