BWYA: Doctor Kimble, it’s an honor to speak with you today.
RK: The pleasure is all mine.
BWYA: We understand we’re celebrating a significant milestone – your 90th birthday.
RK: Indeed. Reaching ninety was something I never quite envisioned.
BWYA: Doctor Kimble, for many, your name is synonymous with a harrowing ordeal in the 1960s. Could you recount the events that thrust you into the public eye?
RK: Or notoriety, depending on the perspective at the time. It began, not with the tragic event itself, but in the preceding year. My wife, Helen, was expecting, a joyous occasion that turned heartbreaking. Her pregnancy reached full term, but complications arose, necessitating a C-section. Tragically, our baby had passed away. The surgery revealed further complications, leading to an emergency hysterectomy.
BWYA: A devastating loss, undoubtedly.
RK: Yes, physically, Helen recovered. However, the emotional toll was immense. She battled severe postpartum depression and profound grief. Desiring children, I gently suggested adoption, hoping it might offer some solace. But the idea deeply agitated Helen. She viewed adoption as a betrayal of sorts, a dishonest substitute for a child that was biologically hers. This grief manifested in drinking. In my own misguided attempt to navigate our shared sorrow and my longing for a family, I pressed the issue of adoption, creating further friction.
BWYA: Your desire for children was deeply rooted, stemming from your profession as a pediatrician, correct?
RK: Precisely. I’ve always been drawn to children, believing they enrich a marriage. In hindsight, my focus became too narrow, perhaps fueled by my own grief. Our disagreements escalated, often fueled by alcohol. Helen’s intoxication sometimes led to falls, resulting in bruises. Neighbors witnessed these bruises, heard our arguments, inadvertently setting the stage for the later accusations of domestic violence.
BWYA: But you never resorted to violence against Helen?
RK: Only once, on the night of her death, a moment I deeply regret. She was drinking again, and in frustration, I took a glass from her hand. It was a tense confrontation. Overwhelmed and angry, I left the house, seeking to compose myself. That was the last time I saw her alive.
BWYA: What transpired after you left?
RK: I drove to the river, seeking solitude to calm down. Returning home in the darkness, just a block away, I nearly struck a man fleeing from the direction of our house. His distinguishing feature was stark – one arm and a face that appeared almost animalistic in the fleeting headlights. He vanished quickly.
BWYA: And the horrific discovery at home?
RK: Our front door was ajar. Inside, Helen lay lifeless on the floor, the back of her skull brutally fractured. A lamp lay beside her, the grim instrument of the attack. I desperately tried to revive her, but it was futile. I immediately called the police.
BWYA: What was the initial police response?
RK: Initially, I believe they were inclined to believe me. I was a respected member of the community, a children’s doctor. In those less cynical times, the idea of such a person committing such a brutal act against his wife seemed improbable.
BWYA: This is when you first encountered Lieutenant Philip Gerard?
RK: Yes, remarkably, we had never crossed paths before. Stafford was a town of a size where you wouldn’t know everyone, but my interactions with law enforcement were minimal.
BWYA: What was Lieutenant Gerard’s approach?
RK: Gerard and his team took statements, meticulously gathering initial information. Then, his focus shifted to finding the one-armed man I described.
BWYA: But the one-armed man remained elusive for some time.
RK: Elusive is an understatement. Gerard, in his thoroughness, located over eighty one-armed men. Yet, each one had alibis, or was missing the wrong arm, or some other discrepancy that eliminated them as suspects. After ten days of relentless searching, they arrested me.
BWYA: Charged with murder, not manslaughter, which might seem more aligned with a crime of passion and wouldn’t carry the death penalty.
RK: The prosecutor was driven by more than justice; he sought retribution. This was shortly after the infamous Sam Sheppard case in Ohio. His wife was murdered, he described a “bushy-haired” man fleeing the scene, and he was convicted. Public outcry deemed his life sentence too lenient. Indiana, it seemed, wanted to make an example. The prosecution constructed a far-fetched narrative for the jury – that I planned to murder Helen and stage it as a burglary.
BWYA: But what could have been the motive? Divorce was an option if you wished to end the marriage.
RK: Divorce in the early 1960s carried a greater social stigma. The prosecution argued I wished to avoid appearing callous, abandoning my grieving wife. Furthermore, Helen’s family possessed considerable wealth, which they insinuated I coveted. Combined with the bruises and our arguments, it painted a damning picture, enough for a conviction. The judge, facing reelection, likely felt pressure to appear tough on crime and sentenced me to death.
