The Axeman of New Orleans: The Unsolved Mystery of the Killer Who Demanded Jazz

In the humid, gaslit streets of early 20th-century New Orleans—a city simmering with jazz, gin, and secrets—a shadow fell. It was a terror that crept not from the city’s murky bayous or its whispered Voodoo folklore, but from the mundane, splintered wood of back doors. Between May 1918 and October 1919, a phantom figure, armed with an axe often belonging to his victims, carved a bloody chapter into the city’s history. He was never caught, never identified, and his motives remain as spectral as the city’s famous ghosts. He was, and is, the Axeman of New Orleans, and his story is a chilling symphony of violence, panic, and one of the most brazen taunts ever issued by a serial killer.

A City on Edge: The First Blood

The Crescent City in 1918 was a place of stark contrasts. Opulence and poverty lived side-by-side, and the Spanish Flu pandemic had just begun to loosen its deadly grip. The city was breathing a collective sigh of relief, a breath that was about to be stolen away. The Axeman’s reign didn’t begin with a roar, but with a series of brutal, yet seemingly isolated, attacks.

The first to fall were Joseph and Catherine Maggio, Italian grocers sleeping in their apartment behind their store on the corner of Upperline and Magnolia Streets. On the morning of May 23, 1918, Joseph’s brothers broke down the door to find a scene of abject horror. The couple had been bludgeoned, their throats slit with a straight razor. In their haste, the police overlooked a crucial detail: a panel in the back door had been chiseled out. An axe, bloodied and discarded, lay in the apartment. The murder weapon was their own. Robbery was ruled out; money and valuables were left untouched. The motive was inscrutable, the method, terrifyingly intimate.

This attack set a grim, repeating pattern. The victims were often Italian-American grocers. The weapon of choice was an axe or a similar bladed instrument, usually found on the premises. The entry point was almost always a chiseled-out panel on a back door. The attacks were savage, aimed at the head as the victims slept, and the motive was never robbery. It was violence for violence’s sake.

The Crescendo of Fear

Following the Maggio murders, the attacks continued, each one ratcheting up the city’s paranoia. In late June, Louis Besumer and his partner, Harriet Lowe, were discovered in a pool of blood in their home, also attached to their grocery store. Both were grievously injured with an axe from their own backyard. Lowe, before succumbing to her injuries weeks later, whispered that a dark, heavy-set man had attacked them. The pattern was solidifying, and the press began to connect the dots, christening the elusive perpetrator “The Axeman.”

The city’s fear was palpable. Residents began reinforcing their doors, sleeping with pistols under their pillows, and eyeing their neighbors with suspicion. The police were hapless, chasing ghosts. Their investigation was hampered by the era’s limited forensic science and plagued by the city’s deep-seated ethnic prejudices. The focus on the Italian-American community led to theories of Mafia hits or vendettas, a convenient narrative that distracted from the terrifying randomness of the attacks. Dozens of Italian-Americans were arrested, but none were ever convicted. The Axeman remained a phantom.

He struck again in August, this time attacking a pregnant Mrs. Edward Schneider. She awoke to a towering dark figure standing over her and was brutally beaten. Miraculously, both she and her newborn daughter survived. Then, in March 1919, the Cortimiglia family—Charles, Rosie, and their two-year-old daughter, Mary—were assaulted in their home in Gretna, just across the Mississippi River. The attack was so vicious it claimed little Mary’s life. Rosie Cortimiglia, in her delirium and grief, accused her neighbors, the Iorlando Jordano family. It was a tragic case of misidentification born from trauma, a red herring that sent two innocent people to prison before Rosie later recanted her testimony. The Axeman, meanwhile, had once again slipped away, leaving chaos and injustice in his wake.

A Letter from Hell: The Axeman Speaks

As the autumn of 1919 approached, the Axeman had become more than a criminal; he was a boogeyman, a piece of macabre folklore taking shape in real-time. Then, on March 13, 1919, the story took a turn from terrifying to utterly bizarre. The city’s newspapers received a letter, purportedly from the killer himself. Dripping with egomania and a theatrical flair, the letter confirmed the city’s worst fears: the Axeman was not just a brute, but an intelligent, taunting entity.

The letter, postmarked from a town called Hell, began with a chilling declaration: “Esteemed Mortal… They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a demon from the hottest hell.”

This self-proclaimed demon went on to mock the “foolish police” and laid out his ghastly intentions. He would strike again, fifteen minutes past the midnight hour on the following Tuesday. But then came the twist, the detail that would forever entwine the Axeman with the soul of New Orleans. He offered a bizarre means of salvation.

“Now, to be exact,” the letter continued, “at 12:15 (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is: I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the ¹lower regions that every person in whose home a jazz band is in full swing will be spared.”

