THE "NO-TELL MOTEL" AND THE BOBBY GREENLEASE MURDER

Mystery and Mayhem at the Coral Court Motel

On October 7, 1953, police officers in St. Joseph, Missouri made a gruesome discovery in the backyard of a woman named Bonnie Heady. The blades of their shovels turned up the decaying corpse of a young kidnapping victim named Bobby Greenlease, who had been missing for days. It was the ending to a strange saga that had started on the other side of the state and had direct connections to an infamous motor lodge on Route 66, the Coral Court Motel.

During the glory days of the American highway, Route 66 reigned supreme as the most famous of the country’s motorways. And there were few motels on Route 66 -- or just about anywhere-- that earned the kind of tawdry reputation like that of the Coral Court Motel, which was located just outside the city limits of St. Louis. When it comes to mystery, intrigue and the sheer tawdriness of a “no-tell motel,” you couldn’t beat the place.

The Coral Court Motel during its fading years

The brick motor court, located at 7755 Watson Road, was designed in the 1940s and a classic example of an Art Deco-style motel. The Coral Court first became famous because of its prime location on Route 66. Heading west on the Mother Road, it was the perfect place to stop after a day-long drive from Chicago. Later, it would earn its seamy reputation as a perfect hiding spot for philanderers and for its grim connection to a St. Louis kidnapping and murder case.

The Coral Court was started by John Carr in 1841. It was painstakingly designed by architect Adolph L. Struebig, who was hired by Carr to give him a little something special. There were a lot of “mom and pop” motels in those days, with eight or so units, but Carr didn’t want that. He told Struebig that he wanted something outstanding. Construction was started that summer and by early 1942, the Coral Court was greetings its first guest. The first 10 bungalows were built in a grand style with honey-colored glazed bricks and large glass block windows. Each unit had two rooms and two garages and this helped the Coral Court to become an immediate success.

After World War II, 23 additional units (or 46 rooms) were designed by architect Harold T. Tyre. They used the same materials and varied only slightly from the original units. The new units featured triangular glass block windows, but the overall look of the place remained. Another expansion took place in 1953 with the additional of three more (ordinary-looking) two-story units, also designed by Tyre, at the back of the property. A swimming pool was added in the early 1960s.

The Coral Court Motel

For many locals, the Coral Court was sort of a rite of passage. Attending a late night, post-prom party or swiping a Coral Court towel or matchbook was the thing to do for St. Louis teenagers. For those who wanted to remain anonymous, the motel was the place to go for an illicit rendezvous. It soon began to be known as St. Louis’ best “no-tell motel.” The reasons why were simple -- The rooms could be rented for a rest period of 4 or 8 hours, which was originally created as a courtesy for truck drivers, but had obvious benefits for lovers. Each room had its own garage, so cars were hidden from prying eyes. And the management of the Coral Court was absolutely discreet. Thanks to this, the legend of the motel spread all across the United States.

The notorious moment in the motel’s history, though, was its connection to the Greenlease kidnapping case in 1953. The incident received national attention and became known as one of the most tragic crimes of the 1950s. It also brought lasting infamy to the Coral Court, largely due to the fact that the Coral Court was used as a hideout by the kidnappers – and the fact that half of the $600,000 ransom vanished at the motel.

Bobby Greenlease

Bobby Greenlease, Jr. was the son of Robert and Virginia Greenlease, residents of Mission Hills, Kansas, a prominent suburb of Kansas City. Robert Greenlease was one of the largest Cadillac dealers in the nation. In comparison to the wealth of the Greenlease family, Bobby’s kidnappers, Carl Austin Hall and Bonnie Heady, were dead broke. However, both had known privilege earlier in their lives. It had been at military school that Hall had met Paul Greenlease, Bobby’s older, adopted brother. Hall later inherited a large sum of money from his father, but lost it all in bad business ventures. After that, he turned to crime. He was arrested for robbing cab drivers (his total take was only $38) and he was sent to the Missouri State Penitentiary. In prison, he dreamed of the "big score" and began planning the kidnapping that would help him to retire.

After getting out of prison, Hall moved to St. Joseph, Missouri and he started dating Bonnie Heady. She was no catch, having a reputation for not only sleeping around but also for occasionally dabbling in prostitution. The good news was that she owned her own home and she and Hall often drank themselves into a stupor there, never being bothered by anyone. They had a violent relationship and in fact, when Heady was arrested for kidnapping, she still bore the bruises of her latest beating. Her willingness to put up with Hall’s abuse is probably a clue as to why she agreed to go along with his kidnapping scheme.

Carl Hall and Bonnie Heady

During the summer months of 1953, Hall and Heady made repeated trips to Kansas City to follow the Greenlease family. After some debate, they decided that Bobby would be the easiest prey. At that time, the boy was enrolled at Notre Dame de Sion, a fashionable Catholic school. In the late morning of September 28, Heady entered the school and told a nun that she was Bobby’s aunt. She and Virginia Greenlease had been shopping at the Country Club Plaza, she told the nun, when Virginia had suffered a heart attack. Heady said that she had come to take Bobby to the hospital. When Bobby was brought out of his class, he immediately took Heady’s hand in his, as if he knew her. Heady would later say, "He was so trusting."

Heady met Hall a few minutes later at the Katz Drugstore and they drove across town and then across the state line into Kansas. When Bobby was taken across state lines, the Lindbergh Statute (name for the famous case) went into effect and became a Federal crime. And it was just about to get worse.

In a vacant field in Overland Park, Heady got out of the car and walked a short distance away while Hall killed Bobby. First, he tried to strangle the little boy, but the rope he used was too short. Then, he punched him in the face, knocking out one tooth. Finally, he pushed Bobby down and shot him in the head with a .38 caliber pistol. The boy was dead less than 30 minutes after he had been abducted. After that, they drove back to St. Joseph and buried the body in the back yard of Heady’s home. Hall had dug the grave the night before. After the body was covered, he planted flowers in the freshly churned soil, hoping to cover all evidence of the horrific crime.

The Greenlease family got their first inkling of trouble when the nun who had released Bobby from school called to inquire about Virginia’s health. Soon after, they got the ransom demands from Hall. He also mailed them a pin that Bobby had been wearing when he was taken. The killer demanded a ransom of $600,000 in $10 and $20 bills.

Robert Greenlease called several of his closest friends and he began putting together the money. He also called the head of the local bank, Arthur Eisenhower (brother of Dwight D. Eisenhower), and the two men put together a plan to record the serial numbers of all of the ransom bills. While the money was being accumulated, Hall called the Greenlease residence repeatedly. He continually reassured them that Bobby was alive. Finally, a week after the kidnapping, the money was delivered. Actually, it was delivered two times because Hall couldn’t find it the first time.

Finally, after almost bungling another money drop on a dark country road, Hall was able to get the money. It was just after midnight on October 5 and Hall made one last phone call to a friend of Robert Greenlease, Robert Ledterman, who had been assisting with the ransom payment. He promised Ledterman that the family would have Bobby back within 24 hours.

