VCU's Brandt Hall and Rhoads Hall,
700 block of W. Franklin St.
Today, 712
West Franklin Street is the address of a high-rise VCU dormitory called
Rhodes Hall, but sixty years ago an old brick home typical of the area once
stood on the same spot. The house,
constructed in the late 1880s by one of Richmond’s Scott families, was a mashup of projecting bays and odd window
framing, combined with fussy belts of decoration. As many as 80 young men called it home after it was sold, like so
many Franklin Street properties, to Richmond Professional Institute, now VCU. RPI converted the house at 712 West
Franklin into the school’s first dorm for men in 1949.
Albert
Vischio, (1935-2007), convicted of the
murder of his former friend James
Whitlow in 1956.
Tragedy
struck the house in the form of a slender, dark-haired young man who climbed
the steps to the second floor on the evening of May 7, 1956. It had been almost 80 degrees that day, but
Albert Vischio, Jr., was nevertheless dressed in a dark suit and tie. A native of Brooklyn, New York, Vischio had
been discharged after 15 months in the U. S. Navy for a “nervous
breakdown.” Later, enrolling in RPI,
Vischio became friends with his roommate at 712 West Franklin, James
Whitlow.
James
Whitlow (1936-1956), murdered in his
bed in a RPI dorm room on West Franklin
Street.
Whitlow
was described as a “quiet, likable” 22-year-old country boy from Clover,
Virginia who had transferred from sleepy Bridgewater College in the western
part of the state to go to school in the big city of Richmond. The two young men became close, with Whitlow
traveling to New York the previous Christmas to visit Vischio’s parents and
later the two took a trip to Florida together. Vischio had recently withdrawn from classes at RPI because of the
fragile nature of his mental health, with stated intentions of returning to the
school. But nobody imagined his return
would be like this.
The RPI
dormitory at 712 West Franklin where, in a second floor bedroom,
Albert Vischio shot and killed Jim Whitlow. VCU’s Rhoads Hall now
stands on the site. The iron fence still stands on this spot.
Albert Vischio shot and killed Jim Whitlow. VCU’s Rhoads Hall now
stands on the site. The iron fence still stands on this spot.
As Vischio
climbed the old stairs to the dorm room he once shared with his friend Whitlow,
he must have felt the unaccustomed weight of a recently purchased Smith &
Wesson 5-shot revolver in his jacket pocket.
What transpired once Vischio reached that second-story dorm room? Was Whitlow (dressed in shorts and a t-shirt) asleep in bed? Or did the two men talk and at the end Whitlow simply turned his head away
on his pillow? All we know is that
Vischio bent down and deliberately emptied all five shots in the revolver, one
after another, into the back of Whitlow’s head, killing him instantly. An hour later, Vischio was found wandering
with the revolver in his hand on the grounds of McGuire Veteran’s Hospital. He was disarmed and arrested without a struggle. Just two weeks earlier, Vischio had been
discharged from McGuire’s after a second nervous breakdown. Police records showed he went directly from
the hospital to apply for a permit to buy a pistol.
Albert
Vischio is bundled into a police van on the grounds of
McGuire Veterans
Hospital, having just been arrested for murder.
Part of
the horror of the shooting of James Whitlow was the very deliberate and at the
same time detached attitude of Vischio. “You never think of yourself in a situation like this,” the sociology
major mused for a newspaper reporter, “I suppose it has to do with environment
and the way you were raised. But it just
doesn't seem possible.” Vischio,
described as “115 lbs., large, dark eyes and manicured hands,” added, “I don’t
care what happens, all they can do is send me to the electric chair.”
Newspaper
descriptions of the nature of the relationship between the murderer and his
victim were sprinkled with casual implications, like references to Vischio’s
manicured hands which would have been unmistakable to even readers of the staid
Richmond Times-Dispatch. “Vischio was
very jealous of Whitlow,” recalled one of the men who lived in the dorm, “…he
would become angry and upset if Jim went with anybody else to eat at the
cafeteria.”
The
gravestone of Jim Whitlow in the town cemetery in Clover, Virginia, with
its
dire epitaph, “Prepare for death and follow me." Image courtesy of
Findagrave.com.
While
Vischio was bundled off to jail, Whitlow’s parents returned to tiny Clover,
Virginia, with the body of their son and buried him in the town cemetery. The tone of regret and disapproval in the
epitaph they put on Whitlow’s tombstone, “Prepare For Death and Follow Me,” is
stark. It may have been intended as a
warning to every young man lured north by the big city to what must have seemed
to the mourners in Clover like Sodom-on-the-James.
The
inexplicable, implacable nature of Whitlow’s murder impressed even Vischio
himself, who mused, “I’ll probably go to Southwestern State (at Marion, Va.),
won’t I? I hear that’s a pretty tough
place. But I suppose I’ll get along all
right. I can always play cards with the
attendants.”
He was
shipped there by June 12 for psychiatric observation. Vischio’s relationship with Whitlow was
“close” according to the psychiatric report produced at the mental hospital,
and they quoted Vischio’s statement, “he taught me how to dance” as being
emblematic of the relationship between the two young men.
Even, in
an era that saw homosexuality cruelly classified as a mental illness and even
though the psychologists characterized him as “a homosexual and potentially
suicidal individual,” Vischio was still found to be sane to stand trial. The
following November he was back before Richmond’s Hustings Court. On January 6, 1957, Albert Vischio, Jr. was
sentenced to life in prison after pleading guilty to the murder of James
Whitlow.
Richmond
Professional Institute quickly moved to absolve itself from responsibility for
Whitlow’s death, despite a glaring six-hour period where school officials were
aware Vischio was back on campus and in possession of a gun. In March 1957, the school produced a report
saying it had had “no information on the day of the murder that should have
suggested action to prevent the slaying.” The report also stated it was “unable to discover any direct evidence of
an immoral nature involving students, faculty members, or persons now connected
with Richmond Professional Institute.” The report concluded that, at the time of the murder, Vischio was
officially not a RPI student, so his actions and proclivities were not a
concern or responsibility of the school.
The
student newspaper took pains to suppress the rumors that Vischio and Whitlow
were more than just friends. “It has
become all too obvious in the past that many of the greatest critics of RPI are
members of the student body,” stated an editorial in the student newspaper, Proscript,
defending the school. “Some students
became eloquently loquacious in denouncing the Administration for their action
or lack of action concerning the recent tragedy, and reporters covering the
case were handed juicy tidbits of local gossip, many of which were based solely
on hearsay…RPI could well afford to do without these students.”
Albert
Vischio, Jr. served his time in the Virginia State Penitentiary on Belvidere Street, just a mile away from the scene of
his murder of Whitlow. He survived his
time in prison and died in Massachusetts at age 72 in 2007. As a veteran, he qualified for a grave in the
Massachusetts National Cemetery in Bourne.
Today,
almost no one remembers the shock that roared through the RPI. student body
at the news of the shooting of Jim Whitlow by Albert Vischio. The victim has been in his rural grave more
than sixty years and the house which was their dorm is long gone. The old bedroom that once contained such an
unimaginable scene as cold-blooded murder has been erased as though its brick
walls never existed. Today, only the view across the street into Monroe Park is
probably similar as when Albert Vischio emerged onto the front porch of 712
West Franklin, adjusted his tie, and strode off down the sidewalk to his
classes. With the passage of six
decades, there are probably now very few who remember the story of the flash of
bloody rage, jealousy, and madness in a Franklin Street dorm that once cost two
young men their lives.
Thanks to
A. Judd for research assistance.
- Selden.
1 comment:
Great post!
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