injuries in a car accident in
July, 1950. Prior to the accident, Dick had been a «happy-go-lucky boy,» had done well in school,
been popular with his classmates and considerate of his parents — «No trouble to anybody.»
Harrison Smith, gently guiding the witness, said, «I will ask you if, after July, 1950, you observed
any change in the personality and habits and actions of your son, Richard?»
«He just didn’t act like the same boy.»
«What were the changes you observed?»
Mr. Hickock, between pensive hesitations, listed several: Dick was sulky and restless, he ran
around with older men, drank and gambled. «He just wasn’t the same boy.»
The last assertion was promptly challenged by Logan Green, who undertook the crossexamination. «Mr. Hickock, you say you never had any trouble with your son until after 1950?»
«. . . I think he got arrested in 1949.»
A citric smile bent Green’s tiny lips. «Remember what he was arrested for?»
«He was accused of breaking into a drugstore.»
«Accused? Didn’t he admit that he broke into the store?»
«That’s right, he did.»
«And that was in 1949. Yet now you tell us your son had a change in his attitude and conduct
after 1950?»
«I would say so, yes.»
«You mean that after 1950 he became a good boy?»
Hard coughs agitated the old man; he spat into a handkerchief. «No,» he said, studying the
discharge. «I wouldn’t say that.»
«Then what was the change that took place?»
«Well, that would be pretty hard to explain. He just didn’t act like the same boy.»
«You mean he lost his criminal tendencies?»
The lawyer’s sally induced guffaws, a courtroom flare-up that Judge Tate’s dour gaze soon
extinguished. Mr. Hickock, presently set free, was replaced on the stand by Dr. W. Mitchell Jones.
Dr. Jones identified himself to the court as a «physician specializing in the field of psychiatry,» and
in support of his qualifications, added that he had attended perhaps fifteen hundred patients since
1956, the year he had entered a psychiatric residency at Topeka State Hospital in Topeka,
Kansas. For the past two years he had served on the staff of Larned State Hospital, where he
was in charge of the Dillon Building, a section reserved for the criminally insane.
Harrison Smith asked the witness, «Approximately how many murderers have you dealt with?»
«About twenty-five.» »Doctor, I would like to ask you if you know my client, Richard Eugene Hickock?»
«I do.»
«Have you had occasion to examine him professionally?»
«Yes, sir … I made a psychiatric evaluation of Mr., Hickock.»
«Based upon your examination, do you have an opinion as to whether or not Richard Eugene
Hickock knew right from wrong at the time of the commission of the crime?»
The witness, a stout man of twenty-eight with a moon-shaped but intelligent, subtly delicate face,
took a deep breath, as though to equip himself for a prolonged reply — which the judge then
cautioned him he must not make: «You may answer the question yes or no, Doctor. Limit your
answer to yes or no.»
«Yes.»
«And what is your opinion?»
«I think that within the usual definitions Mr. Hickock did know right from wrong.»
Confined as he was by the M’Naghten Rule («the usual definitions»), a formula quite color-blind to
any gradations between black and white, Dr. Jones was impotent to answer otherwise. But of
course the response was a letdown for Hickock’s attorney, who hopelessly asked, «Can you
qualify that answer?»
It was hopeless because though Dr. Jones agreed to elaborate, the prosecution was entitled to
object — and did, citing the fact that Kansas law allowed nothing more than a yes or no reply to the
pertinent question. The objection was upheld, and the witness dismissed. However, had Dr.
Jones been allowed to speak further, here is what he would have testified: «Richard Hickock is
above average in intelligence, grasps new ideas easily and has a wide fund of information. He is
alert to what is happening around him, and he shows no sign of mental confusion or
disorientation. His thinking is well organized and logical and he seems to be in good contact with
reality. Although I did not find the usual signs of organic brain damage — memory loss, concrete
concept formation, intellectual deterioration — this cannot be completely ruled out. He had a
serious head injury with concussion and several hours of unconsciousness in 1950 — this was
verified by me by checking hospital records. He says he has had blackout spells, periods of
amnesia, and headaches ever since that time, and a major portion of his antisocial behavior has
occurred since that time. He has never had the medical tests which would definitely prove or
disprove the existence of residual brain damage. Definitive medical tests are indicated before a
complete evaluation can be said to exist. . . . Hickock does show signs of emotional abnormality.