The letter concluded with a final, chilling piece of advice: “Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and it is about time I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. Hoping that you will publish this, that it may go well with you, I have been, am and will be the worst spirit that ever existed either in fact or realm of fancy. The Axeman.”

The Night the City Didn’t Sleep

The city had a choice: dismiss the letter as a prank or surrender to the killer’s bizarre demand. They chose the latter. On the night of Tuesday, March 19, 1919, New Orleans erupted in a cacophony of sound. The city that gave birth to jazz turned to it for salvation.

Professional bands played to overflowing crowds in dance halls and bars across the city. Amateur musicians, families who could barely hold a tune, banged on pots and pans, blew on kazoos, and pounded piano keys in their homes. From the stately mansions of the Garden District to the humble shotgun houses of the Tremé, the air vibrated with frantic, desperate jazz. It was a surreal, city-wide exorcism, an attempt to ward off a demon with trombones and trumpets. One popular local songwriter, Joseph John Davilla, even penned a new tune for the occasion: “The Mysterious Axeman’s Jazz (Don’t Scare Me Papa).” The night was a spectacle of collective hysteria and defiant celebration.

And true to his word, or perhaps by sheer coincidence, the Axeman did not kill that night. The city exhaled, but the fear lingered. Was he a music lover? A showman? Or simply a cunning manipulator who had played the entire city for fools?

The Final Encore and an Unsolved Coda

The jazz-filled night was not the end. The Axeman’s bloodlust had not been sated. He would strike at least three more times after his infamous letter. In August, he attacked Sarah Laumann. In September, he assaulted Steve Boca. His final known victim was Mike Pepitone, struck down in October 1919.

And then, as mysteriously as he appeared, he was gone. The attacks stopped. The chiseled door panels remained intact. The axes stayed in the woodsheds. New Orleans, scarred and traumatized, slowly returned to a semblance of normalcy, but the question mark of the Axeman’s identity loomed large over the city, a ghost that refused to be exorcised.

Over the decades, theories have abounded, but none have ever been definitively proven.

The Suspects: Phantoms and Scapegoats

The most compelling suspect, and one favored by many modern researchers, was Joseph Momfre. A man using this name (or a similar alias) was shot and killed in Los Angeles in December 1920 by the widow of Mike Pepitone, the Axeman’s last victim. The widow, known only as Mrs. Pepitone, claimed Momfre was the man who murdered her husband and that he had been a leader of a criminal gang in New Orleans involved in extortion. This theory suggests the Axeman killings were not random acts of a madman, but targeted assassinations disguised as the work of a phantom, perhaps related to the burgeoning Mafia. Police at the time seemed to put stock in this theory, effectively closing the case, but concrete evidence linking Momfre to all the attacks is scant. His death, however, coincides with the end of the Axeman’s terror.

Other theories point to the idea of a copycat killer, or perhaps multiple killers using the same modus operandi. The focus on Italian grocers has led some to speculate about a racially or economically motivated killer, someone with a deep-seated grudge against this community. The police, for their part, were not above targeting individuals based on prejudice. They arrested a man named Frank “Doc” Mumphrey, a known criminal, but couldn’t make the charges stick. They even considered a man named Lewis Oubicon, who attempted to chisel through a door after the Axeman’s reign, but he was dismissed as an imitator.

Could the Axeman have been more than one man? The variation in some attack details—the use of a razor on the Maggios, for instance—could suggest different perpetrators. Or perhaps the Axeman was simply an opportunistic sadist, a “local,” as some criminologists suggest, who knew the neighborhoods and the habits of his victims intimately. Someone who could blend back into the city’s fabric as easily as he could emerge from the shadows.

The Legacy of a Nightmare

The Axeman of New Orleans was never unmasked. His legacy is not one of a known individual, but of an idea—a terrifying embodiment of random, inexplicable violence. He has become a fixture in the city’s rich tapestry of folklore, standing alongside figures like the Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau and the vampire Jacques St. Germain. His story has been sensationalized in books, television shows, and music, a testament to our enduring fascination with the unknown.

The story resonates because it taps into our most primal fears: the vulnerability of our own homes, the idea that a monster can emerge from the everyday, and the chilling realization that some questions will never have answers. The chiseled door panel became a symbol of this violation, a crude keyhole through which an unspeakable horror could enter.

The Axeman’s taunting letter elevates his case from a simple string of unsolved murders to a psychological duel fought on a city-wide scale. He didn’t just want to kill; he wanted to be known, to be feared, to orchestrate the very emotions of the populace. That night of frantic jazz wasn’t just a historical oddity; it was proof of his success. For one night, an entire city danced to the Axeman’s tune.

