by Simon Baatz
49
Nathan was devastated--his closest companion, his most intimate friend, was to leave Chicago for Ann Arbor! He would lose Richard-- perhaps forever! In his desperation, Nathan announced that he too would transfer to Michigan; and so, in September 1921, both boys prepared for the journey eastward.
Nothing went right for Nathan that fall. He contracted scarlet fever shortly before the start of the semester and arrived on campus only after the beginning of classes. In October his mother, Florence, finally died, succumbing to an illness that had persisted for many years. Nathan had grown close to his mother during his adolescence, and her death was a bitter blow that hardened his cynicism and mistrust; how could there be a God, he reasoned, who would allow the death of such a loving, sweet mother? Nathan remained in Chicago until Yom Kippur so as to attend the memorial service for his mother, and when he returned to the university, he discovered that Richard no longer cared to continue their friendship. On 17 October Richard had passed for pledgeship at Zeta Beta Tau fraternity. Members of the fraternity had cautioned him, however, that he had been seen too frequently in the company of Nathan Leopold, a suspected homosexual. Such an association would surely torpedo his chances of election--better, they advised him, that if he hoped to join Zeta Beta Tau, he should entirely cut Leopold.
50
Nothing could have given Nathan more pain that to realize that Richard had abandoned him for new friends at Zeta Beta Tau. Nathan led a solitary existence at Ann Arbor, eating his meals alone or with one or two other Jewish boys, who, like himself, had neither enthusiasm nor aptitude for fraternity life. He spent most of his time immersed in his studies; he earned good grades, but there was now little reason for him to remain at the university and so, in fall 1922, Nathan transferred back to the University of Chicago.
51
It was an auspicious move. Nathan's final year at Chicago was a time of self-realization, when he was able to break free of Richard's inf luence. He began to seek out friends and to develop extracurricular
6 . IL CIRCOLO ITALIANO. Members of Il Circolo Italiano, an undergraduate group at the University of Chicago for the study of Italian culture, pose for their 1923 yearbook photograph. Nathan Leopold, holding his hat, is standing in the front row.
interests. Il Circolo Italiano, an undergraduate society devoted to the study of Italian culture, had been established on the campus the previous year; Nathan quickly became one of the group's most enthusiastic members, serving on committees, speaking in the discussions, and helping to organize joint meetings with the French and Spanish clubs.
52
The Undergraduate Classical Club, another literary society, had been a fixture on the Chicago campus for at least a decade but by 1922 there were only twenty-five members, most of them women studying Latin or classical Greek at the university. Despite its small size, the Classical Club was one of the liveliest literary groups at Chicago, sponsoring talks by faculty members in a room lent by the classics department, organizing dinners, and staging a production of
Iphigeneia in Tauris. It seemed appropriate that Nathan, who could both speak and write Latin and Greek, should join the Classical Club on his return to the university in September 1922. Such literary societies were intellectual oases at a campus where few undergraduates cared a great deal for academic achievement; and Nathan enjoyed the sense of exclusiveness that the fortnightly meetings conferred on the members.53
No other student at the University of Chicago performed so brilliantly in his studies during that academic year as Nathan Leopold. In autumn 1922, he earned an A-minus in Latin, A in classical Greek, A in Romance languages, A-minus in Russian, and A-minus in Sanskrit. The following quarter, in winter 1923, he took four courses for credit-- earning an A in philosophy, A-minus in sociology, A in modern Greek, and A in classical Sanskrit--and he audited a reading course on Cervantes's
Don Quixote of La Mancha in the Romance languages department. It might have seemed foolhardy to take so many courses--the normal course load at Chicago was three courses each quarter--but Nathan had surpassed all expectations.54
