For the Thrill of It

by Simon Baatz

  It was a bitter daily reminder of their son’s death that Jacob and Flora Franks could see the Loeb family home on the other side of the street; it was an unpleasant coincidence that fifteen years previously, Jacob Franks had purchased from Albert Loeb the lot on which his house stood. And so, on 30 August, Joseph Trinz, owner of the movie theater chain Lubiner & Trinz, bought the house for $60,000. The Franks family then moved to a suite of rooms in the Drake Hotel, far from the street that had given them so much pain.7

  Throughout the hearing, Albert and Anna Loeb had stayed at their country estate, Charlevoix. Now it seemed unlikely that they would ever return to their house at 5017 Ellis Avenue; it was more probable that they would sell it as quickly as possible.

  Only Nathan Leopold Sr. had any desire to remain in Kenwood; a widower since the death of his wife three years previously, he was reluctant to move away from his many friends in the neighborhood. “I have known happiness here,” he told his sons, “I have found peace in the past in this home, and no matter where I go, I can find no greater peace.”8

  WHILE THE FAMILIES AGONIZED OVER such decisions, Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb spent their days in the Cook County jail greeting visitors, playing baseball in the prison yard, and talking with reporters.

  Some of their observations to the journalists seemed calculated to provoke, to provide images of pampered youths now confined to a prison regimen that was, nevertheless, not unduly onerous. The warden, Wesley Westbrook, had arranged for Sunday concerts in the prison; Nathan and Richard attended with the other prisoners and seemed to enjoy themselves, even if there was an occasional reminder of happier days. Richard recalled to a journalist that he had first heard the tune “Hot Lips” at a “dancing party on a yacht on Lake Michigan three years ago. I was dancing with my partner along the deck, close to the rail, the waves rolling, the boat pitching and tossing, to that tune.” And now he was hearing it again, but this time in the prison canteen inside the county jail.

  But, Richard said, things could be worse, and he was not at all despondent. Prison life was good for him; he now had “regular meals, regular exercise and regular sleep…. I am feeling fine. Instead of getting in at 3 a.m. and getting up at 7 to play golf or tennis, I now get at least eight hours regular sleep.”9

  Richard and Nathan were never bored. There were always visitors: former girlfriends, relatives, and classmates—and many casual visitors, unknown to either of them, who simply dropped by for a chat and a gossip. The murderers had become celebrities; and in the relaxed atmosphere of the county jail, Wesley Westbrook permitted them to see anyone they wished. On one memorable occasion, six players from the Chicago Cubs appeared at the warden’s office with a request “to tour the jail and see the young murderers.” Charles (Gabby) Hartnett, one of the team’s leading sluggers, spent time with Nathan in the prison yard, coaching him on his batting style, advising him on his swinging movements and his stance at the plate.10

  Their celebrity was exhilarating. Their every remark found its way into the newspapers: only Edward, prince of Wales, then on a weeklong visit to the United States, received more attention in the media. Nathan announced plans to write his biography, which, he promised, he would offer to the newspapers for serialization before publishing it as a book. “I want to write my memoirs,” he told the reporters, “including an absolutely frank and clear record of my life in jail and of the reactions experienced by a prisoner…. Perhaps I will sell it to the highest bidder; perhaps the reporter who has given me the best breaks will get it. I don’t know just yet.”11

  And if he were to be executed? Nathan had already drawn up his will; he would leave his bird collection to the Field Museum of Natural History, and no doubt his specimens would take pride of place among the museum’s collections.12

  Nathan had read in the newspapers that bookies were offering odds as high as three to one against a death sentence. Thousands of dollars had been wagered on the result in Chicago’s betting shops. Perhaps, Nathan suggested to the reporters, they should have a wager among themselves. “You fellows ought to get up a parlay on it,” he joked. He would like to bet on the result himself, he added, but the regulations in the county jail forbade the prisoners from gambling.13

  Nathan was an intellectual, of course—they had not forgotten, had they?—and, if he was hanged, he informed the journalists, he would communicate with them from beyond the grave, answering their questions on such topics as the nature of happiness, the relationship between spiritual and physical existence, the rewards and penalties of the afterlife, and the ability to experience sensations after death.

