Although several of the defendants had private attorneys, John Engle was selected to present the opening rebuttal. In marked contrast to McArdle, Engle had the blood of central Kansas in his veins. His suit was the color of earth, basic brown, and his shoes were so recognizable in farm country that you could almost hear people look at them and murmur, “I’m Buster Brown, I live in a shoe.” He knew the men on trial, and he knew their ancestors and all their neighbors and how they lived their lives. His voice started slow, as if carrying the weight of truth, as if he knew that this brave jury would never convict anybody for protecting the community from a misfit. He began with the town.
“Your Honor, members of the jury, this is a good and decent community, where people praise the work of the Lord, and spend their days in honest labor. The people of Nickerly immigrated to this great state from Europe, or from the East, in search of religious freedom, the freedom to raise their families in a God-fearing atmosphere where citizens respect each other. We respect each other’s property, their person, their right to live and pursue a meaningful life. These are a people bonded together against the elements of nature, against the tyranny of evil in all its manifestations. And that’s what happened in this case. We will show that no harm was done to Margaret Chambers; and that this community stood up for its values and principles.
“We will show that the events described by the prosecution were harmlessly carried out and that they expressed the will of the community. The county attorney himself has stated that Nickerly was a God-fearing community trying to protect its children from the moral degradation of their schoolteacher.
“We will show that several of the defendants were not even on the road to Twelve Mile Run on the night in question, and still others had no participation whatsoever in the events of that evening.
“We will show that these upstanding citizens of Nickerly—the miller, the quarry owner, the restaurant owner, our minister’s son, and our best farmers—are not guilty of any crime. They were protecting the community. They should not be prosecuted. They should be honored.
“And finally, we will ask the jury to set these men free so they can return to their families and return to the betterment of Nickerly and the State of Kansas.”
It was not a particularly long or stirring rebuttal, but the people in the courtroom murmured their approval. John Engle thought the jury would agree. But he hedged his bets. He did not attack Margaret with specific charges of misconduct, he did not claim the incident never took place, and he avoided inflaming the audience with accusations. In the back of his mind was the knowledge that Margaret Chambers had contacted a lawyer in Kansas City about the possibility of filing charges for civil damages once the trial was over. If the defendants were acquitted, she could battle on. She intended to win either way, John Engle thought, and she was a very smart girl.
The next morning’s Kansas City Star carried the prosecutor’s opening statement almost verbatim. Little mention was made of the defense.
After hearing Mr. Engle’s opening statement, McArdle made a quick strategy change and called Jay Langston as his first witness. He would make it clear at the outset these boys were not avenging angels, and the words would come straight from the minister’s own son.
McArdle led Jay Langston through a series of questions that established his identity, portraying Jay as a fervent religious disciple of his father’s teachings. Jay was obviously uncomfortable with the description, but he couldn’t deny his own father, and besides, his own lawyer had suggested a religious defense. By the time McArdle asked for a description of the tarring and feathering, Jay was very uneasy, not quite sure how to present himself.
“After you talked to Forchet, what happened?” McArdle asked.
“I went back to the mill and told Ed that Herbie would get the girl for them.”
Jay explained, “Some of the boys in town had heard of the plans. We gathered at the mill. We decided to wear masks and Club and Piney were selected to hold the buggy up. We were a little late getting to the place, and when the buggy appeared, we had the tar ready and held her up. Forchet jumped out of the buggy and hid. Then we did it. That’s about all.”
“Were all of the defendants there?” McArdle asked, realizing he was going to have to lead Langston through the details.
“No,” Jay said. “Some of them were walking, and some were on motorcycles, and they were late.”
“Did you have anything on besides your ordinary clothing?” McArdle asked.
“I had a handkerchief around my face,” Jay said.
“What were the others wearing?”
“Ed Garvey had a bag over his head,” Jay responded. “Club had a gunny sack over his head. Piney was wearing some kind of apron.”
“What about Easy Tucker? What was he wearing?”
“Easy had on Tiny’s fishing bonnet,” Jay said, “and one of her dresses. The flowered one.”
“Tell me about what these men did to Margaret Chambers after they took her off the buggy,” McArdle continued.
“They took her back behind the buggy to the side of the road.”
“Then what did they do?”
“They sat her down on the ground.”
“In a sitting position, was it?”
“Well, I don’t know as to that. I couldn’t hardly tell from where I was.”
“You were around in front of the horses?”
“No, sir. I was around to the north side at the time.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I was holding the gun on Forchet.”
“Was it a toy gun?”
“No. It was real.”
“Did Ed Garvey say anything to you?”
“He said to hold the gun on Forchet.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, Easy took the tar while the other two held Margaret.”
“Where did he get it?”
“Out of the buggy.”
“Then what was done?”
“As near as I could see they went to putting the tar on her.”
“On what part of her body did they put the tar?”
