Anne Morrow Lindbergh: Her Life

by Susan Hertog

  As Charles and Breckinridge were working to transfer the money to Condon, another man came forward as an intermediary with the kidnappers. John Hughes Curtis, head of a large ship-building company in Virginia, told his story to the rector of the Christ Episcopal Church in Norfolk, the Reverend Dobson-Peacock, who had served in Mexico when Dwight Morrow was the ambassador. One of his workers, he said, claiming to be an emissary of the mob, had told him that the New York–New Jersey contingent was on “the take,” trying to swindle Lindbergh. His worker, named Sam, told him that his people wanted to deal directly with Lindbergh. Out of a strong sense of duty, Curtis told his rector, he felt compelled to help Lindbergh.55

  Dobson-Peacock was impressed with Curtis’s credentials. He was a successful entrepreneur, the president of the local country club, and the commodore of the Norfolk Yacht Club. There was no reason to doubt his story. Dobson-Peacock volunteered to help him get through to Lindbergh, and as coincidence would have it, when he called the Lindbergh house, Mickey Rosner answered the phone.

  After Rosner identified himself as Lindbergh’s personal secretary, the rector put John Curtis on the line. Not knowing that Rosner was a rival to Sam’s gang, Curtis relayed the story of mob corruption in the north. Rosner barely responded, leaving Dobson-Peacock and Curtis confused and angry.56

  While Lindbergh and Breckinridge were engrossed in their plans for Condon’s meeting with the kidnappers, the state police, still in defiance of Lindberghs’ wishes, continued to interview the Lindbergh and Morrow servants.

  Violet Sharpe, above all, was causing problems. She was arrogant, uncooperative, and, worst of all, evasive, creating the very doubt she wished to erase. From the beginning, she could not remember the name of the man she saw on the evening of March 1, nor the names of the man and woman who had accompanied them. Furthermore, her account of the evening was riddled with contradictions. At first she said that they had all gone to see a movie but later admitted that they had been at a speakeasy, the Peanut Grille, in East Orange, New Jersey. There were enough inconsistencies in Violet’s story to make the police suspicious, and the more they pressed her, the more she resisted. Angry at their intruding into her personal life, Violet refused to speak to them any further. They dismissed her but made a note to question her again.57

  Anne continued to believe there was progress. By March 10, Spitale, Mickey Rosner’s underworld emissary, had become convinced it was not a gangland “snatch.” Interviewed by a reporter who trailed him and Blitz during their underworld search, Spitale said, “If it was someone I knew, I’ll be god-damned if I wouldn’t name him. I been in touch all around, and I come to the conclusion that this one was pulled by an independent.”58

  In fact, the experts who had been engaged to study the crime were beginning to believe that the gang theory was wrong. If Lindbergh’s status was what had provoked the crime, wrote the forensic psychiatrist Dudley Schoenfeld, the man himself was not someone the gangs would “hit.” He was too ethical and upright, and too much in the public eye, unlike the corrupt and wealthy targets of the mob who were easy marks for extortion. Schoenfeld believed that it was the work of one man, a megalomaniac who wanted more than money. He wanted to bring Lindbergh down, and there could be no attack on Lindbergh’s manhood more fierce than snatching his male child.59

  Even as Lindbergh turned a deaf ear to those who tried to dash his hopes, he welcomed the news from Condon that the kidnappers were about to give further instructions. He decided as well not to dismiss Curtis and his story.

  The kidnappers made contact with Condon on March 11, leaving word with his wife that he was to expect instructions. But in Norfolk, Virginia, Curtis had come up with a new strategy for getting Lindbergh’s attention. He convinced Admiral Burrage, commander of the Memphis, the ship that had brought Charles back to America after his flight to Paris, to speak on his behalf. In view of Condon’s apparent success, Charles was not convinced of Curtis’s story but he was unwilling to shut the door on a possible lead. Reluctantly, he consented to further communication, but his hopes remained with Condon, who was preparing to meet the alleged kidnappers.60

  On that day, Schwarzkopf worked behind the scenes, following his theory that it was the work of an amateur. He himself questioned Red Johnson, hoping to talk him into a confession, but Johnson, as usual, was steady, controlled, and consistent. He apparently was exactly as he appeared: a Norwegian sailor with a penchant for milk and Scottish women. Disappointed that the investigation of the servants had not turned up useful information, Schwarzkopf appealed once again to the press and the public. But word had leaked about the Lindberghs’ making new contacts with the mob. Angered by what it considered Schwarzkopf’s dissembling, the press branded him a failure.61

