Harry Orchard

DESCRIPTION: "Harry Orchard is in prison, The reason you all know; He killed Frank Steunenberg...." "He set his bomb out carefully." "Harry blamed the Wobblies." "The chiefs were brought to Denver... Bill Haywood and George Pettybone Were brought to Idyho."
AUTHOR: unknown
EARLIEST DATE: 1958 (Burt-AmericanMurderBallads)
KEYWORDS: homicide execution punishment IWW trial execution sabotage
HISTORICAL REFERENCES:
1897-1901 - Frank R. Steunenberg's term as governor of Idaho
Dec 30, 1905 - Steunenberg killed by a bomb blast at his home. Harry Orchard, his accused murderer, would spend the rest of his life in prison.
1906-1907 - Trials of the IWW officials for complicity in Steunenberg's murder
FOUND IN: US
REFERENCES (3 citations):
Burt-AmericanMurderBallads, pp. 93-95, "(The Song of Harry Orchard)" (1 text)
Cohen-AmericanFolkSongsARegionalEncyclopedia2, p 585, "The Song of Harry Orchard" (1 text)
Lingenfelter/Dwyer/Cohen-SongsOfAmericanWest, p. 550, "Harry Orchard" (1 text)

Roud #4105
NOTES [5955 words]: There is a good Wikipedia article about Harry Orchard; there is also a huge book (800+ pages!) about the whole assassination and trial, J. Anthony Lukas, Big Trouble: A Murder in a Small Western Town Sets Off a Struggle for the Soul of America. Orchard's memoir, The Confessions and Autobiography of Harry Orchard (1907), is out of copyright and is available on Google Books and in print in a lot of cheap photocopy editions, although the consensus seems to be that it is utterly unreliable -- and 80% of it covers the period before the assassination anyway. There is also Harry Orchard: The Man God Made Again, by Orchard and Leroy Edwin Froom, which sounds deadly and is from 1952, so it's still under copyright. Frank Steunenberg Jr. eventually published The Martyr of Idaho about his father in 1974; I have not seen it, but one wonders what the son could remember after all that time....
Frank Steunenberg had been involved in Idaho state politics literally from the beginning; he was a delegate to Idaho's constitutional convention, and he was a member of the very first state legislature (Lukas, p. 39; Riffenburgh, p. 263). Curiously, he was a Democrat, even though his father and brothers were Republicans (Lukas, pp. 39-40) -- but that may have been smart, given that Idaho would not vote for a Republican for President until 1904. He early on obtained a spot as Secretary to the Democratic State Committee, which proved a stepstone to the governorship (Lukas, p. 40).
Interestingly, after his term as governor (1897-1901), he seemed to lose his touch. A Senate run failed, and the state Democratic party fell in behind other leaders. He had to scramble so hard to find money that he became part of a timber syndicate that eventually wound up under criminal investigation; he might have ended up on trial if he hadn't been dead by then (Lukas, pp. 744-745).
Steunenberg, during his term as governor of Idaho, had made difficulties for the Western Federation of Miners -- a group that had already suffered in and been effectively driven out of Colorado (Riffenburgh, p. 254). He was certainly heavily involved in business; he and his brothers owned and managed a bank, and Frank also owned a large farm, plus he lived on another, smaller, farm with a very large house and a servant (Lukas, pp. 16-17). And he had a lot of real estate involvement. Lukas, p. 39, estimates his net worth at $55,000 -- and that's 1905 gold dollars, so he would be worth substantially more than a million dollars today.
I find it interesting that the wife he had married in 1885, Eveline Belle Keppel, was his first cousin (Lukas, p. 30) -- and she ended up a religious fanatic; some of her relations thought she had "gone off the deep end," and it is said that she had given up "conjugal relations" with her husband because of her faith (Lukas, p. 88). Steunenberg himself did not follow in her religious bent, but one wonders if he might not have had a tendency toward fanaticism in pursuit of wealth.
