Deadly Hero: The High Society Murder that Created Hysteria in the Heartland (16 page)

“So I subsequently employed Thomas at $4 per diem
to check witnesses. But before I employed him, I took a sworn statement from
him, wrote Anderson a letter explaining the situation, and had Thomas deliver
them in person to Anderson.

“Thomas stood in Anderson’s office while the
county attorney read them and when Anderson said ‘All right,’ Thomas left.”

For Moss, who had endured hyperbolic proclamations
and embellishments from Maddux, King, Hoop, and now Anderson, as well as yellow
journalism, one-sided editorials, and an entire city that was trying to connect
the Gorrell slaying with marijuana, naked pictures, bootleg liquor, marble
machines, and illegal gambling, the witness-tampering nonsense was the last
straw. He was furious, and determined to push back the tide. Tulsa would soon
learn why he was the city’s number one defense attorney.

As Moss retreated into a huddle with his team over
the weekend, Anderson carried on. He’d already mailed out subpoenas to twenty
witnesses in the case, and after his tampering accusations, certified a list
for twenty-three more. The names on his first list had been published, and he
announced his intention to question them all to learn if they had been
“approached.” When it came to his second list of twenty-three, Anderson was
keeping his mouth shut in some kind of noble effort to secure them from the
evil defense team. With ten days to trial, his office sent jury notifications
to one hundred fifty residents to serve as jurors in the upcoming district-court
session. Twelve of them would go to the Kennamer case.

Even with all the local and national interest in
the story, Anderson did not see what was coming next. Flint Moss’s announcement
on Monday, January 21, that the defense would file a change-of-venue motion the
following day, was explosive. If the motion were granted, it would not only
move the trial to Pawnee, it would also delay it, since jury notices had not
gone out yet for their term of district court. The announcement also upset thousands
of Tulsa County residents aiming to get a courtroom seat for the most important
trial in city history. Pawnee was sixty miles away, and the locals there would
get the best seats. Although it would change everything, the motion had to be
considered. To settle the issue, Judge Hurst scheduled the venue hearing for
Thursday, January 24.

Long before the motion, Moss had privately told
reporters he would not seek a change of venue. But when the Maddux bribery
story came out, again, followed by the fictitious witness-tampering allegation
by Anderson, all bets were off. The defense motion filed the next day was a
two-pronged attack against both Tulsa newspapers and the prosecution’s team, including
Anderson, King, Hoop, and Maddux, who were all specifically named and
subpoenaed to testify.

“There has been undue publicity in this case and
the defense doesn’t think a fair trial can be obtained in Tulsa County,” Moss
told reporters outside the courthouse the morning he announced he would seek
the venue change. “We think newspaper editorials have been unfair to our
client. Equally unfair have been the statements of the county attorney that
state witnesses have been tampered with.”

In his motion, Moss specifically attacked editorials
in both newspapers that belittled the testimony of so-called expert witnesses—especially
psychiatrists. He also argued that both papers published “pretended statements
of facts, which are false and untrue, which resulted in arousing in the minds
of all qualified jurors of Tulsa County feelings of prejudice against the
defendant.”

Farther on, he left no doubt which officials were
behind those pretended statements of fact when the petition named Anderson—for
his false witness-tampering allegations, Maddux—for his dubious bribe story and
for claiming Kennamer telephoned Born the morning of his suicide, and Oscar
Hoop—for talking about the bribe and physical threats during a meeting of city
commissioners.

Submitted as evidence were all local newspaper articles
on the case, including those issues which publicized false allegations against
the defense, and editorials and columns from both papers. When they discussed
the bribe-and-threat claim with reporters, Moss and Hoop gallantly declared
that in case of their demise, the investigative file and affidavits that would
lead others to the man who made the offer were locked away safely. Justice
would carry on, with or without these heroic men.

Moss subpoenaed those documents as well. It was time
to put up or shut up.

