Unabomber

by Dave Shors

  As the Easter weekend neared and temperatures reached into the upper sixties, the long bitter winter was finally coming to a close. Ted was finally warm, but in a hard jail cell where he certainly wouldn’t enjoy the many spring smells of the forest.

  As he was escorted across the asphalt lot and led into Helena’s Federal Building and U.S. District Court on April 4, television cameras followed his every move. In homes across the country, his face filled television screens; the world got its first chance to study the Unabomber suspect. As I watched him on television, surrounded by federal agents and a crushing throng of media people, I could see the same look of confidence on his face that I had grown to know so well. His hair and beard had been slightly cropped and cleaned, surely a concession for his first court appearance, but his head was held high and his eyes were calm, showing neither fear nor intimidation. On a couple of occasions he even seemed to flash an arrogant sneer. It reminded me of times when I had seen Ted convey a disdain for everyday people in Lincoln.

  Meanwhile, defense and prosecuting attorneys around the country were discussing what a difficult case this would be to prove in court, and information about the first bits of solid evidence linking Ted to the mail bombings and the manifesto was being leaked to the media.

  On April 5, various news agencies reported two manual typewriters were taken from Kaczynski’s cabin and that one of them was probably used to type his letters and the manifesto. An unnamed federal agent in Washington, D.C., told the Associated Press, “It looks like the manifesto and the letters from the Unabomber were typed on” one of the machines.

  In Helena’s federal court an affidavit was filed with information about other items found in the cabin: three-ring binders containing writings and sketches; hand-written notes describing chemical compounds that could be used in explosives; pipes of various types and sizes; containers of chemicals; papers and logs of experiments; a cylindrical package that appeared to be a partially completed pipe bomb; books on electrical circuitry; and tools. Much more from the cabin would be logged and then entered into evidence, but the search was slow and methodical because of the fear of booby traps, another unnamed agent said.

  Members of the local and national press were relentless, talking to anyone who seemed to have a shred of information about Kaczynski. A drop of knowledge soon attracted a torrent of media attention. For many people in Lincoln, merely remembering a chance meeting with the now infamous suspect was worth a front page story or an interview on the nightly news. Just listening to media questions and carefully going over and logging each name and telephone number left on my answering machines at home and the Center seemed to be taking all my time.

  By the afternoon of April 6, I was still very nervous about my potential involvement and that I hadn’t yet been contacted by any of the investigators. Lincoln residents knew that besides FBI agents, postal inspectors and Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms agents were in town. I was anxious to meet with authorities, and still hoped they would come to me before I had to make the arrangements to meet them. But the tension and stress were becoming almost unbearable.

  Then about 1 P.M. a good friend called, local postmaster Don Pearson, whom I had known since he moved to Lincoln in March of 1990. Even though it was Saturday, everyone involved in the case was working extra hours.

  Don asked me if it was a good time to visit, and wondered if he and two postal investigators could stop by.

  I was at the Center trying to catch up on some work neglected and set aside during those first chaotic days, but I eagerly said yes and told him to bring the agents.

  I hung up with a sense of relief: finally, a chance to talk with investigators on the case. Maybe I could find out if they felt I was involved.

  While waiting for Don and the postal investigators, it was natural to mull things over and grow more nervous by the minute, wondering how the interview would go and what questions they might ask. I was sure of one thing: I wanted to be conservative in any responses and not volunteer too much information until I felt in the clear. The motive wasn’t to withhold information or impede the investigation, but to keep things as simple as possible and not offer too many details until a level of trust was established.

  It wasn’t long before a vehicle pulled up out front. My pickup was hidden behind the telephone company office across the street so I wouldn’t be disturbed. Don knew that, so it had to be them.

  As the men showed their credentials, Don introduced them as Paul Wilhelmus and Tom Berthiawme.

  We shook hands and sat down at a large table located just a few feet from where Ted and I had visited in the past. The whole scene struck me as surreal, sitting there where I often had talked with Ted, now getting ready to talk with federal agents about Ted and the past twenty-five years.

  Both men were not only pleasant, but even friendly, putting me more at ease. As they prepared to begin the questioning, Paul, the senior of the two, asked if Don’s presence during the interview might make me uncomfortable.

  I replied that Don didn’t make me nervous, and he certainly could stay; we often sat next to each other in church and I trusted him to hear anything that was said.

  Don stayed and as the interview started he appeared to be more nervous than me. His hands and head shook continuously. His face was red. It looked like he might have a heart attack. I had never seen him like that before or since. I empathized with Don’s reaction, having such a high-profile, mail-related case unfolding in his postal jurisdiction.

  As Tom and Paul took out tablets and pens for note taking, Paul talked about the purpose of the interview. It seemed odd that with all the high-tech recording and taping equipment available they would take notes by hand.

  The small talk seemed to ease the tension, but not on Don’s part. He appeared nervous throughout the entire three- to four-hour discussion. It was hard on him, but it was nice he stayed. I kept telling myself everything would be okay, and I was sure Don had already put in a good word for me.

