“Do you mean to tell me he had enough crust to go out tonight?” Dr. Gorrell was quoted as saying. “I have heard it from reliable sources that they are either going to implicate him or kill him.”
But Oliver was in hiding, and not even the police could find him those first few days.
The roadhouse robbery also supported the rising chorus from parents, pastors, educators, and local authorities that the well-to-do youth of Tulsa were out of control, even though they had nothing to do with the robbery. Looking out over their Christian, conservative city, they imagined sex-mad teens driving dangerously over their streets to get to hole-in-the-wall gambling joints and breast-bouncing dance parties where they would plan big crimes—all while high on marijuana and drunk on 3.2 beer.
Meetings were scheduled. Plans were being made. A crackdown was coming. Phil Kennamer had just gummed up the good times for the fast, young, Tulsa set.
Later on during that first week of the case, after other witnesses had paved the way by coming forward, more young people from Kennamer’s small circle of friends gave statements to the police.
Betty Watson, a nineteen-year-old sophomore at the University of Oklahoma, was in Tulsa on Saturday, November 24, and she swung by the Kennamer residence for a dutiful visit.
“I was acquainted with the Kennamer family and had seen none of them lately. I was only going to be in Tulsa for a short-time [she was on her way to Chicago for the Thanksgiving holidays] and went by to pay my respects,” she told County Attorney Anderson over the phone on December 5.
“Phil was there and when I left he asked me if I would drive him to the Quaker Drug Store. We drove around for a few minutes and as I drove he talked.
“I thought he was crazy. He had a letter in his hand which he asked me to read. It was addressed to H. F. Wilcox and said that unless $20,000 in $1, $5, and $10 bills was left some place I don’t remember, something would happen to Virginia.
“Phil said that Gorrell wrote the note and that he was going to kill him. He said that he had been to Kansas City and got the note from Gorrell there. I let Phil out at the drug store and just put his talk down as something silly and crazy.”
When the Tulsa World ran Watson’s statement the following day, they did not publish her name and only identified her as a sophomore at the University of Oklahoma. Too many names of good Tulsans were already being dragged through the mud, and crackpots were calling up witnesses to make veiled threats. The Tribune had just reported that Jack Snedden and three of his friends were warned of death “if they do not keep quiet regarding what information they know.”
When Kennamer read Watson’s story the next day, he knew exactly who it was, and he didn’t like it one bit. Her statement, and those of his other so-called friends, told of a planned murder, a murder in the first degree, a murder charge that could get him the electric chair. With brash arrogance only Phil Kennamer could come up with, he got to a third-floor telephone and called down to Anderson’s office while Anderson was in a private meeting with Attorney General King. Kennamer mentioned the news story and inquired if Anderson would pass along a message to Miss Watson.
“If you intend on speaking to her, I would like for you to give her a message for me,” Kennamer asked.
Thinking he could learn something new, Anderson agreed.
“Give her my love and a piece of cheese,” Kennamer said.
“I understand the love part but what do you mean about the cheese?”
“She’ll get it, THE RAT!” Kennamer answered as he slammed the handset down.
The incident, reported in the World, revealed two things to Tulsans: Kennamer had just subtly intimidated a potential witness, and he had an incredible amount of freedom from his room on the third floor. But still, Sheriff Price did nothing about it. Kennamer wasn’t moving anywhere. And if Kennamer had that kind of telephone access, maybe there was some credence to the stories of witnesses being threatened, although police were dismissing them as crank calls.
Anderson sent his investigator, Jack Bonham, to the University of Oklahoma in Norman to interview Watson who “wept as she gave her statement,” the United Press reported. When it was over, “she signed the statement and ran weeping from the living room of the sorority house.”
She wasn’t the only attractive young coed who had a story to tell police. Barbara Boyle, a Gorrell family friend and Kennamer’s first choice for kidnapping, told police Gorrell had warned her of the plot as far back as September.
“Gorrell had warned her to have nothing to do with Kennamer or another boy, a close friend of his,”[15] the Tulsa Tribune reported. “She said Gorrell told her that ‘they would hesitate at nothing’ as far as he was concerned and might go to the extent of giving her doped cigarettes to place her in a compromising position to accomplish their scheme. Gorrell warned her, she said, to say nothing of this to either of the two as he would not answer for what they would do to him for exposing the plot.”
This statement gave police a new theory that instead of Kennamer going along with the scheme in order to sabotage it, maybe it was Gorrell who was doing exactly that to thwart Kennamer. This idea was corroborated by the dean of the dental school, who told a Kansas City reporter he knew Gorrell “was in a jam” and had called on him before driving to Tulsa to say that if anything happened to him during that trip, Kennamer was responsible.
Dean John Rinehart also said that when he heard Gorrell had been killed, he knew immediately who had done it and that it was because “Gorrell would not mail a letter Kennamer wanted him to mail.”
But Rinehart later retracted this statement after he got cold feet over fears the publicity would be bad for the college. He promptly denied he had ever made the report and claimed he knew nothing about the conflict between Gorrell and his accused slayer.
