Okay, I need to put a caveat/trigger warning ahead of this post: Acid attacks are a serious problem, and in no way shape or form am I discounting, disbelieving, or brushing aside the victims of these horribly violent attacks. In this post, I will discuss two singularly rare incidences which DO NOT reflect the vast and overwhelming majority of victims. In point of fact, these two cases are separated by 111 years, which should give an idea of just how atypical the case of Florence McVean really is.

Now, on with the post.

Sometime between seven and eight o’clock on March 14, 1899, the doorbell rang at No. 4015 Cook Avenue. 

Despite the hour, Florence McVean answered the summons and found a heavily veiled woman in black standing on her doorstep. Not recognizing said woman through her costume and in no way aided by a streetlamp’s distant glow, Florence asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?” The beveiled woman moved forward and answered, “Damn you, I have you now!” Whereupon, the mystery woman lifted the lower edge of several layers of concealing lace and revealed the presence of a pint glass full of liquid — which she then flung onto Florence’s face, neck, and bosom. Collapsing into a heap, screaming in pain, Florence watched helplessly as her attacker dashed down the front steps, up the street, and into the night.

Florence’s younger sister, Miss Mary McGraw, who’d run to the drugstore for some medicine, returned home from her errand a short while later and found Florence lying prone across the threshold, crying in pain. Not knowing what happened, only that her sister said her face was burning, Miss McGraw and her mother sent for Dr. Lyda. 

Doctor Lyda rapidly diagnosed the substance splashed onto Florence’s face as Carbolic Acid. 

Also known as Phenol, this organic compound is used as an antiseptic, disinfectant, and local anesthetic to treat sunburns & hives. (This last application once gave Agatha Christie a “nervous horror” as a hospital pharmacy dispenser — as Christie feared she’d mis-prepared a carbolic acid ointment for a patient.) Carbolic Acid presents a threefold danger. Not only will the liquid rapidly generate second and third-degree burns, your skin absorbs the organic compound poisoning your heart and central nervous system, while the sweet-smelling vapor will do additional damage to your eyes and lungs.

Hence why, Dr. Lyda reported to the papers that Florence hovered near death whilst putting her chance of recovery at one in a hundred. And if Florence did manage to rally, he predicted she would bear heavy scars at best and lose her eyesight (and perhaps the organs themselves) at worst.

The newspapers, which had all but forgotten Florence, lept all over this unexpected turn of events. Speculating as to whether or not Florence’s original claims, that a jealous rival tried to poison her, were true….Because who would intentionally throw acid in their own face?

Which brings us to August 30, 2010 and the case of Bethany Storro. 

Suffering from a then undiagnosed mental disorder, Storro attempted to take her own life by smearing her face with drain cleaner. Initially, she’d planned to drink the caustic chemical as well, but in light of the searing pain burning her face, Storro couldn’t bring herself to take a sip. Panicked at the thought of explaining her actions, Storro left her house and went to a nearby park. According to an eyewitness statement, she dropped to the ground and began screaming that a black woman with a ponytail threw acid in her face.

This was curious as said eyewitness swore he’d not seen anyone approaching or anywhere near Storro when she began screaming for help. 

Storro’s story unraveled further when doctors eventually discovered something odd. Storro’s chemical burns, which roughly correspond to the areas where you’d apply a mud mask, failed to follow the splash pattern consistent with this style of violent crime. Not a single drop of the caustic liquid broke her hairline, ran under her chin, or spattered onto her ears, lips, neck, chest, or back. Storro’s claims that a pair of sunglasses saved her eyes and brows fell short with police — because why would you need to wear shades thirty-eight minutes before sunset?

Suspicions raised, it didn’t take law enforcement long to trace the purchase of the drain cleaner and gloves back to Storro herself, at which point she confessed to everything. (BTW — After paying back the small amount of money she’d spent from funds donated by the community, authorities decided not to press charges. Storro would spend little over a year in a mental health facility that diagnosed and treated the underlying mental health issues that led to her suicide attempt.)

Casting aside, but not forgetting his earlier conclusions about the veracity of Florence’s claims of harassment, Chief Campbell took this new threat on Florence’s life seriously. Not only did he assign Chief of Detectives Desmond to the case, he also allocated another half-dozen detectives to hunt down the perpetrator. 

With so many resources dedicated to a single case, it didn’t take long for irregularities to start surfacing.

Florence’s explanation as to why she answered the door at such a late hour (for the 1890s) was totally reasonable — she thought it was her sister at returning home. The police could just about understand why it took until the next morning for someone in the household to alert them to the brutal assault. More difficult to fathom was Miss Mary McGraw’s fluctuating and contradictory timelines (yes, plural) she gave authorities about her movements on the night in question. However, what truly stuck in the detective’s collective craws was motive: During the first investigation Doctor Glasgow made it crystal clear to authorities, newspapers, and the public alike that he held zero affection for Florence. Surely these profuse and forthright negative declarations would render any lingering jealousy inert? Therefore the barbarity of the attack didn’t align with the wafer thin motive.

