Even the Sun Is Not Without Spots: Murder In Rising Sun
Even The Sun Is Not Without Spots: Murder in Rising Sun
Just after suppertime on a December evening, Elizabeth Gillespie prepared her parlor for a meeting of the Women’s Literary Club. She lit a large lamp and carried chairs in from a backroom. Suddenly there was an explosion, shattering glass, and Lizzie collapsed on the floor.
“Lizzie? What was that?” called her elderly mother Margaret from the sitting room. She called again, and getting no reply, Mother Gillespie came to investigate. She was shocked to find her daughter sprawled on the floor, blood - so much blood - pouring from her temple. Their lace curtain was pierced, the window shattered, a wall speckled with shot, and cold air was filling the room. She ran first to her back porch, then to her front, calling for help. She pulled a handkerchief from her bosom, wet it and knelt beside her youngest daughter, wiping blood from her face.
Myron Loring Barbour, a neighbor from across the street, was the first to run in. When he saw the scene in the parlor he said, “Oh my God!” and darted out of the house to search for a doctor. He happened upon Earl Seward, Lizzie’s 29-year old nephew headed uptown to get the mail, and he enlisted him to come along.
How could this happen? Who would want to harm Elizabeth? Or was this a random shooting?
Elizabeth and Her Family
Elizabeth, usually called Lizzie, was 38 and lived with her widowed 79-year old mother on Poplar Street in Rising Sun, Indiana, population about 1,500. Lizzie was by now a confirmed old maid. She was engaged at 20, but the young man called it off. When she read of his marriage to another woman not long after, her hair turned prematurely white within a year, or so the story went. At any rate, she now looked rather matronly.
A member of the Rising Sun High School Class of 1884, she was an unusually educated woman for her time. She’d been a fortunate girl; high school then was for an elite, refined few, from families of means. With graduating classes typically of five to ten members, graduates each gave an address at commencement. Elizabeth’s was titled, “Even the Sun Is Not Without Spots.”
The Gillespies were regarded as leading citizens in the small town on the banks of the wide Ohio River in Southern Indiana, an “old family” that had lived there eighty-five years. Lizzie’s father, Dr. William Gillespie was noted for his service as a surgeon in the Seventh Indiana Infantry during the Civil War. He was elected mayor of Rising Sun after coming home. He continued practicing medicine and made wise land investments, owning farmland and rental property in town. His wife Margaret was said to be admired by all who knew her, “a woman of the most beautiful and upright character.”
When Dr. Gillespie was writing his will, he shared his plans with his children, and they all agreed. He would leave everything to his wife, and at her death the estate would be divided evenly among the children. Five of eight survived him when he died in 1891. By the time Lizzie was shot in 1903, her sister Belle was widowed and lived across the street from them in a big duplex with her only child Earl, and Lizzie’s twin brother, James. The youngest Gillespie, named William after his father, followed in their father’s footsteps and became a doctor. He lived thirty-seven miles away in Cincinnati. Another brother, Robert, lived on a farm just outside town.
Elizabeth was described as devoted to her mother’s care, someone who “threw herself heart and soul into plans which afforded pleasure to others.” She was a leader in the social world of Rising Sun, and known as rather a stickler for upholding the ideals of propriety and Victorian womanhood. The Cincinnati Enquirer called her “fearless and uncharitable in her denunciation of wrongdoing.” She faithfully attended First Presbyterian Church all her life, where she sang in the choir, worked with a youth group, and in general kept busy. She also was prominent in the Women’s Literary Club, where she frequently treated the club to dramatic readings and was considered musically accomplished.
It all looked good on the surface. But something went seriously awry in the Gillespie family. They were said to be “clannish, unforgiving and vengeful,” the Cincinnati Enquirer reported. The last twenty years of his life, Dr. Gillespie stopped speaking to his wife. Over the years, Lizzie had a series of falling-outs one-by-one with her siblings and their spouses - except for her twin, James. She completely cut off contact with the other siblings, their spouses, and her nieces and nephews. If her sister-in-law, Mary, William’s wife, came to visit Mother Gillespie for example, Lizzie left the house. Her sister Belle said she never knew what caused this. Her brother William said it was a series of individual things, but it wasn’t something he ever discussed publicly. She also had some falling-outs with some townsfolk - a nurse who helped care for her when she had typhoid fever for example, and a tenant.
Lizzie and James, often called Jim, were described as inseparable as children, and devoted to each other as young adults. But about four years before Lizzie’s death, they too became estranged. Jim angrily moved out of his mother’s home and across the street to live with Belle Seward and Earl. On the other side of Belle's duplex lived the Barbours, a couple in their thirties.
In 1900, upset over the estrangement of her children from Lizzie, Mother Gillespie decided to change her will, favoring Elizabeth. Jim had acted as property manager for their rentals, collecting the rent and their portion of crops, and taking care of getting new tenants. But Margaret went to her attorney. Two legal notices were delivered by the sheriff – one to their current tenant on a 70-acre farm. The property would belong to Elizabeth, and the tenant was no longer to make any payments to Jim. Jim was said to be furious about this, and about getting the second legal notice: that he was no longer to act on behalf of his mother.
A cold war was already declared, but this deepened it. The Barbours were part of it – possibly a key part. There was bad blood between Carrie Barbour and Elizabeth, and the two did not speak to each other. Elizabeth thought Carrie was entirely too intimate with Jim, spending too much time with him, and she told Myron so. Carrie told a friend that Elizabeth was a huge hypocrite, that she saw her shamelessly flirting with every man she saw on a steamer excursion on the Ohio River. Perhaps amusing today, these were serious charges then as nothing was regarded as more important than a woman’s “honor.” A newspaper reporter approvingly wrote that Lizzie was “a stickler for social purity, and misconduct on the part of others evoked from her severest condemnation. It may be said she gave up her life because of denunciation of what she considered an unpardonable transgression of social laws.”
The tangled, dysfunctional relationships added to the interest the public had in Elizabeth Gillespie’s shooting.
Suspicion
When Dr. William Gillespie arrived from Cincinnati at eleven o’clock that night, his sister was paralyzed on one side; her breathing was shallow and her heart was weak. He knew she was dying.
An informal posse of men grabbed lanterns and headed out into the neighborhood searching for evidence. There was a light layer of snow on the ground but it was old snow, with a glaze of ice. Footprints were not found. Besides, by the time they looked, there were already so many footprints in the yard and neighborhood from the curious and the posse members themselves. Belle initially wouldn’t let them in her yard. There was nothing to find there, she said. What was the point of looking? Did they think they’d find a gun?
