in any report that credits him with any indiscretions.”
A reporter from the Toronto Daily News was given the same spin. The paper featured it on its front page: “‘Our family bears absolutely no resentment towards the girl, because we do not believe that she knew what she was doing,’ said Mr. A.L. Massey today. ‘It was very unfortunate for us that my brother should have been the victim. She might have shot anybody who happened to come along.’” The Daily News reported as fact that the doctors who had treated her the previous summer “will testify at the trial as to her mental state,” adding, “The relatives express extreme indignation that any suggestion of indiscretion should be made against the murdered man.”
In 1915, newspaper reporters automatically treated a man of Arthur’s position with deference. With his firm Massey chin and air of authority, his “more in sorrow than in anger” tone struck the right note of patrician forbearance as he gently sketched a compelling picture of an unhappy, unstable, and not very bright girl. He made it clear that the Masseys were not looking for revenge. Protecting the family name took priority over punishing a simpleton.
However, Mary Ethel Massey did not share her husband’s subtlety. After the family’s return from Mount Pleasant Cemetery, Rhoda Massey had gone upstairs to rest when a reporter from the Evening Telegram rang the doorbell and asked to speak to the grieving widow. The reporter was an unprepossessing-looking character in a long black coat andwith a battered bowler hat perched on the back of his head. Mary Ethel Massey, an impatient woman used to getting her way, knew that Rhoda would never speak to the press, so she led him into a room where they would be undisturbed. Undaunted by the reporter’s scruffy appearance, or the pencil hovering over his notebook, she let rip.
“Motive? Why, there wasn’t any motive. We are all perfectly satisfied that the girl was not mentally responsible when she shot Bert. I know that it has been hinted that Mr. Massey may have been indiscreet and acted improperly towards the girl, but the whole story is ridiculous. No person who knew Bert will believe that for a minute. He was not the kind of man to act that way.”
The reporter must have realized that a snobbish grande dame in full flow would give him a great article—one that would grip and shock his paper’s working-class readers, and that might play into the resentment of wealthy shirkers that was starting to bubble through Toronto. All he had to do was ensure that his shorthand was accurate and fast enough to stay abreast of Mrs. Massey’s tirade, and then he could slot the interview almost verbatim into the Telegram ’s columns. He carefully noted how Mrs. Massey always referred to the unfortunate Carrie as “the girl” and never by name, and kept returning to the rumours of an attempted seduction.
“We are satisfied, we are sure,” continued Mary Ethel, “that Mr. Massey was innocent of wrongdoing, and that the girl had no cause to kill him. There was no motive, except that the girl was out of her head. Of that I am quite satisfied.”
The reporter lifted his head from his pad to ask, “What leads you to believe that there was something wrong with her mentally?”
Mary Ethel settled back to give a long account of the incident from the previous summer to which her husband had referred. “Last summer Mr. and Mrs. C.A. Massey visited us at our summer home on the island. One night while we were over at the National Yacht Club this girl wentout in the park with our maid. She suddenly became ill. She was carried from the park to our house, and when we returned from the club she was attempting to tear her hair and bite her fingers. It took six people to hold her.” The notion that it took six people to hold a girl who could not have weighed more than fifty kilograms must have seemed a stretch to the reporter, but he didn’t challenge Mrs.
A reporter from the Toronto Daily News was given the same spin. The paper featured it on its front page: “‘Our family bears absolutely no resentment towards the girl, because we do not believe that she knew what she was doing,’ said Mr. A.L. Massey today. ‘It was very unfortunate for us that my brother should have been the victim. She might have shot anybody who happened to come along.’” The Daily News reported as fact that the doctors who had treated her the previous summer “will testify at the trial as to her mental state,” adding, “The relatives express extreme indignation that any suggestion of indiscretion should be made against the murdered man.”
In 1915, newspaper reporters automatically treated a man of Arthur’s position with deference. With his firm Massey chin and air of authority, his “more in sorrow than in anger” tone struck the right note of patrician forbearance as he gently sketched a compelling picture of an unhappy, unstable, and not very bright girl. He made it clear that the Masseys were not looking for revenge. Protecting the family name took priority over punishing a simpleton.
However, Mary Ethel Massey did not share her husband’s subtlety. After the family’s return from Mount Pleasant Cemetery, Rhoda Massey had gone upstairs to rest when a reporter from the Evening Telegram rang the doorbell and asked to speak to the grieving widow. The reporter was an unprepossessing-looking character in a long black coat andwith a battered bowler hat perched on the back of his head. Mary Ethel Massey, an impatient woman used to getting her way, knew that Rhoda would never speak to the press, so she led him into a room where they would be undisturbed. Undaunted by the reporter’s scruffy appearance, or the pencil hovering over his notebook, she let rip.
“Motive? Why, there wasn’t any motive. We are all perfectly satisfied that the girl was not mentally responsible when she shot Bert. I know that it has been hinted that Mr. Massey may have been indiscreet and acted improperly towards the girl, but the whole story is ridiculous. No person who knew Bert will believe that for a minute. He was not the kind of man to act that way.”
The reporter must have realized that a snobbish grande dame in full flow would give him a great article—one that would grip and shock his paper’s working-class readers, and that might play into the resentment of wealthy shirkers that was starting to bubble through Toronto. All he had to do was ensure that his shorthand was accurate and fast enough to stay abreast of Mrs. Massey’s tirade, and then he could slot the interview almost verbatim into the Telegram ’s columns. He carefully noted how Mrs. Massey always referred to the unfortunate Carrie as “the girl” and never by name, and kept returning to the rumours of an attempted seduction.
“We are satisfied, we are sure,” continued Mary Ethel, “that Mr. Massey was innocent of wrongdoing, and that the girl had no cause to kill him. There was no motive, except that the girl was out of her head. Of that I am quite satisfied.”
The reporter lifted his head from his pad to ask, “What leads you to believe that there was something wrong with her mentally?”
Mary Ethel settled back to give a long account of the incident from the previous summer to which her husband had referred. “Last summer Mr. and Mrs. C.A. Massey visited us at our summer home on the island. One night while we were over at the National Yacht Club this girl wentout in the park with our maid. She suddenly became ill. She was carried from the park to our house, and when we returned from the club she was attempting to tear her hair and bite her fingers. It took six people to hold her.” The notion that it took six people to hold a girl who could not have weighed more than fifty kilograms must have seemed a stretch to the reporter, but he didn’t challenge Mrs.
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