Born in Dayton in 1856, James Murphy found his life to be ill-fated at an early age. His mother died when he was young and his father, employed during the night shift at the Meade and Nixon paper mill, was unable to give James the attention he needed while growing up.
     A fair-skinned, brown-haired, beardless lad, James’ sullen, steady gray eyes were usually half-concealed by a mass of curly locks that he’d brush down over his rather large forehead. James was unable to read or write and displayed a vicious disposition, which he constantly took out on animals and members of his family. By the age of nineteen, James had long been notorious in the city as a worthless ruffian, perpetually figuring in some street fight, drunken brawl or brutal act of violence.
     James became a "lieutenant" of the underworld clan in Dayton known as the "Chain Gang". Made up of over two dozen boys ranging from sixteen to twenty years of age, the gang was the terror of East Dayton. For several years they figured in petty crime, encouraged by the lenient punishment usually meted out by the police for their conduct. Being easily influenced, James was ready for anything and became one of the most daring of the gang.
     On August 31, 1875 a wedding party was being held at Barlow’s Hall, located at East Fifth and Pearl streets, celebrating the marriage of August Scheckelhoff and Agnes Niehaber. Colonel William Dawson acted as Master of Ceremony. Colonel Dawson was a Superintendent of the Champion Plow Works and, because the bridegroom was also an employee of the company, the Colonel had assumed the management of the wedding ball.
     James was passing Barlow’s Hall that evening in the company of George Petty, Edward Gerdes, John P. Kline and Lewis Myers. They saw what they thought was a dance and proceeded to go to the bar and have a drink of beer. After a few minutes they decided to go to the ballroom upstairs. Here they were met by Colonel Dawson. Lewis was recognized by the Colonel and allowed upstairs. The rest were told that, since they weren’t members of the wedding party, they couldn’t enter. When James complained, his arm was grabbed by the Colonel.
     "Get down or I’ll throw you down," Colonel Dawson threatened. James jerked away from him, laughing, then went downstairs with the rest of his friends.
     Returning to the bar on the first floor, the rebuffed men began to complain of how they had been treated and of how they might avenge themselves. After a time, Lewis came down from the ballroom to join them. A plan was hatched for Lewis to entice the Colonel outside. He was to suggest that the two of them get away from the party for a bit by going to Michael Weidner’s saloon, which was only a short distance down Fifth Street.
     It was about half-past one in the morning when Colonel Dawson and Lewis finally came downstairs. When the two men went out the side door onto the street, the gang followed.
     The group split up, John and Edward going down the north side of Fifth Street, while James and George trailed behind Lewis and the Colonel. After finding that Weidner’s had closed for the night, Lewis and Colonel Dawson headed back to Barlow’s Hall, as well as towards the two men who had been following them.
     When the four men met, James and George began hitting Colonel Dawson. They were soon joined by John as well.
     Emboldened by his comrades shouts, James drew a six-inch dagger from his inside breast coat-pocket and plunged the blade up to the hilt into the Colonel’s left side.
     When the Colonel fell, the rest of the gang ran off, leaving James on the sidewalk alone. Police Officer Frederick J. Funk, who had seen the attack, came up and struck at James with his club. Startled, James struck back with his knife, then wheeled about and ran. As James started to cross the street, Officer Funk drew his gun and shot at him, hitting him in the right thigh. James fell, rolled into the street gutter, then got up and ran into an alley on the north side of Fifth Street, just in time to dodge a second bullet. After hiding in alleys awhile, James began making his way to his father’s house.
     When Officer Funk went to help Colonel Dawson, no one was there. The Colonel was found by Officer Peter Long a few minutes later, Dawson having found the strength to run about 100 feet down Pearl Street before losing consciousness.
     Although he lingered for almost twenty minutes, Colonel Dawson died from loss of blood before medical help arrived. The police found James' cap at the murder scene, which he had lost during his fall. It was their only clue, but within hours it led them to the Murphy home, where James was found passed out in bed. He was immediately taken to the new jail behind the Court House on West Third Street, which had just been completed just the year before.
