CHAPTER II

The body of the lost man could not be found. After being taken to prison March accused Pennington of the crime, admitting that after the deed was done he assisted young Pennington in disposing of the body, because, as he said, he was afraid that he himself would be accused of the crime. Having made this admission, he took the officers to a wood some miles away where the body had been buried in a rude, shallow grave.

Roland Pennington.
(By permission of “Alienist and Neurologist.”)

When Pennington was confronted with March’s accusation, he too made a confession, which, however, implicated March quite as much as himself.

March was tried in Delaware County, and convicted of murder in the first degree. The defense was, in accordance with the above statement, “that he had nothing to do with the crime itself, merely assisted in disposing of the body.”

Pennington’s trial occurred in June, 1914, when he also was convicted of murder in the first degree. The defense in this case was imbecility and irresponsibility. Although the jury did not accept this view, the case is a most interesting one from the standpoint of criminal imbecility.

The story of the crime is probably best given in Pennington’s own words, since his confession has all the marks of truthfulness and was evidently accepted by the jury in the March case. It was almost exclusively on the strength of this testimony that March was convicted.

Here again is a crime so abhorrent in its details that it is unbelievable. There is no excuse for it, no adequate motive, no justification whatever so far as the boy, Pennington, is concerned.

For March, it is easy to believe, as the jury evidently did believe, that he was actuated by what might be called an insane jealousy of the woman with whom he was living. We are familiar with the lengths to which such jealousy can lead a man. But why Pennington allowed himself to be made the dupe of this jealous man cannot be explained; it is absolutely incomprehensible on any theory that assumes that he is a normal boy of nineteen years.

It was in accordance with this feeling that some one raised the inquiry as to whether the boy was possibly a mental defective. This question having arisen, the writer was asked to examine him and give an opinion as to whether or not he was normal.

Accordingly the examination was made in the Delaware County jail in Media; this showed that the boy had a mentality of about eleven years according to the Binet Scale. He could not do any of the tests for age twelve and failed on some of those in ten and eleven. This indicated an intelligence scarcely up to eleven.

Further examination by other methods, the circumstances of his life, his appearance, and his school history, all tended to corroborate this view. The boy was nineteen years old when he committed the crime; two years before he had left Westtown Boarding School, after an attendance there of two and a half years. When he entered the school, the teachers graded him as of a capacity equivalent to the fifth grade in public school; he, therefore, began sixth-grade work. He never got out of that grade. For two and a half years he studied and tried to pass. He was absolutely unable to do sixth-grade work. Sixth-grade work, it will be remembered, is about the grade for a twelve-year-old normal boy; thus we have a striking agreement between his school experience and his Binet tests. By the Binet test he is eleven; in school he cannot do twelve-year work!

Asked what he had done since he left the school, he said he had done “a good many things.” Asked where he had worked, he said he did not remember all of the places. As a matter of fact, he had had exactly the career that the high-grade imbecile usually has out in the world. He either gets discharged from his positions because of incompetency or he leaves because of his nomadic tendencies. The imbecile rarely stays long in a place if free to move.

In addition to the above, the reader will see many evidences of childishness in his confession. He talks like a child; he alludes to George March as a child would; he says, “He has charge over me”—“He was kind and good to me; he used to take me to Gradyville,” etc. Even Pinkerton gave the money to March to buy shoes for Pennington. Again Pennington says, “George said he was going West and he would take me with him.” One cannot imagine a nineteen-year-old youth, or even a fifteen-year-old, talking in this way. By the time a boy reaches the latter age, he is in his own mind the equal of anybody. He would not say, “George took me.” He would say, “We went.” He would say, “I got along all right with George,” or some other expression whereby he would assert his own manhood and not take the rôle of a child.

While in jail he showed no realization of the seriousness of his situation; showed no remorse for his deed; took no interest in his case. For example, he was told by his lawyer not to allow himself to be examined by any doctors without sending for his counsel; in spite of this warning he allowed himself to be examined by four physicians at one time and by two at another, and never mentioned the matter to his counsel even after it was done.

In the confession made to the prosecuting attorney one notices, as in the one we have quoted, that he appears simple and innocent; answers the questions often in terms of the questioner instead of by a simple “Yes” or “No,” which would be natural for a normal young man; he is uncertain and hesitates; he says, “I think,” in a great many cases where it was strongly to his advantage to speak positively.

After the deed was committed he took no care to remove the evidence; everything that was done in that connection was done at the suggestion of George March. All the way through this part of the confession it reads—“He led, I followed,” “I did as he told me.”

