The Anarchist (39 page)

“Where
you
been?” Geary asked.

“You know there’s dozens of places just off Market Street. I used to work that beat.”

“They do it for
free?”
Geary asked.

“No, I always insisted on paying,” Solomon said. “Don’t want them to be able to take advantage, right? But being police, they would give me special treatment, if you know what I mean.”

“You
dog,”
Geary said.

Solomon nodded toward his partner. “You see, Geary’s not only married, he goes to church every damn Sunday.”

Ignoring Solomon, Geary said, “Leon, you never married then, never considered it?”

“No.”

“Well,” Solomon said, “a good whore can help you there.”

“Maybe,” Czolgosz said. He finished the last of his roast beef. When he raised his head, they were still both staring intently at him.

Solomon leaned forward and whispered, “Leon, you ever do it with Red Emma?”

He didn’t answer.

Geary leaned forward, too. “She any
good?”

He just stared back at them.

“I’ll bet she’ll take your peter in her mouth,” Geary said. “All them radical women, they’ll suck on it, right?” Czolgosz put down his spoon.

Disappointed, Geary said, “He ain’t gonna tell us nothing.”

“Look at him,” Solomon said. “You can see the killer in him now. He’d like as kill both of us if he had the means to do it. Why, if he had a fork he’d go right for your neck. It’s that Red Emma, that’s what it is. She turned this boy’s head around.”

“I’ll go back to my cell now and rest a bit before the afternoon session.” Czolgosz got up and walked down the corridor.

“They arrested her in Chicago,” Geary said. “Penney tried his damnedest to get her extradited to New York, but they wouldn’t budge, and now she’s off scot-free.”

“Too bad,” Solomon said. “If they got her here, they could’ve tried the two of them together. Like the eight anarchists that were tried for the Haymarket bombing. You know I heard that when the death penalty was handed down one of the defendants was standing by a window, and he tied a little noose in the cord hanging from the shade, and that’s how the crowd outside the courthouse learned the verdict.”

“Leon,” Geary said. “Come on back here. We’re just having a little fun. Leon?”

Czolgosz stepped inside his cell and pulled the heavy door closed.

There was a delay at the start of the afternoon session while the lawyers gathered in the front of the room. Czolgosz couldn’t hear what they were saying; several times one of them turned toward Dr. MacDonald and the other alienists, who were seated in the first rows behind the prosecution’s table. Finally, the lawyers took their seats and Chief Bull was the first to take the stand. His testimony merely repeated what had been stated by previous witnesses. At one point the crowded courtroom became particularly quiet when Penney asked if the defendant believed in marriage.

Chief Bull said, “He did not believe in marriage. He was a free lover, and the Free Love Society—as I understand it—this was a Free Love Society.”

After Bull’s testimony, the prosecution rested its case. Czolgosz understood now what the conference at the beginning of the session had been about: the lawyers had decided not to call the alienists to the witness stand.

Lewis looked at Czolgosz and said, “Do you wish to take the stand and testify?”

Czolgosz shook his head.

Slowly, Lewis stood up. “If Your Honor please,” he said, “the defense has no witnesses to call, so that the testimony is closed at the close of the testimony of the People. We are somewhat embarrassed, disappointed, in the People’s testimony closing at this point. My associate and myself have not had very much consultation as to the course to be pursued, but from the slight conversation that we have had we are inclined to ask Your Honor to permit each of us, both of us, to make some remarks to the jury
in summing up this case. They will be on my part very brief, and I presume so on the part of my associate.”

Judge White nodded his consent. As Lewis began to speak Czolgosz looked at the clock on the wall. Lewis spoke for nearly half an hour, until his voice broke with emotion, and he said, “Now, gentlemen, I have said about all I care to say about this case. The president of the United States was a man for whom I had the very profoundest respect. I have watched his career from the time he entered Congress—it must be twenty or more years ago—until his last breath here in the city of Buffalo, and every act of the man, so far as I could judge, had been the act of one of the noblest men that God ever made. His policy—we care nothing about that so far as we may differ as to his policy, but his policy has always met with my profoundest admiration in every respect. I have known him not only as a statesman, but I have known him, through the public press and otherwise, as a citizen, a man of irreproachable character, a loving husband, a grand man in every aspect that you could conceive of, and his death has been the saddest blow to me that has occurred in many years.” Lewis sat down, put his handkerchief to his face, and wept.

The other defense attorney, Titus, stood up and said, “If the court please, the remarks of my distinguished associate have so fully and completely covered the ground and so largely anticipated what I intended to present to the jury myself, that it seems entirely unnecessary for me to reiterate what has already been said upon this subject, and we, therefore, rest with the remarks made by Judge Lewis.” Titus sat down but did not have the need of a handkerchief.

Then it was Penney’s turn, and it was clear from the start that he would not be brief. Penney talked a great deal about Czolgosz’s sanity, and at one point asked, “What evidence is there in this case that the man is not sane?” When he concluded, Czolgosz noted that seventeen minutes had passed.

Then Judge White stood up, and told the jury to do the same. Czolgosz hoped that the fact that the old judge was standing meant his comments would be brief. But he spoke for twenty-one minutes. As with the other speeches, there was praise for President McKinley, and considerable discussion of the relationship between sanity and guilt, and with justice as opposed to what he called “lynch law.” When the judge finished, his voice was quivering, and he sat down with tears in his eyes.

