The Boy Nevada Killed
Page 9
Very truly yours,
E.P. Carville Governor
While Oliver Custer attempted to find a way to help in Floyd’s defense, a group of Reno women also worked toward that end. Headed by Mrs. Pearl White, the group wrote letters and actively sought donations to help with the boy’s legal fees. Contributions came from many individuals, as well as the Palace Club, the Club Fortune, 222 Club, Virginia Bar, the Bartenders Union Local 86, the Elmhurst Guest House and the Reno Musicians Union Local 368.
Floyd Loveless as a youngster. Photo courtesy of Robert Kay Loveless.
Not everyone in Reno was eager to help Floyd stay out of the gas chamber. Constable A.H. Berning was born and raised in Carson City. His parents had been young German immigrants when they met and married in nearby Genoa. As a young man Berning worked at the Virginia City Virginia and Truckee Railroad roundhouse.
Many still associated the historic Abe Curry home with the Berning family; the house had been the family residence for several years. A number of Berning friends and extended family members resided in the Reno/ Sparks Carson City area. None of them wanted to see Berning’s killer escape punishment.
By December 1, 1942, Floyd had been at the prison three months. Being locked away from the outdoors and the sunshine was hard for him. The loneliness was unbearable. There was no one here his own age. Nobody understood. If he had kept his promise to his grandmother and stayed at Plainfield, he could have been a barber.
He didn’t want to die any more than the man he had left in the Studebaker, the man bleeding and begging for a doctor. But that man had died. Soon others would be celebrating Christmas, and he would walk into the gas chamber in payment of that death. He was resigned. Dying was better than rotting in this place forever.
Floyd was eating lunch when the warden came to his cell, smiling broadly. “You’ve been granted a stay of execution, Floyd.”
Floyd nodded.
The warden waved to a man who stood in the corridor. “This gentleman is from the newspaper. He’d like to speak with you.”
Floyd stared at the man. A pencil rested across the top of his ear, like an arrow. He opened his notepad and smile hopefully at Floyd.
“I’m Mr.—”
“I’ve got nothing to say.”
The two men retreated down the corridor, speaking in hushed tones. Motherless lad, too young to be here—the same words he had heard in Indiana. They meant nothing. He was here.
Floyd picked up his sandwich and gobbled it hungrily.
In Elko, Taylor Wines prepared his appeal. From his office at the Henderson Bank Building, Wines could see the railroad tracks and the busy streets below. This was his community; he was born and raised here. He understood Elko better than an outsider ever could. He realized feelings here ran deep against Floyd Loveless, but Floyd was a child. And no child should be waiting to die in the gas chamber. There was much work to do.
1943
On April 21, 1943, the news was good. The Nevada Supreme Court ordered a new trial for Floyd because the Elko jury had not stated what charge they found him guilty of. When asked the verdict, the jury foreman said, “Guilty as charged” instead of “Guilty of first-degree murder.” The new trial date was set for November 15, 1943.
Floyd wrote to his dad and his grandmother before leaving for Elko. None of his family back home in Indiana expected he was going to walk out of prison a free man. But they prayed for a less severe punishment. Floyd was eager to get out and see some of the countryside, even if he was doing so as a prison inmate. Maybe this time, they would not give him death.
By November 14, 1943, he was back in Elko. On the drive in from Carson City, they came across a desert snowstorm that blanketed the mountains and iced the roads. As the car pulled into town, Floyd stared out the window. Elko was as alien to him as it had been on that day in August. It had been only fifteen months since he and Dale had first driven into this town. Now it was all a blur. The car slowed at the courthouse and turned toward the jail. This was familiar. He would never forget this place as long as he lived.
Area of Elko where Taylor Wines’s office was located. U.S. Library of Congress.
It was a bitterly cold day, not warm like the first time he had been here, and his breath came out in puffs of fog as they led him from the car to the back door.
The next morning, Floyd was led into the same courtroom. He looked around quickly. There were not as many people as the last time, and the prosecutor was different.
“All rise.”
Floyd stood. His heart sank as Judge Dysart entered the room.
With jury selection over, Judge Dysart turned to his clerk, “Mrs. Caine, you will please read the information to the jury and the defendant’s plea.”
The clerk read, “Gentlemen of the jury, to the charge in information the defendant pleads not guilty.”
The first witness called was Rodney S. Williams. After asking a few questions about Williams’s employment, District Attorney Wright asked, “Did you happen to be in the vicinity of Carlin, Nevada, on August 20, 1942?”
“Yes,” Williams answered.
“Did you notice anything unusual in and about Carlin that morning?”
“As I left, or in town?”
“As you left.”
“Yes.”
“What was it that you saw?”
