Draft 3.5.5  July 25, 2025

Title possibilities (still looking)
 Idaho's finest hour
The Trial of the Century
Idaho's Enduring Riddle
Demons and Dynamite

 

I'd wake up in a cold sweat, thinking, we are going down the wrong road. We can’t possibly pull this off!

Those were my exact words to a Boise radio reporter in 2007. "It's a pretty bold move," I had told him.

 

And it was true. I was asking a lot of our small production team: to re-create an entire trial from the last century, using professional actors with dozens of extras in period costumes. We would have to produce this like a feature film, with banks of lights and audio equipment that would work in an old courtroom on the second floor of the old Boise Post Office. We would need costume designers and make-up artists, props and set pieces and a continuity co-ordinator. There were things we'd need that I couldn't even imagine.

 

It was obvious we weren't in Outdoor Idaho country anymore. There, the acting was limited to an Owyhee County rancher riding out to his cattle on cue, or an angler making another perfect cast from a boat on the Henry's Fork, or convincing a taciturn farmer to repeat the last 30 seconds of his interview that got obliterated by a violent gust of wind. 

 

What, you might ask, would cause us to choose something so complicated that it was almost guaranteed to fail in some key aspect of production? Hey, that's what friends are for! 

 

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So how did I get myself into this pickle?

It all started when retired Idaho Supreme Court Justice Byron Johnson approached me one day back in 2006 with a crazy idea. He wanted us to produce a show on a trial that occurred a hundred years earlier in a small courtroom in Boise, Idaho.

Byron and I were friends, and he naturally assumed he would have the inside track in convincing me, especially since he pitched it as "a struggle for the soul of America."  So I listened politely to his proposal, nodding at appropriate moments, but I was pretty sure that what he had in mind was going nowhere.

 

Our paths had first crossed 20 years earlier during my early days living in Idaho City. Byron's great grandfather, Thomas Jefferson Dunten, was among the first to enter the Idaho City area with a gold pan, back in 1863. Seems Byron's fondness for the little mining town was baked into his genes. It was a fondness I shared since my teenage years, when I helped paint the historic St. Joseph's Catholic Church, on the hill above Main Street.

 

So, there in Idaho City, over beers in the town's historic Miners' Exchange Saloon, I listened to Byron's idea and learned that, as a teenager, he had read everything he could find on what one historian had called "the trial of the century." Historians also referred to it as the "Big Bill" Haywood trial.

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At the dawn of the 20th century, the fierce passions of class warfare crackled through the mining camps of the West, in Colorado, Utah, Montana, and in Idaho's Silver Valley. 

In Idaho the war reached fever pitch when the social and economic whirlwinds felled one of Idaho's favorite sons, former governor Frank Steunenberg. He had been a popular governor, and miners had even helped elect him.

 

And yet it was a disgruntled miner who had attached dynamite to the gate of his Caldwell home. The bomb did what it was meant to do. It blew the ex-governor ten feet in the air, broke both legs and tore apart his right side so that it could not be repaired. In 20 minutes Mr. Steunenberg was dead.

And that's about how long it took for authorities to blame the militant union, the Western Federation of Miners (WFM). They figured it was payback for the former governor siding with the mine owners when violence erupted in northern Idaho.

                                   

The industrialists had chosen to cut the wages of unskilled workers from $3.50 for a 10-hour day to $3.00, to compensate for increased railroad fees. The miners retaliated by dynamiting the Bunker Hill mine and attacking the "scabs" brought in to replace the regulars. Dozens of non-union laborers died.

 

Governor Steunenberg, elected on the populist ticket, nevertheless appealed to President McKinley to send in the U.S. Army to establish order in the Silver Valley. The President sent in a regiment of highly decorated Black soldiers, which only aggravated the situation. The soldiers rounded up a thousand miners, and locked them up in what derisively came to be called the "bull pen." 