Over the next few days a stream of people were in and out of Mother Gillespie’s house - doctors, police, friends, neighbors. It was noted who never came over, not once: Belle Seward and her son Earl; Jim Gillespie, and Carrie Barbour and her husband Myron. No inquiring how Lizzie was, no offer of help, no pot roast or pie, no sitting and sympathizing with Mother Gillespie.
Lizzie died just before two in the afternoon, December 10th without regaining consciousness. There were rumors – of course, there are always rumors – that Lizzie whispered the name of her assassin before she died. But they were quickly quashed. Too many people could testify that she never regained consciousness. It was all but certain, too, that she wouldn't have been able to see an assailant outside in the dark from her brightly lit parlor.
Now, of course her shooting was a murder case. A grand jury had already been convened the day after the shooting, when she was still alive. Now members viewed her body soon after the coroner’s examination. James Gillespie was ordered to turn over his shotgun to the court which he refused to do without consulting an attorney.
Lizzie had a huge funeral at First Presbyterian. Over five hundred people packed the church and spilled out into its yard. Her coffin was entirely covered in flowers. The Women’s Literary Club used the money they’d raised for their Christmas program to buy flowers. Six members of the club were honorary pallbearers. A choir sang. A soloist sang. The minister’s words were dissected by the crowd. Rev. John Henry did not eulogize the deceased in “fulsome praise” in the manner that was expected at the time. He didn’t dwell on sympathizing with the relatives, mentioning Mother Gillespie only once and the siblings not at all. He urged the attendees not to do anything rash, to respect life and law enforcement. And he said, “Let us in this hour think solemnly of the suddenness of death and the jealousies and enmities of life, and years of bitter weeping.” Since it was winter, Lizzie’s coffin was placed in a vault at the graveyard, to await a spring burial.
Again, it was noted who was not at her funeral: Belle and Earl Seward, the Barbours, and James Gillespie. Her own brother and sister did not bother to come to her funeral.
Ohio County authorities inquired if they could get some big-city law enforcement assistance from the Cincinnati and Louisville police departments, but as out-of-state entities they could not help. The newspaper reported that the Gillespie family was uncooperative. Although they were wealthy, reporters said, they refused to offer a reward for information or to pay for private detectives. They also weren’t talking. William Gillespie hired top-notch attorney Captain John B. Coles to represent James.
It was determined that Lizzie was killed with a 16-gauge shotgun, and Jim happened to own a 16-gauge shotgun. One other man was briefly considered to be a suspect. He was Dr. Harriman, a neighbor who also owned a 16-gauge shotgun. He rented one of Mother Gillespie’s houses and recently Elizabeth ordered him to vacate the premises. An empty shotgun shell was found in the alley behind his home. But fortunately for the doctor, he could prove he was at a store uptown at the time of the shooting.
No one was terribly serious about that theory, anyway. Suspicion fell on Jim Gillespie, Belle Seward and the Barbours immediately. Somehow, Earl Seward wasn’t implicated by police or the grapevine. The gossip was that Jim killed his sister, and the Barbours and Belle were accomplices. Carrie Barbour was blamed as the instigator, because her hatred stemmed from Lizzie whispering to others about her and other men. Further, Carrie had a Svengali-like hold over Myron and James. Carrie was the Jezebel who urged the others on. Or so the gossips said.
One thing was clear: this case had all the elements that captured public interest. Some of the most prominent, wealthy families in town. A hint of sexual wrong-doing and of family secrets to be revealed. Money. Family dysfunction. Family conspiring to kill family. One twin murdering the other.
Rising Sun was soon swarming with newspaper reporters, photographers and sketch artists. It was an era when cities had competing newspapers, and staff from both of the Indianapolis newspapers covered the case. Fourteen different newspapers sent reporters. The hotels were full, and extra telegraph and phone wires had to be installed. Every detail was heavily-covered front-page news in Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky. Stories went out on the wire services and appeared nationwide. Included were photos and sketches of all the principal parties including the judge, jury, sheriff, attorneys and various witnesses, the courthouse, jail, Mother Gillespie’s house, a tree in her yard, Belle’s house, the Women’s Literary Club, First Presbyterian Church, an imagined shooting scene, the town of Rising Sun, taken from the Kentucky side of the river -- even the sheriff’s house, and relatives watching the trial.
Carrie Barbour was portrayed as the villain behind the murder
Background
Annabelle "Belle" Gillespie, as she was formally known in her youth, was the oldest Gillespie child. In 1870 her parents sent her to Union Christian College in Merom, Indiana, 200 miles away. Colleges then were divided into one to four tracks, such as classical or teacher prep. Belle was in the scientific program and her father also paid quite a bit extra for her to study piano. College for women wasn’t to get a job, but to make one a better wife, a more refined lady.
Belle married William Seward, son of a timber dealer/lumber merchant who was one of - if not the - wealthiest men in town. William did well himself and owned a retail grocery. Because of the family money, their only child Earl, born in 1875, never had to work – and didn’t. Belle became a widow in 1899. Elizabeth did not attend her brother-in-law’s funeral. It wasn’t forgotten that she was seen at an ice cream parlor during his burial.
Belle suffered from an unspecified heart condition and was prone to “nerves.” Among the prescriptions her doctor wrote for her was whiskey, which her brother Jim had to administer every three hours the distressing night Lizzie was shot.
Belle did not seize newspaper reporters’ imagination. She always seemed calm and unruffled, even disengaged. She was a late-middle-aged woman plainly dressed in black, sometimes heavily veiled, whom they described only as “stout.” That was in sharp contrast with the woman who lived on the other side of her duplex - Carrie.
Like the Gillespies, Carrie Reamy was from a prominent family. Word was that both the Gillespies and the Reamys were “haughty and proud,” people who thought they were better than others in town. Naturally, this did not make them well-liked. Carrie was said not to mingle with the people of Rising Sun, and didn’t get many invitations. It was said that the only friends the Gillespie family had were paid attorneys, something William denied.
Carrie’s father was a United Brethren minister who died when she was twelve. She was sent to live with her wealthy uncle, Dr. Thaddeus Reamy in Cincinnati. Dr. Reamy had an international reputation. He specialized in gynecology when specialization was new. In addition to his medical practice he was a professor at Cincinnati Medical College and widely published in medical journals. Newspaper reporters described Carrie as small, pretty, trim of figure, with lips set firmly and a winning smile. She had “magnetic black eyes” (another reporter said her eyes were blue) and a “daredevil demeanor.” (Yet another reporter said her eyes were fiery.) She wore the fashionable shirtwaists and skirts of the day, with the soaring hats the width of two dinner plates – or maybe dinner trays.
