Tag Archive for North Carolina

Confession is Good for the Soul

Alma Petty Gatlin

To everything there is a season … a time to keep silence and a time to speak.
~ Ecclesiastes 3:1,7.

One of the most well-known legal privileges — the sanctity of the confessional — is also one of the most misunderstood.
Not only is the privilege not absolute, it is up to the minister to decide whether or not to share a confession in court. In other words, the penitent/defendant has no power under the law to stop a minister from testifying regarding something the “confessee” thought was sacrosanct. In the eyes of the law, there’s no difference between admitting a crime to your bartender and confessing one to a minister.
We are talking, of course, about what secular law allows, not what the tenets of a particular faith require of its clergy. The Catholic Church considers what is said between a priest and penitent to be an inviolable confidence: “It is a crime for a confessor in any way to betray a penitent by word or in any other manner or for any reason…” (Canon 983.1 of the Code of Canon Law). According to Canon Law, a priest should choose death over revealing the contents of a confession.
Most Protestant and some non-Christian religions have rules that may not be as strict as the Catholics because the ability of a person of the cloth to forgive sins varies by faith, but they do discourage clergy from publicly discussing what is shared in confidence.
Some states have statutes or rules in place that do prohibit evidence from religious confessions to be entered into a case. Most of those statutes pertain only to civil lawsuits. The intent is to relieve clergy from having to testify for one side or another in divorce proceedings.

n.b. See: Fred L. Kuhlmann, Communications to Clergymen: When Are They Privileged?, 2 Val. U. L. Rev. 265 (1968) and Frank Columbo, Forgive Us Our Sins: The Inadequacies of the Clergy-Penitent Privilege, 73 NY. U. L. Rev. 225 (1998).

Ignorance of the minister/penitent privilege is one reason why the people of Reidsville, North Carolina, were shocked in September 1927 when news broke that the Rev. Mr. Thomas F. Pardue had shared with Rockingham County and state law enforcement officials the confession of a young woman who admitted she had killed her father with an axe and buried his corpse beneath the family home.
Even though 20-year-old Alma Petty Gatlin freely admitted that she beat Smith T. Petty to death with the axe and locked his body in a trunk until burying it in the cellar, and no one who knew him had much good to say about Petty, it was the traveling evangelist who was always considered the real bad guy in this strange morality play.
The Danville Bee, however, agreed with the court that ruled his testimony admissible and supported the minister, correctly pointing out that the sanctity of the confessional only applies to Catholic priests by virtue of their job:

Some have attempted to draw an analogy between the inhibition imposed on Catholic priests from revealing secrets entrusted them in the confessional, and the position of Pardue. This, however, is countered by the argument that the doctrine of the Catholic church does not apply to Protestant ministers. Pardue was ethical and obeyed the principle of good citizenship in making a difficult decision between things temporal and things spiritual. Then it is also pointed out that the minister would have found himself in an embarrassing, if not a dangerous, position should the murder of Petty have leaked out in after years and had it come to light that Pardue had kept the confession a secret. He would have been regarded in the eyes of the law an accomplice after the fact.

