Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Dr. Paul Leland Kirk

Chapter One: Sherlock Holmes Meets Paul Leland Kirk

Being responsible for publicity concerning the methods and achievements of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I took it upon myself to arrange a meeting between Mr. Holmes and his 20th-century colleague Dr. Paul Leland Kirk.

As you no doubt are aware, my friend Sherlock Holmes is highly regarded, most notably in London and throughout Great Britain, for his keen skills of observation and logical deduction, both of which he employed to solve the most baffling mysteries of the late 1800s. I believe I can state without exaggeration that Holmes is probably the most famous criminal investigator of all time.

Dr. Kirk, of course, is one of the most well-respected and experienced criminalists of the 1950s, called upon to unravel murder cases all across the United States of America. It was he who first investigated the infamous – and unsolved to this day – murder of Mrs. Marilyn Sheppard. I say he was the “first” to investigate the murder because, as became obvious during the course of Kirk’s careful investigation, the local authorities had never carried out an objective search for the truth. Starting on the day Mrs. Sheppard’s body was found, the county coroner and Cleveland detectives operated from the premise that Dr. Sam Sheppard killed his wife, and they completely ignored evidence that didn’t fit their “open and shut” case of domestic violence.

I had taken the liberty of arranging the meeting and telling Holmes about it afterward (uncharacteristically assertive for me, I know) and was now pacing the floor in Holmes’ upstairs flat worried about its outcome.

“Well, Watson, what’s this all about? When is this Kirk fellow arriving and why are you so insistent that we meet?”

Holmes was peering out his window, half hidden behind the curtain as was his usual custom. Smoke curled upward from the cigarette he held behind his back, but I could tell he was intrigued.

“As you know, my dear fellow, Dr. Kirk is the criminalist who investigated the Sheppard murder case in January of 1955.”

“As I recall, Watson, Dr. Sam Sheppard was convicted of killing his wife in December 1954.”

“You are correct, as usual, and that is exactly why I want you and Kirk to meet.”

Although Holmes is always seriously informed on criminal matters, I had taken it upon myself to study the details of this case. I went on to explain as we both took a seat at the table. Draped in linen by Mrs. Hudson, Holmes’ fastidious housekeeper, the table was set with three cups on saucers, matching flowered plates and polished silver, all awaiting the arrival of our guest.

“The prosecution, as was evidently de rigueur for the State of Ohio back in 1954, did not allow the defense to mount an investigation of the crime scene until after the trial. And now, despite the new evidence that Kirk scientifically uncovered, the State of Ohio is determined to continue blaming Sheppard for this murder.”

“And so?”

“Holmes, how many times have I heard you say that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth! I tell you Kirk found irrefutable facts proving that Sam Sheppard did not murder his wife, but his findings were repressed by the State of Ohio.”

I knew I was overstepping my usual role in our relationship, but I was determined to make my point and gain Sherlock’s full support before Dr. Kirk came on the scene.

“Kirk is a kindred spirit,” I added. “He – like you – is a criminalist.”

Pushing on, I read aloud a quote from one of Kirk’s manuscripts, which I extracted from my vest pocket and unfolded with a flourish.

“Kirk distinguishes criminalistics from criminology, detective and police work,” I said. “He writes, and I quote, ‘Criminalistics is the science that deals with laboratory investigation of crime. It is the study of physical evidence as contrasted with the type of evidence that is dependent upon statements of persons (witnesses). It is the part of crime detection that is concerned only with finding out the facts that are revealed by the physical objects involved with the crime.”

“Furthermore, and you know the truth of this as well, Kirk explains that although the ultimate purpose of criminalistics is to identify a person – the criminal – sometimes that person must be identified indirectly. That is, the physical facts of the crime can reveal who the criminal is not and ultimately lead the investigation toward another suspect.”

I leaned across the table toward Holmes and looked directly into his eyes, “Now I ask you, what if Sherlock Holmes could collaborate with Kirk and help an innocent man by lending his vast reputation and name to Kirk’s investigation?”

