Aurelia Libo Lorenz was a doting aunt. In fact, her niece and nephew, Vivian and Milton Libo, ages 5 and 4, were the only bright spots in the increasingly unhappy life of the 31-year-old divorcee who lived with them, their father (her brother) Rudolph Libo, his wife Alice and an assortment of other relatives at 1132 N. 24th St.
The Libos had immigrated to Milwaukee from Czechoslovakia -- then called Bohemia -- in the early 1900s. Aurelia came at age 19 and worked as a maid until she married Joseph Lorenz, who’d courted her in their native land and followed her to Milwaukee. Lorenz became a successful building contractor and what the papers called a "sportsman," which meant gambler.
"He gave her a fine home, a swell automobile, and all the luxuries she desired," Rudolph Libo said. "But she wasn’t satisfied."
When her marriage ended after three years, Aurelia received a settlement of several thousand dollars that she promptly gave away to a series of physicians to whom she went with bizarre physical torments.
"She was always complaining about being sick," said her brother. "She said her bones were caving in, she couldn’t lift her arms and everything was wrong. I told her the only thing that was wrong was her brain, and for a whole year I didn’t talk to her. Everyone in the family thought she was a little insane."
Except for little Vivian and Milton, whose love for their aunt was unconditional, non-judgmental, and made Aurelia’s life in the house so crowded she slept in the kitchen and basement bearable.
Until 82 years ago today, when it wasn’t anymore.
There was no clue about that when Aurelia went to her sister-in-law Alice in the early afternoon on Oct. 14, 1932, and volunteered to take the children on an outing. They went to a candy store in the neighborhood and then a clothing emporium where Aurelia bought whole new wardrobes for the children.
At 3:45, cabbie Ora Shortridge fetched Aurelia and the youngsters on the corner of North 23rd and West State Streets. "The little boy and girl were all smiles," he related later. "Anyone could tell they were off for a lark."
The kids joked and laughed on the ride to their destination -- the corner of North 5th and West Michigan Streets. After they exited the cab and Aurelia paid the 35-cent fare, Vivian and Milton were "so excited and jumping about," Shortridge recalled, "that I had to smile."
Holding the children’s hands, Aurelia led them into the 5th Street entrance of the Schroeder Hotel (now the Hilton Milwaukee City Center), and then into an elevator. The elevator operator remembered Aurelia smiling as the kids "screamed with delight" as they were whisked up to the 16th floor. It was 3:30.
Room 1616 had been registered the night before to a Dolores O’Bannion, who was in fact Aurelia Libo Lorenz. When she and her brother’s children entered the room, perhaps the latter busied themselves with the bags full of new clothes and presents their aunt had bought for them.
Aurelia sat at a desk and on four pages of stationary detailed, in imperfect English, her grievances against her family -- the deplorable living conditions, money she said she’d loaned her siblings that wasn’t repaid, and the mysterious health problems she now claimed were caused by a "deasese [disease] my brother Rudolph gave me 12 jears [years] ago…"
Just before signing her name, Aurelia scribbled: "This is for revenge."
At 4 o’clock, William Brings, a former bell captain at the Schroeder, was standing on the sidewalk in front of the 5th Street entrance, visiting with John "Doc" Libon, the hotel doorman on duty.
"We suddenly heard a thud and saw what appeared to be the body of a child at the curb between two cars," Brings said. "I thought an automobile had struck a child.
"We dashed to the spot. A second later something struck me on the side of a shoulder, and there was another terrible crash on the sidewalk. Then there was a third sickening thud. I’ll never forget that sound the longest day I live."
Before she threw her niece and nephew out the window of Room 1616 and then followed after them, Aurelia bound their hands and knees with silk stockings. "Police believe they were told they were playing some sort of a game," it was reported.
No inquest was held, but it took a writ of habeas corpus to spring Rudolph Libo from police custody when detectives demanded that he submit to "certain medical tests" of an obvious venereal nature.
"I will not," he said. "I know she lied."
In addition to Aurelia’s letter, police found three bags in Room 1616. Two contained patent leather shoes and clothes -- "expensive things such as the children had not had at home." In the third bag were an empty beer bottle, a razor and a kitchen knife.
