Sunday, 1st March 1914: Leo Frank Gives Reasons Why He Couldn’t Have Killed Mary Phagan, The Atlanta Journal

Reading Time: 17 minutes [3042 words]

Staff

Photo by Wine.

Leo M. Frank.

This is the latest photograph of the man convicted for the murder of Mary Phagan.

Frank posed for The Journal in the tower for the first picture made of him since he was sentenced.

PAGE 1, COLUMN 7

DESIRE TO COMMIT SUCH AN ACT CANNOT BE BORN IN INSTANT

Man

Convicted of Murder of Factory Girl Again Talks Freely of His Case to Newspaper Men

INNOCENT AS A BABE, SAYS VISITOR OF FRANK

Prisoner Asks That Common Sense Be Applied in Ferreting Mystery Old School Teacher Commends Him What he terms physical and psychological reasons why he could not have killed Mary Phagan are explained by Leo M. Frank in his second verbal statement to the newspapers since his confinement in the Tower.

He maintains that the murderer was innately vicious, and discusses the three periods of man's life to prove that he himself is free from vicious taint.

From his cool, clear argument, he turned abruptly with the question:

"Could guilt look and talk and act as I do, and sleep 10 sound hours?

My training, my life, have made me aesthetic, not callous.

I would be the first to feel remorse and show it? Do I seem a haunted man?"

"I am a living argument," added Frank, "against my conviction."

He drew a parallel in the next breath between his condition now and an occasion when he stood on Mount Pilatus, near Lake Lucerne, with clouds obscuring the towns and green fields beneath him.

Soon the mist rolled away, and he looked on the spires of the villages and the smiling stretch of pasture lands, washed by the rain.

"Already I can see a rift in the clouds," he concluded.

"Already I can see the mist rolling away."

Couldn't Have Killed Mary.

"I couldn't have killed Mary Phagan," he began, "and I'll tell you why."

"But let's leave out tremulos. I've got facts for you, not emotions."

He turned, took four short steps to the right, turned, four short steps to the left, and stood with his hand on the cell door.

He remained standing, instead of sitting, as at his first interview.

"Why couldn't I? Here's the answer."

He marked his emphatic words by tapping with his finger tips against the iron bars of the cell door.

"Time is the first reason and the big reason.

Mary Phagan came into my office, stayed a few minutes, went out; in three to five minutes Mr. Quinn came in and found me at my desk at work.

How could I have done the murder in that time?"

"Is any more proof needed? There you have pointed out for you the physical impossibility of my being the murderer."

"Mary Phagan entered my office at 12:10 to 12:15, left in a few minutes, Quinn followed after her, I was at work, and yet they say I was the murderer."

"Now, take a new look at the case."

Frank paused a moment, his head lowered slightly in a thoughtful attitude, then, looked up quickly.

Viciousness Must Precede Such Crime.

"I want to leave legal aspects out of this consideration and talk common sense.

Psychology and common sense are good neighbors; they go well together."

"Well, what I want to say first is this: The desire or the capability of committing such a rime as the murder of Mary Phagan doesn't spring up in a moment. It can't be born of the instant.

A life of viciousness must precede it."

"Won't everybody grant that?

A right-minded man couldn't feel a sudden flare of evil that would urge him to such murder. You'll grant me that, won't you, and the public will."

"Now, we reach the question: What is a man, what has he done, how shall we know what his past discloses or conceals?"

"First, I say, take him in his boyhood. The boy is father to the man. As he is, so the man is. If he shows no vicious or cruel side till he is twenty-one, and marries early, he is apt to keep the tenor of his lawful way."

"What of my youth? How does this first consideration affect me?"

"There is answer enough in the testimonials of my college mates who attended my trial at their volition to defend my character.

They (Continued on Page Two, Column One.)

PAGE 2, COLUMN 1

FRANK DISCUSSES SLAYING DESIRE TO COMMIT SUCH AN ACT CANNOT BE BORN IN INSTANT

Man Convicted of Murder of Factory Girl Again Talks Freely of His Case to Newspaper Men (Continued from Page.

1.)

came here voluntarily to say that my college days were free of vicious acts.

"Wouldn't they have known? Don't boys together know each other through and through?

When, in fact, are we ever closer than in your school days? And my comrades willingly, voluntarily came here to say that I was of good character. Here is something else."

Letter to Frank from His School Principal.

Frank turned and walked rapidly to the table in the middle of his cell a plain board table piled with books, where he spends much time in reading.

He picked one letter from several others, and returned in his rapid, decided way, which is the manner of a man who knows himself and what he intends to do.

"Read the letter. It is more testimony."

He pushed the letter through the bars of the door in his abrupt way.

"You see it's from my old school master in Brooklyn. I didn't ask for it. He sent it because he believes what he writes there.

Read it:"

This is the letter:

"Brooklyn, N. Y."

"Dear Leo: I am writing to you as your principal of our old school, No. 45 La Fayette avenue and Classon avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y."

"When I first heard of the murder charges on which you were arrested last summer, I saw your sister. Marion you know that I had care of both of you in school and gave my firm belief that there was nothing in it."