Idaho's economy was largely driven by mining. The Pinkertons -- who by this time were more a corporate security firm than an investigative agency -- had been involved in the Idaho mining region since the early 1890s, when agent Charles Angelo Siringo infiltrated the mine organizations (Lukas, p. 102). He had helped tip the owners off to an upcoming labor action that had looked like it would work -- until President Benjamin Harrison had sent in the troops (Lukas, p. 103). The outgunned miners had seen little choice but to form a larger union, the Western Federation of Miners (Lukas, p. 104).
It was in this volatile climate that Frank Steunenberg had run for governor. The Populists were strong in the state -- they had actually taken the state in the 1892 Presidential election (PresElections, p. 1784) -- so the Democrats and Populists formed a fusion ticket in 1896, with the Democrats being allocated the governorship and several down-ballot offices and the Populists being allowed the state's one congressman and being promised the senate seat (Lukas, p. 107) if the combined party won the legislature, which at that time was still responsible for naming Senators. Steunenberg was a Democrat, not a Populist, but he was a believer in Free Silver, so the Free Silver forces that supported William Jennings Bryan thought they could accept him (Lukas, p. 107). It was a big year for the fusion ticket; they took more than 75% of the Presidential votes (PresElections, p. 1874), and Steunenberg's margin was comparable (22096 to 6441); the fusion ticket also won all but one seat in the state legislature (Lukas, p. 108). That proved to be the easy part for the coalition.... The labor violence continued in northern Idaho, and the Populists and Democrats split. Steunenberg won re-election in 1898, but this time, it was a close contest (Lukas, p. 109; Riffenburgh, p. 263, attributes his survival to pro-Silver Republicans who backed him against their party).
When the Western Federation of Miners had struck against the Bunker Hill and Sullivan Mine Company in 1899, and blew up a mine plant (Lukas, pp. 113-115, Riffenburgh, p. 263), "Steunenberg obtained Federal troops [most of the National Guard was away fighting the Spanish-American War] under the command of Gen. H. C. Merriam, and martial law was declared. Many union participants fled to British Columbia or Montana, but hundreds of miners were gathered up and put in 'bullpens'.... With the presence of the troops, the WFM was nearly forced out of existence. No one could work in the mines unless they signed an oath declaring that they did not belong to the WFM and that they had not participated in the bombings" (Peterson, p. 111).
Merriam, who had served since the Civil War, brought in eight companies of Black troops plus some odds and ends to control the violence (Lukas, pp. 117-118). He, and the governor's political operatives in charge, acted with extraordinary repressiveness, depopulating a whole miners' town and sending hundreds upon hundreds of men to what was, in effect, a concentration camp (Lukas, pp. 143-147). The miners had been violent; the response was, by the sound of it, even worse. And Steunenberg, although he denied that he was opposed to organized labor, told a reporter that he intended to "totally eradicate from this community a class of criminals who have for years been committing murders and other crimes in open violation of the law" (Lukas, p. 147).
And yet, when the actual criminal justice system started to look at the rounded-up miners, it charged only thirteen and convicted only ten, and those on minor charges (Lukas, p. 149). Undoubtedly there were some men who should have been charged with sabotage and destruction of property, but most of those imprisoned were innocent.
Of course, a few minor convictions were not very satisfying, so Steunenberg and others insisted on trying for something bigger. Helped by a $32,000 contribution by the mine owners to the prosecution, and despite a complete lack of direct culpatory evidence, the first man tried, "[Paul] Corcoran got seventeen years at hard labor -- an object lesson in the dangers of aggressive unionism in the Steunenberg era" (Lukas, p. 149. Fortunately, the eight who were next in line to be tried managed a mass escape; Lukas, p. 150).
Steunenberg, the former populist, considered fair-minded, now showed a completely different face, telling a congressional investigation committee that looked into the violence: "I assume responsibility for every arrest that was made in Shoshone County, whether by General Merriam or anybody else" (Lukas, p. 153). Over the next several weeks, Steunenberg received many death threats (Lukas, pp. 153-154). But nothing happened for the next several years.