Nathan had distinguished himself as a philologist and linguist, proving worthy of election to Phi Beta Kappa, one of only fifteen students from the university to receive that honor in 1923. But his aptitude for languages was not his only talent. Ornithology was still an avocation for Nathan, something he pursued in his spare time. On weekends, if he had nothing better to do, he would drive to the Forest Preserve, south of Chicago, to the marshland around Wolf Lake, near the Indiana state line, in pursuit of new bird species to add to his collection. Ornithology was a hobby, nothing more, yet so proficient had he become in his studies that during his final year at the University of Chicago, Nathan was able to prepare two scientific papers for publication in
The Auk, the leading journal for professional ornithologists in the United States.55
During his year at the University of Michigan, Nathan had made field trips to the northern part of the state to observe the Kirtland's Warbler, a rare, finchlike bird that laid its eggs in ground nests among the jack pines common to northern Michigan. The Kirtland's Warbler had been seen only infrequently within the United States, and in the 1920s it seemed destined for extinction. Nathan's account of its nesting habits, which appeared in
The Auk early in 1924, was a model of detailed observation; and together with an earlier article by Nathan on bird migration and instinct, it earned its author instant recognition among professional ornithologists.56
Nathan had redeemed himself. His stellar academic record during his final year at Chicago, his election to Phi Beta Kappa, and his successful graduation, one year ahead of his class, amounted to a fulfillment of the promise made to his mother, before her death eighteen months earlier, that he would distinguish himself at the university. That spring, shortly before his graduation, Nathan decided on the law as his profession; he planned to enroll at the University of Chicago law school in the fall.
Richard Loeb also graduated-- from the University of Michigan--in 1923. By his own admission he had coasted along, always taking the easy option and doing the minimal amount of work. Yet he had achieved satisfactory grades in his senior year--A in Euro
pean history, A in American history, B in political economy, B in philosophy, B in zoology--and when he received his degree, still a few weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday, he was the youngest graduate in the history of the University of Michigan.57
7 . NATHAN (BABE) LEOPOLD. Born
19 November 1904, Leopold attended the Douglas School (1912-1915) and the Harvard School for Boys (1915-1920) before graduating from the University of Chicago in March 1923 at age
eighteen.
It was an accomplishment that spoke more for the ambition of his governess, Emily Struthers, than for Richard's intellectual ability. Richard had never fulfilled the promise with which, four years earlier, Emily had endowed him; and his seeming triumph in graduating at such a young age obscured a darker reality. His university career had been lackluster; he had never joined any of the many student societies or participated in any extracurricular activities. Richard had never tried out for any of the sports teams or volunteered his services for a student publication or joined a debating society or discussion club. He had attended lectures desultorily, preferring to spend his time hanging around the fraternity house on Washtenaw Road, playing cards, reading dime novels, gossiping idly with friends--he seemed, even to his fraternity brothers, to have lost any will to do very much with his life. And Richard had taken to drink; he was so often drunk, even in the early afternoon, that it was sometimes difficult to tell when he was ever sober. There was something childlike in Richard's mannerisms and behavior: in conversation he could often seem quite normal, even serious, but without any warning, he might suddenly break off a topic and talk in an irritatingly frivolous, infantile manner. Upperclassmen were supposed to set an example for the freshmen and sophomores, but Richard's eccentricities had become too embarrassing
even for his fraternity brothers, and in his senior year the executive committee of the fraternity formally censured him for his drunkenness and suspended his privileges as an upperclassman.
58
It was a pitiable conclusion to an inglorious year. He had received his degree but he had neither chosen a career nor made plans for the future. But Richard had always enjoyed studying history--it was the one subject that had caught his interest at Michigan--and so, in September 1923, he returned to the University of Chicago for graduate work, taking a course in American constitutional history during the autumn quarter.
