JOHN FERBER WAS A HERO AND SAVED MANY LIVES IN AN ARTICLE FROM THE PEORIA STAR JOURNAL ON SEPTEMBER 22, 2018.
By Phil Luciano
of the Journal Star
Posted Sep 22, 2018 at 5:15 PM
Updated Sep 23, 2018 at 5:08 AM
PEORIA — Frank Carr might’ve been the last Peoria cop expected to join a manhunt for a murderer.
At 65 years old, on most days he would assist on ambulance runs and organize patrols. At his age, he wouldn’t be expected to chase down a young suspect running loose in Peoria.
But 100 autumns ago, the entire force was on the lookout for a brazen 28-year-old who had forced himself on a lifetime friend before shooting her dead in her home, the bloody body left to be found by her two young children. So, Carr was quick to join two other officers alerted to the sighting of the suspect on a crowded Peoria streetcar.
Minutes later, the streetcar erupted in pandemonium, with shots fired and passengers fleeing in terror. When calm returned, the killer was found slumped over, shot.
So was Carr. He, too, had been plugged by a bullet.
With a woman in the morgue, her slayer bleeding from his chest and a cop fighting for his life, police began sorting the drama while Peoria recoiled from the carnage. As one newspaper put it, “Murder most foul leaves another crimson stain upon the pages of Peoria’s criminal history.”
***
The modest house at 519 Matthew St. exuded a peaceful bliss, a testimony of immigrant success.
John and Susanna Zik had grown up together in Austria. In 1908, John Zik took Susanna as his bride, then took her to America, landing in Peoria in search of a better life. He found a job at Keystone Steel & Wire, and she kept their home, which by 1918 included 7-year-old Steven and 3-year-old John Jr.
Meanwhile, they had opened their home to a friend. After getting a foothold in Peoria, John Zik wrote to a childhood chum in Austria, Pete Velha (alternately identified in press accounts as Velaha and Valaha). John Zik gushed over his adopted land, urging Velha to chase prosperity in Peoria.
Velha eagerly agreed, yet not solely for economic reasons. He long had been infatuated with Susanna, an attraction that only intensified when an unwitting John Zik invited Velha to live with the couple.
“His love for Mrs. Zik grew, but she spurned him at every turn,” according to the Evening Star.
John Zik eventually got wise to Velha’s intentions and told him to leave. Velha moved to Davenport, Iowa, to work in the fishing trade.
Velha didn’t always keep his nose clean. Though newspaper accounts were later unclear on specifics, he had jumped bond while in Iowa and at some point had served time in an Illinois pen.
Despite his relocation to Iowa, his longing for Susanna did not abate. So he returned to Peoria, where he moved in with his parents at 2512 S. Washington St. Velha got hired at Keystone, meaning he and Zik would see each other daily at the plant.
But not on Oct. 4, 1918. That day, while Zik was at work, Velha visited Susanna.
As on many Friday afternoons, Susanna Zik (described as “comely” by the Evening Star) was at home with the younger son. About 3 p.m., the older boy got home after school, not long after the arrival of Velha — who didn’t want the kid around. Velha gave him a nickel for candy, and the 7-year-old eagerly dashed out.
Apparently, Velha didn’t mind the 3-year-old’s presence.
***
Nearly an hour passed. The 7-year-old got back about 4 p.m. He looked for his mom in her familiar spot in the kitchen, but noticed nothing, except a pan of peeled onions spilled onto the floor.
In search of his mom, he went to his parents’ bedroom. There, he found his little brother standing alongside their prone, blood-soaked mother. What had the 3-year-old witnessed? As the Evening Star later said of the tot, “He is a little chap who could scarcely tell of any details which led to the terrible shooting.”
Still, the younger boy pointed at the bloodshed and succinctly explained who had done what: “Pete. Bullet.” The older boy ran out and alerted a neighbor teen, and police were summoned.
Officers arrived to find signs of a struggle. The Peoria Transcript said Susanna Zik’s clothes had been partly torn from her body, while the bedclothes showed signs of a tussle. The Evening Star wrote, “Furniture had been disarranged in both the bedroom and kitchen, which showed that the woman had put up a terrible struggle in an effort to save her honor.” The Evening Star described her as the “victim of a bestial assault.”
Then she was shot three times. The first two bullets were fired from the front, into her abdomen and neck. After she crumpled face-down onto the floor, the third shot blast into the back of her neck.
Aside from the 7-year-old’s account of Velha’s visit, police soon got another tip. Just before officers arrived, an iceman passing through the neighborhood saw a man hiding amid weeds near the Zik home. The iceman stopped his horse team and got out of his wagon to investigate the oddity. As he neared the crouching man, Velha pulled a pistol, cursed the iceman and warned, “Beat it, or I’ll knock you off, too.”
The iceman fled on his wagon, heading directly to police. His description of the furtive, threatening man was soon verified to be Velha, thanks to police statements by John Zik and his neighbors. Officers began combing the area — as well as the rest of Peoria — for anyone who fit the body type of Velha: 5 feet, 8 inches, 160 pounds.
As to why Velha had turned a gun on his beloved Susanna, detectives planned to track him down and ask him. Police found their man, but lost the chance to ask the key question.
***
While every available officer searched Peoria for a killer, Frank Carr answered phones.
The Dunlap native had been a latecomer to the force, joining in 1909, after long serving a role as husband and provider — twice. He had one adult son from his first marriage, to Mary Overlander, which lasted eight years before her death in 1887. The next year, he wed Caroline Eutsler, with whom he had a daughter; the couple made their home at 1006 Jackson St. in Peoria.
By autumn 1918, Carr was close to his 66th birthday. The Evening Star called him “one of the oldest, best known and highest esteemed officers on the force.” He also had some sort of infirmity, according to the Peoria Journal: “He was slightly crippled but nonetheless a brave officer.”
Perhaps because of his limitations, Carr was classified as a “station reserve officer,” often helping on ambulance runs or to coordinate patrols. During the search for Susanna Zik’s slayer, he was at the station, taking calls from the public.
On the morning of Oct. 5, a tip came that would break the case.
