Deadly Hero: The High Society Murder that Created Hysteria in the Heartland (8 page)

Anderson sent his investigator, Jack Bonham, to the
University of Oklahoma in Norman to interview Watson who “wept as she gave her
statement,” the United Press reported. When it was over, “she signed the
statement and ran weeping from the living room of the sorority house.”

She wasn’t the only attractive young coed who had
a story to tell police. Barbara Boyle, a Gorrell family friend and Kennamer’s
first choice for kidnapping, told police Gorrell had warned her of the plot as
far back as September.

“Gorrell had warned her to have nothing to do with
Kennamer or another boy, a close friend of his,”
[15]
the
Tulsa
Tribune
reported. “She said Gorrell told her that ‘they would hesitate at
nothing’ as far as he was concerned and might go to the extent of giving her
doped cigarettes to place her in a compromising position to accomplish their
scheme. Gorrell warned her, she said, to say nothing of this to either of the
two as he would not answer for what they would do to him for exposing the
plot.”

This statement gave police a new theory that instead
of Kennamer going along with the scheme in order to sabotage it, maybe it was
Gorrell who was doing exactly that to thwart Kennamer. This idea was
corroborated by the dean of the dental school, who told a Kansas City reporter he
knew Gorrell “was in a jam” and had called on him before driving to Tulsa to
say that if anything happened to him during that trip, Kennamer was
responsible.

Dean John Rinehart also said that when he heard
Gorrell had been killed, he knew immediately who had done it and that it was
because “Gorrell would not mail a letter Kennamer wanted him to mail.”

But Rinehart later retracted this statement after
he got cold feet over fears the publicity would be bad for the college. He
promptly denied he had ever made the report and claimed he knew nothing about
the conflict between Gorrell and his accused slayer.

By the end of that first week, the investigation
was wrapping up and newspaper coverage was tapering off. Even so, the hysteria that
gripped Tulsa was refusing to let go, and the scandalmongers were still
churning out gossip.

“Scores of ‘self-appointed’ and amateur detectives
have called at headquarters with innumerable tips and so-called clues in the
case,” the
World
reported. “Only a few have developed into material
facts.”

One rumor was put to rest that week when Wade Thomas
was eventually released on a writ of habeas corpus. His only involvement in the
case was a twenty-five-dollar gambling debt owed to him by Kennamer, and fifty
dollars from Gorrell. Together, the three allegedly owned slot machines that
were confiscated and piled up at police headquarters for a publicity photo as
two officers stood over them with sledgehammers. The Idle Hour was shut down.
So was the Sunset Café, temporarily, after it was caught selling 3.2 beer to
minors.

Sunday, December 9, 1934

The December 9 edition of the Sunday morning
World
ran a short cover story with this headline:

“No Development in Gorrell Death”

The top announcement in that little item was a statement
from King that, after a conference with Maddux and Dr. Gorrell, the
investigation was over.

“Everything that was necessary has been done in
this case,” King told the media. “The guilty party has been definitely
identified and there is no reason for a further statement until the preliminary
hearing which will be held in Tulsa, December 17.”

As Tulsans read their Sunday morning
World,
Sidney Born was in the front room of his parent’s home, writing checks for his
father. His father and Czech-born mother left the house at 10:30 a.m. to go for
a Sunday drive, and his younger brother, Harold, was away with friends. A few
minutes after eleven, Born jumped in his Chevy sedan and drove off.

At approximately 11:30 a.m., he was spotted in a
wooded area near 27
^th
Street and Lewis Avenue by four women riding
horses in the Woody Crest addition. The undeveloped area was a popular location
for those wanting to forget they lived in the city. Seventy-five yards from the
street, the horse trail crested over a hump and then dipped down into a draw.
Just after topping this rise, the first horse in line shied off and each horse
in succession gave a wide birth to a motionless young man by the trail, sitting
there smoking a cigarette. Three of the women addressed him as they passed by,
but he ignored their salutations and continued his hard stare at the horizon.
His face, they later said, was drawn tight and haggard, as if in deep
contemplation.

Born returned home around 11:45 a.m., fetched
something from the back of a drawer in his father’s desk, and then went up to
his room. At noon, he announced to the maid he was leaving again.

“Aren’t you going to wait for dinner, honey?” maid
Josey Henderson asked as he was walking out the door.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

Born’s first stop was to a tire repair shop to get
a tire changed on his Chevrolet. He was reportedly in good spirits as he
chatted with mechanics. During the night before Thanksgiving, he had loaned his
car to Kennamer when he and Jerry Bates had gone to the dance at the Mayo
Hotel. By the time he met up later with Kennamer at the Sunset Café, his friend
had wrecked his car, causing fifty dollars
[16]
in damage to it. Kennamer had promised to pay him back, but that was before he
was arrested for murder. The new tire was part of those repairs for which
Kennamer owed him money.