Then there’s the evidence the cadre of detectives didn’t find.

No one, other than Florence herself, witnessed the attack. No one, other than Florence, saw a veiled woman running from the scene. In fact, Chief Detective Desmond couldn’t find a single trace of this mystery woman anywhere. Nor could he locate a single one of Florence’s neighbors who heard her screams. And the one and only suspect in the case, Zoe Graham, possessed a rock-solid alibi for the night of the attack.

So, who flung carbolic acid in Florence’s face? 

Chief Campbell once again pointed the finger at Florence herself: “As I study the case from beginning to end, I confess I turn to the idea I first advanced that Mrs. McVean has been persecuting herself. What for cannot be clearly seen but it may be one of those manias sometimes seized upon by woman, which, when once adopted, carry them way past where they thought when they began.” Newspapers expanded on this new wrinkle, theorizing Florence used the acid attack to acquit herself of Chief Campbell’s initial accusations of self-persecution.

Despite the Sheriff’s moderately sexist thoughts, did she really do it?

Though it galls me to disbelieve the victim of a violent crime, the most damning part of the carbolic acid episode (for me) was Florence’s miraculous recovery. While I understand carbolic acid (by comparison to its bigger and badder cousins nitric, sulfuric, and hydrochloric) is considered a weak acid — it can still wreak some serious havoc. So for doctors to announce, a mere four days after the attack, that other than some peeling skin, Florence’s eyesight would remain unchanged, her skin unscarred, and her overall health unaffected? It feels a tad, well, suspicious and calls to mind the Bethany Storro case.

On top of which, the urge to inflict further damage to “prove your innocence” reminds me of Christiana Edmunds — who, twenty-nine years earlier, engineered two separate poisoning plots (which resulted in one murder and earned her the nickname The Chocolate Cream Killer) to prove to her crush, Dr. Beard, she didn’t try murdering his wife (without success). 

Only in this case, Florence flung acid at herself instead. 

And while Doctor Glasgow, Mrs. Graham, and Sheriff Campbell all thought this self-persecution conclusion was correct — I find it difficult to reconcile the poison pen letters, arsenic laced chocolates, and acid-throwing incidences with a thirty-five-year-old widow. They seem to me like acts perpetrated by a naive young woman.

Someone like a single, younger sister, perhaps?

As the news articles focused on Florence, we don’t know the state of Mary and Florence’s relationship. However, experts have established that Poison Pen Letters are often written by those nearest and dearest to the recipient. Since the abuse contained within the correspondence aimed the majority of its vitriol towards Florence rather than the doctor, it could point in Miss McGraw’s direction. 

Do the abusive letters point to some hitherto unknown well of resentment within the younger woman? Did Miss McGraw write them to help her big sister find happiness with another man before Florence was ready? Or did she want Doctor Glasgow for herself? Did these good (or bad) intentions spiral out of control and the resulting violence snapped her out of the grip of whatever illogical thought process she’d fashioned to justify her actions?

I’ve no clue.

However, I do know Miss McGraw repeatedly insinuated herself into the case. Not only did she, not Florence, initially take the case to Sheriff Campbell. Miss McGraw also reported to the newspapers she’d taken control of the household’s mail before the arrival of the tainted candy. Virtually ensuring the arsenic ladened chocolates wouldn’t pose a threat to anyone in the house. Next, she vocally supported Florence’s claim that she’d not set foot downtown in the months prior to the bonbon’s arrival. Finally, she handled all the interactions with the press as her sister recovered from the acid-throwing incident.

Speaking of the night of March 14th, if Mary threw the acid on her sister it would explain the confusing and contradictory accounts of her errand to the drugstore. The veils and the rest of her costume could’ve been secreted away until Dr. Lyda stabilized Florence, then burnt or otherwise discreetly discarded later that night. Thereby explaining the time gap between the attack and when someone notified the authorities.

As to the clerk from the Busy Bee Candy Store, eyewitness identifications are notoriously unreliable, and we don’t know how closely the two sisters resembled one another. Miss Mary McGraw could’ve used Florence’s calling card, styled her hair like her sister’s, worn her clothes, and led authorities down the garden path. 

While my theory about Miss McGraw doesn’t conform as well with Occam’s Razor, as does the one put forth by Sheriff Campbell, it’s within the realm of possibility. Unfortunately, due to the doctor’s pronouncement of Florence’s impending full recovery, the newspapers quickly lost interest in the story and Florence and Mary faded back into their lives in St. Louis.

My 52 Weeks With Christie: A.Miner©2023