On streetcar No. 364, conductor George Nichols and motorman Joe Frazee were working a typically busy Saturday morning along the Adams Street line. About 6 a.m., the car was packed with more than 75 passengers, including many workmen headed to their jobs — even on a Saturday. One of those passengers quietly made his way to Nichols and whispered that one of the riders was Pete Velha, wanted in the Zik murder.
Nichols notified Frazee, who stalled the car for a few minutes so Nichols could hop off, get to a call box and notify police. After the call, Nichols got back onto the streetcar, lingering at Franklin Street. Soon, a squad car screeched to a stop, and three officers — including Frank Carr — hurried toward the streetcar.
Inside, a fugitive was running out of room to hide.
***
One officer alighted the streetcar from the front, and two (including Carr) entered from the rear. The plan: the identifier of Velha was to calmly point him out to police, who would take him into custody. Instead, when Velha saw the first blue uniform — Carr’s — he drew a .38-caliber revolver and fired once, plugging the officer in the abdomen.
Chaos erupted, with passengers stampeding to the front and rear of the streetcar, the rush driving the other two officers backward as two more shots rang out.
Moments later, the streetcar nearly clear and calm restored, the two able-bodied officers found Velha shot and beaten, surrounded by a handful of other passengers. Meantime, another passenger had been shot in the leg, but not seriously.
And there was Officer Carr, with a hole in his gut. Ambulances were called, one for Carr and one for Velha.
As Carr was carried off, he recognized a doctor aboard the ambulance. “For God’s sake, get me to the hospital. I’m shot, Doc.”
Heeding those words, they rushed Carr to St. Francis Hospital. But those were the last words he’d ever utter. With gaping wounds to his stomach and liver, surgery was almost certain to fail to save him. After falling permanently unconscious on the ambulance, Officer Frank Carr died at 6 p.m. the next day — Oct. 5, 1918.
Meanwhile, Velha saved his final words for the hospital. On the operating table, Velha confessed to killing Susanna Zik, but said little else. He then fell unconscious and died at noon, six hours before Carr.
Velha’s death saddened not a soul in Peoria, not even his parents, who had cooperated with police. They also had known the Ziks from the old country. As the Evening News reported, after the officer and his killer died at the hospital, John Zik and Velha’s father “consoled each other the best they might, still friends, the one as severe as the other in condemnation” of Velha.
But a huge question loomed over Peoria: Who had subdued the gunman? Where was the nameless, faceless hero?
***
At the police station, the force grieving one of its own, Chief Rhoades said, “We do not know who it was who grappled with Velha. “But I would like to know to congratulate him on doing a good job. ... I would like to shake hands with him.”
Peoria County Coroner William B. Elliott pledged to leave the man’s identity a mystery, as to avoid him any legal trouble: “I’ll certainly make no effort to find him unless it is for the purpose of giving him a gold medal. He is entitled to one surely. That man saved a good many lives of innocent people by his prompt action. Velha still had a gun half-full of cartridges and no doubt would have used them.”
Soon, all of Peoria got to thank the man: John Ferber, 59, a Peorian headed to work on the fateful streetcar. He appeared at a coroner’s inquest to offer his account of that morning.
He’d taken a seat next to a stranger, who turned out to be Velha. As Officer Carr approached them, Ferber felt Velha’s arm move, then saw a gun.
“Don’t shoot!” Ferber yelled, just before Velha pulled the trigger. As Carr fell, Ferber grabbed for Velha’s gun, which fired again, shooting the leg of a passenger. As Ferber and Velha wrestled over the weapon, the muzzle pointed toward Velha’s torso. The gun fired again.
“I guess he pulled the trigger himself, thinking that the gun was aimed at me or someone else,” Ferber said. “The shot hit him in the chest.
“Then I struck him with my fist until I hurt my hand. I threw him to the floor and then took the gun from him and hit him several times over the head with the butt end.”
His right hand bandaged at the inquest, coroner’s jurors and others shook his hand nonetheless after the proceedings, expressing gratitude for his actions.
***
Velha was buried in a cheap, wooden casket in a potter’s field owned by the county. His parents refused to take charge of his remains.
“He is my son, but I disown him,” his father declared. “He killed my friend’s wife.”
For the funeral of Frank Carr, a squad of 16 policemen acted as an escort, with six serving as pallbearers. He was laid to rest at Dickison Cemetery in Dunlap, the town of his birth.
His name is also engraved on a memorial outside Peoria City Hall, along with those of 13 other officers who died in the line of duty. Every May, during Police Week, the Peoria Police Department holds a ceremony to remember Carr and the others.
Meanwhile, 100 years later, Carr’s relatives keep his memory alive with visits to the cemetery.
Mike Lervaag, 38, of Peoria, a great-great-grandson of Frank Carr, says, “Even generations removed from knowing Frank, it is still a source of pride knowing that he laid down his life for his community. Frank’s story is inspirational to us all. Generations removed from the incident, our family feels pride.
“But there are modern officers’ families that are experiencing the sadness of such a sacrifice. On behalf of the memory of Officer Franklin Pierce Carr, we, the family, would like to thank all the officers who have served and continue to serve their community righteously and courageously.”
PHIL LUCIANO is a Journal Star columnist. He can be reached at [email protected], facebook.com/philluciano and (309) 686-3155. Follow him on Twitter.com/LucianoPhil.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Other information in the record of John Ferber
from Illinois Deaths and Stillbirths
Name John Ferber
Event Date 04 Aug 1938
Event Place Limestone, Peoria, Illinois
Gender Male
Age 79
Birth Year (Estimated) 1859
Birth Date 29 Oct 1858
Birthplace Peoria, Ill.
Father's Name John Ferber
Father's Birthplace Germany
Mother's Name Elizabeth
Mother's Birthplace Germany
Occupation Millwright
Residence Place Peoria, Peoria, Illinois
Spouse's Name Frederika
Burial Date 08 Aug 1938
Burial Place Peoria, Peoria, Ill.
Cemetery Springdale
Citing this Record
"Illinois Deaths and Stillbirths, 1916-1947," database, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:NQS7-1YW : accessed 7 December 2015), John Ferber in entry for John Ferber, 04 Aug 1938; Public Board of Health, Archives, Springfield; FHL microfilm 1,818,886.