“This bribe story has been talked around so much
that we are going to bring it out in the open,” Moss said. “It will be part of
our proof that Kennamer should be granted a change of venue.”

And just for good measure, Moss subpoenaed forty other
witnesses from all over the county, and from all walks of life, who would
testify that Kennamer, in their opinion, could not receive a fair trial. His
subpoena list also included the circulation managers from both newspapers, with
cause to show how circulation increased during its coverage of the case.

Anderson’s reaction was to claim he was at a loss
to explain the defense’s move, and their true motive was to stall for a
postponement. As for him, he truly could not understand how Moss came to his
conclusion. He grumbled that he had already subpoenaed forty-three witnesses
and sent out jury notices, and that moving the trial would cost the county more
money. He was stunned that Moss would try to put him on the stand, and he vowed
to fight back, arguing there was no law that allowed the defense to subpoena
prosecution documents in a change-of-venue motion.

“We will oppose rigidly the introduction of the
bribe testimony,” Anderson said. The contention for his argument, which came
from commissioner Hoop, was that those documents were “personal property,” and were
now, somehow, not part of the investigation. Facing the possibility that those
documents could be presented in court, Hoop minimized the bribe-and-threat
story to reporters, and backpedaled on his earlier claims.

“The bribe attempt directed at Sgt. Maddux
involved one phase of the Gorrell slaying investigation, and has but an
indirect bearing on the Kennamer case as a whole,” Hoop said the day before the
hearing. “I may go so far as to have the affidavits with me in person tomorrow,
but I will combat with every resource any effort made by Kennamer’s attorneys
to make me produce them in court.”

Although he never shied away from making a
statement to the press in December, Maddux suddenly stopped talking. If Moss
got his way in the hearing, he would have to reveal everything.

Even with his two-pronged attack and his thorough
list of county citizens ready to testify in support of his argument, Moss was
leaving nothing to chance. But his greatest weapon was legal precedent. When
ex-convict Earl Quinn brutally raped and murdered the Griffith sisters, Zexie
and Jesse, a few days after Christmas 1930 in Kay County, the local community
was outraged. The girls were beautiful, popular, and successful. They were the
daughters of a Blackwell police captain and had everything going for them. After
he was captured the following year, Quinn was tried in Kay County and sentenced
to death, the first death sentence in that county’s history. His lawyer argued
successfully to set aside his conviction on the grounds that the defendant
could not have obtained a fair trial because of local sentiment, and a change
of venue was required. Quinn then received a new trial in nearby Garfield
County, where he was again sentenced to death.

Thursday’s hearing opened with a long parade of
defense witnesses expressing their opinion that, for one reason or another, it
was impossible for Kennamer to receive a fair trial in Tulsa County. It was a
day that started out civilly, but would end with yelling, jibes, soaring
tempers, and snarky facial expressions. As faithfully as always, Dr. Gorrell
was in the courtroom. Kennamer, this time, was supported by his two sisters.

Among the first from Moss’s long list to be called
up were six attorneys, including a former county attorney, who all testified
that in their opinion, Kennamer could not receive a fair trial in Tulsa due to
the publicity, and because it was all locals could talk about.

Added to this group of witnesses was former
district judge Saul Yager, who was wandering around the courthouse that day
when he casually stepped into Judge Hurst’s courtroom during the venue hearing
to see what was going on. He was just about to leave when Moss spontaneously
called him to the stand. His statement turned out to be one of the strongest in
defense of Moss’s argument.

“The air in Tulsa is permeated with the Kennamer
case,” Judge Yager told the court. “Everyone talks about it. The many people I’ve
discussed it with would not make fair and impartial jurors.”

A former Tulsa Mayor, a banker, an oil operator,
and a shoe cobbler testified that most of the people they talked to had fixed
opinions one way or the other. They were followed by a movie theater operator
from nearby Broken Arrow, whom Moss asked if he had ever talked to anyone who
did not have a fixed opinion of the case.

