A horrific murder in October 1897 made history in film

By Diane Euston

    On the crisp, cool morning of Oct. 17, 1897, two men dressed in hunting gear, rifles in hand, walked along the banks of the Missouri River. Their goal was simply to shoot some ducks on their day off from their factory jobs at Kansas City Bolt and Nut Works. 

  As Brownie Owens and Tom Gillespie neared a sandbar about 100 yards from the mouth of the Blue River, a peculiar object in the rolling current grabbed Brownie’s attention. As he neared closer to the water, he waded out to get a better look. 

  He wasn’t prepared for what he saw. As he turned the object over with the help of his rifle, his heart skipped a beat and his cheeks flushed in mild panic. “Tom!” he yelled in a cracked voice.

  Tom turned around and curiously walked toward his friend. As he crept forward toward Brownie, he, too, could see the horrific discovery. “Oh my God,” Tom whispered.

  “Go get the sheriff,” Brownie calmly said as tears welled up in his eyes.

  Tom rushed toward the woods and headed south, leaving Brownie Owens to hover over the discovery. He gingerly drug it to the shore, and upon closer examination, it was clear what he had run across.

  It was the lifeless body of a little girl dressed in a heavy brown jacket and white dress.

  When police arrived, details emerged that would shock the nation. No child had been reported missing in the area, and this little girl – no older than three – met death by no accident. As officers drug her lifeless body from the water, they noted a laceration above her right eye. 

  But what was even more shocking was what was attached to her. Tied to her body with rags and a rope was a large six pound rock.

  This little girl was murdered.

  What would unfold over the next two months was no less than appalling, and the nonchalance of the confessed killer and his wife would infuriate everyone who heard the story of her death.

  Belle Carr had been murdered by her own father.

A Fractured Background

  Piecing together the background on Belle Carr’s father shows a man who didn’t come from the best circumstances. Born in about 1858 in Harrison County, Ind., William Carr lost both of his parents when he was quite young. 

  A childless woman named Mary Ann Robertson Fishburn (1836-1910) felt inclined to raise William Carr when he was about eight years old. Mary Ann was the daughter of a physician and had married Alexander Fishburn in 1864. Although he had children from a prior marriage, Mary Ann wanted her own child to raise.

  Despite the fact that Mary Ann was decently educated, her adopted son never attended school nor learned to read and write. 

  After losing her husband in 1883, Mary Ann packed up her possessions and moved to Clay County, Mo. where she married widow Andrew Jackson Stephens in 1889. Meanwhile, her adopted son, William, traveled from place to place working for the railroads.

  William landed in Hiawatha, Kan. There, he connected with his adopted mother’s brother, William Robertson. Robertson’s 19 year-old daughter, Sarilda Jane, known as Jennie, fell in love with William Carr. In December 1890, the couple married.

  Working as a coal heaver in Hiawatha, William Carr and his wife, Jennie, welcomed a baby girl named May in 1892 and daughter Belle in 1894. 

  Life inside the Carr home was allegedly far from happy. The Brown County World later reported, “Often [William] got drunk and beat [Jennie] and time and again she fled for her life.” Her family did not stand by the sidelines; they often encouraged Jennie to leave her husband. “The Robertsons were compelled to watch [William], fearing he might murder her,” the paper claimed.

  When Laura Robertson, Jennie’s younger sister, visited the Carr household, she claimed she saw her brother-in-law attack her sister with a wood stick, striking her several times.

  Tragedy struck the small family April 12, 1895 when the 23 year-old mother of two Jennie Robertson Carr passed away. For a time, William left his two little girls, May and Belle, in the care of the Robertsons. Laura Robertson, Jennie’s younger sister, offered to continue to take care of the little girls with the help of her parents.

  While visiting his adoptive mother, Mary Ann in Clay County, Mo., widow William Carr met Mrs. Bettie Brost Stephens (1867-1931). Bettie, a tall woman “with a fairly good looking face and dark eyes,” was married in 1883 to Wallar B. Stephens. In 1888, the couple welcomed their only child, Allen.

