“William Edward Hickman, stand up.”
Hickman, sitting in the courtroom between his lawyers, Richard Cantillon and Jerome Walsh, stood as the judge ordered. The jury was in the box and had been sworn in. Judge Trabucco was on the bench. Hickman’s trial was about to begin.
Hickman’s attorneys had another problem. The former star of the high school debate team continued to insist that he take the stand in his own defense. Hickman appeared to enjoy the spotlight, however negative. He had wanted to commit a big crime, and since he didn’t get away without capture, he seemed to take some solace in receiving all of the negative attention on so grand a scale. It was also determined by various therapists who knew Hickman’s backstory that he was, in a roundabout way, trying to avenge his poor showing at the two national debates. With the world at his attention, he wanted to recount his actions regarding Marion’s kidnapping, murder, and dismemberment with the same fluency as he had for his lawyers. Already trying to attract attention to his testimony, Hickman even told reporters that he would speak in his own defense, “whether they liked it or not.” Of course, his lawyers did not like the idea of his speaking. They felt that it would ruin their attempt to prove him insane.
Hickman’s chief defense attorney, Jerome Walsh, countered Edward’s statement to the newspapers. “We do not want Hickman to take the witness stand in view of his insanity defense, and we have told him so. Of course, if he is determined to talk we cannot stop him, but such a move will seriously injure defense plans.”[1]
Hickman believed that the psychiatrists who examined him in his jail cell and who were seated at the front of the courtroom were making observations as to his behavior, catching the attention of the jury. Hickman believed that he should show the court what a good debater he was. He saw the courtroom situation as little more than another debate, the skills in which he took great pride. His having received honorable mention instead of a top prize back in high school still rankled him. He wanted to display his skills in what he considered the ultimate debate: the courtroom. And to be doing it with the world at his attention was too grand of an opportunity for Hickman to ignore.
The attorneys knew that Hickman would not be called on the first day, so they decided to convene and come up with a strategy that would convince Hickman that his taking the witness stand would not be in his best interest. Each time Hickman retold the story of Marion Parker’s murder, he added more gruesome details. Presenting the same account in the courtroom as he had told Richard Cantillon, in the same relaxed manner, would certainly affect an already angry public, including the twelve jurors. If the lawyers could do anything at all, they would do everything possible to keep Hickman from displaying his oratory skills on the stand in an attempt at his own defense.
As the trial was about to begin, deputy sheriffs were stationed at the entrances to the courthouse to search spectators for potential arms. There were no metal detectors back then. The deputies had to search each entrant individually. The jail had received many letters threatening to kill Hickman. The law was taking no chances that this trial would be abruptly thwarted by an assassin’s bullet.
At the outset of the trial, Judge Trabucco presented the new California law regarding trials about a person’s sanity:[2] “Insanity means such a diseased and deranged condition of the mental faculties as to render the person incapable of distinguishing between right and wrong in relation to the act with which he is charged. An irresistible impulse to commit an act, which a party knows to be wrong and unlawful, does not constitute the insanity, which is a legal defense.
“The standard of accountability is this: Had the party sufficient mental capacity to appreciate the character and quality of the act? Did he know and understand that it was a violation of the rights of another and in itself wrong? If he had the capacity thus to appreciate the character and comprehend the possible or probable consequences of his act, he is responsible to the law for the act thus committed and is to be judged accordingly.
“Although it is true that generally the burden of proof is upon the prosecution, yet to this rule there is this exception: Where insanity is relied upon as a defense, the burden of proving the existence of such insanity is on the defendant, and it is incumbent upon him to establish by preponderance of evidence that he was insane at the time of committing the act charged.”
For his part, Hickman had been stoic throughout the proceedings as far as the public and the press were concerned. Any emotional disruptions were always exhibited away from the newspaper reporters and the jaded, critical eye of the general public.
The clerk read the indictment aloud:[3] “In the Superior Court of the State of California in and for the County of Los Angeles, Indictment Number 32543 filed December 22, 1927, The People of the State of California, Plaintiff, versus William Edward Hickman, Defendant. The said William Edward Hickman is accused by the Grand Jury of the County of Los Angeles with the crime of murder, a felony, committed at and in the County of Los Angeles, State of California, and before the finding of this indictment as follows to wit: That the said William Edward Hickman, on or about the 17th day of December, 1927, at and in the County of Los Angeles, State of California, did willfully, unlawfully, and feloniously, and with malice afterthought, kill and murder one of the statute in such cases made and provided and against the peace and dignity of the People of the State of California.
“The defendant, Hickman, pleads not guilty by reason of insanity to that charge, and is now before you for trial.”