“No, I haven’t,” he answered.

“Were you promised any compensation for coming
here?” Anderson asked next.

“Yeah! He was offered twenty-five thousand bucks!”
Moss interrupted as he roared with laughter.

And so it went on. Following the afternoon recess,
Moss’s parade of witnesses was relentless and continued with a mechanic, a barber,
a grocer, and an insurance man, all backing his argument. Charles Parker from
Sand Springs testified that the case was the most frequent topic of
conversation at Rotary Club meetings. “Two or more people cannot meet or have
not met in Tulsa County since this happened without discussing the situation,”
he told the court.

After more than thirty defense witnesses had made
similar statements, Judge Hurst got the point and halted the defense’s line of
attack, saying it was needlessly repetitive.

Moss then began a new offensive directed at the
state’s bribery claim. His subordinate, Herman Young, read into the record
newspaper articles from the
Tulsa World
that quoted King, Hoop, Maddux,
and Anderson, to the effect that a $25,000 bribe had been offered to the
detective.

First up to the stand was King. “Are you the Mr.
King referred to in these articles?” Moss asked.

“I may be but I cannot be held responsible or
accountable for what appears about me in Tulsa newspapers,” King responded.

“I wish you would then relate to the court something
about this bribe offer.”

And with that, Anderson objected on the grounds it
was immaterial and irrelevant to the issue now before the court. Although it
was sustained, King answered anyway. “At the proper time and at the proper
trial we will prove the bribery offer.”

“I don’t believe that!” Moss shouted.

“We’re not interested in whether you believe it or
not but we’ll prove it at the right time,” King retorted.

“I challenge you to prove that because I don’t
believe you,” Moss threw back, which was then followed by a rap of the gavel
from the judge.

Sergeant Maddux was called up next, but Moss could
only get as far as “Who offered you a $25,000 bribe?” before Judge Hurst
sustained Anderson’s objection. As Maddux stepped down, Moss challenged him, “I
don’t believe there was any offer.” His remark was answered with a cocky smile.

Moss got about the same distance with Commissioner
Hoop, and when he was being excused, the frustrated attorney blurted out, “Was
anyone offered a bribe?”

This time, both King and Anderson roared in objection,
which initiated a fierce round of bickering before everyone could settle down.
Having made his point through the back door, Moss rested. Anderson then questioned
seven witnesses and presented thirty-one affidavits asserting the belief that
Kennamer
could
receive a fair trial in Tulsa County.

But in the end, it wasn’t the witnesses or
affidavits or circulation figures or the bribe story; it was the appellate court
decision that gave Judge Hurst the foundation for his decision.

“In view of that decision [the Quinn decision], my
judgment is that if I denied a change of venue in this case, there would
probably be a reversal,” Hurst told the attorneys. “Basing my judgment on the
evidence submitted, I think it will be very difficult to get a fair jury here
and in this case.”

The State of Oklahoma v. Philip Kennamer
would begin in Pawnee in nineteen days.

GETTING THE TRIAL MOVED TO
Pawnee was just one part of the defense’s pre-trial strategy. Two days later,
the infamous extortion note was shown to
Tribune
reporter Harmon
Phillips. Now it was Moss’s turn to use the press to sway the jury pool over to
defense claims in a one-sided interview. With a straight face, Moss told the
reporter he was releasing the contents “to definitely inform the state
prosecutors that there is such a note.”

They already knew that.

Admittedly, he would not allow a photostatic copy
of the note to be made because he didn’t want the prosecution to examine it
with their own expert witnesses. If the jury was going to hear from a
handwriting expert, it was going to be
his
handwriting expert. Phillips
could copy the contents and describe its physical appearance, but that was it.

The letter was written on two pages of inexpensive,
ruled paper concealed in an unstamped envelope addressed to H. F. Wilcox, 1351
East 27
^th
Place, Tulsa, Okla. In the lower left corner was written
“Personal,” and “Air Mail,” underlined twice, was written on the right side.