Having satisfied ourselves that Roland Pennington is a high-grade imbecile, the next question is, even as an imbecile, why did he do this deed.

In the case of Jean Gianini we found that it was for revenge of a fancied wrong, that is, according to his own statement. If not that, it may have been a sexual matter. In this case neither motive applies, and we have only two possible theories. The theory of the state was that it was for robbery. Indeed, Roland himself seems to admit that this was the motive. But this again is only a part of his imbecility. He was given a leading question by the prosecution and was weak-minded enough to say, “Yes.”

As a matter of fact one finds it very hard to get any evidence from the whole situation that he really was lead by cupidity. There is no evidence of any elaborate plans in regard to money, either as to getting it or as to what was to be done with it when he got it. March had talked about a thousand-dollar bill, and asked Pennington how he would like to have “that bunch of money.” Pennington says he does not remember saying anything in reply. This does not look as though it aroused any great emotion in him. Later March said—referring to the money Pinkerton was supposed to have “on him”—“Let’s get it.” Pennington asks, “What do you mean?” He is clearly thinking less of the money than of what he begins to dimly understand they are to do. When he understands that they are to kill him, he says distinctly, “No. I won’t kill him.” Never again is the subject of money mentioned. In all March’s urging him to do the deed he never says, “Remember the money,” or alludes to money in any way.

Perhaps we are begging the question. If Pennington were really intelligent and shrewd, he would not say anything in his confession that would supply a motive for the crime. Not only does the whole confession give ample evidence that he was not sufficiently intelligent to protect himself in this way, but the conclusion of the matter shows clearly that it was of practically no importance to him. After the deed, March gave him seven dollars! He said, “I thought there was more.” That is all. He did not insist or complain. He accepted it calmly and without protest. He even proposed to give March half of the four dollars received for the pawned watch. Imagine a nineteen-year-old boy with full consciousness and responsibility killing a man for his money and being so complacent over receiving seven dollars! The theory is not convincing. Even the prosecution, whose whole case depended upon showing a motive, never pretended that Pennington made any stir because the amount was so small.

There is not the slightest evidence, external or internal, that the idea of getting money played any part in Pennington’s share of the crime.

Why then did he consent to begin the matter which George was to finish? It is clearly a case of suggestion. A suggestion, it is true, which never would have worked with a normal nineteen-year-old youth. With this weak-minded boy it is easily understandable. As we study the confession we discover that George March, either consciously or more likely unconsciously, used suggestion most adroitly. Undoubtedly he had learned, through association with Roland for six weeks, that this boy was very simple-minded and easily led. Having reasons of his own for desiring to get rid of Lewis Pinkerton, he first suggests the matter of money, hoping to appeal to Roland’s cupidity. It will be noticed that he nowhere uses the word “murder” or “kill”; even the mild expression, “Make away with him,” he uses only once. When Roland at one time almost takes fright and asks, “Do you mean kill him?” and he admits that he does and Roland says he won’t do that, the older man lulls him to sleep by the suggestion, “Well, you begin and I’ll finish it.”

March tells a story about a blackjack; then he brings the blackjack and gives it to Roland, saying nothing except, “You can do it with that.” Roland is so weak-minded that he takes the blackjack and puts it in his pocket. When the right time comes and the opportunity is near at hand, March stations himself at a convenient place where he will see Roland as he goes back and forth at his work, and for some little time he constantly coaxes and dogs him, pouring into his ears a stream of suggestion such as, “You will have a chance pretty soon”; “Don’t forget”; “Don’t lose your nerve”; “Now you can get him”; “Now nail him.”

It is an interesting little point, possibly only a coincidence but nevertheless a perfectly natural imbecilic association, that the one seemingly original thing that the boy did in connection with the matter was to invent a little trick in regard to the nail in the stall. It is quite likely that even this was suggested by George’s previous expression, “Nail him.”

Even the blow itself does not seem to have been given with normal vigor; having every advantage,—the victim bending over, Roland being behind him and with a blackjack which is capable of thoroughly stunning, if not killing at one blow,—he apparently did not strike with force enough to even produce unconsciousness. His victim was able to talk and to struggle for some minutes, until March, the companion in crime, came up and, as he expressed it, “finished him.”

As to motive, then, we conclude that the defendant had none. He was acting upon the suggestion of George March. Even the poor mind that he had, which under other circumstances might possibly have rebelled at such a suggestion, was lulled to sleep by this man of better intelligence for whom he had been working and who he had learned to think was “good and kind” and on whose judgment he thought he could rely.