More than a century later, the notes have faded, but the melody of the mystery lingers. The Axeman remains an enigma, a blood-soaked question mark hanging over the Crescent City. He is a ghost story with real victims, a puzzle with missing pieces, a testament to a time when a real-life demon stalked the vibrant, humid nights of New Orleans, armed with an axe, a grudge, and a peculiar fondness for jazz.

Focus on Language

Vocabulary and Speaking

Hello and welcome to the part of our journey where we take a closer look at the language used to tell this chilling tale. Language is a powerful tool, and the right words can turn a simple story into a vivid, heart-pounding experience. We’ve just explored the macabre history of the Axeman, and now we’re going to dissect some of the key words and phrases that brought that history to life. The goal here isn’t just to memorize definitions, but to understand the feeling, the nuance, and the power behind each word, so you can confidently weave them into your own conversations and sound more sophisticated and precise. Let’s dive right in.

The first word I want to talk about is macabre. In the article, I said, “He had become more than a criminal; he was a boogeyman, a piece of macabre folklore taking shape in real-time.” Macabre is an adjective, and it’s one of those wonderfully atmospheric words. It doesn’t just mean scary or gruesome. It specifically refers to something that is disturbing and horrifying because of its connection with death and injury. Think of the art of the late Middle Ages with its “Danse Macabre,” or Dance of Death, featuring skeletons leading people from all walks of life to their graves. That’s the essence of macabre. It has a certain grim, artistic, or even theatrical quality to it. You wouldn’t say a car accident was macabre; that’s just tragic. But a Halloween display featuring realistic-looking skeletons having a tea party? That has a macabre sense of humor. In everyday life, you might use it to describe a story, a film, or even a joke. For example, “My friend has a rather macabre fascination with Victorian funeral photography.” It implies a focus on the eerie and death-related aspects of a subject.

Next up is the word elusive. We described the Axeman as “the elusive perpetrator.” Elusive is an adjective that means difficult to find, catch, or achieve. It’s a fantastic word because it implies not just difficulty, but a certain slipperiness. A difficult math problem isn’t elusive, it’s just hard. But a perfect night’s sleep when you’re stressed? That can be elusive. The Axeman was the very definition of elusive. He slipped through the grasp of the entire New Orleans police force. You can use this word for concepts as well as people. You could say, “For many people, true happiness feels like an elusive goal.” Or, speaking about a shy animal, “The snow leopard is one of the most elusive big cats in the world.” It suggests something that you’re constantly chasing but can’t quite pin down.

Let’s move on to brazen. We talked about the Axeman’s letter as “one of the most brazen taunts ever issued by a serial killer.” Brazen is an adjective that means bold and without shame. It carries a strong negative connotation. A person who acts bravely is admired, but a person who acts brazenly is often shocking or offensive in their boldness. It’s about crossing a line of acceptable behavior, openly and without apology. The Axeman wasn’t just bold; he was brazen. He didn’t just kill, he wrote to the newspapers to brag about it and mock the police. In your own life, you might describe an act of defiance this way: “He made the brazen claim that he deserved a promotion, even though he never finished his projects.” Or, “It was a brazen lie, and she told it without even blinking.” It implies a shocking lack of shame.

Our fourth term is scapegoat. We mentioned that in the investigation, the focus on the Italian community led to theories of Mafia hits, and Iorlando Jordano became a tragic scapegoat. A scapegoat is a person or group who is unfairly blamed for the wrongdoings, mistakes, or faults of others. The term has ancient religious origins, from a ritual where a goat was symbolically burdened with the sins of the community and sent into the wilderness. In the Axeman case, with the police unable to find the real killer, blaming the Mafia or arresting innocent men like Jordano was a way to appear effective and to channel public fear and prejudice. It’s a powerful and unfortunately common phenomenon. You see it all the time in politics, in the workplace, and even in families. “The youngest employee was made the scapegoat for the team’s failure,” or “Throughout history, minority groups have often been used as scapegoats during times of economic crisis.” It’s a word that speaks volumes about blame and injustice.

Now for a word that perfectly captures the Axeman’s legacy: folklore. I wrote that he became “a fixture in the city’s rich tapestry of folklore.” Folklore refers to the traditional beliefs, customs, stories, and sayings of a community, passed down through generations. It’s the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves. It’s not quite history, and it’s not quite myth; it occupies a fascinating space in between. The Axeman began as a real, terrifying man, but because he was never caught, his story morphed. The facts blended with fear and speculation, and he became a legend, a boogeyman. That’s folklore in action. You can talk about the folklore of a specific region, like the Appalachian folklore full of ghost stories, or the folklore of a profession, like the superstitions of sailors. It’s the unofficial, collective memory of a people. “According to local folklore, a white deer appears in these woods on the night of the first full moon of autumn.”

