Deadly Hero: The High Society Murder that Created Hysteria in the Heartland (27 page)

Judge Hurst thanked the jury and scheduled
sentencing for two o’clock Saturday. He secretly dreaded having to determine
the sentence, and wanted two days to consider his decision.

As he sat there, wearing the same blue-checked
suit he’d worn the night he killed John, Phil Kennamer took the news quietly,
his face blank. His left arm slowly slipped to the back of his father’s chair
then up to his shoulder to comfort the man he would need now more than ever
before.

Saturday, February 23, 1935

JUDGE HURST WAS RUNNING
LATE. It was another nerve-wracking waiting game for everyone—except the
defendant, who maintained his usual look of boredom. Although Flint Moss was
rested with more sleep than he’d gotten in two weeks, his anxiousness was aimed
at the motion for a new trial he’d filed with County Clerk Nora Harshbarger at
1:45 that afternoon. It was now ten minutes after two, and it was possible that
the judge was giving serious consideration to the fourteen reasons why his
client should receive a new trial. Moss called the verdict “terrible” and
declared that it went against all the evidence presented. He was dressed in a
black-and-white-checked suit, which he claimed he wore “only when I am mentally
low.”

When Judge Hurst did finally appear, he patiently
listened to Moss and McCollum argue for a new trial based on faults they found
with both him and the prosecution. In typical fashion for the two, their
exaggerated indignation was disproportionate to the fourteen errors they called
into question.

“I don’t believe there is a reversible error in
this lawsuit,” Judge Hurst announced after allowing them to go on for ninety minutes.
“If I thought there was, I would not wait for your motion. I would grant a new
trial asked on my own motion. I think the defendant has had as fair a trial as
could be had.”

After asking for sentence recommendations which
ranged from four to ninety-nine years, the minimum and maximum allowed, Judge
Hurst bellowed, “The defendant stand up!”

Kennamer took a step forward and, with some
military bearing in his stance, he showed, at least physically, he was ready to
accept his punishment. The spectators in attendance surpassed any other day
during the eleven-day trial, but this time, it was nearly all residents from
Pawnee County. The well-dressed, high-society types from Tulsa and Oklahoma
City, who always seemed to get the front two bench-rows, were gone. Virginia
Wilcox, who had sat with the Kennamer family the last few days, was gone. Judge
Franklin Kennamer, who was reportedly too ashamed to be there as his son was
sentenced to prison, paced back and forth in the tiny press room, smoking a
cigar. Alice Gorrell had finally had enough and stayed home, but her husband
occupied his usual seat alongside Anderson, Wallace, and Gilmer.

For most of the trial, reporters ignored the words
of Judge Hurst and instead focused their attention on the lawyers—Moss, Gilmer,
and King in particular. But now they regarded his statement carefully and
printed every word the jurist said.

“The court has tried to be fair throughout this
trial. The court has tried to give you every right. As good a jury as could
possibly be found tried this case.

“They rejected your pleas of insanity and
self-defense. They held that you did not kill Gorrell with a premeditated
design. I think it was because you went unarmed and killed him with his own
gun. The evidence would have justified the jury in finding premeditation.

“Your act brought heartache to two families, both
of them innocent. Throughout the trial, I have observed that while your father
was broken-hearted, you have not shown very much concern, and I have been
shocked at that. I can’t understand how a boy who has inflicted this misery
upon his family could feel as you have seemed to feel.

“It is my duty to assess the punishment that I
think society has a right to demand and no more. I ought not to give you one
minute more by reason of your father or one minute less. But society has to be
paid. A serious offense has been committed. It would be dangerous to society to
turn you out too soon.

“You shall receive the punishment that society has
the right to demand. It is therefore the judgment of the court that you serve
twenty-five years in McAlester prison.”

During his rebuke, Phil stood motionless. His eyes
dropped down only when he heard of the pain he caused his father. When the
judge declared he was given a fair trial, he swallowed hard and nodded his
head. It was a silent confirmation he would soon proclaim his disagreement
with.