While Robert and Virginia waited for word of where to find their son, Hall and Heady drove to St. Louis with a money bag that weighed more than 85 pounds. As they traveled, word of the kidnapping leaked to the media and it became a nationwide sensation. When they arrived in St. Louis, Hall and Heady were stunned to find themselves at the center of the story. They ditched their car and started using taxicabs. They rented a small apartment on Arsenal Street in South St. Louis and decided to lay low. Hall quickly got restless and one afternoon, left a drunken Heady in the apartment with a few thousand dollars and vanished. He departed for the "good life."

Hall then hooked up with an ex-con cab driver and a prostitute. The three of them ended up at the Coral Court Motel on Route 66. It was renowned as a place where a fellow could stay for a while with no questions asked. Rumor had it that the motel’s owner, John Carr, was mob-connected and had operated a posh brothel in St. Louis for many years.

Hiding out at the Coral Court, Hall began to lavish money on his seedy new companions. The prostitute would later say that Hall stayed so drunk, and was so nervous, that he couldn’t perform sexually. As for the cab driver, Hall had turned the man into his own personal valet. He gave the man fistfuls of money and told him to buy new clothes and whatever else he thought he might need. What the cab driver brought him was trouble. The owner of the cab company was a man named Joe Costello, a well-known local gangster. When Costello heard about the big spending customer, he contacted St. Louis Police Lieutenant Louis Shoulders. Since Costello and Shoulders always denied stealing the ransom money, it is unknown whether Costello figured out that Hall was the Greenlease kidnapper and gave Shoulders a tip for the arrest of a lifetime -- or whether they simply conspired to rip Hall off.

However, what is known is that Hall, guided by the cab driver, rented an apartment on the edge of St. Louis. A short time after moving in, he was arrested by Shoulders and a patrolman named Elmer Dolan. Hall was picked up for questioning about the large amount of money that he was flashing around. He was taken to the police station on Newstead Avenue and allegedly, the remaining ransom money was stuffed into a suitcase and a footlocker. The footlocker, which contained about $300,000, was recovered, but the elusive suitcase was never seen again.

Patrolman Elmer Dolan shows a revolver, which he and Lt. Louis Shoulders (left) seized after arresting Hall on the night of October 6.

Once he was arrested, Hall almost immediately broke down. Heady was quickly arrested at the small apartment where Hall had dumped her. On October 7, police officers and reporters raced for Heady’s house in St. Joseph, where they dug up Bobby’s body from the backyard.

And once Hall and Heady confessed to the crime, they resigned themselves to being executed for the murder. When a Federal jury in Kansas City returned the verdict, it has been said that Heady actually smiled. On December 18, only 81 days after the kidnapping, Hall and Heady were executed side-by-side at the Missouri State Penitentiary. The pair had declined to seek mercy at the trial and did not appeal the verdict. Missouri authorities had a second chair installed in the gas chamber so that Heady and Hall could be executed at the same time. Heady was the only woman to ever be put to death in the gas chamber and it’s said that she talked cheerfully to the guards and the officials while she was being strapped in. She did not fall silent until Hall finally told her to shut up.

Amidst the widespread anger about the murder of Bobby Greenlease, there was also an immediate investigation into the money that went missing. The glory that should have led to promotions for Shoulders and Dolan became a dirty scandal that highlighted the widespread corruption of the St. Louis police department in the 1950s.

The two officers were later convicted in a Federal court on a charge of perjury, for supposedly lying about the sequence of events from the time they arrested Hall until the time the money was brought to the police station and counted. Various police clerks and officers testified that they never saw the men carrying anything when they entered the station with Hall and they certainly did not see the suitcase or the foot locker. Shoulders stated that the money was outside in the car and that he brought it into the station after bringing Hall inside.

The official theory was that Shoulders and Dolan, who both left the station on personal errands after booking Hall, returned to Hall’s apartment and stole half the money. They brought the remaining half to the station through the rear door. Hall’s statement, not surprisingly, directly contradicted that of Shoulders and Dolan. Hall maintained that the money had been left in the apartment when he was arrested.

Over time, numerous theories have been floated as to who actually took the money. Most pointed fingers at Shoulders and his connection with Joe Costello, while others blamed the corruption in the police department itself. Costello was accused of taking the money by the FBI, who followed him for years, tapping his phones and questioning his associates. They could never make the theft charges stick, but Costello was eventually arrested on weapons charges and sent to prison.

So if the cops and Costello didn‘t have it, then where could the money have gone? Some have suggested that Coral Court owner John Carr may have been involved. If Carr knew about the money (and it’s possible that he did), he could have entered Hall’s room using a pass key and walked out with half the money, believing that Hall would never miss it. And even if he did miss it, what would he be able to do about it? When John Carr died, he was a multi-millionaire. Could any of that remaining fortune have been part of the Greenlease kidnapping money? Obviously, we will never know. Whoever took the money, though, it was gone. For many years after, it was news whenever any of the bills linked to the missing Greenlease money turned up. But where was it coming from? No one knew and now, with so many principals in the case long dead, it can only be realized that the vanished money will always remain a mystery – a lingering stain on the history of the Coral Court Motel.

John Carr died in 1984 and left the Coral Court to his wife, Jessie, and head housekeeper, Martha Shutt. Jessie and her second husband, Robert Williams, operated the place until August 1993 but by then, the lack of maintenance had taken its toll. Even though many Coral Court fans tried to protect the place from destruction, there was nothing they could to protect it from the wishes of the owners. They didn’t want to bother with the Coral Court anymore and they attorney advised them to sell the property.

As the fate of the place became clear, the concern of its supporters shifted to trying to prevent any further damage to the place while it was on the market. Although the motel was roped off and patrolled regularly by the police, it did not prevent “souvenirs-seekers” and vandals from breaking into the rooms. Some even loaded the bricks into their cars, hoping they would become valuable later on. Tragically, this only brought about the definite destruction of the motel.

The Coral Court was closed in 1993 and razed two years later. The motel was on the market for almost three years but no one could afford the steep price tag and the money that would be needed for renovation. Finally, in June 1995, the motel (except for one unit) was demolished. Luckily for Coral Court supporters, the Missouri Museum of Transportation, with help from scores of volunteers, worked for weeks to disassemble a complete Coral Court unit and move it, piece by piece, to the museum. The exhibit opened in May 2000 and remains on display for anyone who wants to catch a glimpse of the motel’s history as it played out on Route 66.

Unfortunately, there is little trace remaining at the site of the Coral Court today. It is now a subdivision called Oak Knoll Manor, although the original, distinctive stone gates are still in place. It’s hard to imagine the drama, passion and excitement that one played out at one of America’s original “no-tell motels” but it’s a story that could have only taken place on Route 66.

"TAKEN BY GYPSIES"

THE TRAGIC STORY OF ELSIE PAROUBEK

The story of the kidnapping and murder of a young girl named Elsie Paroubek in the spring of 1911 is almost a forgotten tale in the annals of Chicago crime. Few but the most dedicated historians remember much about the case today, but at the time, her disappearance and the subsequent search for her involved law enforcement officials from three states and galvanized the people of Chicago. Nearly everyone was transfixed by the newspaper articles dedicated to the story – a story that did not have a happy ending.

