Jury nullification — where a jury rejects a law and acquits a defendant it knows is really guilty of the crime — is not the same as a jury acquitting a defendant whom the world knows is guilty. In other words, the cases of defendants like Casey Anthony or George Zimmerman are not examples of jury nullification: they are just examples of either stupid juries or botched prosecutions.
The murder of 23-year-old Lamar Hollingshead by Judson C. Doke in 1934, however, is a blatant example of the theory of nullification where even jurors admitted that Doke was acquitted of the crime thanks to what one called “the unwritten law” (which is different from the legitimate notion of common law).
The apparent “unwritten law” that the rural California jury followed was the one that says it is not a crime to shoot down in cold blood a man who is having an affair with your wife.
That “law” appears to be based on the French concept of crime passionel, where the actor’s emotional state can be a mitigating factor to a crime. A classic crime of passion is one where one spouse discovers the other in the act and kills the lover.
The problem with Doke’s case is that Doke, 33, and his 22-year-old wife were separated and she was nowhere around when he confronted Lamar and shot him dead. Besides, in a crime of passion the emotional state does not absolve the person of the crime, it merely reduces it from murder to manslaughter. None of that mattered to the juries that tried Doke, however.
“We simply didn’t feel that a man had a right to go into another man’s home and steal his wife,” one of the jurors told the Woodland Daily Democrat after freeing Doke. “Doke was provoked beyond all endurance. We could understand just how he felt when he faced Hollingshead in that cabin.”
No one bothered to tell the jury that Doke’s first wife divorced him in 1928 because he was cheating on her.
The sad tale of Lamar Hollingshead and Helen Louise Jorze Doke begins in January 1934 at the University of California — Berkeley, where Lamar and Helen met and bonded over their mutual love of poetry. Both were accomplished and published poets, and as poets will, they shared their work with each other and eventually became intimate.
Their poems transcended romantic.
They were alone. He drew her toward him
|While he responded:
…When we reached the-foam-flecked rocks;
Eventually, Doke — a food inspector for the city of San Leandro who was authorized for some reason to carry a sidearm — caught wind of the relationship thanks to a local gossip, Kathryn Inglis, who tipped Doke off to the affair.
Doke confronted his wife, and in the statement he gave to police, was prepared to be chivalrous.
“When I discovered that my wife and Hollingshead were on friendly terms, I told her that if she loved this man I would give her up if that would make her happy,” he told police. “She said she loved me and did not want to go with him.”
In that case, Doke demanded, they would travel to Lodi where together, they would confront the man who called Helen Louise his “White Hibiscus” and put an end to the relationship.
On the way there Helen Louise prevailed upon her husband to spare her the embarrassment of confronting her lover and promised to end the relationship. Doke accepted her word and they turned around and headed back to San Leandro.
The ever-helpful Mrs. Inglis talked Doke out of filing for divorce and into giving his wife another chance. But she apparently also liked to stir the pot to see what floated up and a short time afterward presented Doke with a box of letters between Helen Louise and Lamar.
“Curiosity got the best of me and I read three of the letters,” Doke testified.
The correspondence showed how much Helen Louise and Lamar reveled in their physical relationship, meeting at hotels near the Woodland farm where Lamar worked. Accompanying one letter from Helen Louise was a silk scarf to which Lamar responded:
Oh dear one, my own sweetheart:
Your letter came today. Oh, how I cherish the silken lovely scarf coming from your white loveliness. Oh, it will go with my leather blotter holder Mother gave me — always, always. She is the mother of my flesh; you’re the mother of my soul. You are the possessor of my poetic heart forever and a day.
Oh, this day is too vivid with the swell of courage to ever forget. It is a sensuous, fragile thing that you give me, which thrills me beyond worldly comprehension.
There were more than 75 letters in the box and their contents clearly inflamed the man. Downplaying his rage, Doke said he headed back to Lodi to confront Lamar “for the purpose of talking it over” and explaining to him that as a college boy he could not support Helen Louise.
He took with him the revolver that his father had carried as a member of the Allied Expeditionary Force in Europe during the Great War. Doke said he had no intention of killing his rival.
The two men met at the Hershey family ranch in Yolo County and, according to Doke were polite to each other.
“We shook hands and I said ‘You were expecting to see me some time,'” Doke would later testify. When Hollingshead responded in the affirmative, Doke said, “Well, let’s go some place and talk it over.”
The first order of business, Doke said, was to exchange Lamar’s letters to Helen Louise for hers to Lamar. The men agreed to the trade and as Lamar headed over to a suitcase, Doke brought out his pistol. He did not explain if he drew the gun because he thought Lamar had one in the suitcase or for some other reason. If Larmar’s dying declaration is to be believed, as it should have been, Doke wanted Lamar to write a letter to Helen Louise saying that his only attraction to her was physical.