     When word got out about Dawson’s murder, so great was public uproar at the time that it was necessary to call out the Harries Guards to prevent a lynching. Colonel Dawson had received his title while in command of the Thirtieth Indiana Volunteer Infantry during the Civil War, and was considered a hero by many in the city. Found on his body was a letter from his wife, who had temporarily moved back to Kingston Mills, Ohio to be with family while she awaited the birth of their child. The letter spoke of their new-born baby and the ardent wish that he would come visit her soon.
     On September 2, over four hundred men belonging to the Order of United American Mechanics assembled at their hall in the Ohio Block. The Order issued a statement that the group would condemn any attempt at seeking revenge for Dawson’s murder. The men then marched from the Hall at half past ten to Dawson’s residence at 1309 East Third Street. The coffin was accompanied to the train depot. Only forty-three years old at the time of his death, Colonel William Dawson’s remains were laid to rest that same afternoon in the same place he had spent his childhood, in Urbana, Ohio.
     James was set to be tried in front of Judge Henderson Elliot on February 7, 1876. Warren Munger and Elihu Thompson defended the accused. David A. Houk, having lost as defending council in the Dobbins case, had switched sides and, with the help of Attorney John M. Sprigg, chose to represent the state’s case. Jury selection was swift, and part of the first day was also used to give evidence. After a four day trial, the jury was sent to deliberate the case. After a day and a half the jury returned to open court, stating they could not agree on a verdict. The difference rested on the fact that, while eleven jurors wanted to charge James with murder in the first degree, one was holding out for murder in the second. It was made known in open court that the sole juror that had held out was William J, McPherson. Although the first vote had been 9 for first degree murder and 3 for second degree murder, another vote taken a few hours later had McPherson as the only hold out. The judge let them go, saying that if they could not agree after thirty-seven hours, he was sure there was nothing that could bring it about. The jury was excused and another trial date was set.
     The news spread rapidly about the hung jury. Several thousand people soon surrounded the Court House. The crowd was not sympathetic to McPherson’s decision, far from it, and was quite vocal about their feelings. The general opinion was that McPherson should be tarred and feathered and then hung alongside Murphy.
     But it was while McPherson was leaving the Court House that the tension became almost unbearable. As he leisurely passed through the crowd with a cigar in mouth, they began muttering that this was the man who had kept Murphy off the gallows. "Go get your money," was shouted out, and the crowd took up the chant, yelling it until McPherson was out of hearing. One man later admitted that, if McPherson had so much as paused in his walk, the earlier threat of hanging him could have easily become a reality.
     It was while James was waiting for his second trial that an unusual occurrence took place at the jail. One night, between midnight and one in the morning, the wild cry of a woman pierced the darkness, filling the cells and awakening the prisoners. A quick check showed that there was no woman in the jail that night. James would later claim that not only had he heard the frightful wailing, he had also caught a glimpse of the ghost. He declared that it had been his mother, come back from the dead, and that she was crying for him. At that moment James knew he would be sentenced to hang.
     The second trial began on April 24th, 1876. Although jury selection took almost a day and a half, the trial was over by April 28th. Perhaps remembering what had almost happened to McPherson, by the end of that same day the jury had brought back a verdict of murder in the first degree.
     On May 1st James’ lawyers filed a motion for a new trial, with the usual reasons: verdict not sustained by substantial evidence, verdict is contrary to law, unhappiness with a juror having probably made up his mind to a guilty verdict before the trial had even began, and because of error of law occurring during the trial. On May 12th this was overruled and James was sentenced to hang on August 25th.
     A few days before the execution, the loud knocking of hammers and the rasping of saws could be heard echoing throughout the jail as carpenters began building the gallows. Erected at the rear end of the central corridor of the jail hospital ward in the third story of the building, the grim apparatus of death could easily be seen by the prisoner, since the ladder leading up to the scaffold was located right outside his jail cell. He watched as the hemp rope was tested for durability by the weight of a bucket of nails. A bucket of water was then suspended from it the day before the hanging, in order to remove any elasticity from the rope.