At about 1:00 p.m., Born telephoned his girlfriend
Betty
and was in a cheerful mood as they
chatted for a short while. He did not tell her where he was calling her from.

He next drove to the Brookside Drug Store on South
Peoria and asked the clerk if he had change for a quarter to use the pay phone.
Opening the city directory book to the letter
T
, he found the number to
the Tulsa County Jail, dropped a nickel in the slot, and dialed the number.

“I want to talk to Phil Kennamer,” he was
overheard to say. After a pause of about twenty seconds, Born shouted, “Oh,
hell!” and slammed the receiver on the hook.

From the drugstore, Born drove to a quiet area
near Detroit Avenue and 29
^th
Street and parked his sedan near a
vacant lot one quarter of a mile from his house. The sun was out that day, and
by 1:30 p.m. the temperature was comfortable for that time of year. It was a
peaceful Sunday afternoon, and as he looked around, he could only see one man
off in the distance walking his dog. He stared down at his hands for a moment,
studying the lines that crossed his palms.

Born looked around one more time, and when he saw nobody
was around he took a deep breath, reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his
father’s .32-caliber automatic, pressed it firmly against his right temple, and
pulled the trigger.

A Timeline of Events, Chapters 1—10

The whole affair has sensational and
morbid features which bring undue attention to a large number of young people
who have little to nothing to do with the tragic events themselves. While not
disposed to be critical of our brother newspaper men, we do object to some of
the assiduous efforts to build up a lurid story of “flaming youth” in Tulsa. It
is certain some of the stories were far beyond the bounds of propriety, and
that they magnified to an unconscionable extent some of the sidelights of the
affair.

— Tulsa Daily
World
Editorial

AS THE KENNAMER CASE BEGAN
TO settle down by Saturday, one week after he surrendered, the newshawks
quietly left town. By Monday morning, December 10, they were all making their
way back to Tulsa. Once again, the story was front-page news from coast to
coast. In light of the new developments spawned by Born’s death, Lowell Limpus
of the
New York Daily News
was asked to compare the nationally famous
Hall-Mills case of the 1920s with Tulsa’s high-society murder.

“That was a third-grade arithmetic problem
compared to this!” Lowell exclaimed.

Incredibly, Born didn’t immediately die. He was taken
to Morningside Hospital, where his grief-stricken parents rushed to his
bedside. As Mrs. Born sat by her son, Dr. Born was too distraught to sit still.
He drifted back and forth between the room and the hallway, where his son’s
friends had gathered.

“Word of Born’s injury swept over the city,”
detective Tom Higgins would later write in his crime-magazine article. “It was
like a fire roaring in a high gale across the drought-browned prairies.”

The circumstances in Gorrell’s and Born’s deaths
were too similar for Tulsans to believe it was suicide, as city police were
claiming. After all, that’s what they had said at first about Gorrell’s death.
Both boys were shot in their own cars, with their own guns, and in isolated
areas of Tulsa with no witnesses.

When Born passed away at 6:55 Sunday night, one of
the four young women waiting in the hallway fainted and fell off her chair.
Sidney’s father was overheard by a
Tribune
reporter to say that his
son’s involvement in the case was so minor, he could not believe he would
commit suicide. “My boy commit suicide?” he exclaimed. “Impossible. It was
murder!”

That Sunday, most of Tulsa agreed with him.

“I do not exaggerate when I say that all Tulsa
shuddered that night,” Higgins continued. “Here was one of the most popular
young men in the city, dead. There was no answer available [in the first few
hours] to those who desired to know whether it was suicide or murder. To
anxious parents in dozens of the best homes, that question was of very little
importance. And, instead they asked: ‘Is the name of
our
son to be
dragged into this horrible affair?’ That fear was to cause many families to leave
the city.”

Young Born was an immaculate dresser. To his close
friends he was known as “Algy,” an affectionate nickname. While he always had
plenty of money, he was conservative in his spending. He was an A and B student
in high school and was doing well in his classes at the University of Tulsa.
His name had never been mentioned in any of the minor scandals and salacious rumors
that hovered around some of those in Tulsa’s young, high-society crowd.

Born was the president of the Hy-Hat Club, whose
members congregated at the Jelly Bean Center on 18
^th
Street. Despite
what the newspapers were already saying about club members, it mostly formed
parties and dances, which were forbidden at Central High School, and couples were
paired off by club leaders.