At that exact moment, Mrs. Hudson knocked at the door and ushered Dr. Kirk into the sitting room. Holmes remained seated, somewhat imperiously I thought, while I rose to shake hands with Kirk and to make introductions.

“Welcome to 221B Baker Street, Dr. Kirk. I am Dr. Watson and this is my good friend and esteemed colleague, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, may I present Dr. Paul Leland Kirk.”

Holmes did stand and shake hands at that point, thank goodness. We all sat as Mrs. Hudson returned with a pot of hot coffee and a plate of most-welcome buttered scones.

Sipping coffee and exchanging brief pleasantries, I was surprised to see that Dr. Kirk was dressed in a dark suit and tie, similar again to Holmes, but in a more modern cut. I must confess I expected the American professorial stereotype — tweed jacket with suede elbow patches over chino pants. Kirk’s intense blue eyes seemed to see quite as perceptively, I was sure, as Holmes’ famously piercing gaze.

“Dr. Kirk,” Holmes, said in his usual direct manner, “Watson here seems to think that we have much in common and that I might be able to assist you in some way with your investigation of the Sheppard murder case. Does that idea have any merit?”

“Quite so,” I interjected, hoping to introduce my ideas more smoothly, but what else could be said? Dr. Kirk responded to Holmes without my assistance.

“Yes. Dr. Watson explained his intention for this meeting, and I am certainly open to exploring the benefits of this collaboration.”

“In that case,” said Holmes, “please tell me, sir, how did you become involved with this murder investigation?”

“On the evening of January 8, 1955, I received a telephone call at my home in Berkeley, California. It was William Corrigan, Dr. Sam Sheppard’s attorney. He asked if I would be willing to travel to Cleveland and re-investigate the murder. Corrigan’s exact words were: ‘I’m so sure Dr. Sam is innocent that I’d like to have someone who is completely unbiased come here and conduct a thorough investigation of this case.’”

“And did you agree to his request?”

“I hesitated at first. I was aware that recently Dr. Sam had been sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of his wife, Marilyn. And although I had not read the stories carefully, for several months from every newsstand I had seen newspaper headlines proclaiming that Dr. Sam had told an unbelievable story; that he had inflicted his own injuries; that he had refused a lie-detector test. Unless these and similar statements were pure hysteria, I, too, would have to suspect that Sam Sheppard was guilty. This raised my doubts. Would it be a mistake to re-investigate what appeared to have been a fair trial of a guilty man?”

“What changed your mind?”

“It was Corrigan’s firm conviction that injustice had been done.”

“Excellent!” proclaimed Holmes.

“And Mr. Holmes,” Kirk added, “my experience over the many years that I have practiced and taught the science of criminalistics, has proven two things: 1) Too much investigation is almost impossible, and 2) Too little is far too common.”

“Bravo! My feelings precisely! You may be right on about this collaboration, my dear Watson.”

I smiled to myself, pleased to have earned his approval on this matter so quickly. But I should have guessed, it would take much more discussion before Holmes and Kirk agreed to my plan for collaboration and . . . did I mention? . . . confrontation.

Information on Dr. Kirk’s investigation is based on the court-submitted Affidavit of Dr. Paul Leland Kirk (a complete copy is available on www.drsamsheppard.org) and the unpublished manuscript, “The Dr. Sam Sheppard Case” by Paul L. Kirk and Alys McCall.

To be continued . . .

Do you recognize the man speaking with Marilyn Sheppard?

Another shot of the same man speaking to Dr. Sam Sheppard

These photographs were furnished by Sam Reese Sheppard, Dr. and Mrs. Sheppard’s son, who discovered them in his family album. Captions in the album indicate that the photos were taken at a sports car rally at the Put-in-Bay raceway near Cleveland, Ohio, in June 1954  –  shortly before Mrs. Sheppard’s murder.

Some reliable sources believe this mystery man to be Major Call, the man identified in the book, Tailspin, as Marilyn Sheppard’s murderer.