Czolgosz thought that that was the end of it, but there was still some discussion between the lawyers and the judge concerning the fine points of the law regarding sanity until, finally, Judge White said to the jury, “You gentlemen may now retire with the officers.”

The jury and the judge left the courtroom at 3:50. At first Czolgosz thought that he would be taken back to his cell, but Solomon and Geary made no move to leave. Everyone else remained in their seats. There was a commotion in the back of the courtroom and Czolgosz looked around: though every seat was taken, more people were filing through the doors and standing along the walls.

At 4:17 the tipstaff thumped the floor twice, Judge White returned to the bench, and then the jury filed back to their seats. The judge told Czolgosz to stand up, and he got to his feet. His lawyers remained seated.

The clerk called the names of each juror, and then asked, “Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”

The jury foreman stood up and said, “We have.”

“How do you find?” the clerk asked.

A fly landed on Czolgosz’s right cheek, which he brushed off with his hand.

The foreman unfolded a slip of paper and read, “Guilty of murder in the first degree as charged in the indictment.”

The clerk asked, “So say you all?”

The twelve jurors said together, “We do.”

There was silence for a moment, and then a din of voices burst out in the courtroom despite the rapping of the judge’s gavel.

Czolgosz sat down. The trial had taken a little more than eight hours, and the jury had taken less than a half hour to reach its verdict.

NORRIS couldn’t tell how much time had passed. He was in a stall again, curled up on the hard cold ground, tied to the gatepost. His head throbbed and dried blood encrusted his mouth. He was certain his nose was broken. He could barely see out of his left eye. After Feeney’s throat had been cut, they made Norris dig a hole out in the pasture and bury the body. This took a long time and Norris nearly collapsed from the work. It was first light when he was through, and then Gimmel beat him with the monkey fist.

CZOLGOSZ was brought back into the courtroom at two o’clock on Thursday, and again the room was packed. Only Titus sat at the defense table with Czolgosz, Geary, and Solomon. Once court was in session, District Attorney Penney told Czolgosz to stand up. He hesitated, and then got to his feet. The clerk came over to him with the Bible, but he didn’t put his hand on it. The clerk looked at Judge White, who nodded impatiently, and Czolgosz was sworn in without his hand being on the Bible.

Penney came out from behind the prosecution’s table. He asked Czolgosz a series of questions—his age, where he was born,
his last place of residence, his marital status. Czolgosz answered quietly, so much so that he was asked repeatedly to speak up. He would not. When they asked if he had a trade or was a laborer, he said he was a laborer. He grew weary of questions they already knew the answers to, and he had only one thing to say.

Penney asked, “Have you been convicted of any crime before this?”

“No, sir,” Czolgosz said.

There was a pause, and for a moment it seemed no one knew what to do next, until the clerk said, “Have you any legal cause to show why sentence of the court should not now be pronounced against you?”

The courtroom resounded with murmurs, and Czolgosz said, “Can’t hear that.”

Judge White said loudly, “People in the room should remain absolutely quiet and those who are unwilling to do that until the proceeding here is terminated should retire from the room at this time.”

The crowd fell silent, and the clerk said, “Have you any legal cause to show why sentence of the court should not now be pronounced against you?”

Czolgosz looked at District Attorney Penney and said, “I would rather have this gentleman speak, over here.”

For a moment Penney seemed to appreciate the request, and then he said gently, “The clerk asks you if you have any legal cause to show why sentence should not now be pronounced against you. Do you understand?”

“No, sir.”

“He wants to know if you have any reason to tell the court why you should not now be sentenced—say anything to the judge. Have you anything to say to the judge before sentence? Say yes or no, if you have.”

“Yes,” Czolgosz whispered.

“Make your statement, then.”

Judge White leaned forward and asked, “Does he answer?”

Penney said, “He says, yes, he has something to say.”

The judge said, “In that behalf, Czolgosz, what you have a right to say—”

Czolgosz said, “I want to say this much—”

“Wait a moment,” the judge said.

Penney leaned toward Czolgosz and said, “Listen to the judge.”

Judge White said, “The legal causes which the law provides that you may claim in exempting you from having judgment pronounced against you at this time are defined by statute. The first is that you may claim that you were insane. The next is that you have good cause to offer either in arrest of the judgment about to be pronounced against you or for a new trial. Those are the grounds specified by statute upon which you have the right to speak at this time, and you are at perfect liberty to do so freely.”

Czolgosz whispered, “I have nothing to say about that.”

Penney turned to the judge and said, “He says, ‘I have nothing to say about that.’”

Judge White said to the district attorney, “Are you ready?”

“I am through, sir,” Penney said.

The judge looked at Czolgosz. “Nothing to say?”

“I want to say something about my family.”

Titus looked at the judge. “I think he ought to be permitted to make a statement in exculpation of his family, if the court will permit it.”

“Yes,” the judge said. “Proceed, Czolgosz.”

“I would like to say this much,” Czolgosz said, raising his head slightly, “that the crime was committed by no one else but me. No one told me to do it and I never told anybody to do it.”