Evening Star Newspaper, July 12, 1931, Page 68

Tourist Thrill-Hunters in Montmartre Find Pictur- esque Bohemians of Yester- year Are Virtually Extinct and the Few Survivors Still Ex- tant Are Tame in Comparison With True Criminal Types of Modern Latin Quarter. BY R. S. FENDRICK. . PARIS. AM so anxious to see some real Apaches l/ this trip,” the American tourist was pleading. “It's strange, but somehow or other I always miss then. My friends at home tell me how picturesque they are and how marvelously they dance. I mean the real ones who hide in the alleys of Montmartre, not the kind that werk in the musical comedy shows. Would you believe, I've been begging people here for 10 years to show them to me, and they don't seem to be able to find single one. Really, I almost wish that when I am walking down the Rue de la Pzaix some evening, on= will jump out and grab my purse. It's so annoying to be baffled like this. Don't you know any—I mean, can't you tell me where I can take a little peep at several, and their baunts and their companions?” The obliging guide coughed slightly. She was too good a client to have her illusions smashed abruptly. He smiled enigmatically. “IT IS astonishing how they manage to elude one,” he -explained sympathetically, “but don’t feel disappointed that you have not found any in 10 years. Why, I have been living in Paris for 40 vears without ever having gazed on an authentic specimen, and I have friends wno have been here even longer and have bad no better luck than myself. I've read about them innumerable times, I've seen hun- dreds of photographs of them, but I've never laid an eye on one in flesh and blood. Some people say they were all killed in the war; others that they were sent to Devils Island years and years ago. Actually, I wonder some- times if there ever were any Apaches. I asked the policeman here in front of our building once if he had ever seen any, and he declared that he had never even heard of them!” The Apache craze started way back in 1902. It was a dull, desperately monotonous Sum- mer. The hoodlums in some of the poor, out- lying quarters like Charonne and La Roquette were fighting and robbing at every oppor- tunity, just as the same class had been doing for hundreds of years, but it was not worth writing about. In a flash of inspiration, & young reporter returned to his office one night with an in- significant crime story and wrote about a new kind of desperadoes. He called them Apaches. The Buffalo Bill stories had had a tremen- dous vogue in France, and the name of this Indian tribe stood for every conceivable kind of barbarity, cunning, devilishness and cruelty. The word spread like wildfire. Almost over- night the Parisians discovered that a vicious new type of criminal was infesting the outer boulevards, holding up passersby, slitting throats and fighting like wildeats among them- pelves when they had nothing else to do. A short time later the outstanding bandits were identified, and if they had no fanmtastic picknames, were provided with them. The cabarets and cafe concerts, also hungry for & new mode, did their utmost to immertalize the type. By a stroke of luck, the discovery of the Apaches was vividly confirmed by & bitter vendetta that broke out between a gang of toughs in the Charonne Quarter led by Manda and the Beaubourg band from the adjoining district. But the real spice of this affair was that Manda had a companion, or gigolette, called “Casque d'Or,” from the way she rolled her golden blonde hair in a big pompadour. Undisputed queen of this underworld, “Casque d'Or” became a noted figure. WHENIAet,vicecMefotGwChsmnne band, became enamored of his chief's girl and then fought a duel with Manda about her, Paris was feverishly excited. The police suddenly grabbed them all, obtained confessions of highway robberies and secured convictions. Manda was sent to Devils Island for life and Leca for eight years. They kept gunning for each other down there for three years, to the great gratification of the Paris newspapers, but finally Leca was shot trying to escape. He was homesick for ‘Paname,” Paris and “Casque d’Or.” Manda is still there, completely forgotten by this time. “Casque d'Or” had her hour of fame after the trial. A painter made her portrait, which was re- fused by the salon. An impresario tried to make an actress of her, but the police forbade it. She is now a poor, broken old woman, living obscurely in Paris. Then there is a most interesting story deal- ing with the Apache and the war. This one concerns Gigot the Rat. There had been a series of motor robberies and flats and apart- ments were entered without number. The whole story reads like fiction. Because of the signs that were always left on the places robbed, the Paris police finally fixed the crimes on a man named Gigot. He was a notorious character of the underworld and formerly had been a market porter. He invariably stamped the place he victimized with “Ville de Paris, Controle.” Only market porters are possessed of such stamps. Inspector Andre of the Paris police was called in by the head of the department and given the task of running down Gigot. It took him a fortnight, by process of elimina- tion, finally to locate the apparent hiding-out place of the man who was terrorizing Paris. Gigot had developed into the most daring and successful flat-worker. He was always just a jump ahead of the police. With a flair for the theatrical, he invariably left his mark, sometimes on a chair, sometimes on the walls, sometimes on the mantel; but in the event haste prompted & rapid exit the stamping was done upon the window sill or the panel of a door. When the hiding place of Gigot was found Inspector Andre threw a half dozen police around the place. In this neighborhood any night