For the Thrill of It: Leopold, Loeb, and the Murder That Shocked Jazz Age Chicago (35 page)

In Chicago, Crowe worked to influence public opinion against leniency for Leopold and Loeb. In interviews with the Chicago newspapers in the days before the start of the trial, Crowe predicted the failure of an insanity defense. It was preposterous, Crowe asserted, to claim that the defendants were insane; no jury would believe it. “The report that Leopold and Loeb are insane is nothing more than propaganda sent out by the defense to throw dust into the eyes of men who may be called to serve on the jury.” And what of the psychiatrists? Would any psychiatrist be either so foolish or so corrupt as to testify to their insanity? “No reputable alienist,” Crowe continued, “would testify the two murderers are insane. If any of them do, it will be because they were either fools who were duped by the defendants or knaves who have profited by their gold.”
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W
HILE
R
OBERT
C
ROWE AND
C
LARENCE
Darrow each argued his case in the pages of the Chicago newspapers, a novel proposition, one that neither side had anticipated, suddenly elbowed its way into the discussion about the coming trial.

The trial would be held in the principal courtroom in the Criminal Court Building, yet the demand for seats would clearly outstrip the available supply. Every major newspaper in the United States planned to send at least one reporter to cover the trial, and inquiries had already been received from press agencies in Cuba, Argentina, Canada, Britain, Italy, and Australia. The courtroom could accommodate only 200 spectators, and few seats would be available for members of the Chicago public who wished to observe the trial. Why not, therefore, broadcast the proceedings on the radio so that everyone in Chicago could hear the testimony as it unfolded in court?

The publishers of the
Chicago Daily Tribune
owned station WGN. On 17 July, in a front-page editorial, the newspaper proposed that the trial be broadcast in its entirety. Would not such a step serve to educate the public in the workings of the criminal justice system? The more the general public knew about civic affairs, the better. Political corruption and malfeasance would have few opportunities to flourish if an educated populace felt a keener sense of public responsibility. “It is bromide among persons occupied in civic affairs,” the editor of the
Chicago Daily Tribune
wrote, “that the public should be more interested than it is in events of social importance…. It has been the attitude of English and American law that the greater the degree in which the people enter into the enforcement of the law, the more publicity given to trials by law, the greater the degree of justice.”
⁶¹

But not everyone subscribed to the view that broadcasting the Leopold-Loeb trial would serve unambiguously as a civics lesson. Nor was it evident that radio was a suitable medium for the transmission of such a sensational and lurid event as this trial. In 1924 radio was in its infancy—not even a majority of American households owned a radio set—and, unlike the movies, radio had yet to become a mass medium. Only the more prosperous families had a radio, and as a consequence radio was still an exclusive phenomenon. The movies and the tabloid newspapers catered explicitly to plebeian audiences; the radio, in contrast, served a patrician listenership that valued the evening programs as a source of cultural uplift. And radio was more intimate and more personal than either the newspapers or the movies; the speaker’s voice directly entered the family circle and carried its message to each listener as though he or she alone constituted the audience.
⁶²

In the early 1920s, social commentators assigned various roles to radio, but none of those roles meshed easily with the broadcast of a sensational murder trial. Evangelical leaders hoped that radio could be used to promote religious sentiment; high-minded politicians expected that radio would foster thoughtful debate on the issues of the day and help eliminate demagoguery. Others saw radio as a way to prevent war—if people were better able to communicate with each other, surely nations could more easily avoid the type of general conflagration that had engulfed the world just a few years earlier.
⁶³

