by Erik Larson
Aboard the Olympic
ABOARD THE OLYMPIC BURNHAM waited for more news of Frank Millet and his ship. Just before sailing he had written, in longhand, a nineteen-page letter to Millet urging him to attend the next meeting of the Lincoln Commission, which was then on the verge of picking a designer for the Lincoln Memorial. Burnham and Millet had lobbied strongly for Henry Bacon of New York, and Burnham believed that his earlier talk to the Lincoln Commission had been persuasive. “But—I know and you know, dear Frank, that … the rats swarm back and begin to gnaw at the same old spot, the moment the dog’s back is turned.” He stressed how important it was for Millet to attend. “Be there and reiterate the real argument, which is that they should select a man in whom we have confidence. I leave this thing confidently in your hands.” He addressed the envelope himself, certain that the United States Post Office would know exactly what to do:
Hon. F. D. Millet
To arrive on
Steamship Titanic.
New York
Burnham hoped that once the Olympic reached the site of the Titanic’s sinking, he would find Millet alive and hear him tell some outrageous story about the voyage, but during the night the Olympic returned to its original course for England. Another vessel already had reached the Titanic.
But there was a second reason for the Olympic’s return to course. The builder of both ships, J. Bruce Ismay, himself a Titanic passenger but one of the few male passengers to survive, was adamant that none of the other survivors see this duplicate of their own lost liner coming to their aid. The shock, he feared, would be too great, and too humiliating to the White Star Line.
The magnitude of the Titanic disaster quickly became apparent. Burnham lost his friend. The steward lost his son. William Stead had also been aboard and was drowned. In 1886 in the Pall Mall Gazette Stead had warned of the disasters likely to occur if shipping companies continued operating liners with too few lifeboats. A Titanic survivor reported hearing him say, “I think it is nothing serious so I shall turn in again.”
That night, in the silence of Burnham’s stateroom, as somewhere to the north the body of his last good friend drifted frozen in the strangely peaceful seas of the North Atlantic, Burnham opened his diary and began to write. He felt an acute loneliness. He wrote, “Frank Millet, whom I loved, was aboard her … thus cutting off my connection with one of the best fellows of the Fair.”
Burnham lived only forty-seven more days. As he and his family traveled through Heidelberg, he slipped into a coma, the result apparently of a combined assault of diabetes, colitis, and his foot infection, all worsened by a bout of food poisoning. He died June 1, 1912. Margaret eventually moved to Pasadena, California, where she lived through time of war and epidemic and crushing financial depression, and then war again. She died December 23, 1945. Both are buried in Chicago, in Graceland, on a tiny island in the cemetery’s only pond. John Root lies nearby, as do the Palmers, Louis Sullivan, Mayor Harrison, Marshall Field, Philip Armour, and so many others, in vaults and tombs that vary from the simple to the grand. Potter and Bertha still dominate things, as if stature mattered even in death. They occupy a massive acropolis with fifteen giant columns atop the only high ground, overlooking the pond. The others cluster around. On a crystalline fall day you can almost hear the tinkle of fine crystal, the rustle of silk and wool, almost smell the expensive cigars.
NOTES AND SOURCES
The White City, viewed from Lake Michigan.
THE THING THAT ENTRANCED ME about Chicago in the Gilded Age was the city’s willingness to take on the impossible in the name of civic honor, a concept so removed from the modern psyche that two wise readers of early drafts of this book wondered why Chicago was so avid to win the world’s fair in the first place. The juxtaposition of pride and unfathomed evil struck me as offering powerful insights into the nature of men and their ambitions. The more I read about the fair, the more entranced I became. That George Ferris would attempt to build something so big and novel—and that he would succeed on his first try—seems, in this day of liability lawsuits, almost beyond comprehension.
A rich seam of information exists about the fair and about Daniel Burnham in the beautifully run archives of the Chicago Historical Society and the Ryerson and Burnham libraries of the Art Institute of Chicago. I acquired a nice base of information from the University of Washington’s Suzallo Library, one of the finest and most efficient libraries I have encountered. I also visited the Library of Congress in Washington, where I spent a good many happy hours immersed in the papers of Frederick Law Olmsted, though my happiness was at times strained by trying to decipher Olmsted’s execrable handwriting.