On December 30, 1905 (ironically, shortly after he renewed his life insurance), Steunenberg was returning to his home in Caldwell, Idaho. Passing through the gate, "As he turned to close it, an explosion split the evening calm, demolishing the gate, the eight-inch-thick gatepost, and the nearby fencing, splintering yards of boardwalk, scooping shallow oval hole in the frosty ground, and hurling the governor [who was no lightweight] ten feet into his yard" (Lukas, p. 50).
His 13-year-old daughter Frances saw the explosion and rushed to his side, with her mother following shortly after. A neighbor also came. The governor was still barely alive; he asked for "Mama" (probably meaning his wife), asked who shot him, and asked to be carried in out of the cold. But he was too heavy to move, and his lower body on the right side was effectively destroyed; both his ankles were broken, and his right arm all but severed (Lukas, p. 53). Moving him would be dangerous (Lukas, p. 51). Eventually they found a blanket, and enough people showed up to get him inside (Lukas, p. 52). I don't know if it's Lukas's overblown rhetoric or actual incompetence, but it sounds like it took a long time to find a doctor. Not that it would likely have mattered. Three eventually showed up, but there was nothing they could do given the knowledge of the time. Steunenberg died at 7:10 p.m. on December 30, 1905 (Lukas, p. 53).
His murder was thought to be in retaliation for his anti-labor activities as governor.
Examination showed that debris from the explosion had flown as far as two hundred yards. Various groups raised a $25,000 dollar reward fund (Riffenburgh, p. 260).
Idaho didn't have much in the way of law enforcement (Lukas, p. 74), resulting in a lot of private investigators getting into the act, but very many people joined up to encircle Steunenberg's home town of Caldwell. Several people were harshly investigated based primarily upon their appearance (Lukas, pp. 55-73),
One of those caught in the dragnet was a man who at first called himself Tom Hogan but was better known outside Idaho as Harry Orchard. According to Lougee, p. 113, Orchard was implicated "rather easily." He reportedly had been hanging around town for some time, spending money and doing nothing to earn it except for talking about purchasing land or sheep (Lukas, p. 68; Riffenburgh, p. 260). Apparently a woman he had been spending time with, Lizzie Vorberg, saw him come in white-faced after the explosion; she suggested that his hotel room be searched. There were enough signs of bomb-making in the room that "Hogan" was taken into custody (Lukas, pp. 69-70).
Later, a search of his baggage revealed ordinary items such as clothing and business cards with Hogan's name -- but also several guns (not too unusual in 1905 Idaho!), explosives -- and two pairs of shoes, one of them still wet, which proved to be the same size and have the same nail pattern as some footprints near exploded Steunenberg gate. There was also correspondence involving the leadership of the Western Federation of Miners (Lukas, p. 92).
Hogan, already a strong suspect, was now considered the likely murderer. But Hogan had no particular connection with Steunenberg. Was there a connection to the miners' union? Under questioning, he admitted to "really" being not Hogan but "Harry Orchard." After first claiming that he had a venereal disease and that he was looking for a place to try to recover, he also admitted knowing the leaders of the Western Federation of Miners. He claimed, however, that the bomb-making materials found in his lodging were instead Plaster of Paris with which to make loaded dice (Lukas, p 95). If you're getting the impression that Orchard's testimony was erratic, you are definitely on to something. Others also thought he was "volatile"; some reporters thought him "sick, depressed, deranged, or flatly insane"; even the Pinkerton detective James McParland worried about him committing suicide (Lukas, p. 409). In the course of the William Haywood trial, it came out that Orchard had several relatives, probably including a grandfather, with mental illnesses (Lukas, p. 700). Lukas thinks this issue to be "silliness," but we now know that most mental disorders have strong genetic component. Orchard clearly didn't have a major mental illness, but it really does seem as if his contact with reality was a little shaky.
