The winter months from 1893 to
1894 were full of terror for all Washington residents.
Why, you ask?
Because the Washington area had our own version of the London’s famous “Jack
the Slasher.” The tormentor was
nicknamed Jack, and the mere mention of his name terrified children and adults
alike. And we all would have been too:
there was an average of 15 slashings a month!
“Every householder before
retiring [to bed] locked or bolted every door in the house and put a chair
under the doorknob as well…no burglar as daring as this one could remain
unapprehended for long” wrote the Sunday Evening Star. His victims included residents from Fort Myer
Virginia to Washington, DC and to Takoma Park, Maryland.
It wasn’t until March 19, 1894 that
Police thought they caught “Jack the Slasher” inside a Tenleytown house
belonging to Judge Governor Hunt near the intersection of Rockville and River
Roads, NW. 
“George Taylor, alias, Jones, arrested
yesterday at Tenleytown,” wrote the Evening Star on the following day, “evidence
of various kinds points to him as being that much-hunted-for person. In his pockets were found the tools that the
slasher must have used in his singular work of destruction – razors and sharp
knives – and all were stuffed with small pieces of cloth and dress goods, mementoes
of his little trips…If he is “Jack the Slasher,” though, he will probably never
be sent to prison. An insane asylum will
be his future home, for Taylor is undoubtedly a crazy man – a person not of a
violent manner, but one whose brain does not control his actions in conjunction
with his conscience.”
Richard Sylvester’s 1894 history
of the police department included a poem that illustrates the state of panic
that all Washingtonians were in that winter, and that Jack the Slasher did all
sorts of additional unsavory things to his victims:
The bedstead’s on the mantel
piece,
The clock is on the floor,
The cooking-stove is on the
roof,
The bolt’s slid in the door.
The cat’s in the lasses jug,
The dogs’s tail in a loop,
The milk’s in sister’s slipper,
The household’s in the soup.
“Police! Police!” the father
cried,
“Come save the bathroom
splasher;
Too late, too late, it’s cut in
shreds,
By doughty Jack the Slasher.
He fitted on my undershirt,
He smoked my cigarettes,
He used my well-worn
toothbrush,
He gave notes for my
debts.
He rang the doorbell loud and
well,
He turned on all the gas,
He sat down on the doorstep,
He saw the Police pass.
“Police! Police!” the father
cried,
“Come catch the naughty dasher;
I cannot stand the impudence,
Of horrid Jack the Slasher.
Jack went into the neighbor
house,
He heard an awful snore,
He didn’t stop at anything,
He even slammed the door.
The tired sleeper lay
out-stretched,
His features drawn and pale,
The coat nearby was closely
trimmed,
With knife-slits down the tail.
The sleeper, in his peaceful
dream,
Heard no distressful call,
And cared less how prolonged
& sad,
Was his neighbors’s mighty
bawl.
Smiles were Jack’s while others
wept,
As he hastily withdrew.
So soundly the M.P. slept,
Not even said “Adieu.”
Taylor was caught by a milkman
Charles Wise, who had glimpsed him through Judge Hunt’s venetian blinds. “He
did not attempt to get away, but remained there until the arrival of the
officers. He did not seem to realize
that he was being arrested when officers Easley and Law took hold of him…a big
sigh of relief went up all over town, and everybody breathed more easily” the
Evening Star reported.
His fifteen slashings per month
had come to an end. He was sentenced to
30 years in the Federal Penitentiary in Albany, NY.
Oh, by the way, he didn’t slash
people. He spent months breaking into
homes to slash their drapes, evening dresses, sofas, upholstered chairs, and
ottomans.
Taylor obviously didn’t like
the fabric of society!
Copyright Paul K. Williams