Hickman’s stoicism gave way to obvious nervousness. He fidgeted, squirmed in his chair, and would frequently run his finger around the inside of his collar. Meanwhile, the front-row psychiatrists took notes as the jurors looked on. Hickman’s ploys would now have to work themselves out in a court of law. It was not another fantasy. Hickman was on trial for the murder of Marion Parker, and his life was now at stake.
As the trial began, many important persons who were involved in the case appeared in court. Mary Holt, the school official who allowed Marion to leave school with Hickman, was among the first. The tremendous stress that she had endured in the past several weeks had caused her to look as if she had aged ten years. She had endured a series of breakdowns and was under a doctor’s care. Her attendance at school became sporadic, but the administration sympathized with her. Even the Parker family did not speak out in blame for her lack of judgment in allowing one of the students for which she was responsible to leave the building with a stranger who later killed and dismembered her.
Mary Holt’s husband helped her as she slowly approached the bench. She appeared as if she would collapse before reaching her destination, but she made it to the bench and sat down. Maintaining as much composure as she could muster, Mary Holt once again tearfully pointed out Hickman in court, and her quivering voice recounted the day that she made the worst decision of her life. “Oh, I can think of many things I could have done now,” she said. “I never would have let Marion go but for the apparent sincerity and disarming manner of the man.”[4] She gave as many details as she could. She began shaking and crying. The lawyers and the judge did not question her for long. Once they had finished, she left the courtroom.
The district attorney’s chief investigator, George Contreras, was soon on the witness stand, recalling the night he went to Manhattan Place after receiving an urgent call and found a shocked, grief-stricken Perry Parker and the mutilated remains of Marion Parker.
“We searched the automobile and searched the area. When the coroner arrived, I carried the little body out of Parker’s car and put it in the dead wagon; then we came down to the morgue with it.”[5]
Contreras was a tough guy in the same vein as “Hard-Boiled” Herman Cline. He was normally unshakable. But it took great amount of effort to retain any sense of emotional stability as he recounted the events of that evening when he was the first to arrive on the scene, to see Perry Parker just after his having discovered his dead, dismembered little girl. And he recalled his own first look at Marion, her deadened eyes staring blankly, with the eyelids carefully stitched open. Contreras’s toughness was hardly enough to suppress his emotions as he recounted these details.
George Watson, a Los Angeles Times photographer, was allowed to act in an official capacity and take pictures for the coroner of Marion Parker’s mutilated remains. These pictures were presented in court and offered to the jury for inspection.
The photographs of Marion Parker’s dismembered body were more gruesome than any of the twelve jurors could have imagined. Here was the little girl who had gained a certain infamy on her kidnapping and murder. A picture of her playful, smiling face had graced newspapers across the country. Now the jurors looked at the severed limbs, the torso that ended just below the naval, and the lifeless face with the eyes stitched open. Reading about Marion’s fate had certainly been unsettling, but it was nothing compared to the enormity of viewing these terrible graphic images. Each of the twelve jurors exhibited shocked, horrified expressions. One of the women fainted. Judge Trabucco adjourned court for the day.
“Bear in mind, ladies and gentlemen, the admonition of this court: Do not talk among yourselves or with anyone else upon any subject connected with this trial, or form or express any opinion thereon, until the case is finally submitted to you.”[6]
Meanwhile, one of the doctors who examined Hickman told the press that Jerome Walsh said that Hickman had repudiated his confession. Walsh claimed that he had not discussed that subject with anyone and had not made a statement of any kind regarding a repudiation by his client. Mr. Walsh did reveal his and Richard Cantillon’s plans for continuing the fight for Hickman’s life should their defense be met with defeat in the accused killer’s insanity trial once it resumed the following Monday. Walsh stated that if the jury members in the present trial would find that William Edward Hickman was sane at the time of his crime, an arrest of judgment will be asked, along with a demand for another trial on the plea that the defendant is now insane. Meanwhile, District Attorney Asa Keyes responded to Hickman’s alleged disclaimer with an assertion not only that Hickman had admitted his guilt in written and spoken forms but also that his plea of guilty by reason of insanity was itself a direct and legal admission of the facts of the crime.
Hickman’s father, William Thomas Hickman, was set to take the stand once the trial resumed. It was an attempt by the defense to show the lineage of insanity among Hickman’s family members.
“Jury Selected. Tentatively Includes 3 Women,” Los Angeles Times, January 27, 1928.
“Jury Selected.”
Richard Cantillon, In Defense of the Fox (Anderson, SC: Droke House/Hallux, 1972).
“I Never Should Have Let Marion Go,” Los Angeles Times, January 27, 1928.
Michael Newton, Stolen Away (New York: Pocket Books, 2000).
Newton, Stolen Away.