Myron, 36, was a small, trim man, a graduate of Rising Sun High School two years after Elizabeth. Not only had Myron and Elizabeth known each other all their lives, but Mother Gillespie had known Myron’s mother since she was born. Like Lizzie, he had also attended First Presbyterian Church his entire life.
Myron worked as a banker at First National Bank, starting right out of high school. On his mother’s side, the Lorings, he too came from a leading family in the little river town. What was unusual was that his parents were divorced. Shortly after the Civil War, his mother married Lucius Taylor Barbour, a veteran who today would surely be diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. He was wounded twice - losing half his jaw the second time - and spent months in Confederate prison camps as a prisoner of war. Lizzie Loring Barbour was a devout Presbyterian, a teetotaler, and found herself married to a man struggling with alcoholism.
There was a terrible stigma to divorce. This wasn’t what ladies from respectable families did. But unlike so many women in that time, Lizzie Barbour had an option. Most women simply couldn’t afford to leave their husbands. But her family had the means for her to move back home and provided help. Then she ran a boarding house to support her children. Like most women in her situation in those days, Lizzie identified herself as a widow, and maybe over time people in town thought she was.
There was a family connection between the Barbours and the Gillespies. Carrie’s sister Mary was married to young William Gillespie. In fact, Myron met Carrie when she was visiting Mary.
As for James, he was described as a “tall, raw-boned Scotchman with a protruding chin and cool gray eyes.” He was meticulous about his appearance and saw a barber every other day. Between living with his mother and his sister and the family money, he never really had to work. It was face-saving to say he was a “property manager” collecting the rent and crops. He preferred being outside to being cooped up indoors and considered himself a farmer. Jim was also known to be quick-tempered and had that haughty aloofness said to run in his family.
Grand Jury
After Lizzie’s death, her twin was the first witness called before the grand jury. At the first question put to him, James replied, “Too many people of this town are accusing me of murder.” He refused to answer any questions other than his name, age and address. He was taken before Judge George Downey and threatened with contempt of court, but James’ attorney intervened. James would not incriminate himself.
Myron also refused to answer questions. He too had a ‘private meeting’ with the judge, who explained how grand juries worked, and that he could be jailed for contempt of court if he was uncooperative. He didn’t yet have an attorney, and Myron quickly decided to answer the questions.
December 21st, by court order, the shots still lodged in Lizzie’s brain were removed at the cemetery vault.
William’s testimony at the grand jury mainly involved Lizzie’s wound and his medical expertise. More significantly, from the public’s perspective, was that he spoke with a reporter for the Indianapolis News and said he believed his brother was innocent. He explained that the family was initially in a state of shock when Elizabeth was shot, which affected some of their decision making. He was the one who advised his brother to stay away from their mother’s house and the funeral to avoid the prying eyes of the public, he said. As for Belle, when she heard her little sister was shot, she collapsed and was under a doctor’s care. She had a nervous nature and suffered from that heart condition for years and just wasn't able to be a support to her mother. She missed the funeral because she was still too sick to attend. As for hiring private detectives, William feared it would just create a circus and lead to innocent people getting arrested.
Charged
It was the most extensive grand jury investigation in Ohio County history - or many said, in the state. Result: four indictments were issued, exactly as expected: James, Belle, Myron and Carrie. Murder in the first degree. Feloniously, maliciously, and with premeditated intent. A conspiracy among the members of the murdered woman’s own family to kill her. All faced the death penalty, which in Indiana at that time meant hanging. Everyone sympathized with Margaret Gillespie, grieving the death of a child, while also having two children facing the gallows.
The four expected their arrest and were waiting at home. William was stationed in the courthouse, and upon hearing that Judge Downey issued warrants, he jumped into a closed carriage to pick them up. This way, they surrendered voluntarily and didn’t have what we call a “perp walk” today, or at least, not a long one.
In ten minutes William returned with the four. Crowds pressed together on the courthouse lawn. As they made their way toward the building Jim created a scene. He saw Rutherford Cox, a Cincinnati newspaper photographer trying to take the group’s picture. Enraged, he yelled, “Don’t you dare take a picture of these women!” Jim took a swing at the man, hitting him in the mouth and kicking the camera over, breaking a glass plate. Myron, William and the unfortunately named Sheriff Harry Rump grabbed hold of him and shoved him up the outdoor stairway that led to the courtroom.
They were now all represented by attorneys whom William hired. Captain Coles’ daughter Cynthia, a graduate of Indianapolis Law School, joined her father to defend the women. She was said to be the first woman lawyer in Indiana representing defendants in a murder trial and was dubbed “the Portia of Southern Indiana.” Also on board was Rep. Francis M. Griffith, D-Vevay, a member of the Indiana House.
As the charges were read against them, the newspapers said Myron was the only one who showed any emotion at all, seeming nervous and frightened. Unlike the others, Myron’s voice was barely audible as he entered a plea of not guilty.
Lead attorney Coles presented petitions for writs of habeas corpus on grounds that there was not enough evidence to indict. A hearing was scheduled on that motion, and the two women were released on bond. The reason given was because of Belle’s heart trouble, though that had nothing to do with Carrie. Bail was $10,000 each for the women. Five members of Myron’s bank signed the bond; Carrie's uncle Dr. Thad Reamy put up bail money. Earl, William, and Belle’s doctor took care of hers. Bail was refused the two men, and a crowd followed them as they were walked over to the jail.
It was five o’clock when the steel doors of the little Ohio County jail clanked shut behind Myron and Jim. It was almost the same hour fifteen days before when Elizabeth was shot. Myron and Jim were said to take incarceration in jail coolly, joking about the probability of the sheriff finding weapons on them as they were searched.
There were three cells in the jail, and Myron and Jim were kept separated with the other cell between them. That afternoon Myron’s younger brother Frank came to visit him. Their mother, Lizzie Loring Barbour, was described as “prostrated” over the turn of events. This was a frequent description at the time, and the proper Victorian woman’s expected response to devastating news. (Also typical was that she was described as “aged,” when she was 58. A separate article in the same paper also described Jim’s mother, who was 79, as prostrated.)
That night, Myron ate his dinner but Jim only picked at his. William sent sleeping powder to both men but Sheriff Rump refused to accept it. Myron asked for extra security at the jail, fearing for his safety, and a marshal sat in the hall.
He needn't have worried. Newspapers soon reported the sympathy Rising Sun residents felt for Myron. A pleasant, mild-mannered man, he was known and trusted. He was consistently the only one of the four who showed anxiety and fearfulness in court. Plus, they believed he was “run” by his wife. He was not a mean-spirited man who would want to hurt someone.