An hour or two after Born shot himself, Robert
Thomas appeared at police headquarters to request a permit to carry a pistol. When
he was refused, he went to Assistant County Attorney Tom Wallace to make the
same request, but he was again denied.

“I told him that we could not issue such a permit
and would not under the circumstances,” Wallace told a squad of reporters who
now occupied the police station.

But Thomas never told authorities exactly whom he
was afraid of. Neither did Ted Bath, when he showed up to make the same appeal.
He was already carrying a pistol and when he was denied, he dramatically announced
he was leaving town.

“Kennamer’s gang is still out of jail and they
will do everything they can to keep the fellows from testifying,” Bath was
overheard telling Maddux. “I’m leaving Tulsa for good. The only reason I haven’t
received threats to keep my mouth shut is because those fellows could not reach
me. Plenty of the fellas who told police what they knew about Kennamer and his
gang have been warned. So I’m getting out while I’m able. There are too many
dark streets and alleys where a shot could seal your lips for good.”

Although Kennamer never had a “gang,” the rumor
mill had created one, and perception was stronger than reality in December
1934.

Richard Oliver reported that he had received a
mysterious telephone call several hours after Born was taken to the hospital.
When he answered the phone at his room in Kansas City, the voice of an unknown
male asked him if he knew Sidney Born. Oliver replied that he did not recall
the name. The mysterious voice then told him Born had just been murdered. When
Oliver asked who was calling, the caller hung up. Afterward, Oliver still
continued attending his dentistry classes but changed his residence, and not
even his parents knew where he was living.

On the advice of the family attorney, Jack Snedden
went into hiding at a secret location “fifteen minutes outside of Tulsa” after
they got the news that Born had been shot in the head.

Later that week, Charles Bard, who was with Gorrell
the night he was murdered, received an anonymous letter that declared he “knew
too much about the case.” The Oklahoma A&M student was escorted between
classes by campus security, and his fraternity brothers kept an all-night vigil
for him in case someone tried to murder him in his sleep. When word of Born’s
death reached him Sunday evening, he “presented himself at the county jail and
asked to be locked up for safety.” He was turned away. The next day, he
withdrew from school.

Owl Tavern proprietor Jack Arnold, who told police
that Snedden received a telegram from Kennamer at his tavern, reported he was
threatened a week earlier by an anonymous telephone call. Although initially
frightened by the threats, he later told police he believed they were crank
calls.

Police also reported that Kennamer had written a
letter to Betty Watson, allegedly admonishing her for talking to police.
Fortunately, her father intercepted the note before she could read it.

“We told Betty it would be best for her not to go
out at night and to remain with her friends when it seemed that a murder had
been committed,” her father told reporters. “When she called home tonight
[Tuesday, December 11], I thought it would be all right for her to go wherever
she desired.”

Although police believed the anonymous threats
were from pranksters and wackos looking to stir things up, they took no chances,
and several witnesses received twenty-four-hour police protection.

Hours after Maddux and another detective were
called to Born’s blood-soaked Chevrolet, they were confident in their
declaration that it was a suicide. They pointed to several factors, which
included powder marks inside the wound and the use of his father’s gun. The
pistol had fallen into Born’s lap and was covered in blood. One nearby resident
and a man walking his dog heard the shot, and both reported to police that they
saw no one fleeing the scene.

But to many Tulsans, murder seemed more plausible
than suicide, given Born’s trivial involvement in the case. When asked why
Sidney Born would commit suicide, Sgt. Maddux pulled a Sgt. Maddux.

“Fear,” he replied.

Fear? Fear of what?

True to his character, Maddux coyly refused to
elaborate on his answer and chose the provocativeness of mystery over the enlightenment
of clarity.

“Whether he meant that Born feared an attack from
the accomplice police continue to intimate aided Kennamer in the slaying,” the
Tulsa
World
wrote the day after the suicide, “or whether he was of the opinion
Born had taken a greater part in the Gorrell case than he had admitted to
officers went unexplained by Maddux.”

Whatever the reason, Sidney Born’s “fear” was
certainly real to him, even if it was found later to be blown out of
proportion. But when city lawmen learned that shortly before his suicide, Sidney
had tried to contact Phil, the sheriff’s department received a sharp rebuke
from Maddux. He criticized the lax custody of their star prisoner and claimed
Born would not have committed suicide if Kennamer was more restricted in his
confinement. Ever since it was publicized that he had called down to Anderson’s
office, folks believed he was freely allowed to use the telephone—including
Maddux.

