Dupree [Laws I11]

DESCRIPTION: Betty asks Dupree for a diamond ring; he promises her one. He sets out for the jewelry store and steals a ring, but shoots a policeman as he escapes. Unwilling to leave Betty and/or unable to flee, he is captured, convicted, and hanged
AUTHOR: unknown
EARLIEST DATE: 1930 (recording, Willie Walker)
KEYWORDS: homicide robbery execution
HISTORICAL REFERENCES:
Aug 1903 - Birth of Frank DuPre
Dec 15, 1921 - Frank DuPre robs an Atlanta jewelry store
Sept. 1, 1922 - DuPre hanged
FOUND IN: US(SE)
REFERENCES (10 citations):
Laws I11, "Dupree"
Lomax/Lomax-OurSingingCountry, pp. 328-330, "Dupree" (1 text, 1 tune)
Friedman-Viking/PenguinBookOfFolkBallads, p. 396, "Dupree" (2 texts, but only the second is I11; Laws considers the first to be E24)
Cohen-AmericanFolkSongsARegionalEncyclopedia1, p. 315, "Dupree Blues" (1 text)
Botkin-TreasuryOfSouthernFolklore, p. 752, "Dupree" (1 text, 1 tune)
Darling-NewAmericanSongster, pp. 239-240, "Dupree" (1 text)
Silber/Silber-FolksingersWordbook, p. 73, "Betty And Dupree" (1 text, possibly modified by Brownie McGhee)
DT, BTTYDPRE
ADDITIONAL: Tom Hughes, _Hanging the Peachtree Bandit: The True Tale of Atlanta's Infamous Frank DuPre_, History Press, 2014, pp. 112-113, "(Betty Tol' DuPree)"; p. 114, "(no title)" (2 texts)
Harold Courlander, _A Treasury of Afro-American Folklore_, Crown Publishers, 1976, pp. 398-400, "Betty and Dupree" (1 text)
Roud #4179
RECORDINGS:
Teddy Grace, "Betty and Dupree" (Decca 2602, 1939)
Art Thieme, "Betty & Dupree Blues" (on Thieme06)
Kingfish Bill Tomlin, "Dupree Blues" (Paramount 13057, 1931; rec. 1930)
Brownie McGhee, "Betty and Dupree" (on AschRec2)
Willie Walker, "Dupree Blues" (Columbia 14578-D, 1931; rec. 1930; on BefBlues1, RoughWays1, StuffDreams2)
Georgia White, "Dupree Blues" (Decca 7100, 1935)
Josh White, "Betty and Dupree" (on ClassAfrAm)
CROSS-REFERENCES:
cf. "Frank Dupree" [Laws E24] (plot)
SAME TUNE:
Georgia White, "New Dupree Blues" (Decca 7209, 1936)
NOTES [4831 words]: Not to be confused with "Frank Dupree" [Laws E24]. This one is in blues form and opens with Betty asking for a ring.
Polenberg, pp. 272-273, lists no books about the story of Betty Andrews/Anderson and Frank DuPre/Dupre; there are a few web articles, plus the files of the Atlanta Constitution. However, Hughes's book came out at about the same time as Polenberg's, telling of DuPre's adventures although it doesn't have much about the romance. (Given that it lasted less than a week, there isn't all that much to know!)
I can't help but think how star-crossed the two were: They were teenagers, they hardly knew each other, and they were nitwits. Fortunately, there was no William Shakespeare to write their story, although there was Andrew Jenkins to cough up "Frank Dupree" and perhaps indirectly inspire this song.
A few noteworthy facts from Polenberg: Frank DuPre was just 18 years old at the time of his escapade (born August 1903), and barely 19 when he was hung. The spelling "Dupree" seems to be a clear error; Hughes, p. 101, has a photo of his tombstone, which clearly says "DUPRE."
DuPre's family background was unpromising. Frank (Jr.) was of two children born to Frank A. DuPre and Nannie Pearl Schroeder DuPre, the other being an older brother, Joe. The family came from Abbeville, South Carolina, but wandered around a lot because Frank Sr., a blacksmith, had trouble finding work (Hughes, pp. 18-19; there seems to be no reason to doubt that Frank Sr. was a hard worker, but it was a tough period).