Let’s discuss notorious. This is a great adjective to have in your arsenal. We use it to describe someone or something famous for some bad quality or deed. It’s the dark twin of the word ‘famous’. Martin Luther King Jr. is famous. Al Capone is notorious. In the article, we could easily have called the Axeman a notorious killer. The key is the negativity. You wouldn’t say a brilliant scientist is notorious for their discoveries. But a corrupt politician? Absolutely. “The nightclub became notorious for its rowdy patrons and frequent fights.” Or, “He was a notorious procrastinator, always waiting until the last minute to do his work.” It immediately signals that the fame being discussed is not the good kind.

Another essential word from our story is perpetrator. We used it in the sentence, “The press began to connect the dots, christening the elusive perpetrator ‘The Axeman.'” Perpetrator is a more formal and official-sounding word for someone who carries out a harmful, illegal, or immoral act. It’s a term you’ll often hear in news reports or legal contexts. While you could say “the person who did it,” using “perpetrator” adds a level of seriousness and precision. It focuses on the action of committing the crime. For example, “Police are still searching for the perpetrators of the museum heist.” Or, in a less criminal context, “She was the perpetrator of the office prank that involved filling the boss’s office with balloons.” It’s a strong, specific noun for the person responsible for a negative act.

Now, let’s talk about the feeling that gripped New Orleans: paranoia. The attacks ratcheted up the city’s paranoia. Paranoia is a mental condition characterized by delusions of persecution, unwarranted jealousy, or an exaggerated sense of self-importance. In a more general sense, it means an intense and irrational distrust or suspicion of others. The citizens of New Orleans weren’t just scared; they were paranoid. They suspected their neighbors. They saw threats in every shadow. The fear was no longer rational or specific; it was a pervasive, all-encompassing suspicion. You can use it to describe a less intense, but still irrational, fear in your own life. “His paranoia about germs made him wash his hands every ten minutes.” Or, “There’s a sense of paranoia in the office since the layoff announcements started.” It describes a state of mind where you feel like the world, or at least a part of it, is out to get you.

Here’s a fantastic, subtle word: uncanny. While not explicitly in the article text, it perfectly describes the Axeman’s ability to enter and leave homes unseen. Something that is uncanny is strange or mysterious, especially in an unsettling way. It’s not just weird; it’s spookily weird. The resemblance between two strangers might be uncanny. A child who says something disturbingly profound might have an uncanny insight. The Axeman’s ability to select a house, find the family’s own axe, and disappear without a trace was truly uncanny. It defies easy explanation. You could say, “She had an uncanny ability to predict what I was going to say next.” Or, “There was an uncanny silence in the normally bustling town square.” It suggests a strangeness that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Finally, let’s look at the word ephemeral. We can describe the Axeman’s physical presence as ephemeral. It means lasting for a very short time. It’s a beautiful, somewhat poetic word. A mayfly’s life is ephemeral. The beauty of a cherry blossom is ephemeral. A rainbow is ephemeral. In the context of the Axeman, his physical manifestation during each attack was terrifyingly brief. He was a shadow in the night, there for a moment of brutal violence, and then gone. The terror he caused was lasting, but his presence was ephemeral. This word is great for talking about fleeting moments, ideas, or feelings. “The initial excitement of the victory was ephemeral, quickly replaced by the anxiety of the next challenge.” Or, “Youthful beauty is ephemeral, but wisdom can last a lifetime.” It adds a touch of philosophical elegance to your expression.

Now that we’ve armed ourselves with this rich vocabulary, let’s transition to our speaking lesson. The skill we’re going to focus on today is using vivid and evocative language in storytelling. Great storytellers don’t just list facts; they paint pictures with their words. They create an atmosphere. The words we just discussed—macabre, elusive, brazen, uncanny—are perfect tools for this. When you tell a story, whether it’s a real-life anecdote or a piece of fiction, your goal is to make your listener feel something. The way to do that is by appealing to their senses and emotions with precise, powerful language. Instead of saying, “It was a scary night,” you could try something like, “There was an uncanny silence that night, a macabre stillness that felt completely unnatural.” See the difference? The second sentence creates a mood. It makes your listener lean in.

Let’s practice. Imagine you’re telling a friend about a strange noise you heard late at night. A basic version might be: “I heard a weird noise outside my window last night. It was scary.” Now, let’s elevate it using our new vocabulary and the principle of vivid language. “I was just drifting off to sleep when I heard this sound. It wasn’t just a bump in the night; it was this elusive scratching sound, almost too quiet to be real. My heart started pounding. For a moment, I was overcome with this wave of paranoia—was someone actually trying to get in? The very idea seemed too brazen, too Hollywood, but the uncanny feeling that I was being watched was impossible to shake.” You’re telling the same basic story, but you’re now building suspense, conveying emotion, and using a richer palette of words. You’re not just reporting an event; you’re sharing an experience.