By Phil Luciano
of the Journal Star
Posted Sep 22, 2018 at 5:15 PM
Updated Sep 23, 2018 at 5:08 AM
PEORIA — Frank Carr might’ve been the last Peoria cop expected to join a manhunt for a murderer.
At 65 years old, on most days he would assist on ambulance runs and organize patrols. At his age, he wouldn’t be expected to chase down a young suspect running loose in Peoria.
But 100 autumns ago, the entire force was on the lookout for a brazen 28-year-old who had forced himself on a lifetime friend before shooting her dead in her home, the bloody body left to be found by her two young children. So, Carr was quick to join two other officers alerted to the sighting of the suspect on a crowded Peoria streetcar.
Minutes later, the streetcar erupted in pandemonium, with shots fired and passengers fleeing in terror. When calm returned, the killer was found slumped over, shot.
So was Carr. He, too, had been plugged by a bullet.
With a woman in the morgue, her slayer bleeding from his chest and a cop fighting for his life, police began sorting the drama while Peoria recoiled from the carnage. As one newspaper put it, “Murder most foul leaves another crimson stain upon the pages of Peoria’s criminal history.”
***
The modest house at 519 Matthew St. exuded a peaceful bliss, a testimony of immigrant success.
John and Susanna Zik had grown up together in Austria. In 1908, John Zik took Susanna as his bride, then took her to America, landing in Peoria in search of a better life. He found a job at Keystone Steel & Wire, and she kept their home, which by 1918 included 7-year-old Steven and 3-year-old John Jr.
Meanwhile, they had opened their home to a friend. After getting a foothold in Peoria, John Zik wrote to a childhood chum in Austria, Pete Velha (alternately identified in press accounts as Velaha and Valaha). John Zik gushed over his adopted land, urging Velha to chase prosperity in Peoria.
Velha eagerly agreed, yet not solely for economic reasons. He long had been infatuated with Susanna, an attraction that only intensified when an unwitting John Zik invited Velha to live with the couple.
“His love for Mrs. Zik grew, but she spurned him at every turn,” according to the Evening Star.
John Zik eventually got wise to Velha’s intentions and told him to leave. Velha moved to Davenport, Iowa, to work in the fishing trade.
Velha didn’t always keep his nose clean. Though newspaper accounts were later unclear on specifics, he had jumped bond while in Iowa and at some point had served time in an Illinois pen.
Despite his relocation to Iowa, his longing for Susanna did not abate. So he returned to Peoria, where he moved in with his parents at 2512 S. Washington St. Velha got hired at Keystone, meaning he and Zik would see each other daily at the plant.
But not on Oct. 4, 1918. That day, while Zik was at work, Velha visited Susanna.
As on many Friday afternoons, Susanna Zik (described as “comely” by the Evening Star) was at home with the younger son. About 3 p.m., the older boy got home after school, not long after the arrival of Velha — who didn’t want the kid around. Velha gave him a nickel for candy, and the 7-year-old eagerly dashed out.
Apparently, Velha didn’t mind the 3-year-old’s presence.
***
Nearly an hour passed. The 7-year-old got back about 4 p.m. He looked for his mom in her familiar spot in the kitchen, but noticed nothing, except a pan of peeled onions spilled onto the floor.
In search of his mom, he went to his parents’ bedroom. There, he found his little brother standing alongside their prone, blood-soaked mother. What had the 3-year-old witnessed? As the Evening Star later said of the tot, “He is a little chap who could scarcely tell of any details which led to the terrible shooting.”
Still, the younger boy pointed at the bloodshed and succinctly explained who had done what: “Pete. Bullet.” The older boy ran out and alerted a neighbor teen, and police were summoned.
Officers arrived to find signs of a struggle. The Peoria Transcript said Susanna Zik’s clothes had been partly torn from her body, while the bedclothes showed signs of a tussle. The Evening Star wrote, “Furniture had been disarranged in both the bedroom and kitchen, which showed that the woman had put up a terrible struggle in an effort to save her honor.” The Evening Star described her as the “victim of a bestial assault.”
Then she was shot three times. The first two bullets were fired from the front, into her abdomen and neck. After she crumpled face-down onto the floor, the third shot blast into the back of her neck.
Aside from the 7-year-old’s account of Velha’s visit, police soon got another tip. Just before officers arrived, an iceman passing through the neighborhood saw a man hiding amid weeds near the Zik home. The iceman stopped his horse team and got out of his wagon to investigate the oddity. As he neared the crouching man, Velha pulled a pistol, cursed the iceman and warned, “Beat it, or I’ll knock you off, too.”
The iceman fled on his wagon, heading directly to police. His description of the furtive, threatening man was soon verified to be Velha, thanks to police statements by John Zik and his neighbors. Officers began combing the area — as well as the rest of Peoria — for anyone who fit the body type of Velha: 5 feet, 8 inches, 160 pounds.
As to why Velha had turned a gun on his beloved Susanna, detectives planned to track him down and ask him. Police found their man, but lost the chance to ask the key question.
***
While every available officer searched Peoria for a killer, Frank Carr answered phones.
The Dunlap native had been a latecomer to the force, joining in 1909, after long serving a role as husband and provider — twice. He had one adult son from his first marriage, to Mary Overlander, which lasted eight years before her death in 1887. The next year, he wed Caroline Eutsler, with whom he had a daughter; the couple made their home at 1006 Jackson St. in Peoria.
By autumn 1918, Carr was close to his 66th birthday. The Evening Star called him “one of the oldest, best known and highest esteemed officers on the force.” He also had some sort of infirmity, according to the Peoria Journal: “He was slightly crippled but nonetheless a brave officer.”
Perhaps because of his limitations, Carr was classified as a “station reserve officer,” often helping on ambulance runs or to coordinate patrols. During the search for Susanna Zik’s slayer, he was at the station, taking calls from the public.
On the morning of Oct. 5, a tip came that would break the case.