DuPre's mother seems to have been emotionally disturbed; she made at least two suicide attempts, in 1916 and 1917, using laudanum the first time and disinfectant the second (Hugues, p. 19). She died in November 1918. Hughes, p. 19, hints that it was the result of the 1918 flu; Polenberg, p. 137, says it was pellegra (niacin deficiency). To develop that particular deficiency implies a truly horrendous diet (perhaps the result of the poverty caused by Frank Sr. not being able to keep a job); one wonders if Frank DuPre had suffered malnutrition as well (perhaps prenatal), which could affect his mental processes.
DuPre's education apparently ended with the eighth grade (Hughes, p. 20). He apparently was a decent worker in his first jobs after leaving school, but none of them paid well and none lasted long (Hughes, pp. 20-21). He joined the Navy in late 1920, didn't like it, and was discharged in March 1921 as the Navy downsized. By the summer of 1921, he was based in Atlanta -- and still unemployed (Hughes, p. 21). It was a tough time in Georgia; the boll weevil had reached the state in 1915, and between 1919 and 1923, the cotton crop fell by two-thirds. Banks, farms, and merchants went out of business (Martin, p. 159). It was better in Atlanta than in rural areas, but still, there was little work for young men with little useful training or experience.
DuPre apparently committed his first crime in the fall of 1921, robbing a cousin's husband of $140 and a watch (Hughes, pp. 21-22). On December 3, 1921, he robbed a jewelry store for the first time, walking off with a couple of rings with a combined value of about $2000, which he fenced for $425 (Hughes, pp. 22-23). $17 of that went to buy his first gun, a .32 Colt automatic (Hughes, p. 24; note that this contradicts the songs that, for poetic reasons, tend to call the pistol a .44). Clearly he was now committed to a life of crime.
Despite this, he apparently didn't drink, didn't swear, was shy and didn't talk much (Hughes, p. 25). He looked like, and was, a skinny teenager who, if unarmed, probably wouldn't scare anyone.
He was staying at this time at a cheap lodging, the Childs Hotel. It was in the mezzanine of this hotel that he first met the woman usually called Betty Andrews (Hughes, p. 24), properly "Betty Anderson."
If we know a fair amount about DuPre, our knowledge of Betty is limited and confusing. She was barely 18 when she met DuPre (Polenberg, p. 138), and very pretty -- although, contrary to some newspaper reports, she was not a blue-eyed blonde; Hughes, p. 42, says that she was "a brunette with large sad eyes and heavy painted pouty lips of the flapper style." This seems accurate to me based on the photos of her on p. 140 of Polenberg and p. 43 of Hughes. The photos of her make her look biracial -- which is correct; her mother was the granddaughter of Cherokee Indians (Hughes, p. 50).
There was a report that she had suffered a severe fever at a child and never recovered her mental abilities; her father allegedly said her mind "is blank at times" (Pohlenberg, p. 138). Her father denied the tale (Hughes, p. 50) -- but at her trial, the judge was told she had spent four years in the first grade; the school said she had a "positively dull mind." She certainly seems to have been emotionally unstable; in interviews before DuPre's trial she alternated between calling him insane and said she would marry him if he weren't sentenced to death (Hughes, p. 49). The stories she told were always changing. Whether she had suffered a fever or not, there really seems to have been something wrong with her -- although the descriptions don't sound like ordinary intellectual disability to me; I think there was something else going on.
She was said to have worked as a chorus girl in the touring musical "Chu Chin Chow," a loose adaption of the tale of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves which featured a scantily-clad dancing harem (Hughes, p. 24; Pohlenberg, p. 138; Mullen, p. 51, says the British version had had 2238 showing during the First World War years), which was believable given her looks. The show was a big success (there would eventually be a movie and a big revival), but Betty claimed to have decided to stay in Atlanta after it toured there (Hughes, pp. 24-25); she would later attribute this to a weak heart (Hughes, p. 42). But no one associated with the show had ever heard of her (Hughes, p. 50). She seems to have dressed beyond the means her minor income would have allowed, but she reported having "an allowance from my father," who lived in the north (Hughes, pp. 44, 50). This too was false; she came from Gainesville, Georgia, and her father was not wealthy.