So here is your challenge. Your assignment is to tell a short, one-minute story. It can be a true story from your life, a piece of local folklore, or something you make up entirely. The goal is to create a specific mood—suspenseful, funny, or mysterious. You must use at least three of the vocabulary words we discussed today: macabre, elusive, brazen, scapegoat, folklore, notorious, perpetrator, paranoia, uncanny, or ephemeral. Record yourself on your phone telling the story. Then, listen back. Did you succeed in creating the mood? Was your language vivid? Did the vocabulary words sound natural? This isn’t about being perfect; it’s about playing with language and growing more comfortable with using powerful words to make your speaking more dynamic and engaging. Give it a try. I promise, the more you practice, the more of a natural storyteller you’ll become.

Grammar and Writing

Welcome to the grammar and writing workout. In this section, we’re going to move from analyzing language to creating it. We’ll tackle a writing challenge that throws you directly into the world we’ve been exploring—the humid, fearful streets of 1919 New Orleans. This exercise will not only test your creativity but also sharpen some essential grammar and writing skills that are crucial for compelling narrative writing.

Let’s start with the challenge itself. Here is your prompt:

The Writing Challenge: You are a resident of New Orleans in the summer of 1919. The city is in the grip of the Axeman’s terror. Write a diary entry of approximately 300-400 words. Your entry should capture the atmosphere of fear and paranoia in the city, describe your personal precautions or observations, and reflect on the mystery of the killer. Are you afraid? Are you defiant? Do you have a theory? Write from a first-person perspective (“I”) and bring the historical moment to life through your personal lens.

Before you put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), let’s break down how to make this piece of writing truly powerful. This isn’t just about getting the history right; it’s about making the reader feel the floorboards creak beneath their feet. We’re going to focus on four key areas: 1. Mastering Past Tense Narration, 2. The Power of “Show, Don’t Tell,” 3. Building Suspense with Sentence Structure, and 4. Using Modals of Speculation.

1. Mastering Past Tense Narration: Beyond the Simple Past

Since your diary entry is set in the past, you’ll naturally be using past tense verbs. But effective storytelling rarely relies on just the simple past tense (e.g., I walked, he said, they saw). To create a rich, layered narrative, you need to command the full spectrum of past tenses.

• Simple Past: This is your foundation. It’s used for completed actions in the past. “I nailed the back door shut.” “The newspaper arrived this morning.” This tense moves the story forward.
• Past Continuous: This tense (was/were + verb-ing) is your secret weapon for setting a scene and showing simultaneous actions. It describes an ongoing action in the past that was interrupted or was happening when another event occurred. Don’t just say, “I heard a noise.” Try this: “I was washing the dinner dishes when I heard the scrape of metal against the fence.” The past continuous (was washing) creates a backdrop, a sense of normal life that is suddenly pierced by the main event (heard). It builds tension. Compare “I read the paper and then I locked the door” to “I was reading about the Cortimiglia attack again when a floorboard creaked upstairs. I nearly jumped out of my skin.” The second one is far more effective.
• Past Perfect: This tense (had + past participle) is your time machine. It allows you to talk about something that happened before another event in the past. It’s essential for providing backstory or context without confusing your timeline. For your diary entry, this is invaluable. “July 12th, 1919. The heat is thick enough to drink. I spent the afternoon reinforcing the window locks. My hands are raw. Father had always said this neighborhood was safe, but that was before.” The use of had said clearly places the father’s statement in a time before the current fear, highlighting the dramatic change in circumstances. Or: “By the time the police arrived at the Schneider house, the Axeman had already vanished.” This structure clarifies the sequence of events perfectly.

2. The Power of “Show, Don’t Tell”: Engaging the Senses

This is one of the most famous pieces of writing advice for a reason. Don’t just tell your reader that your character is scared; show them through actions, thoughts, and sensory details.

• Telling: “I am very scared of the Axeman.” (Boring!)
• Showing: “Every night, I press my ear to my children’s door, listening to the rhythm of their breathing until my own pulse slows. A dog’s bark down the street sends a jolt through me that is sharp as ice. I keep Papa’s old shotgun by the bed, though my hands tremble so much I doubt I could even aim it.”