To this day, the murder of Elsie Paroubek has never been solved.  

Eliška "Elsie" Paroubek’s mother was born Karolína Vojáček in November 1869, in Míčov, East Bohemia, in what is now the Czech Republic. Elsie's father, František (Frank) Paroubek, was born in Bohemia in 1867. At the age of 15, he came to the United States, but later returned to Bohemia for a ten-year span between 1882 and 1892. He and Karolina were married in Bohemia in 1892 and returned to America. Frank worked as a painter while Karolina took care of their home and raised a large brood of children. Eliška (Elsie) was their seventh child. She was a happy child with light, golden hair, blue eyes and a ready smile.

The only known photograph of Elsie Paroubek

On the morning of April 8, 1911, five-year-old Elsie left her home at 2320 South Albany Avenue in Chicago, telling her mother that she was going to visit “Auntie,” who was Mrs. Frank Trampota, who lived around the corner at 2325 South Troy Street. Turning left on 22nd Street, then left again on Troy, she met her nine-year-old cousin, Josie Trampota, and a number of other children who were listening to an organ grinder on the street. When the organ grinder moved on to the corner of 23rd Street, the children followed him past Mrs. Trampota’s gate – except for Elsie, who stayed behind. At that point, no one realized that she was missing.

 Several hours later, Elsie’s mother followed her daughter to the Trampota house. When she arrived at her sister’s, Karolina learned that Elsie had never arrived. Because the little girl had many friends in the neighborhood, the women assumed that she must be visiting at another home, perhaps even spending the night and returning in the morning. At 9:00 p.m. that evening, Frank Paroubek came home from work and learned about Elsie’s absence. He was not as unconcerned as his wife and sister-in-law and went immediately to the Hinman Street police station to report her missing. Initially, the police agreed that it was likely she was staying with friends, but when Elsie had not returned home the next morning, Captain John Mahoney took personal charge of the search for the missing girl.

Detectives from several stations canvassed the neighborhood and suspects soon emerged. A boy named John Jirowski told detectives from the Maxwell Street station, led by Inspector Stephen K. Healey, that he had seen a “gypsy” wagon (identified as Romani people in some accounts) on Kedzie Avenue, a block west of Troy Street. There were two women on the wagon and one of them was holding a little girl. The police knew of several gypsy camps along the Des Plaines River, near Kedzie, and went down to speak with the residents. They told investigators that one wagon had decamped and left on the morning of April 9. While the idea of being “stolen by gypsies” sounds far-fetched today, the theory was plausible at the time because Elsie’s disappearance was almost identical to that of a girl named Lillian Wulff, who had been found with gypsies four years earlier.

A gypsy family photographed in Chicago around 1911

 Meanwhile, Frank Paroubek had offered his life savings of $50 (about $1,165 today) as a reward for the girl’s return. Detectives from Maxwell Street searched the Italian neighborhoods around West 14th and South Halsted Streets, where it was reported that a girl fitting Elsie’s description had been seen with an organ grinder. Inspector Healey ordered that the drainage canals be dragged for the child’s body on April 12, and again on April 15, and Illinois Governor Dan S. Deneen asked the public to assist with the search. Soon, there were thousands of people on the lookout for the little girl – but she was nowhere to be found.

Frank Paroubek, accompanied by Detectives Komorous and Sheehan, went in search of the departed gypsy wagon, which was originally believed to be headed for Round Lake, Illinois, a small town about 50 miles northwest of Chicago. There were about seven wagons encamped there at the time and local farmers were alerted to be on the watch for Elsie. Unfortunately, many of them took it upon themselves to question the gypsies and attempt to search their wagons. In the middle of the night, they broke camp, now headed for Volo, Illinois. Volo residents reported a child matching Elsie’s description with the gypsies, adding that she appeared to be “stupefied” or “drugged” and partly covered with a blanket. They also attempted to search the wagons, but the gypsies again escaped and departed for McHenry, Illinois, about 60 miles from Chicago. When the police finally caught up with them at McHenry, they discovered the little girl was a gypsy and did not match Elsie at all, other than they were about the same size and age. 

According to the police, the gypsies often kidnapped small children because of the “natural love of the wandering people for blue-eyed, yellow-haired children.” The Chicago Daily News consistently described Elsie as small, “having long curly golden hair, blue eyes and pink chubby cheeks, with a prominent dimple in each. At the time she disappeared she wore a red hat, a red dress, black stockings and high top black boots.”

The entire city was on the lookout for the girl. On April 17, Police Captain Mahoney received an anonymous telephone call saying that a child of Elsie’s description had been seen with a man at a hotel in Western Springs, Illinois. Again, detectives dispatched to the hotel found nothing. In Sycamore, Illinois, the local police chief accompanied Frank Paroubek when he investigated several gypsy wagons at Cherry Valley. But they found no children resembling Elsie. Meanwhile, Hinman Street police officers fielded reporters' questions about a $500 ransom note received by Karolina. They "denied official knowledge of the communication, but admitted it might be true.” Nothing ever came of the alleged ransom note.

Lillian Wulff, who advised police on how to proceed in case Elsie Paroubek had been stolen by gypsies.

In the second week after Elsie’s disappearance, Lillian Wulff, now age 11, came to the police to offer her assistance. She had been the subject of an identical manhunt four years earlier when she had been stolen by gypsies and forced to work for six days as a beggar. She was recovered after being spotted by a farmer as she was walking behind a gypsy wagon outside Momence, Illinois. Lillian provided what details she could about the typical behavior of the gypsies and offered to lead a “rescue party” if Elsie was found. One of the men who had kidnapped Lillian was tracked down in prison and suggested that the police contact Elijah George – the “King of the Gypsies” -- for help. George was found in Argyle, Wisconsin and brought to Joliet, but “failed to give the desired information” and was released. At this point, Inspector Healey again ordered the drainage canal dragged, along with a search of wells, cisterns and other places into which Elsie might have fallen. 

By April 30, Elsie had been missing for three weeks and the city was in an uproar. The superintendent of schools, Mrs. Ella Flagg Young, requested that all of the schoolchildren in the Chicago area organized neighborhood searchers during their spring break. Around this same time, Frank Paroubek, out of desperation, consulted a psychic medium, who said that Elson was in Argo, Wisconsin. Chicago politician Charles J. Vopicka sent officers to the area that she indicated, but there was no sign of the girl. The search went from Illinois to Wisconsin, from Wisconsin to Minnesota and then back again to Illinois – but with no luck.

In the midst of the investigation, something sinister was going on. A few days after Elsie had vanished, Frank Paroubek began receiving anonymous letters from an unknown source. The letters, described as “insulting,” were all written in English, which he could not read. He asked neighbors to translate. The letters claimed that Elsie had been taken by someone who “hated” the Paroubeks and accused the family of mistreating her. Frank was so angry about the accusations that he burned the letters. Regardless, detectives attempted to follow up on the lead. 