  With my mind focused on taking it slowly until we developed a trust, they proceeded with the questioning. I didn’t feel pressed to tell them everything because there would be time later to provide more details.

  Their areas of interest soon became clear. First they asked about Ted’s clothing and packs he carried, specifically hooded sweatshirts and any eyewear, as in the Unabomber composite sketch. They wanted to know, too, whether Ted discussed his feelings about technology and the environment—“Did he have radical environmental views?”

  They probed my connection with Ted and what kinds of favors I might have done for him, from giving rides locally or to Helena or Missoula, and asked whether I’d ever mailed a package for him. Had I lent him any tools? Had he borrowed a drill press or a welder? They wanted to know whether I watched Ted all the time when he visited the shop, or whether he could have taken anything from the workbenches. What kinds of materials were in the shop scrap piles?

  A few questions focused on Ted’s travels, whether he told me about them or whether I had noticed his absence at any time. Finally, they pursued what Ted had said about his background: home, education, previous employment, the topics he never had raised.

  After the questioning, both Tom and Paul thanked me. So did Don, who finally looked more relaxed as he said he’d like to come up and visit sometime soon. I suggested to Paul that they should return at a later date because there was more to share, including dates, times, and other information that could be relevant.

  As they collected their notebooks, Tom and Paul acted satisfied, like they understood Ted a little better. I felt relieved and fairly confident a major hurdle had been cleared and we had opened up a line of communication.

  During the first week of the investigation misleading and false stories about Ted abounded in newspapers and on television. It seemed everybody, even people who had just moved to Lincoln, had a Ted story. We also got a good taste of the competitive nature of the news media and it had left many of us with sour feelings. I
t seemed reporters and producers tried to promise each of us more than anyone else could, all for the sake of the most sensational story possible.

  I started to think that if anything accurate was going to come out, it would have to come from me or one of the few other people who knew Ted.

  I had been approached by many media people. Among them was Rhonda Schwartz, a producer for ABC who worked on shows like 20/20 and Turning Point. She asked me to do an interview for 20/20 and I finally agreed, wanting to talk about Ted and the case on a credible news program instead of a tabloid type show.

  On Tuesday, April 16, we taped at the Center and at home for the 20/20 show to be aired on Friday, April 19. The title of the show, which caught me by surprise when it aired, was “The Man Who Knew Him Best.”

  Even though a few liberties were taken in the editing process to make the information a little more sensational, overall ABC deserved high marks and I felt fortunate with the results, especially after seeing some of the tabloid show pieces.

  But it still made me happy I had shared only less relevant facts, holding back the most sensitive and important information until the case developed.

  In the early weeks after Ted’s arrest, leaks from unnamed law enforcement sources were still priming the media pump almost daily. Among other things, it was reported investigators had discovered and defused a live bomb at the cabin. It also was widely reported the original copy of the manifesto was found in Ted’s cabin, along with the letter about publishing the manifesto that was sent to The New York Times.

  On April 15 in Helena, defense attorney Michael Donahoe went before U.S. District Court Judge Charles Lovell to argue the “lethal media blitz” had “poisoned” the pool of potential grand jurors nationwide and asked that the charge be dismissed. In his motion, Donahoe argued most of the evidence reported about the case had come from anonymous federal sources. Later that week Kaczynski, sporting a new haircut and trimmed beard, appeared before Lovell, who called the leaks regrettable. But the judge denied the motion to dismiss the charge Ted was being held on—possessing bomb components found in his cabin. He still hadn’t been charged with any of the Unabom crimes.

  The legal tugging and maneuvering was in full swing and as the case developed, it would almost require a contortionist to track it during the two years before the final plea bargaining in Sacramento.

  In Lincoln, as April matured, members of the media were still everywhere. The opportunities for interviews and trips for shows abounded. My original intent was to do only the one interview with 20/20. But that ended up backfiring because soon I was confronted with statements like, “You talked to ABC, why not us?”

  Respected journalists from NBC, CBS, CNN, and many other news gathering groups continued to contact me. They were all told the same thing: there was much more to tell when the time was right.

  “When might that be?” they’d ask.

  “I don’t have any idea,” I’d respond.

  That was true. There was no way of knowing what might unfold during the weeks and months leading up to Ted’s trial.

  Tug of War

  The complexities of Ted Kaczynski’s mind will never be fully understood. The calm and polite outward image of a mountain hermit, shattered occasionally by outbursts of uncontrolled anger, hid the calculating energy of a master gamesman, capable of plotting the most intricate moves and schemes. His mind was as sophisticated as his appearance was unkempt.

  Kaczynski must have been thinking non-stop during that first month in Lewis and Clark County Jail. What he was plotting was unknown, even to his court-appointed defense team. They, too, were pawns to move and sacrifice in his plan. All could and would be surrendered to save him from the death penalty.

  On the outside world, members of the media were still puzzled. How could anyone live in a small community for almost half his life, some twenty-five years, in total secrecy? It didn’t make sense; someone in Lincoln had to know more than he or she was saying.