Dear Sir: You will secure $20,000 (twenty thousand dollars)
in bills of the following amounts—ten thousand in $5 (five) dollar bills, five
thousand in $10 (ten) dollar bills, and five thousand in one dollar bills. You
will be given further instructions
at later
either by phone or mail by
an operator who will identify himself by the Symbol at the close of this
letter. Failure to comply with our demands will result in
certain
and
painful
“DEATH” for one or more of your children.

Keep the said sum in your immediate house, for a moment’s
notice.

You must secure the money, not later than Friday noon. You
will keep the money on hand, so that if you are notified in two days or two
weeks, you will save us lots of trouble, and yourself lots of misery.

Yours in expectation—

John Doe.

Symbol-This is H.F.W. speaking

Strict silence,
even
in your
family
, must be
observed.

In the same article, defense experts matched the
note to Gorrell by comparing it with known samples of his handwriting, and observing
how the tails of his
y
’s and
g
’s appeared to come straight down.
Moss then tried to establish a connection with how the note was signed, “John
Doe,” to John Gorrell’s first name, as well as the
D
, which looked like
a
G
that had been scribbled over.

Gorrell’s father continued to tell reporters his
son was killed because he refused to participate in Kennamer’s plot, and he would
not say John wrote the note until he saw it for himself. But Anderson didn’t
even want to see it, and he downplayed its importance. “It is their duty to
deliver the note to us if it is essential to the state’s case,” he told
reporters.

“Ho, ho,” King laughed when he heard about the
Tribune
article. “They’re just trying to build up sentiment for that boy.
It’s ludicrous. Their ‘exposing’ it is part of a buildup that will continue all
week.

“They’re just out to paint the boy as a character
deserving sympathy for a chivalrous deed. They’ve swung to the lawyer’s idea of
pleading temporary insanity. He acts goofy for anyone who goes in to see him
now.”

That last sentence was a jab at the final part of
the defense’s pretrial strategy: let Phil tell his bizarre story to the press.
Again. But where the
Tribune
was left out the last time, they got the
exclusive on this one. After the coded-message imbroglio, the defense team established
an embargo against the
World
in general, and Lee Krupnick in particular.

There was no way Moss was ever going to agree to
let Kennamer take the stand, where Anderson, Wallace, and King would pound the
boy to dust under cross-examination. However, he still wanted potential jurors
to discover what he and defense psychiatrists had observed. And where Kennamer
thought this was another opportunity to take control and talk his way out of
trouble, Moss knew what it really was: a perfect occasion for Phil to show potential
jurors just how nuts he really was. This new and improved version of what
happened that night was a feint against the prosecution, and a trap for his own
client.

As before, the interview took place in Kennamer’s
private quarters. The cabinet radio and rocking chair had been removed by newly
elected Sheriff Garland Marrs, who left the boy with a bed, the dresser, and
the portrait of Governor Martin Trapp.

At first, Kennamer chose his words with careful
deliberation, but this would wash away when the story reached its melodramatic
moments. By the end of it, Phillips wrote, he was swearing and laughing as he
ridiculed someone else’s version of what had happened. At no time did Kennamer
ever express remorse for his victim, whom he blamed for everything.

“Why did you kill Gorrell?” Phillips asked.

“In order to defend my own life,” Kennamer
answered quietly. He then plunged into an evolved version of his one-man
crusade to save Virginia.

“I met Gorrell last August through Preston Cochrane.
[28]
At the time I met
him, the conversation was almost a monologue on the part of Gorrell, dealing
with various crimes, hijackings, kidnappings. I didn’t pay much attention to
him. It was an incident of another meeting with Gorrell which made me pay more
attention and to change my mind about him.”

