As God's Witness: The Death of Knute Rockne

By Jeffrey G Harrell

One day after testifying against a hit man for Al Capone charged in the murder of Chicago Tribune reporter Jake Lingle, Father John Reynolds gave his plane ticket to legendary Notre Dame football coach Knute Rockne.

Three days later, the plane exploded.

"... dribs and drabs of this story - or theory, or rumor

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mato Enterprises
• Release date: Aug 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798887968964

Book preview

As God’s Witness

The Death of Knute Rockne

Jeffrey G. Harrell

Rochelle Day / Layout & Design

Georges Toumayan / Webmaster

Richard T. Ryan / Editor

Len Clark / Editor

Copyrighted © Material

Mato Publishing L.L.C., South Bend, Indiana

spiritofknute.com

*Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

eBook - ISBN 979 8-88796-896-4

Print - ISBN 978 1-64921-677-9

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Book design by Rochelle Day

Jacket design by Georges Toumayan

Second Edition: August 2022

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION — 4

PROLOGUE — 5

SECTION 1: THE HIT — 11

SECTION 2: THE CRASH — 49

SECTION 3: THE INVESTIGATION — 72

SECTION 4: THE ROCKNE LEGACY — 102

AUTHORS’ ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS — 157

SOURCE INDEX — 159

Authors’ Introduction

When the country lost Knute Rockne, the world lost an amazing man.

Knute (Ka-noot) Rockne, the Norwegian immigrant and part-time chemistry professor who shaped the game of football as a player and a coach at the University of Notre Dame in the early 20th century.... and, literally, the ball itself.

The football legend known simply to his friends as Rock established Notre Dame as a cornerstone of American college football during an epic head coaching career that began at old Cartier Field in 1918 and ended in the iconic stadium that Rockne himself built, Notre Dame Stadium, with a third national championship in 1930.

As God’s Witness picks up less than a year before Knute Rockne was killed in a plane crash in a remote Kansas pasture at about 10:45 a.m. on March 31, 1931.

Pieced together from more than 100 time-period newspaper articles through newspaperarchives.com; the U.S. Department of Commerce’s official crash investigation report; books detailing the Chicago mob, the life of Al Capone, and the infamous murder of Chicago Tribune reporter Jake Lingle, As God’s Witness is the first historical account to thoroughly explore the circumstances leading up to the fateful plane crash that ended the highly-public life of one of America’s greatest sports icons.

What begins with the hit on Lingle in a downtown Chicago train station on June 9, 1930 expands through the Notre Dame priest who swapped his plane ticket with his friend Rockne the day after he had testified in the trial of a Capone hitman charged in the Lingle murder.

It’s been 90 years since Jake Lingle whispered his dying confession into the ear of Father John Reynolds as he lay on the ground of the Randolph Street Train Station with a bullet in his head. It’s been 34 years since Father Reynolds last spoke about being the only direct eyewitness to the Jake Lingle murder and defying mob intimidation to testify in a trial that only Father Reynolds knew had convicted the wrong man.

It’s as if Father Reynolds is telling his story for the first time As God’s Witness.

Jeffrey G. Harrell

South Bend, Indiana

March 31, 2020

Prologue

Knute Rockne was beat up.

Going into the 1930 season, his 13th as head coach of the University of Notre Dame, Rockne’s worn-out body moved delicately on a pair of wobbly legs nearly crippled by phlebitis.

Twelve grueling years racing non-stop around the clock coaching the best college football team in the land had finally caught up with the legend in his own time. No coach, not Glenn Pop Warner, not Amos Alonzo Stagg, not even Walter Camp, who was widely considered to be the most important figure in the earliest development of American football, worked as tirelessly as Rockne to build the game for the future.

It was Rockne who had perfected the forward pass. It was Rockne who had devised the pre-snap shift. It was Rockne who had installed the first complex passing system to complement the running game. It was Rockne who not only shaped the modern ball, but designed it with laces and a valve to regulate air pressure so it fit comfortably in the quarterback’s hand for passing.

Rockne built the Notre Dame Fighting Irish football team into a national institution and singlehandedly sold the college football game to an entire nation. Rockne designed and built the 54,000-seat football mecca known as Notre Dame Stadium, a college football hub that has since been expanded several times and now holds more than 80,000 fans.