  Yet all the probing questions led reporters to the same shallow mine shafts where others had dug for stories before them. Journalists know those interviews too well: As they unfold, the information sounds interesting and there’s a confident feeling that finally a good story has been told. But with the actual notes and a deadline at hand, the words ring hollow. Nothing new has really been said.

  But the media weren’t ready to give up. There was still a huge gap in Ted’s story—missing details from half a lifetime in Lincoln. The number of local people who might help fill in the details could be counted on one hand. The journalists who were still dogging the story had cut them away from the herd, but they weren’t talking.

  At the end of April a producer from Toronto, Canada called and wanted me to do a program called Sunday Morning Live. I liked the show’s format as she described it, and also the fact it aired outside the United States.

  I told her some areas would be off limits and she said that was okay. She said she had seen the 20/20 piece, which was “very moving,” and she was more interested in focusing on Ted and me, our relationship and how we lived, instead of things relating to the bombings.

  I’m never that eager to travel but the trip provided a welcome break. Tickets were sent and at 7:05 A.M. on Saturday, May 4, I boarded a Delta 727 headed to Salt Lake City, where I’d catch a flight to Toronto.

  Sunday morning the interview went well. The correspondent seemed to ask questions I felt comfortable answering. The weekend passed quickly. By 10:35 A.M. Monday, I was headed back to Lincoln.

  A few days later the producer called and said the show had a huge and positive response from viewers all across Canada. We discussed doing another interview at a later date.

  By May the media were finally starting to disperse. Phone calls were still frequent, but now mostly from out-of-state journalists and producers of documentaries interested in more detailed broadcasts and magazine articles.

  Any relief, however slight, was welcome. The town had been in the grips of the Unabomber obsession for more than a month.

  But then on Thursday, May 9, a prankster called in a bomb threat at Lincoln School. Classes were dismissed at mid-day while authorities searched the school. Nothing was found, but people in Lincoln were reminded that Ted’s negative legacy had a slow fuse and could go off anytime.

  I tried to get back to some sort of routine, but it just wasn’t possible. There were too many questions in my mind. The investigation, I was soon to find out, was really just beginning.

  FBI agents were still camped out near Ted’s cabin, and it was during this period the area of their search broadened considerably, extending into the rugged mountainous terrain in the Stemple area surrounding my home and Ted’s cabin.

  And it was about this time a perplexing string of events started.

  Monday, June 17, arrived and with it came a phone call from Betsy Anderson, Mike Donahoe’s partner on Ted’s Helena defense team. She said she wanted to set up an interview for the following day. We agreed to meet at the Lincoln Center right after the lunch hour.

  She said she was working from a very short list of names Ted had given her of the people who knew him best, and that my name was at the top of the list.

  The way the evidence was rapidly stacking up against him, I knew his defense would be a long, uphill battle, and thought the outcome looked dim. I disliked being in the position of having to say things that might incriminate him further.

  With everything I knew, coupled with the physical evidence obtained from Ted’s cabin by the FBI, I began to realize he must be guilty.

  At one point, I had told investigators they must have the wrong man, but when they replied they had the original manifesto, the typewriter it was written on, and not only triggering switches for bombs but a completed device, I became convinced. Such physical evidence is hard to refute.

  How would Ted defend himself? The interview with the defense team might satisfy my curiosity.

  Betsy Anderson and paralegal Charlotte Hoffman
arrived right after lunch on June 18 as scheduled, and we sat down at the same table and chairs where I had been interviewed by the postal inspectors.

  Betsy once again explained she was working from a short list of names Ted had given the defense team. She said Ted always liked me and wanted to know what I thought of him.

  It didn’t take long to figure out Ted had compiled the line of questioning for his lawyers. It was a fishing expedition in the middle of legendary trout country; a few questions, and almost all of them directed us into open-ended discussions about Ted, the area, the people he knew, and the places he frequented. Ted obviously was curious to find out just how much I had observed and remembered about him during our long friendship on Stemple Pass.

  Unlike the postal inspectors, Betsy and Charlotte occasionally shared information in return.

  We established how Ted and I knew each other, that I gave him rides, that I had been to his home cabin but never inside it, and that he visited my Lincoln shop just to talk sometimes. I told them I considered Ted a friend, but said I didn’t know what he really thought of me. Possibly, deep inside, he could have resented me since I had started logging, although he never showed it. They said Ted couldn’t answer whether he approved of my logging and road construction because of possible self-incrimination.

  They wanted to know about conversations Ted and I had about Betty and also about a woman I had dated earlier, and told me Ted had said he was jealous of me because I had a girlfriend and then a wife, and he didn’t.

  What else had we talked about? I briefly mentioned gardening, survival, technical skills, and different areas of the country near Lincoln.

  Had I noticed differences in Ted over the years and, specifically, did his personality change? After saying yes to both questions, I added that I felt sorry for him because his home cabin area had become so built up and Ted had to have privacy. I also told them how surprised I had been when he applied for a job at the Blackfoot Market, because it would be so unlike Ted to work with the public. Betsy explained that Ted had become depressed and desperate about how fast his world was changing, or he never would have applied for work in town. The two women and I talked further about how much the area around Lincoln had changed since Ted’s arrival in 1971.