On streetcar No. 364, conductor George Nichols and motorman Joe Frazee were working a typically busy Saturday morning along the Adams Street line. About 6 a.m., the car was packed with more than 75 passengers, including many workmen headed to their jobs — even on a Saturday. One of those passengers quietly made his way to Nichols and whispered that one of the riders was Pete Velha, wanted in the Zik murder.
Nichols notified Frazee, who stalled the car for a few minutes so Nichols could hop off, get to a call box and notify police. After the call, Nichols got back onto the streetcar, lingering at Franklin Street. Soon, a squad car screeched to a stop, and three officers — including Frank Carr — hurried toward the streetcar.
Inside, a fugitive was running out of room to hide.
***
One officer alighted the streetcar from the front, and two (including Carr) entered from the rear. The plan: the identifier of Velha was to calmly point him out to police, who would take him into custody. Instead, when Velha saw the first blue uniform — Carr’s — he drew a .38-caliber revolver and fired once, plugging the officer in the abdomen.
Chaos erupted, with passengers stampeding to the front and rear of the streetcar, the rush driving the other two officers backward as two more shots rang out.
Moments later, the streetcar nearly clear and calm restored, the two able-bodied officers found Velha shot and beaten, surrounded by a handful of other passengers. Meantime, another passenger had been shot in the leg, but not seriously.
And there was Officer Carr, with a hole in his gut. Ambulances were called, one for Carr and one for Velha.
As Carr was carried off, he recognized a doctor aboard the ambulance. “For God’s sake, get me to the hospital. I’m shot, Doc.”
Heeding those words, they rushed Carr to St. Francis Hospital. But those were the last words he’d ever utter. With gaping wounds to his stomach and liver, surgery was almost certain to fail to save him. After falling permanently unconscious on the ambulance, Officer Frank Carr died at 6 p.m. the next day — Oct. 5, 1918.
Meanwhile, Velha saved his final words for the hospital. On the operating table, Velha confessed to killing Susanna Zik, but said little else. He then fell unconscious and died at noon, six hours before Carr.
Velha’s death saddened not a soul in Peoria, not even his parents, who had cooperated with police. They also had known the Ziks from the old country. As the Evening News reported, after the officer and his killer died at the hospital, John Zik and Velha’s father “consoled each other the best they might, still friends, the one as severe as the other in condemnation” of Velha.
But a huge question loomed over Peoria: Who had subdued the gunman? Where was the nameless, faceless hero?
***
At the police station, the force grieving one of its own, Chief Rhoades said, “We do not know who it was who grappled with Velha. “But I would like to know to congratulate him on doing a good job. ... I would like to shake hands with him.”
Peoria County Coroner William B. Elliott pledged to leave the man’s identity a mystery, as to avoid him any legal trouble: “I’ll certainly make no effort to find him unless it is for the purpose of giving him a gold medal. He is entitled to one surely. That man saved a good many lives of innocent people by his prompt action. Velha still had a gun half-full of cartridges and no doubt would have used them.”
Soon, all of Peoria got to thank the man: John Ferber, 59, a Peorian headed to work on the fateful streetcar. He appeared at a coroner’s inquest to offer his account of that morning.
He’d taken a seat next to a stranger, who turned out to be Velha. As Officer Carr approached them, Ferber felt Velha’s arm move, then saw a gun.
“Don’t shoot!” Ferber yelled, just before Velha pulled the trigger. As Carr fell, Ferber grabbed for Velha’s gun, which fired again, shooting the leg of a passenger. As Ferber and Velha wrestled over the weapon, the muzzle pointed toward Velha’s torso. The gun fired again.
“I guess he pulled the trigger himself, thinking that the gun was aimed at me or someone else,” Ferber said. “The shot hit him in the chest.
“Then I struck him with my fist until I hurt my hand. I threw him to the floor and then took the gun from him and hit him several times over the head with the butt end.”
His right hand bandaged at the inquest, coroner’s jurors and others shook his hand nonetheless after the proceedings, expressing gratitude for his actions.
***
Velha was buried in a cheap, wooden casket in a potter’s field owned by the county. His parents refused to take charge of his remains.
“He is my son, but I disown him,” his father declared. “He killed my friend’s wife.”
For the funeral of Frank Carr, a squad of 16 policemen acted as an escort, with six serving as pallbearers. He was laid to rest at Dickison Cemetery in Dunlap, the town of his birth.
His name is also engraved on a memorial outside Peoria City Hall, along with those of 13 other officers who died in the line of duty. Every May, during Police Week, the Peoria Police Department holds a ceremony to remember Carr and the others.
Meanwhile, 100 years later, Carr’s relatives keep his memory alive with visits to the cemetery.
Mike Lervaag, 38, of Peoria, a great-great-grandson of Frank Carr, says, “Even generations removed from knowing Frank, it is still a source of pride knowing that he laid down his life for his community. Frank’s story is inspirational to us all. Generations removed from the incident, our family feels pride.
“But there are modern officers’ families that are experiencing the sadness of such a sacrifice. On behalf of the memory of Officer Franklin Pierce Carr, we, the family, would like to thank all the officers who have served and continue to serve their community righteously and courageously.”
PHIL LUCIANO is a Journal Star columnist. He can be reached at [email protected], facebook.com/philluciano and (309) 686-3155. Follow him on Twitter.com/LucianoPhil.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Other information in the record of John Ferber
from Illinois Deaths and Stillbirths
Name John Ferber
Event Date 04 Aug 1938
Event Place Limestone, Peoria, Illinois
Gender Male
Age 79
Birth Year (Estimated) 1859
Birth Date 29 Oct 1858
Birthplace Peoria, Ill.
Father's Name John Ferber
Father's Birthplace Germany
Mother's Name Elizabeth
Mother's Birthplace Germany
Occupation Millwright
Residence Place Peoria, Peoria, Illinois
Spouse's Name Frederika
Burial Date 08 Aug 1938
Burial Place Peoria, Peoria, Ill.
Cemetery Springdale
Citing this Record
"Illinois Deaths and Stillbirths, 1916-1947," database, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:NQS7-1YW : accessed 7 December 2015), John Ferber in entry for John Ferber, 04 Aug 1938; Public Board of Health, Archives, Springfield; FHL microfilm 1,818,886.