  In 1891, Bettie’s husband passed away and she was left to care for her son on her own. When William Carr visited his adoptive mother, Mary Ann Stephens, he also met Mary Ann’s step-daughter-in-law, Bettie. The couple married in February 1896.

  William Carr’s two wives were both introduced to him through his adoptive mother – and both marriages ended in catastrophe.

  Laura Robertson begged her brother-in-law to let her keep little May and Belle in Hiawatha, promising she would raise them well. William had left the children for months with the Robertsons, but after he remarried to Bettie, he insisted that the two girls be turned over to him.

  Despite Laura’s protests, William picked up the children and moved them to his new home in Liberty, Mo. on Gallatin Street six blocks from downtown. “He doubtless took the children away to spite her, for he didn’t want them,” the newspaper reported.

The Heinous Crime

  It didn’t take long for the children to be a nuisance to the newlyweds. Bettie’s eight-year-old son, Allen, didn’t get along with his two little stepsisters, and Bettie was far from patient with her stepchildren.

  The problems inside the house on Gallatin Street were blamed, for the most part, on little three-year-old Belle. Her father would later claim that Belle wasn’t fond of other children and preferred being around adults, and she didn’t get along with her stepbrother.

  Bettie’s patience with little Belle was limited, and her treatment of the children raised eyebrows in their neighborhood. Women living nearby had already alerted the authorities to the neglect and abuse they believed was happening inside the home.

  Within short order, Bettie began pressuring her husband to get rid of little Belle. What “get rid of” meant is up for interpretation.

  “She was of a mean nature, Belle was,” William later said. “So my wife told me to get rid of her – to take her to town and give her away.”

  Bettie later said that she told him to send the child away “because I was not able to wait on her and his folks kept up trouble about the way I was raising them.”

  William felt as if he was left with a choice. 

  Either get rid of Belle or divorce his beloved Bettie.

  On Sunday, Oct. 10, at about 11am, William, standing at about six feet tall and no more than 150 pounds, picked up his little daughter and headed south on foot toward Kansas City. For a time, Belle held onto her father’s hand and walked side-by-side with him. After several miles, Belle grew tired, so her father picked her up and carried her.

  He later claimed he hadn’t thought of killing her until they began their walk. For 15 miles, father and daughter walked in the cool, fall air. Little Belle fell asleep for a time, and when William found a piece of discarded rope along the way, he picked it up and put it in his pocket.

  Near Randolph, the pair reached the Missouri River. Walking through the woods, William found an opening at the river where there were sandbanks, and he briefly thought of drowning her there; however, “the water was low and sluggish. . . The place was no good.”

  Walking a few hundred yards along the river, he found a spot with a stronger current. It was dusk, and the little girl was growing cold in the chill but stayed quiet. William placed her on the ground and removed the rope from his pocket. He tied his daughter’s arms with the rope, picked up a nearby stone, and tied it to her body. 

  The bluffs where he stood were about 18 feet from the river.

  William later flatly said, “I put the rock on her chest and tied the rope twice about her body. I tied it tight but she did not cry. After I pinned the cloak about her feet I picked her up and threw her into the river. She did not scream. I watched as the body struck the water, face down, and then walked away.”

  William walked to the station at Harlem and boarded the train to Liberty. Once he arrived home, he went straight to sleep. 

  When police later questioned him weeks later and asked if he slept well, he indignantly replied, “Yes, just as well as ever.”

Smoke and Mirrors 

  Before police caught up to the child murderer, the discovery of Belle Carr’s body on the banks of the Missouri River in Jackson County became headline news. No one came forward at first, and police were shocked that no one seemed to be missing a beautiful child.

  Of course, officers couldn’t print a photo or drawing of the little girl, but they could give the newspapers a description of her. “The plumpness and the good clothes it had on would indicate the child came of good parents and was well kept,” the Kansas City Star wrote. “It had auburn hair, matted with the blood of the wound on the head, and its features, though marred with sand and the action of the water, must once have been pretty.” 

  When no one came forward, the newspapers printed a detailed description of the clothing with the hopes that someone would recognize them.

  The plan worked.

  Neighbors who had earlier reported to police the abuse of Belle Carr came forward, stating emphatically that these clothes belonged to Belle. 