Thomas PardueThe most curious part of this very curious case might just be the cool reception Pardue was given when he went to the authorities to respond to a possible murder. A Reidsville cop named Carroll was the first person told by Pardue of the crime — just a day or so after Alma confessed. He did not seem to be moved by the news, according to Pardue. When the minister went back to see Carroll and asked him what he was going to do, Carroll told him he consulted with his superiors and that “My hands are tied.”
Pardue then went to Greensboro and employed detectives of the Home Detective Bureau. A private dick named Noell was assigned to the case and accompanied Pardue to a meeting with Reidsville Solicitor Porter Graves. Pardue said Solicitor Porter Graves told them to go back to Reidsville and take it up with City Manager Mayberry, who, Pardue says, “refused to have anything to do with the affair.”
Eventually Pardue was able to convince the governor of the seriousness of the crime and he put state authorities on the case. Pardue also leaked his story to the local newspaper and from there it broke wide open.
Alma, a young dental assistant who by then had become the wife of the local fire chief, confessed her crime to Pardue on Mother’s Day 1927 while he was conducting a revival in Reidsville.
“I preached a message one night on ‘the Confession of our Sins,’ Pardue told the Danville Bee in a story that the Bee made abundantly clear was an exclusive. “She, Miss Alma Petty at that time, now Mrs. Eugene Gatlin, came to the altar for prayer with a number of other people and seemed to be right much concerned.
“And when we had dismissed the congregation, she still lingered undecided, and when I questioned her concerning her trouble, telling her the thing that stood in between her and victory to her soul was the thing she needed to confess and make right.”
Pardue’s counseling was enough for Alma, and she asked to speak with him privately.
“She made the statement that she had committed two of the biggest sins in the world,” Pardue continued. “She asked if there was any forgiveness for her.”
Pardue assumed that she had — in his words — “destroyed a child” — and he was not prepared for what she told him.
Mrs. Smith PettyThe murder was particularly violent, but the circumstances were the kind that might resonate with a sympathetic jury. Petty, a 50-year-old unemployed cotton mill overseer, was a mean drunk. He regularly abused his family, particularly his wife (the Register searched without success to find out the name of the poor woman. In dozens of articles about the case she is only referred to as “Mrs. Smith Petty.” She didn’t even have an obit.)
His murder was a long-time coming, Pardue later testified that Alma told him.
For more than two years, the minister said he was told, Alma had it in her mind to kill her father and had waited for a favorable opportunity. Once, the minister quoted the girl as saying, she obtained a pistol with which to kill him but for some reason the opportunity never presented itself.
On the night of December 9, 1927, Smith Petty was in a particularly foul mood. Cold weather had kept the family cooped-up inside their cramped bungalow all day. Smith spent the day with his jug of moonshine and by dinner time he had passed over from being a mean drunk to being an abusive one.
According to Alma, at one point Smith grabbed his wife at the throat and was strangling her; she said he might have killed her if the children had not intervened.
After they did, Smith threatened to “twist off” his daughter’s head “like a bird.”
It was then that Alma decided the home was no longer safe, but the time was not right for murder. Before she went to bed, however, Alma warned her father that she would “get him” for what he had done. She admitted later that she even told him she planned to spit in his face as he died.
Shortly after midnight the next day Alma retrieved the axe from the garage and stored it behind the kitchen door. Then she went to bed with the plan to kill her father after her mother and sister left the house that morning.
The Rev. Pardue told the following story of how Smith Petty died, swearing that this was how it was related to him by Alma:
Smith PettySmith Petty awoke at 7:30 a.m. on December 10 and Alma served him his breakfast of cold cereal and two fried eggs. Undoubtedly feeling a bit peckish from his bout of drinking the night before, Petty was still in a foul mood. He criticized Alma’s cooking and sealed his fate.
Then she stole to the corner of the room, got the axe, raised it above her head and with all of her might gave him a blow on the head from behind, using the blunt end of the tool.
“His head flopped over,” she said. “Then he rolled to the floor and I hit him again.”
Petty knew what was happening, she said.
“Alma, why are you trying to kill me?” the half-conscious bully asked.
The girl dragged her father to the middle of the kitchen, grabbed a length of lead pipe and laid into him again.
“He tried to cry out so I put my hand over his mouth, but he bit me,” she said.
As he lay dying, Alma spoke to him one last time:
“Now do you believe in hell?” she asked. “I told you once that if I could ever see you die I would spit in your face.”
“Alma, pray for me,” were Petty’s last words according to his daughter.
Once Petty was dead Alma stuffed his body into a large trunk, which she dragged a closet. It was this act that led many to speculate that the diminutive woman had not acted alone.
The she went about clearing up the tell-tale signs of violence.
“She told me she was all bloody,” Pardue later testified in court. “There there was blood everywhere. After keeping the body in a trunk in a closet for two days, she became frightened as evidence began to seep through the flooring.”
Then she dug four-foot deep grave in the cellar and dumped Petty’s body into it. Rigor mortis had set in and when officials unearthed his body, Petty was still in the position he had been in when he was placed in the trunk.
The only person who could save Alma Petty Gatlin from prison was Alma herself, and when she took the stand in her own defense, some 800 people were present in the courtroom to hear her testify.
She admitted that she confessed the murder to Pardue, but then stunned the observers by claiming it was all a lie. The real murderer, she said, was her mother. Conveniently, the woman had died between the time that Smith Petty was murdered and Alma was arrested.
“The night before the killng was one of terror,” Alma said dramatically. “Father was insanely drunk and constantly threatening to kill the whole family.”
The next morning was more of the same and when Smith Petty went after Alma with a carving knife, her younger brother grabbed the axe and tried to attack his father. Mrs. Petty took the axe from her son and hit her husband several times in the head, killing him.
The children wanted to go for the police, but Mrs. Petty refused to let them.
“I have always kept things secret and will not start telling them now,” Alma recalled her saying.
The wounds suffered by Smith Petty were not fully explained by Alma’s testimony. They included three fractures: two long cracks across the right side of the head and one in the jaw. Over the left temple there was a round penetrating hole like one would expect if a lead pipe was used as a weapon. On the stand Alma said nothing about her mother using the pipe.
Within days of the murder, Mrs. Petty became ill with pneumonia and also suffered a miscarriage, which Alma blamed on the fatal battle. In fact, she added, it was her mother’s pregnancy that had caused Smith Petty to become enraged in the first place.
“My mother was pregnant. He had told her to get rid of it and he said he wanted no more little rats around the house,” she said from the stand. “He had told my mother he would kill her if she did not get rid of it.”
There was nothing the doctors could do for Mrs. Petty and she died shortly in bed at her home, just a few feet away from where her husband’s body was stored in the closet.
But why, Alma’s defense counsel asked, confess to a murder you did not commit?
“I decided then and there (at the revival) that I would take this thing on me,” she replied. “I could not bear to think of my mother in hell, as she had not been able to confess, though she wanted to.”
Alma’s response made no sense because if her mother was indeed in hell because she died without atoning for her sin, Alma’s confession would make no difference. It’s one thing to take the fall in the here-and-now, but another to try and pull one over on the Almighty.
The state had no answer for the testimony of Alma’s 15-year-old brother, Woodrow, who confirmed her story that it was Mrs. Petty who slew her husband. It took the jury just one hour to acquit Alma Petty Gatlin of murder.
Although Alma had confessed that she committed “two of the biggest sins in the world” — one obviously being the killing of her father — no one ever bothered to determine what the other sin was.
Pardue was in the headlines again in May 1931 when he pleaded guilty to a Prohibition violation. Empty liquor bottles were discovered in his home but the minister professed ignorance of their origin. He was sentenced to serve 8 months on the Forsyth County (N.C.) chain gang.
The sentence was so harsh, the judge said, because Pardue had been preaching and telling people to “go and sin no more.”
“When a preacher falls, it makes a loud noise,” said Judge Thomas Watson.