Kennamer had an interesting new take on who said
what during the September 13 meeting with Gorrell and Ted Bath. It was a
complete reversal of what Bath had told authorities. He never proposed robbing
the Idle Hour, or kidnapping Gorrell family friend Barbara Boyle, or having
Bath seduce Virginia Wilcox to get naked pictures of her—those were all John
Gorrell’s ideas. And when it came to the honor of Barbara Boyle, well, he was her
protector.

“It was at that meeting that Gorrell mentioned
hijacking someone. I was propositioned to join in and I turned it down. Then
the proposal to obtain some compromising photographs of girls was mentioned.
The idea was that I was to put up the money and arrange for a party. At the
time, I said the affair did not sound right and especially regarding one of the
girls mentioned, I said I would not be interested.”

In this new version, all of the things Ted Bath
told police Kennamer had said in that meeting were actually what Gorrell had
said. And all the things Gorrell had said were what he, Phil Kennamer, had
said.

Ted Bath was simply confused.

“Later on, Cochrane told me that Gorrell had
approached him with a kidnap plot in which either Homer Wilcox Jr. or Virginia
Wilcox was to be the victim. He had turned down the proposition, as had Pat
Burgess.”

After Kennamer claimed he had discussed Gorrell’s
alleged plot with Burgess, Cochrane, and Jack Snedden, the group decided that Kennamer
should be the one to travel to Kansas City to see if Gorrell was serious.
[29]

Kennamer then wove his story into a bad gangster
movie that portrayed Gorrell as a Kansas City crime lord. Although he had
enrolled in dental school just two months before, and worked in the hotel as a
telephone operator on the graveyard shift three nights a week, Gorrell had
plenty of time, along with attending his classes, to form a dangerous,
well-armed gang. This was about as far away as one could get from the nervous
boy who spoke of his fears to his roommates and Dean Rinehart, and then
borrowed a .22-caliber pop-gun for protection but couldn’t scrape more than
three bullets together.

“Knowing that if Gorrell expected any treachery on
my part, it might be dangerous, I bought a knife in Kansas City. I had it in my
possession when I met him in the lobby of the hotel. There were several with
him. He introduced me as Bob Wilson.

“Gorrell and I went up to his apartment and talked
awhile. A man and another fellow came in and asked Gorrell ‘Is this fellow ok?’
Gorrell said ‘yes.’ The man asked again, ‘are you sure?’ and again Gorrell said
‘yes.’

“Then this man asked ‘do you have plenty of heat?’
and Gorrell pointed to a pistol saying ‘yes.’

“‘If you haven’t, I’ve plenty at my place,’ said
the man. Gorrell replied ‘yes’ and the man left with the words, ‘OK boss.’

“I asked Gorrell what it was all about, ‘Just a
couple of my boys,’ he replied.
[30]

“I said, ‘What do you mean?’ and he replied, ‘They
do damn well what I tell them to!’

“Gorrell then told me that they had been working
some petty hijackings and were now ready for ‘a big deal.’

“I said, ‘what have you lined up?’ He asked me
what I had come to Kansas City for.

“‘The matter you were talking about before you
left.’ I told him.

“He said, ‘you mean the Wilcox deal?’ and I said ‘yes.’

“He asked me how I knew about it and I told him
Cochrane and Burgess told me. He said ‘Where do you figure in it?’ and I said
‘I figure in it all the way.’

“I believe it was at [my hotel room], rather than
at his apartment, that he divulged the exact nature of his plan. Three or four
of the chaps to whom I had been introduced were to come to Tulsa and lure one
of the Wilcox children into a thinly populated district, crowd their car over,
kidnap the boy or the girl, take him or her to a flying field outside of Tulsa
where a plane would be waiting. Then the victim would be taken to Kansas City
to a house in a suburban district. The details of securing the ransom were to
be left to us in Tulsa. The ransom specified by Gorrell was $100,000.