Obviously, by telling you, gentle reader, that Lamar had time to give a dying declaration, it is clear that the shot Doke fired into the young poet’s gut did not kill him immediately.
The truth about what happened after Doke pulled the gun differs depending on which side of the courtroom the witness came from.
According to Doke, Lamar started to write the letter, but then threw down the pen and advanced toward him.
“He jumped up and shouted ‘I’ll be damned if I will. You can kill me first.'”
“At this point something came over me and I do not know exactly what happened,” he testified, but he admitted actively pulling the trigger as opposed to having it discharge accidentally.
“Everything went blank then and I shot at him. I meant to shoot into the floor at his feet to frighten him so he would write the letter,” Doke said. “He fell on the floor and I saw I had shot him in the stomach.”
Two prosecution witnesses, shorthand reporter Bessie Rae Huston — who wrote down Lamar’s last words — and Paul Hollingshead, Lamar’s brother — who heard them — testified that Lamar was standing with his back to Doke writing the letter when he was shot.
“He tried to force me to write a letter to Mrs. Doke,” Paul Hollingshead recalled his brother saying. “saying that all I wanted was her body. I wrote the date and then said I wouldn’t write it because it wasn’t true; that I would rather be shot. Then he shot me.”
Doke said he left the cabin and drove to nearby Arbuckle to get a doctor, but when he returned, Lamar was gone. He had been taken by some of his fellow ranch hands to the hospital in Woodland. Doke gathered up the letters strewn around the cabin and headed to the hospital, where he surrendered to the deputy sheriff there.
Doke stood trial for the first time in early November 1934 and it was rhetoric, not facts, that filled the courtroom. For the prosecution, it was Doke’s failure as a husband that prompted his wife to seek another man.
“No man’s wife is going to be unfaithful to him unless he has failed as a husband,” District Attorney C.C. MacDonald told the eight men and four women on the jury. “And he should have known that when the opportunity is presented to to young people, they’re bound to fall for each other.”
In contrast, Doke never had murder on his mind according to his counsel, Arthur Huston (perhaps a relative of the stenographer who took Lamar’s dying declaration?).
“As for Doke, his one thought was not revenge, not murder,” Huston said. “It was, despite the deepness of his own heart, to spare his wife humiliation, to do the generous thing, and to save her from the danger of having her letters left in the hands of a man who could at any time use them against her if she refused to accede to his demands.”
That first jury couldn’t decide who was right and deadlocked. A new trial was swiftly called. The only difference between the two trials was the introduction of allegations that Lamar was a communist.
It did not take the jury long to reject the facts which clearly demonstrated that a crime had occurred and acquit Judson C. Doke.
Doke was more than humble in victory. He even told the press that a manslaughter conviction would have been fair.
“I was a fool — a terrible fool — when I shot Hollingshead,” he said a few days later. “Believe it or not, when I think of his family I can sincerely say that I would willingly sacrifice my own life to give their boy back to them. That is the way I feel about it.”
While Helen Louise was joyful for her husband’s acquittal, he was not so quick to reconcile and began divorce proceedings.
He did take a moment to blame a woman he called “the human post office” for her role in the whole tragedy.
“Mrs. Inglis meddled too much,” he said. “She poisoned my mind. If she had kept quiet my wife and I might have been able to patch things up.”
For her part, Kathryn Inglis defended her actions and did not miss the chance to throw some more vitriol.
“He asked for the letters. I would not give them to him,” she said. “He said he wanted them as a basis for divorce. I tried to argue with him. Then I begged him not to read them.
“Doke told me of his troubles with Helen. He said she had had affairs with other men. He told many things — intimate things — and that he married Helen on the spur of the moment.”
There was a little bit of a strange twist to the case. Immediately upon his acquittal Doke was arrested by police on charges of embezzlement. Apparently he had pocketed some of the fees paid to cover the cost of dairy inspections. He was convicted of that charge and sentenced to 1 to 10 years in prison.
Bankrupt because of his ongoing legal troubles, Doke dropped his divorce action to focus the theft charges. While Doke was cooling his heels in prison, Helen Louise went to live with her parents near Lodi.
Doke was paroled in 1938 and took a job in the state of Washington. Whether or not Helen Louise went with him remains a mystery.
One thing is clear, however: Upon his release from prison, his wayward wife was not there to meet him. A Berkeley Daily Gazette reporter was the only person there that day, which the paper saw fit to report — right below a wire story from Disney, Oklahoma, announcing that Mrs. Billie Baker had been elected mayor on a “whoopee platform,” defeating her opponent who proposed a 9 p.m. curfew for their “nice little town.”