The Czech community in Chicago rallied to support the family. All Czech-speaking policemen were put into plainclothes and assigned to the investigation. The women’s auxiliary of the Club Bohemia also helped with the search, creating what they called an “endless chain letter,” which was mailed to every party of the city, asking that recipients mail copies to everyone they knew. Various Czech-American politicians became involved and the Bohemian Charitable Association offered a $500 reward. Other reward offers poured in. Governor Deneen asked the legislature to revise the statutes so that a reward could be offered by the state of Illinois. At that time, state laws did not allow the offering of a reward for the apprehension of kidnappers, as it did for murderers. Mayor Carter Harrison, Jr. contributed $25 ($600 in today’s money) to a personal reward fund that was set up. Anton Cermak, then a Chicago alderman, stated that if Elsie was not found by the next city council meeting on May 1, he would call upon the city council to offer an even larger reward.

The police were overwhelmed with calls. Every time a girl in a red dress was sighted in a gypsy camp, the tip was called into the police. By May 1, though, investigators had all but abandoned the idea that Elsie had been stolen by gypsies and returned to their efforts of searching wells and dragging rivers and canals. Judge Joseph Sabath objected to what he said was a lackluster search. He claimed that the police hunt was becoming "listless" because Elsie's parents were poor. He had been receiving contributions to the reward fund from all over the country and increased his own contribution to $100.

Meanwhile, Detectives Zahour and Zalasky were still searching for the writer of the letters that had been sent to the Paroubeks. They believed that the man lived near Madison and Robey Streets and that he knew more about the disappearance than he was saying. Lieutenant Costello, supported by Inspector Healey, flatly declared: "Elsie Paroubek fell into the drainage canal from the Kedzie Avenue Bridge or near it. She was not murdered." They believed the author of the letters witnessed her fall. Their search turned up no trace of him, however.

The search of the gypsy camps continued. By May 7, twenty-five camps had been searched and several false leads had turned up nothing. Police Captain Mahoney sadly announced his belief that Elsie was dead, but vowed that the police would continue to search for her body.

The drainage canal near Lockport in 1911

The search didn’t last much longer. Two days later, an electrical engineer named George T. Scully, along with other employees of the Lockport power plant near Joliet, discovered a body floating in the drainage canal. At first they thought it was an animal from one of the nearby farms, but three hours later, realizing that it looked like a child, they sent out a boat to bring it to shore. Undertaker William Goodale, who was called to examine the body, said that it appeared to fit the description of Elsie Paroubek: "The description tallied to the shade of the hair, the texture of the stockings, and the stuff and tint of the dress of little Elsie.” He stated that he believed the body had been in the water for several weeks. It was badly decomposed and original reports said there were “no marks of violence” on the body.

Goodale notified Chicago authorities, who sent Police Lieutenant Costello to the Paroubek home. When she saw the grim-faced policeman on her doorstep, hat in hand, Karolina Paroubek cried out, “Mé drahé dítě!” (My dear child!) and she begged to be told Elsie was alive. Frank was taken to the Goodale funeral home at midnight. He said, "The clothes look like Elsie's. But the face -- I can't recognize it. Her mother alone can tell.”

The next morning, Karolina was brought to the Lockport undertaker’s parlor by trolley car and she positively identified the dead girl as her daughter. She was quoted, “It's you, my darling. Thank God we've found you and you're not in the hands of the gypsies.” For the next hour, she paced back and forth or sat nervously with her husband in an adjoining room. Frank held her hands and they wept and prayed together. Goodale, who had followed the investigation into the girl’s disappearance in the newspapers, made a statement to the police: “The body appears to have been in the water for about a month, which would tally with the date of Elsie Paroubek's disappearance. The child, when she left home, was without hat, and her clothing tallies in every respect with that found on the dead body. There was no ring or other ornament, and in that respect the descriptions correspond. Excepting only as to the color of the eyes, which cannot be clearly observed as to color, the descriptions are identical.”

Arrangements were made for an inquest, with Coroner William Wunderlich of Will County presiding. Frank Paroubek was called as the first witness. Disregarding questions asked of him by the coroner, Paroubek insisted that his daughter had been murder. Through a translator, he told the jury, “I am sure the gypsies stole my girl and then when they knew we were after them they killed her and threw her body into the canal.”

At this assertion, chaos broke out in the jury room. Karolina began screaming and ran from the funeral parlor where the inquest was being held, shouting, “My Elsie is dead! She was murdered, murdered!” Her husband and Detective Zelasky tried to calm her down but in her extreme distress, she started running up and down the street, drawing a crowd of curious onlookers. She insisted that she had known for three weeks that “gypsies” had killed Elsie and that the police had done nothing about it. Frank eventually was able to calm her down and assisted her in boarding a trolley car for home.

The results of the inquest were inconclusive. Coroner Wunderlich stated, “This case has attracted such attention that a minute examination will be made. We will be content with no perfunctory inquest such as this. The jury will refuse to state its convictions -- for it has none -- until after the autopsy has been held. We want the stomach of the little girl examined, and the lungs as well. The father charges murder. It is certainly possible that he is right.”

During the autopsy, two physicians, E.A. Kingston and W.R. Paddock, confirmed that Elsie had not drowned – there was no water in her lungs. Kingston said that she had been “attacked” (a euphemism for rape) and murdered before her body was placed in the water. Paddock said that there was evidence that she had been “wounded” before she was killed. Lieutenant Costello later told the press that she had been “mistreated,” which seemed to indicate that her death had not been the work of gypsies. They also found “deep cuts” on the left side of her face. Although these doctors reported “blue marks on the throat as though the victim had been choked,” another examination by Dr. E.R. LeCount and Dr. Warren H. Hunter of the Coroner’s Office revealed that Elsie had been suffocated, not strangled. The official cause of death was listed as “unknown.” Coroner Peter Hoffman agreed with Frank Paroubek as to the probably circumstances of Elsie’s death – the little girl had been murdered, he believed.

Coroner Hoffman announced, “It is our belief that the abductor of the child suffocated her to death -- possibly by putting a hand over her mouth." The coroner's report recommended that officials continue to investigate. Inspector Healey immediately detailed detectives on a case that had changed from a missing girl to a murdered one. He told reporters, “We have one or two theories, but nothing specific enough to talk about. I intend to place more men on the case tomorrow.” Meanwhile, Lieutenant Costello returned to investigating the anonymous letters that were sent to the Paroubeks, believing them to be the key to solving the case.

On the evening of May 9, Karolina was considerably calmer and gave an interview to reporters at her home. Surrounded by friends and neighbors, she told them, "Before the doctors found that Elsie's lungs were free from water and discovered reasons for believing she had been strangled, I knew she had been murdered. A picture of the crime has been in my mind since the second week of her disappearance, and I am convinced that when the truth is known, as it surely will be, it will be shown that she was choked to death a week from April 8, when she was kidnapped on her way to visit her 'auntie.'" Karolina urged the police to find and punish the killers.

