The Kidnap Years: by David Stout (popular books of all time TXT) 📗

Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, for a celebration honoring George Washington. They had simply decided to film the Lindbergh property as long as they were in the area.

As for the chisel found on the ground, it was the kind of tool that could be found in countless garages and basements. A man familiar with lumber studied the ladder pieces found beneath the window. He detected nothing remarkable but, as would be revealed later, he didn’t look closely enough.

Politicians in New Jersey and elsewhere said that kidnapping should be punishable by death, as it already was under state law in Illinois and Missouri where, of course, kidnappings were becoming alarmingly frequent.

Under state law in New Jersey at the time, kidnapping by itself was only a misdemeanor, a fact that suddenly seemed startling and that would call for prosecutors to engage in some legal gymnastics later on. For the moment, Lindbergh asked that there be no change in New Jersey law. Not until his son was returned safely, he said. Some police officials argued that the death penalty would just encourage kidnappers to kill their victims. After all, what would the kidnappers have to lose? On March 8, a week after the infant was taken away, Major Charles Schoeffel, deputy superintendent of the state police, announced vaguely that there had been “progress.”35 The next day, his boss was more reassuring. “We have every reason to believe that the baby is alive and well,” Colonel Schwarzkopf said on March 9.36 His remarks seemed to suggest that negotiations for the child’s return were underway.

Within a week of the abduction, there was a report—false, as it turned out—that the president of Princeton University, Dr. John Grier Hibben, was acting as a liaison between the Lindberghs and whoever had stolen their son.

Meanwhile, the kidnapping was generating a volume of newspaper coverage more commonly devoted to wars or assassinations of heads of state. For eleven straight days, an article about the kidnapping was in the upper right corner of page 1 of the New York Times.

As the remarks of Colonel Schwarzkopf and Major Schoeffel had hinted, there were signs of hope that the Lindbergh infant might be returned alive and well. For negotiations were taking place, and they involved a man who was the strangest person to wiggle his way into the investigation—and would be one of the most important.

John F. Condon was a retired school principal and teacher who lived in the Bronx. He was seventy-two years old in 1932 and something of a community activist. He had a bushy mustache and a dramatic shock of white hair.

Moved by the plight of the Lindberghs, he wrote a letter to a small newspaper in the Bronx in which he offered up his entire life savings of about $1,000 for the safe return of the child. He offered to act as an intermediary, using newspaper ads to communicate with the kidnapper. The ads would be signed “Jafsie,” the nickname he coined from his initials.

The letter was printed in the Bronx newspaper on March 8. The very next day, Condon got a letter at his home. It purported to be from the kidnapper, who said Condon would be acceptable as a go-between. Within the envelope was another envelope, containing a message to Lindbergh reiterating the ransom demand, raised to $70,000 from the original $50,000. It was signed with interlocking circles, just like the original message left on the window sill. The interlocking circles on the notes, along with the exact wording the kidnapper had used, were known only to a very few investigators.

At once, Lindbergh said he wanted Condon to act as his liaison. All right, Schwarzkopf said, but we’re going to tap Condon’s phone. Lindbergh overruled him, fearing that somehow the kidnapper would find out. Lindbergh’s lawyer, Henry Breckinridge, moved into Condon’s home to keep track of events. He would stay there for two months.

There followed much back-and-forth between Condon and the kidnapper over the next several days, with Condon using newspaper ads on his end. A meeting was arranged in Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx for Saturday, March 12.

That night, Condon was driven to the rendezvous by his friend Al Reich, a one-time prizefighter. Reich parked a few blocks from the cemetery. Nervously, Condon approached the entrance. He saw a slim figure emerge from the gloom inside the gate and climb over.

Here, what actually happened can never be known. Condon later claimed that he pursued the man and eventually caught him. But some people involved in the case were immediately skeptical. Condon, after all, seemed to be a blowhard, and he was seventy-two years old.

In any event, Condon and the man from the cemetery sat on a bench in Van Cortlandt Park. “Call me John,” the stranger said.

As Condon recalled it, the man wore a topcoat and a hat, which he kept low over his forehead. Condon was bigger than the other man and understandably nervous. Yet he managed to say that the Lindberghs wanted proof that he really had the baby before they paid any ransom.

There ensued a rambling conversation, the exact words of which can never be known, as Condon was prone to embellish the facts (or invent ones) whenever he recounted his role in the Lindbergh case, which he did often.

But if Condon was to be believed, “Cemetery John” described himself as “only a go-between.” Then he said something chilling: “Would I burn if the baby was dead?”37

Finally, John said that he and the people he was working for would provide proof that they had the child.

Then he stood up and melted into the dark.

On Wednesday, March 16, a package containing a baby’s sleeping suit arrived at Condon’s house. The Lindberghs confirmed it was the one worn by the baby at the time of the kidnapping. They saw that the garment had been laundered. What did that mean?

Finally, a meeting was arranged for delivery of the ransom. This time, the meeting between Jafsie and the shadowy figure would be in St. Raymond’s Cemetery