Clearly it was a case for detectives. The Thiel detective agency, the most famous other than the Pinkertons, quickly became involved, having been hired by the mine owners, meaning the state got their services at no charge (Riffenburgh, p. 251). But they didn't have much luck extending the case beyond Orchard, so Idaho governor Frank Gooding brought in the Pinkertons (Riffenburgh, p. 267). At this time, the Pinkertons had three departments, based in New York, Chicago, and Denver (Lukas, p. 157), so it was Denver manager James McParland (occasionally spelled McPharland, and he used the spelling "McParlan" in his early years in the United States; Lukas, p. 188; Riffenburgh, p. 166) who got the call. Already he was famous for cracking the Molly Maguires (and, incidentally, the model for "Birdy Edwards" in the Sherlock Holmes story "The Valley of Fear"; for the Molly Maguires and McParland's work, see the notes to "Muff Lawler, the Squealer" [Laws E25]). It should be noted that he had perjured himself in those trials (Riffenburgh, p. 156. Riffenburgh, p. 345, demonstrates that McParland also perjured himself in the case of Steve Adams, which was related to the Steunenberg case). Also, when he married in 1879, he had robbed the cradle -- he was 35, his bride 19 (Riffenburgh, p. 166). He had also worked to cheat his sister-in-law out of an inheritance, and ended up losing a court case to her about it (Riffenburgh, pp. 169-170). Not someone I'd want chasing after *my* daughter, believe you me!
McParland's first major move was to go to work on Orchard (Chace, p. 174). He was not the first Pinkerton on the scene, but McParland proved the key figure. Having managed, by means that would surely be regarded as criminal today, to get Orchard isolated and mistreated (Riffenburgh, pp. 267-268), then showed up to reason with the prisoner. He pointed out to Orchard that those who turned states' evidence in criminal trials often came out much better than those who did not (Lukas, p. 195) -- and McParland should know, because of all the trials he had helped initiate! He also played "good cop," arranging for Orchard to get better treatment in prison (Lukas, p. 196). And he told Orchard that, while the evidence had him dead to rights (which wasn't really true), the murder wasn't really his fault; the men who planned the assassination bore more moral responsibility (Lukas, p. 197). Clearly he went all out to make Orchard trust him -- and it worked. He also gave the impression, which was false, that a confession to him would assure Orchard's safety. (Remember, the Pinkertons were a private agency; they were not the justice system! They could not offer a plea bargain.)
After their second meeting, Orchard asked McParland to come back the next day (Lukas, p. 199) -- and McParland ended up coming for five straight days, eventually bringing a stenographer. What he got was an incredible confession -- 64 pages written in shorthand! Orchard confessed to killing Steunenberg, and seventeen sundry others; to trying to assassinate the governor of Colorado and several other state officials there, plus the President of the Bunker Hill and Sullivan Mining Company. All this was done at the behest of the Western Federation of Miners, notably President Charles H. Moyer, Secretary/Treasurer William "Big Bill" Haywood, and one George A. Pettibone. He also listed three immediate accomplices, Jack Simpkins (who was already suspected), Steve Adams, and Vincent St. John (Lukas, pp. 199-200).
Lougee, p. 113, adds that Orchard turned out to be to be Canadian and a bigamist.
It didn't take long for Moyer, Hayward, and Pettibone to realize that they were being trailed, and they started hiding -- so McParland arranged for a false report on the investigation to appear in the newspapers to get them off their guard (Lukas, pp. 243-244).
Idaho authorities couldn't arrest the suspects because they weren't in Idaho but in Colorado, and they had been in Colorado at the time of the murder, so Idaho couldn't claim they had fled the state and demand extradition (Lukas, p. 244). They sought extradition anyway, although the paperwork they came up with would not fool anyone who actually looked at it. McParland and the Idaho authorities proceeded to kidnap Moyer, Haywood, and Pettibone -- capturing them in Colorado and putting them on a sealed special train that ran through areas where the courts were closed for the weekend (Lougee, p. 113; Chace p. 175). So concerned was McParland about avoiding the law that he demanded the train go through Cheyenne, Wyoming, at the dangerous speed of 30 miles per hour, and he put armed guards on the train to fight off anyone who tried to get aboard (Lukas, p. 266).
The illegal precautions worked. Moyer, Haywood, and Pettibone arrived "safely" in Idaho, and were indicted for murder on March 6, 1906 (Chace, p. 176). McParland continued his psychological warfare by imprisoning them on death row (Lukas, p. 271). And Idaho's Supreme Court granted the prisoners no redress, basically saying that it didn't matter how the prisoners had been taken; they were in Idaho now, and tough luck that they had been taken unlawfully (Lukas, p. 277). Nor would the very conservative United States Supreme Court step in (Lukas, p. 284). The only way the accused could get off was by being cleared at trial.