Judge Joseph Sabath

Unfortunately, the poor family had other matters to deal with – Elsie’s funeral, which they could not afford. Karolina told Judge Sabath that the search had exhausted all of the money the family had and there was nothing left to bury her with. The judge gave her a check for $25 and promised to raise more funds. Friends and family members pitched in and gave money and also raised more money for the reward fund. Mrs. Sophie Johanes raised over $50 by giving a benefit party and soliciting donations from Bohemians on the West Coast.

Elsie’s funeral was held on May 12, on the front lawn of the Paroubek home. Hours before it was scheduled to begin, mourners and onlookers began to gather, numbering almost 3,000. They crowded into the yard, around the house, along balconies and on porches of nearby homes. There was no hall in the neighborhood large enough to hold them all. The Paroubeks had been offered the use of a union hall, but Frank knew there were just too many people and he didn’t want to turn anyone away. He said, “They have come to say goodbye to my Elsie. Don't let them be disappointed.” Reserve police officers from the Hinman Street station were tasked with keeping order and preventing the crowd from breaking down the fence.

Elsie’s tiny white coffin was placed on two brass stands, surrounded by lilies of the valley, roses and carnations sent by Mayor Harrison, Judge Sabath and numerous city officials. Eight little girls dressed all in white brought out huge sprays of lilies and roses and encircled the stand. Someone brought out two chairs from the Paroubek home, set them near the casket, placed a board across them and used it as a platform to hold the hundreds of floral offerings. Karolina was seated at the head of the coffin, while Frank and the other children stood nearby. The Paroubeks were not religious, so a simple service was read by Rudolph Jaromir Psenka, editor of the Bohemian Chicago Daily Svornost. He spoke of the need to cooperate with the police to find Elsie’s killers. As the undertaker went to lift the coffin into the hearse, Karolina begged him to open it so she could see Elsie's face once more, but her relatives persuaded her to let him go about his duties. Most of the attendees followed Elsie's casket to Bohemian National Cemetery, where Psenka gave another address.

Police Chief John McWeeny

With the funeral over, the police investigation was reinvigorated, despite the time that had passed. Police Chief John McWeeny vowed to devote the entire Chicago police force to finding the killer. Alderman Cermak asked Governor Deneen to increase the reward by another $200 and he announced that he would, “Ask the governor to issue a proclamation calling upon all the people of the state to interest themselves in this case, in order that her murderer be apprehended." Coroner Peter Hoffman also started a public reward fund, contributing $25 out of his own pocket.

Investigators soon had a suspect – a man named Joseph Konesti. Described as a “bearded Bohemian” and a “hermit peddler,” he was said to have “frequently enticed little girls to his hut by the drainage canal” – the same canal where Elsie’s body was discovered. He lived in a shack about a mile and a half from the Paroubek home and had been “frequently been seen” nearby. The owner of the shack that he lived in, Mrs. David Shaughnessy, told police that she had complained to Konesti about “bringing children around the house,” and had evicted him on May 9. The following day, knowing he was suspected by the police for the murder, he threw himself in front of a train and was killed. Five days later, though, he was cleared of any wrongdoing. 

On May 15, Frank Paroubek had information for the investigators. He told detectives that he had spoken to a man he did not know, who told him that he had seen Elsie later in the afternoon on April 8 on Kedzie Avenue, south of 28th Street, long after she was supposed to have been taken by gypsies. Lieutenant Costello tasked detectives with finding the man. A previous sighting of Elsie had her walking toward the canal on South Troy Street, a half block south of her aunt’s house. If the unknown man was telling the truth, Elsie had been only three blocks away from the bridge. Costello had his own thoughts about the case. He disagreed with the coroner’s report and had become convinced that Elsie’s death was an accident. She had simply fallen into the canal and died and if he could prove that she was closer to the canal than was previously thought, it would give more weight to this theory. The problem was that Inspector Healey had repeatedly dragged the ditches and canals during the search and her body was not found. In addition, there had been no water in her lungs and she had been molested. Costello was clinging to the initial examination by Dr. Kingston, who told Costello that Elsie had drowned and there were no marks of abuse on her body. He changed his report the following day, but Costello was convinced the first report was accurate.    

Costello followed his leads – which led nowhere – while other detectives chased suspects of their own. At one point, they surrounded a house near Madison and Robey Streets and then conducted a house to house search on the southwest side for a former boarder in the Paroubek home. They also looked for the unknown witness who passed on information to Frank and the anonymous letter writer who seemed to know more than he should. Unfortunately, none of these men – like Elsie’s killer himself – were ever found. After more than a century, we still don’t know what really happened to little Elsie Paroubek.

The same cannot be said for her parents, who were destroyed by their daughter’s death. Two years later, on the anniversary of Elsie’s funeral in 1913, Frank Paroubek died. He was only forty-five years old. Karolina lived until December 9, 1927. In death, they have been reunited. All three of them are buried together in Chicago’s Bohemian National Cemetery, leaving a haunting mystery in their wake.

THE VANISHED HOUSEWIFE

On January 25, 1949, a tragic disappearance occurred in the city of Philadelphia. Although I had no connections to the event, other than a sad interest in it, the story that I wrote about it went on to become one of the most controversial of my writing career. 

As some readers know, I’ve always had an interest in unsolved disappearances. But the case of Dorothy Forstein is among the saddest of these stories and is also one of the most unusual in the annals of American crime. To this day, her disappearance has never been solved and strangely, the case was dropped from newspapers within a week after she vanished. Numerous attempts have been made to remove this case from the history books in recent years, but weird, tantalizing details still remain. 

Dorothy Forstein

Dorothy Forstein vanished from her Philadelphia home in 1949, having been married nine years to her childhood sweetheart, Jules Forstein, who was a clerk for the Philadelphia City Council at the time of the wedding. Dorothy was a happy, outgoing young woman and she became the devoted mother of two children, Marcy, an infant, and Merna, age ten, who were children from Jules’ first marriage. His wife had died in childbirth not long before he and Dorothy had become reacquainted. Their marriage was a happy one and Forstein’s professional life began to prosper when he was made a magistrate in 1943. Another child, Edward, was born a short time later.

The Forsteins’ idyllic life was shattered on January 25, 1945. Dorothy left the children with neighbors and went out to do some shopping. She reportedly joked with the butcher and chatted with friends as she went about her errands. Later, her neighbor saw her return home and thought that someone was with her, or walking behind her, as she made her way through the late evening shadows to her front door. It was getting dark and the neighbor, Maria Townley, admitted that she didn’t look closely at the man who was behind her. It was a safe neighborhood and she never imagined that Dorothy was in trouble.

Just as Dorothy was entering her three-story brick home, the stranger-- or whomever it might have been that Mrs. Townley saw-- jumped out of the darkness at her. He began beating her with his fists and some sort of blunt instrument. Dorothy fell to the ground and was pounded into unconsciousness. As she tumbled into the house, her arm dislodged the hall telephone. In those days of live operators, the voice on the other end of the line heard the commotion and quickly summoned the police. The attacker fled at the sound of approaching sirens.