That he knew what he was doing and still went ahead with it is possibly the most clear-cut
demonstration of this fact. He is a person who is impulsive in action, likely to do things without
thought of consequences or future discomfort to himself or to others. He does not seem to be
capable of learning from experience, and he shows an unusual pattern of intermittent periods of
productive activity followed by patently irresponsible actions. He cannot tolerate feelings of
frustration as a more normal person can, and he is poorly able to rid himself of those feelings
except through antisocial activity. . . . His self-esteem is very low, and he secretly feels inferior to
others and sexually inadequate. These feelings seem to be overcompensated for by dreams of
being rich and powerful, a tendency to brag about his exploits, spending sprees when he has
money, and dissatisfaction with only the normal slow advancement he could expect from his job. .
. . He is uncomfortable in his relationships to other people, and has a pathological inability to form
and hold enduring personal attachments. Although he professes usual moral standards he seems
obviously uninfluenced by them in his actions. In summary, he shows fairly typical characteristics
of what would psychiatrically be called a severe character disorder. It is important that steps be
taken to rule out the possibility of organic brain damage, since, if present, it might have
substantially influenced his behavior during the past several years and at the time of the crime.»
Aside from a formal plea to the jury, which would not take place until the morrow, the
psychiatrist’s testimony terminated Hickock’s planned defense. Next it was the turn of Arthur
Fleming, Smith’s elderly counselor. He presented four witnesses: the Reverend James E. Post,
the Protestant chaplain at Kansas State Penitentiary; Perry’s Indian friend, Joe James, who after
all had arrived by bus that morning, having traveled a day and two nights from his wilderness
home in the Far Northwest; Donald Cullivan; and, once again, Dr. Jones. Except for the latter,
these men were offered as «character witnesses» — persons expected to attribute to the accused a
few human virtues. They did not fare very well, though each of them negotiated some skimpily favorable remark before the protesting prosecution, which contended that personal comments of
this nature were «incompetent, irrelevant, immaterial,» hushed and banished them. For example,
Joe James, dark-haired, even darker-skinned than
Perry, a lithe figure who with his faded huntsman’s shirt and moccasined feet looked as though he
had that instant mysteriously emerged from woodland shadows, told the court that the defendant
had lived with him off and on for over two years. «Perry was a likable kid, well liked around the
neighborhood — he never done one thing out of the way to my knowledge.» The state stopped him
there; and stopped Cullivan, too, when he said, «During the time I knew him in the Army, Perry
was a very likable fellow.»
The Reverend Post survived somewhat longer, for he made no direct attempt to compliment the
prisoner, but described sympathetically an encounter with him at Lansing. «I first met Perry Smith
when he came to my office in the prison chapel with a picture he had painted — a head-andshoulders portrait of Jesus Christ done in pastel crayon. He wanted to give it to me for use in the
chapel. It’s been hanging on the walls of my office ever since.»
Fleming said, «Do you have a photograph of that painting?» The minister had an envelope full; but
when he produced them, ostensibly for distribution among the jurors, an exasperated Logan
Green leaped to his feet: «If Your Honor please, this is going too far . . .» His Honor saw that it
went no further.
Dr. Jones was now recalled, and following the preliminaries that had accompanied his original
appearance, Fleming put to him the crucial query: «From your conversations and examination of
Perry Edward Smith, do you have an opinion as to whether he knew right from wrong at the time
of the offense involved in this action?» And once more the court admonished the witness:
«Answer yes or no, do you have an opinion?»
«No.»
Amid surprised mutters, Fleming, surprised himself, said, «You may state to the jury why you
have no opinion.»
Green objected: «The man has no opinion, and that’s it» Which it was, legally speaking.
But had Dr. Jones been permitted to discourse on the cause of his indecision, he would have
testified: «Perry Smith shows definite signs of severe mental illness. His childhood, related to me
and verified by portions of the prison records, was marked by brutality and lack of concern on the
part of both parents. He seems to have grown up without direction, without love, and without ever
having absorbed any fixed sense of moral values.. . . He is oriented, hyper alert to things going
on about him, and shows no sign of confusion. He is above average in intelligence, and has a
good range of information considering his poor educational background. . . . Two features in his
personality make-up stand out as particularly pathological. The first is his ‘paranoid’ orientation
toward the world. He is suspicious and distrustful of others, tends to feel that others discriminate
against him, and feels that others are unfair to him and