Can you help identify him?

For more information:   www.drsamsheppard.org

Surviving victims of a murder are those family members who are forever impacted by the intrusion of violence into their lives.  The psychological stress of such a sudden and violent loss is long lasting.  The horror is made worse by the loss of dignity in death for their loved one and by the invasion of family privacy by the news-hungry media. Too often, a family’s private tragedy is turned into a public soap opera.

Murder’s living victims also include family members of the person accused of the crime.  Relatives of the accused, whether guilty or innocent, are pilloried by the public due to their common name.  Complete strangers treat them as if they were involved in the crime by mere association. These victims also suffer at the hands of news people and the witch-hunting public. They are subjected to cruel actions perpetrated by the sick of our society:  mailboxes are filled with hate mail; crank callers snarl over the telephone at all hours of the day and night; dead animals are left on their doorsteps; blood is smeared on their front doors.  And over-zealous media people surround their homes and camp out on their lawns for days at a time, barraging family members with rude questions and sticking microphones in their faces the minute they leave the refuge of their homes.  Here too, the psychological impacts cut deep, and the scars can remain for a lifetime.

Once a family’s private lives are exposed, usually through personal tragedy, to the public eye, they are no longer seen as individuals “just like you and me.” They become unwilling celebrities and are treated like public property. As the infamy grows, the public no longer identifies with these people as one of their own. They never grasp the fact that such a tragedy could happen to their own family at any time! Their mutual vulnerability is completely lost as the newly premiered tragedy and its characters are removed from real life and plunged into the category of entertainment.  People no longer need to examine their own behavior when they can be more easily entertained by watching someone else squirm under the public microscope, condemned by complete strangers who are fed incomplete and erroneous “facts” through television news and daily newspapers.

In July 1954 the Sheppard family was completely naive concerning the criminal justice system. They believed what all of us are taught:  that a man is considered innocent until proven guilty beyond all reasonable doubt.  They believed that criminal investigations were carried out in an objective manner, where suspects were named only after all evidence had been considered and where truth was the primary objective. They believed that the authorities would help them find who had murdered Marilyn.

When Cleveland Police Detectives Schottke and Gareau — on the afternoon of July 4th 1954 before a thorough investigation even had been initiated — accused Sam Sheppard of murdering his wife, the family didn’t know what to do.  Sam’s brothers and father called their long-time family lawyer, Arthur Petersilge.  Petersilge explained that his expertise was in corporate law and advised them to call his colleague, William J. Corrigan. The Sheppards, immersed in the practice of medicine their entire lives, had never heard of Corrigan. But they needed help, so they met with him that evening in the Bay View Hospital dining room.

In retrospect, the family did the only thing possible given their circumstances and their complete lack of experience with the criminal justice system.  Sam had been accused of murder by Cleveland Police detectives, so his family consulted a capable lawyer in response to that accusation. None of them were sophisticated in matters of crime investigation, so they were unable to ignore that early accusation and merely to assume it was a commonly used police tactic.

Unfortunately (ironic but true) the lawyer the family hired was one of the foremost criminal lawyers in the Cleveland area.  Many people, including some with the coroner’s investigative team, insist to this day: “We knew Sam Sheppard was guilty as soon as the family hired William J. Corrigan on the day of the murder.”

Uncle Sam kept saying he was innocent, but nobody listened except for his family and friends.  Big black headlines screamed out from the front pages of all three Cleveland newspapers every day, vilifying Dr. Sam Sheppard and implying the involvement of the entire Sheppard family in carrying out and covering up for the death of Marilyn Sheppard.   Our front yard was continually infested with cold-mannered reporters who considered us to be the enemy; they thought they cared more about Aunt Marilyn’s death than we did.

We knew what was going on:  Chip’s mother had been killed by somebody, and the police were blaming it on his father, and everybody hated us because we were part of the Sheppard family.  My parents assured us that Uncle Sam was innocent, that everybody did not feel he was guilty and that nobody hated us. But we saw it with our own eyes.

