Dec 27, 2021 | Don Jail, Historical Moment, Ontario
Part 3: Two Down, Two to Go
Unquestionably the baddest of the jail-breaking bunch was the first to be picked up by Metro police. Convicted murderer Terry Musgrave, that “cold-blooded killer,” was spotted by two uniformed policemen outside a shopping plaza on Jane Street in North York. He was arrested at gunpoint.
Handcuffed and in shackles, Musgrave appeared in court at College Park in Toronto on December 29. His charges, as might be presumed, were serious: escaping custody and possession of a prohibited weapon – a sawed-off .22-calibre rifle. He was eager to get things over with. (“I don’t want a lawyer. I plead guilty.”) At the judge’s insistence, he agreed to have his case remanded for a week — both to consult a lawyer and to get treatment for a foot fracture. He had broken a bone when jumping over the Don wall.
The second fugitive to be corralled was Randy Garrison, who surrendered on December 28, after just three days on the lam. Garrison had telephoned his father, Ernest, asking him to arrange for two officers to meet him at a streetlight on the corner of Driftwood and Finch avenues in North York.
Sergeant Don Bell and Constable Steve McAteer duly “went and stood there.” And, in true noir fashion, “Garrison just appeared out of the darkness.”
Garrison was exhausted. Since his escape, he had managed to snatch just a couple of hours’ sleep each night. He was also scared, after reading newspaper reports that he was regarded as a suspect in a robbery at a York borough gas station the day before. Three bandits in ski-masks had bound and gagged the attendant and threatened him with a knife. Garrison later swore to both the police and his father that he had played no part in that robbery. His overriding fear was that the longer he stayed on the run the more he would be blamed for any crimes committed in the future. The police believed his story.
The police also believed that he had nothing to do with planning the jail break.
Garrison was “the odd man out,” said Sergeant Bell. “We felt he would be the one who would give himself up.”
At Garrison’s trial on January 26, 1982, Bell told the court that the hapless inmate first learned of the “elaborate escape plan” on Christmas Day, when he was transferred to a segregated (and poorly supervised) area on the second-floor of the Don Jail where Musgrave, Hirsh, and Bush were already sequestered. When his three fellow escapees piled into the taxi after the escape, Garrison tried to run away. But the taxi drew up beside him and someone called out: “Randy, get in.” As evidence of Garrison’s reluctance, Bell testified that police had found a note on his person written on the back on a cigarette box. It read: “I Terry Musgrave forced Randy Garrison to go with us.” Musgrave later confirmed that he had indeed written it.
Garrison, who pleaded guilty to being “at large,” was sentenced to three months in jail, to be added to the three years he was already serving for the gas station robbery in 1979.
Terry Musgrave and Randy Garrison, both back inside.
And then there were two…
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Dec 26, 2021 | Don Jail, Historical Moment, Ontario
Part 2: The Rogues’ Gallery (Dec 26)
Ranked from bad to worst, the four criminals who scaled the wall of Toronto’s Don Jail and hopped into a conveniently idling cab on the night of December 25, 1981, were Randolph “Randy” Garrison, Brian William Bush, Andre Hirsh, and Terrance “Terry” Derek Musgrave. All of them were in their 20s. All had based their criminous activities in Toronto or neighbouring cities like North York (not part of the city of Toronto at the time), and their combined rap sheets contained more than 80 offences.
Randy Garrison of Toronto, aged 23, had received a three-year prison sentence for robbing a Kingston Road service station in 1979 and was facing a further trial at the time on charges of robbery and assault causing bodily harm.
Brian Bush was a 27-year-old Scarborough man awaiting trial on charges of armed robbery and possession of a restricted weapon. Bush’s claim to fame — or infamy — was his membership of the Dirty Tricks Gang, so called because of the creative diversionary tactics they adopted while carrying out their heists. Their preferred modus operandi when making a getaway by car was to scatter planks or lengths of hose studded with nails on the roadway to puncture the tires of pursuing vehicles. Bush was arrested after an abortive robbery at a Royal Bank branch in Leaside. Metro Toronto Police had received a “vague tip” that something might be going down, and they were waiting outside the bank as the masked bandits fled with their haul of around $24,000. In the firefight that ensued, police shot one of the robbers dead and wounded two others. Bush was arrested in Yorkville after a high-speed car chase through the city.
Andre Hirsh of Toronto, aged 24, was awaiting trial on a charge of first-degree murder after a bungled holdup at a Weston Road jewelry store in May 1981. When confronted at gunpoint during the robbery, the store owner, 38-year-old Frank Abrams, had flatly refused to hand over any money or jewelry. He was shot outside his store while trying to wrest the firearm from his attacker. A group of bystanders chased Hirsh as he fled and brought him down. Hirsh told police that Abrams “had it coming to him,” adding, “the guy had to play Joe Hero.” Abrams had threatened to fetch his dogs, “so I unloaded on him…not in the head or heart but in the stomach.” The truth was starkly different: Abrams was shot three times, including once through the heart.