  While investigating, officers showed the clothing to Carr’s adoptive mother, Mary Ann Stephens. She threw up her hands in the air and said, “Those are my grandchild’s clothes!” The cloak she was wearing was made by her beloved Aunt Laura Robertson.

  On Oct. 25, 15 days after the murder was committed, officers arrested William Carr on the farm he worked at two and a half miles from Liberty. The “ignorant, drunken brute” denied the crime.

  Afraid he may be lynched by a mob, the officers removed him to Kansas City and questioned him there. At first he denied the crime, stating that he had taken Belle south to Kansas City with the hopes of getting her placed with a new family. 

  Near Harlem on the north side of the Missouri River, William claimed he ran into a man and his family who said they were going to Oklahoma. He claimed the family offered to take the child with them, and he promised to pay them $12 per year to help support her.

  If that was the case, detectives explained, then he should have been able to get a hold of the man who took Belle. They also asked if he had read the reports of the clothing in the newspaper. He explained he couldn’t read, but his wife had read the description of the clothes from the newspaper and Bettie commented that it sounded like Belle’s clothing. Regardless, William claimed that Bettie never asked him where Belle had gone.

  On Oct. 26, the gig was up. William Carr carefully recalled what happened to his little three-year-old daughter. 

  Detectives were speechless. Chief John Hayes said, “It is my opinion that [Bettie Carr] drove [William] to do what he did. The murder was utterly inhuman and cold-blooded.”

  On Oct. 30, 1897, William Carr was returned to Clay County to face the murder charge since he admitted the crime occurred there.

  Officers weren’t done with Bettie Carr – they felt she had a large role in the death of Belle. They couldn’t get a first-degree murder charge, so on Nov. 5, they charged her with “maiming and wounding her 3-year-old step-daughter, Belle Carr.” The charges were based on the abuse allegations from neighbors. Bettie’s father posted her $5,000 bail.

  Meanwhile, more than one family member fought to gain custody of Belle’s five-year-old sister, May. Her maternal uncle asked for custody, and William’s adoptive mother, Mary Ann Stephens, also wished to keep the little girl.

  For some reason, law enforcement listened to the confessed murderer and his wishes for his surviving daughter. He protested against his first wife’s family taking her. Thus, May was placed temporarily with the Children’s Home Society who sought a proper family for the little girl. She was adopted out to an unknown family in Missouri.

An Infamous Death Sentence

  At the time in Missouri, the law required that even when a criminal confessed to murder, the courts couldn’t accept a plea of “guilty” without hearing evidence. On Nov. 13, 1897, William Carr’s trial began. Several witnesses were called, but his wife did not show up to the trial as a witness or a spectator.

  It was said that her son, Allen, was sick at home.

  The judge, E.J. Broaddus of Liberty, would be left to decide whether William was sentenced to hang.

  Attorneys for William said he would plead guilty, but they also claimed that Bettie was “absolutely guiltless of any participation in the crime.”  

  The testimony was damning. The deputy coroner said that he thought that little Belle was dead when she entered the Missouri River. “There was little or no water in the lungs or stomach,” he testified. “I am under the impression that death ensued before the child was thrown into the water.”

  Prosecutors even professed that Belle may have even been struck on the head at home or may have been so badly hurt that there was no choice but to toss her body. 

  The newspapers weren’t kind to William and even insisted that the only reason she was thrown into the river was because she was already dead by some accident. The Kansas City Journal reported, “There is something unutterably brutal, something abnormal and contrary to human nature and the probabilities, if this theory is not accepted in whole or in part.” 

  While the quick trial was underway in Liberty, those in the gallery were disturbed when a woman’s voice was heard loudly laughing on the street below. It was none other than Mrs. Bettie Carr, the wife of the murderer, who wasn’t present in court.

  The defense was simply defenseless. They didn’t cross-examine anyone nor did they call any witnesses. From start to finish, the trial lasted less than two hours. 