“On her lower limbs, as near as I could tell, and her chest.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Easy walked off so I poured more tar on her. Then someone threw the feathers.”
McArdle stopped for emphasis, to let the courtroom catch up with the questioning. He paced back and forth twice in front of the judge, as if pondering his next question, giving it gravity.
“Mr. Langston,” he said for added importance, “isn’t it true that you pulled down Miss Chambers’ undergarments and applied the tar to her lower limbs?”
Jay was stunned. He couldn’t believe he was being forced to describe this act in front of his father. He looked at the floor, even as he heard the commotion throughout the courtroom.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
McArdle paused again, and then continued, “Who threw the feathers?”
“I don’t know. One of the boys from the wagon.”
“Did Miss Chambers say anything during all this, or make any sounds when they took her?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What?”
“She asked what they were going to do with her.”
“That was before the events you described, when she was in the buggy?”
“Yes.”
“Did she make any sounds after she was taken from the buggy?” “She said, ‘Oh, oh. Herb,’ as near as I could hear.”
“Did she call loud?”
“Yes. Rather loud.”
“How did she get back in the buggy?”
“We put her there,” Langston said in a low voice. He had gone over this scene many times in his mind, but in the privacy of his own soul this scene was carried out with a sort of missionary zeal, a sense of righteous indignation, that somehow W.W. McArdle had stripped away. For the first time, Jay felt the shame of it all. He left the witness stand without looking at his friends or his
family.
The next witness was Herbert Forchet, by now a sniveling little man in the eyes of his former friends. McArdle led him through the events of the evening. Herbie’s account at the scene didn’t add much of value because he was hiding in the ditch, crouching among the shoestring and ironweed. He couldn’t really see. When Herbie was done testifying, he was led out of the courtroom by sheriff’s deputies amid muffled whispers of “shame, shame.” He never looked up.
Everyone in Kansas knew that Margaret Chambers would take the stand the next day. Even the two local newspapers, while not reporting on the actual trial, did mention that certain Chambers relatives arrived in Nickerly for the testimony of Miss Chambers and would be staying with friends of the family. The Adeline Hotel was fully booked for the week, and the front parlor had been transformed into a bar where strangers, patrons, and Nickerly residents alike could gather after dinner to discuss the trial. The revelers were mostly men because minors had been barred from the trial by Judge Crier, and the Civic Improvement Association had decreed that no self-respecting woman of Nickerly would attend such a spectacle. None had so far. Although women and children had gathered outside the courthouse to see who was attending, and to show their displeasure to Margaret and her family, they believed that listening to the sordid testimony of the trial would be sinful. According to Temple Dandridge, more than two thousand people had gathered outside the courthouse. The gathering reminded him of “a convention of the old Populist political party.” Politicians stood about in groups, watching their constituents flock in from all over the county. Solicitors, photographers, the idle and the curious, all contributed to the strange scene.
Except for Margaret’s mother, no women were in the courtroom on the day of Margaret’s testimony. Margaret sat impassively as the courtroom filled to beyond its capacity, with spectators standing around the edges of the rows and crowded onto the benches. At one point an elderly man in overalls with a long brown beard and wire-rimmed glasses made it to the front of the courtroom. Then seeing no empty seats, and all the aisles blocked, he simply sat down on the steps leading up to the judge’s dais. As Judge Crier entered, a bailiff helped the old man to his feet, escorted him toward the door, and told him to wait outside, then closed the heavy hasp and padlock on the swinging doors so no one could enter without permission.
W.W. McArdle took his usual spot in front of the prosecution table, turned directly to the jury because he wanted to see their faces, and called his first witness of the day. Temple Dandridge later wrote in the Star, “When she was called, Miss Chambers rose unsteadily, her hand upon her mother’s shoulder, and ascended the steps to the witness box. She faced the defendants while the oath was being administered; her eyes wandered over the faces of the attorneys, defendants, and men at the press tables.”
McArdle paced to give Margaret time to compose herself. During those few minutes she placed her gloved hands together in her lap, raised her chin almost imperceptibly, and looked confidently about the room.
The county attorney took her through the details of her family and where they lived, her education and where she taught school, her phone call from Herbert Forchet, and where he took her. Then he came to the crux of the matter.
“Now,” McArdle said, “you may tell what occurred when you arrived at the top of the hill.”
“Five masked men came out of the hedge and stopped the buggy. Two of them pointed revolvers at us.”
“Forchet?”
“Herbie was pulled out of the buggy on his side. Two of the men took me out of the buggy, and I was carried around behind it, where they threw me down in the road.”
“Then what?”
“They raised my clothing and rubbed tar all over the lower part of my body and lower limbs.”
“How many men took part in lifting you out of the buggy?”
“Two.”
“Masked?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you recognize any of these men?”
“No, sir.”
