Trial of the Century

Draft 4.2
June 14, 2026

 

“I'd wake up in a cold sweat, thinking, we can’t possibly pull this off!”  Those were my exact words to a Boise radio reporter in 2007. I also told him it was a pretty strange idea for a program. 

My anxiety began when retired Idaho Supreme Court Justice Byron Johnson approached me back in 2006 with a crazy notion. 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 had known each other for at least 20 years, so I was willing to listen to his proposal and nod politely when appropriate. But I was pretty sure that what he had in mind was going nowhere fast: a talking-heads program that occurred one hundred years ago, for which there were only a handful of black and white photos and no motion picture film. At face value, that’s not an exciting proposition for an hour-long television show. 

A little background. I first met Byron in Idaho City, where I was living. 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 when, as a young teenager, I had helped paint the historic St. Joseph's Catholic Church, on the hill above Main Street. 

So, there in Idaho City, over beers in one of the town's historic bars, I listened to Byron's pitch. I learned that, as a teenager, he had read everything he could find on what various historians had called "the trial of the century," "a determined struggle between labor unions and capital," and “Idaho’s enduring riddle.”

Byron informed me that the New York Times had even sent a reporter to issue daily reports to folks back east.

                                                           *** 

 

At the dawn of the 20th century, the fierce passions of class warfare and unionism crackled through the mining camps of the West: in Colorado, Utah, Montana, and in Idaho's Silver Valley. Union membership was on the rise, and so were the clashes between workers and mine owners. In Idaho it reached fever pitch when the social and economic whirlwinds felled one of our state’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. 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). Idaho leaders figured it was payback for the former governor siding with the mine owners when violence erupted in northern Idaho. The capitalists had chosen to cut the wages of unskilled workers from $3.50 to $3.00 for a 10-hour day, to compensate for increased railroad fees. The miners retaliated by dynamiting the Bunker Hill mine and attacking the "scabs" brought in to replace the regular workers. Dozens of laborers died. 

Governor Steunenberg, elected on the populist ticket, nevertheless appealed to President William 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 troops rounded up a thousand miners and locked them up in what derisively came to be called the "bull pen."  

I told Byron that this was sounding like a barn burner of a story. But I doubted Idaho Public Television would be interested. There were only a few black and white photos, and there was still the boredom of a handful of “talking heads” trying to explain something complicated that occurred a century earlier in a small Boise courtroom.

Besides, our small staff was already over-committed, and those of us working on Outdoor Idaho would be the ones recruited to tackle this new project, which always meant fewer OI programs. That was a problem because the IdahoPTV programming department was always pushing for more new Outdoor Idaho shows. They said that’s what viewers wanted.

That is precisely what happened with other specials like Idaho’s Capitol of Light and Echoes of a Bitter Crossing: Lewis & Clark in Idaho. Plus, there was talk of a second attempt at Aerial Tapestry, now that high-definition television had made the scene. We were certain the improved fly-over program would result in high viewership and be an instant money-maker for the station. 

But Byron was a persistent fellow. He informed me that I hadn't even heard the best part of the story. The day after the horrendous murder, townspeople had noticed a suspicious-looking man hanging around Caldwell. An examination of his hotel room revealed all the makings of a bomb. 

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 down and confessed. During the interrogation the murderer supposedly experienced a religious conversion. Part of that conversion 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 literally 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: prison in Boise, Idaho. 

The State then hired two of the West's sharpest lawyers, James Hawley and William Borah, to prosecute Haywood for murder. Hawley, a down-to-earth country “sagebrush” 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, especially with the 63-page written confession from Harry Orchard, whose real name was Albert Edward Horsley, but who also used the name Tom Hogan during his criminal activities. The man with several names declared that he had indeed killed Steunenberg and received money from Haywood to murder the ex-governor. He also confessed to 17 other murders, supposedly paid for by the leaders of the Western Federation of Miners. This was setting up to be a short trial.

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 seemingly 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. He was definitely the man for the job. And Darrow seemed to fit right into Boise, which he often referred to as "the Athens of the Sagebrush," with Table Rock hill overlooking the small town. 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 how we could produce a compelling hour-long program without relying heavily on talking heads and B&W photos.  

That all began to change when Idaho State Historical Society historian Judy Austin brought us the court transcript of the famous 10-week trial.  It meant we no longer had to guess what William Borah and Clarence Darrow said in that stiflingly hot 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, presented over two days. 

Of course, we'd have to reduce the more than 30 hours of transcription into a workable television script, but we knew we had excellent material to work with. "With my connection to the state's historical society, I had spent weeks helping writer Anthony Lukas, as he was researching his powerful book on the trial, 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 the 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 seemed to be pointing in one direction. This was an Idaho story that needed to be told in a dramatic fashion, with actors portraying the real characters. No doubt it was what Byron had wanted all along, but he dared not ask for everything at once. Thinking back on it, maybe he was playing us the way an expert angler plays a Dolly Varden.

