'Thrown out': 6-year-old's murder a tragic blip in Detroit's most violent year

This story is part of a look back at 150 years of crime coverage from The Detroit News. Check this page on weekends for periodic new material involving long-lost cases and other interesting tidbits from the News archives.

Detroit — A story on the front page of the Dec. 31, 1974, Detroit News captured the numbing effect of routine bloodshed.

"Detroiters shot, hacked, stabbed and battered each other to death at a record rate in 1974," News reporter Norman Sinclair wrote. "Perhaps the most horrendous thing about that fact is that it's not news. Not anymore."

The article was published at the end of what remains Detroit's most violent year, when the city recorded 714 homicides. That broke the record for the 10th straight year going back to 1965, when there were 188 killings, a 50% leap from the 125 homicides in 1964.

More:From the Archives: A look back at 150 years of Detroit News crime coverage

April was the deadliest month of 1974 — and remains the deadliest month in Detroit history — when 89 people were killed.

Detroit’s final murder victim that month was 6-year-old Felicia Patterson, whose April 30, 1974, death attracted widespread attention — for a day.

In addition to The News' and Detroit Free Press' coverage the day after the killing, United Press International carried a short story on its wire service that was picked up by newspapers across the country.

But with Detroit averaging three homicides a day in April 1974, Felicia's killing was essentially a "one-day story." Media focus shifted to the next batch of crimes, and there was scant follow-up coverage of a case that remains unsettling a half-century later.

The last moments of Felicia's life were spent scrambling through the corridors of her Detroit apartment building, beating on doors and screaming for help after her mother’s boyfriend had thrown her 17-month-old brother out of their third-floor window and was closing in on her. One man peeped out of his doorway, saw his enraged neighbor hovering over Felicia — and slammed the door shut. Other residents told police they'd heard the girl's pleas for help but did nothing.

While the third-floor dwellers cowered behind their apartment doors listening to Felicia's screams, Harold Tillman dragged her back home and dangled her out of the bedroom window by her ankles. Witnesses said he held her there for a few seconds before letting go.

Felicia slammed into a cement stairwell and was killed instantly. Her brother, Harold Junior, had landed on a patch of grass and survived. Their mother collapsed from shock while giving her statement to police and had to be hospitalized, although during a court hearing two months later, Lela Patterson said she supported the man who'd killed her daughter and planned to do whatever she could to help him.

Within a few months of her death, Felicia's case was filed in the Detroit News "morgue," joining the long-lost stories of Jimmie Craig, Alice Collier, Barbara Gaca, Alphonse Wilms, Julia Gable and other young children whose killings had briefly horrified Detroiters before fading away from public memory.

Sinclair, a Detroit News investigative reporter from 1973-2007, and David G. Grant, who covered the Detroit police beat for The News from 1970-2005, were unable to recall Felicia's killing nearly 50 years after it happened.

"It doesn't ring a bell," Grant said. "There were a lot of those bad cases like that back then — it's hard to keep them all straight."

Record bloodshed

The News' coverage of the unprecedented carnage of April 1974 began with four April 1 killings: Milton Worsley, 26, who was stabbed by his wife in their East Grand Boulevard apartment during an argument over an income tax return, and the fatal shootings of Earl Randell, 24, David Guzowski, 21, and 18-year-old Michael Culverhouse in three unrelated incidents on the city's west side.

Felicia was the month's final murder victim. Others in between included:

• Peter Jgokaj and Peter Gjonaj, who were fatally shot April 2 over a feud that police said had started years earlier in their native Albania.

• Kemme Bush, 22, and Debra Nutter, 20, both of Ohio, whose decomposing bodies were discovered April 6 in an apartment on Trumbull. They'd each been shot once in the head.

• Don Reed, 33, who was killed April 9 when two men opened fire in Ronnie's Lounge on West Vernor in southwest Detroit. Police said they were unable to determine why the gunmen had started shooting.

• Charise Hill, 20, the victim of a fatal stabbing whose body was unearthed April 9 by a bulldozer operator near the Chrysler service drive.

• Cathleen Dolson, 25, killed during the April 15 holdup of the Jockey Bar on Woodward near 8 Mile Road, where she'd worked as a barmaid.

• William Jones, 35, William Ringstaff, 28 and Rose Wilson, 40, who were gunned down April 15 in what police said was a drug-related hit.

• Gregory Thomas, 26, who was fatally shot April 15 by his estranged wife when he broke into her house.

• Jack Reeves, 50, gunned down during an April 16 argument with a neighbor.

• James Van Dyke, 21, killed during a knife fight that broke out in the World of Pleasure Carnival in southwest Detroit on April 21.

• Charles McGhee, 40, and Jerome Callen, 20, who in separate April 21 incidents were each fatally shot during arguments with neighbors.

Those are just the 19 homicide victims whose cases were covered by The News in April, 1974 — a fraction of the killings that month. On May 1, 1974, The News reported: "In April, 89 Detroiters were slain, a record for one month. The previous high was 76 in September, 1973. April's count brings the 1974 total to 265, compared to 228 at this time last year."

Sinclair said it was impossible to cover most of the killings.

"There just weren't enough reporters or enough space in the newspaper," he said.

The last time Felicia's name appeared in The News was on July 31, 1974, when The News' religion reporter Nancy Manser wrote about "Felicia Patterson Park," a new mini-amusement center that a local pastor had erected in the victim's honor near the spot where she'd been killed.

The pastor had traveled throughout the Midwest purchasing used kiddie rides and a cotton candy station, and the tiny diversion was reportedly a hit among residents of the west-side neighborhood.

Felicia's apartment building and the amusement park are both long gone, replaced by barren fields. The street where the little girl lived and died was renamed decades ago.