But Idaho had a law: You couldn't convict a man on the uncorroborated testimony of an accomplice (in this case, Orchard). The state needed at least one more witness -- either Adams or Simpkins. Simpkins seems to have vanished without a trace; apparently it still isn't known what happened to him (Riffenburgh, p. 276). So, at the time they kidnapped their suspects, they also located Steve Adams (who was in Oregon) and set out to bring him back (Lukas, p. 256). As they had with the union officers, they sent an illegal extradition request, but Adams's lawyer told him not to fight it. So he was taken to Idaho (Lukas, p. 294). In a bit of blatant stupidity, the authorities confined him with Orchard (Lukas, p. 295), which raised the obvious possibility of witness contamination. But it arguably worked out well for the state, since Orchard told Adams about the state wanting testimony to convict the mine bosses (Riffenburgh, p. 286).
Which was indeed what the state wanted: the authorities suborned perjury, telling Adams, when his lawyer wasn't present (Riffenburgh, p. 287), that they would hang him if he didn't testify against the labor leaders. He "confessed." To McParland, with detailed prompting from McParland; although Adams mentioned several genuine crimes, he seemed unable to give many details without help (Lukas, pp. 296-297).
Meanwhile, Idaho was bringing in the really big guns to lead the prosecution; James H. Hawley was probably the most experienced lawyer Idaho had, and future Senator William E. Borah the most financially successful (Lukas, pp. 288-290; Borah was also, according to Lukas, p. 291, a womanizer so flagrant that he was reported to have fathered a child on Theodore Roosevelt's daughter Alice, and he would later be indicted in the timber fraud scheme that also involved Steunenberg). The state was so intent on winning a conviction that it broke the budget; the state had to issue emergency "deficiency certificates" (short-term, high-interest, unsecured bonds -- basically, junk bonds) to pay its legal costs (Lukas, pp. 346-347). The situation was so unprecedented that the banks didn't trust the state to repay them, since the state legislature hadn't authorized them (Lukas, pp. 347-348). The bank that bought the largest share of them was run by the mine owners (Lukas, pp. 350-351) -- in essence, the mine owners were paying for the prosecution of the WFM leaders. What's more, mine owners in Colorado were supplying money as well (Lukas, p. 375). Legally, it may not have been vigilante justice, but morally, it came close. Even President Theodore Roosevelt was concerned about the way the state was handling things, making him less willing to support the state should unrest arise, even though he disliked the union agitation (Lukas, pp. 368-369) and clearly thought the WFM leaders guilty.
McParland even planted a spy in the defense's legal team, although he was a support staffer, not a lawyer (Lukas, p. 439). The same fellow, "Operative 21," also was invited onto the Socialist Party's Canyon County Central Committee (Lukas, p. 440), and also spent a lot of time in bars (Lukas, p. 446); one wonders how he found time to report to McParland! Another operative was trying to find witnesses who could be brought in to testify for the defense and turn on them (Lukas, p. 447). Both sides were trying to get information on anyone in the county who might end up in the jury pool. The infiltrators weren't discovered until well into jury selection (Lukas, pp. 536-537), when it sounds as if they had to get out of town fast.
It is interesting to note that Idaho Governor Gooding was afraid of assassination (perhaps with justice) -- so he hired as one of his several bodyguards a convicted criminal nicknamed "Four Gun Jack," who was free pending appeal, as a bodyguard (Lukas, p. 357). Apparently Gooding had no trouble being around criminals -- it was just union men who bothered him. Despite all that pressure, he won re-election during the run-up to the trial (Lukas, p. 406).
McParland also decided he needed a bodyguard, although he was able to use one of his Pinkerton colleagues (Lukas, p. 433).