  Judge Broaddus didn’t mince his words. “The murderer has been found in him who sits before me, the self-confessed murderer of his own three-year-old child,’ he boldly asserted. “Your flimsy excuse that the child was quarrelsome and disagreeable to your wife’s son cannot be accepted by the court. The motive must have been a more powerful one, and if another may have had any hand in this crime and you, in your hours of confinement and solitary meditation, find nothing to soften your hard heart and disclose the truth, then you are simply not human.” 

  He was sentenced to hang. With that, William was escorted back to jail where he would wait just over a month for his death sentence.

  On Nov. 28, William tried to commit suicide by swallowing poison and broken glass. The effort failed.

  The Clay County sheriff sent out 150 cards to special guests that read, “You are hereby invited to witness the execution of William Carr, Friday, December 17, 1897, at 11 o’clock am, for the murder of his little daughter, Belle Carr, in Clay County, Mo.” 

  The day before the scheduled hanging, workers blocked off the north entrance of the courthouse and built a 24-foot enclosure to shield the general public from the noose. A 14-foot fence guarded by deputies surrounded the area. 

  The hemp rope used to tie the noose had already successfully hanged three other men in St. Louis; the black cap used to shield his face at the time of execution had been used to hang four other men in Jackson County.

  On Dec. 17, William Carr was ready and willing to walk to the gallows, and his eagerness for the act to be done led officers to guide him outside early. Only a fragment of the “guests” invited had even arrived when Carr was led to the podium at 10:33a.m. “Go see my wife and tell her and the boy goodbye for me,” William whispered. “And tell her I want her to meet me in heaven.”

  Three minutes later at 10:36, the trap door opened and William Carr was hanging by the noose. It took 11 minutes for his body to stop moving; he was pronounced dead. He was the third person sentenced to hang in Clay County history.

  The crowd that wasn’t admitted was furious that they missed the moment, but there was one surprise no one was expecting.

  A kinetoscope – an early movie camera- was there, and they recorded the hanging. Hidden in the fence and placed with the blessing of the courts, the camera recorded over 1,000 feet of film and 1,800 pictures. About 46 images per second made up a final product of 11 minutes of the hanging.

  Filmed by Edison Phonograph Company’s manager Fred Guth, the film was called “The Hanging of William Carr” and was set to be released at the Academy of Music at 12th and McGee on Christmas Day. The company had recorded Carr’s confession, and both the film and the audio were planned to be played at theaters across the country. 

  It was the very first filmed execution of all time.

  The premiere didn’t go as planned, so when only a few people showed up to opening night, the manager canceled the movie due to an “equipment malfunction.” 

  The film was shown later in theaters across the country, but like most of the early filmed productions, the film has been lost to time.

The Aftermath

  William Carr’s body was collected from the ground and taken to an undertaker. A week later, his body was interred near Bettie’s first husband at Crowley Cemetery just north of current-day Worlds of Fun. His grave remains unmarked today.

  Bettie’s trial for child abuse began in June 1898. Despite all the evidence against her, the jury was hung after 18 hours of deliberation and stood deadlocked 6-6.

  Bettie Carr remained an outcast for the rest of her days but refused to move from Liberty, Mo. She lived with her son, Allen and a younger brother who eventually ended up in the psychiatric hospital in St. Joe. Her only son died unmarried of pneumonia at 31 years old in 1920.

  Bettie worked as a washerwoman and servant in Liberty until she died in 1931 of kidney failure in Claycomo when she was 63 years old.

  The murder of Belle Carr basked headlines across America, the shocking crime so senseless and avoidable. The little girl was buried temporarily in Union Cemetery but was taken by her mother’s family and reinterred next to her mother in Hiawatha.

  The story of the murder of Belle Carr was overshadowed by the sensational behavior of her father and disregard of her stepmother. Oftentimes, the victim is overshadowed by the violence of the crime.

  Little Belle Carr lost her life at just three years old, an innocent child who was an inconvenience to those who should have loved and adored her. Her life should not be forgotten even 117 years later. The ominous, senseless murder of this little girl on a cool October morning was certainly avoidable, and her memory must live on in the limited information we have about her. She will forever be remembered as the girl who lost her life in the hands of her father – a man convicted of the crime and the first person executed on camera.