  Perhaps, Nathan continued, he would make a speech from the gallows, a speech that would command everyone’s attention! “I will say something,” he predicted to the reporter from the New York Sun, “that will make the world listen.”14

  His brother Michael visited Nathan in jail to warn him of the distress his comments were causing his father, but Nathan was reluctant to leave the stage—it was impossible to force him away from the spotlight, no matter how much grief he caused his relatives.

  CLARENCE DARROW HAD LONG AGO abandoned all hope of getting Nathan to desist from making foolish statements to the press. In any case, the defense attorneys were preoccupied with possible appeals if Caverly imposed the death penalty.

  For example, could the defense appeal to the Illinois supreme court for a second trial on a writ of error? Because of the guilty plea, Darrow believed, that possibility would be the least likely option available to the defense. “I’m of the opinion that the court has final jurisdiction because of the plea,” Darrow told a reporter from the Chicago American; “I doubt if a writ of error could be prayed for.”15

  On the other hand, the trial of Gene Geary in 1921 had provided a precedent for an appeal based on the claim that Nathan and Richard had become insane since sentencing. It had worked for Gene Geary; why would it not work for them? True, a jury must decide the sanity of Nathan and Richard, but perhaps, Darrow believed, enough time would have elapsed between the murder and a second trial for some of the public indignation to fade away.

  That was their best chance, and so, even before Caverly had given his verdict, statements began to appear in the newspapers—planted by the defense attorneys, of course—that both Nathan and Richard were rapidly deteriorating. Nathan Leopold’s mental condition was already cause for concern, one anonymous source claimed; despite his apparent buoyancy in prison, Nathan showed “very definite traces of dementia praecox.”16

  If the Illinois supreme court allowed an appeal on the claim that Nathan and Richard had become insane since sentencing, the jury in a second trial would decide on the sanity of the defendants. If they were sane, they would be immediately executed; if, however, they had become insane, then the court would send them to the Illinois Asylum for Insane Criminals at Chester and the death sentences would be carried out only if they regained their sanity.17

  Other possibilities existed but seemed remote. The judge might, on his own initiative, decide that the defendants’ sanity was in question; if so, he would, instead of passing sentence, convene a jury to decide the question of their sanity.

  Alternatively, Clarence Darrow could present a motion to the judge asking permission to withdraw the guilty plea and change the plea to not guilty. The recent trial of Russell Scott, a street hoodlum who had killed a store clerk during a robbery at the City Hall pharmacy, gave Darrow a legal precedent. Scott’s lawyer, Walter Stanton, had insisted that the court had not formally notified his client that the judge could send him to the gallows. But this too seemed an improbable course of action for Darrow. John Caverly had been punctilious in advising Nathan and Richard that he had the power to sentence them to death if they pleaded guilty.18

  Such speculation might continue endlessly—or at least until the judge pronounced his verdict on 10 September.

  IN THE CRIMINAL COURT BUILDING on the eve of sentencing, the sheriff, Peter Hoffman, was meeting with the chief bailiff, Thomas B
rockmeyer. Hoffman was worried. He had received many threats—threats to kill the judge, threats to blow up the Criminal Court Building, threats to lynch Leopold and Loeb. And as many as 5,000 people might gather outside the Criminal Court, all hoping to enter the courtroom; Hoffman had to ensure that the crowd did not overwhelm his police force.19

  So, on Tuesday evening, just fourteen hours before Caverly was to pronounce sentence, Hoffman rehearsed with Brockmeyer the security details for tomorrow’s court hearing. There would be seventy highway policemen, all on motorcycles, to guard the streets around the Criminal Court Building; fifty mounted policemen would patrol Austin Avenue to protect the entrance; and over 100 patrolmen would establish a cordon around the building. Five squads of detectives would gather immediately in front of the entrance, both to deter illegitimate intruders and to provide protection to the judge and the attorneys as they arrived. Plainclothes policemen would mingle with the crowd beyond the line of uniformed patrolmen; they were there to spot potential assassins and gunmen. Thomas Brockmeyer would assign dozens of sheriffs and bailiffs to the corridors and elevators inside the Criminal Court Building. All other court sessions had been canceled, and no one would be allowed into the building except to attend Caverly’s court on the sixth floor.20

