The last legal public hanging in town happened in the fall of 1865 on what is now the alley between 16th and 17th Avenues on Music Row. Four thieves held up the coach of the son of a city alderman in the lawlessness after the Civil War. A melee ensued, and the gentleman was shot. The four men were found hiding in a home on Jefferson Street. None would say who pulled the trigger. A military tribunal sentenced them all to death by hanging. A large crowd gathered to watch them die. One died instantly, three swayed for hours, slowly strangling. We discovered during our tenure at BMG Publishing that this happened in the parking lot of our writers’ building, between BMG and RCA Studio B.
They ask for your last words up on the ridge
those old hymns they all sound the same
there’s no throwing roses when you’re half asleep
above the river we’re all dying to see
Black avenue gallows where the hangman waits
black avenue gallows where the evening fades
Smoky Row on a Sunday I see your face
St. Cloud Hotel oh you could not wait
in a room north of Summer we fell asleep
drowned in the river we were trying to breathe
Black avenue gallows where the hangman waits
black avenue gallows where the evening fades
black avenue gallows where the hangman waits
black avenue gallows sir you made a mistake