Since the Pennington case is typical of the way weak minds work under control of normal minds, it will be worth while to analyze somewhat more fully this idea of suggestion.

How does suggestion work? Why does it indicate a weak mind and how does it affect our ideas of responsibility? Let us see.

We have already seen that Roland Pennington was under the control of another mind; we do not mean that he was actually hypnotized—a nonsensical plea that is sometimes brought into court cases. Roland Pennington was a victim of suggestion. An illustration will make this clear.

If I were to take a city man to a third-rail electric road and ask him to stand on one rail and put his hand on the third rail, he would resist the suggestion, because there would immediately come into his mind visions of himself burned to a crisp or instantly killed. But suppose I take a man who has come from the rural districts and who never heard of third rails. He has lived, let us assume, in my house and worked under my direction a month and has come to regard me as a friend. We have worked together and talked together; I take him out and say, “Touch that third rail.” Will he resist the suggestion? Not at all. Why not? What is the difference between the two men? The first has ideas about third rails. His past experience has filled his mind and memory with thoughts and with knowledge which instantly come to consciousness when I suggest touching the third rail. The other man has no such experience. He has known me long enough to have some faith in me. In fact from the very nature of things he is in the habit of doing what I tell him. I tell him to do this, and he does it.

Coming back to the first case, one perhaps can conceive that the city man and I might come upon the third rail under such conditions that he was not thinking of it. Instead of saying “third rail” to him I might say, “My! that rail is hot” and he would almost instinctively put his hand upon it to verify my remark. If he survived and could talk about it afterwards, he would say, “Of course I ought to have known and did know that was the third rail, but I did not think.” That is the way suggestion works.

To illustrate still further, we may speak of hypnotism itself. All of the wonders that are produced under hypnosis are to be explained in exactly this way. The subject is so nearly asleep that nothing gets into his consciousness except the ideas suggested by the operator. Accordingly he is utterly unable to resist any suggestion that is given him.

Now coming nearer to our problem, children are naturally very suggestible because they have not the experiences, the ideas. One may easily believe that an eleven-year-old child could be induced to touch the third rail. Furthermore, authority plays an enormous rôle with children. I might take my ten-year-old boy out for a walk. He knows all about third rails and would not touch one. But if I were to say to him, “Son, you can put your hand on this, because there is no current on,” he would probably obey without question, because of his implicit trust in me. That confidence in a superior, either in age, intelligence, or position, is one of the characteristics of immature minds and one of the conditions that makes us all suggestible. In the hypnotic terminology again, this is the being en rapport. The hypnotized subject obeys the operator and no one else because it is the operator with whom he is en rapport—in other words, in whom he has confidence.

Now let us come to the situation. It is perfectly clear that Roland Pennington was under strong suggestion and that any vague concepts that he might have had of the wrongfulness of murder or of killing a man were very carefully allayed by the man who had the influence over him and who had the motive for this homicide.

The whole statement shows that Roland recognized George as a superior, as one in authority over him and at the same time as a friend, as one on whose word he could absolutely rely. It is a perfect picture of the child following the man.

CHAPTER III

Our third case is that of Fred Tronson of Portland, Oregon. What we know of the history of Tronson is brief, but amply sufficient to prove that he belongs to the group that we are considering. He had lived in Portland for two years and in that time had held seven different positions as elevator man. He was twenty-four years of age, when, in August, 1914, he met and became infatuated with Emma Ulrich, a stenographer who worked in the same establishment where he ran the elevator. He asked her to marry him, but she refused. Later he was arrested for threatening her and was ordered to leave town and not to annoy her any further. On November 16th of the same year he waited for her outside of her home with two loaded revolvers. When she stepped off the street car, he again asked her to marry him. She became frightened and ran toward her home. He followed her, shooting as he went. He followed her into her own house and there shot her down. On Wednesday, December 9th, 1914, Tronson was tried and convicted of murder in the second degree. Oregon having abolished the death penalty on November 3d, only a second-degree verdict, which carries with it imprisonment for life, could be returned. The trial was very brief, and the jury returned within fifteen minutes. There was practically no defense, except the claim on the part of Tronson’s attorney that the man was weak-minded and, therefore, in strict justice, should be placed in custody, not in the penitentiary but in some other institution more suited to his condition. He had been examined by two alienists and pronounced sane, but of low mentality. He was also examined by a psychologist who used a modification of the Binet tests, which showed him to have a mentality of nine years.

Fred Tronson.