 

This was shaping up to be a barn burner of a story, I told Byron. But still, I doubted Idaho Public Television would be interested. Our small staff was already over-committed with other program ideas. Our best seller, "Aerial Tapestry," was making money bringing in a lot of donations. And now, with the new DVD format, there was talk of "Aerial Tapestry 2."

 

Besides, I already had a full time job as executive producer for Idaho Public Television. I was also hosting and producing and writing for Outdoor Idaho, which was moving into its 24th season. It was a show that allowed us to travel around the state shooting exquisite color video and exploring current events. Why would I want to tackle something that featured old black and white photos and a handful of "talking heads" trying to explain what occurred a century earlier in a Boise courtroom?

But Byron was a persistent fellow. He informed me that I hadn't even heard the best part of the story. 

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The day after the horrendous murder, a quick-thinking waitress had noticed a suspicious-looking man hanging around Caldwell. An examination of his hotel room confirmed her suspicions. All the makings of a bomb were there.

Authorities quickly arrested Harry Orchard for the murder of the former governor. At first he denied it, but after solitary confinement and intense expert prodding by James McParland of the famous Pinkerton Detective Agency, Orchard eventually broke and confessed. During the interrogation the murderer experienced a religious conversion. 

Part of his confession involved a deal.  He would confess to the murder of the governor but would receive clemency if he implicated the leaders of the violent Western Federation of Miners (WFM), particularly its leader, "Big Bill" Haywood. 

 

Haywood had become the de-facto leader of radical labor in the American West. State leaders were convinced that hanging him would tamp down the violence of the largest miners' union in the West.

The fact that Haywood wasn't even in Idaho when the murder occurred didn't matter to the governors of Idaho and Colorado. At the bidding of Governor Gooding, a handful of men secretly descended upon Denver, and in the dark of night kidnapped "Big Bill" and two other WFM leaders. The men were quickly smuggled onto a train that stopped for no one until it reached its destination: Boise, Idaho.

 

 

The State then hired two of the West's sharpest lawyers, James Hawley and William Borah, to convict Haywood of murder. Hawley, a down-to-earth country lawyer, knew how to talk to an uneducated Idaho jury. He would later become Governor of Idaho. Borah, a man capable of soaring oratory, would soon be known as “the Lion of Idaho” in the U.S. Senate, where he served for 33 years, until his death in 1940.

 

It looked like an open and shut case. The men had Harry Orchard's 63-page written confession, declaring that he had indeed killed Steunenberg and received money from Haywood to murder the ex-governor. There were 17 other murders that Orchard confessed to, all paid for by the leaders of the Western Federation of Miners. This was setting up to be a short trial.

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But wait, there's more. Enter Byron Johnson's personal hero, Clarence Darrow, the famous "attorney for the damned."

Realizing the significance of the Haywood trial to the future of unionism in America, labor unions across the country  raised pennies and dollars to procure the services of the only man who could hope to destroy Borah and Hawley's airtight case.

Clarence Darrow had already made a name for himself, championing political outcasts and the working class. He would later go on to enhance his reputation in the famous Scopes Monkey Trial. 

In front of a jury, Darrow had proven himself to be brilliant, charming, passionate, and cunning. Darrow was definitely the man for the job. And he seemed to fit right into the town of Boise, which he often referred to as "the Athens of the Sagebrush."

 

As Byron explained the characters and the issues surrounding the trial, I had to admit that it was an intriguing story that Byron was pushing. 

 

Still, it was hard to imagine an hour-long program without relying heavily on talking heads and B&W photos.  

 

That all changed when historian Judy Austin brought us the "closed captioning" of the famous 10-week trial. It meant we no longer had to guess what William Borah and Clarence Darrow said in that stifling Boise courtroom in the summer of 1907. Those transcripts showed us exactly what William Borah told the jurors in his five-hour closing summation. We also had before us the brilliant 11-hour closing arguments of Clarence Darrow. 