BWYA: You pursued appeals, however.
RK: Yes, I endured eighteen months in prison during the appeals process. The agonizing reality was that the legal proceedings, while flawed in outcome, had been technically correct. This is a fundamental flaw of the death penalty; even when the system functions as intended, it can still condemn an innocent person. Ultimately, my appeals were exhausted. I was being transferred to a prison equipped with an electric chair when fate intervened in the form of a train derailment.
BWYA: The train derailment is a pivotal point. Why were you being transported via train, handcuffed to a police officer, rather than a secure Department of Corrections vehicle?
RK: That was sheer chance, or perhaps fate as you might call it. The designated transport bus had broken down. Gerard, impatient with the delay, opted to transport me himself.
BWYA: A detective lieutenant handling prisoner transport? It seems a rather menial task for someone of his rank.
RK: Indeed. This was an early indication of Gerard’s growing obsession with my case. He held an unwavering belief in the sanctity of the law. For him, the legal system was an unyielding, just entity. Yet, a seed of doubt about my guilt seemed to have taken root. His intense focus on my case was, in a way, an overcompensation. He needed to personally deliver me to the electric chair to quell his internal conflict.
BWYA: Then, the train derailed.
RK: Yes, another stroke of fortune, or fate. I found myself thrown clear, handcuffed, but separated from Gerard.
BWYA: That seems improbable. Surely Gerard’s hand would have been injured before the handcuffs would break.
RK: It is a mystery. Perhaps Gerard, in the chaos of the wreck, hadn’t secured the handcuffs properly to his own wrist. Or, and this is speculation, perhaps in a semi-conscious state, his doubt surfaced, and he subconsciously released me, believing in my innocence. Regardless, I was free and I ran.
BWYA: How did you manage to survive as a fugitive?
RK: Initially, survival necessitated theft: a file to remove the handcuffs, clothes, food, hair dye. I hitched rides on freight trains and trucks, moving further away from Stafford. Changing my appearance, I took on odd jobs, always under assumed names. Theft remained a necessity at times. Guilt gnawed at me, but desperation outweighed morality. I rationalized it by only taking from those who seemed to have means, never from the truly impoverished. Survival was paramount; I wasn’t willing to freeze for the sake of rigid ethics. Once exonerated and my practice was re-established, I made it a point to track down and repay everyone I had stolen from. Most, surprisingly, refused to accept restitution.
BWYA: You’ve mentioned luck and fate repeatedly. Have these experiences instilled in you a belief in fate?
RK: Not in a preordained, divine plan sense, but in ironic chance. Why did Helen and I argue so intensely on the night she was murdered? Had we not, we might have been out to dinner, not home when the intruder broke in. Why did the transport bus fail? How did the handcuffs release from Gerard’s wrist?
BWYA: It almost sounds like predestination, a journey of suffering laid out for you.
RK: Let’s avoid attributing religious significance to it. I don’t believe suffering inherently serves a purpose. My medical calling stems from a desire to alleviate needless suffering. My ordeal wasn’t divinely orchestrated.
BWYA: Your years as a fugitive provided a unique, albeit unwanted, perspective on America.
RK: I witnessed a side of America many never see, some of it deeply unsettling.
BWYA: Why remain in the U.S.? Why not seek refuge in a country with no extradition treaty, like Brazil, and start anew?
RK: I didn’t desire a new life; I yearned to reclaim my old one. To be Richard Kimble again, reunited with my family, practicing medicine. To achieve that, finding the one-armed man was paramount. I wasn’t even certain he was Helen’s killer, but he was undeniably the key to the truth.
BWYA: It’s remarkable you evaded capture for so long. Fate again?
RK: Not fate, but a remarkably ineffective “Wanted” poster. The photographs bore little resemblance to me. [Chuckles softly] It was the hair. Prematurely gray and that dreadful brush cut – a little dye, a more natural style, and I was transformed. That poster likely saved my life. And to be clear, I was apprehended multiple times. But circumstances always seemed to shift in my favor. Perhaps there’s a touch of fate involved. More often, my release stemmed from the kindness of strangers. People aren’t inherently good or bad; they choose. Fortunately, for me and for humanity, most lean towards compassion.
BWYA: Throughout your years on the run, Lieutenant Gerard remained in relentless pursuit.
RK: Gerard was consumed by my capture. He traversed the country, chasing leads, driven by an unwavering resolve. He even used his personal funds when the police department urged him to relinquish the case to federal authorities, who typically handle interstate fugitives.