This rating obtained by the psychologist was confirmed in many ways. His mother said he had never been able to hold a job more than two or three months. He left school shortly before he was twenty, but we have no record of what success he had or what grade he was in. His conduct at the trial and before was that of an imbecile. When he was examined in the police station, he seemed to be in constant fear that some one outside would do him harm. When he had displayed uneasiness about an open window, the detectives told how they closed it and sat between him and the window to assure him that no one in the street would harm him. During the impaneling of the jury and the taking of the testimony, Tronson sat slouching in his chair, with sunken eyes, glaring at each witness, and with his mouth hanging half open as though he barely understood what was going on. The deep lines in his face and the dark circles beneath his eyes gave a vision of sleepless nights and haunting memories. Like the other two imbeciles whom we have discussed, he made a confession. The following is his statement:—

Statement of Fred Tronson taken in the office of Detective Captain Baty on Thursday, November 19th, 1914, in the presence of Deputy District Attorneys John A. Collier and Thomas G. Ryan, Detectives Pat Moloney and Tom Swennes.

Question. What is your name?

Answer. Fred Tronson.

Q. How old are you?

A. Twenty-four.

Q. How long have you lived in Portland?

A. One year and seven months.

Q. What have you been doing?

A. Running elevators.

Q. Now, Fred, I am a deputy district attorney representing this state, Mr. Ryan here is a deputy district attorney, and these other men are officials and officers. You have been charged with a crime, and of course you have your rights. You have a right to make a statement here to me if you want to tell us what the facts are. You are not forced to make a statement, but you may do so if you want to. There isn’t any use of your getting nervous, and there is nobody going to bother you here. You needn’t be afraid. You cannot be forced or compelled to make a statement, and any statement you make must be voluntary. Do you want to make any statement about this shooting affair?

A. Yes.

Q. You may go ahead and just tell me what happened, commencing at the first of it, and tell me how it came about.

A. Well, that time I accosted the girl in the street, it was last August the 3d, I asked her if she would have me and she didn’t give me any satisfactory answer. She said she would wait outside at noon. In the meantime she had me arrested. Of course I threatened to shoot myself if she wouldn’t have me. She says, “No, don’t do that; I would rather have you leave town,” she says like that. She says, “I will write to you.” She says, “You are going to be a man, aren’t you?” I said, “Yes, if I can’t have you.” She said she would meet me out there at twelve, and before that she phoned the police or the other girl up there, I don’t know.

Q. That was last August?

A. Yes.

Q. You were arrested on that charge?

A. Yes.

Q. What did they do with you?

A. Well, they kept me here about a week and then let me go with the understanding that I go out of town. Judge Stevenson says go out in the harvest fields and take a good sweat and when you come back, look for some other job and you will be all right. Come back in the fall. So I went out next Monday and stayed a couple of days and couldn’t get anything and came back and waited about a week and stayed another week and then went to Hood River, and picked apples and stayed up there about ten days and then came back and I couldn’t get anything. I was hoping the girl would kind of come to me after awhile and I found after a few months that she wasn’t, so I thought I would get rid of her so somebody else wouldn’t have her.

Q. When did you make up your mind to do that?

A. Last week.

Q. After you made up your mind to do that, what did you do?

A. I went off and got the guns.

Q. Where did you get the guns?

A. At Vancouver.

Q. What kind of a gun was it?

A. You got it there. That’s the one I shot her with (pointing to a gun on Captain Baty’s desk just opposite Mr. Ryan), but I had another one, too.

(This gun, marked #5308 on gun itself and marked “Exhibit A—Ryan,” was thereupon handed to the prisoner.)

Q. This gun marked “Exhibit A,” here, is that the gun you shot her with?

A. Yes.

Q. Where did you get that gun?

A. Vancouver.

Q. For what purpose did you get it? What did you intend to do with it?

A. I intended to shoot her. I intended to hold on to it, but in my excitement I dropped it in the weeds there, I guess.

Q. Where did you get the gun at Vancouver? Do you know the name of the store?

A. No, it was a hardware store.

Q. How long before you did the shooting did you get this gun?

A. About three hours, something like that.

Q. Do I understand that you went to Vancouver and got this gun and then came over to Portland, and did the shooting?

A. Yes.

Q. Where did you get this other gun? (Gun numbered 2506 was thereupon marked “Exhibit B” by Mr. Ryan, and handed to Mr. Tronson.)

A. This second-hand gun?

Q. At a second-hand store?

A. Yes.

Q. Did you buy that at the same time you bought the other gun?

A. Yes.

Q. Where did you buy this gun?

A. Well, I didn’t want to buy them both at the same place. I thought that they might get suspicious. I didn’t want to get two five-dollar guns. I bought that for three.