  Clarence Darrow, Walter and Benjamin Bachrach, members of the Leopold and Loeb families—all had received death threats through the mail. Even the psychiatrists were in fear of their lives—Harold Hulbert had requested an armed bodyguard after death threats had arrived at his home. But clearly Caverly was in the greatest danger; he told a reporter from the New York Times that he had “received threats which appear to have been sent in good faith, telling me that I will be killed in every manner, from crucifixion to being blown to pieces.”21

  Could anything go wrong? Hoffman could not imagine tighter security; he had checked and rechecked all the possibilities. Could someone, nevertheless—a lone gunman, perhaps—get access to the building and kill Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb? Was Caverly safe from an assassin? Had all possible precautions been taken?

  AT EIGHT-THIRTY ON THE MORNING of Wednesday, 10 September, Caverly, wearing a black suit and a gray fedora, emerged from the Edgewater Beach Hotel. Michael Hughes, the chief of detectives, escorted the judge to the limousine waiting by the curb and sat next to him on the rear seat. Two detectives, both dressed in street clothes, sat on a seat directly opposite, facing the rear of the car; each carried a machine gun, and Caverly noticed that each had a large black revolver tucked inside his belt. At the front, a police marksman sat next to the driver, his pump-action shotgun resting at a slight angle to his arm.

  The limousine purred its way south on Sheridan Road. Two squad cars provided an escort; each contained armed deputies, their guns hidden unobtrusively below the line of sight from street level.

  At Dearborn and Illinois streets, the lead driver showed his star to the police captain and the cavalcade made its way through the first police line. At Austin Avenue, the mounted police moved aside to let the cars pass, and as Caverly’s car drew up to the entrance of the Criminal Court Building, Peter Hoffman detached himself from the small group of detectives to usher the judge into the building.22

  It was now five minutes past nine and already the courtroom was full. No casual spectators were present—Hoffman had restricted entry to those with an immediate interest in the case: relatives and family members, attorneys and expert witnesses, journalists, photographers, court officials, and bailiffs. The crowd waited expectantly. Almost 200 people now filled the courtroom. Albert and Anna Loeb were not present to support their son—Albert Loeb had had a heart attack four days earlier, and he was recovering at Charlevoix. But Richard’s brother Allan and his uncle Jacob Loeb were both in the courtroom, as were Nathan’s father and his elder brother, Michael. Jacob Franks had been a daily presence in the courtroom throughout the hearing, but now he was absent. Only one member of the Franks family was in court that morning: Edwin Greshan, Bobby’s uncle, sat immediately behind the state’s attorney, waiting expectantly for the judge to appear.23

  It was now nine-thirty. Caverly had given his permission to the radio station WGN to transmit from the courtroom that day, and now the broadcast was going out live across Chicago. Throughout the city, groups of Chicagoans clustered around radio sets to listen: the metropolis had paused in its morning bustle to hear the verdict. Housewives, shopkeepers, clerks, stenographers, construction workers, bankers and businessmen in the Loop, salesmen, transit workers—the city had come to a halt.24

  Caverly had already entered the courtroom and was now mounting the steps to the bench. He carried a sheaf of documents in his right hand, and as he took his position he began to open a brown manila envelope and remove the three sheets of lined paper on which he had written his verdict.

  “Hear ye, hear ye,” the bailiff’s voice suddenly rang out through the court, bringing the spectators to order, “this honorable branch of the Circuit Court of Cook County is now in session.” On the other side of the room, the clerk sang out the signal for the appearance of the defendants: “Richard Loeb and Nathan Leopold Jr.” From a side entrance in the middle of the courtroom, both boys appeared, surrounded by guards, to make their way to chairs at the front of the room, slightly behind Clarence Darrow.