Chicagoans were divided over the desirability of transmitting the trial on the radio, yet a sufficient number—a majority—expressed such forceful opposition to the idea that even the
Tribune
conceded it might do more harm than good. John Owen, an attorney with the First National Bank, warned that “some of the testimony may be objectionable…. The case would be a show instead of a trial.” Robert Calkins, a police officer, cautioned that many children and teenagers owned a crystal set; was it wise to transmit the details of a murder to such a susceptible audience? “It’s a bad example,” Calkins explained, “for the children to listen to such a trial. They are the most eager radio fans.” P. J. Halldorson, the secretary of the Ravenswood Kiwanis Club, announced that the members had voted unanimously against the proposal as giving “undue publicity to a crime which is abnormal and not representative.” O. A. Danielson, a builder from Evanston, deplored the idea as “yellow journalism…I’ll take music and other things on the radio, but I believe the newspapers can give us a good enough account of the trial.” William McCall, a realtor, insisted that “the radio should be used for entertainment, music, and literature, not for scandal and murders…I don’t want my family to listen all day to such facts as doubtless will be heard in this Franks murder trial.” And Beatrice Vahle, a stenographer, demanded that “the radio…[be] a source of enjoyment and not for scandals and murders…I’m very much against broadcasting the trial.”
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Not everyone was ready to give up on the idea—Charles Dunham, a real estate agent, was one of many Chicagoans who believed that “the radio broadcasting of the Loeb and Leopold case would result in a great benefit to the public. The more publicity given this, the direst of all known murder cases, the less chance of its being repeated”—but public opinion was overwhelmingly opposed to radio broadcasts of the trial. Chicagoans had learned enough about the murder to realize that Nathan and Richard were lovers and that either one or both of the killers might have abused the corpse. No parent could reliably prevent his or her children from learning the sordid, vulgar details if the trial were broadcast, and as a consequence, the
Tribune
, to its surprise, was put on the defensive. The newspaper belatedly explained that a censor would prevent the transmission of salacious testimony: “there will be no filth…. A man with an electric push button, sitting in the courtroom while the trial is in progress, will accomplish this result. A movement of his finger tip will cut the microphone from the sending apparatus”—but organized opposition from civic organizations and religious congregations grew to a crescendo. Pearl Hart, the president of the Women’s Bar Association of Illinois, reported her members’ opposition; Benjamin Cox, a prominent scoutmaster with the Wilmette troop, warned that the broadcasts would degrade his boys; Asa Ferry, pastor of the Edgewater Presbyterian Church, complained that far too much information about the murder had already been made public; Francis Wilson, a judge on the Circuit Court, claimed that the law would be brought into disrepute; and F. C. Erselen, president of the Garrett Biblical Institute, lambasted the
Tribune
for its irresponsible suggestion.
⁶⁵

A regional meeting of the Methodist Church, at Des Plaines, northwest of Chicago, adopted a resolution against transmission of the trial. Thomas Holgate, the president of the Chicago Church Federation, an influential alliance of denominations in Cook County, issued a statement condemning the proposed radio broadcasts as immoral: “Our homes should not be placed under the necessity of protecting themselves against the demoralizing influences certain to follow such an exposition of youthful depravity…. It is not in the public interest that the details of a trial should go before all the people, and especially before the children in our homes. It is sufficient that the court and the jury hear the evidence and that the public should know the verdict.”
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On 18 July, Clarence Darrow announced his opposition to the proposal as prejudicial to the interests of his clients and hinted that he would appeal an unfavorable verdict if the microphone was allowed into the courtroom. Influential members of the Cook County judiciary endorsed Darrow’s position the following day. Phillip L. Sullivan, a judge on the Superior Court, stated that allowing broadcasters to transmit the trial would be tantamount to presenting the proceedings as entertainment. The
Chicago Daily Tribune
had argued that radio broadcasts of the trial would give the public an enlarged respect for judicial authority. The
Tribune
had also claimed that the public would gain an awareness of the constitutional intricacies of the criminal law and, through an appreciation of courtroom procedure, would put a greater value on the legal system. But, Sullivan countered, it was more probable that the radio broadcasts would have the opposite effect. Legal wrangling in the courtroom was not always as dignified as one might suppose—theoretical disquisition on abstract points of law was often conspicuously absent; crude banter between opposing attorneys was a more typical feature of the proceedings. Public familiarity with the courtroom, Sullivan believed, would breed contempt, and to present the proceedings in a medium—radio—customarily associated with entertainment would invite disrespect for the law. Any judge who allowed the microphone into his courtroom, Sullivan predicted, would bring on himself the censure of the state supreme court. “The Illinois Supreme Court has already reversed the decision in one case where a judge converted a trial into a show…. How much more true if broadcasting of the proceedings were permitted?”
⁶⁷