By the end of that first week, the investigation was wrapping up and newspaper coverage was tapering off. Even so, the hysteria that gripped Tulsa was refusing to let go, and the scandalmongers were still churning out gossip.
“Scores of ‘self-appointed’ and amateur detectives have called at headquarters with innumerable tips and so-called clues in the case,” the World reported. “Only a few have developed into material facts.”
One rumor was put to rest that week when Wade Thomas was eventually released on a writ of habeas corpus. His only involvement in the case was a twenty-five-dollar gambling debt owed to him by Kennamer, and fifty dollars from Gorrell. Together, the three allegedly owned slot machines that were confiscated and piled up at police headquarters for a publicity photo as two officers stood over them with sledgehammers. The Idle Hour was shut down. So was the Sunset Café, temporarily, after it was caught selling 3.2 beer to minors.
Sunday, December 9, 1934
The December 9 edition of the Sunday morning World ran a short cover story with this headline:
“No Development in Gorrell Death”
The top announcement in that little item was a statement from King that, after a conference with Maddux and Dr. Gorrell, the investigation was over.
“Everything that was necessary has been done in this case,” King told the media. “The guilty party has been definitely identified and there is no reason for a further statement until the preliminary hearing which will be held in Tulsa, December 17.”
As Tulsans read their Sunday morning World, Sidney Born was in the front room of his parent’s home, writing checks for his father. His father and Czech-born mother left the house at 10:30 a.m. to go for a Sunday drive, and his younger brother, Harold, was away with friends. A few minutes after eleven, Born jumped in his Chevy sedan and drove off.
At approximately 11:30 a.m., he was spotted in a wooded area near 27th Street and Lewis Avenue by four women riding horses in the Woody Crest addition. The undeveloped area was a popular location for those wanting to forget they lived in the city. Seventy-five yards from the street, the horse trail crested over a hump and then dipped down into a draw. Just after topping this rise, the firs
t horse in line shied off and each horse in succession gave a wide birth to a motionless young man by the trail, sitting there smoking a cigarette. Three of the women addressed him as they passed by, but he ignored their salutations and continued his hard stare at the horizon. His face, they later said, was drawn tight and haggard, as if in deep contemplation.
Born returned home around 11:45 a.m., fetched something from the back of a drawer in his father’s desk, and then went up to his room. At noon, he announced to the maid he was leaving again.
“Aren’t you going to wait for dinner, honey?” maid Josey Henderson asked as he was walking out the door.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
Born’s first stop was to a tire repair shop to get a tire changed on his Chevrolet. He was reportedly in good spirits as he chatted with mechanics. During the night before Thanksgiving, he had loaned his car to Kennamer when he and Jerry Bates had gone to the dance at the Mayo Hotel. By the time he met up later with Kennamer at the Sunset Café, his friend had wrecked his car, causing fifty dollars[16] in damage to it. Kennamer had promised to pay him back, but that was before he was arrested for murder. The new tire was part of those repairs for which Kennamer owed him money.
At about 1:00 p.m., Born telephoned his girlfriend Betty and was in a cheerful mood as they chatted for a short while. He did not tell her where he was calling her from.
He next drove to the Brookside Drug Store on South Peoria and asked the clerk if he had change for a quarter to use the pay phone. Opening the city directory book to the letter T, he found the number to the Tulsa County Jail, dropped a nickel in the slot, and dialed the number.
“I want to talk to Phil Kennamer,” he was overheard to say. After a pause of about twenty seconds, Born shouted, “Oh, hell!” and slammed the receiver on the hook.
From the drugstore, Born drove to a quiet area near Detroit Avenue and 29th Street and parked his sedan near a vacant lot one quarter of a mile from his house. The sun was out that day, and by 1:30 p.m. the temperature was comfortable for that time of year. It was a peaceful Sunday afternoon, and as he looked around, he could only see one man off in the distance walking his dog. He stared down at his hands for a moment, studying the lines that crossed his palms.
Born looked around one more time, and when he saw nobody was around he took a deep breath, reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his father’s .32-caliber automatic, pressed it firmly against his right temple, and pulled the trigger.
A Timeline of Events, Chapters 1—10
Thursday,
November 29
- Phil Kennamer kills John Gorrell Jr. sometime after 11 p.m.
Friday,
November 30
- Gorrell's body is found at 12:05 a.m.
- Early afternoon, Edward Larson contacts Richard Oliver who informs him about "Bob Wilson."
Saturday,
December 1
- Richard Oliver arrives in Claremore, OK.
- Mid-morning: Floyd Huff tells his story to KC Detective Higgins.
- At 2:40 p.m. Phil Kennamer surrenders.
- Later that night, Ted Bath tells his story to investigators.
December 2-8
- Witnesses come forward to share their stories of what Phil Kennamer told them about his plans to murder John Gorrell Jr., and what he said and did after the murder.
- The investigation continues with many careless statements made by police and prosecutors.
Sunday,
December 9
- Phil Kennamer's friend and key witness, Sydney Born, commits suicide.
December 9-16
- The story, and the investigation, is reinvigorated with wild rumors and frightened witnesses. On December 12, Phil tells his version of what happened to reporters.