I read—and mined—dozens of books about Burnham, Chicago, the exposition, and the late Victorian era. Several proved consistently valuable: Thomas Hines’s Burnham of Chicago (1974); Laura Wood Roper’s FLO: A Biography of Frederick Law Olmsted (1973); and Witold Rybczynski’s A Clearing in the Distance (1999). One book in particular, City of the Century by Donald L. Miller (1996), became an invaluable companion in my journey through old Chicago. I found four guidebooks to be especially useful: Alice Sinkevitch’s AIA Guide to Chicago (1993); Matt Hucke and Ursula Bielski’s Graveyards of Chicago (1999); John Flinn’s Official Guide to the World’s Columbian Exposition (1893); and Rand, McNally & Co.’s Handbook to the World’s Columbian Exposition (1893). Hucke and Bielski’s guide led me to pay a visit to Graceland Cemetery, an utterly charming haven where, paradoxically, history comes alive.
Holmes proved an elusive character, owing in large part to the Philadelphia judge’s unfortunate decision to bar District Attorney Graham’s three dozen witnesses from giving testimony. Several books have been written about Holmes, but none tells quite the same story. Two of them, Harold Schechter’s Depraved and David Franke’s The Torture Doctor (the work quoted by the modern serial killer Dr. Swango), seem the most trustworthy. Two other works exist that provide a concrete foundation of facts. One is Detective Frank Geyer’s memoir, The Holmes-Pitezel Case, a detailed account of events from the time of Holmes’s arrest onward, in which Geyer presents excerpts of primary documents that no longer exist. I was lucky enough to acquire a copy from an online seller of antique books. The second is The Trial of Herman W. Mudgett, Alias, H. H. Holmes, published in 1897, a complete transcript of the trial. I found a copy in the law library of the University of Washington.
Holmes left a memoir, Holmes’ Own Story, which I found in the Library of Congress’s rare book collection. He also made at least three confessions. The first two appear in Geyer’s book. The third and most sensational appeared in the Philadelphia Inquirer, which paid him a rich fee to write it. Though mostly untrue, his memoir and confessions were nuggeted with details that jibed with facts established in court or unearthed by Geyer and by the legions of reporters who covered Holmes’s story after his arrest in Boston. I relied heavily on newspaper articles published in the Chicago Tribune and in two Philadelphia newspapers, the Inquirer and the Public Ledger. Many of these articles were full of inaccuracies and, I suspect, embellishments. I mined them for bits of apparent fact and for reproductions of original documents, such as letters, telegrams, interviews, and other primary materials uncovered by police or produced by witnesses who stepped forward once the nature of Holmes’s “Castle of Horrors” became front-page news. One of the most striking, and rather charming, aspects of criminal investigation in the 1890s is the extent to which the police gave reporters direct access to crime scenes, even while investigations were in progress. At one point during the Holmes investigation Chicago’s chief of police told a Tribune reporter he’d just as soon have a squad of reporters under his command as detectives.
Exactly what motivated Holmes may never be known. In focusing on his quest for possession and dominance, I present only one possibility, though I recognize that any number of other motives might well be posited. I base my account on known details of his history and behavior and on what forensic psychiatrists have come to underst
and about psychopathic serial killers and the forces that drive them. Dr. James O. Raney, a Seattle psychiatrist who now and then provides forensic evaluations, read the manuscript and gave me his observations about the nature of psychopaths, known more tediously in today’s psychiatric handbooks as people afflicted with “antisocial personality disorder.” It is a good thing Alfred Hitchcock died before the change was made.
Clearly no one other than Holmes was present during his murders—no one, that is, who survived—yet in my book I re-create two of his killings. I agonized over exactly how to do this and spent a good deal of time rereading Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood for insights into how Capote achieved his dark and still deeply troubling account. Sadly, Capote left no footnotes. To build my murder scenes, I used threads of known detail to weave a plausible account, as would a prosecutor in his closing arguments to a jury. My description of Julia Conner’s death by chloroform is based on expert testimony presented at Holmes’s trial about the character of chloroform and what was known at the time about its effect on the human body.
