Part 1 (1/2)

For the Thrill of It.

Leopold, Loeb, and the Murder That Shocked Chicago.

by Simon Baatz.

PREFACE.

This is a true story. The events described here occurred in Chicago in the summer of 1924. The conversation and dialogue in this book, indicated by quotation marks, are taken verbatim from the transcript of the courtroom proceedings, from the records of the office of the state's attorney of Cook County, or from contemporary newspaper accounts. The University of Chicago and the University of Michigan generously provided me with the academic transcripts of Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb, respectively. I wish also to thank the archivists at Northwestern University; the Wisconsin Historical Society; Columbia University; the University of California, Berkeley; Stanford University; and the National Archives in Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., for permitting me to quote from materials in their possession.

PART ONE

THE CRIME.

1.

THE KIDNAPPING

WEDNESDAY, 21 M 21 MAY 1924-T 1924-THURSDAY, 29 M 29 MAY 1924 1924This cruel and vicious murder...this gruesome crime...this atrocious murder...the most cruel, cowardly, dastardly murder ever committed in the annals of American jurisprudence.1Robert Crowe, state's attorney of Cook County, 23 July 1924Everybody knows that this was a most unfortunate homicide. That it is the cruelest, the worst, the most atrocious ever committed in the United States is pure imagination without a vestige of truth.... A death in any situation is horrible, but when it comes to the question of murder it is doubly horrible. But there are degrees...of atrocity, and as I say, instead of this being one of the worst...it is perhaps one of the least painful.2Clarence Darrow, defense attorney, 23 July 1924 FLORA F FRANKS GLANCED AT THE CLOCK. Already past six o'clock and still no sign of Bobby! The cook had prepared dinner and the maids were waiting patiently for the family to move to the dining room. Normally she could rely on her eldest son, Jack, sixteen years old, to keep an eye on his younger brother, but Jack lay upstairs in bed, ill with chicken pox; he had not been to school all week. Her daughter, Josephine, seventeen years old, tried to calm Flora's fears-Bobby always played baseball after school; perhaps he had gone to a friend's home for supper after the game. Already past six o'clock and still no sign of Bobby! The cook had prepared dinner and the maids were waiting patiently for the family to move to the dining room. Normally she could rely on her eldest son, Jack, sixteen years old, to keep an eye on his younger brother, but Jack lay upstairs in bed, ill with chicken pox; he had not been to school all week. Her daughter, Josephine, seventeen years old, tried to calm Flora's fears-Bobby always played baseball after school; perhaps he had gone to a friend's home for supper after the game.3 Jacob Franks agreed with his daughter. Admittedly it was not like Bobby to be late for dinner; but nothing serious had happened to the boy. It was only three blocks from the Harvard School to their house and Bobby was now fourteen years old, old enough to know not to talk to strangers. The boy had probably fallen in with a cla.s.smate after the game and had forgotten the time. Still, he was annoyed that his son should be so thoughtless and forgetful, annoyed with Bobby for causing his mother to worry.

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1. ROBERT (BOBBY) FRANKS. ROBERT (BOBBY) FRANKS. Bobby Franks was a pupil at the Harvard School for Boys. This photograph appeared as the frontispiece to a collection of poems published in his memory by his brother Jack. Bobby Franks was a pupil at the Harvard School for Boys. This photograph appeared as the frontispiece to a collection of poems published in his memory by his brother Jack.

Jacob Franks was proud of his four children: Josephine had been accepted at Wellesley College for the fall, and Jack, a junior at the Harvard School, was planning to attend Dartmouth College. Jacob Jr. was the youngest child, still a student in grade school, but already showing signs of academic promise. Bobby, the darling of the family, was a bit of a scamp who got into his share of sc.r.a.pes at school, but he was, nevertheless, his mother's favorite. She loved his a.s.sertiveness, his independent spirit, his ambition; he had already announced to the family that he too would go to Dartmouth and then would study for the law. No doubt he would keep his promise: the princ.i.p.al of the Harvard School, Charles Pence, had reported that Bobby was a precocious child. Only a freshman at the school, he was a member of the cla.s.s debating team. He was a popular boy at school, a keen tennis player and an avid golfer; he had joined with some other boys in establis.h.i.+ng a reading group, and only a few days earlier, he had won a debate on capital punishment, arguing for a link between criminality and mental illness-”most criminals have diseased minds”-and protesting against the right of the state ”to take a man, weak and mentally depraved, and coldly deprive him of his life.”4

