In two days they were back with the money. “I thought sure you couldn’t raise it,” Thompson told Elizabeth Gurley Flynn. “I can’t say that I’m glad.” In a quick trip to New York, she had borrowed twenty thousand dollars from the American Fund for Public Service—popularly known as the Garland Fund—on the security of the Amalgamated Clothing Workers and the International Ladies Garment Workers’ Union. Felicani, in a stupendous burst of energy, had managed to raise the additional five thousand dollars locally through the harder way of individual contributions. The moment Thompson received the certified check was, although he did not then know it, the turning point in his life. After that the world of Boston, his incorporated world, would never be the same for him again. FOOTNOTES: [14] Katzmann’s successor. Katzmann was retained as special assistant in the Sacco-Vanzetti case. CHAPTER FOURTEEN THE CONFESSIONS It is not unusual for a notable murder case to have several confessions as a by-product. Where these are false, they are either the notoriety-seeking of a psychopathic misfit or the effort of some criminal to obtain a pardon for a crime he has committed in order to stand trial for one he has not. In the latter case he can plan, once safely pardoned, to repudiate his confession. Such was, no doubt, the motive of Augusto Pasquale, under life imprisonment in New York for kidnaping, when in May 1922 he confessed to being one of the South Braintree gunmen. According to his story he had met two strangers in a Bowery saloon who asked him if he wanted to pull a job with them in a factory in South Braintree. He agreed, and they went from New York to Boston by train to pick up a car. Pasquale did not know the make of car nor did he seem to be familiar with the geography of South Braintree. He said that he and the others held up an auto with the payroll in it. When the paymaster and guard drew their guns, they shot them, took over the auto, drove a quarter of a mile, then hopped a train to New York. His story was so obviously concocted that the police did not even pretend to take it seriously.[15] The confession of Frank “the Winker” Silva to being a member of the gang that staged the Bridgewater holdup was a matter of more substance. Silva did not make his confession until Sacco and Vanzetti were dead—and then only after he was paid for it—but Moore had been aware of some of its details as early as 1922. Jack Callahan, an ex-bank burglar turned journalist, who still kept his underworld contacts, was the go-between who persuaded Silva to sell his story to the _Outlook and Independent_, where it appeared in 1928.