Haymarket (34 page)

Black and his modest, attractive wife, Hortensia, had all the right credentials and connections. Though serious, civic-minded and unpretentious people, they adhered to the conventions of their class: carriage drives and calling cards, tailor-made clothes, dancing lessons with the Borniques (the esteemed husband-and-wife instructors of the moment), and periodic dinners at Rector’s, Henrici’s or Kinsley’s—opulent and exclusive onyx palaces that boasted expensive French wines and specialized pastry chefs. For Captain Black there was a steady routine of lunches at the Chicago Club, where he discussed business and politics with the city’s elite, and regular exercise at the Chicago Athletic Club, which, understanding the need of its select membership never to be seen sweating in public, contained carefully secluded handball, squash, and racquetball courts.

On the evening of June 1, a five-person delegation from the Defense Committee called on Captain Black at his home. The delegation was
headed by Dr. Ernst Schmidt, a moderate socialist who’d run for several city offices, a man known for his cultivation and learning. Schmidt disliked “extremism” and hadn’t joined the
IWPA
, but he was determined to see that the imprisoned men got proper representation and a fair trial.

Captain Black received the delegation in his study and told them, courteously but without preface, that he was aware of why they had come. He was also aware, he said, that they’d already approached several other attorneys to take on the case and had been turned down.

“That’s true,” Dr. Schmidt replied, “turned down out-of-hand. The gentlemen in question told us that regardless of what their personal feelings about the justice of the proceedings thus far might be, they were not prepared to risk the consequences of being associated with so unpopular, not to say disreputable, a cause.”

“And why would you believe that my response would be any different?” Black asked.

“Because,” another delegate said, “you were willing to risk—and lose—election to Congress in order to defend another unpopular cause, that of the Russian populists. And because you’re known to be a man of the utmost integrity. In the face of injustice, you could not help but speak out.”

Black smiled wryly. “I thank you, sir, for so generous an estimate of my character. But I must tell you that if I had known it would cost me the election, I might never have mentioned the Russians at all.”

“Forgive my frankness,” Dr. Schmidt said, “but I don’t believe you.”

“Ah!” Black said, chuckling. “I can see that in the hope of winning me over, you’ve decided on a strategy of outrageous flattery.”

“Not at all,” Dr. Schmidt replied. “We describe your character as we see it. And what we see is a love of truth.”

Black rose from his chair and slowly began to pace the room. “Are you aware, gentlemen,” he asked after a few moments, “that I have met both Mr. Spies and Mr. Parsons?”

There was a murmur of surprise among the delegation. “No, Captain, we were not aware of that,” Dr. Schmidt said.

“Yes,” Black continued, “I went to hear them speak several times. I was present at that famous gathering at the West Side Philosophical Society, when Parsons gave the derisive crowd a well-deserved tongue lashing, yet somehow did so with suffusing grace. It was quite remarkable to witness.”

Emboldened, another delegate asked if Captain Black counted himself a socialist.

Black laughed. “Good heavens, no!” Then he added, quietly, “But I am informed about conditions, and aware that socialism is the product of despair.”

Regretting that he’d said more than intended, Black quickly brought the conversation back to the business at hand. “Even if I was inclined to take on your assignment,” he said, “I have no confidence that I could execute it competently. You must understand, gentlemen, that I’m a corporate lawyer and have negligible experience in criminal cases.”

“We can offer you a retainer,” another member of the delegation eagerly put in, misreading Black’s moral hesitations for financial ones. “Contributions have begun to pour into the Defense Committee, mostly small sums from ordinary people, but the amount is adding up.”

Black felt offended, and his voice stiffened slightly. “I can assure you, gentlemen, that the size of my fee, or even whether there is a fee, would play no role in my deliberations.”

Dr. Schmidt hastened to agree. “Of course not,” he said with some fervor. “We”—diplomatically, he gestured at the entire delegation—“simply wanted you to know that money for legal expenses does exist. We wouldn’t want you to think you’d be without support staff or secretarial assistance.”

“I’m glad to hear that so many people are sending in contributions,” Black said. “And frankly, I’m a bit surprised, given the intensely hostile climate.”

“We were as well, and deeply touched. People have sometimes sent in as little as ten cents, all they could afford, but from every state and territory of the Union and from as far away as Upsala and Bombay. The response is very gratifying.”

“This case can be fought and won,” one delegate added emphatically.

“And for that to happen, gentlemen, you need a properly qualified attorney,” Black replied. “I’m flattered that you’re willing to entrust me with this assignment, but I cannot allay my own doubts in regard to my suitability.”

Seeing Schmidt’s crestfallen look—he seemed on the verge of making some anguished plea—Black hastened on. “What I am prepared to do is find you a lawyer who does have the skill and experience to handle the
case. But I’ll need a few days. I must make inquiries. And I must hone my powers of persuasion.” Black again expressed his gratitude to the delegation for coming to him, and then politely saw them to the front door. They, in turn, thanked him for his time and courtesy.

Over the next few days Captain Black, true to his word, tried his luck with a number of colleagues experienced in criminal law. Uniformly, their eyebrows lifted in astonishment at the proposal, then lowered in suspicion of Black. Why was he on such a mission? Was he a secret sympathizer? Had they misjudged him? Was this respected member of society in covert alliance with its enemies? Most of the men Black approached responded with outward civility, pleading disqualifying outrage at the bomb-throwers, or crowded dockets, or both. But one senior member of his own firm came straight at him, irately accusing him of helping to foment social disorder and predicting, if he persisted on so quixotic a path, social ostracism and professional ruin.