I do not employ researchers, nor did I conduct any primary research using the Internet. I need physical contact with my sources, and there’s only one way to get it. To me every trip to a library or archive is like a small detective story. There are always little moments on such trips when the past flares to life, like a match in the darkness. On one visit to the Chicago Historical Society, I found the actual notes that Prendergast sent to Alfred Trude. I saw how deeply the pencil dug into the paper.
I have tried to keep my citations as concise as possible. I cite all quoted or controversial material but omit citations for facts that are widely known and accepted. For the two murder scenes I document my reasoning and my approach and cite the facts upon which I relied. The citations that follow constitute a map. Anyone retracing my steps ought to reach the same conclusions as I.
PROLOGUE
Aboard the Olympic
The date was: Burnham identified the suite numbers in a diary entry dated April 3, 1912; Burnham Archives, Diary, Roll 2. For information about the Olympic and Titanic see Brinnin; Lynch; Eaton and Haas; and White Star. The last, which reprints articles published in 1911 from Shipping World and Shipbuilder, includes detailed specifications of both ships as well as maps and schematics of the Olympic’s decks and accommodations.
“This prolonging: Moore, Burnham, Architect, 2:172.
“the greatest event: Miller, 488.
PART I: FROZEN MUSIC
The Black City
“Never before: Miller, 511.
“The parlors and bedrooms: Ibid., 516.
“a human being: Ibid., 193.
“The Trouble Is Just Begun”
It was this big talk: Dedmon, 221.
“the hawks, buzzards: Chicago Tribune, July 24, 1889.
“The men who have helped: Chicago Tribune, August 2, 1889.
“The gloom: Chicago Tribune, February 24, 1890.
“Gentlemen. I am prepared: Ibid.
“the records of the Old Central: Hines, 402.
“I went to Harvard: Ibid., 11.
“greatest architect: Ibid., 12.
“There is a family tendency: Miller, 315.
“My idea: Sullivan, Louis, 285.
“There is a black sheep: Letter, Daniel Hudson Burnham, Jr., to Charles Moore, February 21, 1918, Burnham Archives, Charles Moore Correspondence, Box 27, File 3.
“A long wait frightened us: Monroe, Poet’s Life, 59.
“so completely happy: Ibid., 60.
“probably not equaled: Miller, 321.
“our originality: Moore, Burnham, Architect, 1:24.
“if,” he said, “the earth: Ibid., 1:321.
“The building throughout: Ibid.
“What Chartres was: Hines, 53.
“who will not have an office: Miller, 326.
“Daniel Burnham Hudson was: Starrett, 29.
“Make no little plans: Ibid., 311.
“I’ve never seen: Miller, 319.
“His conversational powers: Ibid., 316.
“I used always to think: Ibid., 317
“The office was full: Starrett, 32.
“The work of each man: Miller, 318.
“that Gordian city: Lewis, 19.
“a gigantic peepshow: Ibid., 136.
“I did it: Burnham to mother, undated, Burnham Archives, Burnham Family Correspondence, Box 25, File 2.
“You must not worry: Burnham to Margaret, February 29, 1888, Burnham Archives, Burnham Family Correspondence, Box 25, File 3.
“The coroner: Burnham to Margaret, March 3, 1888, ibid.
“Burnham was not pleased: Sullivan, Louis, 294.
“smear another façade: Morrison, 64.
“an innocent: Sullivan, Louis, 291.
“He was elephantine: Ibid., 288.
“When may we see you: Chicago Tribune, February 25, 1890.
“The most marvelous exhibit: Ibid.
“Chicago is like: Chicago Tribune, February 27, 1890.
The Necessary Supply
His height was: Franke, 24. Franke reproduces an image of a “Rogue’s Gallery” file card with details of Holmes’s weight, height, and so forth as entered by Boston police upon his arrest.
“The eyes are very big: Schechter, 282.
A telegraph pole: Englewood Directory, 37.
“While at times: Sullivan, Gerald, 49.
Holmes entered the store: Mudgett, 22–23; Schechter, 13–17; Boswell and Thompson, 81. See also Town of Lake Directory, 217.
“an elemental odor: Sinclair, 25.
“river of death: Ibid., 34.
“I had daily: Mudgett, 6.