JOHN FERBER WAS A HERO AND SAVED MANY LIVES IN AN ARTICLE FROM THE PEORIA STAR JOURNAL ON SEPTEMBER 22, 2018.
By Phil Luciano
of the Journal Star
Posted Sep 22, 2018 at 5:15 PM
Updated Sep 23, 2018 at 5:08 AM
PEORIA — Frank Carr might’ve been the last Peoria cop expected to join a manhunt for a murderer.
At 65 years old, on most days he would assist on ambulance runs and organize patrols. At his age, he wouldn’t be expected to chase down a young suspect running loose in Peoria.
But 100 autumns ago, the entire force was on the lookout for a brazen 28-year-old who had forced himself on a lifetime friend before shooting her dead in her home, the bloody body left to be found by her two young children. So, Carr was quick to join two other officers alerted to the sighting of the suspect on a crowded Peoria streetcar.
Minutes later, the streetcar erupted in pandemonium, with shots fired and passengers fleeing in terror. When calm returned, the killer was found slumped over, shot.
So was Carr. He, too, had been plugged by a bullet.
With a woman in the morgue, her slayer bleeding from his chest and a cop fighting for his life, police began sorting the drama while Peoria recoiled from the carnage. As one newspaper put it, “Murder most foul leaves another crimson stain upon the pages of Peoria’s criminal history.”
***
The modest house at 519 Matthew St. exuded a peaceful bliss, a testimony of immigrant success.
John and Susanna Zik had grown up together in Austria. In 1908, John Zik took Susanna as his bride, then took her to America, landing in Peoria in search of a better life. He found a job at Keystone Steel & Wire, and she kept their home, which by 1918 included 7-year-old Steven and 3-year-old John Jr.
Meanwhile, they had opened their home to a friend. After getting a foothold in Peoria, John Zik wrote to a childhood chum in Austria, Pete Velha (alternately identified in press accounts as Velaha and Valaha). John Zik gushed over his adopted land, urging Velha to chase prosperity in Peoria.
Velha eagerly agreed, yet not solely for economic reasons. He long had been infatuated with Susanna, an attraction that only intensified when an unwitting John Zik invited Velha to live with the couple.
“His love for Mrs. Zik grew, but she spurned him at every turn,” according to the Evening Star.
John Zik eventually got wise to Velha’s intentions and told him to leave. Velha moved to Davenport, Iowa, to work in the fishing trade.
Velha didn’t always keep his nose clean. Though newspaper accounts were later unclear on specifics, he had jumped bond while in Iowa and at some point had served time in an Illinois pen.
Despite his relocation to Iowa, his longing for Susanna did not abate. So he returned to Peoria, where he moved in with his parents at 2512 S. Washington St. Velha got hired at Keystone, meaning he and Zik would see each other daily at the plant.
But not on Oct. 4, 1918. That day, while Zik was at work, Velha visited Susanna.
As on many Friday afternoons, Susanna Zik (described as “comely” by the Evening Star) was at home with the younger son. About 3 p.m., the older boy got home after school, not long after the arrival of Velha — who didn’t want the kid around. Velha gave him a nickel for candy, and the 7-year-old eagerly dashed out.
Apparently, Velha didn’t mind the 3-year-old’s presence.
***
Nearly an hour passed. The 7-year-old got back about 4 p.m. He looked for his mom in her familiar spot in the kitchen, but noticed nothing, except a pan of peeled onions spilled onto the floor.
In search of his mom, he went to his parents’ bedroom. There, he found his little brother standing alongside their prone, blood-soaked mother. What had the 3-year-old witnessed? As the Evening Star later said of the tot, “He is a little chap who could scarcely tell of any details which led to the terrible shooting.”
Still, the younger boy pointed at the bloodshed and succinctly explained who had done what: “Pete. Bullet.” The older boy ran out and alerted a neighbor teen, and police were summoned.
Officers arrived to find signs of a struggle. The Peoria Transcript said Susanna Zik’s clothes had been partly torn from her body, while the bedclothes showed signs of a tussle. The Evening Star wrote, “Furniture had been disarranged in both the bedroom and kitchen, which showed that the woman had put up a terrible struggle in an effort to save her honor.” The Evening Star described her as the “victim of a bestial assault.”
Then she was shot three times. The first two bullets were fired from the front, into her abdomen and neck. After she crumpled face-down onto the floor, the third shot blast into the back of her neck.
Aside from the 7-year-old’s account of Velha’s visit, police soon got another tip. Just before officers arrived, an iceman passing through the neighborhood saw a man hiding amid weeds near the Zik home. The iceman stopped his horse team and got out of his wagon to investigate the oddity. As he neared the crouching man, Velha pulled a pistol, cursed the iceman and warned, “Beat it, or I’ll knock you off, too.”
The iceman fled on his wagon, heading directly to police. His description of the furtive, threatening man was soon verified to be Velha, thanks to police statements by John Zik and his neighbors. Officers began combing the area — as well as the rest of Peoria — for anyone who fit the body type of Velha: 5 feet, 8 inches, 160 pounds.
As to why Velha had turned a gun on his beloved Susanna, detectives planned to track him down and ask him. Police found their man, but lost the chance to ask the key question.
***
While every available officer searched Peoria for a killer, Frank Carr answered phones.
The Dunlap native had been a latecomer to the force, joining in 1909, after long serving a role as husband and provider — twice. He had one adult son from his first marriage, to Mary Overlander, which lasted eight years before her death in 1887. The next year, he wed Caroline Eutsler, with whom he had a daughter; the couple made their home at 1006 Jackson St. in Peoria.
By autumn 1918, Carr was close to his 66th birthday. The Evening Star called him “one of the oldest, best known and highest esteemed officers on the force.” He also had some sort of infirmity, according to the Peoria Journal: “He was slightly crippled but nonetheless a brave officer.”
Perhaps because of his limitations, Carr was classified as a “station reserve officer,” often helping on ambulance runs or to coordinate patrols. During the search for Susanna Zik’s slayer, he was at the station, taking calls from the public.
On the morning of Oct. 5, a tip came that would break the case.