The next morning in court he looked pale and drawn. The Indianapolis News reporter said Carrie greeted him with a cool, “Good morning,” just as if he were an acquaintance. An agreement was reached in which James withdrew his application for a writ of habeas corpus and was denied bail. Myron was released on $20,000 bond, secured by officers at the bank, just in time to spend Christmas at home with his and Carrie’s three-year old daughter. The trial was scheduled for the next court session in March. Myron returned to his job with a heavy shadow hanging over him.
Waiting
From December to March, rumors were rife about Jim. He had consumption and was wasting away in jail. Or, he was kept in solitary confinement and denied all visitors. Neither was true. Sheriff Rump allowed him visitors whenever he wanted, but no curiosity-seekers, only those Jim wanted to see. He spent most of his time reading. He subscribed to three newspapers and a plethora of popular magazines, all of which he read cover to cover.
He was “tortured” by the presence of a fellow prisoner who was obsessed with a hemp press he supposedly invented. He talked about his mythical hemp press incessantly, night and day. Jim finally yelled at him to let up on the hemp press and said he didn’t know anything about hemp anyway, to which the other prisoner replied, “Well, it won’t be long till you know more about hemp than you do now!”
Word on the street was about the changed demeanor and actions of the women defendants and Earl. Since December 26th Belle was a frequent visitor at her mother’s. The Sewards took her out places, something they hadn’t done previously. Belle and Carrie made regular calls on people, including many who testified to the grand jury. They smiled instead of scowled. After six months of dodging and hostility towards the press, Jim and the Barbours agreed to let a Cincinnati photographer take their picture. Probably their legal team had a few public relations suggestions for their clients.
When it was time for the trial to get underway, lead defense attorney Coles was seriously ill. March 8th the trial was continued to May. To say Jim was disappointed is an understatement. He was convinced he’d be found innocent, and naturally he wanted to be out of jail. At the last minute, the prosecution hired an additional attorney, prompting William to add an attorney to the defense team.
Trial
The trial opened May 9th and closing arguments were made May 26th. To impanel a jury, a key question was asked of the Ohio County farmers who were called: Would they be able to hang a woman? Out of over a hundred men, only three said no.
The Ohio County Courthouse was described by newspaper reporters as old-fashioned in 1904. It is Indiana’s oldest continuously operating courthouse, built in 1845. It is a brick Greek revival building with an unusual exterior double staircase leading to a portico. The small courtroom is on the second floor. In the days before television attending trials was a popular diversion, especially with a juicy case like this. After the first few days Judge Downey restricted the audience to those over the age of sixteen. He stationed two deputies at the door to enforce this. Buildings did not have fire codes yet, and spectators sat in the window sill and stood crowding the back.
In Harry McMullen’s opening statement for the prosecution, he laid out what the state contended were the motives to kill Lizzie:
Carrie Barbour harbored an intense anger and resentment towards Lizzie for telling others that she engaged in inappropriate behavior with a man or men.
Jim Gillespie was angry about losing out monetarily when his mother made financial changes that benefitted Lizzie at Jim’s expense.
Belle Seward and Myron Barbour, out of their allegiance to Jim and Carrie, were intimately involved in the plot, and complicit by their silence.
McMullen elaborated: When the Barbours first moved in across the street they were on such good terms with Margaret and Lizzie that they called Mother Gillespie ‘Aunt Margaret,’ and visits back and forth from across the street were frequent.
As for Lizzie, McMullen said, as “a church member, a Christian woman, knowing or believing something of the conduct of Carrie Barbour, [she] did not go out in the highways and byways of Ohio County and spread the news, but as a Christian woman, believing she should pray in secret, went to the husband of Carrie Barbour and told him of the misconduct of his wife.
“It will be shown in evidence that Carrie Barbour knew what Elizabeth Gillespie had done in the matter; that she was a bitter enemy of the murdered girl; that that hatred was so bitter that she threatened to throw vitriol [at Lizzie].”
Hatred, revenge - and all of them in on it together, equally to blame, every detail of the killing arranged in advance.
As soon as the jury was sworn in they were taken on a field trip to see the Gillespie home, with attention paid to the yard, a sycamore tree, and Belle’s house across the street. Forensic science impressed the public, and police had done things like take measurements to determine the likely trajectory of bullets. It was said that they had determined that the bullets could only have been shot by a left-handed person who was six feet tall. Unsurprisingly, Jim was left handed and six feet tall. But later at the actual trial, an expert testified that that simply wasn’t true, that it could have been a right or left handed person. Further, the killer was probably in a crouching position when he fired the shots. William and his friends did some experiments with firearms, and the judge allowed them as evidence.
So much information had leaked out from the grand jury - actual, partial, and the rumor mill - that the judge took great pains with the trial jury. They were sequestered in a boarding house with two bailiffs with them at all times. Their mail was read, and when their families sent fresh changes of clothing, it was gone through. The judge initially denied them any newspapers, relenting after about a week, but only after making arrangements to have all mentions of the case clipped out. In the course of the trial, they attended the circus one evening with the judge, sitting in their own section away from the rest of the crowd. Another night they went down to the riverfront and watched steamers arrive and depart. On Sunday they went to the Methodist church and sat together separate from the rest of the attendees. When they left, the congregation remained seated until jury members reached the door.
After the first day of testimony James did not help his reputation. Angry over what the sheriff told the court, he argued with him, calling him a liar as Sheriff Rump walked him back to jail. In a burst of fury he challenged the sheriff to a fight after he’d been placed in his cell, daring him to enter it. He also threatened to hurt the county auditor who had testified against him. That day the auditor testified that he overheard Myron tell Earl, “He ought not to have shot; he ought not to have shot for poor grandma’s sake.” James’ outburst got him a very stern warning from Judge Downing and the threat of being placed in irons.
Elizabeth was buried at the foot of her father’s grave. Belle and Earl attended a burial ceremony along with the faithful members of the Women’s Literary Society. Elizabeth’s estate was also settled. It had been rumored that she was worth $8,000. Actually, her personal property was sold to her mother for $96. Her estate owed $146, and Mother Gillespie paid the difference. Lizzie had a life insurance policy of $2,000 to which Jim was the beneficiary, but as someone accused of her murder, it was not paid out.
Where Was Everyone?
"Mother Gillespie" in her mourning attire
Trials often center on the most quotidian details of our lives. Where were you around 5:45, “early candle time” on the night of December 8th? What did you do exactly after hearing shots? Details like whether one just sat down at an aunt’s house, or whether one was standing suddenly become scrutinized and rehashed.
Neighbors were called into court to testify to where they were and how they responded to the shots. There had been a lot of shooting at blackbirds in the neighborhood in the weeks before Lizzie’s assassination, so the shotgun blasts were dismissed as more of the same. Authorities had also been dynamiting the river hoping to bring up the body of a drowning victim.