Q. What did you have in mind when you bought this?

A. Well, if one didn’t work, the other would.

Q. Do I understand you to say that you bought this to kill her with?

A. Yes.

Q. If the new gun didn’t work, that would?

A. Yes.

Q. When you came over from Vancouver, did you have the guns loaded?

A. No.

Q. When did you first load the guns and prepare to do the shooting?

A. Down there along the river some place.

Q. Out in South Portland?

A. Yes.

Q. Did you load both of them?

A. Yes.

Q. You knew where Miss Ulrich lived, did you?

A. Yes.

Q. Had you ever visited at the house?

A. No.

Q. Had you ever kept company with her?

A. Yes, I walked around the streets with her once in awhile.

Q. You never went to her home?

A. No.

Q. Did you know her folks?

A. No.

Q. Where did you stay out there until she came along?

A. I didn’t get out there any too soon. I didn’t stand round two minutes.

Q. What time did you leave town here to go out to the scene of the shooting?

A. I came right from Vancouver and went through.

Q. What time did you get over to Portland from Vancouver?

A. About five o’clock.

Q. After you got over to Portland what car did you take then?

A. I walked out.

Q. Which way did you go out?

A. First Street.

Q. How far out First Street did you go?

A. Until I struck some of those other streets down there, Front Street I guess, Water or Corbett.

Q. How long did you wait out there before you saw Miss Ulrich?

A. I didn’t wait at all, I just walked around the block and she got off the car.

Q. Did you see her get off the car?

A. Yes.

Q. What time was it when she got off the car?

A. A little before six.

Q. What car did she get off?

A. North and South Portland.

Q. Did you speak to her when she got off?

A. Yes, I said, “Wait a minute.” I wanted to talk to her, and asked her for the last time; she started running, hollering.

Q. Just what did you say to her?

A. That’s all I said to her. I wanted to talk to her and she started running and hollered.

Q. Did you have the gun in your hand at that time?

A. No, in my pocket.

Q. All loaded and ready for action?

A. Yes.

Q. How far was her house from the car?

A. Not quite half a block.

Q. Was there any one else got off the car at that place?

A. No.

Q. What did you do next?

A. I followed her around the house.

Q. Did she run around the house?

A. Yes.

Q. Did you run after her?

A. Yes.

Q. When did you commence shooting?

A. Just before she went in the door.

Q. What door did she go in?

A. The back door.

Q. How many shots did you fire?

A. One before she went in.

Q. How many after that?

A. Four; I think there are only five in the gun.

Q. Did you know that the last bullet struck her?

A. I knew one must because she fell down after I began firing the other bullets. She was in the bathroom; then she began to crunch down; then she fell on her face like a board and struck her head on the floor. I thought she must be dead or unconscious or something like that. I left then. I took it for granted she was dead.

Q. You didn’t leave or didn’t stop shooting until you thought she was dead?

A. No.

Q. You went out there for the purpose of killing her if she didn’t accede to your wishes?

A. Yes, I am sorry I had to do it.

Q. Why did you feel that you had to do it?

A. I didn’t want anybody else to have her if I couldn’t. I thought I should have her. She told me once she liked me, and I didn’t see any reason for turning me down. I acted like a gentleman. I had given her one present already.

Q. After you thought she was dead and that you had completed your job, where did you go?

A. I ran down on Hamilton Street.

Q. This gun that you used to do the shooting, was this gun (marked “Exhibit A”) the new gun numbered 5308 (handing it to him for inspection)?

A. Yes.

Q. Where did you go?

A. I ran out of the way kind of on a trot down into Hawthorne Bridge and then North on Union Avenue and caught the Vancouver car and went to Vancouver.

Q. Did you take both of these guns with you?

A. No, just one. I dropped the other one.

Q. Which one did you drop?

A. The new gun.

Q. That is, you dropped that after all the bullets were fired out?

A. Yes.

Q. After you got to Vancouver where did you go?

A. I went to a picture show over there and stayed about half an hour, and then I went to a rooming house.

Q. Stayed all night in Vancouver?

A. Yes.

Q. Did you feel pretty nervous, knowing that you killed her?

A. Yes, I sat up. I didn’t sit up; I laid awake. I didn’t sleep at all.

Q. Where did you go when you left Vancouver?

A. Went right out the next morning, went right out the Pacific Highway.

Q. Why did you run away?

A. Well, I wanted to get the papers and see if I had killed her and then I was going back and shoot myself at the same place I shot her. I didn’t want them to get me until after I went around another way and shot myself down there.