 

"With my connection to the state's historical society, I had spent weeks helping writer Anthony Lukas, as he was researching his powerful book, Big Trouble," Judy Austin informed me. "I had learned where the transcripts of the trial were located, and I knew how important they would be to Bruce's project. For that small favor, I got to volunteer behind the scenes as the 'official' historian. That's one week I'll never forget. There was nothing amateurish about any of it. I had the time of my life."

The signs all seemed to be pointing in the same direction. This was an Idaho trial. It was our story, and it needed to be done as a drama. We were Idaho Public Television. How could we not rise to the challenge? 

"Hey everyone, let's put on a show!" became our rallying cry. I was now excited.

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The only challenge now was the money. I told Byron there was a possibility he might have to raise some of the money himself if we wanted a real dramatic re-enactment of the trial. Otherwise, it might just be various actors reciting lines in front of a black background, and that wouldn't work.

"I thought it was a great idea for a show, and I thought it would push us all into something IdahoPTV had never done before. But it would take financial support. And that's what Byron would have to do, raise a big chunk of cash," said general manager Peter Morrill. "The Idaho Legislature was slashing our budget. We were doing things on a shoestring already, and our Development team had its hands full finding the dollars just to keep basic programs on the air. We told Byron he would need to raise at least $100,000 to offset some of the staff costs and equipment production costs to produce the kind of show that Bruce was envisioning."

 

I was pretty sure Byron would blanch at the price tag. When he didn't, I told him if he wanted the program to air for the Centennial celebration of the Trial, he needed to raise the money quickly.

As Byron was starting his fund raising, primarily from law firms, I began to plan our attack. Since I still believed there was value in a documentary-style production, we used some of the money to fly historian David Grover to Idaho. He knew exactly what we wanted. He had written Debaters and Dynamiters and would provide the color commentary for the hour program.

We were all surprised when David said, "It was Boise's finest hour and certainly the finest hour for the state of Idaho. I think Idaho really came of age in the Haywood trial. It was recognized, for the first time, as a state of extremely competent jurors who could conduct a trial under very difficult conditions, a trial that any state would have reason to be proud of."

 

We also relied upon University of Idaho professor Katherine Aiken for color commentary. She had written a book on the history of the Silver Valley, in particular about the dynamiting of the famous Bunker Hill mine. 

 

But my main task was to find the actors, especially the primary four actors. Without them, we had nothing.

The place to look for the best actors in the state was the Idaho Shakespeare Festival, operating out of Boise. I had seen photographs of the major Shakespearean actors from a Festival pamphlet and noticed a similarity between actor Danny Peterson and lawyer James Hawley. Danny immediately agreed to join the project. We knew we had found the right person when he arrived with a toothpick in his mouth and an Ideeho pronunciation. Danny was much beloved in the acting community. Having him on-board gave us the seal of approval we needed to attract the others.

 

Boise State University professor and actor Richard Klautsch knew how to deliver a dramatic speech. When he heard of our project, he specifically asked to play William Borah. Another perfect match, I thought.

 

Doug Copsey had been the host of Outdoor Idaho for its first two years. He definitely wanted a role, and we immediately said Yes. He became our Edmund Richardson, the defense partner with Darrow. 

 

We now had three of our four main actors. They offered suggestions about the other actors that I should approach, and within two week's time, we had a full cast. No one I approached offered regrets. Everyone said Yes. It must be true what they say: actors love to act.

 

Since we were borrowing so heavily from the Shakespeare Festival, we needed to negotiate with Producing Artistic Director Charles Fee to find a week that didn't interfere with rehearsals for the Festival's summer plays. Luckily, there was one five-day stretch in May when Shakespeare was willing to take a rest.

 

"The amazing thing for me was how fascinated everyone was with this particular story, and the mystery of it, and the violence of it." Professor Richard Klautsch and I were reminiscing about that week in May, from a distance of nearly two decades.

