by Simon Baatz
Walter Bachrach paused and glanced brief ly across the aisle to look at the cluster of psychiatrists sitting behind the prosecution lawyers. He smiled brief ly--almost imperceptibly--as he noticed William Krohn seated directly behind Robert Crowe. Bachrach now leaned forward slightly to pick up a book that had been lying on the table before him. He began, with steady deliberation, as the courtroom waited to hear his words, to leaf through its pages. He resumed speaking. The symptoms of a paranoid psychosis, so conspicuous in Nathan Leopold, were, Bachrach stated, elegantly described by William Krohn and Douglas Singer in their recent book,
Insanity and Law: A Treatise on Forensic Psychiatry. Bachrach turned to page sixty-eight and started to read: " 'The essence of the paranoid personality is an exaggerated appreciation of self. Everything that happens is considered in relation to the effects it has on the self, and there is a corresponding diminution in the sentiments of altruism and gregariousness. . . . The man is a dominant aggressive person, anxious to be in the forefront and careless of the feelings and interests of others. He takes life seriously, works hard, and with purpose.' " Was that not an accurate description of Nathan? asked Bachrach. " 'He is always sure of himself, is satisfied with his own views and constantly endeavors to impose them on others. . . . Naturally, he is not popular and he does not make friends though he may have many acquaintances. . . . He prides himself on his intelligence and control of emotions, and, as a matter of fact, reasons logically and connectedly.' "19
William Krohn, in his testimony for the state, had claimed that Nathan had shown no evidence of mental disease during the examination in the office of the state's attorney. Nathan had expressed himself in a logical and coherent manner with no long pauses or inappropriate gestures such as one might see in a person suffering from neurological disease. Yet--Bachrach now asked--was such external normality in speech and gesture necessarily a sign of mental health; or could a mentally ill individual nevertheless speak and talk in an apparently normal manner? Bachrach turned to page seventy-four and began to read, again, from Krohn's description of a paranoid personality: " 'Throughout, the intelligence remains intact; perception is clear and there is no disorientation in the narrower sense of this term. Memory is good, in spite of the falsifications in meaning and context that have been mentioned. The man remains in contact with reality, active, alert and interested and there is no tendency to deterioration or dementia. Hallucinations are unusual, though they may occur during periods of marked excitement.' "
20
Once again Bachrach looked brief ly across the courtroom at Krohn. He then turned, with a slightly supercilious expression, to look directly at the judge. "Now there, if your honor please," Bachrach said, "you have a statement of Drs. Singer and Krohn which in effect destroys their testimony as given here in the court; the testimony of Dr. Krohn that he based his judgment as to the absence of mental disease of Leopold, upon his memory, his logical processes and his orientation, and his senses, are all shown by his own book to be no evidence that a mental disease did not exist at all."
21
The state's claim that Nathan was normal was contradicted by the diagnosis of paranoid psychosis presented in
Insanity and Law. And what about Richard Loeb? Was the state's evidence with regard to Richard also undermined by Krohn's book?
Richard was a schizophrenic, Bachrach explained. During his puberty and adolescence, Richard had displayed a progressive loss of contact with reality, a failure to function in everyday life, and a disintegration of personality. He believed himself to be a master criminal, capable of leading other criminals in the organization of perfect crimes. The fantasy was deeply rooted in his psyche; it had been a feature of his everyday thoughts for at least six years--perhaps longer-- and showed no sign of diminution. On the contrary; Richard had attempted to translate his wish into reality, stealing cars, burning down outhouses, robbing private homes, and finally killing a fourteen-yearold boy. Even now, Bachrach continued, he was obsessed with the image of himself as a criminal, standing alone in a prison cell, while spectators looked on with a mixture of pity and admiration.
