For the Thrill of It: Leopold, Loeb, and the Murder That Shocked Jazz Age Chicago (51 page)

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

I
N THE
C
RIMINAL
C
OURT
B
UILDING
on the eve of sentencing, the sheriff, Peter Hoffman, was meeting with the chief bailiff, Thomas Brockmeyer. 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?

A
T 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 and 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.

“This determination appears to be in accordance with the progress of criminal law all over the world and with the dictates of enlightened humanity. More than that, it seems to be in accordance with the precedents hitherto observed in this state. The records of Illinois show only two cases of minors who were put to death by legal process—to which number the court does not feel inclined to make an addition.

“Life imprisonment may not, at the moment, strike the public imagination as forcibly as would death by hanging but to the offenders, particularly of the type they are, the prolonged suffering of years of confinement may well be the severer form of retribution and expiation.

“The court feels it proper to add a final word concerning the effect of the parole law upon the punishment of these defendants. In the case of such atrocious crimes it is entirely within the discretion of the department of public welfare never to admit these defendants to parole. To such a policy the court urges them strictly to adhere. If this course is persevered in the punishment of these defendants will both satisfy the ends of justice and safeguard the interests of society.

“In number 33623, indictment for murder, the sentence of the Court is that you, Nathan F. Leopold, Jr., be confined in the penitentiary at Joliet for the term of your natural life….

“In 33623, indictment for murder, the sentence of the Court is that you, Richard Loeb, be confined in the penitentiary at Joliet for the term of your natural life….

“In 33624, kidnaping for ransom, it is the sentence of the Court that you, Nathan F. Leopold, Jr., be confined in the penitentiary at Joliet for the term of ninety-nine years.

“In 33624, kidnaping for ransom, the sentence of the Court is that you, Richard Loeb, be confined in the penitentiary at Joliet for the term of ninety-nine years.

“The Sheriff may retire with the prisoners.”
²⁷

T
HE VERDICT—NINETY-NINE YEARS
for kidnapping, life for the murder—was a victory for the defense, a defeat for the state. The guards allowed Nathan and Richard to shake Darrow’s hand before escorting the prisoners back to the cells. Two dozen reporters crowded around the defense table to hear Darrow’s response to the verdict, but even in his moment of victory, Darrow was careful not to seem too triumphal. “Well, it’s just what we asked for but…it’s pretty tough.” He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. “It was more of a punishment than death would have been.”
²⁸

He gave a characteristic shrug of his shoulders, a shrug of relief that he could now focus on the cause for which he had argued so long. “I have always hated capital punishment. This decision…caps my career as a criminal lawyer and starts my path in another direction…. I shall begin now to plan a definite campaign against capital punishment in Illinois. Perhaps I may be able to take up the matter with the legislature immediately.”
²⁹

Nathan Leopold Sr. had already left the courtroom—he was too overcome to talk to the journalists—but Jacob Loeb remained behind to say a few words. “We have been spared the death penalty; but what have these families to look forward to?…Here are two families whose names here stood for everything that was good and reputable in the community. Now what have they to look forward to? Their unfortunate boys, aged 19 years, must spend the rest of their lives in prison. What is there in the future but grief and sorrow, darkness and despair?”