And it was working. We were beginning to talk ourselves into it. Hey, this was a major historical story with national significance, and it occurred in our state. We are Idaho Public Television, whose mission is to tell these kinds of stories. How could we not rise to the challenge? Besides, I was confident we had the people who could make this happen. 

But when I mentioned the idea to Outdoor Idaho director and editor Pat Metzler, I was surprised how concerned he was about pulling off such a complex, dramatic program. “We have never attempted anything this complicated,” he told me. “We would be shooting for the unknown. This idea is part movie and part documentary—not exactly in our wheelhouse—and there are technical challenges because it would be our first program produced in high definition.” 

Now I was beginning to worry. “Plus, we need to create an ‘old look,’” he told me, “and I don’t want to manipulate anything that would lower the quality of the video.” That meant trying to do it all with lighting, and that required a generator, which we needed to rent.

With Pat concerned about the complexities of lighting and a multitude of other technical issues associated with using a room in the old Boise Post Office building, I began to worry about other things, like finding the actors and the costume designers, the make-up artists, the props and set pieces, a continuity director and God only knows what else. And to make matters worse, there was only one week in May available for some of the actors before the Idaho Shakespeare Festival consumed all their time. That meant I had to prepare their part of the script weeks in advance so that the actors could memorize their lines. 

As Pat accurately pointed out to me, “we have one week to pull this off. If even one thing doesn’t work for us, we are dead in the water.”  We obviously weren't in Outdoor Idaho territory anymore. There the acting was limited to an Owyhee County rancher riding out to his cattle on cue, or an angler making another cast from a drift boat on the Henry's Fork, or a farmer repeating 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? Still, our rallying cry soon became, hey everyone, let’s put on a show!

 
                                                   ***         

 

Funding is always a challenge for Idaho Public Television. I told Byron he might have to raise some of the money himself if we wanted a real dramatic re-enactment of the trial. It wasn’t going to work to just have various actors reciting lines in front of a black background. "I thought it was a great idea for a show and would push us all into something we had never done before,” said general manager Peter Morrill. “But it would take financial support. And that's what Byron Johnson would have to help us do, raise a big chunk of cash." 

The Idaho Legislature was slashing our budget. We were already doing things on a shoestring, 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 we were envisioning. 

I was pretty sure that the price tag would cause Byron to walk away from the project, but it didn’t seem to faze him. So I told him he would need to raise the money quickly, if we wanted any chance of airing the finished program in 2007, the Centennial celebration of the actual trial. 

Byron immediately began raising funds for what our accounting team thought would cost, in total, $225,000. Supreme Court justice Byron's association with Idaho law firms came in handy, and he had little difficulty reaching his goal of $100,000. Our development team raised another $25,000. The rest of the funding would be the station's "in-kind" contribution: the cameras and the edit bay and staff salaries. It seemed everyone wanted to see this program succeed.  To me, that seemed like a lot of money. If we hadn’t been committed before, we certainly were now.

                                                     ***
 

Part of the program would need to be produced in documentary style, so we brought historian David Grover to Idaho for an interview. He knew exactly what we wanted. David had written Debaters and Dynamiters and would provide the color commentary for the hour program. Besides, he had the look of a college professor.

We also relied upon University of Idaho professor Katherine Aiken. Her book, Idaho’s Bunker Hill: The Rise and Fall of a Great Mining Company, covered the trial in detail. I wasn’t sure how we’d use either one of them, but we would conduct their interviews after the actors performed, which meant they could fill in the gaps in the storyline. I just had to make sure I asked them the right questions.

The one author we would have loved to interview was Anthony Lukas, author of "Big Trouble," a towering 800-page examination of the "trial of the century" and the era surrounding it. Unfortunately, Lukas died by suicide in 1997 in his New York apartment at the age of 64, ten years before our television production. Some suggest it was his scrupulously documented book that was the cause of his depression, that he could never "prove" who was behind the murder of Governor Steunenberg. But Judy Austin, who helped Anthony with his research, believes his death had little to do with Big Trouble. Judy and her husband were friends with Lukas and often had dinner with him when he came to Boise. Judy says it did not really surprise her that Anthony took his life, that he was a depressive individual who could no longer keep his demons at bay. 

                                                             ***
 

One of my main tasks was to find the key actors, especially the prosecutors and defense attorneys. Without them, we were sunk, and if they weren't excellent, our work would have been in vain. We immediately turned to the Idaho Shakespeare Festival.  I had seen photographs of the Shakespearean actors from a Festival pamphlet and noticed a facial similarity between actor Danny Peterson and lawyer James Hawley. When approached, 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 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 other actors to approach, and within two weeks' time, we had our Harry Orchard and James McParland and "Big Bill" Haywood. Everyone had said Yes. It's true what they say about actors: they love to act. We now had a full cast, except for someone to play Clarence Darrow.