The reaction of the legal world deeply shook Black. Not with fear that he’d ruined his future prospects, but with anger at what he viewed as his colleagues’ professional dereliction of duty. Someone had to provide these men with legal counsel. Since no one else would, he realized ruefully, he would, after all, have to take on the case himself.

But before telling Schmidt and the others of his decision, Black wanted his wife’s blessing. The result of representing these despised renegades might make the Blacks outcasts, too, and the Captain didn’t feel he could comfortably accept the assignment without Hortensia’s consent.

Initially, she was shocked and upset. “How can you think of doing such a thing?” she said, nearly in a whisper. “It would threaten all our prospects, perhaps even our livelihood.”

“I can’t gainsay a word of that,” Black said gravely. “But what alternative is there? To let these men go undefended? That would make a mockery of my duty—not only to my profession, but to myself.”

“Yourself? What duty, what principle, obliges you to cast us into a pit?”

“My oath to uphold justice.” Black said quietly. “I couldn’t live with myself if I failed to see that these men get a fair trial.”

Neither of them spoke for a few moments. Then Hortensia said, “If I asked you not to take the case, would you go ahead anyway?”

Black felt his throat seize up. He could hardly breathe. “My dearest
wife …” he said softly, “I know your kind heart. You wouldn’t ask that of me …”

Hortensia turned silently toward the window and stared out at the trimmed lawn, at the velvety greenness of late spring sparkling in the June sun. When she turned back into the room, her face was free of anger, though there was a hint of melancholy around her eyes.

“You’re a noble man, my dearest William. I’m not worthy of you. But I will stand by your side. Firmly by your side.”

Thanks to Daniel Hoan, Parsons was able to get hold of the Chicago papers every day. It was there that he learned of his indictment for conspiracy, unlawful assembly, and murder, and where he read, too, the fierce editorials demanding summary justice. Even the labor press, it seemed, was divided, with the
Knights of Labor
, the working-class paper with the largest circulation in the city, declaring that the anarchists “were entitled to no more consideration than wild beasts.” At the state convention of the Knights on June 2nd, a resolution passed that offered sympathy to the families of those policemen injured or killed during the Haymarket melee—but not to the families of the equal number of civilians maimed.

The rantings in the Chicago press made the danger of Albert’s returning to the city obvious. Yet he persisted in arguing for its necessity. In a second letter smuggled to Lucy, he asked her to confer again with the defense attorneys about the issue of his return. “I promise to abide by their advice,” he wrote, “but in my own view, a trial, if an impartial jury can be secured, could only result in my acquittal—since I had no knowledge of the bomb, nor any hand in planning the Haymarket meeting. Even if the attorneys are uncertain if a fair-minded jury can be secured, I’m ready to come to the bar,” he wrote Lucy, “if it’s judged that my presence during the trial could in any measure prove helpful to my codefendants.”

On June 18th, three days before the trial was due to begin, Lucy met with the defense attorneys—who now included a fourth member, William A. Foster. Once Captain Black had made his decision to head the team, he knew that he’d have to persuade a criminal lawyer to join it. Foster, a recent arrival in Chicago from Iowa, proved willing to
accept the assignment. Though neither learned nor urbane, Foster, at forty, had had considerable experience in criminal cases and was known as a tough-minded advocate who relished controversy and welcomed a contest of wits. With his wavy red hair, indifferent dress, and constant tobacco chewing, Foster contrasted sharply with the cultivated Captain Black. But Black understood the importance of being complemented rather than duplicated.

After Lucy summarized the contents of Albert’s letter to his legal team, Foster was the first to respond. “I feel strongly,” he said, “that your husband should not return. It would be suicidal, given the rancorous public sentiment against him. He’s now in a place of safety, surrounded by a cordon of friends, and every effort of the police to discover his whereabouts has failed. He should stay put.”

Captain Black offered a rejoinder in the form of a question: “But do you not think, Foster, that if Parsons came into court of his own volition, that the heroism of his gesture could not but favorably impress the jury, and from that, spill over into a softened view of the character of all the defendants?”

“I do not,” Foster bluntly replied. “I think, sir, if you will allow me to say so, that you have an overly idealized view of human nature.
You
might regard a voluntary surrender as heroic, but I suspect most will see it as an act of supreme stupidity.”

Black was startled at Foster’s gruffness. He sat back in his chair, let his chin rest on his hands, and lapsed into silence.

Salomon, one of the two younger members of the legal team, took on the job of responding to Foster. “I might agree with you,” he said, “if I thought there was a significant chance of the jury voting for conviction. But there is absolutely no evidence that Parsons ever counseled, aided, abetted, or advised the throwing of a bomb at the Haymarket meeting. He’s demonstrably innocent and any dispassionate mind must draw that conclusion.”

“It seems to me,” Foster said laconically, “that dispassionate minds are at the moment notable for their scarcity.”

It was Zeisler’s turn to comment. “There’s also the matter of Parsons’s history. What he did or didn’t do at Haymarket will, it seems to me, not weigh as heavily on the scale as the fact that he’s been widely known for years as an agitator. He’s argued over and over—and this is a matter of
public record—against the injustice of the present social system, and warned repeatedly that the fixed refusal of the moneyed classes to ameliorate conditions will plunge the country into revolution. True, he’s personally deplored a resort to violence, but he’s persisted in predicting that it will soon overwhelm us.”

“And what does that lead you to conclude?” Captain Black asked, pensively.

“I can’t draw any firm conclusion,” Zeisler replied, shaking his head in frustration. “I merely mean to warn that what we see as Parsons’s transparent innocence isn’t a widely shared opinion. The prosecution will insist that Parsons’s words over the years are ultimately responsible for inspiring the bomb-throwing at Haymarket.”

Captain Black turned to Lucy. “I would very much value your own view of the matter,” he said.