     While the public was banned from seeing Murphy’s execution, newspaper reporters were not. Never one to let its readers down, the Dayton Daily Democrat newspaper took the liberty of describing the gallows and rope that would be used to hang the condemned boy, as well as the clothing he was wearing.

     Although the report was worded as if written after the execution had taken place, it is more likely that the Daily Democrat had set the type to its EXTRA edition before it had occurred. The peaceful accounting never even hints as to the terrible event that befell James Murphy when he stepped onto the gallows that fateful afternoon.
     On August 25, 1876 James went through the preparations of being shaved, bathing and putting on the suit that he would be buried in. At the urging of Reverend Father Martin L. Murphy, James made a full confession of his crime to Sheriff William Patton and then asked for a light breakfast and several cigars. He dictated a letter of thanks to the Sheriff, his deputies and all who had been kind to him during his confinement. Having grown fond of the nineteen-year-old boy, and not wanting him to be interred in the usual pine box, the Sheriff personally purchased James a handsome black walnut coffin, adorned with silver crosses.
     At 1:30 pm James was led from his cell and up the ladder that led to the scaffold, accompanied by Reverend Murphy and Reverend William M. Carey. Arms pinioned at the elbows, James walked steadily to the front of the platform, looked at the spectators below him and asked for forgiveness for his deeds.
     Sheriff Patton then began reading aloud the death warrant, while Deputy Sheriff Charles T. Freeman adjusted the noose about the prisoner’s neck and strapped his legs together.
     "James Murphy, goodbye, and may God bless you," Patton was heard to whisper as a black cap was lowered over James’ face. The next instant the Sheriff pressed a lever with his foot, releasing the trap door.
     Even though the rope had been tested, or perhaps because it had been tested too much, it gave way with a snap, and the body of the prisoner fell downward and backward on the floor of the corridor.
     "My God, my God!" cried Freeman, with a subdued scream, "Give me that other rope, quick!" Another rope had been brought as a precaution in case the first one broke.
     James lay on his back, unconscious, with the broken rope around his neck and the black cap veiling his eyes. Then a pitiful voice came from beneath the cap.
     "My God! Oh, my God. Why, I ain’t dead, I ain’t dead!"
     "Are you hurt, my child?" inquired Father Murphy, who had rushed to the side of the boy.
     "No, father, I’m not dead, I’m not hurt. What are they going to do with me?"
     No one had the heart to tell him, lying there helpless, what had occurred.
     "What’s the good of leaving me here in misery?" cried James. "Take me out of this, I tell you."
     Meanwhile, a second rope had been fastened to the crossbeam. The deputies descended from the platform and lifted the prostrate boy up.
     "Don’t carry me," groaned James, "I can walk. Let me walk."
     But they carried him up again, with Father Murphy supporting his head. The black cap was removed as the noose was readjusted, revealing a face livid with terror. He suddenly seized Deputy Freeman by the coat, and asked him in a husky whisper what was happening. They tried to unfasten his hand, but it was clutched in a death grip. Father Murphy finally convinced the boy to let go and, six and a half minutes after the first fall, the trap door was again released.
     The body fell heavily with a jerk, turned about once, rocked back and forth, then became still. Unfortunately, in the hurry to readjust the new rope onto the gallows and around James’ neck, the drop was not long enough to cause immediate death, and it took seventeen minutes of suffocation for the boy to pass away.
     The body was at once cut down by Sheriff Patton and deposited in the coffin. James was taken to his family’s home, and arrangements were made with Father Carey to allow the use of St. Mary’s church for mass on Saturday morning. When neither the family, nor James’ body came, mass was celebrated for the soul of the dead, just the same.
     On Sunday, angry that the family had broken their promise, Father Carey had a letter delivered to James’ father. In it he stated that if Murphy were buried that day, the body would be given permission to be buried in consecrated ground at Calvary Cemetery. But, he also warned, "If you keep him until tomorrow to make a pageant of his funeral, you may bury him yourself without any co-operation from me."
     Humbled by the letter, the family also agreed to limit the procession to two coaches and a hearse, which took a path to the cemetery through the suburbs so as not to attract undue attention. James Murphy was laid to rest shortly after 11 am that day, in an unmarked grave.

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