Fanny Detmer, the Barbour’s domestic, testified that the Barbours finished supper and she was washing the dishes. Carrie was watering houseplants and Myron sat in the parlor reading the newspaper. Next door, Belle, Earl and Jim had supper at the kitchen table. When they finished Earl announced he was going uptown to pick up the mail. Belle headed next door to her aunt Jane’s house, where a niece, Bell Campbell, was visiting from Illinois. Jane Boyle was Margaret’s sister and lived just seventeen feet away from Belle. (Police measured the distance.) Jim headed to the outhouse in the backyard. Newspapers more delicately called it a water closet.
Jane and the niece testified that Belle had just sat down in their home when they heard the shot. Belle leaped to her feet saying, “Oh my God! I’m afraid someone’s been shot!” and rushed frantically to her home. Her panicked reaction, if true, was significant because of the lack of concern the neighbors felt. Jane and Bell Campbell followed Belle telling her there was nothing to be worried about. They heard a man’s voice say, “Shut up and stop making so much noise!”
Another newspaper account said Belle asked, “Where’s Jim? Where’s Jim?” when she got out into the yard. Jane saw Jim approaching her about five minutes after the shots. Myron appeared shouting,” Carrie! Where’s Carrie?” Carrie appeared and said she’d been over to the Gillespie home, where she was seen peeking in the window, but did not go in.
Jane claimed that Belle said, “I don’t care what happened over there as long as it wasn’t Ma!”
Belle denied all this. She also said she hadn’t yet sat down - she’d barely walked the seventeen feet between homes when she heard the shot and turned around to return home. She saw Carrie and Myron standing in the yard and her brother coming out of the outhouse. Jim asked, “What’s going on?” and Belle said she could hear her mother call from across the street, “I believe Lizzie has been killed.”
Jim and William testified that Belle needed her ‘nerve medicine’ from the time she heard the news because she was so upset. Jim said he wouldn’t let her go across the street in the condition she was in.
For days there was so much more witness testimony to listen to. The jury studied plats of the Gillespie and Seward properties, examined an arsenal of guns and absorbed various mathematical measurements. A firearm expert hired by the defense, former army surgeon Dr. A.B. Heil, detailed why he believed a 16-gauge shotgun had not been the weapon used to kill Lizzie.
One man testified that one day Jim called Lizzie a vile name when he encountered her on the street, but she was walking with a woman friend and another woman was also on the sidewalk. In cross examination the witness admitted he couldn’t be absolutely certain that Jim was talking to his sister. Mary Hewitt, a former domestic of the Barbours, testified that she rushed outside one day when she heard a scream and saw Elizabeth lying on her back in her backyard with Jim standing a few feet away. When she went to help Lizzie she noticed a bruise on her arm, and Jim told the maid to leave Lizzie alone; that she could get herself up. Jim countered that he accidentally knocked Lizzie over as he and Lizzie carried some things out of the house during a spring cleaning. He denied ever hitting or physically hurting her.
Most of all, the prosecution hammered on the fact that Jim, Belle and the Barbours never once went over to check on Elizabeth after she was shot, or to comfort or assist Mother Gillespie. Also damning was their absence at the funeral. The entire case was built on the bad blood between the parties involved. Rev. John Henry of the Presbyterian church was even called to testify as to how he tried to counsel Jim to reconcile with his mother, to no avail. Jim told Rev. Henry that his mother knew where he lived if she wanted to see him so badly, and said, “I lived in hell long enough.”
There was no doubt Jim, Belle and the Barbours were guilty – guilty of being estranged from Elizabeth, guilty of not acting in the way that family and neighbors are expected to act after a traumatic event and a death. Myron was never accused of feeling hate towards Elizabeth, but the other three were, and here they were guilty, too. But that doesn’t prove murder.
Closing Argument
There was great anticipation about Henry N. Spaan giving closing arguments May 26th. He was the “big gun” attorney hired at the last minute to help the prosecution. Members of the bar from surrounding circuits came to hear him speak. The judge set aside a section of the very limited space for young lawyers. Politicians, farmers, businessmen from Lawrenceburg, Aurora, Patriot, Vevay, Warsaw and elsewhere arrived. The steamer Daisy brought a party of society ladies from Belleville, Kentucky at six that morning.
“Rising Sun has not seen such a day for a long time,” Indianapolis News reporter W. H. Blodgett wrote. “Before seven o’clock the courthouse yard looked like a lawn fete. People brought seats so as to rest in the shade and hear the words of the speaker through the open windows. Townsfolk made their way to the courthouse at six o’clock a.m. Many brought lunches and did not leave the courtroom so as to retain their seats and hear Spaan talking this afternoon.”
On his way to court, a small woman stopped Spaan, her eyes red from crying. She handed him a bouquet of heartsease, a small pansy-like flower, and asked, “Mr. Spaan, will you wear these? Lizzie was my friend. May they inspire your efforts.”
The day before, Marcus R. Sulzer, the expert defense attorney also hired at the last minute, did not finish his argument until after five. Carrie and William both wept, William leaving briefly to pull himself together. Afterwards, Congressman Griffith spoke for two hours. The coal oil lamps heated the room till it felt like a furnace and most jury members removed their coats.
Now, just after the jury assembled at eight and the judge gave stern instructions that he wouldn’t tolerate outbursts or demonstrations, Cincinnati attorney Colonel Shay began his part of the closing arguments for the defense.
After explaining reasonable doubt, he indicated Myron’s mother and said, “This poor old mother would rather go out to her grave and hear the cold clods rattle on the coffin of her boy than see him in felon’s garb.” Tears came to Jim’s eyes, and Myron’s mother burst into tears.
The attorney pointed to Carrie dramatically. She held her not-quite four-year old daughter Mary in her lap. “There is Carrie Barbour with her child in her arms, a frail little flower. I give her to you, knowing you will not send her to the gallows.” As if on cue, Mary rose from her mother’s lap and looked wide-eyed at the jury. Carrie began sobbing and women in the audience began to cry.
Colonel Shay held the crowd spellbound with drama and emotion as he recounted the heroic past of the Gillespie and Barbour families. Their ancestors had shed their blood in the wars of this country, and yet they were peace-loving, noble people. This - this was the sort of stock the Gillespies and Barbours came from. As he made a final, fervent plea for mercy, the tune, “Nearer My God To Thee,” suddenly filled the room from a calliope on the steamboat Island Queen as she moved down the river. “Though like the wanderer, like the sun gone down, darkness be over me,….There let the way appear…all that thou sendest me, in mercy given.” Nearly everyone in the room knew the lyrics.