And at the top (or bottom) spot, at very worst, was self-confessed killer Terry Musgrave, a 25-year-old from North York. The brutal murder had horrified the city back in January 1981. The victim was Catherine Maruya, the 43-year-old owner of a ceramic studio in North York, who was found bound and gagged at her workplace. She had been stabbed 28 times with a pair of scissors and strangled. Musgrave, described by the prosecutor at his trial as “a cold-blooded killer,” had pleaded guilty to second-degree murder. He had received an automatic life sentence and was being held at the Don pending the judge’s decision as to the minimum time he would serve.
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Dec 25, 2021 | Don Jail, Historical Moment, Ontario
Part 1: The Wrong Place at the Wrong Time?
The front page of Toronto’s Saturday Star on December 26, 1981, recorded the heartwarming story of a Rexdale couple who received the Christmas gift of twin boys. The new parents were understandably overjoyed, as the article put it, when the stork “dropped in” on them not once, but twice. Much less overjoyed was a Toronto taxi driver who had four men drop in on him on Christmas night. This report also appeared on page 1 of the Star, beneath the bold headline “Murderer three others flee Don Jail.”
As 28-year-old Leslie Peter Sheppard of Pickering explained, it was simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It was Sheppard’s first day on the job, moonlighting as a cab driver for Diamond Taxis in Toronto. He had just dropped off a fare at Riverdale Hospital on Broadview Avenue north of Gerrard Street East, and, in the spirit of Christmas giving, had escorted the wheelchair-bound patient to the entrance door of the hospital. Returning to his cab, parked on the narrow roadway between the hospital and the red-brick wall of the Toronto (Don) Jail to the south, he began writing up his trip sheet. That was when several men “in the biggest hurry of anyone you ever saw” piled into his cab. The first guy, he told reporters, “was huffing and puffing and said, ‘Help us — the bikers are after us. They want to knife us.’” As if to underscore this statement, he noticed that another of the men was shirtless, with a large slash across his chest and stomach. “Go! Go! Go!” they yelled and he took off, heading west along the laneway, before turning onto Gerrard Street and dropping them off at Sherbourne Street. The fare for the two-to-three-minute ride was $1.70, and he scored a 30-cent tip.
Sheppard told the media that he was gob-smacked to learn, when police stopped him 12 minutes later, that he had inadvertently helped four “extremely dangerous” inmates to escape from the Don Jail.
The desperadoes had squeezed through a narrow ventilation shaft, sawed through a steel bar with a hacksaw, and used a rope of blankets and bedsheets spliced together to reach the yard of the adjoining old Don Jail, closed since 1976. They then scaled a 20-foot wall to freedom — and that conveniently idling taxicab.
A Canada-wide alert was issued, with Metro Toronto Police out in force to follow up on every lead. They warned the public not to confront the escapers or “get them upset in any way.”
On December 29, an astonishing new development hit the headlines: police had charged the so-called “30-cent-tip” cabby with being an accessory after the fact and assisting in an escape. He was to appear in court early in the new year to have a trial date set.
Leslie Peter Sheppard’s long Christmas nightmare had begun.
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Feb 22, 2021 | Canada, Death Penalty, Don Jail, Historical Moment, Ontario
Following the publication of The Don, I was pleased to receive an invitation for an interview from Craig Baird, host of Canadian History EhX, one of the top podcasts on Apple Podcasts Canada. After a few days’ delay (“thanks” to the effects on Craig’s internet connection of a snowstorm in rural Alberta, where he lives), we finally got together for a zoom chat. Craig’s questions ranged from what inspired me to write The Don to what I hope readers will take away from the book. And he was very interested to hear about George Hedley Basher, who governed the Don Jail with an iron fist between 1919 and 1931!
You can listen to Craig’s podcast on Apple podcasts or on Craig’s podcast website.
Dec 16, 2020 | Death Penalty, Don Jail, Uncategorized
THE COP KILLER AND HIS LAWYER
A recent obituary in the Globe and Mail highlighted the many facets of the career of Clare Elvet Lewis, who died in Toronto on October 24, 2020, at the age of 83. One of the various (and earliest) hats he wore in the course of his professional life was that of defence lawyer. It was in this role that he met up with a small-time criminal named René Vaillancourt, who cruised into Toronto from his native Montreal in January 1973 to rob a bank.
After spending the night of January 31 at the Gladstone Hotel, Vaillancourt drove across town to his target of choice: a Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce branch at Danforth and Coxwell avenues in the east end. The 24-year-old was out on bail at the time on six charges, including possession of a dangerous weapon, car theft, and possession of stolen property. Reportedly, his specialty was stealing colour televisions from houses, stores and taverns in his home town. But he had become tired of the meagre pickings from his existing criminal activities. “I came to Toronto because the banks have more money in them,” he said later. “I was getting only $200 for B and Es [breaking and entering].” His optimistic assessment was spot on: using a .38 Smith & Wesson Special he had purloined from a policeman’s house in Montreal, he held up a teller at the CIBC branch and made off with almost $1800.