BWYA: Do you understand the depth of his obsession?
RK: I believe I do. Over time, I gained a certain understanding of Gerard. He viewed society as structured upon the absolute authority of law. He didn’t see himself as personally responsible for my potential execution. Others had judged me guilty; others had sentenced me. His role, in his view, was to uphold the law, to facilitate my execution. What tormented him was the underlying uncertainty. Deep down, he recognized the significant reasonable doubt in my case. Acknowledging that doubt, however, would be admitting the fallibility of the legal system he so revered. Eventually, he constructed a psychological compromise. He imagined that I, in my desperation, had convinced myself of my innocence, clinging to the image of a one-armed drifter to bolster my delusion. He projected his own buried doubts onto me. In truth, I believe it was he who harbored a deeper sense of my innocence.
BWYA: So, his inner conflict fueled his relentless pursuit.
RK: Precisely. Yet, paradoxically – and this is the fascinating complexity of Gerard – he never ceased searching for the one-armed man. He would rationalize it as duty, but it was his doubt driving him. He was haunted by the possibility that, even after my execution, the truth would emerge. In a way, he was as much a fugitive from the truth as I was from the law.
BWYA: Eventually, after four years, you were exonerated.
RK: Exoneration was, ironically, due to Gerard’s persistence. He pursued a lead on the one-armed man, whom we later knew as Fred Johnson, though his true name remains unknown. Gerard intended to use Johnson to trap me, but upon confronting him, he saw the undeniable truth. It’s fortunate for him he didn’t suffer a stroke in that moment of revelation. I later heard he nearly strangled Johnson in his rage and frustration.
BWYA: And you walked into Gerard’s trap.
RK: I had reached a point where endless flight was no longer viable. I wasn’t running simply to run. I needed to confront Johnson, to reclaim my life. Events unfolded rapidly. Johnson was bailed out, and Gerard apprehended me.
BWYA: And he returned you to Indiana, without handcuffs this time.
RK: Yes, I had no reason to resist. The person who posted Johnson’s bail seemed connected to Stafford. It appeared Johnson was headed there, potentially offering answers. Gerard agreed to keep my arrest out of the press in exchange for my waiving extradition and my word that I wouldn’t attempt escape.
BWYA: Even though returning might mean facing execution?
RK: I had lost all hope, all will to fight. I was prepared to surrender.
BWYA: But you did find the answers you sought.
RK: Yes. The investigation revealed that a supposed friend of mine was present in the house the night of Helen’s murder. He witnessed Johnson commit the act but remained hidden, paralyzed by fear.
BWYA: Why didn’t he intervene or come forward sooner?
RK: Fear consumed him. He fled, terrified of scandal and social ruin. He initially believed the police would see through the circumstantial evidence against me. By the time my indictment was announced, he felt trapped, believing it was too late to speak out.
BWYA: But he ultimately testified on your behalf.
RK: Yes, he did. His testimony carried immense weight because he was jeopardizing his own life by coming forward. His confession was instrumental in my exoneration.
BWYA: But the one-armed man, Johnson, was never brought to justice.
RK: No, Gerard shot and killed him when Johnson attempted to shoot me. The ultimate irony: Gerard, initially tasked with delivering me to my execution, ultimately saved my life.
BWYA: That was fifty years ago. For most, that would be the culmination of your story. Freedom, reconciliation with Gerard, a new marriage – a quiet life in obscurity.
RK: God knows I yearned for that. My face had been plastered across newspapers for too long. I craved normalcy.
BWYA: And for a time, you achieved it, before you became publicly known once more.
RK: Normalcy was a relative term. The aftermath of my ordeal was profound. I suffered from severe post-traumatic stress disorder, compounded by concussions and gunshot wounds sustained during my fugitive years. I was in the approximate state of a returning combat soldier. Nightmares plagued me for years, and I turned to alcohol for escape. The most debilitating burden was guilt. If Helen and I hadn’t argued, if I hadn’t left her alone that night, she might still be alive. Forgiving myself was an arduous process. Fortunately, my second wife, Jean, was incredibly supportive, and my medical practice became the foundation for rebuilding my life.
BWYA: Re-establishing your practice wasn’t without challenges.
RK: No. The “friend” who testified on my behalf succumbed to aggressive cancer just months later. Whispers began circulating among neighbors, suggesting he only testified to save me because he was dying and had nothing to lose. Absurd, of course. He wasn’t aware of his diagnosis when he testified, but he knew he would be branded a coward for his initial silence. Nevertheless, these rumors deterred some families from bringing their children to me; suspicion lingered.
