Elaine Marie Alphin: An Unspeakable Crime

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Jennifer M. Brown, Curriculum Connections -- School Library Journal, 02/02/2010

TeachingBooks.net resources on this interview »»»

Hear Elaine Marie Alphin introduce and read from An Unspeakable Crime

In Elaine Marie Alphin’s nonfiction account of An Unspeakable Crime: The Prosecution and Persecution of Leo Frank (Carolrhoda, March 2010; Gr 8 Up), the author takes readers to the post–Reconstruction Era South, still smarting from its treatment by the North after the Civil War. Thirteen-year-old Mary Phagan was murdered in 1913 in Atlanta, Georgia, in the pencil factory where she worked. Many of her peers came forward to the police. Did all of them present the facts? Or were some of them enjoying a moment in the spotlight?

When the factory’s Jewish superintendent from the North was arrested for Mary’s murder, did false testimony by some of those teens play a part? Other would-be suspects were in the factory that day; why did they go free? What part did the ambitious prosecutor, Hugh Dorsey, play in Leo Frank’s demise? The media mogul, Tom Watson? Here Alphin discusses the questions of conscience she hopes her book will raise with young people.

Your historical account unspools like a mystery. Was that a conscious decision?
From the idea to the framing of a story can take a long time. A teacher friend of mine first mentioned the Leo Frank case to me at the end of 1998 or 1999. The more I thought about it, the more I thought it wouldn’t work because the final chapter occurs nearly 70 years after the case is finished. Then I thought about writing a novel in which the Leo Frank case becomes a catalyst for a character.

That was your novel A Perfect Shot?
Yes. In that book, Brian, the protagonist, is a ballplayer. His next door neighbors, including his girlfriend Amanda, are murdered, each with a “perfect shot.” He feels guilty; if he’d been with her she might not have been killed. Also, Brian thinks he saw something that afternoon; there was a jogger that didn’t look familiar. But everybody urges him to keep quiet about the jogger. When you’re a kid, adults say, “Tell the truth.” As soon as you pass grade school, they say, “You’re not supposed to tattle,” and “The world isn’t fair.” Brian believes in sportsmanlike play. If you play fair, you act fair. Because he’s not acting right as this investigation is going on, his game falls apart. I was happy with the book.

Yet you revisited the case in An Unspeakable Crime.
I didn’t think [the novel] did justice to the Leo Frank case. It’s something I’m never going to completely walk away from, but with this book I do believe I have done justice to the case.

What made you decide to structure the book like a mystery?
I wanted the investigation of [Mary Phagan’s murder] to unfold much as it had in 1913 when no one yet knew the facts, and everyone was trying to find someone worthy of punishing. I felt the combination of a teenage girl’s murder and the teen involvement in the case would draw in readers. I wanted to get readers to feel possessive about the information presented and the judgments that were made at the time. I think what young adults decide after they finish the book is going to say more to them about themselves than about the people involved in the Leo Frank case.

Most of us are familiar with the prejudice toward African Americans in the South in 1913, but the extent of the anti-Semitic feelings that came to the fore, and the bitterness toward the industrial North, were surprising.
I have a theory, not at all borne out by any facts, that had Leo Frank been born in Atlanta, been part of Atlanta’s Jewish community, [the situation] would not have snowballed in the way it did. He wasn’t a Southern Jew, he was a Northerner. [Media mogul and former U.S. Representative] Tom Watson made it all about a Northern Jew....

Your book suggests that those outside the South saw Leo Frank as a victim of anti-Semitism, rather than as a stand-in for Northern Industrialism.
The Northerners tended to look at the case from a Jewish perspective rather than the fact that Leo was a Northerner. They didn’t understand the devastating effects of Sherman’s sweep across the South and the Carolinas on farm families. The situation was exacerbated by the Reconstruction, when small farmers could no longer afford to keep their land because of taxes. Families had to move to the cities, and they bitterly resented their children having to work in factories. When this little girl was murdered, it represented everything they resented.

The media played a large role in the trial. Do you think that’s still true today?
The media was incredibly potent in this case, but it always is. At the time, there were three major newspapers in Atlanta, and they all wanted to sell papers. They were looking for dramatic stories to make readers buy a second and third edition [each day], and their paper instead of another paper. Mostly they tried to get facts; sometimes they made them up. Leo Frank and his lawyers made a clear decision, to remain silent before the trial. They saw that quotes were twisted by the prosecution. The reporters had lots of information, but all of it was what the prosecution wanted them to be reporting. That’s not unique to this trial or the South. It’s “breaking news” all the time on the news today. The reality of the news can be altered by the way it is presented.

The politicians used this trial as a platform, didn’t they?
To me one of the most interesting characters is Hugh Dorsey—very ambitious, [yet he’d never won a case]. He sees his political future slipping away from him unless he can find one high-profile case that will redeem him. He finds it in this case. He can be the one to make this Northerner pay, and that will be good for his career. He doesn’t say, “We don’t have the evidence to convict this man,” as you hope a good prosecutor would say. Then you look at teenagers who testified like George Epp, teenagers who just wanted to look important, too. That’s not a terrible crime, but added to all the other teenagers wanting to be [part of the story], too.

And then there was Alonzo Mann, who saw something that day, but did not come forward for 70 years.
We don’t know a lot about the other teenagers [in the factory] who didn’t come forward for whatever reason, but we do know about Alonzo Mann. For all we know their parents, [like Alonzo’s] also told them, “You do what the prosecutor said.” Readers can think about situations where people have tried to persuade them to do something they don’t believe in. This case has so many wider implications.

In the end, readers may feel that Alonzo Mann’s testimony may have had no impact. To me the great hero here is [Georgia’s] Governor Slaton. He had political ambitions; he intended to run for senate. He could have left [the Leo Frank case] with other unfinished business when he left office. He put all of his personal ambitions aside while he thought about this case. He didn’t turn his back on Leo. That’s why I leave readers with the idea that it’s a matter of conscience.

Jennifer M. Brown is the children's editor for Shelf Awareness, a daily enewsletter for the publishing trade. She recently launched the Web site Twenty by Jenny, which recommends titles to help parents build their child's library one book at a time.