In light of all the Gorrells had just endured, it
was an ironic twist that the state law allowed those convicted of manslaughter
to be released on bond, pending appeal of their case. Kennamer was given ten
days to come up with the $25,000 bail—$1,000 for each year of his sentence.
With four months to prepare his appellate brief, and the typical schedule for
the state Criminal Court of Appeals, Kennamer could live as a free man for one
year. If the appeals court ruled against him and he served his time wisely, lenient
state laws governing the parole process could allow him to get out of prison
after serving one-half to three-fifths of his sentence.

John Gorrell’s killer could go free after serving
just twelve years.

In spite of this, Dr. Gorrell put on a brave face
to reporters. “I am satisfied with the verdict and sentence. The judgment of
the court is my judgment, as I said before the verdict came in.”

It was not an easy decision for the jury, foreman
Jacob Clark later told reporters. At no time did they consider the first-degree-murder
charge, or the insanity claims. While two jurors held out for acquittal until
the last hour, their final decision had come through on the twelfth vote.

Back at the sheriff’s office, reporters caught up
with Phil, who was ready with a statement in which he demanded to be quoted
verbatim. Although he attempted to sound magnanimous, he only proved to
everyone who read it that he was a true egotist who needed to get in the last
word.

“So far as the closing statement of Judge Thurman
Hurst is concerned, it was fair,” Kennamer said after lighting up a cigarette.
“He made every effort to conduct the trial in a fair, rigidly impartial manner.
That that end was not achieved was no fault of Judge Hurst. I feel, though,
that it was not a trial in the ordinary sense of the word, but more approached
the semblance of a Roman holiday.

“The clamor set in the press at the outset was of
such a nature it was impossible to find twelve men whose minds were free of
bias. I think the jury was representative of an intelligent and honest
citizenship, but in their subconscious minds had been poured such a stream of
virus it was impossible for them to be fair and impartial.

“For Messieurs King, Anderson, Gilmer, and
Wallace, I have only the deepest contempt. Those gentlemen engaged in every low
practice known to the courts—from intimidation of witnesses to the introduction
of extraneous matters which were intended only to prejudice the minds of the
jurors.

“In its final analysis, the issues were not drawn
between the state and the defendant, but between the corrupt representatives of
a certain vicious element and this defendant’s family. The aim was not to
destroy me but to destroy my father’s honor. In that, I thank God, they have
failed miserably before the eyes of the world.

“What the ultimate result will be as far as I am
concerned I do not know, but I feel that whatever comes, strengthened by the
knowledge that I acted honorably and from necessity, I cannot fear the future.”

After he made those remarks, an inmate in the county
jail revealed to reporters the limitations of Phil Kennamer’s honor. On the day
before his sentencing, Phil offered to bet ten dollars to one dollar that no
prisoner in the jail could correctly guess how many years he would receive.
Clifford Owens bet he would get twenty-five years. Shortly before he was
escorted to the courtroom that afternoon, Kennamer canceled the bet.

“I was afraid he’d be right,” he said later.

In spite of his denunciation of the press, the day
after his verdict, Kennamer sent a jail trustee out to buy a copy of every
newspaper about himself that could be found. “His appetite for journalistic
reports upon himself has never diminished,” the
World
reported. “He read
them with the same lack of emotion that characterized his conduct throughout
the trial.”

On the day after his sentencing, he sent the
trustee out again to buy more newspapers to indulge “his appetite” for reading
about himself. And there was plenty to read. Hundreds of large and small daily
newspaper throughout the Midwest ran it as their top story with wide headlines
below the masthead. In New York, newspapers like the
Brooklyn Daily Eagle
,
the
New York Times
, and the
Long Island Daily Press
shared the
verdict or sentence with their readers from the front page. The same could not
be said of West Coast newspapers, where the outcome was often buried inside.
But where Kennamer’s story was not front-page news, nearly every paper in the
country that subscribed to a wire service did run a small announcement, or a photo
with a short caption, that described his fate.

