“Mr. Nelson, if the prosecuting attorney proved to you, beyond any reasonable doubt, that these three young boys were guilty of premeditated murder, would you have any qualms about voting for a verdict of guilty?”
“Why should I have any qualms?”
“Because there is a mandatory death penalty attached to the crime of first-degree murder.”
“No, I would not have any qualms.”
“You would send them to the electric chair?”
“Yes. If they were guilty, I would.”
“If, on the other hand, the facts as presented seemed to warrant a plea for leniency, could you find it in keeping with your morals and your ethics to ask the court for leniency in sentencing these boys?”
“I could.”
“Yes, and if we can show that a lesser crime than first-degree murder was committed, would you accept the facts as shown and consider bringing in a verdict on, for example, second-degree murder or manslaughter?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“He means,” Samalson interrupted, “that whereas the district attorney will try to prove that these boys committed murder in the first degree, the facts as presented before this court may indicate that a lesser crime, such as second degree murder or manslaughter, was actually committed. In which case, would you allow the grand-jury indictment or the high office of the district attorney to prejudice you against bringing in a verdict for a lesser crime?”
“No, I would not.”
“Does that answer your question, Mr. Randolph?”
“It does. Thank you, Your Honor. And if it were shown before this court that these boys did not commit any crime, would you vote for an acquittal, would you set them free?”
“I would.”
“Thank you,” Randolph said. “Excuse this juror.”
“Tell me, Mrs. Riley, where do you live?”
“On a Hundred Thirty-eighth Street and Bruckner Boulevard.”
“Are there many Puerto Ricans in that neighborhood?”
“Yes, there are quite a few.”
“Do you like the neighborhood?”
“It’s all right.”
“There are things about it you don’t like?”
“Yes, there are some things.”
“Like what, for example?”
“Well, the neighborhood’s getting run down.”
“What do you mean by ‘run down’?”
“Well, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. Would you please explain it, Mrs. Riley?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Bell,” Samalson said, “but what are you getting at?”
“I don’t think I have to mince words here, Your Honor. The dead boy in this case was a Puerto Rican. I am trying to find out whether or not Mrs. Riley may feel the neighborhood is getting run down because Puerto Ricans are moving into it.”
“Then don’t mince words, and ask the question directly.”
“Is that what you feel, Mrs. Riley?”
“Well, I certainly don’t think the Puerto Ricans are helping real estate val—”
“Challenge,” Hank said.
“Would you have any objections to sitting on a jury where the case being tried is a murder case?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been on three juries in the past two years. I don’t like jury duty, and I wish they’d stop calling me.”
“If there are no objections,” Samalson said sourly, “I think we can excuse this good citizen.”
“Do you have any children, Mrs. Frankworth?”
“Yes. I have three children.”
“Boys or girls?”
“Mixed.”
“How old are they?”
“Thirteen, ten and eight.”
“Could you send three boys to the electric chair?”
“Yes, I think so. If they were guilty.”
“Do you think they are guilty?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Have you read anything about this case in the newspapers?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve formed no opinion yet as to whether the boys are guilty or innocent.”
“No. I don’t believe what I read in the newspapers.”
“Will you believe what you hear in this court?”
“Yes.”
“Will you believe everything you hear?”
“What do you mean?”
“You may hear conflicting stories from the prosecution and the defense. Your delivering a verdict assumes you must believe one or the other.”
“I’d have to hear the facts first. Then I’d decide what was right and what was wrong.”
“Is murder wrong, Mrs. Frankworth?”
“Sometimes, yes.”
“Not always.”
“I don’t think it’s wrong if the murder was committed in self-defense.”
“Have you ever known any Puerto Ricans?”
“No, sir.”
“Would you mind living next door to one?”
“I’ve never lived next door to one, so I wouldn’t know. I guess if they were good neighbors, I wouldn’t mind at all.”
“Were you born in this city, Mrs. Frankworth?”
“No.”
“Where were you born?”
“In England. I came to America when I was twelve years old.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Frankworth. If the court please, I have no objection to empaneling this juror.”
“What sort of work do you do, Mr. Abbeney?”
“I own a chain of restaurants.”
“Where?”
“Here in the city.”
“Do you employ Puerto Ricans?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They’re good workers.”
“How many Puerto Ricans are in your employ?”
“Oh, I’d say about fifty or so.”
“Ever deal with them personally?”
“Sure. I like Puerto Ricans.”
“Do you employ any Negroes?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I just never have, that’s all.”
“You don’t have any principles against hiring Negroes, do you?”
“I should say not. I’ve just never had the opportunity to employ them, that’s all.”
“Mr. Bell,” Samalson said, “as far as I know, there are no Negroes involved in this case. This may become a rather lengthy trial, and I can see no reason for prolonging it by questioning prospective jurors on matters which can have no possible bearing on the case.”
“I was simply trying to find out, Your Honor, how far Mr. Abbeney’s tolerance extended.”
“Nonetheless, his attitude toward Negroes could not have any relevant bearing on the case before this court.”
“Then I have no further questions, Your Honor. I’d like this man excused.”
It took a week for both sides to agree on the jurors they wanted. At the end of that time the attorneys made their opening statements. Hank told the jury he would prove beyond reasonable doubt that the three boys were guilty of first-degree murder. The defense attorneys, quite naturally, told the jury that they would prove the boys were innocent.
“You will hear a lot of inflammatory oratory during this trial,” one of the defense attorneys said, “a lot of impassioned speeches about racial tolerance, about physical handicaps, about this poor innocent blind boy who was allegedly ruthlessly murdered by these three youngsters. But we ask you, in the name of justice, in the name of fairness, in the name of God, to listen with your minds and not with your emotions. We will present the facts clearly and logically, and those facts, when added up unemotionally, will tell you what verdict to bring back from that solemn room where you will decide whether or not three young boys will be deprived of their lives. And that verdict will be Not Guilty.”
And then the trial began in earnest.
The witnesses were paraded: the policemen who had made the arrest, the assistant D.A. who had initially handled the call from the detective squad room, Lieutenant Gunnison, Detective Larsen — all testifying to the blood-smeared condition of the three boys on the night of July 10. On the second day of the trial, Hank called Anthony Aposto to the stand. A hush fell over the courtroom as the boy was sworn in. He wore a neat blue suit, a white shirt, a dark tie. He took the chair and Hank approached him, studied him for a moment and then said, “Would you tell the court your name, please?”