“How long were they in taking you out of the buggy, throwing you down, and rubbing the tar on your body?”
“About ten minutes.”
“How did you get back into the buggy?”
“I don’t know.”
“I will ask you if you were made lame by being thrown down?” McArdle continued.
“My back and body hurt for more than two weeks after that,” Margaret said.
“And you cannot tell who helped you back into the buggy?”
“No, sir.”
“When you got home, did you speak to any of your family?”
“No. I went around the house to the barn. I didn’t want my mother to see me.”
“Why not?”
“The tar was all over me. I just couldn’t face her.”
“You may tell us to what extent your clothing was daubed with that tar.”
“All around.”
“Was your outer dress daubed with it?”
“Yes, my dress was daubed with it.”
“Tell us the condition of your waist.”
“It was a one-piece dress,” Margaret said. “It was tarred all down the skirt, and the waist was tarred all around.”
“What underclothing did you have on?”
“I had on two underskirts and a union suit.”
“What was the condition of your corset?”
“The corset was tarred all around.”
“You may state whether this tar was rubbed onto your body and lower limbs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Margaret, I have to ask you this,” W.W. said with effect. “Did these men rip your clothes and expose your naked body?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did they touch your naked body?” W.W. asked gently.
Margaret did not immediately answer. She shivered slightly, clasped her hands together for strength, and answered in a steady voice, “Yes, they did.”
McArdle said nothing. He stood looking directly at Margaret, as if directing the gaze of the courtroom. He gave the jury enough time to fully absorb the implications of her answer, then paced across the room and resumed questioning.
“What did you do with your ruined clothing? You did not keep it to show to the prosecuting authorities, did you?”
“No. My father burned it.”
“Do you mean to say your father burned all the ruined clothing?” “No. There was a handkerchief I used to rub off my hands while going home in the buggy.”
“Would you recognize that handkerchief again if you should see it?”
“I will remember how it looked all my life.”
“Is this it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If the court please, the state will now introduce this handkerchief in evidence,” McArdle said. The defense’s objections were in vain.
The county attorney wrapped up his questioning of Margaret Chambers by asking her about the somewhat elusive motives of the tar party. None of the defendants could actually come up with a specific charge against Margaret Chambers. The charge that Miss Chambers had lost her license to teach in neighboring Saline County had been proven false even before the trial began, when the Saline superintendent of schools sent a letter to the Nickerly county attorney and the Kansas City Star saying Miss Chambers had never had a license in that county. That left them with the charge that Miss Chambers was sweet on the Swenson boy. W.W. McArdle had gone to the Swenson farm to interview the boy, and found him to be a lad of such innocence that even the question of relations with his teacher sent him to his mother’s apron, asking her the meaning of “relations.” McArdle was convinced that whatever the boy’s fantasies, he simply didn’t have the courage or understanding to carry them out, and whatever Margaret’s fantasies, this boy could not have kept it secret or have handled its emotional effects. The more the young man proclaimed his innocence in the midst of tearful answers, the more McArdle realized that he could not put the young man on the witness stand. But he had to a
sk Margaret.
“Miss Chambers,” he began, “have you ever seduced one of your students?”
The courtroom gasped and seemed to hold its air in, as if no one would ever breathe again until the answer was heard.
Margaret was ready. “No,” she said in a strong voice, her eyes glued to the county attorney. “I have never seduced a student. I have never harmed a student in any way.”
She paused to let the answer sink in, then couldn’t resisting adding, “That is just vicious gossip by the women of this town.”
Almost as an exclamation point, the courtroom started to buzz. They were leaning over, whispering to each other about which women Margaret Chambers was referring to, when McArdle quickly said, “Thank you, Miss Chambers,” and helped Margaret down the steps.
The trial moved rather quickly through the defendants. Some of them were called to testify about their own participation and whether they could implicate others. Langston, Garvey, Wilson, and Woods all admitted to their participation in the tarring and feathering, but pleaded for mitigation on the grounds that they were upholding community morals. They hadn’t hurt Miss Chambers; she couldn’t even produce the dress to show damages, and their only purpose was to deliver a message on behalf of the community. The other defendants claimed not to be a part of the tarring, although they were in the bushes watching or sitting on their motorcycles. The three men walking up the road to Twelve Mile Run as Forchet and Margaret galloped home claimed their innocence because they were too late to witness the tar party. They admitted wanting to be there but claimed no participation.
As the last day of the trial opened, and County Attorney McArdle was about to start his summation, John Engle rose to inform the bench that four of his defendants wanted to change their plea to guilty. Once again the court was thrown into turmoil. The first defendant to stand and say he was guilty was Ed Garvey. Garvey had vowed to fight the charges to the bitter end, but after hearing the testimony, he knew that public opinion had turned against him. His father had to agree. By most accounts, Ed Jr. was considered the instigator of the whole affair.
Esther's Pillow Page 16