“He asked me what I thought of the plan and I
answered ‘very little.’ I told him it was too complicated, involved too many
people and made possible too many contingencies. I then offered the counter
suggestion that Gorrell write an extortion note asking for a more reasonable
sum and obviating the handicaps presented by the other plan.

“He wrote the note the following morning and gave
it to me to mail. Then I met Floyd Huff . . . and later [we]
started back to Tulsa.

“Huff began to ask me about Gorrell, as to whether
he had any money. It seems Gorrell had planned to buy an interest in Huff’s
airplane salvage.
[31]
I finally told Huff, ‘Well, I’ll show you how crazy he is’ and showed him the
extortion note Gorrell had given to me.

“Huff asked me if I were going to turn it over to
the authorities. I told him no, that when Gorrell came to Tulsa on Thanksgiving,
I was going to tell him if he attempted to go through with the plot that I
would turn it over to the authorities. I did not tell Huff that I was going to
kill Gorrell.

“On Thanksgiving Day, I called Gorrell several
times without getting him and about 7:00 p.m. he called me and asked ‘How’s the
shake coming along?’ I told him I couldn’t talk about it. He asked me to meet
him at 7:30 p.m. at a drug store near St. John’s Hospital. When we met he again
asked ‘How’s things coming along?’ I said I would see him later. He finally
suggested I meet him on the corner near the hospital at 11:00 p.m., after he
had a date with one of the nurses.”

Kennamer then explained how he met up with Jack
Snedden and “Beebe” Morton at the Owl Tavern, and after he told them of the
meeting he was to have that night with Gorrell, Morton had taken the knife away
from him. At no time, he stressed, did he ever tell Morton and Snedden he was going
to kill the dental student. He then caught a ride to the hospital with Sidney
Born, where he found Gorrell sitting in his car waiting for him.

“We drove down South Utica Avenue. We talked in
general for a while and then he said ‘Have you sent that letter?’ and I said
‘No.’

“‘Why not?’ he asked. I told him I had no
intention of mailing it. He wanted to know ‘what’s the idea?’

“‘Simply this, John,’ I answered. ‘The only reason
I went into this was because I thought you might try and go through with it. I’ve
got the letter here.’

“Then I knew I had made a mistake in saying that.
He said ‘By God, you’ll never do anything with that letter,’ and drew a gun. He
almost threw it at me. The holster falling off, he stuck it in my face and
pulled the trigger. It snapped. I grabbed it and twisted it back. I was pushing
his face with my left hand. The car had slowed up. My finger was inside the
trigger guard. There was a shot. I have no distinct recollection of the second
shot but it came immediately. The car hit the curbing. I put the gun in the
holster and sat there a moment. I do not remember wiping off the fingerprints.
Then I got out and walked to the Owl Tavern.”

Although his new story was similar, it had changed
in many places from the account he gave in December. His description of how he
was pushing on Gorrell’s face when the gun went off would later become one of
the strongest clues that it was not self-defense. Since Moss had already
announced Kennamer would not take the stand in his own defense, Anderson’s team
would find it hard to cast doubt on both stories. But they did have witnesses to
call who could shred it to pieces—and nearly everything he’d just said was
contradicted by witness statements to police.

AS PART OF THEIR BUILDUP to the trial, the
World
published a running account of witnesses set to testify. Two days before
the February 11 start date, the list had topped out at 108, and was almost
evenly divided between the defense and the prosecution. Nineteen were set to
testify for each side.

At the top of Anderson’s roll call were the names
of all the major witnesses who had come forward in December and with whom
Tulsans were already familiar. Over the last few weeks, two new names had floated
to the top and were leaked to the press. Hanley “Cadillac” Booth was an
Oklahoma City bail bondsman and former bootlegger who said that during the
summer of 1934, while Kennamer was a rookie reporter for the
Daily Oklahoman
,
the boy had brought up the Wilcox name and proposed crimes similar to what Ted
Bath had reported.