Campbell sensed the enormity of the case. The person who shot Dr. Short might be American, he thought. The number of potential suspects was unknown, and they were spread across the continent. He would need to go through American authorities, tap federal, state and city law enforcement agencies to look for pro-life activists with violent histories. It boggled the mind. There was, on the Internet, a document called The Army of God Manual. It was a manifesto offering direction for those anxious to take the gloves off in the abortion debate. “This is a manual for those who have come to understand that the battle against abortion is a battle not against flesh and blood, but against the devil and all the evil he can muster.” There was advice on how to battle in court, and tactics for vandalizing clinics. (“By simply walking by the doors of the abortuary and squirting super glue into the locks you have effectively stopped the opening of the killing center.”)There were philosophical musings on submitting your life completely and totally to the cause:
Some single covert activists will be counted as wise for at least considering, prayerfully, the possibility of a life of single-minded covert activism. Practically speaking, a covert activist with no ties could save thousands of children and their mothers in a lifetime. Once an activist is married, and especially after having children, the constraints of parenthood are profound.
Compassion for one’s own brood will curtail the level of covert activity—and a lot of other activity as well! Most termites are going to be busy making the next generation of warriors. But for those few exceptions, carry on proudly with unbridled and righteous fury. Ut in omnibus glorificetur Deus! All of our options have expired. Our most Dread Sovereign Lord God requires that whosoever sheds man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed. Not out of hatred for you, but out of the love for the persons you exterminate, we are forced to take up arms against you. Our life for yours, a simple equation. Dreadful. Sad. Reality nonetheless. You shall be tortured at our hands. Vengeance belongs to God only. However, execution is rarely gentle.
Mike Campbell saw only nicknames listed for the activists: Baby Huey, Intimidator, Mad Gluer, Cannonball, Daisy, Road Warrior, Scruffy South, Iron Maiden. The Army of God Manual also contained a cryptic dedication: “Special thanks to Atomic Dog, you nuclear canine.”
San Francisco, California
1967
Chuck Kopp rose from bed, stepped on the floor and ambled to the bathroom. His limp was not helped by the weight he had been putting on. At 45, the husband, father of five, corporate lawyer, could see in the mirror his graying, receding hair and thick face. Only the green eyes had not changed. Perhaps he also saw a flash of the young man who had been a wiry and slender six feet tall, a young Marine in khaki uniform serving in the Second world war. He put on the pressed white shirt, blue tie, gray suit. Old school dress, as always, because that’s what Chuck Kopp was, a man’s man. He got into his company car, backed carefully out of the steeply sloping driveway, and then down the hill, out to Sir Francis Drake Boulevard to Highway 101 and out of Marin County.
In 10 minutes he’d emerge from the early-morning sunshine and perhaps hit the fog rolling in to San Francisco Bay as he crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. He worked as chief legal counsel for West Coast Life.
He worked with friends like Anne, Harry and Joan. They would often lunch at Sam’s Grill, a fashionable spot in the financial district on Bush Street, their preferred seats being the dark brown wooden booths—real booths, with walls extending up nearly to the ceiling and a curtain in the doorway for privacy. (Some lawyers chose them to do private business, but still checked the neighboring booths to ensure no one was eavesdropping.) They talked business over some Napa Valley wine, Sam’s legendary sand dabs and creamed spinach. Chuck Kopp was polite, held doors for women. He spoke in a deep baritone, mannered, intelligent. There was something just below the surface, a toughness that those who spent time with him could sense. When angered, though, Chuck would not let it out.
Charles Leo “Chuck” Kopp was born in 1922 in Los Angeles, named after his father, Charles Sr., who had emigrated from Austria. Chuck’s parents were Christian Scientists and the story went that he quit the group in his late teens when he was told to have his appendix removed and his mother opposed the operation, urging him to let God take care of it.
Also in 1922, on April 13, Nancy Leonard was born in Los Angeles to Walter Leonard, a physician, and Kathryn Leonard. Both Chuck and Nancy attended John Marshall High, a school named for America’s most famous Supreme Court justice. Alphabetic fate brought them together. The class was seated that way: Kopp, then Leonard. Chuck was tall and lean, Nancy had sandy-blond hair. Back then, a couple could be called high school sweethearts without a trace of irony. And Chuck and Nancy were just that, sweethearts, destined to one day be married.
By the summer of 1941 they had graduated. Nancy went to Berkeley for nursing, Chuck to Los Angeles City College before attending College of the Redlands. The war against the Nazis had raged in Europe for almost two years. What cause is just enough to go to war? So far, the war against Hitler was not a struggle for which Americans were ready to fight, die, and kill. On Sunday, December 7, 1941, America’s dreamy isolation exploded at Pearl Harbor. Monday morning, Chuck Kopp enlisted in the Marines. He scored high enough on his entrance exam that he was sent for officer’s training in Virginia, and became a lieutenant.
The training center was in Quantico, which later became the home of the FBI’s behavioral science unit—a place where, one day in the distant future, Chuck’s son would be the subject of concerted attention. Nancy, meanwhile, earned her nursing diploma at St. Mary’s Hospital in Minnesota. In 1944, she took a train cross-country to visit Chuck in Quantico. They got married that year. They were both 22 years old.
Early in 1945, Chuck was shipped out to California, en route to Hawaii, where he stayed for about six months awaiting orders for the anticipated invasion of Japan. The invasion never happened, and Chuck never saw combat. On August 6, an 8,000-pound atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, killing about 70,000 people. A second bomb was dropped on Nagasaki on August 9, killing 40,000. An American invasion of the main island of Japan would have produced massive casualties for both sides. The bomb perhaps saved lives. But it killed, over time, perhaps as many as 350,000 people, some instantly, some slowly, rotting bodies from the inside out. When does the end justify the means? When is it just to kill an innocent? In the autumn of 1945, American forces landed to mop up and occupy the country, and Chuck was among those in the occupational force, based in Osaka.
After the war Chuck and Nancy Kopp lived in San Gabriel, and then settled in nearby South Pasadena. Chuck entered law school at the University of Southern California. On July 20, 1948, before Chuck had finished law school, Nancy Kopp gave birth to their first child, Anne. In 1949, Chuck graduated with his doctorate in jurisprudence—finishing in the top third of his class. At the end of that year, December 17, 1949, Martha—“Marty”—was born. The Kopps lived in a roomy two-storey home at 1947 Oak Street in South Pasadena, a city located along historic Route 66, just ten miles from downtown Los Angeles. It was an idyllic place, although the neighborhood was still haunted by the “Monday Massacre,” which occurred less than a kilometer from Chuck and Nancy’s home.