On streetcar No. 364, conductor George Nichols and motorman Joe Frazee were working a typically busy Saturday morning along the Adams Street line. About 6 a.m., the car was packed with more than 75 passengers, including many workmen headed to their jobs — even on a Saturday. One of those passengers quietly made his way to Nichols and whispered that one of the riders was Pete Velha, wanted in the Zik murder.
Nichols notified Frazee, who stalled the car for a few minutes so Nichols could hop off, get to a call box and notify police. After the call, Nichols got back onto the streetcar, lingering at Franklin Street. Soon, a squad car screeched to a stop, and three officers — including Frank Carr — hurried toward the streetcar.
Inside, a fugitive was running out of room to hide.
***
One officer alighted the streetcar from the front, and two (including Carr) entered from the rear. The plan: the identifier of Velha was to calmly point him out to police, who would take him into custody. Instead, when Velha saw the first blue uniform — Carr’s — he drew a .38-caliber revolver and fired once, plugging the officer in the abdomen.
Chaos erupted, with passengers stampeding to the front and rear of the streetcar, the rush driving the other two officers backward as two more shots rang out.
Moments later, the streetcar nearly clear and calm restored, the two able-bodied officers found Velha shot and beaten, surrounded by a handful of other passengers. Meantime, another passenger had been shot in the leg, but not seriously.
And there was Officer Carr, with a hole in his gut. Ambulances were called, one for Carr and one for Velha.
As Carr was carried off, he recognized a doctor aboard the ambulance. “For God’s sake, get me to the hospital. I’m shot, Doc.”
Heeding those words, they rushed Carr to St. Francis Hospital. But those were the last words he’d ever utter. With gaping wounds to his stomach and liver, surgery was almost certain to fail to save him. After falling permanently unconscious on the ambulance, Officer Frank Carr died at 6 p.m. the next day — Oct. 5, 1918.
Meanwhile, Velha saved his final words for the hospital. On the operating table, Velha confessed to killing Susanna Zik, but said little else. He then fell unconscious and died at noon, six hours before Carr.
Velha’s death saddened not a soul in Peoria, not even his parents, who had cooperated with police. They also had known the Ziks from the old country. As the Evening News reported, after the officer and his killer died at the hospital, John Zik and Velha’s father “consoled each other the best they might, still friends, the one as severe as the other in condemnation” of Velha.
But a huge question loomed over Peoria: Who had subdued the gunman? Where was the nameless, faceless hero?
***
At the police station, the force grieving one of its own, Chief Rhoades said, “We do not know who it was who grappled with Velha. “But I would like to know to congratulate him on doing a good job. ... I would like to shake hands with him.”
Peoria County Coroner William B. Elliott pledged to leave the man’s identity a mystery, as to avoid him any legal trouble: “I’ll certainly make no effort to find him unless it is for the purpose of giving him a gold medal. He is entitled to one surely. That man saved a good many lives of innocent people by his prompt action. Velha still had a gun half-full of cartridges and no doubt would have used them.”
Soon, all of Peoria got to thank the man: John Ferber, 59, a Peorian headed to work on the fateful streetcar. He appeared at a coroner’s inquest to offer his account of that morning.
He’d taken a seat next to a stranger, who turned out to be Velha. As Officer Carr approached them, Ferber felt Velha’s arm move, then saw a gun.
“Don’t shoot!” Ferber yelled, just before Velha pulled the trigger. As Carr fell, Ferber grabbed for Velha’s gun, which fired again, shooting the leg of a passenger. As Ferber and Velha wrestled over the weapon, the muzzle pointed toward Velha’s torso. The gun fired again.
“I guess he pulled the trigger himself, thinking that the gun was aimed at me or someone else,” Ferber said. “The shot hit him in the chest.
“Then I struck him with my fist until I hurt my hand. I threw him to the floor and then took the gun from him and hit him several times over the head with the butt end.”
His right hand bandaged at the inquest, coroner’s jurors and others shook his hand nonetheless after the proceedings, expressing gratitude for his actions.
***
Velha was buried in a cheap, wooden casket in a potter’s field owned by the county. His parents refused to take charge of his remains.
“He is my son, but I disown him,” his father declared. “He killed my friend’s wife.”
For the funeral of Frank Carr, a squad of 16 policemen acted as an escort, with six serving as pallbearers. He was laid to rest at Dickison Cemetery in Dunlap, the town of his birth.
His name is also engraved on a memorial outside Peoria City Hall, along with those of 13 other officers who died in the line of duty. Every May, during Police Week, the Peoria Police Department holds a ceremony to remember Carr and the others.
Meanwhile, 100 years later, Carr’s relatives keep his memory alive with visits to the cemetery.
Mike Lervaag, 38, of Peoria, a great-great-grandson of Frank Carr, says, “Even generations removed from knowing Frank, it is still a source of pride knowing that he laid down his life for his community. Frank’s story is inspirational to us all. Generations removed from the incident, our family feels pride.
“But there are modern officers’ families that are experiencing the sadness of such a sacrifice. On behalf of the memory of Officer Franklin Pierce Carr, we, the family, would like to thank all the officers who have served and continue to serve their community righteously and courageously.”
PHIL LUCIANO is a Journal Star columnist. He can be reached at [email protected], facebook.com/philluciano and (309) 686-3155. Follow him on Twitter.com/LucianoPhil.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Other information in the record of John Ferber
from Illinois Deaths and Stillbirths
Name John Ferber
Event Date 04 Aug 1938
Event Place Limestone, Peoria, Illinois
Gender Male
Age 79
Birth Year (Estimated) 1859
Birth Date 29 Oct 1858
Birthplace Peoria, Ill.
Father's Name John Ferber
Father's Birthplace Germany
Mother's Name Elizabeth
Mother's Birthplace Germany
Occupation Millwright
Residence Place Peoria, Peoria, Illinois
Spouse's Name Frederika
Burial Date 08 Aug 1938
Burial Place Peoria, Peoria, Ill.
Cemetery Springdale
Citing this Record
"Illinois Deaths and Stillbirths, 1916-1947," database, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:NQS7-1YW : accessed 7 December 2015), John Ferber in entry for John Ferber, 04 Aug 1938; Public Board of Health, Archives, Springfield; FHL microfilm 1,818,886.