After dumping the 1965 Pontiac Parisienne he had stolen to use as a getaway car, Vaillancourt headed back to his own vehicle parked on nearby Drayton Avenue. There he encountered Leslie Maitland, a 35-year-old police officer who was in the area with trainee constable Brian McCullum investigating a robbery — probably the one Vaillancourt had just committed. “When I seen that he was coming for me I took out my gun…. I waved my gun at him…. He kept coming towards me. He wanted to catch me. I just shot and he fell down on the sidewalk,” Vaillancourt told police.
The bullet severed Maitland’s aorta and he was probably dead before he hit the ground. Vaillancourt shot him again, and followed this up by firing four times at McCullum, who, as a trainee, was unarmed. It was the young cop’s lucky day. He took shelter behind the police cruiser and all the bullets missed their target. But, as he grimly noted, “I could feel the spray of glass [from shattered car windows] on my face.”
Vaillancourt was captured while trying to escape in a taxi. “I killed the policeman,” he told investigating officers. “I want to get it over as fast as possible. I’ll plead guilty and draw my sentence. They will hang me for this but better that than being in jail all my life.” By the time his trial opened in September 1973, Vaillancourt had changed his mind. He pleaded not guilty.
Vaillancourt had clearly pulled the trigger and he had clearly killed Leslie Maitland. More than 20 witnesses were prepared to attest to that. However, the accused’s lawyer, Clare Lewis, tried to prove “that Vaillancourt’s rational mind had disintegrated and that he could not realize the nature of the act that he had committed.” Psychiatrists and psychologists called by the defence testified that Vaillancourt had suffered brain damage at birth. He was described as impulsive, easily distracted, sadistic as a child, and sexually deviant; all of which, those experts argued, pointed to a diagnosis of minimal brain dysfunction. The jury preferred the version of Dr. Joseph Marotta, a neurologist at Toronto’s St. Michael’s Hospital, who found no evidence of abnormality in a neurological assessment of the defendant. Vaillancourt was found guilty of murder and sentenced to death by hanging — which was, back then, the penalty for the slaying of a police officer in Canada.
After their brief meeting in the early 1970s, the lives of the criminal lawyer and the cop killer followed very different trajectories. Lewis went on to occupy a myriad of other roles on the right side of the law: notably, judge, police commissioner and creator of the Special Investigations Unit (SIU) that investigates the police, and Ontario ombudsman. He was on the Ontario Review Board in 2010 when a debilitating stroke ended his public life.
Vaillancourt was sent to death row at Toronto’s notorious Don Jail to await execution. He was still there a full 692 days later when he learned that he would not hang on October 31, 1975. He had been granted a nine-month stay of execution by solicitor-general Warren Allmand, pending the introduction of a bill abolishing capital punishment in Canada. On July 14, 1976, Bill C-84 squeaked through Parliament by a margin of seven votes, effectively putting the kibosh on the death penalty in Canada.
Vaillancourt’s sentence was commuted to life in prison with no chance of parole for 25 years. After his transfer to a federal penitentiary, Vaillancourt developed a new set of skills: he became a drug trafficker and ran an illicit mail-order business, abetted by his bewildered mother. He traded his own drug dependence for an addiction to computers. But his greatest claim to fame must surely be that he was the last convicted murderer ever to await execution on death row in the Don Jail.
May 26, 2019 | Don Jail, Historical Moment, Louis Riel, Ontario
To mark the May rollout of my new website, here are a few memorable May moments from my Horrible History of Hanging in Canada:
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- May 3, 1867: Ten thousand people turned up at the public hanging of Modiste Villebrun of St-Zephirin, Quebec, convicted of poisoning his lover’s husband. Even though this execution took place two months before the actual date of Confederation on July 1, 1867, it is officially listed as the first hanging in the newly formed Dominion of Canada.
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May 12, 1885: Métis and First Nations rebel forces led by Louis Riel were defeated by Canadian government troops at the Battle of Batoche in Saskatchewan, and the Northwest Rebellion was over. Louis Riel was arrested by the North-West Mounted Police a few days later. He was tried for high treason, found guilty and hanged in November of that year.
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May 2, 1923: Emilio Picariello and Florence Lassandro were hanged for the murder of Steve Lawson, a constable with the Alberta Provincial Police. Lassandro worked for Picariello, a notorious rum runner during the dark and desperate days of Prohibition in Canada. She became the first, and last, woman ever to be hanged in Alberta.
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May 10, 1962: Arthur Lucas, an African-American gangster, was convicted of the murder of Therland Crater, a police informant from Detroit. In spite of the fact that the case against him was purely circumstantial and seriously flawed, all appeals failed. Lucas was executed in a double hanging at the Don Jail on December 11. This was the last execution ever to take place in Canada.