Her father's name was Joseph Guest; she had gained the name "Anderson" when, at age fifteen in 1918, she had married a man almost twice her age, a barber named Joseph Anderson. That didn't last long; Anderson claimed "she has wrecked my life" and that she didn't know what love is (Hughes, p. 50) -- although he didn't actually file for divorce until the DuPre case came along (Pohlenberg, p. 140).
She also played piano, and it was as she played the piano that DuPre first saw her. He came up to her her to tell her how much he liked her playing (Polenberg, p. 137). They went on a few dates, and he bought her some clothes. But she wanted more: "Betty was clear: if Frank wished to court her, she would have to have nice things. Frank said all she would ever have to do was ask. Betty then made the immortal admission. Betty told DuPre, 'Baby, I'd love a diamond ring'" (Hughes, p. 25).
Their affair was so torrid that it apparently took them only four days to reach this stage (Polenberg, p. 138). What would have happened had Betty asked a half a year earlier, before he turned to crime, we cannot know. By December 1921, robbing a jewelry store was not new to him.
Having fortified himself with alcohol, DuPre went to Nat Kaiser's jewelry and asked about wedding rings. The store staff apparently didn't trust him -- he was a handsome young man, but there must have been alcohol on his breath! Plus his clothes were somewhat mismatched; he wore a proper suit, but a "newsboy" cap (Hughes, p. 10). They showed him relatively inexpensive jewelry, but he demanded the $2500 ring in the window (3.25 carats on green gold).
That was an important enough item that the manager on duty, Nat Ullman came out -- and signaled their security guard, a Pinkerton named Irby C. Walker. When DuPre grabbed a $2500 ring, Walker moved to stop him -- and DuPre pulled out his gun and fatally shot him (Hughes, pp. 10, 12).
DuPre fled, shooting another man, Graham West, along the way (Hughes, p. 12), this time non-fatally.
Now DuPre had a problem. He had the ring -- but he also had the whole city of Atlanta after him. And that meant that he couldn't use the ring as a gift; he needed to pawn it to gain the money to cover his tracks. (If the Atlanta police department weren't so utterly inept, he probably would have been taken into custody already; for another example of the Atlanta authorities bungling their work, see the Mary Phagan/Leo Frank case as described in the notes to "Mary Phagan" [Laws F20]. The Atlanta police chief, James L. Beavers, had been appointed in 1911 and gone on a crusade against brothels, but was incompetent enough that he was deposed and resigned in 1915, then reappointed in 1917, ran for mayor in 1922 and didn't even make it to the second round, and was deposed again in 1923, only to be restored yet again 1925-1932; Garrett, pp. 574, 657, 699, 787, 794-795).
Apparently DuPre showed Betty the ring but didn't give it to her. Instead, he went looking for his fence. (Hughes, p. 26). And the fence... couldn't take it. Apart from the fact that it was very expensive, no pawnbroker in Atlanta could acquire such a hot item. If DuPre wanted to hock it, it had to be somewhere else.
DuPre couldn't even take a train; they were watched. Finally he and the fence, Jack Worth, found a taxi driver to who would take DuPre to Chattanooga, with the driver to be paid once DuPre had sold the ring (they had a particular pawnbroker in mind). They made plans for Betty to join him, telling her to meet him at the Cecil Hotel. She didn't show up; she wouldn't leave without her sister, and the sister was not available. By phone, they agreed that he would leave without her (Hughes, p. 27).
In Chattanooga, DuPre was once again disappointed by the pawnbroker. He wanted $700; the pawnbrokers, father and son Max and Abby Silverman, offered $495. Eventually they worked out a deal under which DuPre got $400 cash and a pawn ticket; if he gave up his claim to the ring, he'd get $200 more. Out of that $400 cash (which the Silvermans needed time to scrounge), he had to pay $90 for the taxi ride (Hughes, p. 30).