By Phil Luciano
of the Journal Star
Posted Sep 22, 2018 at 5:15 PM
Updated Sep 23, 2018 at 5:08 AM
PEORIA — Frank Carr might’ve been the last Peoria cop expected to join a manhunt for a murderer.
At 65 years old, on most days he would assist on ambulance runs and organize patrols. At his age, he wouldn’t be expected to chase down a young suspect running loose in Peoria.
But 100 autumns ago, the entire force was on the lookout for a brazen 28-year-old who had forced himself on a lifetime friend before shooting her dead in her home, the bloody body left to be found by her two young children. So, Carr was quick to join two other officers alerted to the sighting of the suspect on a crowded Peoria streetcar.
Minutes later, the streetcar erupted in pandemonium, with shots fired and passengers fleeing in terror. When calm returned, the killer was found slumped over, shot.
So was Carr. He, too, had been plugged by a bullet.
With a woman in the morgue, her slayer bleeding from his chest and a cop fighting for his life, police began sorting the drama while Peoria recoiled from the carnage. As one newspaper put it, “Murder most foul leaves another crimson stain upon the pages of Peoria’s criminal history.”
***
The modest house at 519 Matthew St. exuded a peaceful bliss, a testimony of immigrant success.
John and Susanna Zik had grown up together in Austria. In 1908, John Zik took Susanna as his bride, then took her to America, landing in Peoria in search of a better life. He found a job at Keystone Steel & Wire, and she kept their home, which by 1918 included 7-year-old Steven and 3-year-old John Jr.
Meanwhile, they had opened their home to a friend. After getting a foothold in Peoria, John Zik wrote to a childhood chum in Austria, Pete Velha (alternately identified in press accounts as Velaha and Valaha). John Zik gushed over his adopted land, urging Velha to chase prosperity in Peoria.
Velha eagerly agreed, yet not solely for economic reasons. He long had been infatuated with Susanna, an attraction that only intensified when an unwitting John Zik invited Velha to live with the couple.
“His love for Mrs. Zik grew, but she spurned him at every turn,” according to the Evening Star.
John Zik eventually got wise to Velha’s intentions and told him to leave. Velha moved to Davenport, Iowa, to work in the fishing trade.
Velha didn’t always keep his nose clean. Though newspaper accounts were later unclear on specifics, he had jumped bond while in Iowa and at some point had served time in an Illinois pen.
Despite his relocation to Iowa, his longing for Susanna did not abate. So he returned to Peoria, where he moved in with his parents at 2512 S. Washington St. Velha got hired at Keystone, meaning he and Zik would see each other daily at the plant.
But not on Oct. 4, 1918. That day, while Zik was at work, Velha visited Susanna.
As on many Friday afternoons, Susanna Zik (described as “comely” by the Evening Star) was at home with the younger son. About 3 p.m., the older boy got home after school, not long after the arrival of Velha — who didn’t want the kid around. Velha gave him a nickel for candy, and the 7-year-old eagerly dashed out.
Apparently, Velha didn’t mind the 3-year-old’s presence.
***
Nearly an hour passed. The 7-year-old got back about 4 p.m. He looked for his mom in her familiar spot in the kitchen, but noticed nothing, except a pan of peeled onions spilled onto the floor.
In search of his mom, he went to his parents’ bedroom. There, he found his little brother standing alongside their prone, blood-soaked mother. What had the 3-year-old witnessed? As the Evening Star later said of the tot, “He is a little chap who could scarcely tell of any details which led to the terrible shooting.”
Still, the younger boy pointed at the bloodshed and succinctly explained who had done what: “Pete. Bullet.” The older boy ran out and alerted a neighbor teen, and police were summoned.
Officers arrived to find signs of a struggle. The Peoria Transcript said Susanna Zik’s clothes had been partly torn from her body, while the bedclothes showed signs of a tussle. The Evening Star wrote, “Furniture had been disarranged in both the bedroom and kitchen, which showed that the woman had put up a terrible struggle in an effort to save her honor.” The Evening Star described her as the “victim of a bestial assault.”
Then she was shot three times. The first two bullets were fired from the front, into her abdomen and neck. After she crumpled face-down onto the floor, the third shot blast into the back of her neck.
Aside from the 7-year-old’s account of Velha’s visit, police soon got another tip. Just before officers arrived, an iceman passing through the neighborhood saw a man hiding amid weeds near the Zik home. The iceman stopped his horse team and got out of his wagon to investigate the oddity. As he neared the crouching man, Velha pulled a pistol, cursed the iceman and warned, “Beat it, or I’ll knock you off, too.”
The iceman fled on his wagon, heading directly to police. His description of the furtive, threatening man was soon verified to be Velha, thanks to police statements by John Zik and his neighbors. Officers began combing the area — as well as the rest of Peoria — for anyone who fit the body type of Velha: 5 feet, 8 inches, 160 pounds.
As to why Velha had turned a gun on his beloved Susanna, detectives planned to track him down and ask him. Police found their man, but lost the chance to ask the key question.
***
While every available officer searched Peoria for a killer, Frank Carr answered phones.
The Dunlap native had been a latecomer to the force, joining in 1909, after long serving a role as husband and provider — twice. He had one adult son from his first marriage, to Mary Overlander, which lasted eight years before her death in 1887. The next year, he wed Caroline Eutsler, with whom he had a daughter; the couple made their home at 1006 Jackson St. in Peoria.
By autumn 1918, Carr was close to his 66th birthday. The Evening Star called him “one of the oldest, best known and highest esteemed officers on the force.” He also had some sort of infirmity, according to the Peoria Journal: “He was slightly crippled but nonetheless a brave officer.”
Perhaps because of his limitations, Carr was classified as a “station reserve officer,” often helping on ambulance runs or to coordinate patrols. During the search for Susanna Zik’s slayer, he was at the station, taking calls from the public.
On the morning of Oct. 5, a tip came that would break the case.