Everywhere we went we heard about it.  If it wasn’t on the school bus where the older kids carried the front page of the Cleveland Press from the night before, taking it in for “Show and Tell,” it was sure to find us in the schoolroom where we endured in embarrassed silence the cruel remarks of classmates  (“Your uncle is a murderer!”) and even teachers who evidently considered the murder case a good subject for class discussion.  And we were sitting in the car the day Mom gave the charge card to the gas station attendant.  He looked at the name on the card, “Sheppard,” and said to her in a disgusted voice, “My gosh, are you related to that murderer, Sam Sheppard?”

I hated meeting new people.  I was embarrassed to tell anybody my last name.  Usually I just gave my first name and mumbled the last name real fast if somebody insisted on knowing it.  Unfortunately, some people already knew my name was Sheppard.  I dreaded walking into a big room full of other kids who were all staring at me and whispering behind their hands about the Sheppard family murderers.  I overheard or imagined such remarks while choking back the tears, horrified, unable to breathe, move or speak, and just wishing I could totally disappear.

I knew my Uncle Sam had not killed my Aunt Marilyn, but I didn’t say anything when I was hurt by remarks about me and my family because I was paralyzed with shame.  Worse, it seemed to me that everybody outside my family and our close friends was convinced that Uncle Sam was guilty and, therefore, they all thought that my family was bad — which meant to me that I was bad.  I was certain that I must, indeed, be a very bad, unlovable person to have so many people react toward me in such a negative manner.

On July 3, 1954,  Aunt Marilyn and Uncle Sam stayed up watching a late movie on television called, “Strange Holiday,” with some dinner guests — a couple from down the road.  Uncle Sam, exhausted after doctoring people all day at Bay View Hospital, fell asleep on the daybed during the movie, and Aunt Marilyn said goodnight to their guests alone at the kitchen door a little after midnight. That was the last time anyone ever saw Aunt Marilyn alive — except for her killer.

Although I know now he wasn’t perfect (he was irresponsible and had an affair and lied about it – damning evidence in 1954), he helped save many lives during his too-brief medical career.

A front-page article in the Cleveland Plain Dealer (9/22/1953), for example, described how Dr. Sam Sheppard revived a 13-year-old boy whose heart had stopped.  Admitted at 7:30 p.m. to Bay View’s emergency room with severe injuries after being hit by a car, the boy was attended by Dr. Sam Sheppard and other staff physicians until after midnight while his condition remained critical.

Bottom Line:  My uncle, Dr. Sam Sheppard, was passionate about medicine — just like his father and his two brothers. As an Osteopathic physician and neurosurgeon, Dr. Sam was totally and unalterably in the business of saving lives.

As described by Shenk, Vaillant’s categories follow:

1. Least Healthy, “psychotic” emotional defenses include paranoia, hallucination, or megalomania.

2. Less Healthy, “immature,” defenses include acting out, passive aggression, hypochondria, projection, and fantasy.

3. More Healthy, “neurotic” defenses (common in “normal” people) include intellectualization (mutating the primal stuff of life into objects of formal thought); dissociation (intense, often brief, removal from one’s feelings); and repression, which, Vaillant says, can involve “seemingly inexplicable naïveté, memory lapse, or failure to acknowledge input from a selected sense organ.”

4. Most Healthy, or “mature,” adaptations include altruism, humor, anticipation (looking ahead and planning for future discomfort), suppression (a conscious decision to postpone attention to an impulse or conflict, to be addressed in good time), and sublimation (finding outlets for feelings, like putting aggression into sport, or lust into courtship).

Thank you George Vaillant and Joshua Wolf Shenk.

So, moving from a More Healthy response (like blocking out parts of your life and hiding skeletons in closets) toward a Most Healthy response might include creating a blog and website to tell your heretofore hidden story with higher purpose . . . and maybe even a touch of humor. Right?!