"Any one can say that; but from my intimate knowledge of the Frank family, who lived across the way from my school on La Fayette Avenue, Brooklyn, and from my experience of thirty years of teaching and dealing with boys and girls, I can say truthfully that there is nothing in it and nothing to it."

"I never had a better boy in my school and events have taken a turn which I never expected.

'The truth must out.'

These are your words as I read them in the papers of February 19. And the truth will out."

"I read another statement uttered by you let me call it a quotation.

'And it is now on the march.'"

Never Told a Lie To His Teacher.

"The truth will out Bravo, my boy you never made a truer statement.

You never told me an untruth as a boy and as the twig is bent, the tree is inclined. My records show you as a pure, clean, upright boy."

"You say again, 'And it is now on the march.'

Would to God, Leo, that my prayers at the throne of God for your full vindication will be heard God is our final judge."

"Your old teacher and principal and friend forever."

"PURVIS J. BEHAN,"

"Principal Public School No. 29, Brooklyn."

"That," said Frank, "is my answer to the first consideration of my youth whether it was clean or vicious."

"The next thought in taking apart, a man's life to determine what he has done and is capable of doing are his actions in his early manhood, at the time when he is making his first decisive steps in life."

"Does he marry and whom? That should be and is the potent influence in the young man's character. What of me?"

"I married early, a good woman, southern born, who was accustomed to the courtesy of the south, where men pay homage to women. She was bred to demand this gentleness of men toward women."

"If I Was Vile Would My Wife Remain By Me?"

"Now here, listen "

He paused to emphasize his forthcoming question "don't miss this."

"If I had been what I am charged with being, if I was low and vile, would a woman with her traditions, her fine sensibilities, continue to live as wife?"

"Isn't the answer to that question, answer to the charges against ... ?"

"I'll go next to the third consideration, probably the most important of the three. A man's character is know to the people who work with him. They know him. But, although I was the employer of 300 people, 120 to 150 of whom were girls, all spoke well of me."

"Why, it stands to reason that organization and discipline would have gone to the winds if there had been any wrong in my attitude toward those under me. If my respect for girls forced by circumstances to work had been less than propriety demands if there had been even a moiety of truth in the charges against me, protectors of them would have finished with me long ago."

"At my trial fifty employees were there to testify to my good character, and among these were girls working at the pencil factory. Could my attitude, my character, have been as the prosecution described, and yet have seemed normal to my fellow-workers?"

"Don't you know if I had the vicious taint ascribed to me that:"

"My schoolmates would not have testified that I am of excellent character?"

"That my wife would not have condoned such faults?"

"That my employers would not have come to my support?"

"I Have Proved My Character Good."

"I say that I have proved my character to be good, and I say that no man without inherent vice could have murdered Mary Phagan."

"I could not have killed her, because I have not lived the vicious life, thought in the vicious way, that is necessary to such a murder."

"Crime of that sort isn't the outcome of instant passion, but of years of vice."

"I did not murder Mary Phagan."

He stood, his hands behind his back, looking straight at his hearer.

Turning, he walked away several paces and came back.

He moves quickly, and speaks with sure decision.

But his manner is not over-wrought or disturbed.

It is merely direct, intent.

He thinks clearly, speaks with precision, and seldom finds himself at loss for the apt word.

"I am hopeful," said Frank, his voice low, almost reminiscent, "My attitude of mind recalls an incident in Europe. I have been twice across the water, but among my travels this occasion now stands out boldest. I don't think I've mentioned it to anyone else."

He stopped to light the cigarette he smoked, puffed at it, and continued:

"It was in August, and our day's excursion was up the slope of Mt. Pilatus in the Alps.

At the foot of the peak lies Lake Lucerne, and before your eye stretches a picture of villages and pleasant fields.

Farm lands were like checkerboards, houses were like dots.

Suddenly, clouds lowered, thunder muttered, and the sky dropped down over the country.

The clouds pent in the land and I could see nothing of the face of the earth."

"I was chagrined, to speak mildly.

I had climbed the peak to see the country, and all that lay before me was rolling mist.

Yet, I walted.

A rift came in the clouds.

A rainbow seemed to reach across the world, and I saw the land at the foot of the Alps fresher and greener for its ablution by the rain."

"There is similitude between my condition as I stood on Mount Pilatus as I stood on Mount Pilatus and as I stand here.

My trial, my accusation, my rebuffs, have been the clouds.

The solicitude of friends and the comfort of God have been the rift in the mist.

The developments of the past few weeks, showing what influences have been at work against me, are the rainbow of hope. And I feel confident that the sun is yet to shine out in such beauty as it shone over the country by Lake Lucerne."

In his characteristic manner of pausing before he added a sudden emphatic thought, Frank let the words trail into silence.

The jail, which is of iron, even to the steps and the circular passageways on each floor, range intermittently with sharp, harsh noise.

The sound of a step on another floor was distinct in Frank's cell, which is the first to the right on the second landing.

He approached close to the cell door, and pressed his hands against the bars.

Suddenly he pushed with unexpected strength against the door.

A Living Argument Against the Charge.