Then it was Henry Spaan’s turn. “Elizabeth Gillespie is dead,” he solemnly said. “After life’s fitful fever, she sleeps well, careless alike of sunshine or storm. On the banks of the beautiful Ohio she rests where the stars nightly wing their way and the noonday rolls in his glory over her untimely grave. We have heard much weeping over the living. Let us pause a moment over the memory of the dead.” He paused dramatically, bowing his head for a moment of silence, then continued.
“The defendants now weep standing under the shadow of the gallows, but they aren't weeping for the dead Elizabeth; they are weeping for themselves. How much better it would have been if these defendants had wept some when poor Elizabeth lay dying, and the sad, weary-hearted old mother was dabbling her trembling hands in the death blood of her murdered daughter. But no. Then the fountain of their tears was dried up. Hate and indifference marked their conduct. Now sorrow at their own peril makes them weep.”
It was all part of a plot, he said. Jim would do the shooting. Myron would buy the ammunition. Carrie, Belle and Myron would swear to an alibi - Jim was in the water closet - Jim was to to refuse to make any statements to the grand jury, under the guise of following his lawyer’s advice. They would trade on their respectability, their standing in town, and both threaten and cajole neighbors to get away with murder. Carrie was a woman with ice in her veins, the coolest and most calculating of women. Her husband was a weakling, unable to resist doing her bidding. Belle sheltered a murderer and did what she could to throw off the investigation. And Jim – Jim was the only one who had such a motive and hatred toward Lizzie. His own brother showed that he believed him guilty by hiring an attorney before Jim was even indicted, Spaan said. Jim confessed his guilt by refusing to answer the grand jury for fear he would incriminate himself.
The reporter for the Princeton Daily Clarion said Mr. Spaan “roared forth accusation after accusation,” and dramatically demanded the death penalty for all four parties. As he did, a high wind whipped up bending the trees, and thunder rumbled in the west. Women listened to words which they would have fled from had they heard them on the street, the reporter said.
May 27th, a waiting game. That afternoon, a fishing party was arranged for a group of reporters, county officials and attorneys for the state. Henry Spaan caught a 42-pound turtle and had it shipped to his home in Indianapolis where he planned to regale his friends with turtle soup.
At nightfall, there was a party atmosphere on the courthouse yard. Hundreds of people were camped out and picnicked awaiting a verdict. A string band and a male quartet performed. Children ran about the lawn in the moonlight.
Ten o’clock. Bedtime. The jury had spent the day in a small downstairs meeting room with blankets over the windows. They were added after a man was seen on a rooftop looking down at the jury through a pair of binoculars. An area outside the building was cordoned off with rope and a deputy assigned to keep anyone away. At ten that morning they told the judge they’d agreed to disagree, but he told them that was unacceptable and sent them back to deliberate more. Now Judge Downey ordered the jury to return to their boarding house, to come back at 7:30 in the morning. He also ordered three deputies to patrol outside the boarding house and stop anyone who attempted to come close.
From his jail cell Jim could look out a window and see people across the street dancing, women and girls promenading and “much merry-making.” By moonlight, people went to Elizabeth’s grave to leave flowers.
When it was over, the jury did not come to an agreement. After forty-two hours and multiple votes, they were hopelessly deadlocked, seven for acquittal, and so the judge had to declare a mistrial. Rising Sun Mayor Charles B. Matson - who had been both Margaret and Lizzie’s attorney - went to the boarding house where the jurors were eating their last meal and said, “I’m glad there are five men on that jury who believed in upholding the law and protecting our wives and children.” After an awkward silence one of the seven jurors who voted for acquittal uncomfortably said that had he known what community sentiment was, he would have voted differently. The boarding house owner told him he shouldn’t pay any attention to public opinion, only to the law and evidence.
Judge Downey, in dismissing them from their service, spoke kindly to them and “did not in any way intimate that he believed they did not do their duty as they saw it,” W.H. Blodgett of the Indianapolis News wrote.
Jim was the only defendant who granted an interview to a reporter. He spoke with W.H. Blodgett. He was both pleased and disappointed with the outcome. He denied a rumor that he was planning to write a book and cash in on the trial. Predictably, public sentiment was disappointment. The Indianapolis Journal editor opined that when time gave Rising Sun residents a better perspective on the circumstances surrounding Lizzie’s murder, they would see that many trifling events were magnified to an importance they did not deserve.
The county was $55,000 in debt and the cost of another trial left people cold. But there would be another trial.
Jim was denied bail and returned to jail. Myron and Carrie went on a vacation, after which Myron returned to the bank. On June 20 he was fired. Customers were uncomfortable with a bank official awaiting a second murder trial and threatened to pull deposits from the bank. The directors said they didn’t doubt his honesty and had no fault with his work. It was just business. Myron went to work on a farm, probably his brother’s.
This time, Captain Coles petitioned for a separate trial for Jim. His trial began December 14, 1904, affecting a second Christmas season in Rising Sun.
Michigan City
January 5, 1905 a new layer of snow coated the courthouse grounds. Jim had spent a sleepless night and picked at his breakfast. His trial was a rehash of the first. Everyone said the same thing; there were no dramatic surprises.
A last day in court was followed by a return to the jail to await the verdict. After seven o’clock that evening he was escorted up the stairs to the courtroom, which almost immediately filled with those involved and spectators. The room was dimly lit by three or four oil lamps on the judge’s bench and tables of the attorneys, leaving the back of the room dark. Carrie and Myron sat motionless. Jim’s devoted brother William rested a hand on his thigh as Jim learned his fate.
Jim showed no reaction when the court clerk read the verdict. Guilty. The crowd inside was silent but outside they could hear cheering. Captain Coles addressed the court. Jim may have been found guilty, but he was innocent. He stated that a motion for a new trial would be filed. It was said Jim feared mob violence, and on the walk back to jail, he leaned heavily on the arms of the sheriff and marshal, something he’d never done. He asked Sheriff Rump to close all the shutters in the jail.
The next day Jim’s mother and Belle Seward took to their beds. Carrie Barbour told the press she was not surprised as she thought the verdict was predetermined. Trial for the Barbours and Belle was continued till March. William said his brother would appeal and cited irregularities, most serious of which was double jeopardy.
Jury members who came to town were “besieged” by townsfolk congratulating them on their good work. The foreman was treated like a hero, according to the Indianapolis News. Although the jury stayed out two and a half hours, it took them only eight minutes to decide, the foreman said. What took longer was that two men wanted the death penalty.