DuPre then went to Chattanooga Station to catch a train north. The driver, Clifford Buckley, headed back to Atlanta -- where he and his car had been missed; he was fired as soon as he got home. The police found his car -- with a gun that had been recently fired .32 Colt automatic; DuPre had left his gun. Buckley was promptly arrested as an accessory to murder (Hughes, pp. 30-31).
He proved a key source of information. Atlanta investigators went to the Silverman pawnshop in Chattanooga and verified that the ring they had taken was the one stolen from the Kaiser jewelers. That proved they were on the right track. Then... a Western Union message and a money order at the taxi company, asking Buckley to give a message and money to Betty Andrews; the message asked Betty to come to Norfolk to meet him. The taxi company collected the message -- and the police went for Betty (Hughes, p. 32).
Talking to the desk clerk at the Childs Hotel, the police learned that Betty had been with a man named Frank DuPre. A photo in Betty's room was positively identified by a witness who had been by the jewelry store. So the police now had a name to go with their description. Betty confirmed she had been dating DuPre. She called him a nice young man, claimed to be surprised at what he had done, and declared that she would not have gone with him (Hughes, p. 33).
They came close to catching DuPre at the Western Union office as he awaited an answer from Betty. But he escaped and sent her a letter about it. It was signed "Your lover, Frank." Betty rather than responding, took the letter to the police (Hughes, pp. 33-34). Although she did cry heavily when she saw him after his arrest (Hughes, p. 48).
DuPre really did have rocks in his head. Having made his way out of Georgia to (eventually) Detroit, he actually sent a letter to an Atlanta newspaper describing his side of things (text on pp. 37-38 of Hughes). He also wrote to Max Silverman, the pawnbroker, to try to get his $200 -- as if the pawnbroker would pay up on a stolen ring! DuPre asked that the wire transfer be sent to the Detroit post office. Silverman turned the message over, and the Detroit police started watching for him (Hughes, p. 39). He was promptly arrested -- and promptly confessed. He sent back to Georgia (Polenberg, p. 139).
Betty was no longer having anything to do with him; she denied having encouraged him, releasing a statement that read, in part, "He fell in love with me, but it was not my fault and I did nothing to encourage him to do so. God knows I am sorry for the boy, but I cannot make myself feel that I am in any way responsible for his crimes.... I did not love him, and knowing him only four days, I was scarcely in a position to aid him or influence him in the commission of a crime. I was with him on the streets only one time, and then we went to the theater" (Hughes, p. 42. He suggests a lawyer had a hand in that statement, but I suspect it accurately reflects how Betty felt.)
From the time he was taken into custody, it was just a matter of things working through the courts -- and that didn't take long. According to Hughes, p. 46, "The grand jury indicted DuPre on Friday. The trial would start on Tuesday. [DuPre's lawyer Henry A.] Allen had not even met his client." Allen managed to obtain only a two day delay.
The prosecutor, John Boyken, was one of those who had prosecuted Leo Frank for the murder of Mary Phagan, although he later admitted that that had been a mistake (Hughes, p. 49). He was very much a throw-the-book-at-them law-and-order type. Throw in a megachurch leader preaching a sermon about DuPre as an example of depravity (Hughes, p, p. 53), and it was clear that the prosecution would go for the death penalty.
Given the talk of insanity, the prosecutor had him examined, and the doctor declared DuPre sane (Hughes, pp. 51-52, has his report). The doctor involved spent only two hours with DuPre, and his history makes it clear that he could not judge sanity anyway based on the standards we would apply a century later, but it meant that the prosecution was ready for an insanity defense.
