During the long, hot summer of 1906, Bangor became the crime center of the nation, perhaps of the world, at least in the fevered imaginations of reporters and editors at the Bangor Daily Commercial, the city’s afternoon newspaper. “MANY CROOKS HERE … Bangor is Pretty Nearly as Badly Off as Chicago Now … HOBOES ARE INSOLENT,” announced a multidecker headline on July 17. Hoboes, yeggmen, pickpockets, muggers, con artists, robbers and a host of other bad guys had been gathering in the Queen City since sometime in the spring.

There were more “tough characters” hanging around than ever before, according to an informed source “who has seen as much of the so-called slums of Bangor as anybody living outside and knows enough about the men who make their headquarters here to know a crook or a thug when he sees one …” The reporter advised, “One only has to take a walk through the section of the city known as the ‘Devil’s Half-Acre,’ through the railroad yards and up along the river front from Washington Street to Foley shore below the Eastern Maine General hospital to satisfy himself of the number of these tough characters in the city.”

Yet after setting the stage so well, the reporter admitted there had not been a single murder or bank robbery or something else really serious. The author seemed mostly concerned with the hoboes, that mysterious infestation of rootless men that bloomed like algae along the riverfront on the borders of the city’s most exclusive neighborhoods each summer. Housewives had been scared out of their wits by villainous-looking individuals knocking at their kitchen doors looking for handouts.

And just the other night two young men “well known in society” had to employ a horse whip both on the horses and on intruding thugs to prevent being held up as they traveled by carriage with their wives just below the Tin Bridge in Hampden.

The papers had been full of crime reports. In what was probably the most lucrative heist in years, Cliff Cottage, the famous home of Mrs. George Fred Godfrey perched high over the Kenduskeag, was robbed of a small fortune in jewelry on May 28. A $50 reward was offered for the return of a topaz set. Pieces made of gold, silver, diamonds and other precious stones also were taken, according to an inventory published in the Commercial on June 23.

More typical was the mugging of John Hobbs of Springfield. He had been introduced by Sammy Blue to Mattie Daley, better known around Bangor as Mattie Foster. They went to “a resort” on Hodgdon Street where they rented a room for 50 cents. Hobbs said he had one drink of whiskey and woke up about an hour later to discover he had been relieved of $175. “Hobbs says he is unsophisticated in the wicked ways of Bangor and he looks the part,” declared the Commercial on July 18.

One of the benefits of living in a city with two newspapers is that there are often two sides to a controversial story. The Bangor Daily News was always ready to correct the Commercial’s tendency to overdramatize the facts, and vice versa.

“MORNING! BEEN HELD UP YET?” clamored the headline in the BDN the day after the Commercial’s story comparing Bangor’s crime rate to Chicago’s. “The Bangor police and other persons in a position to really know are very much amused and not a little indignant at an afternoon paper’s assertion that Bangor is now harboring in proportion to its size more tramps, crooks and thugs than Chicago – the most notoriously wicked city on the continent. Truly, we are getting more metropolitan every day!” declared a reporter.

The city was safe. People “may visit the ‘Devil’s Half-Acre’ or even the water front without being sandbagged or robbed or shot or stabbed or poisoned.” The Commercial was confusing begging and drunkenness with real crimes, scoffed the BDN.

Nevertheless, both newspapers continued to report the many crimes in the great metropolis. The circus, always a magnet for petty thieves and bunco artists, came to town the next day. Several pockets were picked and some suspicious games of chance were closed down by the police. A man was shoved off the platform of a moving train after being relieved of $15. Twenty-nine individuals, including 20 drunks, were locked up at the police station.

One of the most interesting crime stories of the summer, however, was more appropriate to a Norman Rockwell painting than to the lurid pulp magazines that documented heinous acts in Chicago. “THOSE HORRID BOYS … They Go Swimming Without Bathing Trunks Again … POLICE ARE SHOCKED,” declared a playful headline on July 20 in the Commercial.

The two most popular swimming spots in the area were the Brewer sandbank and the Bangor lumber docks directly across from each other just above the railroad bridge. Youngsters had learned to swim there from time immemorial. Not anymore. A new class of boaters was making things difficult.

“For several days past the telephone bell in the police guard room has been jingling merrily and the officers have been dancing a lively tune in answer to requests to send a policeman up to the sandbank or the lumber docks to drive away some small boys or others who have offended somebody’s modesty by daring to go in swimming in the garb with which nature has provided them,” related a Commercial story.

Bangor has recorded some ghastly crimes in its history, but not that summer. And soon the hoboes would be disappearing down the tracks like the autumn leaves.

Wayne E. Reilly can be reached at wreilly@bangordailynews.net.