FOR F FLORA AND J JACOB F FRANKS, their four children were the capstone of their lives. As a young boy, Jacob Franks had lost his own father. His mother had run a clothing store and then a p.a.w.nshop in Chicago, and in 1884 Jacob had set up in business for himself, opening a p.a.w.nshop on Clark Street south of Madison Street. It was a good location and an auspicious time-gambling was then unregulated in the city and there were at least a dozen gaming houses within a block of Jacob Franks's p.a.w.nshop. their four children were the capstone of their lives. As a young boy, Jacob Franks had lost his own father. His mother had run a clothing store and then a p.a.w.nshop in Chicago, and in 1884 Jacob had set up in business for himself, opening a p.a.w.nshop on Clark Street south of Madison Street. It was a good location and an auspicious time-gambling was then unregulated in the city and there were at least a dozen gaming houses within a block of Jacob Franks's p.a.w.nshop.

Jacob soon built up a loyal clientele-the gamblers could rely on Jacob to lend them as much as ninety percent of the value of the diamonds, watches, and rings that they p.a.w.ned-and once their luck turned, they could easily redeem their property. Michael (Hinky d.i.n.k) Kenna, Democratic alderman of the First Ward and one of the most powerful politicians in Chicago, remembered Jacob Franks as an honest businessman who earned the loyalty of his customers: ”He ran the business strictly on the square and he had the respect of every man who ever made a loan.... He knew who he was dealing with, and for that reason would take a chance.”5 Jacob Franks never ran for political office, yet he was well connected-”Franks,” according to one politician, ”has for years been a big factor in the Democratic party”-and he used his connections to make his fortune. An opportunity to buy stock in the Ogden Gas Company was a lucky break for Franks and his business partner, Patrick Ryan; the two entrepreneurs sold the stock to the People's Gas Light and c.o.ke Company at an enormous profit estimated by one friend to be as much as $1 million. Franks bought land in the downtown district and watched its value soar when the city moved the grog shops, gambling dens, and brothels farther south, to the Levee between 18th and 22nd streets. By 1924, Jacob Franks was wealthy beyond his wildest dreams; he was worth, at a conservative estimate, more than $4 million.6

IT WAS NOW AFTER seven o'clock. The youngest son, Jacob Jr., had finished eating and was fidgeting, anxious to leave the table. His father let him go. Flora, Josephine, and Jacob remained at the table talking; they could no longer pretend that Bobby was delayed at a friend's house. seven o'clock. The youngest son, Jacob Jr., had finished eating and was fidgeting, anxious to leave the table. His father let him go. Flora, Josephine, and Jacob remained at the table talking; they could no longer pretend that Bobby was delayed at a friend's house.

Jacob went to the phone to call his lawyer, Samuel Ettelson. Jacob Franks had known Ettelson for many years-the two men were close friends. Ettelson, undoubtedly one of the most influential lawyers in Chicago, had served as corporation counsel during the mayoralty of William Hale Thompson from 1915 to 1923 and was now state senator for Cook County in the Illinois legislature. A prominent Republican, Ettelson still had considerable influence with the police department and with the state's attorney, Robert Crowe. If anything had happened to Bobby, Jacob Franks could rely on Ettelson to help launch a ma.s.sive police investigation.7 Ettelson arrived at the house on Ellis Avenue around nine o'clock that evening. The three adults talked briefly in the living room; both parents were now consumed with anxiety. Ettelson started calling the teachers at the Harvard School. Had they seen Bobby Franks that afternoon? Could they remember when he had left to go home? Only Richard Williams, the athletics instructor, could provide much information. Bobby had been the umpire at an impromptu baseball game between some schoolboys on a vacant lot at 57th Street and Ellis Avenue. Williams had seen Bobby leave the game to walk home around 5:15 p.m.8 Had Bobby returned to the Harvard School on his way home? Perhaps, Ettelson reasoned, he had popped into the school to retrieve something and had been locked inside by the janitor. The two men grabbed their coats and hats and made for the door-it was a five-minute walk to the school. When they reached the main entrance, the building was dark; there was no sign of the janitor. A window was open on the first floor. Ettelson helped Jacob Franks climb into the building and both men began hunting through the cla.s.srooms. They also searched the school grounds, but there was nothing-no clue, no trace of the boy's whereabouts.9 At home, Flora Franks waited anxiously for her husband. It was now almost half past ten; Jacob had been gone for more than an hour. The children were asleep and the servants, except for one maid, had all retired to their quarters-the house suddenly seemed very quiet.