"The story was so good that people were committed to it right from the beginning," said Richard. "When you get actors together, there's a lot of egos and a lot of individual approaches to the work. But you can always sense when people come together, with a shared purpose. The egos tend to diminish. 

"With you and your staff, we knew there was support for our work, and that makes such a huge difference to actors. When they feel that support, it allows them to bring an added measure of professionalism, an added measure of discipline and charitable generosity. And a lot of passion."

Byron and Judy shared with the actors several articles and books to help them understand the timeframe, but it really wasn't necessary. Danny and Richard and Doug had already begun to explore the nuances of their characters. Historical accuracy was as important to them as it was to us. 

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But we still needed someone to bring Darrow to life.  Again, Serendipity offered a hand. Gary Anderson was traveling around the country, speaking to law school students about the power of persuasion needed in their future occupation. I had seen a video tape of some of his work.  As luck would have it, Gary was using the words from Clarence Darrow's closing arguments from the Haywood trial. 

When he heard what we were planning, he naturally wanted a piece of the action. And since he even looked like Clarence Darrow -- and already had his lines memorized -- we gladly brought him on board. 

We now had our four key players. 

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My colleagues and I were used to producing documentaries where no one got paid and where the scripts came after the interviews. Our "Trial of the Century" would be completely different. The script needed to be written and in the actors' hands weeks in advance. And the professional actors would receive wages established by the Screen Actors Guild. 

But some of our actors and all of the audience and jury, were not "professional" actors. For payment, they would get a front row seat to history, as they watched a TV show come together before their eyes. We also provided a free luncheon for their 8-hour days, prepared by Life's Kitchen. That way we could insure they would come back to our courtroom in the afternoon.

 

Anyone who has ever been in a local theatre production knows that more goes on behind the scenes than on the stage. 

One cold clear day in January a group of us drove to Parma, Idaho.  We had gotten permission to use the front of a beautiful old house, similar in design to ex-Governor Steunenberg's home in Caldwell. Friend and volunteer Pat Cosgrove had volunteered to build the gate we would use for our dynamite scene.This would be our first re-enactment. 

Joining us for the assassination of the governor were two young men we had only talked with over the phone. They assured us they were proficient in pyro-technics, and not to worry. They did this all the time, they told us. 

The person who had agreed to play Frank Steunenberg was nowhere to be found, and it was nearly midnight. I sure hoped the young men knew what they were doing, as I donned the coat and hat and practiced my best jump sideways, wishing I was 30 years younger.

"Everyone watched in awe as the explosion took place," said Joan Hill Yost, a colleague from the station's money-raising Development team. "We all agreed that the magic of that shoot foretold the power of the docudrama to come."  

 

Joan seemed easily impressed. I asked her to be the chief volunteer for the Courtroom scene. What a relief when she agreed!

 

Ours was a show dependent upon volunteers, and Joan's job was to organize the other volunteers who were assisting the actors and the other volunteers who would be in front of the cameras.  

Even to this day, when you talk with Joan about her involvement, expect to hear the word "magic" more than once. 

"Costuming was going slow," she said. "I had made several contacts at theatre departments asking to 'borrow' costumes. It wasn't a popular idea. Then I heard from Judy Kreuger, a relative of former governor Frank Steunenberg. She was mailing old family shirts, detachable collars and studs to me. And her brother, Bill Crookham, would be delivering boxes of hats! My first break, or was it more of the magic?

"For me, my life changed forever. I will never again watch a movie or television or stage production in the same way I did before "Trial of the Century." Costumes, hair, makeup, set, lights, actors -- they all capture most of my attention now. And I will always remember the great people who worked so hard to bring this show to life, with the help of a little bit of magic."

 

We now had a real shot at producing an hour program that might stack up well next to other national PBS shows.

That meant our "Assassination: Idaho's Trial of the Century" might be seen throughout the nation, which, it turned out, was exactly what happened.

