He sat in the Wyoming County prison in Tunkhannock, reading Shakespeare and awaiting his execution. He refused to provide any defense for his killing of J.M. Sickler. And he refused to positively identify himself. John Nelson was but one name he had given, but just who this man really was, authorities did not know for certain.
But this they did know: The stranger had appeared in Tunkhannock one Saturday morning in late October 1915. That afternoon, in nearby Whites Ferry, he asked a Mrs. John Fitch for some clothing. He was gentle in speech and courteous in manner, but she refused him. At 6 in the evening, he appeared at the Temperance House hotel in Falls, where he was refused lodging. The hotel’s former proprietor, Mr. B.M. Van Auken, gave the man 50 cents to seek lodging elsewhere.
A short time later, the man approached a farmhouse looking for a place to sleep. People at the house believed him to be a neighbor in Halloween masquerade and laughed at his request. He took to the road again and, shortly after 8 p.m., he came to Mill City, some 18 miles from Tunkhannock. The streets were dark in the town of some several hundred people. He had nearly passed through the whole of it when a small boy ran past, brushing against the wandering stranger.
On the porch of a barbershop stood William Farnam, J.M. Sickler and Judge Robert Westlake. They took only casual notice of the incident. Then, as the men told it, without warning, the stranger stepped into a shaft of light emitted from the barbershop and rushed at the three men, waving a knife.
“White people in a tank town like this can’t run over me!” he shouted. Before they knew what happened, the stranger had stabbed Mr. Farnam above the heart. Then he rushed at Judge Westlake. Mr. Sickler stepped between the knife-wielding stranger and the judge. The stranger stabbed Mr. Sickler four times, three on t he body and one on the hand. As he left the scene, the man threw his knife toward Judge Westlake.
Within minutes, authorities arrested him. He identified himself first as Peter Jackson from Canton, Ohio. He was a black man, 5 feet 8 inches tall, weighing about 165 pounds and, it seemed, highly educated.
Arraigned before a Wyoming County magistrate, he said he was from McKinleytown, Ohio. When the magistrate asked him to repeat the name of the town, the man said, “Well, you probably don’t understand. Just mark down my residence as Canton, Ohio.” President William McKinley had lived in Canton, and it was in that town that his body had been laid to rest some 14 years before.
Mr. Sickler died of his wounds in the early morning hours of Nov. 1, 1915. The man accused of murdering him repeatedly refused to offer any information about himself or any defense of his actions.
When questioned, he had a supply of similar responses: “I just wouldn’t care to talk about that,” he would say. Or, “I don’t care to say just now.” And even, mysteriously, “It doesn’t seem as if it would be quite proper for me to answer that just now.” Mr. Nelson refused even to communicate with his lawyer.
After 14 months, authorities were no closer to knowing the man’s identity. He offered several different names, including John Nelson, a name which the newspapers adopted. He was convicted of murder and sentenced to die. By mid-December 1916, with the date of his e xecution approaching, The Scranton Times announced a nationwide campaign to determine his identity. The following month, they sent out notices. “He was a stranger here 15 months ago,” they read. “He is still a man of mystery. WHO IS HE?”