Nathan Leopold was also at Chicago that fall. He also had received his degree earlier that year, and with his customary energy, he was taking four law courses that quarter. Nathan and Richard renewed their acquaintance in September 1923, and very quickly Nathan succumbed, once again, to Richard's charm. How, indeed, could he have resisted? Richard was too too handsome for Nathan not to fall in love a second time, and Richard was sexually complaisant, willing to indulge Nathan's desires. To his friends, Richard would boast of his sexual conquests; he claimed to have many girlfriends among the coeds on the Chicago campus but, in truth, sex was only moderately pleasurable. "I could," he confessed, "get along easily without it. The actual sex act is rather unimportant to me." His indifference toward sex usually (but not always) translated into acquiescence whenever Nathan importuned him so passionately-- why refuse when it mattered so little one way or the other?
59
Nathan's devotion f lattered and pleased him. True, Nathan was annoyingly egotistical--he had an irritating habit of bragging about his supposed accomplishments; and it quickly became tiresome to listen to Nathan's empty, untrue boast that he could speak fifteen languages. Nathan also, in Richard's opinion, had a tedious obsession with the philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche; he would talk endlessly about the mythical superman who, because he was a superman, stood outside the law, beyond any moral code that might constrain the actions of ordinary men. Even murder, Nathan claimed, was an acceptable act for a superman to commit if the deed gave him pleasure. Morality did not apply in such a case, Nathan asserted. The only consideration that mattered was whether it afforded the superman pleasure--everything else faded into insignificance.
60
It was not that Richard had any moral objection to murder; he too had only contempt for conventional morality. But Nathan was full of pretense, forever prating on about his intellectual superiority, forever sneering at the rest of humanity as dolts who obeyed the laws that he, Nathan, affected to disregard. Nathan's braggadocio, with its exaggerated self-regard and its casual dismissal of others, seemed spoken as though for effect, as though designed to shock whoever heard it into granting Nathan the respect that had always been denied him. There was an angry edge to Nathan's words; it betrayed the bitterness--hidden beneath his calm, equable manner of speaking--with which he remembered the taunts he had endured as a child and the loneliness he had experienced as an adolescent.
But Richard, nevertheless, was glad to have Nathan as a companion. There was no pleasure in committing crimes alone. He had to have a confederate who would appreciate his careful planning and preparation; Nathan's admiration made it all worthwhile. And Richard had been thinking, ever since he had returned to Chicago in fall 1923, how to commit the perfect crime. He had vaguely thought of it as a kidnapping, of a young child perhaps, and there should, of course, be a ransom demand as an essential part of the plot. Richard knew that to obtain the ransom and yet still avoid capture would present a challenge that would surely tax even his ingenuity and guile--but even now, as he thought of it with anticipation, it excited and aroused him.61
3PLANNING THE MURDER Saturday, 10 November 1923-Tuesday, 20 May 1924
A superman . . . is, on account of certain superior qualities inherent in him, exempted from the ordinary laws which govern men. He is not liable for anything he may do.
1Nathan Leopold Jr., 10 October 1923
The football players representing the United States Marine Corps had arrived the previous day--Friday, 9 November--to an official reception from the city of Ann Arbor, and that Saturday morning, five special trains had arrived from Quantico with 2,000 marines and a military band in support of their team against the University of Michigan. The streets of Ann Arbor were packed with jostling crowds, eager to see the game. Blue and maize--the colors of the university--were everywhere: Michigan's supporters waved their pennants and f lags enthusiastically in anticipation of an easy victory over the Devil Dogs.
2
Forty-five thousand spectators crammed into Ferry Field. The University of Michigan stadium had opened in 1906, only seventeen years earlier, yet already it was too small to accommodate the crowds that f locked to the football games on Saturday afternoons. At the east end, on either side of the new field house, the university had recently installed temporary wooden bleachers, but still spectators overf lowed the benches and spilled into the aisles.