“I was stopped by the constable of Carlin given instructions to be on the
lookout for a car, Studebaker, gray car, five passenger, and at that time he
gave me the license number.” “Where did that take place?” “At the Y, where the old road that goes into Carlin meets the new road.” “And then did anything further occur?” “Yes. After he had given me this number, I looked up and saw a gray car
approaching, and as it approached, I recognized it and then read the license
number to him.” “Did you see who was in the gray Studebaker coupe?” “Yes.” “Will you kindly describe him or identify him, if you can?” “He was a boy between eighteen and sixteen, not too tall, dark
complexioned, young man.” “Can you point him out?” Wright asked. Williams nodded and pointed toward Floyd. “Yes that is him there.” Floyd looked absently at the man who sat on the witness stand. “Where did the coupe stop?” “Opposite my car, not exactly opposite, before it stopped.” “When it stopped where was Officer Berning in reference to the car?” “Between the two cars.” “Then what did you see take place?” “He flagged this car down, and he said, ‘I have got to take you in, Buddy.’” “Was there any reply?” “The boy said, ‘Why?’ “ “Then what further did you notice?” “Mr. Berning motioned for me to move on, because there was another
car [that] had stopped, and it was apparent [that] his movement was to let
the other car go by.” “Where did it stop?” “Right directly behind the Studebaker.” When it was Wines’s turn to cross-examine the witness, Floyd glanced
at the man and then stared down at the desk. His testimony concluded, Williams stepped down from the witness stand. “You may be excused from further attendance,” Judge Dysart told him.
Jailer Edward Kendrick took the stand and related events surrounding the report of the stolen Studebaker. After questioning Kendrick about his report to Berning, the district attorney asked, “Did you have any later communications concerning that gray Studebaker coupe automobile?”
“I did.”
“About what time of the day?”
“It was about an hour after I put in the call to Mr. Berning.”
“What information did you receive concerning the coupe at that time?”
Kendrick looked in Floyd’s direction. “I received a call in the office from Primeaux station, saying that the car was located there west of Primeaux station and Mr. Dolph Berning was shot and laying alongside of the car.”
Wright finished with Kendrick, and Wines began his cross-examination. Finally, he asked, “You were jailer at the time the defendant was confined during August and Sept
ember?”
“I was.”
“Where was he confined in relation to Dale Cline?”
“One was downstairs in the felony tank, and one was upstairs in the misdemeanor tank ward.”
“That is all.” Wines said, turning from the witness.
Dino Aiazzi was the next state’s witness to take the stand.
“How long have you resided in Carlin, Nevada?”
“All my life, about thirty-seven years.”
“What is your occupation?”
“Mechanic.”
“On August 20, 1942, were you in Carlin, Nevada?”
“I was.”
“At that time did you have anything to do with Officer Berning?”
Aiazzi didn’t understand the question. “You mean—?”
“Did you have anything to do on August 20, 1942, in connection with Officer Berning?”
“I did.”
“Kindly tell us what you did that day?”
“Deputy Sheriff Guidici came in and deputized me.”
The story of how Floyd was apprehended was told again. This time, however, there were only two men to testify to it. Of the four-man posse that had arrested Floyd, two had died since the first trial: Deputy Sheriff Guidici and Deputy Sheriff Goicoechea.
In February 1943, twenty-two-year-old Frank Goicoechea suddenly became seriously ill. The young deputy sheriff lingered for two months before dying of a “malignant heart ailment” on April 2, 1943.
S.O. Guidici died one month later. The longtime Elko County deputy sheriff had easily beaten his opponent and been elected constable of Carlin in the November 1942 general elections. But the fifty-one-year-old suffered from a serious illness from the time he took office and remained hospitalized until his death on May 4, 1943.
While cross-examining Aiazzi, Taylor Wines asked, “At the time that you first saw the defendant on the road, did you carry a gun?”
“I did not.”
“Did Mr. Alexander?”
“Yes. All I had was a rifle.”
“You had a rifle?”
“Yes.”
A few more questions intervened and then, “So you had your rifle with you?”
“No.”
“You left that in the car?”
“Yes.”
“How close did you get to the defendant?”
“Close enough that I got ahold of his hands.”
“You got ahold of his hands?”
“Yes.”
“How close was Mr. Alexander?”
“Standing right back of me.”
“Did you say that Floyd Loveless reached for something?”
“He was going for his pocket.”
“He reached for his pocket?”
“Yes.”
“Where was the gun taken from him?”
“Right above the belt in his shirt.”
“However, his hand reached for his pocket?”
“Yes.”
“At the time Mr. Guidici was talking to the boy, he was under arrest?”
“He was.”
“Did anyone at that time inform him he was under no obligation to make a statement?”
“All I know is what Guidici told him. He asked him if he had any trouble with the officer.”
“Yes, but did he say at that time that there was nothing to compel him to make a statement?”
“He never said a thing.”
While he listened to Aiazzi answering Taylor Wines’s questions, Floyd looked out the window past the judge. If he thought about it, he could remember every detail about that afternoon; other times, he didn’t want to try. Most nights, he went to sleep wishing he would wake up and be back in Plainfield, wishing he had never headed west, wishing he had never come to this place.