While all this was going on, Harry Orchard was languishing in prison -- and getting visits from the Revered Newell Dwight Hillis and the Reverend Edwin S. Hinks. Hinks became Orchard's "spiritual advisor", and nudged Orchard in the same direction that McParland had earlier -- and Orchard responded by turning to Christianity (Lukas, pp. 495-497). A lot of criminals, of course, "convert" in hopes of better treatment, but Orchard, who seems to have been impressionable and highly erratic, appears to have genuinely converted.
It will perhaps tell you something about the Pinkerton Agency at this time that they did not rely on the Idaho's prosecutors; McParland hung around to assist, and in no small part to manage, the prosecution (Lukas, p. 516).
Clarence Darrow, however, was by now leading the defense -- he said that he would have liked to avoid it, given the strength of the opposition, but "I do not see how I can get out of it" given the unfairness of the prosecution (Lukas, p. 328). And the union leaders also had cash, supplied by contributions by the miners' organizations -- eventually the WFM made a formal assessment of its members (Lukas, p. 379).
Darrow promised to defend Adams (possibly offering financial inducements as well, although it was never proved; Lukas, pp. 331-332) and convinced him to recant. The maneuvers which followed are almost incomprehensibly complex, with writs flying all over the place, including one instance of Adams being freed by one judge and immediately being arrested again on a different charge (Lukas, pp. 334-335).
The authorities decided to try Adams for the murder of one Fred Tyler, but this trial was held in Wallace, Idaho -- smack in the heart of mining country; the prosecutors ran out of peremptory challenges striking people they thought pro-miner and had to accept a jury that had some "doubtful" members (Lukas, p. 501). The case came down to what Adams said he had done versus what a Pinkerton detective claimed he had admitted to (Lukas, pp. 501-502). Darrow convinced a majority of the jury to acquit (7-5, according to a juror who talked to McParland; Lukas, p. 503). Despite the hung jury, the state decided to keep Adams on the hook -- but they also were working to exploit disagreements between Haywood and Moyer, who were confined together (Chace, p. 177). Of the three IWW officials, Haywood was perhaps the most likely to have been involved; he was originally an officer of the Western Federation of Miners, and later presided over the founding of the IWW. The authorities thought their case against him the strongest, so he was tried first.
In the main trial, the state had two judges leave the case before it finally was tried by Judge Fremont Wood (Lukas, p. 453) -- who apparently was regarded as fair by both sides (Lukas, p. 454). Wood promptly granted a change of venue -- although only from Caldwell to Boise (Lukas, pp. 453-455). This was probably a pretty good compromise -- the prosecution wanted to try the case in Steunenberg's hometown, the defense wanted it somewhere where there hadn't been much publicity. Boise was not too far from Caldwell, and had heard about the case, but it hadn't consumed every news cycle. Plus it was a decent-sized city where many of the lawyers in the case were based; the case wouldn't be quite as zoo-like as it would have been in Caldwell. Even so, they had to rearrange the courthouse to try to make room for everyone who wanted to be there; the capacity was increased from 250 to 300 spectators, with the principals crowded very close together even in the heat of a warm summer (Lukas, p. 520).
On May 9, 1907, the trial got underway, with the judge denying a defense motion to see the evidence against Haywood (Lukas, p. 521).
Darrow, of course, managed everything to his advantage. He even brought in Haywood's wife Nevada Jane Minor (the subject of the Utah Phillips song "Nevada Jane") and their daughters Vernie and Henrietta. Haywood and Nevada Jane (contrary to the Phillips song) were apparently not close at all -- but Nevada Jane was wheelchair-bound, and actress Ethel Barrymore observed of Darrow, "He has all the props, an old mother in a wheelchair and a little girl with curls draped around Haywood" (Chace, p. 178). Hayward's mother was also there, as was Nevada Jane's nurse, and Henrietta would often cling to her father (Lukas, p. 524). The prosecution had evidence of Hayward's infideity, but couldn't present it because the witnesses, although they didn't like Hayward, weren't willing to testify (Lukas, p. 525. Of course, it was irrelevant anyway, but that was unlikely to stop them!).