Q. Did you intend to come back?

A. Yes.

Q. Did you read the papers at Vancouver?

A. Yes.

Q. Did you see in the papers that Miss Ulrich was dead?

A. Yes.

Q. Why did you keep going the other way?

A. Well, I didn’t want to come back this way and run into the police. I was going around Seattle and Tacoma and cross over and come back around.

Q. When you read in the papers that you had killed her, did you feel satisfied?

A. Well, yes, but I was afraid there would be bloodhounds after me, and I would get shot down in the road.

Q. You weren’t worrying so much about her as you were afraid somebody might do you an injury?

A. Well, I didn’t want them to get me until the job was completed and I had shot myself.

Q. Did you think there was somebody else interfering to keep her from marrying you?

A. I guess there was.

Q. Did you have in mind to shoot any one else?

A. No.

Q. You knew she was engaged to marry another fellow?

A. Yes.

Q. Was that what made you decide to kill her?

A. I thought she gave him up. Well in a way I did and in another way I thought it was a bluff.

Q. When did you make up your mind to get these guns—on the day of the killing?

A. Yes.

Q. You knew at the time what you were doing,—what you were getting the guns for?

A. Yes.

Q. You got the guns with the idea that if she refused to marry you why, then, you would kill her?

A. Yes.

Q. You knew what you were doing at that time?

A. Yes,—I don’t think a man in his right mind would do it.

Q. You knew that it was wrong to kill her, didn’t you?

A. Yes, but all I was thinking was about her.

Q. You knew it would be wrong to kill her?

A. That’s what the law says.

Q. You realized that fact at the time?

A. Not as much as I do now.

Q. You were in possession of your senses and you knew it was wrong to kill her?

A. Oh, yes, it was wrong to kill her—take her life.

Q. You know it is wrong to take that which you cannot give, and you knew at the time that you were doing wrong, and you knew that when you went over there to get guns?

A. I didn’t take it very serious then like now.

Q. Did you ever drink liquor to the extent of getting drunk?

A. No.

When this confession was read to the jury, Tronson leaned over and asked the clergyman, “Well, what do you think of it?” When the verdict of the jury was given, he did not understand what it meant and asked to be told. When he was answered, he showed no appreciation of its significance, but remarked that there wasn’t so much of a crowd out as at the trial.

This is the third case in which the Binet tests have been admitted in evidence and the findings in accordance with these tests practically accepted. No one seems to have denied that Tronson is an imbecile. He is of lower grade than the other two that we have discussed, and enough lower so that his defectiveness was much more apparent and easily admitted by all of the judges. As will be noted, there was no reasonable motive for the crime. In his own words: “She wouldn’t marry me. That’s why I killed her—so that no one else could have her.” In the case of Gianini we are possibly dealing with the sex impulse, perhaps hardly recognized even by the criminal himself. In Tronson’s case we have that impulse definitely recognized and asserting itself and, being uncontrolled, leading to an action of the crudest and most savage kind. Under other conditions, it would very likely have shown itself in a different way. If Tronson could have gotten the girl off by herself, it is very probable that he would have committed violence in the gratification of his sex impulse. But since she refused to marry him and kept out of his reach, he shot her down in order that “no one else could have her.”

It is unnecessary to discuss the case further. We need nothing more to convince us that the diagnosis of imbecility was correct. It remains only to point out two facts. First, that this man has been an imbecile at least since he was twelve years of age, that he could have been recognized as an imbecile and cared for, and thus this atrocious murder prevented. Second, that there are hundreds of just such persons, now in their youth, who are potential criminals. Unless their mental condition is recognized and they are cared for in such a way as to make crime impossible, many of them will repeat the career of Tronson.

Fred Tronson is in prison for life. He will in all probability never be pardoned. He will never have an opportunity to commit another murder. But that does not restore the life of Emma Ulrich and it is small comfort to her friends and relatives. It does not in the least remove the blot upon society, which has allowed such a murder to be committed. Society should have taken him in hand twelve years ago. It should be further noted that Tronson had been before the Court at least once before he committed this crime. At that time had the Judge realized that he was dealing with an imbecile he might have sent the boy to an institution for the feeble-minded instead of simply ordering him to leave the town. Shall we learn the lesson and take care of the other Fred Tronsons who are now in our public schools and on our streets?