To achieve this, engage the five senses. What does your narrator see (the flicker of gaslights, suspicious shadows)? What do they hear (the sudden silence of the cicadas, a neighbor’s frantic hammering, the distant wail of a trumpet practicing jazz)? What do they smell (the sweet scent of jasmine mixed with the stagnant air of the bayou)? What do they feel (the sweat on their brow, the splintered wood of a reinforced door)? Using sensory details grounds the reader in the moment and makes the fear tangible.

3. Building Suspense with Sentence Structure

The rhythm of your writing can mirror the emotions of your narrator. Varying your sentence length is a simple but incredibly effective way to control pacing and build suspense.

• Long, complex sentences are good for descriptions and setting the scene, creating a flowing, contemplative mood. “The humidity hangs heavy in the air again tonight, a suffocating blanket that promises no relief, and the sounds from the street seem muffled and distant, as if the whole city is holding its breath.” This sentence creates a sense of oppressive stillness.
• Short, punchy, simple sentences are perfect for moments of panic, action, or sudden realization. They create a sense of urgency and high tension. Imagine this sequence: “A branch scraped against the window. My breath caught. Was it him? I didn’t move. Not a muscle. The house was silent. Too silent.” The staccato rhythm mimics a racing heartbeat.

For your diary entry, try to use a mix. Start with longer sentences to describe the general atmosphere, then, when you describe a moment of fear or a specific thought about the killer, switch to shorter, more direct sentences to heighten the emotional impact.

4. Using Modals of Speculation: Voicing Your Theories

Your narrator doesn’t know who the Axeman is. This uncertainty is a key part of the story. You can express this beautifully using modal verbs of speculation: must, might, could, may, can’t. These words allow you to explore possibilities without stating them as facts.

• High Certainty (Deduction):
  • “He attacks grocers again and again. He must have a grudge against them.”
  • “There was no money stolen. It can’t be about robbery.”
• Medium to Low Certainty (Possibility/Speculation):
  • “Some say it’s the Mafia, which could be true, I suppose.”
  • “He disappears so easily. He might be someone who lives right here in the neighborhood.”
  • “Perhaps the letter was a prank. The killer may not have written it at all.”

Using these modals makes your narrator’s voice more authentic. They are grappling with the mystery, just like everyone else in the city. Sprinkling these phrases throughout your diary entry will add a layer of realism and psychological depth. It shows a mind at work, trying to make sense of the senseless.

Putting It All Together: A Short Example

Let’s see how these elements can combine:

August 5th, 1919.

Maria next door was practicing her piano all afternoon, the same frantic jazz tune over and over. She thinks it’s a shield. A charm. I think it’s just noise. The papers say he wrote a letter, that he’s a demon who loves jazz. It must be a hoax. A brazen joke to make us all look like fools. Still, I find myself humming the tunes. You can’t help it. The fear is a sickness. Last night, a shutter banged in the wind, and I dropped a whole plate of beans on the floor. Just shattered. I had been so calm all day, but the darkness changes things. It brings out the thoughts. He seems to favor Italian families. Why? He might have been a customer who felt cheated. He could be anyone. The man who delivers the ice. The quiet fellow at the end of the block. That’s the real terror of it. He isn’t a demon. He’s a man. And he’s hiding somewhere in this suffocating heat.

Now it’s your turn. Take the prompt, remember these four pillars—past tenses, sensory details, sentence variety, and modals of speculation—and write your own entry from the heart of a city gripped by fear. Good luck.

Let’s Practice: Vocabulary Quiz

Let’s Discuss

The story of the Axeman of New Orleans is more than just an unsolved crime; it’s a window into a specific time and place and a mirror reflecting some of our deepest societal fears. Here are a few questions to get a discussion going. Think about them, share your opinions, and let’s delve deeper into this mystery together.

1. Man or Myth? How much of the Axeman’s legend do you think was created by the media?
   • Consider the role of newspapers in the early 20th century. They were the primary source of information and entertainment. Do you think they sensationalized the crimes to sell more papers? Could the famous letter from “Hell” have been a journalistic hoax to stoke fear and interest? Discuss the line between reporting facts and creating a legend.
2. If the Axeman attacks happened today, how would the investigation and public reaction be different?
   • Think about the tools available now: DNA analysis, digital forensics, CCTV, and criminal profiling. How would these change the hunt for the killer? Also, consider the role of social media. Would it help by spreading information quickly, or would it hinder the investigation by spreading misinformation, paranoia, and fueling vigilante justice?
3. The Axeman’s crimes were focused heavily on a specific community: Italian-American grocers. Why do you think this was the case?
   • Explore the different possibilities. Was it a Mafia-related series of hits disguised as the work of a madman, as the Joseph Momfre theory suggests? Or was it the work of a single perpetrator with a xenophobic grudge against this immigrant community? Discuss how prejudice and social tensions at the time might have played a role in both the crimes and the flawed police investigation.
4. The night of Tuesday, March 19, 1919, the entire city of New Orleans played jazz to save themselves. What does this surreal event tell us about collective fear and human nature?
   • This is one of the most unique details in criminal history. Was it an act of mass hysteria, a desperate grasp for control in a helpless situation, or a defiant act of community solidarity? Discuss the psychology behind why people would collectively follow the bizarre instructions of a killer. Can you think of any modern parallels where a community has united in a strange or symbolic way against a threat?
5. Who do you think the Axeman was? Based on the evidence and theories, which one seems most plausible to you and why?
   • Let’s play detective. Do you favor the theory of Joseph Momfre and the Mafia connection, which conveniently explains the cessation of the crimes? Or do you lean towards the idea of a lone, unidentified serial killer who simply stopped or moved away? Perhaps you believe it was more than one person. Argue for your chosen theory, pointing to the evidence from the story that supports your conclusion.