Pleas ignored

It was half-past midnight on April 30, 1974, when Harold Tillman stormed into his third-floor apartment in the building at 8545 Dumbarton, now Heritage Place, on Detroit's west side. He found his girlfriend, Lela Patterson, in bed asleep with her 6-year-old daughter, Felicia Patterson, and their son, Harold Tillman Jr., 17 months old.

Lela Patterson told police that her boyfriend woke her up crying. "(He) suddenly grabbed the infant and threw him through the window," The News reported the day after the incident. The report continued: "The child landed on a grassy plot. Witnesses told police Felicia started running down the hallway at the same time, screaming and banging on doors. One neighbor told police he opened the door but closed it when he saw Tillman dragging the girl back to the apartment.

"Witnesses said they saw Tillman holding Felicia by her ankles out the window before he let her go, police said. She landed on a cement stairwell in front of the building. Mrs. Patterson told police Tillman had been despondent because he was unemployed."

The impact killed Felicia instantly.

Lela Patterson collapsed with shock while talking to DPD detectives and had to be admitted to Detroit General Hospital.

During his arraignment hours after the incident, Tillman "was sobbing and threw himself on the floor … when arraigned on a charge of first-degree murder before Recorder's Court Judge James Del Rio," The News said.

A plea of not guilty was entered for the defendant, who also was charged with assault with intent to kill for throwing his son out of the window.

At Tillman's June 18, 1974, preliminary exam, Recorder's Court Judge Samuel Gardner bound the defendant over for trial and set a $50,000 bond.

"Mrs. Lela Patterson, mother of the dead girl, testified at Tillman's preliminary examination yesterday that she would do all she could to help Tillman," The News reported. "Tillman is her boyfriend."

Denied

The defendant cut a deal with prosecutors and pleaded guilty to second-degree murder on Oct. 21, 1974. He was sentenced to life in prison the following month.

Despite his plea, Tillman immediately appealed his conviction — but the Recorder's Court staff had lost the trial transcripts. On May 9, 1975, the Michigan Court of Appeals reversed Tillman's conviction because the case couldn't be reviewed due to the lost paperwork.

The case was remanded back to the lower court, and prosecutors reinstated the second-degree murder and assault with intent to murder charges. Following a jury trial in Detroit Recorder's Court, Tillman was convicted. On December 4, 1975, Recorder's Court Judge Robert Evans handed down two concurrent terms of life imprisonment.

Tillman appealed again, and on September 5, 1978, the appellate court vacated his assault conviction but affirmed the murder conviction. Tillman took the case up to the Michigan Supreme Court, which reversed the appellate court's ruling and reinstated the assault with intent to murder conviction.

Felicia's killer didn't stop trying to get out of prison. According to federal court documents, on April 28, 1997, he handed a motion for relief from judgment to prison authorities to be mailed, but he was told — again — that the document had gotten lost in the court system.

"(Tillman) states that, at some point … he became concerned when he did not receive acknowledgment from the trial court that his motion had been filed and contacted the Clerk of Court," said a May 3, 2005, ruling by U.S. District Judge Paul V. Gadola denying Tillman's request to have his conviction overturned.

"The Clerk of Court informed him that his motion had been lost or misplaced because the Recorder's Court was in the process of merging with the Third Judicial Circuit Court and advised Petitioner to re-file his motion," Gadola wrote. "Petitioner re-filed the motion on August 24, 1998."

Aug. 24 was two months past the deadline for filing a motion for relief from judgment, and Tillman's application was rejected. He claimed his civil rights had been violated because he'd been forced to file late after court officials had lost his original motion. In denying his petition, the judge pointed out that Tillman had handed his motion to prison authorities on April 28, 1997 — four days past the April 24, 1997, filing deadline anyway, rendering his claim moot.

Tillman wasn't done. On April 20, 2009, he filed a motion to vacate the federal court's judgment, calling the decision "void." The motion was denied.

In his motion, Tillman insisted his incarceration was "a manifest injustice."

Tillman died Oct. 30, 2010, in the Cotton Correctional Facility in Jackson.

Gone too soon

In The News' final story about Felicia, the July 31, 1974, feature about Felicia Patterson Park, religion reporter Manser wrote: "Children play not far from where Felicia died earlier this year."

The Rev. George Bogle of the nearby House of Prayer church on Grand River told Manser that he'd wanted to make good use of the small, triangular lot the church had recently purchased.

"Felicia used to come to church and Sunday school," Bogle said. "We had bought this land for a parking lot and hated to just take it and fence it off without contributing anything to the community. So, we decided to establish a park in Felicia's memory."

The News reported that the park was open from 2:30-9 p.m. daily, and that it charged a dime for the rides — kiddy-cars, a swing ride, a merry-go-round and a swan car ride. The park also featured a moonwalk and a refreshment stand.

George Bogle Jr. told The News recently that his father put in a lot of work to launch the project.

"My dad got the idea to put this amusement park there to honor the little girl who'd been killed, and he and my brother went all over Michigan, Ohio and other places picking up old used rides wherever he could find them," Bogle said. "He bought an old diesel generator, set up a cotton candy machine, and made it like a real little carnival. I remember they had to do a lot of work and bust up the concrete to get everything ready. They'd work until the wee hours of the morning.

"A guy from the bar across the street came over and asked what we were doing, and my dad told him. It was so touching — that bar took up a collection, and the guy comes back with some money and says: 'Pastor, what you’re doing is amazing. We want to give you this.' It was just such a great reception from the neighbors; the moms and dads who brought their kids down there loved it. They had nothing like that in the area."

The park didn't last long, Bogle said.

"I don't understand why, but it only made it a year or two," he said. "I really don't know the answer, and Dad’s not here to ask. Everything seemed to be going so great at first. It's sad that it wasn't around very long."

The same can be said for Felicia Patterson.