Since we were borrowing 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 Charles was willing to let us use the Shakespeare actors. We paid them the standard Actors' Equity Association wage scale, the same as if they were performing a Shakespeare play. 

"The amazing thing for me was how fascinated everyone was with this particular story, and the mystery of it, and the violence of it," said Professor Richard “William Borah” Klautsch. "The story was so good that people were committed to it right from the beginning. 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 Johnson and Judy Austin had 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. 

                                                ***

 

But we still needed someone to bring Clarence Darrow to life.  Again, Serendipity offered a hand. Actor 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 to make his point. When he heard what we were planning, he wanted a piece of the action. And since he even looked like Clarence Darrow—and already had his lines memorized—we agreed to a price and gladly brought him on board. We now had our four key players. 

                                                    ***

My colleagues and I were used to producing documentaries where no one got paid and where the scripts came after the interviews because the interviews determined the script. Our Trial of the Century would be different. The script needed to be written—at least the part involving actors—and delivered to them weeks in advance. And our professional actors would receive wages established by the Screen Actors Guild. 

But some of our actors and all of the audience were not "professional" actors. I told them we couldn’t pay them money, but we could guarantee them a front row seat to history, in a way they had never imagined it before. We also provided a free lunch each day, prepared by “Life's Kitchen,” a nonprofit that helps young adults become successful members of society. I believed it’s important to treat volunteers with food now and then.

In the back of my mind was the thought that a meal away from the court room would require a walk through the streets of downtown Boise in period costumes. That would be great publicity for our production. Besides, it might also increase the likelihood that everyone would return to the court room after lunch for another four hours of volunteer work.  

 I’m a big believer in volunteerism, having done some community theatre in the little town of Idaho City. And I wanted our audience to want to be there. I wanted that community involvement that comes from volunteerism.

Thankfully, the word got out, and the audience came. And they were delightful.  They reminded me that it was volunteers who built the ark and it was experts who had built the Titanic.                                  

 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 asked to build the gate that 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 on the phone. They assured us they were proficient in pyrotechnics and not to worry. They did this all the time, they told us. We paid them for their services. The person who had agreed to be the victim apparently thought better of it as we got closer to the deadline. That meant I would play Frank Steunenberg. It was nearly midnight and getting colder with each passing minute when the time came to blow apart the gate and the governor with it.

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, so 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 volunteers who would be assisting the volunteers, as well as the actors 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 began mailing old family shirts, detachable collars and studs to me. And her brother, Bill Crookham, began delivering boxes of hats! My first break, or was it more of the magic?

"For me, my life changed forever," said Joan. "I will never again watch a movie or television or stage production in the same way I did before.  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."

Several of my colleagues took on additional duties for this production. Producer Jim Peck and videographer Alberto Moreno contacted the conductor of an old train, to re-enact the kidnapping of Big Bill Haywood and his compatriots.

Producer Marcia Franklin played the role of one of the reporters who supported the labor movement. Joan Cartan-Hansen assisted with make-up, alongside expert make-up artist Frances Alves.

Others, like Jeff Tucker, Ricardo Ochoa, and John Crancer, Jay Krajic and a whole host of others handled the cameras and the lighting duties. We even had a colleague, Derek Stone, who entertained the volunteers in the audience during the many stop-downs. He provided a different standup routine every day of the shooting, to the delight of everyone in the courtroom. Watching the credits go by at the end of the program was proof that everyone in our small production team gladly assisted in the innumerable jobs that such a serious endeavor requires.

We now had a real shot at producing an hour program that might stack up favorably next to national PBS shows. Even director Pat Metzler was feeling better. “I was nervous about so many things, but when I saw those jurors walk out for that very first scene—they had been in make-up for a while, as we were lighting the room and getting things set up—and when they came walking into the court room, I thought, Oh my God, we got something here! We might be able to make this work, after all.”

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

                                                         ***

 

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 to do it in the guise of a trial. But the trial also showed how jurors from a small western town in Idaho responded to the terrorism of their time, which was even more violent than today.

Historian and author David Grover’s take on the trial was a bit surprising to me. “It was Boise's finest hour and certainly the finest hour for the state of Idaho,” he told us in his interview. “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."

Sometimes you just know when something said in an interview is going to make the final cut.

                                                            ***
 

The closing arguments of the four attorneys were passionate, 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, author of Big Trouble."

Capturing the importance of what the trial meant to Idaho and the nation would require more than my meager talents. 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 drew more than 50 correspondents to the state, including Oscar King Davis of the venerable New York Times. He was in the courtroom, providing daily updates to a national audience.   