During Jim’s trial the state placed sixty-one witnesses on the stand, and the defense had forty-eight. It was said that the trials cost the county $10,000, and that William had spent that much on defense. (That is roughly equivalent to nearly $350,000 in today’s value.) Eventually, Captain Coles appealed Jim’s conviction to the Indiana State Supreme Court. Ohio County officials first continued the trial of Belle and the Barbours until March but ultimately decided to wait on the outcome of Jim’s appeal before making a decision on retrial.
Prison
At daybreak January 7th a heavily shackled Jim stepped into a closed carriage outside the Rising Sun jail. He turned to those present: reporters, his brother William and nephew Earl and said, “Good-bye boys; I’ll be back with you in six months.” Earlier, Jim declined the sheriff’s offer to have a last visit with his mother before leaving.
Sheriff Rump and a marshal accompanied him as they traveled the nine slow horse-driven miles from Rising Sun to Aurora. There they caught the 8:45 a.m. Big Four train to Michigan City. (The Big Four was the Cleveland, Cincinnati, Chicago and St. Louis Railway.)
The Indiana State Prison was already old when Jim arrived. It was built in 1860 before Lincoln was president. Jim was assigned to work in the storage room as a truckman handling freight. He was a cooperative prisoner and bore his prison time “manfully,” according to a reporter.
In September, Myron was arrested again, this time on charges that he committed perjury. It stemmed from denying on the stand that he had a conversation with a detective, when the detective and witnesses testified that he did. He was released on a $1,500 bond. Due to an error in filing the perjury charges, Myron was arrested a second time. Margaret Gillespie posted bond.
Margaret died at age 81 of pneumonia in January 1906, a year after her son’s incarceration. Of course people said pneumonia may have been the official cause, but a broken heart was the true cause.
Freedom
Shortly before noon April 5, 1907 the warden came into the storeroom with good news for Jim. The paperwork for his release had come through. The Indiana Supreme Court overturned his conviction the day before, but the wheels of bureaucracy had to turn. At three o’clock, Jim was released from prison. He was escorted by an official with the state prison system who traveled with him to Rising Sun.
It was over. The Supreme Court decision rendered a retrial of Belle and the Barbours equally unsustainable. The will to pursue perjury charges against Myron no longer existed and the charges were dropped. The Indianapolis News said, “ The feeling is that he was a weakling and was led into doing what he did by minds stronger than his.”
For three and a half years, the defendants lived with the thought of swinging from the gallows, or life imprisonment. Their reputations were dragged through the mud. They would live the rest of their lives knowing there were those who supported them, and those who believed the jury got things wrong.
Afterword
Myron and Carrie did almost the only thing they could do. They moved to Cincinnati. Myron started a career as a real estate broker, something he did for the rest of his life. He died in 1937. His and Carrie’s only child, Mary Rebecca, never married or worked, and lived at home with her parents until their deaths. Carrie died in 1948; and Mary in 1978.
Jim always said he would return to Rising Sun when he got out of prison, and he did. Earl, Belle and Jim lived in Belle’s house on Poplar Street until each died. Earl and Jim never married. Belle passed away in 1923. Earl Seward, who was only 11 years younger than his uncle Jim, lived in his mother’s house on Poplar Street his whole life. He never had to get a job as he lived off the family rental properties, describing himself as a property manager on the census. During the trial he said he was worth $15,000, which has a value of over half a million in 2023 dollars. He was described as “aged” when he died at age 58 in 1934. His death certificate said acute alcoholism and cirrhosis of the liver were the cause.
Jim lived another two years, alone. In September 1938 he shot himself to death. It caused “considerable local interest” according to the Indianapolis News, because of his history. He left a note in his home to the county coroner saying he could no longer stand the suffering he’d had from an extended illness. He handed his neighbor his house keys and told him to keep them until the “proper authorities call for them,” left without further explanation and went to a side porch of his house where he fired his final bullet. The Indianapolis newspaper claimed he used the same gun that was used to kill Elizabeth.
Elizabeth "Lizzie" Gillespie at the end of her life
Note: Where does anyone sit in my family tree? Myron Loring Barbour was my great-grandfather Clyde’s first cousin. As noted above, Myron was the son of Lucius Taylor Barbour. He was the nephew of my great-great grandfather Myron Cassius Barbour, and the grandson of Myron Fitch Barbour, my third great-grandfather. May 17, 1904 the Fort Wayne newspaper printed a story squashing a rumor circulating that the Myron Barbour on trial was Fort Wayne native Myron Cassius Barbour. Of course it wasn’t, and Myron C. had moved to Kansas in the 1880s.
I must have read hundreds of articles on the Gillespie murder and subsequent trials. I read many more than I recorded below.
Sources:
“Bloody Gun Wads May Reveal Gillespie Slayer,” The Indianapolis Morning Star, 11 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“Woman’s Hypnotic Power May Be Back of Murder,” Indianapolis Morning Star, 12 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“Slain Woman’s Relatives Not Willing To Testify Before Grand Jury,” The Indianapolis Journal, 12 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“Miss Gillespie Lived in Fear of Assassination,” The Star Press (Muncie, Indiana), 13 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“Gillespie and Sister Absent From Funeral,” Indianapolis Star, 14 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“Insurance Carried On Life of Woman Who Was Slain,” The Indianapolis Morning Star, 15 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“Surely 2 Indictments Expected in Case of Elizabeth Gillespie,” Muncie Morning Star Press (Muncie, Indiana), 16 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“Grand Jury At Work on the Mysterious Murder of Miss Gillespie of Rising Sun,” The Weekly Republican (Plymouth, Indiana), 17 Dec 1903, p. 6.
Blodgett, W.H. “Did Gillespie Kill His Sister?” Indianapolis News, 17 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“An Awful Charge. Elizabeth Gillespie’s Murder Laid At the Door of Relatives. Her Own Twin Brother,” The Evening Republican (Columbus, Indiana), 23 Dec 1903, p. 7.
“Her Corpse Is Lifted To Remove the Shot From Woman’s Head,” The Star Press (Muncie, Indiana), 22 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“Strange Scene: Marked Coldness Between Myron Barbour and His Wife,” The Cincinnati Post, 23 Dec 1903, p. 3.
“Four Arrests At Rising Sun: Little Town Is Greatly Excited But Violence Not Feared,” Muncie Morning Star Press, 23 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“Four Are Indicted For Murder in Rising Sun,” The Indianapolis Star, 23 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“Broken-Hearted, Aged Mother Near Death,” The Indianapolis Star, 23 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“Four Under Arrest. Jury Says Family Plotted Murder,” South Bend Tribune, 23 Dec 1903, p. 12.