Jury selection took all of May and a few days into June -- it lasted so long that the state legislature actually put its thumb on the scale, passing a law to increase the number of peremptory challenges (elimination of jurors for arbitrary reasons) for the prosecution, making it easier for them to get the jury they wanted (Lukas, pp. 527-530). Lukas does not state the exact number of jurors questioned, but they were on their third pool when the defense used its last peremptory challenge, meaning that at least 180 were questioned to get twelve jurors (Lukas, pp. 537-538). Twenty were stricken peremptorily, meaning that at least 80%, or 150+, were rejected for cause (either bias or incompetence). They ended up with a jury that was (of course) all white and male, all but one over fifty (mostly late fifties or sixties), and all current or former farmers (Lukas, p. 538). It was a narrow range of occupations -- no one on the jury had ever worked for wages! -- but of course they weren't going to take any miners or unionists, and there weren't too many other occupations in nineteenth century Idaho.
The trial proper finally began on Tuesday, June 4, 1907 -- and Darrow was picking on Hawley from the very beginning (Lukas, p. 550), making him look both pompous (which he probably was) and stupid in his opening statement. The prosecution didn't really even make a specific charge against Haywood; mostly it listed all the things Harry Orchard had done. So Darrow asked to postpone his opening statement, and the prosecution got started by calling witnesses to describe the assassination. This took only a few hours, since there wouldn't be any real argument on this point; on June 5, the prosecution got down to business and called Harry Orchard (Lukas, p. 551).
The prosecutors had been very careful. There had been fears that Orchard would be assassinated, but they kept him safe -- and dressed him up so carefully that the old scruffy petty criminal could not be recognized (Lukas, pp. 551-553; Riffenburgh, p. 326). Orchard proceeded to tell a tale of a drifter's life, which culminated in him becoming a sort of hired assassin for the Western Federation of Miners (Lukas, p. 556). He claimed that, in 1905, Haywood, Moyer, and Pettibone had hired him, and four others including Steve Adams, to assassinate Steunenberg.
(This, to me, raises a big hole in Orchard's story. Orchard's record as an assassin, by his own admission, was miserable. Why, if the WFM had so many violent miners available -- and it appears they did -- would the bosses hire an untrustworthy incompetent like Orchard? It makes no sense.)
The defense lawyers apparently had an internal argument about who would question Orchard, and Darrow lost; Edmund F. Richardson cross-examined Orchard for 26 hours -- and failed to crack him (Lukas, pp. 561-563); it appears that Orchard had already drafted a memoir, and that of course meant that he had his story all sorted out. But, of course, Orchard was just one witness. Could he be corroborated?
The prosecution called additional witnesses and brought various writings into evidence, but not one actually connected Haywood with the murder. When the prosecution rested, defense lawyer Richardson rose to request a summary judgment; the prosecution hadn't proved its case (Lukas, pp. 565-566). Judge Wood rejected the motion -- he explained later that he thought that Orchard was telling the truth but he didn't think the state had produced enough corroboratory evidence. This should have caused him to dismiss the case, but he didn't want to make it look as if he was being easy on the defense. So the case went on (Lukas, pp. 566-567; Riffenburgh, pp. 328-329). Nonetheless, things were looking bad for the prosecution.
A key element of the defense was to bring in an ex-Pinkerton employee to show just how deeply the Pinkertons had infiltrated the Western Federation of Miners. Had the WFM come up with the plot against Steunenberg -- or had the Pinkertons? No one actually said the latter, but the idea clearly hung in the air (Lukas, p. 688).
McParland, who had orchestrated the whole case, was getting justifiably worried. He needed something new, and tried to get Moyer, who was up on the same charges as Haywood, to crack. But the sheriff in charge of the prisoners was a fair man and would not apply the pressure McParland wanted (Lukas, pp. 689-693). Moyer did eventually testify -- but as a defense witness, and he performed well and is thought to have helped Haywood's cause (Lukas, pp. 696-697).
Haywood himself was the last major witness. He admitted to strong disagreements with Steunenberg's policies, denied ever attacking Steunenberg the man, denied Orchard's plots. And, when cross-examined by Borah, he not only didn't give an inch, he seemed to intimidate and outwit the prosecution lawyer a few times (Lukas, pp. 697-700).