The Strange Demise of Leota Childress

Leota Childress

The death of 18-year-old Leota Childress in 1934 was a vexing one for North Carolina investigators.
First, they couldn’t decide if it was murder or suicide — despite the fact that she was shot in the heart with a .22 rifle that was then propped neatly against a wall three feet from her body — and second, there were five members of her foster family who might have had a reason to pull the trigger, but no evidence to indicate who might have done the crime.
Eventually almost the entire Warwick W. Tilley family, wealthy tobacco farmers from Wilksboro, N.C., was put on trial as conspirators before and after the fact, but all were acquitted. After all, when you can’t prove who murdered the girl, it’s nearly impossible to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that anyone helped plan or cover up the crime.
Some good may have come from Leota’s death: it finally pushed authorities to charge son Luther Tilley with what authorities called the “joke murder” of bootlegger Andrew Eldridge seven years earlier. Unfortunately, a semi-diligent search for additional details of Luther’s fate turned up nothing. Eldridge’s homicide was the result of a prank gone awry when he died after being hanged from a tree in an effort to scare, not kill, him. After he was dead his killers tossed his body into a nearby bog and the case went cold until it was resurrected following Leota’s death.
From the time that Leota died in January 1934 until the directed verdict against the Tilley family in August of that year, investigators posited a number of theories of how she died. At first authorities thought she was the unfortunate victim of a robbery gone wrong; that was a reasonable supposition based on the last few minutes of her life.
The Tilleys, who had adopted Leota as a youngster, shared a telephone party line with neighboring farmers Nate Thorpe and Wilbur Brown. On a cold January afternoon, Thorpe was disturbed at his lunch by the buzz of the telephone.
“This is Leota!” Thorpe told investigators the woman at the other end of the phone screamed. “For the love of heaven, come to the Tilley farm at once! There are two drunken men here. They’re abusing me, tearing things up and threatening my life! “They swear they will kill me in 20 minutes unless —”
The call ended with a blood-curdling shriek, Thorpe said.
Described as “hatless and coatless,” Thorpe took off for the Tilley homestead and was joined by Brown, who said he just happened to pick up the phone at the same time as Thorpe allegedly to call the grocer.
When the farmers reached the Tilley farm they found it deserted except for Leota, who was lying in the living room already dead from the single gunshot wound to the chest. They found the rifle a distance from her body, leaning against a closet door.
There were few signs of a break-in, or at least a struggle. And even if there was a break-in, the burglars knew the layout of the house pretty well. Farmer Tilley’s unloaded pistol had been taken from a drawer and discarded, presumably either by Leota trying to defend herself or a robber looking for a weapon. Similarly, an unloaded shotgun was found in the living room. None of the weapons, including the death weapon, were in plain view, Warwick Tilley told police. The killer(s) also had to find cartridges kept apart from the .22-caliber rifle and load it, he said.
Warwick, 60, and his much-younger wife, who will be forever known to history as “Mrs.” (unless someone else wants to dig through probably long-ago destroyed court documents in Wilkes County), were eight miles away in Elkin, N.C. with their four youngest children when Leota died, while Luther Tilley was found nearby. His wife, Minerva, was out of the house. Neither of them had strong alibis.
It was Luther’s purported actions after being notified by Thorpe that caused a great deal of consternation: Told by Thorpe that Leota was dead, Luther allegedly ran into a cornfield and hid and escaped.
Bloodhounds were brought to the scene by deputies and led them to the house of Jesse Brewer, a half-mile away from the Tilley home where Luther was found. Four men, brothers Taft, Blane, and Porter Newman, and Brewer lived in the house. Taft had been a one-time suitor of Leota, described — as was every other young female murder victim up until the advent of equal rights — as “pretty.” However, none of the men were home and were not found until days later in High Point, N.C. Like so many others, they had alibis.
Things took a strange turn when coroner/undertaker S.A. Rash found a note in the apron that Leota was wearing. Actually, to call it a note is not to do it justice. It read (with original punctuation and grammar):