CHAPTER IV

Gianini’s confession is colored by his desire to show off and shine in the limelight; Pennington’s, on the contrary, is a plain, unelaborated statement of the facts. He is driven to his confession, not by his desire to show off, but in self-defense. His colleague, March, is trying to throw the entire responsibility upon him in order to escape from any condemnation. In the face of this Pennington is prompted to tell his own story. He is not intelligent enough to make up a plausible story which would incriminate March and save himself. But in telling the facts as they occurred he incriminates himself quite as much as March, so far as the actual occurrences are concerned. His whole conduct, from the beginning of the crime until his arrest, is that of a dull, stupid person. He does not even wield the blackjack with intelligence, and after the man is killed by his comrade, he takes no precaution to save himself from suspicion, to dispose of the body or to clean up about the barn and remove the evidences of a crime. And finally, when it comes to a statement of the case, he apparently makes no attempt to shield himself, but acknowledges his part in it, although that part was, as a matter of fact, so slight that a little variation in his testimony would have thrown the entire burden upon March and relieved him from any complicity in the matter.

If the foregoing statement of the case is correct, we ask at once, how it happened that the jury did not see it in this light, but instead brought in a verdict of “Guilty in the first degree”? While there are many elements in the answer, such as the demand of the public for revenge on the murderer of the man who was more or less of a favorite; a hastily drawn jury; a hurried trial, etc., the burden of the explanation falls back upon the same condition which we discovered in the case of Gianini, namely, the ignorance of the general public in regard to this type of feeble-mindedness. Almost every one thinks that he knows an imbecile. We have so long considered these high-grade cases as normal but vicious persons, that it is difficult to change the point of view suddenly and realize that they are not responsible for their deeds.

This failure to recognize the high-grade type of imbecile extended even to the “experts” in the case; for whereas there were three who testified to the feeble-mindedness of the prisoner, there were four or five who testified to his normality. These were four general practitioners of medicine, including the jail physician, and the fifth, a professor of neurology and neuropathology. These gentlemen are all familiar with what we should call the low-grade type of imbecile. They were perfectly correct in declaring that Roland Pennington is not a low-grade imbecile. Not one of them had had experience with the high-grade type. They were, therefore, not qualified to pass upon a case of this kind. It was as though four general practitioners had been brought in to decide a case of obscure insanity. Every one of them could have testified that he had had more or less to do with insane people, meaning persons who are maniacal or strongly melancholic or katatonic, but what would be the value of the testimony of such men in such a case, for instance, as that of Thaw?

These men all thought they knew something about high-grade feeble-mindedness. They all testified that Pennington was a normal man. Compare this with the statement of Dr. Martin W. Barr, one of the foremost authorities on feeble-mindedness in the United States—indeed, in the world. Dr. Barr says (Alienist and Neurologist, November, 1914, page 367):—

“The courts simply do not go far enough back; they fail in that they do not reach the inception—the root of the matter. They often punish without careful investigation of the causes from which criminal instinct springs—the environment, family history, inherited tendencies, physical disability, and that susceptibility to suggestion which makes them the ready tools of the vicious.

“In the case of Roland Pennington, tried in Media last June, for aiding in the murder of a man, it was proven that the boy, although almost twenty in actual age, yet coming from a neurotic stock, with three first cousins imbecile, had mentally only attained some 11 or 12 years; still he was adjudged responsible, and murder in the first degree was the verdict.

“Is it not a poor law that first permits a person to commit a crime, and then punishes him for it, not recognizing that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure?

“Pennington had sufficient intelligence to comprehend the enormity of the deed, but, susceptible to suggestion in exaggerated degree, he had not sufficient inhibition to resist the volitional act.

“Early recognition of his mental defect and separation would have protected him alike from tempter and temptation.”

It is unfortunate that Dr. Barr did not testify in the case, but his assistant did testify and was understood to express Dr. Barr’s views.

It was unfortunate, indeed, that men who really knew so little about the type of case before them were allowed to pass as experts and their opinion allowed to carry more weight with the jury than the opinion of those who have spent years in intimate association and study of the problem of high-grade imbecility. It should be recognized that there are very few persons who are expert with this type. The superintendents of our institutions for the feeble-minded, after a few years of experience, have a knowledge of this matter which far surpasses that of any physician who has not had institution experience, however great a specialist he may be in nerve diseases, in insanity or epilepsy. It is not enough to find out that a physician has had some experience with imbeciles. The real problem is: Has he had experience with this high-grade type? Is he able to pick them out? Is his knowledge as well as his experience confined to the medium and low grades, which every one meets? Failure to make this distinction had much to do with the verdict in the case of Pennington.