BWYA: Ironically, it was Gerard who helped revive your career.
RK: Yes. His son developed juvenile diabetes, and he entrusted his care to me. He personally brought his son for appointments, never delegating it to his wife. He encouraged other officers to bring their children to me as well. Gradually, public opinion shifted, and my practice recovered.
BWYA: So, you had your profession back, a loving wife, manageable PTSD. But no children of your own.
RK: No. I didn’t feel emotionally equipped to be a father until I had confronted my inner demons. And I was forty upon exoneration – perhaps a bit late to start a family. I didn’t foresee living to ninety! [Laughs] Jean longed for children, but she understood my hesitation. Eventually, she became a nurse in my practice, and we found fulfillment in caring for my young patients, in a way, experiencing parenthood vicariously.
BWYA: But you did eventually become a father.
RK: Yes. After the Vietnam War ended, a wave of refugees, the “Boat People,” arrived. Among them were orphaned children. Jean and I adopted one, then another, eventually welcoming four into our family. They had endured trauma similar to mine, loss and displacement, forging a unique bond between us. Three became physicians, and the fourth is an advocate for refugee children’s rights.
BWYA: You did achieve a form of normalcy, then. But you didn’t remain out of the public sphere.
RK: No. The death penalty, briefly abolished, was reinstated in 1976. I became increasingly concerned about the risk of executing innocent individuals.
BWYA: Your opposition to capital punishment isn’t based on moral grounds, though.
RK: Not primarily. I believe, in a world of perfect justice and knowledge, depraved murderers deserve execution. I felt no remorse when Ted Bundy faced the death penalty. However, the American justice system is demonstrably fallible. The only way to guarantee we don’t execute the innocent is to abolish capital punishment entirely. The slope is too treacherous, the temptation for error too strong. Over 150 wrongly convicted murderers have been exonerated since the death penalty’s reinstatement. God knows how many executed individuals were also innocent.
BWYA: So, in the late 70s, you became an activist.
RK: Yes, I became a reluctant symbol against the death penalty. It was easy to dismiss the potential wrongful execution of marginalized individuals. But I was different – white, educated, a doctor. If someone like me could be wrongly condemned, no one was truly safe. I began speaking at events, participating in debates, thrust back into the public eye, ironically, after desperately seeking anonymity.
BWYA: Remarkably, you were joined in your activism by an old acquaintance.
RK: Yes, Philip Gerard shared platforms with me on numerous occasions. He became an expert on how the death penalty can actually undermine the pursuit of justice, increasing the likelihood of unfair trials, contrary to expectations.
BWYA: Did you develop a friendship with Gerard?
RK: Friendship was beyond reach, given our shared history. But we achieved a level of mutual respect, a cordiality born of shared experience. I had saved his life, and he, in a way, had saved mine twice. Hatred was impossible. He was a complex man who had deeply examined our relationship. I believe it profoundly changed him, adding nuance to his previously rigid principles. Once, during a panel discussion, a fervent audience member challenged him, “Don’t you think murderers get enough appeals?” Gerard responded, “I once believed that, but experience” – he glanced at me – “has changed my mind.”
BWYA: Did you maintain contact after that?
RK: Only once. He requested to see me on his deathbed. Hesitant, I couldn’t refuse. He took my hand and said, “For a long time, I thought I would witness your death. I’m glad it’s the other way around.”
BWYA: F. Scott Fitzgerald famously said American lives lack third acts, but yours has had a third act with your children, and a fourth with your activism. Are you content with how life unfolded?
RK: Yes, despite the occasional lingering nightmares.
BWYA: Do you believe your fugitive experience, in some way, shaped you into a better person?
RK: I hope I was a decent person before, but I was certainly capable of insensitivity and selfishness, as evidenced by my relentless pressure on Helen regarding adoption. I was also perhaps too focused on superficialities. My time as a fugitive stripped away those impurities. I encountered both immense cruelty and profound kindness, filling me with a sense of wonder, if you will. I gained a deeper empathy, a capacity for rapid connection with others, invaluable in my medical practice and activism. Activism provided a purpose beyond my profession. So, in totality, yes, I believe I emerged a better person. But I still hesitate to attribute it to fate. Ultimately, I’m just a small-town pediatrician who endured extraordinary hardship and, against all odds, found a measure of peace and purpose.
If you enjoyed this article, you might also find my book, Killing Cool: Fantasy vs. Reality in American Life, of interest.
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