  Meanwhile, Condon was secretly preparing for his first meeting with the kidnappers. Again using a courier, they wrote, “We trust you.” They told Condon to go to the last subway stop on Jerome Avenue in the Bronx, where he would find further instructions. Bring the money, they wrote. In fact, Lindbergh had not raised the money. When Condon decided to go anyway, Schwarzkopf pleaded with Lindbergh to let his men accompany him, but Lindbergh refused.

  The note containing further instructions was under the porch of a deserted frankfurter stand. It directed Condon to cross the street to the Woodlawn Cemetery. Fifteen minutes passed before a man signaled him into the cemetery with a white handkerchief, with which he muffled his mouth when speaking to Condon. It did not hide the same heavy German accent and contorted English of the man who had spoken to Condon on the phone. The man, whom Condon estimates at about five foot ten, about thirty-five years old, asked for the money. Condon replied to Cemetery John, as he later called him, that there would be no money unless he could see the baby. He then played on the young man’s guilt and tried to persuade him to defect from the gang. Though his strategy failed, he kept the man in conversation for an hour and fifteen minutes, during which he gleaned important information. The man told him that the baby was alive and well, that he was on a boat, being cared for by two women, and that the head of the gang had raised the ransom to $70,000. Cemetery John promised to send Condon the baby’s sleeping suit as proof of the gang’s possession of the child, and the two arranged to communicate again through the Bronx Home News when the ransom money was ready. As Condon watched the man disappear into the woods, he was satisfied,62 but Schwarzkopf later was furious. Charles had refused to let his men follow Condon, and now the kidnapper had got away.

  After learning from Condon the gist of the exchange at the cemetery, Lindbergh requested the U.S. Treasury Department to help him assemble the ransom money. Three days later, with the notes tied in a bundle, Lindbergh was ready to make the transfer. On the morning of Sunday, March 13, twelve days after the kidnapping, the ad appeared in the Bronx Home News. Later that afternoon, Cemetery John called to say there would be a delay in sending the sleeping suit.63

  Anne, demoralized, found refuge in a back bedroom, trying to keep her feelings under control by writing a letter to Elisabeth. Everything was disjointed and absurd, as though logic and reason and trust had no meaning. The ordinary expectations of daily life had turned into a nightmare. She wrote in her diary:

  Time has not continued since that Tuesday night. It is as if we just stepped off into one long night, or day. And I have a sustained feeling—like one high note on an organ that has got stuck—inside me.64

  All lines of communication to the press were pulled short, but the more information Schwarzkopf withheld, the more perverse and intrusive were the press’s efforts. Daily the tabloids fabricated stories, stoking the interest of the public. On Friday, March 18, a new form of public espionage emerged. Spurred by the warm spring weather, a company operating from an emergency airfield three miles from Hopewell offered sightseers aerial tours of the Lindbergh estate for $2.50 a ticket.65 While Schwarzkopf’s men and local authorities worked on the ground to direct traffic away from the house, the sightseeing planes zoomed overhead.

&
nbsp; On Tuesday, Condon received a brown paper bundle in the mail. Within an hour, Breckinridge was at his side, and together they examined the gray sleeping suit and the one-page note attached to it. The suit, without doubt, had been taken from the baby and laundered and neatly folded. It was either a sign of cooperation or a twist of ruthless cruelty designed to manipulate Lindbergh. The kidnappers were now demanding their ransom without further delay. No more meetings or exchanges, they wrote. They wanted their $70,000, and they wanted confirmation that Lindbergh was ready to do business.

  Charles was more than ready. Responding to a call at midnight, he arrived at Condon’s house at one-thirty A.M. Wearing a hunting cap and glasses so that he could pass unnoticed, Charles examined the baby’s gray suit, and, satisfied that it was his son’s, pushed for an immediate exchange. Condon wanted to see the baby first, but Charles insisted that they play according to the kidnapper’s rules. He urged Condon to place the ad exactly as the kidnappers had requested.66

  He got home just before dawn. Before leaving, he had told Anne about the package sent to Condon. All night Anne had listened in bed for Charles’s car. When Charles unwrapped the bundle, she too was sure it was Charlie’s suit. For the parents, the suit was proof that the kidnappers had the baby. Now they had to keep their side of the bargain.