There was Babe Ruth…and there was Knute Rockne.

All the other superstars of the ‘20s – Red Grange, Jack Dempsey, even presidents Warren G. Harding and Herbert Hoover – paled in their larger-than-life shadows. And not even the mighty Ruth could match the visionary intellect of Rockne.

There weren’t enough hours in the year to keep up with Rockne’s grueling schedule. He oversaw the business end of his own line of sporting goods, including his new streamlined football, which was sold nationally through Wilson Sporting Goods. He was the face of the Studebaker Corp., traveling relentlessly to cities across the country, motivating the South Bend-based automobile manufacturer’s sales forces with the same charismatic flair he used to fire up his teams.

The pay from Studebaker, $10,000, far outweighed the $125-per-20-minute-talk fee Rockne had received from the Leigh-Emmerich lecture firm in New York. But with the higher salary came a relentless travel schedule that took Rockne from coast to coast all winter long from 1928 into 1929, and stretched into football season.

When the National Association of Finance Companies contacted Rockne to address its annual convention in 1929, Rockne did not respond, prompting the NAFC to ask Studebaker President Albert Erskine to intercede and persuade the Notre Dame coach to appear. Erskine also headed up Notre Dame’s lay board of trustees and was a prominent patron of the university – and to its’ head football coach.

Erskine forwarded the association’s letter to Rockne with an appended note: Dear Rock. It’s worth $300 if you want it. Rockne took the money and made the trip to Chicago to speak to the convention.

In addition to a relentless lecture circuit, Rockne also entertained frequent offers to work in Hollywood on movies. At 42, however, Rockne’s health had deteriorated severely; the Notre Dame football coach was in danger of dropping dead on the spot.

The previous season had been hell on Rockne. Having all four wisdom teeth pulled at the same time exacerbated a series of nagging ailments. Then, immediately after the Fighting Irish shut down Indiana 14-0 in the 1929 opener, Rockne was forced to his bed with a serious illness that threatened to keep him from traveling with the team to Baltimore for an important matchup against rival Navy.

That week Rockne lay in bed perusing the book Gray’s Anatomy, it hit him what might have knocked him down. Doc, Rockne said in a phone call to his personal physician Dr. C.J. Barborka, I think I have phlebitis.

Only Rockne could have diagnosed himself with such a complicated and debilitating attack on his body. Graduating from Notre Dame in 1914, Rockne had every intention of moving to St. Louis to study medicine and pay his way through St. Louis University Medical School coaching football on the side. But when St. Louis Medical School administrators insisted his plate would be filled with a med student’s curriculum that would leave little time for extra hours to coach football, Rockne decided his best interests would be served by remaining in South Bend.

Dr. Barborka agreed with Rockne’s assessment. Thrombophlebitis, an inflammation of the veins in his legs, would keep Rockne bedridden. The doctor also advised Rockne to rest quietly and stay calm. Excitement could cause a blood clot in his legs to dislodge and launch into his blood stream, creating the potential for a fatal heart attack or stroke.

But the Norway-born Rockne was the legendary Rock, tough as leather, fiercely competitive, the unequivocal Viking of college football coaches. Can’t was not in his vocabulary. Not even a life-threatening condition could keep him away for the game against Carnegie Tech, a middle-of-the-road group that had embarrassed Rockne’s Fighting Irish the previous year in Notre Dame’s final game at old Cartier Field – the only loss the Fighting Irish suffered in the 23-year history of Cartier Field.

In the locker room under Pittsburgh’s Forbes Field before the game, the door flew open and interim coach Tom Lieb burst in to stun Rockne’s Ramblers with Rockne in his arms. Team physician Dr. Maurice Kelly stood awestruck and shocked in a corner.

If he lets go, Dr. Kelly said to a man next to him, and that clot dislodges to his heart or to his brain, he’s got an even-chance of never leaving this dressing room alive.

Rockne stood in the middle of the locker room surrounded by his team. As he began to speak to his players in a quiet, determined tone, his voice grew louder and clearer as if each word were a sail catching the tail wind of an ocean squall.