"My character, my confidence, the belief of my friends is proof proof of my innocence."

"I am a living argument against the crime laid to me."

He smiled the next moment, and looked quizzically at his hearer.

"Does that seem theatrical? It isn't at all. I myself am a sufficient argument. The way I have lived shows I couldn't have done that crime. The way you see me now shows I couldn't be guilty."

"I can furnish a clear explanation why I couldn't have collected thoughts, couldn't sleep well, couldn't be myself, if I were guilty."

"My whole life has been spent in a way to sharpen my sensibilities, to give me an appreciation of the aesthetic, the beautiful. My college training, my home life, my opportunities for travel, for reading."

"Do I seem to you a callous, hardened, unfeeling individual, susceptible to no impressions, able to commit a crime then thrust aside all thoughts of it, and sleep and eat and wear a calm manner?"

"Do I seem to be a man without a conscience do I seem to be incapable of remorse or fear?"

"Look at me! I am the opposite type the kind of man who would understand his position clearly and who would be given to worry, who would spend sleepless nights, and would show the strain under which he labors."

"Yet I have gained fifteen pounds in the last few weeks. I look better and I feel stronger. I tell you there is something psychological involved in the fact that I am physically fit."

"There isn't a man living who would compel his body to be normal, if he were in my condition and knew himself to be guilty."

Human Mind Won't Let Murderer Sleep.

"The human mind couldn't say to the murderer professing his innocence, 'You shall sleep ten hours, eat heartily, and seem and be well.'

At least, it couldn't say that and find itself obeyed."

"A guilty man in my condition couldn't be the physically hale and undisturbed man I am. I look the healthy part, don't I?"

He did.

Frank looks better at the time of his trial.

He is a small man, but he is vigorous.

His color is clear, his step is brisk.

Tossed into one corner of his cell are dumb-bells and Indian clubs.

He exercises regularly, and the healthful routine keeps him fit despite the confinement of his cell.

He welcomes visitors, and seldom is he found alone.

His silence before the supreme court's denial of his appeal for a new hearing was for expediency's sake, and was not due to taciturn disposition.

Since his first statement on Thursday to reporters he has seen them daily.

"Visit me whenever you wish," he says.

"I will answer all your questions; tell you whatever I can."

Until then Frank himself was a riddle.

He had spoken only through his attorneys, and had received no visits from reporters.

Silence seemed wisest, and he was as hard to spy as an Irish banshee.

But suddenly word was given that Frank was ready to see questioners, and to answer all the queries they could put.

Since then he had been under daily cross-examination, and his air of mystery has given way to definite impressions of Frank as an individual.

Student of Music And Literature.

He is young, alert, studious in looks, talks readily, but coolly, and drops occasionally into witticisms.

His words are precise, and at times they have a roundness that suggests careful reading.

As he sat for his photograph, with the passage just outside his cell as studio, conversation turned to music.

"I prefer 'Tannhauser' and 'Lohengrin,'" he said, "but I think 'Pagliacci' is the greatest of the Italian operas.

It is wonderful.

'Aida' probably is Verdi's best. I heard the Metropolitan sing that here, but it isn't one of the greatest of the operas."

"Wagner's music is beyond that of all other composers, but much of it is hard for even the music student to grasp, to understand.

I realized that from hearing his operas which make up 'The Ring' sung in Europe.

I had no opportunity to hear 'Parsifal' sung as an opera, but I have heard much of the 'Parsifal' music in snatches, and I find that I like it more as I hear it more."

"But of my European trips I remember most the voyages and the home-coming. I remember the days and nights on ship when there seems nothing in the world but water, and stars and God. I never knew before how the heavens could be lit with stars."

"Also I remember the peak in the Alps, and how the clouds obscured the country, then withdrew to show the villages and the fields washed by the rain."

He aided the photographer in selecting the lightest corner in the passageway surrounding his cell, and directed the focusing of the camera by holding a cigarette lighter above his head.

Three visitors, sitting in the passage before his door alternated conversation with glances round the corner of the cell at the subject sitting for his photograph.

One lingered with an approving smile, and nodded toward Frank:

"Innocent as a Baby," Says Visitor of Frank.

"Innocent as a baby," he said.

He was turning in jolly surprise and wheeled, pointing toward the cell which was closed on that side by a solid iron wall.

"Look a-there, Mr. Frank," he insisted.

"He's taken your seat. See!"

One of the three visitors, urged by curiosity, had entered the convicted man's cell, closed the door, seated himself in the plain deal chair, and was imagining how it would feel to be Leo Frank.

Three photographs were made, with delay after each exposure to let the flashlight smoke clear away.

Frank refused to go to the outer platform, where he would be in plain view of other prisoners.

He receives visitors gladly, but he seems to shrink from putting himself up as a spectacle for many to look at.

He was unwilling also to pose in his cell.

"I don't want to be pictured with bars around me," he objected.

"And now," he added, "if there's anything else you can think of"

He turned to his three friends.

"Can you suggest anything else I shall say?"

"Well," concluded Frank, "if there's anything later on you wish to ask, come back I'm ready for the newspapers to question me at any time."