In Tulsa, the news of his sentence was met with
general approval. An editorial in the
Tulsa World
proclaimed the outcome
“legally and morally just” and that it “coincided with the public interest.”
After Flint Moss had attacked both the
World
and
Tribune
in his
change-of-venue motion, the editorial pages of those newspapers avoided
publishing any opinion of the case during the trial. It was a wise move on
their part to avoid being condemned by defense counsel, who would have used
anything they wrote against them in either their motion for a new trial or an appeal.
But now that it was over, the
World’s
editorial page had something to
say.

There is remarkably little public dissent from the conviction
or the sentence.

The entire case and the revelations it entailed left scars
upon the community which only time can heal. Under such mixed and complicated
circumstances, some writers and professional observers overreached themselves.
A large collection of “outside” writers appeared, people who were looking for
special features and who harped with fervor upon certain odd items. There was
overplay of emotions; there was phantasy; there was speculation unjustified by
facts. That scribes did go beyond their proper professional duties and strained
too much for effect is certain.

It has been too freely asserted here and elsewhere that the
killing of Gorrell showed a rotten condition of affairs in social and youthful
circles. This wholesale condemnation is very unfair. Because a few bad,
untoward, dangerous actions and pursuits came into conjunction and resulted in
a bitter tragedy, it is not fair to conclude that all Tulsa or any relatively
large number of people were involved.

A profound lesson in law and order has been learned. Jurors
will convict for crimes [even though] sensationalism may seemingly obscure the
deadly facts. It is reassuring to see the law coolly and judiciously applied.
It is fine to see public officials and jurors stand up to their duties and
opportunities and to see their actions approved by the responsible citizenship.

But in the background there was one authority
figure whose actions were not met with approval. Instead of looking for
“outside” observers who “strained too much for effect,” the
World
should
have looked closer to home. If anyone was hell-bent on planting the seeds of
hysteria, it was Sergeant Maddux, who was up to his old tricks of trying to
impress a superior with a sensational new claim. On the day the verdict was
announced, Lt. Earl Gardner told the press that “he had been advised by Maddux
that Gorrell was killed by bullets from two different guns.” The chief of
detectives added that this might mean two persons were involved in the slaying.

Detective George Reif, the secondary on the case, backed
up Lt. Gardner’s claim of what the criminologist had said, telling the press, “Maddux
tried to bring this out on the stand in Pawnee.” However, he was unable to do
so after defense attorneys admitted the two bullets were fired from Gorrell’s
gun.

If Maddux had done so, it could have led to a
mistrial
.
When reporters questioned him about it,
the police sergeant was visibly surprised. Caught off guard, he refused to
comment at that time, and the
Tribune
noted it was just one of several
occasions that Maddux “refused to verify statements attributed to him.”

It was precisely because of stories like that, and
many of them traced back to Maddux, that talk of a grand jury investigation into
the entire Kennamer-Gorrell case would soon be back on the front pages of Tulsa
newspapers. It had been suggested in December, after Born’s suicide, by low-level
city employee and self-styled public crusader, Arthur Sweeney.

“I believe that all of the evidence in the case
covering both the slayings and the activities of the young people should be
aired. I am convinced that there is much being held back,” Sweeney said in
December. At that time, Judge Hurst requested he postpone his petition for a
grand jury investigation until after the trial.

Sweeney only needed one hundred signatures and, if
successful, it would be only the fifth time in Tulsa history a grand jury was
convened. To everyone’s surprise, Sweeney’s renewed efforts were met with quiet
approval by Gilmer and Anderson, who thought it necessary to force Sergeant
Maddux and Commissioner Oscar Hoop to answer for some of the statements they had
made.

Even though Kennamer had the opportunity stay out
of prison during his appeal, his father didn’t have $25,000 to post his bond—just
yet. To save him from embarrassment, Charles Stuart announced to the press two
days after sentencing that he had advised the judge to keep his son in prison
during the appeal.

“We think it wise not to release the boy from
prison,” Stuart professed to reporters. “That was my advice to his father and
he has agreed to follow it. We think the boy is better off in prison while the
case is being appealed. If he were released, this conviction would be hanging
over him while he was out. As it is now, we believe the conviction will be
reversed and Phil will walk away from McAlester penitentiary in a few months a
free man.”