Aiazzi was finished. “You may step down, Mr. Aiazzi,” the judge was saying. Floyd watched Alexander sit down in his place.
“Your name is H.B. Alexander?” District Attorney Wright asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Where do you live Mr. Alexander?”
“Carlin.”
“How long have you lived in Carlin?”
“Ten years.”
“On August 20 1942, what was your occupation?”
“I am employed by the Southern Pacific Company as investigator and police officer.”
“At that time did you have any police officer standing as a county official?”
“I was deputized as a special deputy sheriff.”
“On August 20, 1942, did you have anything to do with a certain affair involving Officer Berning?”
“Yes, sir.”
Wines was on his feet. “Objected to as the question is leading; he might ask if anything unusual happened that day.”
Judge Dysart nodded. “That may stand.”
Wright asked, “What first did you do in that connection, or who contacted you?”
Alexander thought a moment. “Well, the first thing that happened, as I remember, someone asked me if I had heard about Berning being shot, which I had not at that time, and I questioned them as to where it happened and they said right around—”
“You are not to relate any conversation,” Wright admonished him. “Did you some time that day see Officer Guidici, on August 20, 1942, deputy sheriff ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where?”
“At Aiazzi’s Garage.”
“Who were present?”
“There was Deputy Sheriff Frank Goicoechea, Dino Aiazzi and Guidici.”
“And yourself ?”
“And myself, yes.” Alexander smiled.
“What, if anything, did the four of you do?”
“Well, we drove out Highway 40.”
“How far did you go before you stopped?”
“We went as far as Lovelock—that is, during the day.”
“I mean,” Wright explained. “Where did you first stop?”
“At Primeaux service station.”
“Then you proceeded westward?”
“Yes sir.”
“Where was the next stop?”
“I believe, as well as I remember, it was at a gravel pit between Primeaux service station and Dunphy Ranch, where the highway construction company was getting gravel.”
Wright looked at the jury and then back at his witness. “Where was the next stop?”
“The next stop was where we found a young fellow on the highway hitchhiking.”
“Can you identify that person?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And who?”
Anderson looked at Floyd. “Young lad sitting over there by Mr. Wines,” he said
“You indicated Floyd Loveless?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where was he when you first saw him?”
“He was walking along the highway and he seen our car and stopped and thumbed for a ride.”
“What, if anything, was done at that time concerning this hitchhiker?”
“Well we had information that the man we was looking for would probably be hitchhiking on the highway, and when we came in sight of this lad, Guidici said—”
“Objected to as being hearsay,” Taylor Wines interjected.
“What Mr. Guidici said, just tell what was done with regard this defendant,” Judge Dysart instructed the witness.
“Well we pulled [up] and stopped, and I got out and covered this lad with my gun and told him to hold up his hands, which he did. I walked around and searched him and I found a gun on him.”
“Where did you find the gun?”
“Right down in front of his pants.”
“What side of the Guidici car did you get out of ?”
“On the left-hand side and went around in front.”
“Now when the search took place you found a gun?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did you do, and what did the other officers do, and what did the defendant do or say from that time on?”
Anderson thought a moment. “When I took
the gun off of him I handed it to Officer Guidici, and put my gun back in its holster, and I finished searching him to see if he had anything else on him.”
“You say you had put your gun back in your holster?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What, if anything, was said by the defendant, Floyd Loveless, at that time?”
Wines jumped up. “Objected to as not having sufficient foundation for any testimony.”
Judge Dysart turned toward the district attorney and said, “I think you had better lay a better foundation.”
“What time of day was it?”
“Approximately 12:15 p.m.”
“Who was present?”
“Dino Aiazzi, Frank Goicoechea, Guidici and myself.”
“And where were the other three, Bill Guidici, and Frank Goicoechea and Dino Aiazzi, at that time after you handed to the gun to Bill Guidici?”
“Well, “Anderson said, “I hardly know how to explain. They were all in front of Loveless, and I was behind him.’
“Did anybody at that time have their gun drawn?”
“No, sir, I don’t think so.”
“Was there any conversation at that time, while all of you were on the highway there, concerning the defendant, Floyd Loveless?”
Taylor Wines was on his feet again. “Just a minute. That is objected to as leading, and I renew my objection on the ground that sufficient foundation has not been laid.”
“At the time, after you took the gun from the defendant, had the defendant been placed under arrest yet?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Had anybody so informed him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who?”
“Bill Guidici.”
“Did anybody have any conversation with the defendant Floyd Loveless at that time?”
“My objection is renewed, if the court please,” Wines said.
“He is not asking what the conversation was. If he had any conversation, he can answer that,” Judge Dysart said.
“The objection is withdrawn,” Wines said.
“Yes, sir.” Anderson answered.
“Between whom was the conversation held?”
“Bill Guidici and Floyd Loveless.”