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At its core, the trial was an attempt by the state of Idaho to destroy a militant labor union, the Western Federation of Miners, and do it in the guise of a trial. The closing arguments of the four attorneys were riveting, heartfelt and passionate, with each side arguing eloquently for their vision of a just and livable society. “Rarely in the nation's first century and a quarter had a courtroom harbored four attorneys of such distinction as Hawley, Borah, Richardson, and Darrow," wrote Anthony Lukas.

 

Capturing the importance of what the trial meant to Idaho and the nation would require more than my meager talents could conjure up. Better to let the closing arguments of William Borah and James Hawley, of Edmund Richardson and Clarence Darrow tell the story.

Let them explain why this event in Idaho's early history deserved the attention of reporters from a dozen national newspapers and magazines. Oscar King Davis of the venerable New York Times was in the courtroom each day and provided daily updates for his east coast readers. 

 

The closing arguments went on for 34 hours. Prosecutor James Hawley spoke for more than eight hours. Defense attorney Edmund Richardson spoke for ten hours, followed by defense co-counsel Clarence Darrow, who spoke for more than eleven hours. William Borah, for the prosecution, wrapped up the closing arguments, speaking for five hours. But everyone knew it was a battle between Borah and Darrow. They were the two men the crowds had come to see. 

Here are my personal highlights from the four men's summations. Re-reading the words can send chills down my spine. It's not a surprise that the courtroom was packed for 10 weeks -- and why the lawn outside the Boise courthouse filled up each day with interested picnickers and others unable to cram into the courtroom.

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William Borah: 
I have no doubt that many times during this trial you have been much moved by the eloquence of counsel for the defense. They are men of wondrous powers...

"But as I listened to the music of their voices and felt for a moment the compelling touch of
their hypnotic influence, there came back to me all the more vividly, when released from the spell, another scene... 

"I remembered again the awful thing of December 30, 1905, a night which has taken ten years to the life of some who are in this courtroom now. I felt again its cold and icy chill, faced the drifting snow and peered at last into the darkness for the sacred spot where last lay the body of my dead friend, and saw true, only too true, the stain of his life's blood upon the whitened earth.

"I saw Idaho dishonored and disgraced. I saw murder—no, not murder, a thousand times worse than murder. I saw anarchy wave its first bloody triumph in Idaho. And as I thought again, I said, "Thou living God, can the talents or the arts of counsel unteach the lesson of that hour?

"No, no. Let us be brave, let us be faithful in this supreme test of trial and duty ... you never had a duty imposed upon you which required more intelligence, more manhood, more courage than that which the people of Idaho assign to you this night in the final discharge of your duty."

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James Hawley: "Gentlemen, it is time that this stench in the nostrils of all decent persons in the West is buried. It is time to forever put an end to this highhanded method of wholesale crime. It is the time when Idaho should show the world that within her borders no crime can be committed, and that those who come within her borders must observe the law."
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Edmund Richardson: "They arrested the union miners right and left without warrant. They deprived them of their liberties. They threw them in the dirty, vile-kept bullpens and they were subjected to all sorts of indignities and insults at the hands of those negro soldiers.

"If you had been there, covered with vermin . . . if you'd been there, gentlemen of the jury, it is certain that you would have attained in your breast a righteous hatred for every person who had anything to do with causing your humiliation and suffering." 

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Of course, we know that 'Big Bill' Haywood did not hang. He was found Not Guilty, to the surprise of almost everyone, including Clarence Darrow and most of the reporters who had to re-write their stories following the verdict.  

Clarence Darrow was famed for his ability to connect with jurors on a personal level, to show them the ethical implications of their actions. He understood human nature and how to make jurors feel compassion for the defendant. And the words he chose, and his cadence and his appearance -- in Gary Anderson's hands, it was hard for anyone in our 2007 courtroom not to be moved by the power and eloquence of what transpired.