In the hallway, the phone rang. Flora could hear the maid pick up the receiver and answer the caller-she was bringing the telephone into the living room-had Bobby been found? It was a man's voice-Flora Franks remembered later that it was ”more of a cultured voice than a gruff voice.”10 The caller spoke rapidly yet clearly-Flora did not miss a word. ”This is Mr. Johnson...your boy has been kidnaped. We have him and you need not worry: he is safe. But don't try to trace this call.... We must have money. We will let you know tomorrow what we want. We are kidnapers and we mean business. If you refuse us what we want or try to report us to the police, we will kill the boy.”11 The receiver clicked-the caller had hung up. Flora stood motionless for a moment, still holding the phone in her hands; then she fainted and fell to the floor.

Six minutes later, Samuel Ettelson and Jacob Franks returned. The maid was still holding Flora in her arms-she had revived her mistress with spirits of ammonia, and at that moment Flora had regained consciousness.

At least they now knew what had happened to the boy-and, thank G.o.d, he was still alive. Perhaps Mr. Johnson would telephone again that night-Samuel Ettelson called the phone company to put a trace on incoming calls.12 Admittedly this was a risky maneuver-the kidnapper had explicitly warned against it. Ettelson was in a difficult situation: as a friend of the Franks family, he wanted Bobby returned home, alive and safe; yet as a public official, he was loath to truckle to blackmailers. From his years as corporation counsel, Ettelson had vast experience in managing the city's affairs, and in negotiating contracts with labor unions, utility companies, building contractors, and streetcar companies, yet nothing had prepared him for this. He was uncertain how best to proceed. Should they inform the police? Or should they wait for another phone call? If they merely obeyed the kidnapper's commands, were they nevertheless putting the boy's life at risk? Perhaps it would be better to have the Chicago police out searching for the kidnapper. Perhaps the police had a list of likely suspects who could be rounded up. Admittedly this was a risky maneuver-the kidnapper had explicitly warned against it. Ettelson was in a difficult situation: as a friend of the Franks family, he wanted Bobby returned home, alive and safe; yet as a public official, he was loath to truckle to blackmailers. From his years as corporation counsel, Ettelson had vast experience in managing the city's affairs, and in negotiating contracts with labor unions, utility companies, building contractors, and streetcar companies, yet nothing had prepared him for this. He was uncertain how best to proceed. Should they inform the police? Or should they wait for another phone call? If they merely obeyed the kidnapper's commands, were they nevertheless putting the boy's life at risk? Perhaps it would be better to have the Chicago police out searching for the kidnapper. Perhaps the police had a list of likely suspects who could be rounded up.

At two o'clock in the morning, Ettelson decided they should go to the police. Jacob Franks could stand their inaction no longer; anything was better than waiting for the phone to ring. Ettelson was well connected with the Chicago police-he was a personal friend of the chief of detectives, Michael Hughes, and of the deputy captain of police, William (Shoes) Shoemacher. Why should he not use that influence to rescue Bobby?

The central police station was almost deserted. Ettelson had never previously met the young lieutenant, Robert Welling, in charge; could he trust Welling not to leak news of Bobby's disappearance? And suppose Bobby was not in danger? Suppose that this was a juvenile hoax by some of his cla.s.smates? Unlikely, of course, but Ettelson was reluctant to mobilize the Chicago police department and find, the next morning, that Bobby was safe and sound, having spent the night with a friend. His reputation would be tarnished, and Ettelson, who always hoped for a revival of his political fortunes, could not afford to be made a laughingstock.

Robert Welling listened thoughtfully to Franks and Ettelson. He would, if they liked, send out detectives to search for the boy. Ettelson demurred; perhaps, he advised the lieutenant, it was all unnecessary; the boy might turn up in the morning. ”We are not sure. Perhaps it is only some prank, some foolish joke. Perhaps-” Ettelson's voice trailed off. What should they do? He spoke again: he did not himself believe it was a hoax. ”If the boy really has been kidnapped, then we must be very, very careful. He may be in the hands of desperate men who would kill him.” Ettelson could not bear the risk that the kidnappers might kill Bobby. ”Perhaps,” he decided finally, ”we would better wait until morning before doing anything about it.”13

THE NEXT MORNING, AT EIGHT o'clock, a special delivery letter arrived. The envelope bore six two-cent stamps, was addressed to Jacob Franks at 5052 Ellis Avenue, and had a Chicago postmark; it had been mailed either the previous evening or earlier that morning. o'clock, a special delivery letter arrived. The envelope bore six two-cent stamps, was addressed to Jacob Franks at 5052 Ellis Avenue, and had a Chicago postmark; it had been mailed either the previous evening or earlier that morning.