"When the defense completed its case on Saturday, July 13, many thought the efforts had done more harm than good" (Riffenburgh, p. 331)
Closing arguments took days, with Darrow giving an amazing argument for the defense and Borah by all accounts a great speech for the prosecution. It took Judge Wood most of an hour to give the jury their instructions (Lukas, p. 720), stressing the need for corroboration and that people were innocent unless proven guilty. The jury argued overnight, and well into the next day. Darrow, Haywood, and Co. were very afraid that this spelled doom; when they were called back, Darrow even told Haywood to prepare for the worst. There was a last-minute mixup when the jury foreman gave the judge an empty envelope. But when it was all straightened out, Haywood was found not guilty (Lukas, p. 722).
Despite the fears on the Haywood team, there had been little chance of conviction; the initial jury vote was 8 for acquittal, 2 for conviction, 2 abstentions (Lukas, p. 723); in the heat and the crowding, the majority eventually talked around the doubters. It sounds to me as if it was really a "Scotch Verdict," that is, "Not proven" -- the jury felt that the state had not offered sufficient evidence to support Orchard's claim, and since Idaho law explicitly said that an informer's testimony had to be corroborated, the prosecution had not met the standard for conviction.
Between paying the Pinkertons and paying for the prosecution, Idaho was out a lot of money (there had been a time when Governor Gooding had worried it would come out of his pocket, until out-of-state sources helped out; Riffenburgh, p. 297), so they weren't willing to give up just because Haywood got off. So they went after George Pettibone, who was more a technical person than a union leader; supposedly he created the materials for Orchard's bomb. Darrow was sick, so the union brought in Judge Orin Hilton (Lougee, p. 114), who would later unsuccessfully defend Joe Hill in his appeal in Utah. Hilton, perceiving that the evidence against Pettibone was weak but that the opposing lawyer was brilliant, decided not to mount a defense, and so deprived the prosecutor of the right to rebut!
And it worked. Pettibone too got off in January 1908 (Lougee, p. 115), and the state gave up on Moyer (Chace, p. 179; Lukas, p. 748, who adds that Moyer promptly pushed Haywood out of the WFM). The state arguably had the last laugh on Pettibone, who had contracted tuberculosis in prison and died not long afterward (Riffenburgh, p. 347) -- but he was officially not guilty. In the long run, the Steunenberg affair was very damaging for the unions, but the leaders were safe.
Then it was finally time to go after Orchard. He alone was punished, being convicted in March 1908 and sentenced to death -- a sentence that was commuted to life imprisonment because of his religious conversion. (According to Riffenburgh, p. 348, Orchard changed his plea from not guilty to guilty, against the advice of counsel -- because the charges he faced meant an automatic death penalty. It was not a plea bargain; the full charges stood. Judge Wood perforce sentenced him to death, with a recommendation to the Board of Pardons for mercy, and the Board granted it.) Although eventually eligible for parole, he elected to spend the rest of his life (nearly fifty years) in prison rather than live on his own, dying in 1954 at age 88 (Lukas, p. 748).
Imprisoned during World War I for opposing the war, Haywood would eventually skip bail and flee to the Soviet Union, leaving his wife behind; having bigamously married another wife, died there in 1928 at the age of 59 (Weir/Hanlan, p. 223).
So did Haywood and Moyer actually order the murder? According to Riffenburgh, pp. 337-339, the jurors all thought so, but concluded that the prosecution didn't prove it beyond doubt. Lukas, pp. 750-754, argues based on letters by others who knew them that they did. But I wonder. Everything still comes down to Harry Orchard's testimony. Without denying Orchard's sincerity on the stand, I really, really question his mental stability. Even ordinary people can create false memories if they are exposed to unexpected information. This process is can be much easier in the case of the disordered. Did Orchard tell his own story, or McParland's? I just don't know. And I doubt we'll ever know.
Among those who covered the trial was Upton Sinclair; it is said that the last chapter of The Jungle alludes to it (Lukas, p. 450).
This is item dE48 in Laws's Appendix II. - RBW
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