An abandoned car and a hidden gun

 Scene setter: An Aurora man has reported to Aurora patrol officer Thompson Richardson that he had a suspicious accident with two boys, who fled the scene. Richardson believes the accident might be related to another stolen vehicle case and has been sent to investigate.

In the early 1920s an Aurora policeman had to be jack of all trades, equally adept at sniffing out craps games on La Salle Street, solving homicides and even occasionally, at least in one memorable instance, dealing with an explosive goat.

It seems in early April of 1928 in a barn on River Street, Harry Gulich's pet goat ate two sticks of dynamite that Mr. Gulich had bought to blow up tree stumps. Mr. Gulich naturally called the police. After all, they can solve anything, including unstable livestock.

Nine days later, Thompson Richardson was facing a much less bizarre challenge, but one that still required a tactful response: the former East Aurora High School wrestling coach had reported that two boys had hit his car, then fled before they could report it to police.

Richardson, 37, had taken the report and was on the lookout for the Chrysler the boys were driving, which Richardson believed was the same car stolen from Iowa Avenue the same night.

Richardson had been on the police force for almost seven years, after a career as a brakeman on the railroad and short stint with the fire department. He was a pleasant man and his disposition seemed to match the gentlemanly bow tie in the Aurora uniform.

He and his wife Edda had three children – Evelyn, 16; Ralph, 13 and little Virginia, just 3. Richardson would sometimes let his oldest daughter in the sidecar of the department's motorcycle, nearly tipping as they rounded the city's corners.

"Some policemen, when they get to be policemen, they think 'I am somebody'," Evelyn remembered. "My dad wasn't at all like that."

His easy disposition allowed him to handle a job where the daily duties could range from bombastic animals on a Thursday to following two young boys from Bloomington who had stolen a car in Aurora on a Sunday evening.

Around 9 p.m. Richardson spotted his two young suspects driving the Chrysler near Lake and Downers streets. He and his partner Harry Montgomery followed the car into Montgomery, along Jericho Road, but the Chrysler got away.

Richardson finally stopped at a police box to call into headquarters. The desk had an update: the Chrysler had been spotted by its owner, parked in front of the downtown post office.

Richardson drove to the spot and sure enough, the Chrysler was sitting on Stolp Avenue - door open and no one inside. But with the keys dangling from the ignition, Richardson suspected the boys would be back.

He put the transmission in lock, then ducked into the vestibule of the post office.

He'd have to wait them out.

Chapter IV


10 p.m., Sunday, April 15, 1928

Aurora patrol officer Thompson Richardson had set the perfect trap.

He had found a stolen, but not abandoned, Chrysler. The door was open so the two teens suspected of stealing the car would be back, Richardson figured.

Richardson could have driven the car two blocks to headquarters, but then police might never catch up with two bandits who, besides stealing the Chrysler, had fled the scene of an accident and eluded Richardson once that same night.

So, the patrol officer tucked himself into the vestibule of the post office, out of sight. Then he waited.

Twenty minutes passed before two boys, Delmar Miller, 17, and Francis Houston, 19, came back to the car. As soon as they got in the car and Richardson sprung out of his hiding spot.

Richardson appeared at the door, gun drawn. The fun was over. They were going to headquarters.

As the boys got out of the Chrysler, Miller kept his hand in the left pocket of his overcoat. Richardson immediately checked the pocket, but found nothing.

He grabbed both teens, Miller on his left side, Houston on his right, and Richardson started the two-block march to headquarters.

The boys looked harmless. Houston, who had stolen cars before, tried to be cocky but it was mostly teen-age bluffing. Miller was a goofy-looking kid with a long face who appeared to be more bookworm than bandit.

But the car theft was more than a youthful prank and Richardson had missed something during his search.

Miller did have a gun, a small .25 caliber pistol tucked in his right pocket. And before Richardson had grabbed the boys, Houston had encouraged Miller to use it.

"You'd better shoot," Houston advises Miller. "It's your only way out."

A few steps into their march down Fox Street, Houston suddenly motioned to Miller.

"Do your stuff," Houston growled to his friend.

Miller threw his coat on the officer and fired once through his pocket. The bullet hit Richardson in his stomach, then bolted down through his intestines.

Both boys jerked away and as Richardson reached for his gun, they ran east.

"By God, he shot me," Richardson thought as he watched Miller run. "I'm going to give him plenty."

In the heart of downtown Aurora, Richardson fired twice. Both bullets hit Miller in the back, passing straight through his body.

Richardson kept advancing and Miller started to fall, but the officer grabbed him, shoving a gun in his back.

Alone and bleeding from the stomach, Richardson marched the boy toward headquarters, about two blocks away.

Meanwhile, Houston ran toward Water Street unscathed. Hundreds of people standing on the streets heard shots fired and saw the boy running.

No one tried to stop him.

Tomorrow: A city comes out to pay tribute to a courageous officer.

Notes about this section: The information in this story was gathered from the Beacon News and Chicago Tribune stories about the shooting.