A lot of water has gone under the bridge since I first came to Notre Dame, but I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted to win a game as badly as this one, Rockne pleaded in his demanding metallic, nasal call to arms that could drive a group of men into a fiery inferno with no thought other than coming out wet with victory.

I don’t care what happens after today. Why do you think I’m taking a chance like this? To see you lose? They’ll be primed. They’ll be tough. They think they have your number. Are you going to let it happen again?

Each member of the team hung on every word as if it were Rockne’s last.

 "We will probably win the toss. I want you in run down the field and tackle them and go on the defensive. Stop them dead and take the heart out of them! You men in the backfield, be alert, heads up, smart; look for that ball when they throw a pass, and when they do, go in and get the ball.

"I want you to block as you never blocked before; I want you to do as well, as hard, as mechanically perfect as you can think of. And the quarterback thinks clearly and calls the right play. And you men, all eleven of you dig those cleats in deep, get your jaws set and when you start for that goal line, drive, drive, drive!

Go out there and crack ‘em. Crack ‘em. Crack ‘em. Fight to live. Fight to win. Fight to live. Fight to win... win... WIN!

They did win, in a dogfight that ended 7-0. After the game, the battered team and their ailing coach returned to South Bend.

Rockne’s condition refused to subside just as stubbornly as his fierce nature refused to give in to bed rest. The rest of the season, Rockne attended the games, and coached, from a wheelchair, traveling to other schools to play home games while the new Notre Dame Stadium that Rockne had fought bitterly with the school’s ruling Holy Cross fathers to build was under construction.

At practice, Rockne sat in the backseat of a car and shouted out instructions over a public address system designed specifically for his weakened voice by Lou Burroughs and Albert R. Kahn, a pair of audio manufacturers whose company, Radio Engineers, serviced radio receivers in the basement of the Century Tire and Rubber Company in South Bend. Rockne dubbed the system his electric voice, a moniker that inspired the name of the company that continues to produce microphones and PA systems today – Electro-Voice.

Frank Leahy had dislocated his elbow during the Navy game. With family coming to the game against the University of Southern California at Soldier Field in Chicago, Leahy badly wanted to play. Besides, Leahy reasoned, If (Rockne) could risk his life, why couldn’t I play football with a dislocated elbow?

Doctors removed Leahy’s cast on orders not to do anything foolish. When he came off the practice field, Rockne got out of the car and approached Leahy with the question: How’s the elbow?

Couldn’t be better, Leahy replied.

In that case, let’s see you flex it, Rockne commanded.

Realizing that Rockne had not been at the Navy game, Leahy figured Rockne did not know that he had injured his right elbow. He produced his left arm, moved it up and down, made motions like a baseball pitcher stretching, and won Rockne’s green light to order interim Head Coach Tom Lieb to use Leahy at right tackle. Rockne probably wouldn’t be at the USC game, anyway, Leahy assumed.

He assumed wrong.

Leahy, predictably, re-injured his elbow during the first half of the USC game. He was lying on the training table at halftime when the door swung open and Rockne appeared, pale and frightfully frail in a wheelchair. Rockne tried to stand, but his legs couldn’t hold him and he fell backwards. Leahy leaped off the table and stood in the doorway to watch as Rockne held up his chin as high as he could, and, in a weakened voice that barely resembled his usually-powerful staccato, launched into a speech that made the Gipper rally cry sound like idle chit-chat.

Boys, get out there and play them hard the first five minutes, Rockne beckoned. They’ll hate it, but play them hard. Rock will be upstairs watching you. Go ahead now. Hit them hard. Win! Win! Win! That’s the only reason for playing. Crack ‘em! Crack ‘em! I’ll be watching!

It took a trainer to hold Leahy back from jumping in line with the rest of his teammates to hit the field for the second half. When it was over, Notre Dame had beaten USC for its seventh straight victory of the year.

Later in the week after the USC game, Curly Lambeau, the founder of the Green Bay Packers who had played at Notre Dame in 1918 during Rockne’s first year as head coach, approached his former mentor to see how he was doing.

What kind of team you got? Lambeau asked.

Best damn team I ever had, Rockne answered. But I can’t tell them that.

Why? Lambeau inquired.

They might believe me, Rockne replied.