William Krohn, testifying as a witness for the state, had denied, of course, that Richard suffered in any degree from mental illness. The boy was intelligent, lucid, and coherent in his manner and expression and could not be mentally diseased. But what, Bachrach asked, as, once again, he picked up the book that lay before him on the defense table, had Krohn written in
Insanity and Law? " 'The intelligence of schizophrenic persons,' " Bachrach read, " 'is usually good and is often above the average. . . . Typically, perception and the formation of memories with clear grasp and orientation are fully up to the average. . . . The trouble lies not in the quality of the intellectual tools, but in the use that is made of them. . . . In school he often does extremely well so far as scholastic acquisitions are concerned. He is liable to be absorbed in books and especially in topics that are philosophic and abstract rather than those that would bring him into dealing with the real and the concrete. Often the school successes give rise to hopes of a brilliant future, incapable of realization because of the impossibility of effectively meeting reality.' "22
Was that not also, Bachrach asked, an accurate description of Richard Loeb? Richard was outwardly normal; but that, according to Krohn's own statements in
Insanity and Law, would be consistent with a diagnosis of schizophrenia.
The failure of the state psychiatrists to discover mental illness in Richard and Nathan was a consequence of the abbreviated examination in the state's attorney's office on Sunday, 1 June. Whom should the court believe: the state psychiatrists or the defense psychiatrists? The former had examined the defendants for three hours on a Sunday afternoon in a crowded office; the latter had examined the defendants over several weeks in an isolated, secure room equipped with the necessary scientific equipment. Only one side had presented any credible scientific evidence in this hearing, Bachrach explained, and that evidence led inexorably to the determination of mental illness in Richard Loeb and Nathan Leopold. "Now, how can the testimony," Bachrach concluded, exasperated that there remained any doubt about the matter, "of men like Drs. Singer, Krohn, Patrick, and Church be mentioned in the same breath with the testimony of the experts of the defense?"
23
Walter Bachrach finished speaking shortly before noon on Friday, 22 August. During the recess for lunch, hundreds of Chicagoans began to converge on the Criminal Court Building. Clarence Darrow, scheduled to speak directly after Bachrach, had hinted that the Leopold-Loeb hearing would be the last court case of his career. It was the final opportunity to hear Darrow speak in a criminal trial, the last chance to hear the most famous lawyer in the United States!
By two o'clock that afternoon, 2,000 Chicagoans stood before the doors of the Criminal Court Building in the bright sunshine f looding Austin Avenue. They were packed into a tight knot, a semicircle, in front of the narrow entrance. The crowd seemed to get larger every minute; it had brushed past the line of police guarding the street entrance and already it had forced its way into the entrance hall, up the staircase on the left, winding its way up six f lights of stairs. A line of bailiffs, stern and imposing in their dark brown uniforms, their nightsticks ready, stood at the top of the stairs, but the crowd smashed its way through, sweeping aside the thin line, and surging forward down the corridor that led to the courtroom of the chief justice.
24
A dozen women had fainted in the crush; two persons had been trampled by the crowd; and a bailiff, seriously hurt, had been driven away in an ambulance. Police reinforcements had now arrived in Austin Avenue. Squads of blue-jacketed constables rushed forward, their nightsticks smashing first left, then right, as they fought to regain control of the building. Mounted police charged their horses at the mob, seeking to split it away from the entrance. For ten minutes, Austin Avenue was a battleground as the crowd fought back against the police; but eventually the constables won control of the
street. They could now turn their attention to clearing the corridors and stairways of the Criminal Court Building.
25
Inside the courtroom, Clarence Darrow had started speaking. He wore a loose-fitting gray suit, a blue shirt, and a white wash necktie of a kind that had been fashionable twenty years earlier. His hair, thinning and gray, fell over his forehead; his wrinkled face, punctuated by his shining brown eyes, expressed resolve; and his hands moved eloquently, in synchronicity with his words. The courtroom was full to overf lowing--it would have been impossible to squeeze even one more person into the room--and all eyes were focused on Darrow standing in the small space in front of the bench. The afternoon heat was almost unbearable--the thermometer had already reached eighty-two degrees--and Darrow, holding a pair of eyeglasses in one hand and a handkerchief in the other, was mopping the perspiration from his forehead as he addressed the court.