Another element in the result was the failure to make clear to the jury the precise situation, the real point at issue. The defense in the case had no desire to free Roland Pennington from all the consequences of his deed. It was not a case of the electric chair or freedom. The imbecile, especially one who has shown the tendency toward crime or willingness to be led into crime, should never be at large where it is possible for him again to go wrong. On the other hand, it is abhorrent to think of a child (in mind) going to the electric chair for the deed which he committed while under the influence of a superior intelligence, or while impelled by the hidden forces of his nature over which he had no control on account of his weak mind. It should have been made very clear to the jury that what was wanted was to save the commonwealth the shame of officially putting to death a person who had only a child’s intelligence. In an ideal state such a person should doubtless be kept in an institution for the feeble-minded under a life commitment, unless his impulses are such that he proves to be dangerous to the other inmates, in which case a different kind of institution should be provided. Until we arrive at a condition where we treat such persons ideally, one cannot object to the state prison for life for the imbecile manslayer. This, unfortunately, was not made very clear to the jury, and it seems probable that many of them thought that their verdict was either to condemn him to the electric chair or to set him free. Having only these alternatives, one can perhaps understand their decision.[2]

Another somewhat nice legal point was involved and brings up a matter which calls for some discussion. As already stated, March had been convicted largely upon the testimony of his accomplice, Roland Pennington. If now the jury should acquit Roland Pennington on the ground of imbecility, what would be the effect of such a decision upon Pennington’s testimony against March. Every one felt that March was guilty and consciously guilty and should be punished to the extent of the law. To bring in a verdict in the case of Pennington which would result in annulling his testimony and thereby taking away the one sure means of convicting March, was a serious matter. One may well believe that the jury felt that it was safest to convict Pennington of murder in the first degree and thus avoid raising this confusing question.

As a matter of fact, although the question would undoubtedly have been raised and attempts made to free March on the basis of Pennington’s feeble-minded testimony, yet such a procedure would not have been warranted.

Pennington, as we have claimed, is an imbecile with a mentality of about eleven years. We have a right to judge him largely on the basis of an eleven-year-old child. The testimony of eleven-year-old children is often admitted into court, and many a person has been convicted on such testimony. It is true that it is a somewhat moot question as to how much credence should be placed in children’s testimony. The real criterion in such cases is the nature of the child, a matter which we have already considered. A child may testify to simple facts, and may be relied upon where he has no particular interest, where there cannot be shown any tendency or desire on the part of the child to show off or to say something for effect or to exercise childish imagination and invent a large story for the sake of the pleasing sound.

It is perfectly clear to any one who studies the confession of Pennington that he must have told a straight-forward story. As already stated, he would not have incriminated himself as he did if he had been falsifying. He is not the type of person that runs on in an imaginary tale without regard to the facts. In short, his testimony bears every evidence of being entirely credible.

On the other hand, as already pointed out, Gianini’s testimony is unreliable, because he was talking for effect. He is of the type that loves show and notoriety. His testimony was only to be trusted where it could be corroborated by facts or the testimony of others.

Careful study of the testimony and the nature and the character of the child will almost always enable one to decide very accurately as to how much credence is to be placed in the evidence. In other words, the fact of high-grade imbecility does not of itself make the child’s testimony acceptable or non-acceptable. It must be judged on its merits. We have in these two cases excellent examples of the trustworthy and untrustworthy.

The testimony of Pennington at the March trial was a most marvelous performance. To those unfamiliar with high-grade imbecility, it was almost unexplainable. Many thought that he must have been very carefully and elaborately coached; that he had been told just what to say, and had learned his lesson well. Those, however, who know the imbecile understood perfectly what was happening. This eleven-year-old boy was telling a plain, unelaborated tale. He was not intelligent enough to try to escape himself, and so he had nothing to hide and, consequently, got into no confusion. He answered, “Yes,” “No,” or, “I don’t know” with a wisdom and a consistency that was simply amazing, and, as said, could only be explained on the understanding that he was telling the truth. No amount of cross-examination confused him, no sudden coups of the lawyer for the defense could entrap him. For example, when asked with considerable heat on the part of the attorney why he had forgotten a certain point while he remembered very vividly a certain other point, the witness made no attempt to explain; simply remarked that he did not know. In truth, he did not know. Any such psychological matter was as far beyond him as the heavens. Without imagination, without ability to reason out the effect of his answer on his own future, he could simply answer in the plainest kind of “Yes” or “No” as he knew the facts.

With these considerations, we pass on to consider the larger and more difficult problem, “Can an imbecile of the mentality of eleven years know the nature and quality of his acts and understand that it is wrong?”