Police officers arrived moments later and found a battered Dorothy on the floor of the hallway. She had suffered a broken jaw, a shattered nose, a fractured shoulder and a brain concussion. She was rushed to the hospital and when she awakened, she could only weakly explain that “someone jumped out at me. I couldn’t see who it was. He just hit me and hit me.”

Investigators labeled the attack an attempted murder and Captain James A. Kelly of the Philadelphia Homicide Division began trying to put the pieces together. He concluded that it could only have been someone trying to kill Dorothy since no money, jewelry or anything else had been taken from the Forstein home. Jules Forstein himself was investigated but he had an unimpeachable alibi and the children were too young to have been involved. The case was complicated by the fact that Dorothy had no known enemies and in fact, was one of the most well-liked residents in the neighborhood. The most prevalent theory for the police investigators was that the attacker might have been someone who had appeared in court before Forstein and had assaulted Dorothy for revenge. Every possible lead was investigated but no arrests were ever made.

Dorothy recovered from her injuries but was so shaken by the incident that she was never the same again. Her happy and carefree personality was gone, replaced by an anxious woman who was nervous and upset, jumping at every noise in the house and checking and rechecking the locks on the doors and windows. She was sure that someone was out to get her - but who?

Jules Forstein was perplexed. He was sure that no one with whom he had come into contact as a magistrate would bear him enough of a grudge to hurt his wife or his family, and yet he could not explain Dorothy’s attack. He seldom left his wife and children alone but on the night of October 18, 1949, he made plans to attend a political banquet. As he was leaving the office, he called his wife to check on her, explaining that he didn’t plan to be home too late.

Dorothy replied that everything was fine at home and she joked with him for a moment, finally seeming more like her old self. “Be sure to miss me!” she reportedly said just as she was hanging up. Tragically, her words would turn out to be prophetic ones.

Around 11:30 p.m., Forstein came home to be greeted by the wails of his two youngest children, Edward and Marcy. They were huddled on the floor, crying and shrieking. Their sister, Merna, was staying at a friend’s house and Dorothy was nowhere to be found. Forstein quickly discovered that the children were crying because their mother was gone!

While surprised that she would have left the children at home by themselves, Forstein assumed that Dorothy was visiting with friends or neighbors. He telephoned for several hours and no one had seen her. Finally, he called Captain Kelly again and the detective soon started his men checking hospitals, morgues and hotels all over Philadelphia. They worked frantically but no clues were discovered. Kelly went door-to-door in the neighborhood but no one had seen anything unusual. Wherever she was, Dorothy had left her purse, money and keys at home. The front door to the house had been locked.

The only lead came from nine-year-old Marcy Forstein, but her story was so wild that detectives at first dismissed it as nothing more than a child’s frightened and overactive imagination. She told Captain Kelly that she had been awakened and had left her room to see a man coming up the stairs. He went into her mother’s room. The door was cracked open and Marcy stated that she could see Dorothy lying face down on the rug. “She looked sick,” the little girl offered.

Then, the man, who she described as wearing a brown hat and brown jacket with something sticking out of the pocket, picked up her mother and put her over his shoulder. Dorothy was wearing red silk pajamas and red slippers at the time. Marcy asked the man what he was doing. He patted her on the head and replied: “Go back to sleep, little one, your mommy has been sick, but she will be all right now.”

The man carried Dorothy downstairs and out the front door. He locked the door behind him and vanished. Marcy awakened her brother and they waited together for their father, who arrived home about fifteen minutes later. The little girl told the detectives that she had never seen the man before and had no idea who he was.

As bizarre as the story sounded, it was the only possible explanation the police had for Dorothy’s disappearance. Nothing was disturbed in the house. There was no sign of a struggle and also no indication that anyone else had been there. There was not a single fingerprint in the house that did not belong and the investigators wondered how a man could have walked down the street with a woman in pajamas over his shoulder without someone noticing. And how had he gotten into the locked house anyway? It seemed impossible that the girl’s story could be true and yet it had to be. If no one had spirited the young woman away, then where had she gone? If she had walked away on her own, why had she not taken her purse or keys with her?

Dorothy Forstein was never seen again. There were no leads, no suspects and no explanations as to who might have taken her or why. Newspapers all over the country, especially in Pennsylvania, carried stories about her disappearance and possible kidnapping and then, by the end of October, the story largely disappeared, just as Dorothy had done. She simply vanished - gone without a trace.

For decades, no further word of Dorothy Forstein appeared in print. Then, in 2003, I featured the story of Dorothy Forstein on my website and soon after, I received a letter from an attorney from the Forstein family asking if the story could be removed. The letter was not threatening. It merely made an appeal for the privacy of the family members and asked if I would consider removing it from the internet out of consideration for their grief. I agreed to do so and I later learned that several sites that had also featured my article on the disappearance had received a similar letter.

Why the secrecy about a fifty-year-old disappearance? No one could say and to this day, no one is talking. I have never heard anything else about this mysterious case and there has been no further contact with anyone about it. After all of those years, the 2003 attention to the case of the missing housewife is almost as mysterious as the original vanishing – and neither is likely to ever be solved.

Read more about unsolved vanishings in my book Without a Trace, available as a Kindle edition or in print on the Whitechapel Press website. 

CHICAGO'S THRILL KILLERS

LEOPOLD & LOEB AND THE “PERFECT CRIME”

On this date, May 21, 1924, the sons of two of Chicago's wealthiest and most illustrious families drove to the Harvard School on the city's South Side and kidnapped a young boy named Bobby Franks. Their plan was to carry out the "perfect murder." It was a scheme so devious that only two men of superior intellect, such as their own, could accomplish. These two were Richard Loeb and Nathan Leopold. They were the privileged heirs of well-known Chicago families who had embarked on a life of crime for fun and for the pure thrill of it. They were also a pair of sexual deviants who considered themselves to be "brilliant" --- a claim that would later lead to their downfall.

Bobby Franks

Nathan Leopold, or "Babe" as his friends knew him, had been born in 1906 and from an early age had a number of sexual encounters, starting with the advances of a governess and culminating in a relationship with Richard Loeb. He was an excellent student with a genius IQ and was only 18 when he graduated from the University of Chicago. He was an expert ornithologist and botanist and spoke nine languages fluently. Like many future killers, his family life was totally empty and devoid of control. His mother had died when he was young and his father gave him little personal attention. He compensated for his lack of fatherly direction with expensive presents and huge sums of money. Leopold was given $3,000 to tour Europe before entering Harvard Law School, a car of his own and a $125-a-week allowance.

Richard Loeb was the son of the Vice President of Sears & Roebuck and while he was as wealthy as his friend was, Loeb was merely a clever young man and far from brilliant. He was, however, quite handsome and charming and what he lacked in intelligence, he more than made up for in arrogance. Both of the young men were obsessed with perfection. To them, perfection meant being above all others, which their station in life endorsed. They felt they were immune to laws and criticism, which meant they were perfect.