On streetcar No. 364, conductor George Nichols and motorman Joe Frazee were working a typically busy Saturday morning along the Adams Street line. About 6 a.m., the car was packed with more than 75 passengers, including many workmen headed to their jobs — even on a Saturday. One of those passengers quietly made his way to Nichols and whispered that one of the riders was Pete Velha, wanted in the Zik murder.
Nichols notified Frazee, who stalled the car for a few minutes so Nichols could hop off, get to a call box and notify police. After the call, Nichols got back onto the streetcar, lingering at Franklin Street. Soon, a squad car screeched to a stop, and three officers — including Frank Carr — hurried toward the streetcar.
Inside, a fugitive was running out of room to hide.
***
One officer alighted the streetcar from the front, and two (including Carr) entered from the rear. The plan: the identifier of Velha was to calmly point him out to police, who would take him into custody. Instead, when Velha saw the first blue uniform — Carr’s — he drew a .38-caliber revolver and fired once, plugging the officer in the abdomen.
Chaos erupted, with passengers stampeding to the front and rear of the streetcar, the rush driving the other two officers backward as two more shots rang out.
Moments later, the streetcar nearly clear and calm restored, the two able-bodied officers found Velha shot and beaten, surrounded by a handful of other passengers. Meantime, another passenger had been shot in the leg, but not seriously.
And there was Officer Carr, with a hole in his gut. Ambulances were called, one for Carr and one for Velha.
As Carr was carried off, he recognized a doctor aboard the ambulance. “For God’s sake, get me to the hospital. I’m shot, Doc.”
Heeding those words, they rushed Carr to St. Francis Hospital. But those were the last words he’d ever utter. With gaping wounds to his stomach and liver, surgery was almost certain to fail to save him. After falling permanently unconscious on the ambulance, Officer Frank Carr died at 6 p.m. the next day — Oct. 5, 1918.
Meanwhile, Velha saved his final words for the hospital. On the operating table, Velha confessed to killing Susanna Zik, but said little else. He then fell unconscious and died at noon, six hours before Carr.
Velha’s death saddened not a soul in Peoria, not even his parents, who had cooperated with police. They also had known the Ziks from the old country. As the Evening News reported, after the officer and his killer died at the hospital, John Zik and Velha’s father “consoled each other the best they might, still friends, the one as severe as the other in condemnation” of Velha.
But a huge question loomed over Peoria: Who had subdued the gunman? Where was the nameless, faceless hero?
***
At the police station, the force grieving one of its own, Chief Rhoades said, “We do not know who it was who grappled with Velha. “But I would like to know to congratulate him on doing a good job. ... I would like to shake hands with him.”
Peoria County Coroner William B. Elliott pledged to leave the man’s identity a mystery, as to avoid him any legal trouble: “I’ll certainly make no effort to find him unless it is for the purpose of giving him a gold medal. He is entitled to one surely. That man saved a good many lives of innocent people by his prompt action. Velha still had a gun half-full of cartridges and no doubt would have used them.”
Soon, all of Peoria got to thank the man: John Ferber, 59, a Peorian headed to work on the fateful streetcar. He appeared at a coroner’s inquest to offer his account of that morning.
He’d taken a seat next to a stranger, who turned out to be Velha. As Officer Carr approached them, Ferber felt Velha’s arm move, then saw a gun.
“Don’t shoot!” Ferber yelled, just before Velha pulled the trigger. As Carr fell, Ferber grabbed for Velha’s gun, which fired again, shooting the leg of a passenger. As Ferber and Velha wrestled over the weapon, the muzzle pointed toward Velha’s torso. The gun fired again.
“I guess he pulled the trigger himself, thinking that the gun was aimed at me or someone else,” Ferber said. “The shot hit him in the chest.
“Then I struck him with my fist until I hurt my hand. I threw him to the floor and then took the gun from him and hit him several times over the head with the butt end.”
His right hand bandaged at the inquest, coroner’s jurors and others shook his hand nonetheless after the proceedings, expressing gratitude for his actions.
***
Velha was buried in a cheap, wooden casket in a potter’s field owned by the county. His parents refused to take charge of his remains.
“He is my son, but I disown him,” his father declared. “He killed my friend’s wife.”
For the funeral of Frank Carr, a squad of 16 policemen acted as an escort, with six serving as pallbearers. He was laid to rest at Dickison Cemetery in Dunlap, the town of his birth.
His name is also engraved on a memorial outside Peoria City Hall, along with those of 13 other officers who died in the line of duty. Every May, during Police Week, the Peoria Police Department holds a ceremony to remember Carr and the others.
Meanwhile, 100 years later, Carr’s relatives keep his memory alive with visits to the cemetery.
Mike Lervaag, 38, of Peoria, a great-great-grandson of Frank Carr, says, “Even generations removed from knowing Frank, it is still a source of pride knowing that he laid down his life for his community. Frank’s story is inspirational to us all. Generations removed from the incident, our family feels pride.
“But there are modern officers’ families that are experiencing the sadness of such a sacrifice. On behalf of the memory of Officer Franklin Pierce Carr, we, the family, would like to thank all the officers who have served and continue to serve their community righteously and courageously.”
PHIL LUCIANO is a Journal Star columnist. He can be reached at [email protected], facebook.com/philluciano and (309) 686-3155. Follow him on Twitter.com/LucianoPhil.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Other information in the record of John Ferber
from Illinois Deaths and Stillbirths
Name John Ferber
Event Date 04 Aug 1938
Event Place Limestone, Peoria, Illinois
Gender Male
Age 79
Birth Year (Estimated) 1859
Birth Date 29 Oct 1858
Birthplace Peoria, Ill.
Father's Name John Ferber
Father's Birthplace Germany
Mother's Name Elizabeth
Mother's Birthplace Germany
Occupation Millwright
Residence Place Peoria, Peoria, Illinois
Spouse's Name Frederika
Burial Date 08 Aug 1938
Burial Place Peoria, Peoria, Ill.
Cemetery Springdale
Citing this Record
"Illinois Deaths and Stillbirths, 1916-1947," database, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:NQS7-1YW : accessed 7 December 2015), John Ferber in entry for John Ferber, 04 Aug 1938; Public Board of Health, Archives, Springfield; FHL microfilm 1,818,886.
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