In the end, the defense didn't use an insanity argument; they just claimed that DuPre was young and innocent and not really responsible for what he did (Hughes, p. 52), plus they tried to suggest that he thought he was defending himself when the security guard stopped him at the door. The insanity defense might have prolonged the trial, but I'm sure it would have failed; DuPre was a knucklehead, and probably had a diminished moral capacity. Plus he smoked like a chimney, which is a trait associated with several psychological disorders. It really sounds as if he had an impulse control disorder. Still, he certainly understood that murder was wrong.
There was no change of venue (Hughes, p. 57) despite what was clearly a heavily corrupted jury pool -- the case had been all over the newspapers and preached from the pulpits; it was the talk of the town.
The prosecution offered witnesses to show that DuPre had committed the crime; the defense didn't even really try to contest this (Hughes, pp. 57-61). Witnesses said that DuPre smiled during much of the trial -- evidence I think of his foolishness or mental disorder, but it didn't help his case.
After the prosecution finished, the defense declined to call any witnesses, since they didn't have many they could call and by omitting witnesses, they would get the last word with the jury (Hughes, p. 61). That left one more stage before the final arguments: Under Georgia law, the defendant, without going on oath, was permitted to make a statement about the case. This could be of any length -- but it had to be the defendant speaking to the judge and jury, without help from his lawyer (the Supreme Court would eventually rule this unconstitutional, but not until 1961; Hughes, p. 62). DuPre's lawyers either failed to brief him for this or he forgot his instructions; given unlimited time, he spoke for only about a quarter of an hour; the newspaper transcript of the statement takes just barely more than two pages on pp. 63-65 of Hughes. DuPre briefly told the story of his life, then basically re-confessed (while saying he didn't remember the murder), and denied that Betty was involved -- meaning the defense couldn't even blame her (although they still hinted it was her fault; Pohlenberg, p. 141).
Crucially, he never apologized or said he was sorry for what he had happened (Hughes, p. 62). After that, there really wasn't much Allen and DuPre's other lawyers could do except plead for mercy. The whole thing had taken just two days (Pohlenberg, p. 142).
Under Georgia law at this time, there were only two verdicts involving someone dying: voluntary manslaughter (when there was some degree of provocation) and murder. If the verdict was murder, then the jury could recommend mercy (meaning a life sentence) or not recommend mercy (meaning the death penalty). Allen wasn't trying to get DuPre off; they were just trying to save him the death penalty (Hughes, p. 67).
The jury took an evening and part of a morning to reach a verdict; it was later reported that they needed twelve ballots. DuPre was convicted of murder, with no recommendation for mercy (Hughes, p. 68). The judge (who had no option) sentenced him to be hanged, although he allowed the defense a preliminary hearing for an attempt at a new trial.
Personally, I think the new trial was deserved; justice had been so swift that the defense had had no time to figure out what to do. The jury had clearly been tainted; several jurors were allowed to affirm that they had no prejudices, but had been heard saying that DuPre should swing (Hughes, pp. 74-75; under Georgia law, a sworn statement that one was unbiased had precedence over evidence of bias)). And, although Atlanta had seemed to be roaring for his blood before the trial, things started to change after that. The famous evangelist Billy Sunday thought DuPre should live. Other clergymen also called for clemency. And so did voices from the Ku Klux Klan -- if DuPre died, he would be the first white man executed in Georgia since 1912; it was declared that "Georgia did not hang white folk" (Hughes, pp. 70-71).
The Georgia Supreme Court took the case, and considered four issues -- but it rejected two of them, including the jury bias claim, outright; it was split 3-3 on the other two, meaning that the result would stand (Hughes, pp. 76-77). They admitted some problems with the charge to the jury, and with juror bias, but not enough to overturn the result. Based on Polenberg's comments on p. 142, it sounds as if the crucial matter for at least some of the judges was that they didn't want to give the impression to other criminals that *they* could get off; Georgia was having a crime wave which needed to be stopped. (The crime wave part was true, but study after study has shown that retributive justice doesn't work. Given what the Georgia courts were like at that time, though, appeals to facts were unlikely to succeed!)