     Chicago’s infamous “Thrill Killers”, Richard Loeb and Nathan Leopold standing on either side of their famous defense attorney, Clarence Darrow. 

Loeb fancied himself a master criminal detective, but his dream was to commit the perfect crime. With his more docile companion in tow, Loeb began developing what he believed to be the perfect scheme. He also constantly searched for ways to control others. Leopold, who was easily dominated, agreed to join him in a life of crime. Over the course of the next four years, they committed robbery, vandalism, arson and petty theft, but this was not enough for Loeb. He dreamed of something bigger. A murder, he convinced his friend, would be their greatest intellectual challenge.

They worked out a plan during the next seven months. The plan was to kidnap someone and they would make it appear as though that person was being held for ransom. They would write the ransom note on a typewriter that had been stolen from Loeb's old fraternity house at the University of Michigan and make the family of the victim believe that he would be returned to them. Leopold and Loeb had no such plans though ---- they intended to kill their captive.

In May 1924, they rented a car and drove to a hardware store at 43rd and Cottage Avenue, where they purchased some rope, a chisel and a bottle of hydrochloric acid. They would garrote their victim, stab him with the chisel if necessary, and then destroy his identity with the acid.

The next day, they met at Leopold's home and wrapped the handle of the chisel with adhesive tape so that it offered a better grip. They also gathered together a blanket and strips of cloth that could be used to wrap up and bind their victim. Leopold also placed a pair of wading boots in the car because the boys planned to deposit the body in the swamps near Wolf Lake, located south of the city. They packed loaded pistols for each of them and looked over the already typed ransom note that demanded $10,000 in cash. Neither of them needed the money but they felt the note would convince the authorities that the kidnappers were lowly, money-hungry criminals and deflect attention from people like Leopold and Loeb.

They had only overlooked one thing ---- a victim.

They first considered killing Loeb's younger brother, Tommy, but they discarded that idea. It was not because Tommy was a family member but only because it would have been hard for Loeb to collect the ransom money without arousing suspicion. They also considering killing Armand Deutsch, grandson of millionaire philanthropist Julius Rosenwald, but also dismissed this idea because Rosenwald was the president of Sears & Roebuck and Loeb's father's immediate boss. They also came close to agreeing to kill their friend, Richard Rubel, who regularly had lunch with them. Rubel was ruled out, not because he was a good friend to them, but because they knew his father was cheap and would never agree to pay the ransom.

They could not agree on anyone but did feel that their victim should be small, so that he could be easily subdued. With that in mind, they decided to check out the Harvard Preparatory School, which was located across the street from Leopold's home. They climbed into their rental car and began to drive. As they drove, Leopold noticed some boys near Ellis Avenue and Loeb pointed out one of them that he recognized --- 14-year-old Bobby Franks. He was the son of the millionaire Jacob Franks, and a distant cousin of Loeb.

Chosen by chance, he would make the perfect victim for the perfect crime.

Bobby was already acquainted with his killers. He had played tennis with Loeb several times and he happily climbed into the car. Although at their trial, both denied being the actual killer, Leopold was at the wheel and Loeb was in the back, gripping the murder weapon tightly in his hands. They drove Bobby to within a few blocks of the Franks residence in Hyde Park and then Loeb suddenly grabbed the boy, stuffed a gag in his mouth and smashed his skull four times with a chisel. The rope had been forgotten. Bobby collapsed onto the floor of the car, unconscious and bleeding badly.

When Leopold saw the blood spurting from Bobby's head, he cried out, "Oh God, I didn't know it would be like this!"

Loeb ignored him, intent on his horrific task. Even though Bobby was unconscious, he stuffed his mouth with rags and wrapped him up in the heavy blanket. The boy continued to bleed for a time and then died.

With the excitement of the actual murder concluded, Leopold and Loeb casually drove south, stopped for lunch, and then drove for a little while longer. They had supper as they waited for the sun to go down. Eventually, they ended up near a culvert along the Pennsylvania Railroad tracks. It emptied into a swamp along Wolf Lake.

Leopold put on his hip boots and carried Bobby's body to the culvert. They had stripped all of the clothes from the boy's body and then after dunking his head underwater to make sure that he was dead, they poured acid on his face in hopes that he would be harder to identify. Leopold then struggled to shove the naked boy into the pipe and took his coat off to make the work easier. Unknown to the killers, a pair of eyeglasses were in the pocket of Leopold's coat and they fell out into the water when he removed it. This would be the undoing of the "perfect crime."

After pushing the body as far into the pipe as he could, Leopold sloshed out of the mud toward the car, where Loeb waited for him. The killers believed that the body would not be found until long after the ransom money had been received. With darkness falling, though, Leopold failed to notice that Bobby's foot was dangling from the end of the culvert.

They drove back to the city and parked the rental car next to a large apartment building. Bobby's blood had soaked through the blanket that he had been wrapped in and had stained the automobile's upholstery. The blanket was hidden in a nearby yard and the boys burned Bobby's clothing at Leopold's house. They typed out the Franks' address on the already prepared ransom note. After this, they hurried back to the car and drove to Indiana, where they buried the shoes that Bobby had worn and everything that he had on him that was made from metal, including his belt buckle and class pin from the prep school.

Finally, their "perfect crime" carried out, they drove back to Leopold's home and spent the rest of the evening drinking and playing cards. Around midnight, they telephoned the Franks' home and told Mr. Franks that he could soon expect a ransom demand for the return of his son. "Tell the police and he will be killed at once," they told Mr. Franks. "You will receive a ransom note with instructions tomorrow."

The next morning, the ransom note, signed with the name "George Johnson," was delivered to the Franks, demanding $10,000 in old, unmarked $10 and $20 bills. The money was to be placed in a cigar box that should be wrapped in white paper and sealed with wax.  After its arrival, the Franks' lawyer notified the police, who promised no publicity.

Meanwhile, Leopold and Loeb continued with the elaborate game they had concocted. They took the bloody blanket to an empty lot, burned it, and then drove to Jackson Park, where Loeb tore the keys out of his stolen typewriter. He threw the keys into one lagoon in the park and the typewriter into another. Later in the afternoon, Loeb took a train ride to Michigan City, leaving a note addressed to the Franks in the telegram slot of a desk in the train's observation car. He got off the train at 63rd Street, as it returned to the city, and rejoined the waiting Leopold. Andy Russo, a yardman, found the letter and sent it to the Franks.

However, by the time the letter arrived, railroad maintenance men had already stumbled upon the body of Bobby Franks. The police notified Jacob Franks and he sent his brother-in-law to identify the body. He confirmed that it was Bobby and the newspapers went into overdrive, producing "extra" editions that were on the street in a matter of hours.

One of the largest manhunts in the history of Chicago began. Witnesses and suspects were picked up in huge numbers and slowly the "perfect crime" began to unravel. Despite their "mental prowess" and "high intelligence," Leopold and Loeb were quickly caught. Leopold had dropped his eyeglasses near the spot where the body had been hidden and police had traced the prescription to Albert Coe & Co., who stated that only three pair of glasses with such unusual frames had been sold. One pair belonged to an attorney, who was away in Europe, the other to a woman and the third pair had been sold to Nathan Leopold.