26
"It has been almost three months," Darrow began, "since I first assumed the great reponsibility that has devolved upon me and my associates in this case, and I am willing to confess that it has been three months of perplexity and great anxiety. A trouble which I would have gladly been spared excepting for my feelings of affection toward some of the members of one of these families. It is a responsibility that is almost too great for any one to assume that has devolved upon me. But we lawyers can no more choose than the court can choose."
The spectators at the rear of the room leaned forward, but it was impossible for them to hear Darrow's words above the racket coming from the hallway. Outside the courtroom, in the corridor, the crowd pressed forward, pushing and shoving at the sheriffs barring the way; punches were thrown and blows were exchanged. Inside the courtroom, muff led shouts and screams could be heard coming from the other side of the thick oak doors.
"Your Honor," Darrow said, speaking above the din, "I think I had better wait."
"Is that hall filled outside there?" Caverly called out to a bailiff standing at the back of the room. "Officers," he instructed a group of sheriffs, "clean out that hall, please and if you have not got enough men, get fifty more. Put everybody out of the building except those in the room now."
The crowd eventually retreated down the corridor and back down the stairs to the fifth f loor. Curses and shouts could still be heard, but they came more faintly now; within five minutes the scuff ling outside the courtroom had ended.27
Robert Crowe's demand for the death sentence, Darrow began, speaking in a quiet, subdued voice, was solely a consequence of the wealth and prominence of the defendants' families. Take away the Loeb fortune; take away the Leopold fortune; take away the Franks fortune--and would anyone be interested in the case now before the court? The newspapers had devoted countless articles, many thousands of words, day after day, to the courtroom hearing--but, if the defendants had been unknown, obscure, and penniless, would anyone apart from the immediate families have cared about the murder of Bobby Franks? It had not even, Darrow continued, been a particularly bloody or violent murder, and if one were to compare it with some of the cases that had previously appeared before the Criminal Court, it would seem unremarkable.
But the wealth of the defendants, together with the random nature of the killing and the absence of any motive for the crime, had transformed the case into one of the most sensational crimes in the history of Chicago. And, of course, Darrow remarked, with bitterness in his voice, the state's attorney had done everything possible to elevate the notoriety of the murder, portraying it, falsely, as the worst such act in the history of Illinois. "I have heard"--Darrow's voice was sharper now, less subdued--"nothing but the cry for blood. I have heard raised from the office of the State's Attorney nothing but the breath of hate." In any other case, the prosecution would have been content with a life sentence for a guilty plea from two teenagers; but the wealth of the families had barred them from the customary consideration that Robert Crowe would normally have extended.28
Both Nathan and Richard had pleaded guilty--yet Crowe demanded the death penalty! Nathan and Richard had been minors, nineteen and eighteen years old, respectively, when they killed Bobby Franks--yet Crowe demanded the death penalty! Did the court realize, Darrow asked Caverly, that it would be an unprecedented act to execute defendants so young on a guilty plea?
