Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Richard Herr is Professor of History, Emeritus at the University of California, Berkeley. He is a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences and of the American Philosophical Society, a corresponding member of the Spanish Royal Academy of History, and the recipient of an honorary degree from the Universidad de Alcalá de Henares, Spain. His other works include: ¿ The Eighteenth-Century Revolution in Spain (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1958) ¿ Tocqueville and the Old Regime (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1962) ¿ An Historical Essay on Modern Spain (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1974) ¿ Rural Change and Royal Finances in Spain at the End of the Old Regime (Berkeley and Los Angeles, University of California Press, 1989) ¿ Co-author with Robert Woodmansee Herr, An American Family in the Mexican Revolution (Wilmington, Scholarly Resources, 1999) ¿ Our Family: The Winships and the Herrs (Self published, 2010) ¿ Separate but Equal? Individual and Community since the Enlightenment (Berkeley, Berkeley Public Policy Press, 2016). For more information, see: https://history.berkeley.edu/people/faculty/emeritus/richard-herr.

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Inside-Outside

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Chapter One

On a warm Michigan summer day in 1965 a young wife and mother of two was brutally murdered. Her nude body was found near a river bank behind her home a day after she was originally reported missing by the local news media.

The small town of Grand Ledge, located in central Michigan, twenty some miles west of the capitol, was shocked and in disbelief, upon hearing of the town's first reported murder in over 30 years. I was subsequently arrested for that murder.

I know that many people have suffered as much, or more, than I have through this period of time. What hurts the most is knowing that there is nothing that I can do in this lifetime to heal those wounds or to make up for the lost years endured by the members of so many families. I'm sure everyone has heard many stories and versions of what actually happened on that fateful day. I'm equally sure that none of the fables can even come close to what did actually happen. So, let's get to it.

Back in the early 1960's while working at a small independent used car dealership I became involved in a car deal which involved the purchase of a new Oldsmobile `98 from a large local dealer. I brought a Mr. Jack Reynolds onto the lot as a prospective customer, but because of the nature of the sale, my owner had to negotiate with the Oldsmobile dealer on the final purchase of the new car. At a certain point during the closing of the sale, I disassociated myself from the deal and let my owner carry the ball. The only time I ever met or saw Jack's wife, Mrs. Betty Reynolds was the day the papers were signed and they took delivery of the car. At that point in time the deal should have been finalized and into the history books. However, due to some sort of oversight or negligence on my employer's part he didn't notice that Mr. Reynolds had signed his name differently on the bank contract, the registration, and the bill of sale. He used the name Jack Reynolds on one form and John Reynolds on others.

Ultimately, the bank caught the discrepancy and refused to honor the contract until all the names were signed identically. My employer delegated this slight task to me, which I accepted, as there did not appear to be anything unusual involved with getting it done. For several weeks I phoned Mr. Reynolds at his home and office and tried to get him to come to my office to re-sign the documents. He always said he would, but never showed up at the appointed time.

I have never left a job unfinished once I've committed myself to doing it. For some reason this has always been a problem for some people to understand. So, even though I subsequently left the used car dealership to go to work for another local car dealer, I felt I had to complete the job given to me; to have the contracts resigned by Jack Reynolds a-k-a John Reynolds. Further encouragement was by way of my former employer's visits to my house requesting that I complete this one last task of his. I was not angry or upset at this request, and would probably need his influences in the auto business later on, so I promised him I would follow through and take care of the problem.

Failing to get Jack in to my office to sign the papers, I worked towards finding out where he lived. He resided in a small town north west of Lansing by the name of Grand Ledge. Not familiar with the Grand Ledge area I stopped at a local gas station to ask directions. Upon my arrival at the Reynolds' home I was greeted and spoke with an elderly lady who said, "Neither Jack nor his wife were home."

On another occasion during my lunch hour, I again went to their house. On this particular visit Mrs. Reynolds was there. She was doing some work outside in a garden area and dressed in a sun suit. After I introduced myself and described the purpose of my visit, she said, "She needed to call her husband and locate the copies of the papers they had signed." She retreated into the house and made a phone call to her husband.

After she had completed her call I asked if I could use the phone to call my former employer. I wanted to let him know where I was and ask if there was anything else that needed to be done. I called the Kalamazoo sales lot first. No luck. Then I tried the Grand River lot. During this period of time Mrs. Reynolds left me standing in the kitchen while she went to her bedroom to change her clothes. When she came back out I was still on the phone trying to reach my former boss. She walked past me to her daughters who were playing on the back porch. She sternly ordered them to go to a neighbor's house to play for awhile. Begrudgingly, they did as they were told. Now in contact with the Larch lot, I was talking to one of the salesmen, who said the boss was not there, but would be back soon.

My back was turned to Mrs. Reynolds and I was not aware of what she was doing. Subconsciously I felt her presence standing directly behind me when I finally hung up the phone. Sensing danger, a form of paranoia I had picked up while in the Marines, I turned quickly and glimpsed something shiny in her hand. Without hesitation I swung around and struck out toward her thoroughly as I had been taught to do in Karate training. I hit her arm, sending her spinning around; without thinking I slammed my right fist into the side of her head. She dropped immediately to the floor with a thud. She didn't appear unconscious, but I knew that she was seriously injured. There was blood dripping from the point of impact where my fist hit her temple. Her eyes were wide open staring directly at me, appearing frightened and yet unseeing. This was a sight of death that I had experienced before while serving in the Marine Corps.

I have always been ashamed of what I did from this point forward. For the first time in my life I panicked. What had I done? What was I going to do? My only thoughts were to get out of there as quickly as I could. But, I couldn't leave her just lying there in the middle of the floor dying. I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom gently laying her on the bed. No sounds emitted from her. She just stared at me, wide-eyed, pleadingly. I noticed that I got some of her blood on my hands from carrying her into the bedroom and so I went into the bathroom to wash it off. My head was spinning and I noticed a strange buzzing noise that had made its presence within my head. I couldn't think clearly. A sense of panic was creeping further into me.

I immediately fled from the house and returned to work. I did manage to calm down during the drive back to the office but I was in a state of shock and disbelief at what had just happened. As I parked and exited the car I managed to slam my finger in the car door busting it wide open. As my finger began to bleed profusely, I reported back to work. The receptionist on duty applied first aid to my finger injury and suggested that I should go to the company doctor for stitches. I took her advice as my finger was beginning to throb and ache. It took me awhile to find the doctor's office, but I eventually did, and he quickly stitched up my wound.

Later that same evening the local news announced that "A Mrs. Betty Reynolds was reported missing." How could that be? I left her on her bed. The next day her body was found several yards behind her house by a river bank. She had been violently and repeatedly stabbed and left there to die.

Needless to say something was wrong. It didn't make...