Marion Burton, the president of the university, and Fielding Yost, the director of athletics, were both present to welcome their guests. Henry Ford had driven from Detroit to watch the game. Both Alex Groesbeck, the governor of the state, and James Couzens, the Republican senator for Michigan, were in attendance. Edwin C. Denby, secretary of the navy, and his assistant, Theodore Roosevelt Jr., sat on the opposite side of the field among the supporters of the Marine Corps. John Archer Lejeune, the marine commandant, had made the journey from Quantico to support his troops. It would be a difficult game for the Marine Corps, they realized; Michigan was undefeated, having already, that fall, vanquished Ohio State, Michigan Agricultural College, Vanderbilt University, the Case School of Applied Science, and the University of Iowa. True, the university would be missing some of its key players: Ed Vandervoort, the right tackle, had been injured in the Iowa game the previous week, and both Stan Muirhead, the left tackle, and Louis Curran, the right end, were unwell. But Michigan was a powerful team, nevertheless, and most experts predicted that the Wolverines would win the Big Ten conference that year.
3
Against all expectations, the first quarter belonged to the marines. Their quarterback, Frank Goettge, played brilliantly. The Michigan defense did all it could against the run, but to no avail, allowing the Devil Dogs to march uncontested seventy-five yards downfield for a touchdown.
The crowd was shocked into silence. No one that season, not even Ohio State, had scored against the Wolverines at Ferry Field. Who would have expected the unheralded Marine Corps to have scored a touchdown before Michigan had even put points on the board?
But Irwin Uteritz, the Michigan quarterback, soon asserted control over the game and in the second quarter, the tide began to turn in Michigan's favor. Michigan repeatedly found holes in the marines' defense; Herb Steger, the Michigan right half back, had an outstanding game and, on those few occasions when the Wolverines did give up the ball, Harry Kipke's punting pinned the Devil Dogs back to their goal line again and again. Michigan scored four touchdowns and made two conversions while the Marine Corps failed to score a second time; the final tally was 26-6. Michigan remained undefeated.
4
That night the Michigan students packed the f raternit y houses to celebrate their victory. Only two more games remained--an easy game the following Saturday against the University of Wisconsin and the final contest of the season against the University of Illinois--and already there was talk on the campus that this would be a championship year. The celebrations continued through the evening, past midnight, but by two o'clock the campus was deserted. The football crowds had long ago left Ann Arbor; the students were now sleeping off their intoxication in the dormitories; nothing broke the silence of the night.
At three o'clock that Sunday morning, a red Willys-Knight sports car, with distinctive nickel bumpers and disk wheels, drew up by the side of Zeta Beta Tau fraternity. Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb stepped wearily from the car and stretched their legs--it had been a long drive, al
most six hours, from Chicago to Ann Arbor.
Richard and Nathan each held a f lashlight in one hand, and each boy carried a loaded revolver in the pocket of his jacket. They cautiously approached the Zeta Beta Tau building, a large, three-story mansion set back from the street, and walked up the path to the front door. It had been Richard's fraternity during his junior and senior years at the university; it would be a challenge, he had suggested to Nathan, to burglarize his old fraternity house. Admittedly, someone might recognize him--he had graduated from the university that year--but he could explain their presence at Zeta Beta Tau by claiming that they had come up to Ann Arbor for the football game.
5
The front door of the fraternity swung open at their touch. Inside, beer bottles and beer mugs stood empty on the tables; ashtrays overf lowed with cigarette butts. On a side table, empty bottles of gin and whiskey stood stacked like soldiers. Nathan could see that someone had left a football program on the table; it was now soaked with beer.
8 . ZETA BETA TAU fraternity house. Jewish students at the University of
Michigan established the Phi chapter of Zeta Beta Tau in 1912. The building on
Washtenaw Road, shown here, was constructed for the fraternity and first occupied in 1922.
Nathan and Richard paused in the center of the room and listened for sounds from the f loor above. It was quiet; nothing moved. Carefully they went up the stairs. There was a coatroom, Richard remembered, on the second f loor. Sure enough, several students had left their jackets and overcoats hanging in the large closet.
6
They searched through the coats. One forgetful student had left his wallet in his jacket. Richard took out the money--almost fifty dollars. Nathan also discovered some loose bills--about twenty dollars. There were penknives, some watches, and several fountain pens but not much else.