  But Lindbergh was having trouble raising the money. Selling his TAT stock had not raised enough; he would have to draw on other sources. He could have asked for help from Betty Morrow or his wealthy friends, but he was determined to do this on his own. Furthermore, he believed time was running out. The “Jafsie” advertisements were attracting attention. The press, figuring that the kidnappers had responded to Condon’s advertisements, camped out in Condon’s front yard, forcing him to leave and enter his home in disguise. And it was clear that the kidnappers were getting nervous, their communications were slower and their words were harsher. Curiously, they never threatened to hurt the baby. They were ready to wait until they could get what they wanted. And though waiting would cost Lindbergh money—another $20,000—they seemed to have nothing but time. Condon continued to push to see the baby, but Charles insisted on compliance with the kidnappers’ stipulations. Condon also urged Breckinridge to make a list of the serial numbers on the ransom bills, but this, too, Charles rejected. On March 17, both the Home News and the New York American carried Condon’s message: “I accept. Money is ready. John, your package is delivered and is OK. Direct me. Jafsie.”

  Two days passed without a response. Condon ran a new ad in the Bronx Home News. Still no response. He was worried that the kidnappers had missed his ads. He was not sure what the silence meant, but something was changing. He and Lindbergh needed to act fast. He ran still another ad, with the consent of Breckinridge, in which he proposed the immediate return of the child for cash.

  Meanwhile, John Hughes Curtis said the kidnappers were getting nervous. The baby was all right, but they wanted proof that Lindbergh would come through with the money. He was to deposit $25,000 in a Norfolk bank, but he refused to make the payment unless there was proper identification. Furthermore, Lindbergh told Curtis he thought his story was a sham. Curtis and his group, feeling spurned and disillusioned, left Hopewell. Rumors that began to proliferate in the Norfolk press became headlines in New York. Lindbergh was furious. If Cemetery John read the newspapers, he would certainly feel double-crossed.

  Anne, however, was more optimistic than ever. She trusted Condon, she trusted Charles, and she was gaining faith in the process. Waiting, she wrote to her mother-in-law, was difficult, but she could bear it as long as there was hope. Her letters assumed a familiar quality. She permitted herself to get lost in the commonplace. Her life had assumed a pattern again. Even spring was beginning to feel warm.

  Anne’s poignant awareness of joy and sorrow, reflected in nature and integral to the fabric of ordinary life, would later be expressed in her poem “Security.”67 The poem implies that women sit at the edge of life, gleaning strength from ordinary tasks and the majesty of nature. Unlike men, who turn the working wheels of the world, women live in the great abyss between the earth and sky: “There is refuge in a sea-shell—/Or a star;/But in between,/Nowhere.”

  Meanwhile, the ugly business of negotiation moved forward. As if in revenge for being dismissed by Lindbergh, Curtis and his men loosed rumors to the press that Lindbergh had given them authority to negotiate. Again Condon tried to reassure John that they were following his rules. He put another ad in the paper, but Cemetery John was silent. Finally, on Tuesday, March 28, Condon received word. The kidnappers were upset. They couldn’t understand why Lindbergh was negotiating with others, and if he didn’t hurry, they would raise their price.

  Charles resolved there would be no more delays. Condon must tell the kidnappers that he would accept their terms. On Thursday, March 31, Condon ran his fifth ad. The next day, Cemetery John replied by messenger. The money should be ready by Saturday. If there was no trap, the baby would be returned after eight hours.

  Schwarzkopf wanted to keep Condon under surveillance. Once the baby was safe, he reasoned, they could arrest John. But again Lindbergh insisted that the police stay out. While Schwarzkopf believed he had no choice but to do as Lindbergh requested, there were others who thought he was wrong to comply. Elmer Irey stated that Lindbergh was obstructing justice. The baby, he suspected, was dead.68 The negotiations were for nothing, and the kidnappers would escape. When he insisted that Lindbergh include gold notes and record the serial numbers that were on the ransom bills, Lindbergh backed down and consented. But he forbade police intervention, and Schwarzkopf, as usual, acceded to his demand.

