Polly was transferred to Kings County Penitentiary on November 16, 1877. Since she had remained behind until November, we assume she was one of the women who had to complete the order for the collars. It was an odd coincidence. Polly had used her bandbox for storing arsenic, not her collars, and now she was making them. A sad reminder to what she had done.

Mr. Shevhn was the warden during the early years of Polly's incarceration at Kings County Penitentiary. He prided himself on the fact that in the years he had been in charge of the institution he only had to have a female prisoner flogged twice. Warden ShevIin, for the most part, did not believe in whipping the prisoners. He once had a matron severely reprimanded for doing so.

KINGS COUNTY PENITENTIARY Left third portion of a Kings County Penitentiary photo image (not from Bread & Butter).

Mr. J. G. Bass of the Brooklyn Home Missionary Society was the Chaplain of the penitentiary. He visited during the week, conducted prayer services on Tuesday evenings, and conducted services on Sunday afternoons. This was a progressive area of New York, which is now the borough of Brooklyn. By 1880 the penitentiary was already equipped with the modem invention know as the telephone.

In 1880 the penitentiary housed 506 inmates, 65 of them were women, including Polly Frisch. Ironically, Polly's job at first would be the same profession as her first husband, Henry Hoag. Men and woman prisoners were set to work in the prison shoe shop, with the women operating the sewing machines on a separate floor. The shop was run as a regular factory. Several women would be brought in from the Bay State Shoe and Leather Company to join the female inmates in running the machines. The shoe shop had three floors, and an attic that was used for supplies and storage. The shoe shop was located in one of the prison buildings. The shop was 250 feet long, 40 feet wide, and about 300 feet from the male and female prison buildings. They convicts were paid forty cents a day for their labor.

Dr. Homer C. Bartlett was the physician for the Kings County Penitentiary. He had noticed over the years an improvement in the condition of Polly Frisch. Either she resigned herself to her fate, or whatever illness she suffered from was finally being treated correctly. In 1882 she was given a new job in the prison. She had been incarcerated now for over twenty years, and was not the same person as when she entered. In another twist of fate, Polly's new occupation was to be a nurse in the prison hospital.

Warden Greene took over the prison in 1881. Many of the keepers had said that he was too strict a disciplinarian, and tried to run the institution on too economical a basis. The prisoners ate beef made into a stew with other vegetables for dinner five days a week. Dinner on Friday was fish and bread; pork, beans and bread were served on the last day. Breakfast was a quart of coffee and all the bread they could eat. Lunch was a quart of tea and bread. This at the time was standard prison food.

The male prisoners revolted in 1885 for not getting hash for breakfast and expected to do a day's work with no substantial food. Eighty men were thrown in dark cells and extra guards brought in from the Brooklyn Police Department. The revolt continued for several days with howls, cheering, and cursing from the cells. The women prisoners joined in the mayhem. It was said that the screams and shrills of the 214 women was ear splitting. One would have to wonder if Polly was one of those prisoners.

KINGS COUNTY PENITENTIARY Middle third portion of a Kings County Penitentiary photo image (not from Bread & Butter).

The ringleader of the strike was ultimately given fifteen lashes with a cowhide whip. It was the first time Warden Greene had to whip a prisoner. He had abolished the practice, and had no intention of using it again; this time he had no choice in order to regain control.

So this was Polly Frisch's new life. During her years here she experienced prison revolts; crackdowns for attempted prison breaks, and working long hours every day. After being so self-absorbed, this was probably the most sobering experience of her life.

In 1892 the penitentiary experienced another new governor, Warden Hayes. Polly Frisch had been diagnosed as well now for quite some time. Oddly enough, George Bowen had recommended some years ago to have her released. The citizens of Alabama, however, had been adamantly opposed to it. Despite the passing of more then two decades, the townspeople of Alabama had not forgotten, nor forgiven, what she had done.

Times were changing. Prison reform was taking a more modern stance. Many inmates were being put out in the work force rather then being kept in cells for years on end. The prisons were getting over crowded. They could no longer keep a man in jail for minor crimes, or women in jail for petty theft.