Police officers search for clues at Wolf Lake, where Bobby Franks’ body was found

The boys were brought in for questioning and began supplying alibis for the time when Bobby had gone missing. They had been with two girlfriends, they claimed, "May and Edna." The police asked them to produce the girls but the killers could not. Leopold claimed that he had apparently lost the glasses at Wolf Lake during a recent bird-hunting trip. The detectives noted that it had rained a few days before but the glasses were clean. Could Leopold explain this? He couldn't.

  

Then, two novice reporters, Al Goldstein and Jim Mulroy, obtained letters that Richard Loeb had written with the stolen typewriter --- which had already been found in Jackson Park. The letters matched the type on the ransom note, which was a perfect match for the typewriter that Leopold had "borrowed" from his fraternity house the year before.

  

Loeb broke first. He said that the murder was a lark, an experiment in crime to see if the "perfect murder" could be carried out. He then denied being the killer and claimed that he had driven the car while Leopold had slashed Bobby Franks to death. Leopold refuted this. Finally, the boys were brought together and admitted the truth. Loeb had been the killer, Leopold had driven the car but both of them had planned the crime together --- they were both guilty of Bobby Franks' murder.

The people of Chicago, and the rest of the nation, were stunned. It was fully expected that the two would receive a death sentence for the callous and cold-blooded crime.

After the confession, Loeb's family disowned him but Leopold's father turned to Clarence Darrow, America's most famous defense attorney, in hopes that he might save his son. For $100,000, Darrow agreed to seek the best possible verdict that he could, which in this case was life in prison. "While the State is trying Loeb and Leopold," Darrow said. "I will try capital punishment."

Darrow would have less trouble with the case than he would with his clients, who constantly clowned around and hammed it up in the courtroom. The newspaper photographers frequently snapped photos of them smirking and laughing in court and the public, already turned against them, became even more hostile toward the "poor little rich boys."

Darrow was fighting an uphill battle, but he brought out every trick in the book and used shameless tactics during the trial. He declared the boys to be insane. Leopold, he said, was a dangerous schizophrenic. They weren't criminals, he railed, they just couldn't help themselves. After this weighty proclamation, Darrow actually began to weep. The trial became a landmark in criminal law. He offered a detailed description of what would happen to the boys as they were hanged, providing a graphic image of bodily functions and physical pain. Darrow even turned to the prosecutor and invited him to personally perform the execution.

Darrow's horrifying description had a marked effect on the courtroom and especially on the defendants. Loeb was observed to shudder and Leopold got so hysterical that he had to be taken out of the courtroom. Darrow then wept for the defendants, wept for Bobby Franks, and then wept for defendants and victims everywhere. He managed to get the best verdict possible out of the case. The defendants were given life in prison for Bobby Frank's murder and an additional 99 years for his kidnapping.

Ironically, after all of that, Darrow only managed to get $40,000 of his fee from Leopold's father. He got this after a seven-month wait and the threat of a lawsuit.

Leopold and Loeb were sent to the Joliet Penitentiary. Even though the warden claimed they were treated just like all of the other prisoners, they each enjoyed a private cell, books, a desk, a filing cabinet and even pet birds. They also showered away from the other prisoners and took their meals, which were prepared to order, in the officers' lounge. Leopold was allowed to keep a flower garden. They were also permitted any number of unsupervised visitors. The doors to their cells were usually left open and they had passes to visit one another at any time.

Richard Loeb was eventually killed by another inmate, against whom he had been reportedly making sexual advances. The inmate, James Day, turned on him in a bathroom and attached him with a razor. Loeb, covered in blood, managed to make it out of the bathroom and he collapsed in the hallway. He was found bleeding by guards and he died a short time later. It was later discovered that Day had slashed him 56 times with the razor. When Clarence Darrow was told of Loeb's death, he slowly shook his head. "He is better off dead," the great attorney said, "For him, death is an easier sentence."

Leopold lived on in prison for many years and was said to have made many adjustments to his character and some would even say rehabilitated completely. Even so, appeals for his parole were turned down three times. Finally, in 1958, the poet Carl Sandburg, who even went as far as to offer Leopold a room in his own home, pleaded his fourth appeal. Finally, in March of that year, he was released.

He was allowed to go to Puerto Rico, where he worked among the poor and married a widow named Trudi Feldman Garcia de Quevedo, who owned a flower shop. He went on to write a book about his experiences called Life Plus 99 Years and continued to be hounded by the press for his role in the "perfect murder" that he had committed decades before. He stated that he would be "haunted" by what he had done for the rest of his life.

Nathan Leopold died of heart failure on August 30, 1971, bringing an end to one of the most harrowing stories in the history of the city.

Sending Leopold and Loeb to prison, according to many people, did not bring about an end to this macabre case, thanks to two restless ghosts that continued to walk for many years afterward. The spirit with the most horrible connection to the case was that of Bobby Franks, who took nearly 50 years to find peace.

During this time, visitors to Rosehill Cemetery on the north side of Chicago often reported seeing the ghost of a young boy standing among the stones and mausoleums in the Jewish section of the graveyard. It is here where the Franks family mausoleum is located, although its location is not listed on any maps of the cemetery and employees are instructed not to point it out to curiosity-seekers. Even so, this tomb can be discovered within the confines of the beautiful burial ground and starting in the 1920s, maintenance workers and visitors alike encountered the ghostly boy. Many came to believe that it was the ghost of Bobby Franks, unable to rest in the wake of his bloody and violent death.

Franks Mausoleum

The boy was often seen wandering here but only from a distance. Whenever he was approached, the apparition would vanish. These sightings continued for years but eventually, they seemed to fade away. It's been noted that the encounters ended at nearly the exact same time that Nathan Leopold died in Puerto Rico. Could there be a connection between these two events? It certainly seems possible and perhaps Bobby Frank can now find peace on the other side.

The other ghost from this case was that of famous attorney Clarence Darrow. When Darrow died in 1936, his ashes were scattered over the lagoon at Jackson Park, just behind the Museum of Science and Industry. While standing on what has been named the Clarence Darrow Bridge, many people have somewhat regularly spotted what is likely Darrow's ghost on a veranda that spans the back of the museum. This wide stone area is at the bottom of the steps leading into the rear entrance of the museum. The ghost is reportedly seen dressed in a suit, hat and overcoat and bears a striking resemblance to the attorney. The figure is reported to stand and stare out across the water before disappearing.

Does the ghost of Clarence Darrow walk at the Museum of Science and Industry?

Is this the ghost of Clarence Darrow, finally making his presence known from a world beyond our own? There are no other ghostly manifestations connected to this site and certainly none that look like Darrow did in his last days, as he strolled through the park admiring the "prettiest view on Earth."

The story of Leopold and Loeb – along with dozens of other sensational Chicago crimes, ghost stories and strange happenings – can be found in the book WEIRD CHICAGO, from the creators of the famous tour. The book is available in print and in a Kindle edition!