In one sense the arrival of a ransom letter provided a measure of relief, however minor, for Bobby's parents. It confirmed that he was still alive and provided instructions for his recovery. The writer of the letter, George Johnson, promised that Bobby was ”at present well and safe. You need not fear any physical harm for him providing you live up carefully to the following instructions.... Make absolutely no attempt to communicate with either the police authorities nor any private agency. Should you already have communicated with the police, allow them to continue their investigations, but do not mention this letter.

”Secure before noon today $10,000. This money must be composed entirely of old bills of the following denominations: $2,000 in $20 bills, $8,000 in $50 bills. The money must be old. Any attempt to include new or marked bills will render the entire venture futile. The money should be placed in a large cigar box...and wrapped in white paper. The wrapping paper should be sealed...with sealing wax.

”Have the money thus prepared as directed above and remain home after one o'clock P.M. See that the telephone is not in use. You will receive a future communication instructing you as to your future course.

”As a final word of warning, this is a strictly commercial proposition, and we are prepared to put our threats into execution should we have reasonable ground to believe that you have committed an infraction of the above instructions. However, should you carefully follow out our instructions to the letter, we can a.s.sure you that your son will be safely returned to you within six hours of our receipt of the money.”14 The family felt a tremendous sense of relief. Here was a.s.surance that Bobby was still alive. Merely for the payment of a trivial sum, a bagatelle, they would soon have Bobby back, safely home. Samuel Ettelson was sanguine-this was a professional kidnapping gang, no doubt about it; the boy was not, as he had feared, the victim of a child molester. There was now no apprehension that Bobby would end up dead.

SEVERAL MILES AWAY, T TONY M MINKE, a recent immigrant from Poland who worked as a pump man for the American Maize Company, walked along a path that ran parallel to the Pennsylvania Railroad tracks near Wolf Lake. Few people ever ventured out to this remote part of Cook County. Farsighted action by the state legislature a decade earlier had led to the creation of the Forest Preserve district southeast of Chicago as an area of natural beauty, and by 1924 more than 20,000 acres of wetlands and marshes had been permanently set aside. It was an ornithologist's paradise-the thick brush and low trees provided a safe haven for migratory wading birds, and during the spring and fall it was possible to spot such exotica as the yellow-crowned night heron and the snowy egret. Pawpaw trees, s.h.i.+ngle oaks, spicebush, sycamores, and hawthorn trees were everywhere; wild prairie roses ran alongside the few paths through the wilderness; and occasionally one might discover dewberry and raspberry patches in the meadowland openings. The Forest Preserve was a magical spot, yet its distance from the city and a lack of public transportation rendered it inaccessible to most Chicagoans. Occasionally one might see a hunter, and on the weekends schoolboys would come out with field gla.s.ses to observe the migrating birds pa.s.sing overhead, but otherwise the Forest Preserve remained inviolate. a recent immigrant from Poland who worked as a pump man for the American Maize Company, walked along a path that ran parallel to the Pennsylvania Railroad tracks near Wolf Lake. Few people ever ventured out to this remote part of Cook County. Farsighted action by the state legislature a decade earlier had led to the creation of the Forest Preserve district southeast of Chicago as an area of natural beauty, and by 1924 more than 20,000 acres of wetlands and marshes had been permanently set aside. It was an ornithologist's paradise-the thick brush and low trees provided a safe haven for migratory wading birds, and during the spring and fall it was possible to spot such exotica as the yellow-crowned night heron and the snowy egret. Pawpaw trees, s.h.i.+ngle oaks, spicebush, sycamores, and hawthorn trees were everywhere; wild prairie roses ran alongside the few paths through the wilderness; and occasionally one might discover dewberry and raspberry patches in the meadowland openings. The Forest Preserve was a magical spot, yet its distance from the city and a lack of public transportation rendered it inaccessible to most Chicagoans. Occasionally one might see a hunter, and on the weekends schoolboys would come out with field gla.s.ses to observe the migrating birds pa.s.sing overhead, but otherwise the Forest Preserve remained inviolate.