Part Two: The Hysteria
The whole affair has sensational and morbid features which bring undue attention to a large number of young people who have little to nothing to do with the tragic events themselves. While not disposed to be critical of our brother newspaper men, we do object to some of the assiduous efforts to build up a lurid story of “flaming youth” in Tulsa. It is certain some of the stories were far beyond the bounds of propriety, and that they magnified to an unconscionable extent some of the sidelights of the affair.
— Tulsa Daily World Editorial
Chapter Nine
AS THE KENNAMER CASE BEGAN TO settle down by Saturday, one week after he surrendered, the newshawks quietly left town. By Monday morning, December 10, they were all making their way back to Tulsa. Once again, the story was front-page news from coast to coast. In light of the new developments spawned by Born’s death, Lowell Limpus of the New York Daily News was asked to compare the nationally famous Hall-Mills case of the 1920s with Tulsa’s high-society murder.
“That was a third-grade arithmetic problem compared to this!” Lowell exclaimed.
Incredibly, Born didn’t immediately die. He was taken to Morningside Hospital, where his grief-stricken parents rushed to his bedside. As Mrs. Born sat by her son, Dr. Born was too distraught to sit still. He drifted back and forth between the room and the hallway, where his son’s friends had gathered.
“Word of Born’s injury swept over the city,” detective Tom Higgins would later write in his crime-magazine article. “It was like a fire roaring in a high gale across the drought-browned prairies.”
The circumstances in Gorrell’s and Born’s deaths were too similar for Tulsans to believe it was suicide, as city police were claiming. After all, that’s what they had said at first about Gorrell’s death. Both boys were shot in their own cars, with their own guns, and in isolated areas of Tulsa with no witnesses.
When Born passed away at 6:55 Sunday night, one of the four young women waiting in the hallway fainted and fell off her chair. Sidney’s father was overheard by a Tribune reporter to say that his son’s involvement in the case was so minor, he could not believe he would commit suicide. “My boy commit suicide?” he exclaimed. “Impossible. It was murder!”
That Sunday, most of Tulsa agreed with him.
“I do not exaggerate when I say that all Tulsa shuddered that night,” Higgins continued. “Here was one of the most popular young men in the city, dead. There was no answer available [in the first few hours] to those who desired to know whether it was suicide or murder. To anxious parents in dozens of the best homes, that question was of very little importance. And, instead they asked: ‘Is the name of our son to be dragged into this horrible affair?’ That fear was to cause many families to leave the city.”
Young Born was an immaculate dresser. To his close friends he was known as “Algy,” an affectionate nickname. While he always had plenty of money, he was conservative in his spending. He was an A and B student in high school and was doing well in his classes at the University of Tulsa. His name had never been mentioned in any of the minor scandals and salacious rumors that hovered around some of those in Tulsa’s young, high-society crowd.
Born was the president of the Hy-Hat Club, whose members congregated at the Jelly Bean Center on 18th Street. Despite what the newspapers were already saying about club members, it mostly formed parties and dances, which were forbidden at Central High School, and couples were paired off by club leaders.
An hour or two after Born shot himself, Robert Thomas appeared at police headquarters to request a permit to carry a pistol. When he was refused, he went to Assistant County Attorney Tom Wallace to make the same request, but he was again denied.
“I told him that we could not issue such a permit and would not under the circumstances,” Wallace told a squad of reporters who now occupied the police station.
But Thomas never told authorities exactly whom he was afraid of. Neither did Ted Bath, when he showed up to make the same appeal. He was already carrying a pistol and when he was denied, he dramatically announced he was leaving town.
“Kennamer’s gang is still out of jail and they will do everything they can to keep the fellows f
rom testifying,” Bath was overheard telling Maddux. “I’m leaving Tulsa for good. The only reason I haven’t received threats to keep my mouth shut is because those fellows could not reach me. Plenty of the fellas who told police what they knew about Kennamer and his gang have been warned. So I’m getting out while I’m able. There are too many dark streets and alleys where a shot could seal your lips for good.”
Although Kennamer never had a “gang,” the rumor mill had created one, and perception was stronger than reality in December 1934.
Richard Oliver reported that he had received a mysterious telephone call several hours after Born was taken to the hospital. When he answered the phone at his room in Kansas City, the voice of an unknown male asked him if he knew Sidney Born. Oliver replied that he did not recall the name. The mysterious voice then told him Born had just been murdered. When Oliver asked who was calling, the caller hung up. Afterward, Oliver still continued attending his dentistry classes but changed his residence, and not even his parents knew where he was living.
On the advice of the family attorney, Jack Snedden went into hiding at a secret location “fifteen minutes outside of Tulsa” after they got the news that Born had been shot in the head.
Later that week, Charles Bard, who was with Gorrell the night he was murdered, received an anonymous letter that declared he “knew too much about the case.” The Oklahoma A&M student was escorted between classes by campus security, and his fraternity brothers kept an all-night vigil for him in case someone tried to murder him in his sleep. When word of Born’s death reached him Sunday evening, he “presented himself at the county jail and asked to be locked up for safety.” He was turned away. The next day, he withdrew from school.
Deadly Hero: The High Society Murder that Created Hysteria in the Heartland Page 7