  Before delivering his decision, Caverly addressed the defense attorneys, “Have the two defendants anything to say in either case?”

  Benjamin Bachrach replied in a firm, clear voice, “No, your honor.”

  Caverly began reading. First he took up the appeal for mitigation of punishment; the defense had suggested the guilty plea, the age of the defendants, and their mental condition as grounds for mitigation.

  But the judge replied that the guilty plea in this case did not conform to the customary pattern. It had been pleaded without the knowledge or consent of the state’s attorney and had not lessened the work either of the court or of the state’s attorney: “the plea of guilty did not in this particular case, as it usually does, render the task of the prosecution easier by substituting admission of guilt for a possibly difficult and uncertain chain of proof…. The plea of guilty, therefore, does not make a special case in favor of the defendants.”25

  So there was nothing in mitigation on account of the guilty plea!

  Caverly’s voice had become a monotone; it droned on into the still air of the courtroom, flat and unemotional, but still the audience sat entranced, listening to every word.

  “By pleading guilty,” Caverly continued, “the defendants have admitted legal responsibility for their acts; the testimony has satisfied the court that the case is not one in which it could have been possible to set up successfully the defense of insanity.” So Caverly would not, after all, convene a jury to decide the sanity of the defendants—perhaps Darrow would consider that route on appeal, but Caverly had concluded that the defendants could distinguish right from wrong and were thus legally sane.

  Did the psychiatric evidence mean anything? Was Caverly willing to accept the psychiatrists’ testimony as evidence of mental disease and consider it in mitigation?

  “The court…feels impelled to dwell briefly on the mass of data produced as to the physical, mental and moral condition of the two defendants. They have been shown in essential respects to be abnormal…. The careful analysis made of the life history of the defendants and of their present mental, emotional, and ethical condition has been of extreme interest…. And yet the court feels strongly that similar analyses made of other persons accused of crime would probably reveal similar or different abnormalities…. For this reason the court is satisfied that his judgment in the present case cannot be affected thereby.”

  Elliptical language, but clear enough—now it seemed that Caverly was also to deny mental disease as a mitigating factor.

  “The testimony in this case reveals a crime of singular atrocity. It is, in a sense, inexplicable; but it is not thereby rendered less inhuman or repulsive. It was deliberately planned an
d prepared for during a considerable period of time. It was executed with every feature of callousness and cruelty…. The court is satisfied that neither in the act itself, nor in its motive or lack of motive, nor in the antecedents of the offenders, can he find any mitigating circumstances.”

  Nathan Leopold Sr. sat directly behind his son, his arms gripping the back of his son’s chair, his head inclined down, his eyes fixed on the floor. He raised his head to look at the judge; there were tears forming in his eyes as he heard that there was to be no mitigation. Jacob Loeb stared fixedly ahead, not directly at the judge but at the dais—he too looked forlorn as he heard the words that would kill his nephew. Toward the back of the court, there was now a slight stirring; the reporters were preparing to race to the telephones to read the death sentence to their editors; the messengers were already moving toward the door, ready to tell the wire services that Leopold and Loeb were to be hanged.26

  Caverly had promised himself to include in his sentencing an appeal that in the future, such decisions not be devolved upon a single judge; now he made good on his promise. “In reaching his decision the court would have welcomed the counsel and support of others. In some states the legislature in its wisdom has provided for a bench of three judges to determine the penalty in cases such as this. Nevertheless the court is willing to meet his responsibilities.”

  But now, when everyone had already decided that Nathan and Richard were to be executed, Caverly began reading the words that would offer them hope.

  “It would have been the path of least resistance to impose the extreme penalty of the law.”

  Nathan and Richard exchanged glances; could this be their salvation from the scaffold?

  The words came slowly, almost ponderously, as though Caverly were teasing the courtroom with his verdict. “In choosing imprisonment instead of death the court is moved chiefly by the consideration of the age of the defendants, boys of 18 and 19 years…. The court believes that it is within his province to decline to impose the sentence of death on persons who are not of full age.