The closing arguments went on for more than three days. 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 those 34 hours of closing arguments in that 1907 courtroom. Even today, reading the words is electrifying. It's no surprise that the courtroom at the turn of the century 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.

                                                            ***

 

William Borah, Prosecutor for the State of Idaho: 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 off 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."

James Hawley, Prosecutor for the State of Idaho: 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 high-handed 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.  

Edmund Richardson, Defense Attorney: 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." 

                                                              ***

 

Of course, we know that Big Bill Haywood did not hang. He was found Not Guilty by the all-male jury, 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 with his words and his cadence and his appearance . In actor 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, Defense Attorney: 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 Bill Haywood's life.”

                                                             ***

 

After that performance, the men and women in our audience sat silent, riveted by the power of Clarence Darrow and the other actors who were able to transport them back a hundred years. It was mesmerizing, every bit as powerful as any play in any theatre in America. 

One can only imagine what effect those words must have had in 1907, on the 12 jurors, nine of whom were ranchers and farmers, one a real estate agent, one a construction foreman, and one a building contractor. 

To this day, historians continue to study the trial and the jury’s verdict. Did Harry Orchard really kill the governor? Did "Big Bill" Haywood really pay Harry Orchard? Why did the jurors decide on a 'not guilty" verdict, when virtually everyone, including Clarence Darrow, assumed the verdict would be “guilty”? 

Were the jurors frightened of the violent labor union?  Was it the Judge’s strict instructions about needing corroborating evidence to convict that caused the jury to vote to acquit? Was there something in the nature of hardscrabble Idaho men that made them vote to acquit? Or was it merely the brilliance of Clarence Darrow?

There were also plenty of conspiracy theories surrounding the key elements of the Haywood trial. One historian has referred to the trial as “Idaho’s enduring riddle.”

Our distinguished, all-male jurors were also impressed with what they had experienced. Since director Pat Metzler had decided he needed them in virtually every scene, for continuity, we paid the men $50 to sit there on hard wooden benches for eight hours a day. And we also required them to have a beard.

None of them complained. None of them dozed off, especially as the four lawyers paced back and forth a few feet directly in front of them. The words that the jurors used afterwards were "hypnotic" and "spellbinding." I'm guessing that's why they all donated their earnings back to Idaho Public Television.

                                                     ***

 

I had been working on this program, off and on, as I continued to work on other projects, so I got to witness the transformation of Danny Peterson into James Hawley and Richard Klautsch into William Borah. Danny was charming in an Ideeho way, and it would not surprise me if Richard delivered Borah’s powerful closing arguments even better than Borah himself.

Watching Doug Copsey as Edmund Richardson go after the state's star witness, Harry Orchard, was spellbinding. Maybe it's because I knew Doug as the host of Outdoor Idaho and had interacted with him on outdoor stories.

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 also a key moment in the events a hundred years earlier.

And when Glen Hughes placed that opaque contact lens in his right eye—Haywood was blind in one eye from a teenage whittling accident—I could see why William Borah had later written that Haywood’s stare "doubled me up like a jackknife." 

There’s a lot of drudgery and long hours involved in making a documentary. When I first saw some of those courtroom scenes edited together and shown on a big screen at Boise's Union Pacific train depot, I was surprised at the emotion it released in me. 

The gathering at the train depot, put together by our sharp Development team, was to thank past and potential donors. I'm sure they were wondering why the chap in the back of the room was sniffling into his sleeve. But I knew the effort that went into each of those sequences. I knew how hard my colleagues and friends had worked to make it flow together and to keep it from looking cheap and second-rate. I was proud and grateful and relieved all at the same time. All of the IdahoPTV production crew played a role, taking days from their regular assignments to assist in the most complex program we had ever produced.

                                                                ***

Can you tell the story of a state by taking key moments and exploring them in dramatic fashion? I believe you can. I believe television, with properly motivated individuals who are tied into the community, can create a lasting legacy for adults and students alike. That's certainly what we tried to do with this project. After the curtain came down, the best website we had ever built came on-line, and DVDs went out to every school in Idaho, complete with lesson plans for teachers.

The 1907 trial may have been “the finest hour for the state of Idaho,” as David Grover believes. For my money, the 2007 re-enactment of the trial was the finest hour of our Idaho Public Television Production team.  Everyone had a role to play and played it well. We had complete buy-in from our engineers and accountants, our art department and development team, and our talented production team. 

 For that one week in May of 2007, everyone may have started out as strangers, but we quickly became family. It was something I won’t easily forget.

People have asked me if Idaho Public Television will 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. It would likely take the persistence of another Byron Johnson.

And I’m convinced it would require the assistance of Serendipity and the Muse. And a whole lot of Magic.  

                                                                -30-

 

https://video.idahoptv.org/video/idaho-public-television-specials-assassination-idahos-trial-of-the-century/