The Lindbergh Kidnapping

THE LINDBERGH KIDNAPPING

The Public Hero

America has rarely given its heroes the stature it accorded Charles Lindbergh following the completion of his flight across the Atlantic. The image of a fearless pilot, master of one of the world's newest and most promising technologies, acting alone to risk all in his attempt to set a world record was simply irresistible. The "Lone Eagle" was exalted above all other modern-day heroes as a living example of the nation's greatest values. No greater symbol of all that was uniquely great about America could have been created by or for a public so sorely in need of a hero. Whether he enjoyed it or not, the adulation he inspired would achieve an intensity well beyond anything previously experienced by his contemporaries. Not until recent times would a trial be more widely followed, incite more passion, or do more to unite a people in their desire for retribution, than did the trial of Bruno Hauptmann, the nondescript man who stood accused of kidnapping and killing the hero's son.

The Kidnapping

On 1 March 1932 the country was stunned by the news that the twenty-month-old child of Charles and Anne Lindbergh had been abducted from his home in New Jersey. A search for the child was begun immediately and soon encompassed a five-state area. Kings and presidents sent their condolences, and people prayed for the safe return of the child as hundreds of press representatives from all over the world descended upon the Lindbergh home. Governor Roosevelt of New York offered to place the New York State police at the disposal of New Jersey's state police superintendent H. Norman Schwarszkopf The police discovered few clues, and, as time passed, the absence of any news concerning the progress of the investigation left people feeling increasingly angry, frustrated, and vengeful. The outrage and disgust that had characterized the public's reaction to the news of the abduction was too real to be dissipated by the passage of time and would remain oddly disturbing to many.

The Arrest

What few not actually connected with the investigation knew was that the kidnapper or kidnappers had established contact with the Lindbergh family through an intermediary, the eccentric Dr. John Condon. Arrangement was made for a partial payment, the sum of fifty thousand dollars, to be made in a cemetery in the Bronx. This exchange, which took place in the dead of night, brought the doctor into contact with the kidnapper and gave Lindbergh, who was also present, but at some distance, an opportunity to hear an accented voice, if only for a few seconds, call out to Condon. In May, approximately one month after the first of the ransom notes was delivered and a portion of the ransom paid, the body of the Lindbergh child was discovered a short distance from his parents' home. No further demands for the payment of ransom were ever received. Despite the false leads reported to the police, Chief Schwarszkopf's grudging acceptance of the federal investigative assistance, and continuing public interest, there were no further developments in the case until almost two years later. In September 1934 several gold certificates bearing serial numbers that identified them as part of the ransom paid in the case began to surface in New York. One of the bills was traced to a gas station attendant, who provided a description of the man who had used it to purchase gasoline for his car. The trail the police followed finally led them to Bruno Hauptmann.

The Suspect

Hauptmann, a carpenter by trade, had illegally entered the United States from Germany in 1924. Soon after, he married Anna Schoeffer and settled in New York City where he found work as a carpenter. Over the next few years the couple developed a small circle of friends, purchased a car, and managed, through their combined labor, to save approximately ten thousand dollars. In 1932 the couple moved into an apartment in the Bronx where Hauptmann, in his spare time, constructed a garage on the adjoining lot. That same year, while Anna was in Germany visiting family, Hauptmann and an acquaintance, Isidor Fisch, pooled their resources to set themselves up in a business. Hauptmann's first venture into a business of his own would eventually fail, taking with it a goodly portion of the couple's savings. Unbeknownst to Hauptmann, Fisch was also involved in a fencing operation, purchasing "hot," or stolen, currency at a discount, and would remain so involved until 1933 when he returned to Germany. Fisch died there the following year. Hauptmann testified that in August 1934 he had discovered among the possessions Fisch had stored in Hauptmann's home a small box containing more than eleven thousand dollars in cash. Sometime thereafter, having heard nothing more from Fisch, he had decided to use some of the money to cover his own expenses.

The Trial

Hauptmann's trial began on 2 January 1935. Never before in the nation's history had the press been so vigorous or single-minded in its pursuit of a story—every event, however remotely connected and irregardless of its significance, if any, was given a full measure of attention by a press corps supremely confident of the insatiability of the public's interest. Often distorted, rarely accurate, fully self-serving, the news reporting did little more than reinforce a nearly universally held opinion that the discovery of the ransom money in Hauptmann's possession was conclusive and overwhelming proof of his guilt.

The Evidence

The evidence against Hauptmann raised as many questions as it did inferences of guilt: Dr. Condon described his meeting with the kidnapper in convincing detail despite the fact that he was terribly nearsighted and, though unbeknownst to the jury, had been inconsistent in the statements he had offered the investigators over the length of the investigation; Lindbergh saw no one but did hear a voice say "Hey, Doc," a voice he connected with that of the defendant some three years after the fact; the ladder used by the kidnapper to gain access to the Lindbergh's house was a ramshackle affair, suggesting it had been assembled by someone unfamiliar with the carpenter's trade. Hauptmann's defense team suffered its moments of failure: no effort was made to exploit the disagreements that arose among handwriting experts respecting the authorship of the ransom notes. Documentary evidence showing that Hauptmann was at his place of employment around the time of the kidnapping was ignored and eventually misplaced. Hearsay evidence was permitted; other evidence was intentionally suppressed. It all made little difference. At the conclusion of the trial the jury acted quickly to condemn the defendant. Those errors that were identified after the trial were eventually found to be insignificant. In an atmosphere in which Hauptmann's guilt was so completely evident in the eyes of so many as to be beyond question, his request for a new trial was barely given consideration. Hauptmann maintained his innocence until he was executed on 3 April 1936.

Source:

Ludovic Kennedy, The Airman and the Carpenter (New York: Viking, 1985).