True Crime: Gang Busters, Luke May … and Research

If you take on a writing project that requires getting the historical facts just right, you better like research ... but.

I already knew that, and just had further proof. My current project is the biography of pioneer criminologist Luke S. May. My draft is complete and I have submitted the book proposal, so I’m busy editing the text and tying up loose ends.

May dictating answers for "Luke May's Department."

One loose end was the belief that some of May’s cases became episodes on Gang Busters, the true crime radio show that ran from 1936 to 1957. Even May’s granddaughter Mindi was not quite sure where that notion came from. It made sense, because from 1935 through 1940, May wrote a monthly column called “Luke May’s Department” for True Detective Mysteries, the most popular of the true crime magazines.

But rather than leaving it at that, I started looking for some verification. That soon led me to Phillips H. Lord, the man who created Gang Busters and, as it happened, many other popular radio programs. For various reasons, Lord occasionally found himself involved in legal disputes. Buried in some fourteen hundred pages of testimony for one case, I discovered a nugget that linked to Luke May.

Lord was always on the lookout for ideas he could turn into a new series. In 1936, when Gang Busters began to look like a success, Lord considered using the work of a crime laboratory as the basis for a program. His staff found that “Luke May was reported … to be one of the outstanding laboratory scientists for the solution of crime.”

So Lord arranged a meeting with Luke, in June of 1936 at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York City. They talked about two hours and, naturally, May was quite enthusiastic about the idea. Lord said he would do a trial run on such a program and get back to Luke if the idea was well received. Soon after the meeting, Lord wrote a script for a test run on Gang Busters. But he also tested a more standard episode with a district attorney as the featured law enforcement person. In the end, the DA episode won out and eventually led to the popular radio (and television) show, Mr. District Attorney.

I now knew that May’s work had instigated one Gang Busters episode, but that it had been a (comparative) flop. That’s when I discovered the book Gang Busters: The Crime Fighters of American Broadcasting, by Martin Grams, Jr., published in 2004. Fortunately, used copies are still available at Amazon.com for a reasonable price. As a matter of fact, Mr. Grams has written quite a number of books about “old time” radio and TV programs, like The Green Hornet and The Twilight Zone, which you can learn about at his web site.

In nearly 700 pages of the Gang Busters book, Grams provides a lot of background on the program and at least some information for each of the 1,008 radio episodes. Sadly, for episodes after about 1954, he could only list the broadcast dates. But for hundreds upon hundreds of episodes, he not only has the titles, but also the story lines.

I found, for sure, that three of May’s cases ended up as Gang Buster episodes. One was the kidnapping of nine-year-old George Weyerhaeuser, son of the lumber baron, in 1935. Another was the 1934 “Bremerton Massacre,” in which a home invasion/robbery turned into the murder of six victims. There are two or three more episodes that probably have some connection to Luke May, but those will require more research.

And now we come to the “dark side” of needing to like research … you can like it too much. Having gone through the longer story lines, I had the answer to my question: Yes, Luke May cases were turned into Gang Buster episodes. My excuse for what happened next: I was afraid I might miss other Luke May cases that were turned into shows.

So … I spent the best part of the past week exploring episodes where the story line was unknown or given in just one cryptic line. Often the title provided a clue, although some seemed hopeless, like “The Case of the Trail to San Antone” or “The Case of the Monstrous Canary.” I struck out on the first, but actually found something for the second. A newspaper radio listing said the “Canary” episode was about a dope peddler who angered a partner and girlfriend who decided to “sing.”

But the title or brief story line might also have the name(s) of one or more of the criminals. That gave me terms to plug into a full newspaper search. For example, “The Case of Hugo Hedin,” broadcast September 9, 1950, outlined the career of a counterfeiter paroled in 1930. He was not caught again for twenty years because he specialized in small bills and moved just enough to stay ahead of the law. Some titles gave me three or more names, which helped a lot.

All told, I found reasonable to excellent newspaper links for over ninety episodes. The bad news: None of those that I expanded had any solid connection to Luke S. May. Worse yet, I found some of these stories so interesting, I spent more time on them, digging deeper than I really needed to. Sigh. At least now I can be fairly sure I found all the Luke May links I could.
                                                                                 

References: “Alonzo Deen Cole v. Phillips H. Lord, Inc.,” Case on Appeal, New York State Supreme Court, Appellate Division – First Department, Corporate Press, Inc., New York City, New York (1942).

Martin Grams, Jr., Gang Busters: The Crime Fighters of American Broadcasting, OTR Publishing, Churchville, Maryland (2004).

America’s Sherlock Holmes – Innovative Forensic Detective Luke May [otd 12/02]

Detective Luke May.
Family Archives.

On December 2nd, Luke S. May, who became known as America’s preeminent scientific detective, was born near Grand Island, Nebraska. Hawley’s History of Idaho and other references list the year as 1886.

The family, however, gives the year as 1892, with support from the Social Security Death Index, as well as the 1900 U. S. Census. This is highly plausible: By adding six years to his age, the youthful detective-to-be could pose as being in his early twenties – still quite young, but not a mere boy.

The family moved to Salt Lake City when May was very young and there he actively pursued his interest in detective work. After intensive study of the available literature, May opened his own detective agency, which did well. Then, in 1914, he and a partner, J. Clark Sellers – later famous in his own right – founded the Revelare International Secret Service.

A year later they moved the company headquarters to Pocatello, Idaho. The biography in Hawley’s History lists a half dozen specific cases – the Breckenridge murder, Lorenzen lava bed mystery, etc. – with no further explanation. This implies that these cases were so notorious that his readers would know all about them.