That left only appeals to the the governor and the Georgia Prison Commission for clemency. There were public appeals for funds for this; Frank didn't have the money to pay his lawyers. Hughes declares: "Let it be clearly understood: the campaign to save Frank DuPre from a rope was driven by the reality that Georgia was about to hang a white boy" (p. 79). Nonetheless the lawyers did the work that they hadn't been able to do before, including bringing in a psychologist who reports that Frank was a "high-grade moron" (Hughes, p. 79). Had this been known before Frank's first trial, the lawyers might well have tried to get an easier verdict on the grounds of "diminished capacity." However, Hall, p. 195, says "Most states do not allow this defense." In any case, it probably needed to be brought up at trial, not on appeal -- and, of course, there was no time for that.
(I would add, as an aside, that I don't believe that Frank DuPre had intellectual disability pure and simple, at least not as we would define it today. A later psychologist gave him a standard IQ test, on which he scored 80.7. That's low, of course -- but by itself does not qualify one for an intellectual disability diagnosis, for which the approximate cutoff is 70. And besides, the IQ tests of the time were biased against many groups, including uneducated Southerners. Examiners back then were flatly incompetent, and their diagnosis means nothing, but it sounds to me as if Frank's condition was more complex -- my gut feeling, based mostly on the amount he smoked, is that he had incipient schizophrenia. But that's a wild guess. I definitely suspect that Frank and Betty hit it off so fast because of their mental disorders -- people with similar disorders are often attracted to each other.)
The campaign drew a lot of support -- more than 12,000 people signed petitions on DuPre's behalf, which is more than for any case in Georgia history except the Leo Frank case (Hughes, pp. 79-80) -- in which, of course, Frank was innocent, whereas DuPre was unquestionably guilty. Meanwhile, DuPre was joining the Episcopal Church (Hughes, pp. 80-81), although it's not clear whether this was from genuine belief of an attempt to clean up his image. It didn't help. The Prison Commission was unanimous in recommending against clemency (Hughes, p. 81), and the request went to Governor Hardwick with that (lack of) recommendation. Little wonder, then, that DuPre's request was rejected (Polenberg, p. 143). The process had gained DuPre a few more months of life, but after that, a new execution date was set. Polenberg, p. 144 shows him in prison in the month before his execution, dressed in a suit and tie and looking handsome.
Betty, even though she was in the same prison, was not allowed a final visit. The sheriff did finally allow her to send a note, in which she promised to "be good" and "lead a Christian life." It was signed, "Lovingly, Betty" (Hughes, pp. 97-98). Because the elevator went by the women's floor, he briefly saw her as he rode up to the execution chamber. He waved and told her he would see her in heaven; she sobbed and shrieked that she would be good (Hughes, p. 98; I can't help but think how much her behavior sounds like an abused child trying to save herself further punishment even though she does not know what she has done wrong).
DuPre was hung in September 1922, less than a month after his nineteenth birthday. Several reporters thought he was smiling before the drop (Hughes, p. 100).
Like just about everyone involved in law enforcement in Atlanta, the hangman was incompetent; DuPre's neck was not broken, and it took him fourteen minutes to die of strangulation (Polenberg, p. 144).
Various others associated with DuPre -- Worth, the fence; Buckley, the driver; others -- went on trial while DuPre's appeal were going forward (there had been hope that DuPre would testifty, but Worth's attorney found a legal argument that a man condemned to death could not testify). So it was Buckley who was the state's lead witness. Worth got three years (but served only one); Buckley got one year; others got minor punishments (Hughes, pp. 72-73). Silverman, the pawnbroker who bought the big diamond ring, actually got a cut of the roughly $2000 reward money for DuPre, although he probably lost money on the deal overall (Hughes, p. 106)
Which left Betty. She was under suspicion as an accessory for a long time (Boykin declared that he would certainly prove Betty's involvement; Hughes, p. 50; and had her arrested on January 19, 1922; Pohlenberg, p. 140). Buckley didn't go through with it, though. On March 4, Buckley suggested that she would plead guilty to a "statuatory offense" -- which I suspect is the charge often brought against prostitutes. Betty, when asked how she wanted to plead, refused to plead guilty. But her lawyer calmed her down and told the judge, in effect, that she was feeble-minded. She was given a one year suspended sentence and placed in the custody of her father (Hughes, p. 73).