Polly Frisch, now imprisoned for thirty-three years, had become old and feeble. The warden felt there was no need for this aged woman to be imprisoned any longer. Dr. Bartlett had said that he diagnosed Polly as being sane for several years now, and she had done an exemplary job as a nurse in the penitentiary's hospital. Whatever had ailed her so many years ago had disappeared. At 68 years old, she was not the same woman who had committed murder. Dr. Homer C. Bartlett informed the Governor of New York that she was now sane.

KINGS COUNTY PENITENTIARY Right third portion of a Kings County Penitentiary photo image (not from Bread & Butter).

On December 9, 1892 Governor Roswell P. Flower pardoned Polly Frisch. Every local paper was covering the story. It was carried in the Buffalo Daily Courier, The New York Times, and set over the wires by the United Press. No one had forgotten Polly Frisch, although she wished they had. She did not want any publicity; she just wanted to be left alone.

All the newspapers had reported her release and that "someone" had come to take her home. Whether this meant a relative's, or some place else, is unknown. The version was different from one newspaper to another. Some said friends, others said relatives. The New York Times printed, "Several persons of the highest respectability have undertaken to provide her with a suitable home." It was only conjecture where "home" would be after so many years. One thing is certain, Polly Frisch never returned to the town of Alabama, in Genesee County, NY.

Thirty-six years had passed since Polly committed the murders in Alabama, New York. Many people no longer remembered. As soon as she was released from Kings County Penitentiary, Polly Frisch faded from the public eye to become just another forgotten piece of local folklore. At the same time Polly was released a new murderess would step into the limelight to take her place. She would captivate the country's interest and become an American legend. Her name was Lizzie Borden.

We of course checked the logical choices in trying to find Polly Frisch. Although it was highly unlikely that she went to live with her son Albert Hoag, we checked that possibility. As we thought, she did not end up there. We also checked several sources in Ellington, NY where her daughter Rosalie lived, and found nothing. She did not end up with her sister Julia in Clarence Center either.

Governor's Commutation Co-author Cindy Amrhein made available to NYCHS for this excerpts web presentation a copy of Gov. Morgan's commutation of Polly Frisch's death sentence to life imprisonment.

There would be no reason for her to come back to Alabama. Everyone she had known there had either moved or died. Since the residents of Alabama didn't want her released to begin with, it is unlikely anyone there would take her anyway. Just to be sure we checked all available records in Genesee County, as well as the cemetery records for every town. We came up with nothing. We are positive she did not return to Genesee County, NY. There was only one other possible choice. Polly must have stayed in Brooklyn.

It is likely that she would have made some friends while incarcerated. Since the Minister who visited the prison was very active there' it is possible he was involved with a benevolent group. It could be that they were the "people of prominence" that were spoken of in the article printed in the New York Times.

Following along on our train of thought, our volunteer searched census records for Brooklyn at the Federal Archives, in all Polly's possible surnames. He came up with one very close match in the 1900 census: Mary A. Franklin, born in Vermont in September 1826. She was age 73, widowed, had five children with two left alive. She lived in a boarding house at 357 Pacific St., Brooklyn, NY. Unfortunately, we could not find out if it was she.

Mrs. Frisch's face brightened, but she said nothing.

"What would you say if the governor refused to pardon you?".

"I would not blame him. I hear he is a good man, and, if he refuses, it will be because he believes that I am not worthy of it," she replied.

"What would you do if he decides to pardon you?" continued Mr. Backus. "Oh, I would thank the Lord for answering my prayers."

Mr. Backus then took out the pardon. Mrs. Frisch's eyes followed his every movement. "I have here what the governor thinks of your case in writing."

She clutched the arms of her chair and leaned forward, evidently expecting to hear good news. "You read it, Mr. Backus. I haven't my glasses," she said.

The pardon was read aloud. Mrs. Frisch did not move during the reading, but listened as though drinking in every word. When Mr. Backus finished all she said was:

"I bless the Lord. How can I ever do enough to express my gratitude to you and to those who have worked so faithfully for me."

She then went home with Mr. Backus. During the afternoon, she learned about her kind friend who was sick, and with the consent of Mr. Backus went to her house in Brooklyn to act as a nurse.

Mary Frisch is now 68 years old. She is short and slight and has beautiful gray hair, which she wears parted and drawn down smoothly to the sides. Her face is kind and gentle and was wreathed in radiant smiles of joy as she left the penitentiary. She said to a reporter that she intended to lead as private a life as she could and do as much as lay in her power to repay her friends.