Mrs. Tilley, there are some men here, one Negro and three white men. Said they was going to have $500 of your money and have given me 20 minutes to get it. I don’t know any of them, never seen them before. I thought they was bird hunters. I took your things to the ‘C’ where we keep it sometimes. I would die in my tracks before I give it to them. They have got all the guns in the house. I don’t have a thing to help myself with. I wish I had went with you. My 20 minutes are almost up. They have searched the house over and over and said if I didn’t get it they would kill me. I rather give my life than your money. If they kill me I want to be buried at Benham. Tell Andrew good-bye. I want him to be happy. I have tried to get help but I can’t get anyone on the line. I guess my dream has come true. I have seen that money the last two nights.

There was no money found in the house, but several days later $500 and several thousand dollars in bonds did turn up in a tobacco cellar some distance from the house.
Rash created a stir when he claimed that the note was not in the apron the first time he examined Leota. He first examined the body at the scene and removed her apron at that time. It was hung, unattended, on a clothes line outside the house until it was taken, along with the corpse, to Rash’s mortuary. Mr. and Mrs. Tilley said they recognized the handwriting, but were confused by the poor grammar because Leota was a well-educated young lady.
The conspiracy theory really took off when Leota’s brother-in-law Hill Cox claimed that a few days before the death he had seen Luther standing with four other men on the porch of his family’s house and point out Leota to the men, saying “That’s her.”
Shortly after he told this to police, Cox’s home was destroyed by fire — along with all the correspondence Leota sent to her sister since moving in with the Tilleys that allegedly documents all kinds of nefarious doings according to Cox.
That led investigators to question whether Leota had been killed because she knew too much about Lester’s involvement in bootlegger Eldridge’s death.
A handwriting expert then added to the circumstantial evidence when he testified before the coroner’s jury that Minerva Tilley, wife of Luther, was the author of the strange note. Gossips started accusing Minerva Tilley of killing Leota out of jealousy because of the attention Leota was receiving from Luther.
Most of the Tilley clan was taken into custody when the coroner’s jury ruled Leota’s death a homicide. One of those jailed (but obviously not charged, was 2-year-old Juanita who was too young to be left with the other children.
Meanwhile, suggestions of suicide began to bubble up among people watching the case. Reportedly, Leota was despondent over her unrequited love for a married farmer who had given her “some attention,” but refused to leave his wife.
There was some support for the suicide theory. First, why did Leota tell farmers Thorpe and Brown that two drunken men were threatening her life while the note talked about four men demanding the money? Few, if any, robbers would allow a potential witness to write such a lengthy note, and even if she had been so afraid that she forgot her grammar lessons, why didn’t Leota do a better job of describing the men? Finally, interracial gangs of robbers were not common in North Carolina at the time.
But others argued that it would be impossible for someone to shoot themselves in the heart and then have the wherewithal to neatly lean the weapon against a door before collapsing. The autopsy was inconclusive about how close the barrel of the weapon was to Leota’s chest when fired.
Farmer Tilley, his wife, sons Luther and Clyde, and Minerva went on trial in August 1934 not for the murder of Leota, but for conspiracy to murder and being accomplices after the fact. The prosecution led by John R. Jones presented its case and before the defense even began its opening argument, the judge dismissed the charges against the family for want of evidence. Luther remained in jail to stand trial for the death of the bootlegger Eldridge.
The problem of whether Leota Childress was even the victim of a homicide will probably never be solved, but if she was, then someone or several someones got away with murder.