Tony Minke lived nearby, on the edge of the Forest Preserve, but he did not usually take this route home. That morning, Thursday, 22 May, he was coming from the factory where he had worked the night s.h.i.+ft. Now he was on his way to Hegewisch to pick up his watch from a repair shop before returning home to sleep. The sun was at his back, and as he pa.s.sed a large ditch on his left, he looked down momentarily. The sun's rays shone into the ditch, and Minke looked more closely: was that a foot poking out of the drainage pipe? Minke stopped and looked closer-he peered into the pipe. Inside, he could see a child's body, naked and lying face downward in a foot of muddy water.15 In the distance, Minke could see four men, railroad workers, on a handcar traveling slowly along the tracks in his direction. He climbed the embankment and, as the handcar approached, he signaled to it to halt. The handcar came to a gradual stop. As the workmen climbed down, Minke walked a few steps toward them, pointing back at the ditch. ”Look,” he exclaimed, ”there is something in the pipe, there is a pair of feet sticking out.”16 As the men pulled the body out of the pipe and turned it on its back, Minke could see immediately that the boy had been killed: there were two large wounds on the forehead-deep gashes, each about an inch long-and toward the back of the head he could see large bruises and swelling. And those marks on the boy's back? What had caused those scratches running down the back all the way from the shoulders to the b.u.t.tocks? But the most peculiar aspect was the appearance of the face-there were distinctive copper-colored stains around the mouth and chin; and the genitals also-they were stained with the same color.17 As his fellow workers were carrying the body to a second handcar on the tracks, Paul Korff, a signal repairman for the railroad, glanced over the scene. He wondered if any of the boy's clothes were lying around; if so, they should gather them up and take them along. Korff could see nothing-no s.h.i.+rt or trousers, or even shoes and socks-but he did find a pair of eyegla.s.ses with tortoisesh.e.l.l frames, lying on the embankment, just a few feet from the culvert. Perhaps they belonged to the boy; Korff put them in his pocket and joined his comrades waiting by the handcars.18 At around ten o'clock that morning, Anton Shapino, the sergeant on duty at the Hegewisch police station, took charge of the body. Paul Korff had handed him the tortoisesh.e.l.l eyegla.s.ses, and Shapino, a.s.suming that they belonged to the boy, placed them on the child's forehead. Later that morning, at the morgue at 13300 South Houston Avenue, the undertaker, Stanley Olejniczak, laid the body out; as he did so, he noticed the unusual discoloration of the boy's face and genitals and the bruises and cuts on the head-someone had obviously beaten the child violently.19

JACOB F FRANKS WAS LOOKING FORWARD to seeing his son again. He had spent that morning in the Loop, the city's business district, obtaining $10,000 ransom from his bank. The teller was surprised at the request for ”all old, worn bills” but said nothing; it was not his place to question such a customer as Franks. to seeing his son again. He had spent that morning in the Loop, the city's business district, obtaining $10,000 ransom from his bank. The teller was surprised at the request for ”all old, worn bills” but said nothing; it was not his place to question such a customer as Franks.20 Back at Ellis Avenue the family waited. They expected the kidnappers to call sometime after one o'clock, but time dragged on-two o'clock pa.s.sed and still there was no call. Jacob Franks continued sitting in his armchair staring out of the window onto Ellis Avenue; his wife sat by his side, quietly crying.21 Samuel Ettelson stayed in the library answering calls and talking with visitors. Ettelson was annoyed that the press had learned of the kidnapping-but it was perhaps his own fault. After Ettelson had asked the phone company to put a trace on incoming calls the previous evening, the family had discovered that the company's telephone operators had been gossiping about the tracing of calls. No doubt someone had alerted the press to Bobby's disappearance.

Even now, there was a reporter from the Chicago Daily News Chicago Daily News, James Mulroy, badgering him about the body of a boy found earlier that morning, out near the Indiana state line near the Forest Preserve. Of course, this was not Bobby-Mulroy had said that the boy was found wearing eyegla.s.ses and Bobby had never worn eyegla.s.ses in his life-but perhaps someone from the family should go down to the morgue and ensure that it was not Bobby lying on the undertaker's slab. Ettelson turned to Edwin Greshan, the brother of Flora Franks and Bobby's uncle: would he mind driving to South Houston Avenue with the reporter?22 [image]

2. THE DRAINAGE CULVERT. THE DRAINAGE CULVERT. Tony Minke, a workman for the American Maize Company, discovered the body of a naked boy in this drainage culvert on Thursday, 22 May 1924. Tony Minke, a workman for the American Maize Company, discovered the body of a naked boy in this drainage culvert on Thursday, 22 May 1924.

And if, by some chance, Ettelson continued, it was Bobby at the undertaker's, he should say only one word-”Yes”-over the phone, and nothing more. There was a telephone extension in the living room; Ettelson did not want Flora Franks to overhear the news of her son's death.

Thirty minutes later, the phone rang. Ettelson picked up the receiver. He recognized Greshan's voice. Only one word now mattered-”Yes.” The phone clicked off at the other end and Ettelson walked deliberately to the living room.

Flora had left the room but Jacob was still sitting in his armchair, gazing out of the window. He looked exhausted, pale and tired and crumpled; his right hand twitched and fidgeted aimlessly with a loose thread in the arm of the chair.