Darrow stepped across to the defense table and picked up a single sheet of paper containing a typewritten list of executions in Cook County. There had been ninety hangings in the history of Chicago, he continued; only three of those ninety persons had been hanged on a guilty plea; and none of those three had been younger than age twenty-nine. Julius Mannow, thirty years old, had pleaded guilty to murder with robbery and was hanged in 1895; Daniel McCarthy, twenty-nine years old, was executed on a guilty plea in 1897; and Thomas Fitzgerald, forty-one, the murderer of six-year-old Janet Wilkinson, had received the death sentence on a plea of guilty in 1919.29
There was no precedent, Darrow exclaimed, for Crowe's demand that the court hang two defendants who had not yet reached their majority. Capital punishment on a guilty plea--just three cases in the history of Cook County!--was so infrequent that its imposition seemed unjust and unwarranted. Moreover, recent decisions of the Criminal Court made the death penalty appear even more archaic. Since 1914, 350 people had pleaded guilty to murder in Cook County, but only one, Thomas Fitzgerald, had received the death penalty. And it was no coincidence, Darrow remarked, pointing directly at the state's attorney, that Robert Crowe had been the judge who sentenced Fitzgerald to death.30
There was no justification, according to precedent, for the death penalty in the case before the court; it would be an unprecedented act to hang Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb. Nor, continued Darrow, was there even any justification in the circumstances of the act. The murder had neither motive nor purpose; it had been a senseless, random action that could be explained only on the basis of mental illness. The prosecution had hinted that the boys had killed Bobby for the ransom, to pay off their gambling debts, but this seemed too far-fetched to contemplate seriously for more than a moment. Both Nathan and Richard had as much money as they could possibly desire; each boy received a generous allowance from his father. The state, moreover, had provided scant evidence that either Nathan or Richard had gambled for high stakes. There had been one witness--one witness!--who had testified that he had seen Nathan and Richard play cards but the amount wagered had been derisory, a total of ninety dollars. Crowe was desperate, no doubt, to find a motive for the killing, but he was clutching at a weak reed if he hoped to establish the ransom as a sufficient motive for the murder.31
The state's attorney had claimed that this was the worst murder in the history of Illinois. But where was the motive? The killing had been "a senseless, useless, purposeless, motiveless act," Darrow challenged. "There was absolutely no purpose in it all, no reason in it all, and no motive in it all. . . . What does the State say about it? In order to make this the most cruel thing that ever happened, of course they must have a motive. And what, do they say, was the motive? . . . 'The motive was to get ten thousand dollars' say they. These two boys, neither one of whom needed a cent, scions of wealthy people, killed this little inoffensive boy to get ten thousand dollars." But Richard Loeb had $3,000 in his bank account and had not even bothered to collect the interest on three Liberty bonds that he owned. Nathan Leopold had been about to go on a European vacation that summer, a vacation paid for by his father. Why, Darrow asked, was there any need for them to risk their freedom, and even their lives, in a scheme to kidnap a boy for ransom? "Your Honor," Darrow appealed to the bench, holding out his hands before him, as though in supplication, "I would be ashamed to talk about this except that in all seriousness--all apparent seriousness--they are asking to kill these two boys on the strength of this flimsy foolishness."32
It was futile, Darrow exclaimed, to seek a rational motive for so bizarre a crime. The crime was inexplicable unless one assumed that both Nathan and Richard were mentally ill. And each b
oy's mental condition was a consequence of the forces that had determined him. "Science has been at work," Darrow stated, with his customary self-assurance; "humanity has been at work, scholarship has been at work and intelligent people know that every human being is the product of the endless heredity back of him and the infinite environment around him. He is made as he is and he is the sport of all that goes around as applied to him. . . . Under the same stress and storm, you might act one way and I might act another."
It was a comforting assumption, but it remained just that--at least in Darrow's account. Heredity and environment had shaped each boy's conduct, but how, exactly? Darrow claimed, once again, an emotional deficiency in the boys' reactions to the murder--all the psychiatrists had remarked the contrast between each boy's advanced intellect and his stunted emotional capacity. But beyond some vague statements on "the emotional life . . . the nerves, the muscles, the endocrine glands, the vegetative system," Darrow was unable to give any more complete account.33
Darrow's reluctance, in his closing speech, to use the testimony of his scientific experts was nothing less than an admission of failure. He could not rely on the scientific evidence, because the evidence did not demonstrate that either boy had acted under compulsion in committing the murder. William White's psychoanalysis, William Healy's intelligence tests, and Harold Hulbert's endocrinology--none of it, either separately or in combination, was sufficient to explain the murder; and Darrow, compelled to abandon the scientific evidence, had only his homespun philosophy of extreme determinism to fall back on. "I know," Darrow continued, speaking of Richard Loeb, "that one of two things happened to this boy; that this terrible crime was inherent in his organism, and came from some ancestor, or that it came through his education and his training after he was born. I do not know what remote ancestors may have sent down the seed that corrupted him, and I do not know through how many ancestors it may have passed until it reached Dickie Loeb. All I know is, it is true, and there is not a biologist in the world who will not say I am right."34