James Gillespie Is In Rising Sun Jail Alone; M.L. Barbour Released,” The Indianapolis Journal, 24 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“Detectives Find No New Clews In Gillespie Murder Case,” The Muncie Morning Star, 25 Dec 1903, p. 1.
“An Indiana Tragedy. Murder of Miss Elizabeth Gillespie of Rising Sun,” Garrett Clipper (Garrett, Indiana), 21 Jan 1904, p. 5.
”Miss Gillespie Laid in Grave,” The Indianapolis Star, 9 Feb 1904, p. 5.
“Trial Begins At Rising Sun. James Gillespie Must Answer For Murder of His Twin Sister,” Fort Wayne Daily News, 7 Mar 1904, p. 1.
“Gillespie Trial. Celebrated Murder Case Is Called For a Hearing in Rising Sun Today,” Richmond Daily Palladium Item (Richmond, Indiana), 7 Mar 1904, p. 7.
Blodgett, W.H. “Continuance Granted In the Gillespie Case,” Indianapolis News, 8 Mar 1904, p. 2.
“Gillespie Trials Are Put Over To May Term,” Indianapolis Journal, 9 Mar 1904, p. 3.
“Trial Comes Up To-Morrow of Those Accused of Miss Gillespie’s Murder,” Cincinnati Enquirer, 1 May 1904, p. 15.
“Aged Mother First To Tell of the Crime,” The Star Press (Muncie, Indiana), 14 May 1904, p. 1.
“Mother of James and Elizabeth Gillespie Tells Sorrowful Tale,” The Indianapolis Journal, 14 May 1904, p. 1.
“Bloody Gun Wads and Shot Introduced At Rising Sun - Mrs. Myron Barbour Severely Arraigned,” Indianapolis Morning Star, 14 May 1904, p. 1.
“Sensations At the Gillespie Trial,” The Cincinnati Post, 14 May 1904, p. 1.
“State Scores Heavily in Short Session In the Gillespie Murder Trial - Strong Point Made Against Mrs. Carrie Barbour,” The Indianapolis Journal, 15 May 1904, p. 1.
“Malice and Hatred, Evidence Shown By State Witnesses, Existed In Gillespie Family,” Muncie Morning Star, 15 May 1904, p. 1.
“Three Important Witnesses Who Testified in Gillespie Murder Case in Rising Sun - Bitterness For Victim Is Revealed,” Indianapolis Morning Star, 15 May 1904, p. 1.
“Gillespie Violent. Rising Sun Murder Suspect Challenges Sheriff to a Fight,” The Evening Item (Richmond, Indiana), 17 May 1904, p. 2.
“Coils of the Law About Gillespie; Fatal Gun Shown,” Muncie Morning Star. 17 May 1904, p. 1.
“Cruel Rumor Denied, Defendant in Rising Sun Murder Case Not Fort Wayne Man,” The Fort Wayne News, 17 May 1904, p. 19.
“Defense Ready To Testify in Gillespie Case,” Muncie Morning Star-Press (Muncie, Indiana), 19 May 1904, p. 1.
“Scattering Powers of Gun Charges Explained To the Gillespie Jury,” Indianapolis Journal, 21 May 1904, p. 1.
“Barbours At Home When Fatal Shot Was Fired - Domestic in Their Home Tells Where Myron Barbour and His Wife Were At the Time,” Indianapolis Journal, 22 May 1904, p. 1.
“A General Denial - James Gillespie Goes On the Stand In His Own Defense,” Rushville Republican (Rushville, Indiana). 24 May 1904, p. 1.
“Each Defendant Gives the Same Testimony In Trial At Rising Sun,” The Indianapolis Journal, 24 May 1904, p. 1.
“Gillespie, Cool, Tells of Murder,” Indianapolis Morning Star, 24 May 1904, p. 1.
“Spaan Speaks For the State - Closing Arguments in Gillespie Murder Trial Draws Great Crowd. Rising Sun Is Thronged,” Indianapolis News, 26 May 1904, p. 1.
“Gillespie Case Rests With Jury,” Princeton Daily Clarion, 27 May 1904, p. 1.
“Residents of Rising Sun Expect Disagreement of Jury in Gillespie Case,” Indianapolis Journal, 28 May 1904, p. 1.
Blodgett, W.H. “Will Ask Release of Jim Gillespie,” Indianapolis News, 28 May 1904, p. 1.
“No Verdict Reached. Gillespie Jury Is Not Able to Agree,” South Bend Tribune, 28 May 1904, p. 1.
“A Talk With Jim Gillespie,” Cincinnati Post, 30 May 1904, p. 1.
“Seven For Acquittal And Five Jurors For Conviction In the Gillespie Case,” Bristol Banner (Bristol, Indiana), 3 June 1904, p. 3.
“Vacation For Barbour,” Indianapolis Morning Star, 4 June 1904, p. 5.
“Perjury Charge Places Against Myron Barbour,” Indianapolis Morning Star, 15 Sept 1904, p. 1.
“Murder Costs Him His Place. Myron Barbour, Gillespie Trial Defendant, Discharged By Bank,” South Bend Tribune, 20 June 1904, p. 1.
“Gillespie Case Continued Until December Term,” Indianapolis Morning Star, 16 Sept 1904, p. 1.
“James Gillespie Goes on the Witness Stand,” The Indianapolis News, Dec 30 1904, p. 5.
“Gillespie Must Go To Prison At Once,” Indianapolis Morning Star, 7 Jan 1905, p. 7.
“Gillespie’s Trial. Jury Returned a Verdict of Guilty and Fixed the Penalty At Life Imprisonment,” Jackson County Banner (Brownstown, Indiana), 11 Jan 1905, p. 2.
“Gillespie Cases Will Be Delayed,” The Muncie Morning Star, 7 March 1905, p. 6.
“Mrs. Gillespie Dies of a Broken Heart,” The Indianapolis Morning Star, 22 Jan 1906, p. 5.
“Gillespie Is Freed By Supreme Court,” The Indianapolis Morning Star, 5 April 1907, p. 3.
“Gillespie Leaves Prison For Home,” Indianapolis News, 5 April 1907, p. 4.
“Gillespie Returns to Scene of Crime,” Muncie Sunday Star Press (Muncie, Indiana), 7 April 1907. p. 1.
“Gillespie Is Set At Liberty By the Action of the Supreme Court,” Aurora Bulletin (Aurora, Indiana), 12 April 1907, p. 1.
“Man Kills Self With Same Gun Used To Slay Sister 35 Years Ago,” Indianapolis News, 10 Sept 1938, p. 2.
“James Gillespie, 73, Buried At Rising Sun,” The Indianapolis News, 12 September 1938, p. 5.
Copyright Andrea Auclair © 2023
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