might be found swaggering young men in patent-leather shoes, tight-fitting trousers, soft caps and bright-colored scarfs—the regular Apache type. At midnight the inspector swooped down on the room that held Gigot. He entered it THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JULY 12, 1931, Very rarely now can the tourist find an Apache dance in a Parision cafe. Apaches of the romantic type, knoun before the World War, have all but passed out of the picture. Some of these Bo- hemians remain, but they are far removed from the modern criminal type. alone. Suddenly there were three shots; then there was a period of silence. There were no eyewitnesses to what happened in the room. In a moment the inspector, pale-faced and shaking, came forth alone. The concierge said when she entered the room some time later a window looking down upon a neighboring roof was wide open. Gigot the Rat was gone. The inspector returned to the prefecture, where he turned in his revolver and shield, to his superior: “I mastered him and go after a fierce struggle. I recog- him a man to whom I owe an ever- of gratitude, my life.” is the real story. Gigot was a soldier World War. At Verdun the inspector had been a French army officer. Mywunded,hehadtmenmmtotme lines, Gigot braved machine-gun and artil- although himself wounded, and rescued Andre. The latter had never had an y to thank the Apache until that moment in the room where he sought Gigot's capture and then recognized him. Now, it is said, Andre is operating & tavern in Morocco, and his head porter is Gigot the Rat. 11| PRANKLY admit that these outlaws have certain decent qualities,” Dr. Edmond Locard, director of the Lyons police technical laboratory and formerly of the Paris labora- tory, declares in his book, “Crime and Crim- inals.” *“The first is & vigorous horror of informers. The Apache cannot afford to be betrayed. For one reason, he generally has many things to hide, and there is nothing that offends him so much as to be sold to the police by & com- rade without any scruples. “The second fine sentiment of the Apache’s soul is conjugal fidelity. Don't think that I am joking; the men with the caps are faithful to their companion, at least temporarily. Do I need to add that the Apaches have the senti- ment of honor? If I did not fear to be playing with a paradox, it would be easy to show that the honor of an Apache is of the same sort as that of a gentleman. In the last analysis, does it not manifest itself, among both types, in the duel? Manda and Leca knifing each other for the pretty eyes of Casque d'Or are s noble as Beaumanoir spilling his blood in a private park. For these duels of Apaches have their rules, as severe and as strictly observed as that of an encounter between gentlemen. There are blows permitted and blows for- witnesses and even reconciliation DR. LOCARD sometimes uses the word Apache, however, in the common French sense, meaning the criminal classes, and not the more specific and legendary type popular- ized in Paris some years ago. The legendary Apache with the foulard, cap pulled low and hands in his pocket passed out of existence as a romantic type at th outbreak of the war. He was a fashion fa crime that disappeared as suddenly as he had been created. The crime specialists had more vital things to write about, and after the war they never revived him. He's as dead today as a week-old erime, The most colorful Freneh newspapers never mention him any more, and the young reporters never have heard of him, Even the music hall has dropped him flat. The same identical or potential hooligand exist today, but with the disappearance of the word Apache all the glamour has gome, There has been such a change in the backe ground, too. The police are more strict, tha bad boys have more opportunities to work; and if any really dangerous-looking ones slink about in the old Apache get-up the peopie would either laugh or call a policeman. The war seemed to take the battling spirit out of the tough lad who succeeded in getting back home with two arms and two legs. A few callow youths pose around Paris today in the old costume, but they are nonentities in crime, A few also hang about special bals musettes, o cheap dance halls, arranged for tourists, buf most of them havent even sprouted s beard yet. They are only harmless imitations of the partly real but mostly mythical pre-waf cutthroat. But such is fame, though, that dozens of . alert guides are still making a living pointing out these many dance halls as authentig Apache hangouts. ANEWnndmoother type of crook has suCe ceeded the crude, combative, picturesque alley worker. He invariably wears good clothes, and even dinner jackets. He is generally & drug peddler and keeps up his own courage with drugs instead of the forbidden absinthef but among him one finds hotel rats, confidence men, professional dancing partners, white slavers, card sharps and blackmailers. It goe@ without saying that he keeps well manicured; orders his shirts from a good cutter and maine tains a good car and apartment if he cam, This new type of rogue, who has not yet been idealized by & happy name, carries an autoe matic instead of & long knife, of course. The sight of blood would probably turn his stome ach. A rough-and-tumble fight in a back street in La Roquette might upset him for weeks. An Apache hash would ruin his deli= cate stomach. Compared with the present canaille of crime, the Apaches loom up as a brave, gentle, kindly folk, who really deserved better than their fate. 5 They would slit a gizzard or cut a purse without batting an eyelash, but they never stooped to selling cocaine or blackmailing women or any of these ultramodern methods. Dr. Locard knew hundreds of them, and he says they were gentlemen at heart.