 

Clarence Darrow: "Gentlemen, I sometimes think I am dreaming in this case. I sometimes wonder whether this is a case, whether here in Idaho or anywhere in the country, broad and free, a man can be placed on trial and lawyers seriously ask to take away the life of a human being upon the testimony of Harry Orchard... For God's sake, what sort of an honesty exists up here in the state of Idaho that sane men should ask it? Need I come here from Chicago to defend the honor of your state?

 

"Gentlemen, it is not for him alone that I speak. I speak for the poor, for the weak, for the weary, for that long line of men who in darkness and despair have borne the labors of the human race. The eyes of the world are upon you, upon you twelve men of Idaho tonight... If you kill him, your act will be applauded by many. If you should decree Bill Haywood's death, in the great railroad offices of our great cities men will applaud your names...

 

“But if your verdict should be "Not Guilty... Out on the broad prairies where men toil with their hands, out on the wide ocean where men are tossed and buffeted on the waves, through our mills and factories, and down deep under the earth, thousands of men and of women and children, men who labor, men who suffer, women and children weary with care and toil, these men and these women and these children will kneel tonight and ask their God to guide your judgment. These men and these women and these little children, the poor, the weak, and the suffering of the world will stretch out their hands to this jury and implore you to save Haywood's life.”

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One can only imagine what effect those words must have had on the nine ranchers and farmers, the one real estate agent, the construction foreman and the building contractor. Certainly our audience that afternoon in May were visibly moved... and no doubt surprised when "Big Bill" Haywood was found "Not Guilty."

To this day, people who have studied the trial refer to it as "Idaho's Enduring Riddle." Did Harry Orchard really kill the governor? Did "Big Bill" Haywood really pay Harry Orchard? Why did the jurors decide on the 'Not Guilty" verdict? Were they frightened? What it the Judge’s instructions about corroborating evidence. There are historians who disagree on all these points.

 

Our distinguished bearded jurors were also impressed with what they had experienced. They had sat on hard wooden benches for eight hours each day. Our director Pat Metzler decided he needed them in virtually every scene, so we paid the men $50 a day. None of them complained. None of them dozed, especially as the four lawyers paced back and forth directly in front of them. The words the jurors used afterwards were "hypnotic" and "spellbinding."

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I had been working off and on for nearly a year on this program as I worked on other projects, so I got to witness the transformation of Danny Peterson into James Hawley and Richard Klautsch into William Borah. It would not surprise me that Richard delivered his powerful closing argument even better than Borah himself.

Watching Doug Copsey as Edmund Richardson, the pit bull who goes after the state's star witness, Harry Orchard, was mesmerizing. Maybe it's because I knew Doug as the host of Outdoor Idaho and had hiked with him.

Joe Golden was the wily detective James McParland, just as I had imagined him to be. Watching him break down Harry Orchard, played beautifully by Matt Clark, presented a real behind-the-scenes moment for me. It was a key moment in the actual trial, also.

And when Glen Hughes placed that opaque contact lens in his right eye, I could see why William Borah had written about "Big Bill" Haywood, that his stare "doubled me up like a jackknife." 

 

There’s a lot of drudgery connected with making a documentary, but when I first saw some of those cour toom scenes on a big screen at Boise's Union Pacific train depot, I was surprised at the emotion it released in me. I knew the effort that went into each of those sequences.

The gathering was to thank past and potential donors whom the station's Development team wanted to impress. I'm sure they were all wondering who the chap was in the back of the room sniffling into his handkerchief.

All I could think of was that there were so many ways that what we attempted could have fallen flat on its face, so many ways it could have failed.

 

People have asked me if Idaho Public Television would ever attempt something of that size and magnitude again. I always tell them, it would take the stars to line up just right. It would take the generosity of many dozens of caring, interested Idahoans. And it might take the assistance of Serendipity and the Muse, along with some Magic.  

 

We all may have started as strangers -- the actors and the audience and the technical folks -- but for that one week in May of 2007, we were family. It was something I won’t easily forget.