The end of the 1929 season saw the Fighting Irish finish 9-0, their fifth undefeated season under his lead. Rockne was a national championship coach for the second time, the first one coming in 1924.

When January 1930 rolled in, Rockne flew to Florida to take a welcomed family vacation in Miami with his wife, Bonnie, and his four kids – Knute Jr., Bill, Mary Jeanne, and the youngest, Jackie.

His health, particularly his legs, remained shaky. He planned a visit with one of his former players – Charlie Bachman, who was head coach at the University of Florida – during a stopover in Jacksonville on his way to Miami. But Rockne wrote Bachman a letter saying the visit had to be delayed.

Did not wire you to meet me at Jacksonville as I could not get out of the berth anyway, Rockne wrote. Is there any chance for you to drop down here? We have a great plan for me to sort of vegetate. Will drive up in our car just as soon as I can travel. Have lots of football I have to go over with you...

The Florida vacation agreed with Rockne. He returned home to South Bend before catching a flight in March to the West Coast to conduct business for Studebaker in Los Angeles. He also took time to travel to Seattle, Washington, to partake in one of his favorite leisure activities: golf.

Football would remain on hiatus when he returned to South Bend. Again, Rockne was forced to summon Dr. Barborka, who diagnosed the coach with a severe case of bronchitis. Rockne laid low for a few weeks, then caught a train to Rochester, Minnesota, where he wound up being admitted to the Mayo Clinic.

By mid-May, Rockne was back home on Notre Dame’s campus. His faltering health prompted letters to Bachman and a handful of other coaching pals informing them that he needed to meet and get their advice. The meeting, he wrote, would be held at 1 p.m. on May 31, ... to discuss the problem which affects all of us very vitally.

Rockne was not only ill in May, 1930, he was too exhausted to catch his breath from a vacation. The coach was only 42 years old, but hidden underneath that rugged bald head and pug-nose prizefighter’s mug was the body of a worn-out 72-year-old.

The meeting with his closest coaching confidants called for a heartfelt discussion over whether Rockne would be able to lead the Notre Dame Fighting Irish for a 13th season.

Nine days after that May 31, 1930 meeting at Notre Dame, Rockne traveled to Chicago to attend the Ninth Annual Collegiate Track and Field Championships at the University of Chicago’s Stagg Field.

The field’s namesake, Amos Alonzo Stagg, had served as a mentor to Rockne since the landmark Chicago football and track coach had recognized the teenager as one of the kids sucking wind under the stands after ducking out of a marathon race early. It was a good day for Rockne to take in the collegiate track championships with the coach who had served as a beloved father figure – and to discuss his health and coaching plans with one of his most revered advisors.

Just a few short miles north of the South 57th Street stadium up Lake Shore Drive, a series of events began swirling around the corner of Randolph Street and Michigan Avenue in downtown Chicago that would determine the fate of Knute Kenneth Rockne.

Section 1: The Hit

1

A TAIL ON JAKE LINGLE

The loud blast of a car horn startled pedestrians in their tracks as they strolled along Randolph Street under a clear blue downtown Chicago sky during the early afternoon of June 9, 1930.

Jake Lingle left his plush residential suite at the Stevens Hotel around noon and walked a mile-and-a-half to the Tribune Tower to meet with the city editor at The Chicago Tribune. The Tribune’s top street reporter was on the trail of a story surrounding a murdered body found a couple of days ago and needed to discuss rumors of a brewing gangland riff with his boss.

With business for the day concluded and now on his way to catch the 1:30 p.m. train to the horse track, Lingle unwrapped one of the cigars he had purchased from the Sherman Hotel’s kiosk. He buried his head in the Daily Racing Form he had picked up from the newsstand in front of the public library and made his way south across Wacker Drive toward the suburban station of the Illinois Central Railroad at the corner of Randolph Street and Michigan Avenue.

The deafening blast of the horn about 50 feet way away startled Lingle.

Play Hy Schneider in the third! a booming voice shouted through the open window of a car that had rolled up on the south side of Randolph. Lingle caught the eyes of two men sitting in a roadster.

I’ve got him, Lingle replied with a grin and a slight wave.

Two other men on foot suddenly appeared from the shadows of a back alley and flanked Lingle from behind. One was tall, decked out in a gray suit with light hair showing from