Learn with AI

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Because we believe in the importance of using AI and all other technological advances in our learning journey, we have decided to add a section called Learn with AI to add yet another perspective to our learning and see if we can learn a thing or two from AI. We mainly use Open AI, but sometimes we try other models as well. We asked AI to read what we said so far about this topic and tell us, as an expert, about other things or perspectives we might have missed and this is what we got in response.

Hello. You can think of me as a specialist who has spent a great deal of time in the archives, poring over the details of this century-old case. The main article did an excellent job of laying out the timeline, the fear, and the prominent theories. But like any good New Orleans ghost story, there are always a few more layers to peel back, a few more shadows to look into.

One perspective that often gets glossed over is the socio-economic context of the victims. The article correctly identifies them as primarily Italian-American grocers. But let’s go deeper. Why grocers? In the early 20th century, many recent Italian immigrants, particularly Sicilians, found an economic foothold in America by opening small, family-run grocery stores. These were cash-based businesses, often with the family living in an attached residence. This made them uniquely vulnerable. They were perceived—rightly or wrongly—as having cash on hand, and the living situation provided easy access for an intruder.

However, the “it wasn’t robbery” detail is key. This wasn’t about the money; it was about the message. Some criminologists have proposed that the killer might have been a disgruntled business competitor. The rise of these small Italian groceries was disrupting the older, more established commercial food chain in the city. Could the Axeman have been a rival, systematically terrorizing his competition under the guise of a maniac? This theory moves away from a simple “hate crime” motive into something more complex and rooted in the city’s economic tensions.

Another fascinating angle is the psychological profile of the killer, particularly in light of the famous letter. The letter is often seen as pure egomania, but it’s also a masterclass in psychological manipulation. By setting a specific date and time, he created a city-wide crescendo of anxiety. By offering a way out—playing jazz—he gave his victims an illusion of control. This is a highly sophisticated, sadistic trait. It’s not just about killing; it’s about puppeteering an entire city. This suggests a killer with a high degree of intelligence and a profound need for power and attention, which doesn’t perfectly align with a simple mob enforcer like Joseph Momfre. An enforcer’s job is to be efficient and quiet, not to write theatrical letters to the press. This discrepancy keeps the lone, psychopathic killer theory very much alive.

Let’s also touch upon a detail that often gets lost: the weapon itself. The article mentions the axe was usually the victims’ own. Think about the audacity and coolness required to do this. The killer arrives unarmed. He first has to gain entry, often by chiseling a door panel, which is a noisy and time-consuming act. Then, he has to locate the family’s own tool, their axe or a hatchet from the woodshed. This isn’t a crime of passion. It’s a calculated, patient, and incredibly high-risk process. This methodical approach is one of the most chilling aspects of the case and points to a perpetrator who was confident, patient, and very, very familiar with the layout of these types of homes.

Finally, one more theory that rarely gets mainstream attention is the possibility of a sexual sadist motive. While the attacks were not explicitly sexual assaults, the level of brutal, focused violence, particularly directed at the head with the victims in their beds—a place of ultimate intimacy and vulnerability—has led some profilers to speculate. The attacks were about power, violation, and complete domination over the victims. The “axe” itself can be seen as a phallic symbol of violent penetration. This is a darker, more disturbing interpretation, but in the world of criminal psychology, it’s a plausible lens through which to view such extreme and seemingly motiveless violence.

So, as you can see, the mystery isn’t just about “who did it.” It’s a tangled web of ethnic tension, economic rivalry, media sensationalism, and profound psychological horror. The real truth is likely a combination of these elements, which is why, over 100 years later, the Axeman still holds us captive.

Frequently Asked Questions

What was the “Axeman of New Orleans” and when did his reign of terror occur?

