“Tony Minke lived nearby, on the edge of the Forest Preserve, but he did not usually take this route home. That morning, Thursday, 22 May, he was coming from the factory where he had worked the night shift. Now he was on the way to Hegewisch to pick up his watch from a repair shop before returning home to sleep. The sun was at his back, and as he passed a large ditch on his left, he looked down momentarily. The sun’s rays shone into the ditch, and Minke looked more closely: was that a foot poking out of the drainage pipe? Minke stopped and looked closer – he peered into the pipe. Inside, he could see a child’s body, naked and lying face downward in a foot of muddy water…”
- Simon Baatz, For the Thrill of It: Leopold, Loeb, and the Murder that Shocked Jazz Age Chicago
Like most of you, I’ve spent a fair amount of time plotting the perfect murder. There’s the old icicle gambit, of course, with a weapon that would transform into another state of matter, once the temperature rises. Or the ancient pillow trick, where you smother someone with a pillow and then put a double-cheeseburger in both their hands, so that it looks like cardiac arrest. The advent of technology has created new angles, so maybe you’ve thought about putting your cellphone on your dog and having him run wild while you commit your deed, pinging off various cell towers while you are…
Wait, you’ve never spent a moment of your life thinking such dastardly thoughts?
Well, me neither! I was talking about a friend. Also, I need to stop watching Dateline.
Anyway, while life can sometimes turn our noonday fantasies rather dark, there is comfort in the notion that thoughts alone do not constitute first-degree murder.
Richard Loeb and Nathan Leopold have gone down in infamy because they took the next step.
These two youngers, who have gone down to history as the alliterative tandem of Leopold & Loeb, put their purported “genius” to work in one of the most infamous crimes in American history (which is a rather long list).
No doubt you’ve heard of this illustrious case, even if only by cultural osmosis. I certainly had, but until reading Simon Baatz’s For the Thrill of It, I had no idea how little I actually knew.
On May 21, 1924, fourteen year-old Bobby Franks was abducted on his way home from school. His family received a demand for $10,000 in ransom. Shortly thereafter, Franks’ corpse was discovered in a drainage culvert. A distinctive pair of spectacles left at the scene led detectives to nineteen year-old Nathan Leopold. Like his victim, Leopold came from a prominent and wealthy family. He was extremely intelligent and had never lacked for anything.
Nevertheless, it soon came about that he and Richard Loeb – who were lovers – had plotted and executed the crime with a precision that belied how quickly the plan unraveled. Their motives were opaque. They didn’t really need the money, after all. Was the murder an act of sexual deviancy? Did it have something to do with the killers’ uncertain grasp of Nietzsche? Were the killers mentally ill? Or did it come down – as it was suggested by Loeb – to a thrill killing? Were, the killers, in fact, simply attempting an exercise at the perfect crime?
Baatz does not have answer. Nor does he really try for one. Instead, he attempts to present this whole sordid tale of wealth and privilege, sexuality and bloodlust in the context of its times. He covers the role of science in the law; capital punishment in civilized societies; and the debate between determinism and individual responsibility when it comes to apportioning culpability.
Unfortunately, For the Thrill of It starts rather poorly, in a disorganized and disjointed fashion. This is a function of Baatz starting his narrative with the kidnapping, proceeding with the discovery of the body, and only then circling back to introduce the killers, sketch out their relationship, and describe their homicidal exertions. I don’t want to sound like an old man on his porch, throwing rocks at kids passing by on the sidewalk, but enough with the fractured narratives. They’re not always necessary. Sometimes you should just stick to chronology, because chronology works. It is an efficient way of telling a coherent story. Life is messy and filled with enough zigs and zags; there is no need in nonfiction – beyond literary pretension – to compound this reality by structuring it like the movie Inception.
Eventually, once Baatz locks onto a timeline, the narrative gets a whole lot better. Because there is a lot of research material to work with, including newspaper articles, court transcripts, and the defendants’ lengthy confessions, Baatz is able to provide a level of detail that is almost novelistic.
Baatz also strives for comprehensiveness, covering the victim’s family, the killers, the killers’ family, and the attorneys. The attorneys, especially, are a focal point here. Loeb’s family hired famed defense attorney Clarence Darrow, whose up-and-down career is given a decent retelling in a chapter devoted solely to him. (Baatz is rather skeptical of Darrow’s reputation, and makes sure you know that). Another chapter is given to Robert Crowe, the State’s Attorney, who was a creature of machine politics, but also a good litigator.
The biggest drawback to For the Thrill of It has nothing to do with Baatz’s abilities as a writer or researcher (he is good at both) or his needlessly convoluted early chapters. Rather, the historical reality of the Leopold and Loeb case does not offer much legal drama.
This is not a whodunit. We know exactly who did it. Both Leopold and Loeb gave detailed confessions that were actually taken down by a stenographer. As far as the evidence shows, neither man had those confessions beaten out of him, which is more than a lot of Cook County defendants could ever say.
This is also not a courtroom fight. Leopold and Loeb, you see, pled guilty right off the bat. Thus, the central performance in any great true crime story is missing.
Instead, the story of Leopold and Loeb is the story of early 20th century psychiatry. Darrow’s ploy was to have his client plead guilty (Leopold did the same, following the advice of his attorney), avoid a jury, and then argue to the judge (who seemed sympathetic to the ploy) that Loeb should not be hanged.
Thus, the big middle section of For the Thrill of It is not a set-piece legal showdown, but a tedious battle of experts. Darrow brought in a bunch of psychiatrists who gave various, sometimes contradictory theories about why Leopold and Loeb did what they did. The State did the same, countering with their own experts. The loser was psychiatry, which came off looking like something conjured from thin air. There was no winner.
Baatz does a credible job in explaining all these different theories, and their likely impact on the judge. Nothing he does as an author, however, can necessarily make this interesting. It just kind of drags. Then, when it comes time for Darrow’s famous closing argument, Baatz sort of just dismisses it as disorganized and ineffectual, and he’s probably right.
Leopold and Loeb have claimed a powerful afterlife on stage, in novels, and in movie theaters. For the Thrill of It is – at least according to Baatz – one of the few full-length nonfiction books to explore it. I have no reason to doubt that claim, though I have reason to doubt its necessity.
Any true crime junkie must grapple with the fact that their interest is a bit sordid, and the morality of consuming such tragedies a bit murky. Often, when I finish a book about this or that murder, I end up questioning myself. I think of Russell Crowe in Gladiator, screaming: “Are you not entertained?”
A lot of the time, I can rationalize my interest in a gruesome crime because it is a mystery to be solved, a riddle to be cracked, a knot to be untied. It’s not about the transgression itself, but about who did it, and the proper apportionment of justice. That aspect is missing here. Instead we are left only with a life lost, and other lives squandered.