That was certainly true of the 1916 robbery and murder of Wilbur Breckenridge of New Sweden, a farming village a few miles west of Idaho Falls. May and sheriff’s officers soon identified the perpetrators, and May thoroughly tracked their movements before and after the crime. One suspect – a young man of about 18 or 19 – was finally captured, and soon confessed. The Idaho Register, in Idaho Falls, reported (July 7, 1916), “The evidence secured is conclusive and the boy under arrest denied the charge until the happenings of the past few months were recited to him almost day to day.”

Revelare developed an international reputation, aided by instruments and techniques developed by May himself. Among other advances, he pioneered the use of tool marks to identify and verify physical evidence. Hawley noted that Luke was “an expert in the use of chemicals” and concluded that “His work indeed stands as the last word in detective service in the northwest.”

During World War I, Sellers enlisted in the Army, which disrupted the firm’s work somewhat. In 1919, they added another partner and moved their headquarters to Seattle. The partners soon left to pursue their own careers, but May’s reputation flourished during the next two decades. Newspaper and magazine articles began referring to him as “America’s Sherlock Holmes.”

In the Thirties, he started to write “true crime” articles for a popular detective magazine. He also published a popularized book of case files, as well as two texts on scientific detection.

Evidence object from Luke May Papers.
University of Washington Special Collections.

May felt strongly about the need to apply logic and science to criminal investigation. He thus took every avenue to educate law enforcement officials and ordinary people. He helped found crime laboratories for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the Chicago police department, and elsewhere.

During World War II, Naval Reserve officer Lt. Commander Luke May was called to active duty and then promoted to Commander shortly before the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor (Seattle Daily Times, November 14, 1941). He never discussed what he had done while he was on active duty. However, his service records show that he mostly trained intelligence officers, showing them how to turn field observations into useful information.

After the war, May found himself something of a victim of his own success. Many public law enforcement bodies started their own crime labs, leading to fewer calls for Luke's independent service. Luke passed away in July 1965, after a long battle with leukemia.

“America’s Sherlock Holmes” either directly, or through years of education, helped revolutionize criminal investigation, improving most of the techniques that are still in use today.
                                                                                 

Reference: [Hawley]

J. Beck, “Luke May of Seattle – ‘America's Sherlock Holmes’,” Journal of Forensic Sciences, Vol. 37, No. 1, American Academy of Forensic Sciences (1992) pp 349-355.

Darrell Klasey, “J. Clark Sellers,” The California Identification Digest, Vol. 10, No. 1, California State Division, International Association for Identification, Oakland (2010).

“Luke Silvester May,” Military Personnel Records, National Archives and Records Administration, St. Louis , Missouri (2003).

Mindi Reid, “May, Luke (1892-1965),” Online Encyclopedia of Washington State History, HistoryLink.net.

Luke May and His Custom Microscope(s)

During his career, criminologist Luke S. May (1892-1965) handled hundreds of firearms cases. He also examined evidence in the form of hair, fibers, dust particles, tool marks, paint chips and on and on. All that meant he spent a lot of time peering through a microscope. For one firearms case in 1921, he sent the Police Chief in Aberdeen, Washington a preliminary report, but said, “I have been unable to complete my tests.”

Early microscope, ca 1920.
National Institutes of Health.

May explained some of the features he still had to determine and went on, “My eyes played out on me having used the microscope too much in the last few days.”

So it comes as no surprise that he tried to find a better way. May’s answer began with his invention of what he called the “Revelaroscope.” (At the time, his detective agency was called the Revelare International Secret Service.). The Seattle Times published (July 16, 1922) a long article with the headline, “Mastodon of the Microscope Family.” The optics of the unit looked roughly like an extra-tall metal beer keg. That was anchored to a steel post and the whole apparatus stood taller than Luke, who, at about 5-foot 10-inches, was considered tall for that era. It weighed nearly 450 pounds.

The crucial feature was an eye-high view screen that displayed the magnified image – no more squinting through a small ocular. The news report said, “The tiniest strand of human hair is made to resemble a section of the trunk of a giant spruce tree.”

Unfortunately, the technology of the times was incapable of delivering the promise of May’s design. For one thing, the long light paths made the device very susceptible to vibration. And it required a strong light source, which generate a lot of heat that created convection currents. But with all that, the Revelaroscope had great promotional value … important since May ran a private lab and needed all the free publicity he could get.

Magnascope. Popular Science Magazine, 1931

May continued to improve the Revelaroscope over the next decade, eventually changing the name to “Magnascope.” In the spring of 1929, he applied for a patent under the title of “Comparison Magnascope.” During the long approval process, Popular Science Magazine published an article about the use of microscopes in crime detection. The writer said, “The tools of the trade now range from pocket glasses, smaller than a quarter, to a colossal apparatus, tall as a man and weighing half a ton.”

That “colossal” tool was, of course, the Comparison Magascope … now apparently more than doubled in weight. So the giant device continued to have publicity value, even though May by then used a standard commercial comparison microscope for his closest work. Still, the patent form noted that use of the standard scope was “extremely tedious and wearing, and straining upon the eyes.” With his new design “such inspections and comparisons can be made with the normal vision of the two eyes.”

The patent on the Magnascope was granted in 1934. So far as anyone knows, May’s prototype was the only one ever built. The unit was around for some time after May’s death in 1965, but the family eventually lost track of where is was. It may have since been disassembled for scrap or even just discarded.
                                                                                  

References: L. S. May, Comparison Magnascope, Patent No. 1,974,654, United States Patent Office, Washington, D. C. (September 25, 1934).

Luke S. May, Luke S. May Papers, University of Washington Special Collections, Seattle (1969).

Edwin W. Teale, “Microscope Detectives,” Popular Science Magazine, New York City (December 1931).