Saturday: A new gardener and $1,500 in gold

BY MATT HANLEY Staff Writer

Warren Lincoln's trial was courtroom drama at its most frenzied. The circumstances -- Lincoln's wild lies, the gruesome murders of his wife and brother-in-law and Lincoln's tenuous connection to the 16th president -- brought out rubberneckers, speculators, onlookers and snoopers.

The case was so notorious and the legal issues so complex it took eight days and 375 tries before 12 men could be found who professed to be unbiased enough to sit on the jury.

Crowds stood in the hallways of the Geneva courthouse just to listen to the opening statements echo through the open doors. Seventy-five extra chairs were brought in for "trial fans" -- older women and high school girls who brought a lunch with them rather than give up a good seat during the break.

And the lawyers -- particularly Kane County State's Attorney Charles Abbott -- rose to the occasion, using verbiage he had apparently been saving for just the right case. Abbott told the jury Lincoln was a "rank liar" and a "cunning, crafty weaver of lies" who should be "stamped out as any pestilence."

"How are you going to face the people of this county unless you bring in a verdict that will hang this man by the neck until he is dead -- dead! dead!" Abbott implored.

Aurora's mayor, detectives, the city jailer, handwriting experts, medical doctors and psychiatrists all testified for prosecutors. Even a minister's wife took the stand and said Warren was sane, responsible for his crimes and should be executed.

Meanwhile, Lincoln's lawyers admitted their client's guilt, but begged the jury to vote against a hanging. Surely they could see Lincoln was a madman? Send him to prison, yes, but spare his life.

To convince the jury, they depended on a man who had spent months peering into the killer's psyche. For the first time in his 40-year career, Aurora Police Chief Frank Michels was called to testify for the defense. That infuriated the prosecutor.

"Did it ever occur to you, chief, that Lincoln thought you had a soft spot in your head and was trying to deceive you?" Abbott asked.

"In your head," Michels answered hotly, with the emphasis on the second word.

"Now don't get angry," Abbott replied, still on the attack. "I didn't say you had a soft spot in your head. I said: Did the thought occur to you that Lincoln might have thought so?"

"Oh, that's it," Michels said. "If I misunderstood, I apologize. Anyways, that's a foolish question to ask anybody."

Abbott continued pushing the chief. He made Michels walk the jury through Lincoln's many lies, his elaborate efforts to cover his tracks after he killed and cut up Lina Lincoln and Byron Shoup. But Michels insisted: Lincoln was crazy.

"You have an interest in this case, have you not?" Abbott asked.

"I have a conscience, that's all," Michels answered flatly.

The jury studied Michels, a man who staked his legacy of four decades of brilliant police work on this one bizarre case. He had spent years tracking evidence, then weeks coaxing a confession out of Lincoln. And in the end, Michels asked for compassion, not vengeance. Two deaths were enough. Executing Lincoln would not bring them back.

After five ballots and more than three hours of deliberation, the jury returned.

"We, the jury, find Warren J. Lincoln, guilty of murder," clerk Charles Farmiloe announced. He paused before reading the sentence.

"Imprisonment for the rest of his natural life."

Out of madness, the jury had found mercy.

Warren Lincoln spent the rest of his life in prison. Although at first he told reporters he was angry with the verdict -- and furious with Michels for calling him insane -- Lincoln quickly gave up an appeal.

On Feb. 9, 1925, he became prisoner No. 9632 at Joliet State Penitentiary. The prison's warden quickly found a suitable assignment for the man famous for his gladiolus and sweet peas.

"Lincoln has been assigned to the general duties in the prison yard," the warden's secretary announced. "There are flower beds to be taken care of."

In 1941, after failing to recover from gall bladder surgery, Lincoln died in prison. He was 62.

Three years after he took the stand in defense of Warren Lincoln -- and days after a second Aurora officer was killed on the city's streets -- Frank Michels announced he would retire.

Michels had served a remarkable 40 years on the department, more than 30 as chief of police. The Beacon News estimated he had worked on 100,000 cases.

The city's booster club planned a huge celebration, where they presented Michels with a 2-carat diamond ring and $1,500 in gold -- more than a year's pension.

Police chiefs from across Illinois came to the ceremony held at the Fox Theater, where it was noted that motion pictures were being taken for nationwide newsreels.

At the end of the event, Michels addressed the crowd. He looked back on a career that started in a farming town, but ended in a city -- with all the good and bad that entails.

"I do not know," Michels said, "that I am deserving of such marks, but I am very grateful. I only have done what I thought was my duty, and my one aim throughout my life has been to do as nearly right as my conscience told me. I am glad to say, after 40 years on the department, that I have never been guilty of a dishonest act, or a taken a dishonest dollar.

"When I entered the service, Aurora was little more than a village," he said. "It did not have the police problems that it has today. Facilities were not so good, in those days, for a criminal to make a getaway. If he wanted to get out of town he either had to go on the Burlington or walk. There were not the hard roads and the fast automobiles of today, giving opportunity (for) a fugitive to run to Chicago in an hour and bury himself in that great city."

In closing, Michels spoke for the men of his police department.

"I no longer speak for myself," he said. "But it is a shame that a city should feel no more responsibility toward its policeman, than to pay them little more than they would a street sweeper."

After the ceremony, Michels was made honorary detective, and given the power to act in that capacity any time he pleased. But he told the newspaper he had earned a rest and planned a motor trip through the south and west with his wife and son.

Unfortunately, life without a badge didn't last long.

Michels died Nov. 12, 1929, in his home on Lake Street at the age of 64. Solving the Warren Lincoln murders was mentioned in the obituaries that ran in dozens of Illinois newspapers. The story was re-told not to remember a madman, but to illustrate Michels' courage and diligence, honesty and kindness.

"His word was good as his bond," the Beacon editorial said on the day Michels died. "He never went back on a friend. He saved grownups and young from themselves. The epitaph might well be his: He loved and served."