The sheriff’s department strongly denied this
claim but their only proof was the self-accountability of their guards. They
would first claim no calls at the jail were received. This was later changed to
the acknowledgment that a call was received at 1:15 p.m., but that the jailer
told the caller (Born) that Kennamer was not allowed to use the telephone.

Nearly all the young people whose names appeared
in the newspapers came from powerful, wealthy families with patriarchs who gave
the veiled impression that they could squash any public official they
disfavored. Rumors supporting this notion had trickled back to police
headquarters. Maddux, and his detectives, sensed the subtle threat that “their
jobs were unsafe,” reported Commissioner Oscar Hoop. The issue became such a
concern that the retired army colonel and University of Tulsa history professor
felt it necessary to push back in the newspapers.

“I told my men yesterday and I’ll repeat it now,
that their jobs are safe regardless of where this investigation might lead,”
Col. Hoop said. “There is no one in this town too big or too wealthy for us to
include in the investigation if it proves necessary to do so.”

Hoop’s backing gave Maddux the confidence to
criticize the sheriff’s department publicly.

“It was our wish that the sheriff’s office hold
Kennamer in solitary confinement and allow him to talk with no one except his
attorney and members of his immediate family,” Maddux told the
World.
“We
have positive evidence that Kennamer has sent mail to witnesses in this case,
and in at least one instance, of a threatening nature. We also understand
Kennamer has had the use of the telephone.”

County Attorney Holly Anderson was attending a
crime conference in Washington DC, when he heard of Born’s death. He sent a
telegram to the sheriff requesting Kennamer be moved to a jail cell. The reply he
received was a sharp rebuke stating that “he had no authority in determining
the manner in which a prisoner should be kept.”

When Sheriff Price returned to his office on Monday,
he gave reporters a logical explanation for Kennamer’s unorthodox imprisonment.
He pointed out that when the courthouse was built in 1912, the jail on the
third floor was designed to accommodate only seventy-five prisoners. By 1934,
it was housing two hundred inmates. Cells originally built for four prisoners
now held twelve. To place Kennamer in a private cell would force Price to
release twelve prisoners because there were threats to Kennamer’s safety by inmates
who hated his father.

“At least five prisoners have told me,” Price claimed
to the
Tribune
, “that if Kennamer is put in with other prisoners he will
be killed. It’s not worth taking the chance of murder to avoid a little
criticism.”

Born’s death came as a complete surprise to
Kennamer. The confessed slayer was attending afternoon church services within
the jail when he was told by Assistant County Attorney William “Dixie” Gilmer
that Born had shot himself. Gilmer later said Kennamer seemed genuinely shocked
and affected by the news.

“I’m awfully sorry to hear that,” Kennamer said.
“He was a dear friend of mine.”

It was the first time during his entire
incarceration that Kennamer showed emotion, and when he was led back to his
room, he wailed about how Born was his “best friend.”

Later, when told there was no hope for Born and that
he would die soon, Kennamer said, “Isn’t that awful?” He then requested a
Sunday-night conference with his attorneys. Charles Coakley was the first to
reach him and later told reporters his client was “visibly shaken by the news
and wept like a child.”

The next day, after he had regained his composure,
Kennamer told anyone who would listen that he would never believe it was suicide.
For him, Born’s death had created an opportunity; it was a chance to add
unverifiable authenticity to his claims that Gorrell had a criminal gang, which
was now responsible for Sidney’s death. He would later declare that he knew the
three boys who did it and emphasize that Born’s testimony would have exonerated
him in court.

But Kennamer’s appropriation of his friend’s
suicide wasn’t nearly as amazing as other unbelievable rumors that Sunday,
which forced investigators and reporters into high gear. Pranksters used his
death as an opportunity to crank up the hysteria with outrageous claims.

The first rumor to engulf Tulsa was that Wade
Thomas killed himself by swallowing poison, and that his wife would not allow
investigators to perform an autopsy. Thomas had been released from jail on Friday,
December 7, and he informed those who called his house that reports of his
death were “greatly exaggerated.”

Another rumor claimed that John Newlin, Hy-Hat
member and minor witness in the case, had been kidnapped. His parents declared
it was nonsense and reported he was at home, safe and sound. While newsmen were
chasing down those lies, another came into the
World
offices saying that
the Quaker Drug Store had been bombed and was a smoking ruin. In addition, a
bombardment of shots was heard that Sunday afternoon near Born’s Chevy, and
“mysterious cars” were seen driving away. And poor Richard Oliver, the target
of so many incidents beginning with his train ride home, was allegedly slain in
Kansas City.

Even though these rumors were easily disproved and
dismissed, there was one rumor that would not go away: Sidney Born was
murdered.