She apparently did make another attempt to visit DuPre. The judge considered this a violation of her parole, and told her he would never let her see her, but he decided not to arrest her because she was so ignorant -- although he warned her that another visit to Atlanta would put her in prison (Hughes, p. 75). But her father couldn't control her and she was ordered to prison. As it happened, she spent the period leading up to DuPre's execution on a different floor of the prison in Atlanta, but as we saw, they weren't permitted to see each other (Hughes, p. 77).
Polenberg isn't aware of what happened to Betty after that (Polenberg, p. 145). But she was paroled in October 1922, got in trouble again for making noise, staying out late, and walking in "unconventional attire." Taken back into custody, she was released three days later to Reverend Gasque, one of the observers of DuPre's execution. He tried to find a quiet place for her, and apparently succeeded, because little is heard of her for the next decade, until Peggy Guest (her maiden name) married Maurice Blaustein on August 2, 1932 in Hot Springs, Arkansas, a military supply officer (who was disowned by his family for marrying a non-Jew). The two apparently had no children, but took care of a boy, Robert, who was known by the name Blaustein although apparently never formally adopted (it sounds as if Betty and Robert never got along). She died on June 27, 1972, at the age of 68, being an accepted member of a Lutheran Church. Her husband survived her (Hughes, p. 108; it appears all this information came from a talk with Robert Blaustein in 2013 and her obituary in an Amarillo paper, where the Blausteins had gone on retirement).
Given that she was not yet twenty at the time of the DuPre affair, meaning that there was every reason to think she might still be around in the 1960s when songs about "Dupree" (as it came to be spelled) became popular again. I'm surprised no one tried to find her. To be sure, the idea of an *old* Betty is hard to fathom....
Cohen repeats a common claim that DuPre was the last man legally hanged in Georgia. Another common statement is that it was the last public hanging -- but it wasn't public; public hangings had ended in 1893. It took place on the prison grounds (Hughes, p. 97). And there would be more (DuPre's, in fact, was the second on the prison grounds on that very day). DuPre's execution did increase the pressure to abolish the death penalty -- but not by much. It is true that Georgia decided to get an electric chair soon after; it was constructed in 1924. But there were hangings in Georgia as late as 1931 (Hughes, p. 105). Hughes even has a chapter entitled "The Last Man to Hang in Georgia (Not)."
It will tell you something about the Pinkerton Agency that they tried to deny survivor's benefits to the widow of Irby Walker, the slain Pinkerton security guard at the jeweler's (Hughes, p. 106), although it is estimated that they spent about $5000 of their own money to find his killer.
This story seems to have been largely written out of Atlanta history. I checked four histories of Atlanta, including Garrett's, which is comprehensive, and Williford, which is explicitly about Peachtree Street -- and not one of them mentioned the DuPre case. Every one of them, by contrast, mentioned the Leo Frank case. I suppose the fact that, in this case, they had the right man made it less noteworthy. But it's still odd that it seems to have been so thoroughly forgotten.
Anyone wishing to visit the sites behind this song will probably be disappointed. Sawyer/Matthews has no listing for the Peters Building on Peachtree Street, where Kaiser's Jewelry was located. Williford, p. 82, gives the site of the Peters Building as 1 Peachtree Street (the very center of the shopping district), says it was seven stories high, and says it was "built beside the railroad tracks upon property which had long been owned by the railroad and by [Richard] Peters' father-in-law, Dr. Joseph Thompson." Somewhat later, a viaduct was built over the tracks, which was in place by DuPre's time. Google Maps seems to confirm that there is indeed little old architecture left in the area; similarly, there is no longer a hotel on South Broad Street that might once have been the Childs Hotel where Frank and Betty first met, though there are a few buildings that look as if they might have been hotels. The Georgia State University Library site says that the old Fulton County Jail, where Frank was imprisoned and executed, and its landmark "The Tower," were demolished in 1962. - RBW
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