  Under Irey, the IRS reassembled the ransom money according to the new specifications, and tied it into two bundles. The first contained $50,000, all but $14,000 in gold notes. The second contained $20,000, divided according to John’s requirements, all in gold notes. Condon stuffed the $50,000 into a box built according to John’s instructions, but the bundle containing the $20,000 would not fit and had to be packaged separately.

  On Friday, April 1, the same morning the money was tied and bound, Betty Gow and Elsie Whateley strolled the grounds of the Lindbergh estate, returning along the gravel driveway, a path they had walked many times before. On this day they spotted something gleaming among the stone pebbles half a mile from the entrance to the estate. Leaning down, Betty recognized it as one of the baby’s thumb guards and ran back to the house to show Anne.69 To Anne, it was an omen of hope. To the investigators, it was a strange coincidence.

  John Curtis continued to demand Lindbergh’s attention. The closer Lindbergh drew to negotiation with the kidnappers, the more desperate Curtis became. The kidnappers, he said, had reduced the ransom by half. Once again, Lindbergh brushed Curtis away and prepared to drive to the Bronx with Breckinridge.

  On Saturday evening, the day the ad appeared in the Bronx Home News, Lindbergh, Breckinridge, and Condon waited in Condon’s living room. Afraid that things might get out of hand once the exchange had taken place, Lindbergh carried a small revolver. Condon noticed and grew concerned. There was no way he could anticipate Lindbergh’s reactions once he came face to face with his son’s abductors, so he had to keep Lindbergh under control. When Lindbergh offered to go alone, Condon insisted on carrying things through. Lindbergh deferred to Condon, and they agreed to drive a car belonging to Condon’s friend to the drop-off point.

  At 7:45, a messenger wearing a taxi driver’s cap rang the doorbell and left an envelope. Condon tore it open and read aloud the note, signed with the familiar scrawl and insignia, that directed Condon to take the money by car to a designated site in the northeast Bronx within the hour. It was the Bergen Greenhouse at 3225 Tremont Avenue. There, on a table outside the door, he would receive further instructions. On the reverse side of the note were the usual admonitions: no police; bring the money.

  Lindbergh drove the small Ford sedan two and a half miles east to the nursery. There, under a rock on a table outside i
ts door, was a note instructing Condon to walk alone across Tremont Avenue to St. Raymond’s Cemetery and then follow an adjacent road south. Lindbergh wanted to go with him, but Condon, eager to keep Lindbergh away from the exchange, reminded him that the kidnappers demanded he come alone. Condon walked off without the money and disappeared down the unlit cemetery road. Standing among the tombstones and statues, Condon surveyed the cemetery and saw no one. Just as he started back to the car, a voice cried out, “Hello, Doctor!” Condon recognized the voice as Cemetery John’s. For the first time, Lindbergh heard it too.

  Condon walked back to the cemetery and saw a man crouched behind a bush. When Condon told him to stand up, he recognized the man as John. Making no attempt to hide his face this time, John asked for the money, which Condon told him was in the car with Lindbergh. John told Condon he could not get the baby for six or eight hours and made Condon promise not to pursue him so that the kidnappers would have time to escape. When pressed further, he told Condon the baby was with his “Father.”70 Condon demanded directions to the place where he could find the baby; then he would release the money. John retreated, saying he would return in ten minutes, and told Condon to get the money.

  Hoping to save Lindbergh the extra $20,000 in the second bundle, he told John that Lindbergh had not been able to raise more than $50,000. John agreed to that amount, and Condon went back to the car, where Lindbergh gave him the money.

  When Condon returned to the cemetery for the exchange, he once again begged John to let him see the child before he handed over the money. He warned John not to commit a double-cross. “The baby is all right,” said John, so Condon shook his hand and returned to Lindbergh.

  Lindbergh, feeling successful, was jubilant. The note in his hand would take him to his baby. They discussed Condon’s promise to John not to open the note for six hours, and Lindbergh considered himself bound by Condon’s promise. Amazed at Lindbergh’s decision, especially in light of his consistent defiance of others, Condon worked hard to persuade him to read the note. Lindbergh agreed to open the note but was determined not to break Condon’s promise to John. The baby, said the note, was on a twenty-eight-foot boat called Nelly, cruising the waters between Martha’s Vineyard and Elizabeth Island.