Not even the
Chicago Daily Tribune
could ignore the groundswell of opposition. On 19 July, the newspaper quietly abandoned its plan. There would be no broadcast on station WGN or on any other radio station.

P
UBLIC DISCUSSION OF THE UPCOMING
trial now shifted once more to a debate over the defense strategy. John Caverly would convene his court on Monday, 21 July, to listen to the attorneys argue motions that they wished to present. Would Clarence Darrow then submit a motion to the court? Was it certain, for example, that Darrow’s clients would plead not guilty by reason of insanity? Darrow had stated several times in public that Nathan and Richard were insane. Did such pronouncements reliably indicate the defense strategy, or was Darrow preparing to spring a surprise on the court?

He might, for example, plausibly argue a motion to exclude evidence on the basis that it had been illegally obtained. Nathan and Richard had confessed to the murder during their first weekend in the custody of the state’s attorney, and perhaps Crowe had obtained the confessions through intimidation or violence.

Darrow could also ask the judge to appoint a special commission to determine that the defendants were insane. The results of an insanity hearing might abrogate the need for a trial; if the commission decided that Nathan and Richard were insane, Caverly could, on his own initiative, send them to an asylum.

It was also possible, but unlikely, that the defense would ask the court to try each defendant separately. But Darrow had already expressed his belief that the killing was a consequence of each defendant’s influencing the other; an idiosyncratic combination of two individuals had produced the murder. There was no indication, therefore, that the defense would argue for a severance.

Nor was it likely that Darrow would ask the judge to delay the opening of the trial beyond 4 August, the assigned starting date. Caverly’s term as chief justice of the Criminal Court would expire at the end of August. If the defense requested a continuance, the new chief justice, Jacob Hopkins, might assign a different judge to hear the case. But Caverly was one of the more liberal justices on the court; he had never voluntarily sentenced a defendant to death; and it would be foolish for the defense to request a delay that might remove him from the case.

Darrow might also present a motion to remove the case from the Cook County Criminal Court. Almost immediately after the kidnapping, Nathan had driven the rental car across the state line into Indiana. Perhaps Bobby Franks had died outside Illinois; and perhaps, therefore, the murder did not fall within the jurisdiction of the Cook County court. But Darrow had already declared that he would not ask for a change of venue, and Crowe, in any case, could still charge Leopold and Loeb with kidnapping, a capital offense in Illinois, and hope to obtain a hanging verdict.
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O
N
T
HURSDAY,
17 J
ULY,
three men met with Darrow in his office downtown. Walter Bachrach was the only one of the three to know the purpose of their meeting; James Whitney Hall, a consulting psychiatrist on the defense team, was curious to learn what Darrow had to say; and Jacob Loeb also wondered why Darrow had suddenly convened their meeting that evening in his rooms on Dearborn Street.

Darrow swore all three to secrecy. His strategy depended for its success on its surprise. Not one word should reach the state’s attorney’s office.

The insanity defense would not work, Darrow explained. They could never obtain a jury that would find Nathan and Richard insane; it would be futile to make the attempt. They would go down to certain defeat. Nor would he attempt to delay the trial by a procedural motion—any attempt to challenge the validity of the confessions would certainly fail, and a motion for a change of venue would only postpone the inevitable. It would be futile also to ask the judge to convene an insanity hearing, Darrow continued; neither Nathan nor Richard was legally insane.