“Nor did they desist: Ibid., 6
“mother’s boy: Ibid., 199
“twelve-year-old sweetheart: Ibid., 200.
Mudgett’s only close friend: Schechter, 12.
“itinerant photographer: Mudgett, 7.
“Had he next proceeded: Ibid., 8.
“I kept it for many years: Ibid., 8.
He enrolled: Ibid., 14.
“the first really dishonest: Ibid.,15.
“I could hardly count: Ibid., 16.
Eventually he came to Mooers Forks: Ibid., 16; Chicago Tribune, July 31, 1895; New York Times, July 31, 1895.
“Some of the professors: Franke, 118.
“In the fall of 1885: Mudgett, 17.
“This scheme called for: Ibid., 19.
“the necessary supply: Ibid.
“This,” he said, “necessitated: Ibid., 20.
“and for the first time: Ibid.
The owner of the house: Chicago Tribune, July 31, 1895.
“This,” he wrote, “was my first: Mudgett, 21.
“The city had laid: Dreiser, Sister Carrie, 16.
“there was such a rush: Sullivan, Gerald, 14.
In 1868 a Mrs. H. B. Lewis: Ibid.
“To the business men: Catalogue, 3.
“My trade was good: Mudgett, 23.
He put up a new sign: Franke, 210.
“Becomingness”
A friend of Burnham’s: Ellsworth to Olmsted, July 26, 1890, Burnham Archives, Box 58, File 13.
“I have all my life: Rybczynski, Clearing, 385–86.
“flecks of white or red: Olmsted, “Landscape Architecture,” 18.
“I design with a view: Rybczynski, Clearing, 396.
“Suppose,” he wrote: Olmsted to Van Brunt, January 22, 1891, Olmsted Papers, Reel 22.
“we are always personally: Roper, 421.
He was prone: Rybczynski, Clearing, 247–48, 341
“My position is this: Ellsworth to Olmsted, July 26, 1890.
Certainly that seemed: Articles of Agreement, 1890, Olmsted Papers, Reel 41; Rybczynski, Clearing, 387.
“When can you be here?: Telegram quoted in Olmsted to Butterworth, August 6, 1890, Burnham Archives, Box 58, File 13.
“Having seen it: Chicago Tribune, July 7, 1890.
a man they could work with: Codm
an to Olmsted, October 25, 1890, Olmsted Papers, Reel 57.
“It is to be desired: Olmsted, Report, 51.
“a man of the world: Sullivan, Louis, 287.
“she patted the mortar: Chicago Tribune, November 2, 1890.
Root, according to a witness: Miller, 316.
“While in school: Chicago Record, December 16, 1893, McGoorty Papers.
“He got smart: Chicago Record, December 15, 1893, Ibid.
“murky pall: Chicago Tribune, November 16, 1890.
“Don’t Be Afraid”
“Ambition has been the curse: Schechter, 238.
“His presence: Franke, 112.
“It is said that babies: Ibid., 112.
The building’s broad design: Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 22, 25, 26, 27, 29, 30, 1895; Chicago Tribune, July 17, 21, 23, 25, 27, 28, 29, August 18, 1895; New York Times, July 25, 26, 29, 31, 1895.
“There is an uneven settlement: Chicago Tribune, July 25, 1895.
The high rate of turnover: Ibid.; Schechter, 28–29.
“I don’t know: Franke, 95–96.
At first, Latimer said: Ibid., 43.
“In a general way: Geyer, 26–27.
“fine physique: Trial, 145.
“Come with me: Schechter, 25.
“Pitezel was his tool: Trial, 449.
Captain Horace Elliot: Englewood Directory, 36.
To the buyer’s chagrin: Schechter, 36.
City directories: Englewood Directory, 179, 399; Franke, 40.
“He was the smoothest man: Franke, 42–43.
“I sometimes sold him: Ibid., 111.
“Don’t be afraid: Chicago Tribune, July 31, 1895; New York Times, July 31, 1895; Franke, 110.
Unlike most Americans: Chicago Tribune, July 26, 1895.
An advertisement: Hoyt, 177.
Pilgrimage
Immediately the directors: Burnham and Millet, 14–17; Burnham, Design, 7–9; Monroe, Root, 222–23.