The Axeman of New Orleans was an unidentified serial killer who terrorized New Orleans and its surrounding areas between May 1918 and October 1919. He was responsible for a series of brutal attacks, primarily targeting Italian-American grocers, often using an axe found on the victims’ premises. His true identity and motives remain unknown, making him one of the most enduring mysteries in American criminal history.

What was the typical modus operandi of the Axeman?

The Axeman’s attacks followed a chillingly consistent pattern. He would typically gain entry to his victims’ homes by chiseling out a panel from a back door. The victims were often bludgeoned, usually with an axe or similar bladed instrument found at the scene, while they slept. A significant and baffling aspect of his crimes was the apparent lack of motive; money and valuables were almost always left untouched, indicating that robbery was not the primary driver for his violence. His attacks were savage and aimed at the head, suggesting a deep-seated desire for violence rather than material gain.

How did the city of New Orleans react to the Axeman’s attacks?

The Axeman’s reign plunged New Orleans into a state of extreme fear and paranoia. Residents began reinforcing their doors and sleeping with weapons for protection. The media’s coverage, which quickly dubbed the perpetrator “The Axeman,” heightened the city’s anxiety. The police, hampered by limited forensic capabilities and ethnic prejudices (often focusing on the Italian-American community and theories of Mafia involvement), struggled to make arrests, leading to widespread public distrust and a feeling of helplessness. The fear escalated to such a degree that when the Axeman issued his infamous letter, the city collectively complied with his bizarre demand.

What was the significance of the “Axeman’s Letter” and its impact on New Orleans?

On March 13, 1919, the city’s newspapers received a letter purportedly from the Axeman himself. This letter, written with an egomaniacal and theatrical tone, declared the killer to be a “spirit and a demon” and boasted of his elusiveness. Most famously, it offered a twisted proposition: the Axeman proclaimed his fondness for jazz music and vowed to spare any home where a jazz band was playing “in full swing” at 12:15 AM on the following Tuesday. In response, on the night of March 19, 1919, New Orleans erupted in a city-wide jazz cacophony. Dance halls, bars, and private homes filled with music, creating a surreal and desperate attempt to ward off the killer. The Axeman did not strike that night, cementing the letter’s place as a unique and bizarre chapter in criminal history and showcasing the killer’s manipulative nature and the city’s collective hysteria.

Who were some of the Axeman’s victims, and were there any notable close calls?

The Axeman’s first known victims were Joseph and Catherine Maggio, Italian grocers found bludgeoned and with their throats slit. Subsequent victims included Louis Besumer and Harriet Lowe (Lowe later died from her injuries), a pregnant Mrs. Edward Schneider (who miraculously survived along with her newborn daughter), and the Cortimiglia family, where two-year-old Mary tragically died. While many victims were Italian-American grocers, the attacks were not exclusive to this group. His last known victims were Sarah Laumann, Steve Boca, and Mike Pepitone.

What are the main theories regarding the Axeman’s identity?

Despite numerous investigations, the Axeman’s identity remains unconfirmed. The most prominent theory centers on Joseph Momfre, a man shot and killed in Los Angeles in 1920 by the widow of Mike Pepitone, the Axeman’s last victim. She claimed Momfre was her husband’s killer and a leader of an extortion gang, leading police to effectively close the case, though concrete evidence linking him to all attacks is scarce. Other theories include the possibility of a copycat killer, multiple perpetrators, or a racially/economically motivated individual with a grudge against the Italian-American community. The variations in attack details have also fueled speculation about more than one killer.

Why is the Axeman of New Orleans considered such an enduring mystery and part of the city’s folklore?

The Axeman’s case remains a captivating mystery due to his complete elusiveness, the lack of a definitive motive, and the bizarre nature of his taunting letter. He was never caught or identified, leaving an open-ended question that taps into primal fears of home invasion and inexplicable violence. His story has become intertwined with New Orleans’ rich cultural tapestry and folklore, akin to figures like Marie Laveau. The unfulfilled quest for his identity, coupled with the dramatic “jazz night” event, elevates his story beyond a simple crime spree into a chilling psychological drama that continues to fascinate and terrify.

How did the Axeman’s attacks ultimately conclude?

The Axeman’s reign of terror ended as mysteriously as it began. After the attack on Mike Pepitone in October 1919, the attacks suddenly ceased. There were no more chiseled door panels or axe murders attributed to him. The sudden cessation of the violence, without a capture or public explanation, has contributed significantly to the enduring enigma surrounding the Axeman. While the death of Joseph Momfre in Los Angeles in December 1920 by the hand of Mrs. Pepitone is often cited as the reason the attacks stopped, there is no definitive proof connecting him to all the crimes, leaving the precise conclusion to the Axeman’s saga as much of a mystery as his identity.

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