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By Root 481 0

was charming, Coakley saw his own political prospects dampened by voters’ lack of trust. He’d spent three terms in the state legislature as the representative from Cambridge before being ousted in his bid for a fourth. Later he’d served in appointed, largely ceremonial posts on the Boston Park Commission and as a trustee of the Boston Public Library. At fifty-four, a married father of five, Coakley had a roguish sense of humor and a stage actor’s voice, capable of booming a line to the far seats without losing its rich palette of emotion. Best of all for Ponzi, not only was he in league with Pelletier, he was close with the federal prosecutor, Gallagher, as well.

Ponzi adored Coakley from the moment they met. Confident he had found the ideal advocate, Ponzi agreed to pay Coakley and his partner, former assistant district attorney Daniel McIssac, the extraordinary retainers of twenty-five thousand dollars each, with the promise of more to come. What Ponzi did not fully realize was that although Coakley was a remarkably effective advocate, he came with a boatload of baggage, having made as many enemies as friends in the trench warfare of Boston politics. Moreover, his reach was almost nonexistent when it came to the Brahmins. Coakley held no sway with the attorney general, J. Weston Allen.

Thinking he had shored up his legal defense, Ponzi returned his attention to 27 School Street. It was turning out to be the busiest day yet for the Securities Exchange Company, but unlike earlier big days, all the money was going out the door rather than coming in.

There was no letup from the moment the business opened at eight o’clock. Lucy Meli and the clerks tried desperately to keep up with the relentless tide, but inevitably they fell behind. As they did, pressure rose along with the temperatures in hallways of the Niles Building. Around noon, a throng of men formed themselves into a flying wedge and forced their way into Room 227 to demand their money, only to be repelled by the men in Ponzi’s employ. But with no police in sight, the attackers took another run at the Securities Exchange Company offices, this time heading directly into the glass-paneled door. The door shattered, sending shards of glass flying through the air and into the faces and hands of several members of the invading force. The sight of blood excited the men further. A near-panic ensued as they tried to fight their way to the iron gates of the tellers’ windows. Ponzi’s clerks fought back again. After ten minutes of shouting and shoving, a fragile peace was restored.

The disturbances slowed payments further, and the line of people seeking refunds, along with a small number holding matured notes, snaked through the corridors, down the stairs, and out into School Street, crowding the sidewalk in front of the Elite Shoe store, Burke & Co. Merchant Tailors, and the Tourist Trunk Shop. Newsboys roamed the crowd, and men huddled in small groups reading the afternoon papers. The heat proved too much for some; as many as a half dozen women fainted in line.

Several speculators hovered on the edges of the crowd, offering to buy Ponzi notes at prices based on when they were due. A hundred-dollar note that would reach maturity within a few days might be worth its face value—the speculator expected to collect the 50 percent interest—while the same note with several weeks until maturity might fetch only seventy-five dollars. But at least its owner would be spared having to wait in line any longer. A small number of people in the crowd were neither note holders nor speculators but would-be investors hoping against hope that Ponzi would relent and take their money.

Reporters from all the Boston papers and several out-of-town newspapers were there to document the scene. While most reporters told the story straight, the writer from the Evening Transcript seemed most concerned with the rare mix of well-dressed women and businessmen mingling with lowly stenographers, fruit peddlers, mechanics, and teamsters. Perhaps hoping to reassure his blueblood readership that not all of