In his book Behind the Headlines: A History of Investigative Journalism in Canada, Cecil Rosner characterizes investigative journalists as fierce and dedicated reformers whose mission is to expose wrongdoing.

“They are often obsessed with information, data, documents, and proof.” They will delve into a story for months or even years, risking personal and professional danger to discover the truth and hold wrongdoers to account.

According to Rosner, modern investigative journalism in Canada had its beginnings in the second half of the twentieth century and accelerated in the 1970s. One of the issues tackled by gutsy Canadian journalists during that period was the possibility of wrongful conviction in the criminal justice system. In a series of articles called “MURDER?” published in the Globe and Mail in 1963, Betty Lee put together a withering exposé of the case of Arthur Lucas, hanged in Toronto’s Don Jail in 1962 for the murder of an FBI informant. In 1966, writer and activist Isabel LeBourdais came out swinging in support of Steven Truscott, sentenced to death as a fourteen-year-old for the rape and murder of classmate Lynne Harper.

But both in Canada and on the world stage, few could match the journalistic exploits of Harold Evans, the charismatic and courageous editor of the British Sunday Times between 1967 and 1981. Earlier, when he was still editor of the Northern Echo in Darlington, he, too, targeted the perils of the death penalty. He conducted a campaign to secure a posthumous pardon for Timothy Evans, hanged in 1950 for the murder of his wife and daughter. These murders were subsequently shown to have been committed by serial killer John Reginald Halliday Christie.

By far the most poignant endeavour undertaken by Evans and his team of reporters at the Sunday Times was the crusade against the manufacturers of the drug thalidomide, sold in the 1950s and 60s as a treatment for nausea and morning sickness in pregnant women. Chemie Grünenthal first marketed the drug in Germany, claiming that it was totally safe and non-toxic. This was tragically false: thalidomide has disastrous effects on the developing foetus if administered in the first three months of pregnancy. Worldwide, one estimate puts the number of babies born with thalidomide-induced malformations at more than 24,000. In Canada alone, more than 100 babies were severely affected.

Evans’s ground-breaking battle to obtain compensation for thalidomide babies in Britain and establish the liability of the British suppliers of the drug, Distillers Biochemicals, is presented in the 2016 documentary Attacking the Devil: Harold Evans and the Last Nazi War Crime.

“When we tried to expose the plight of the thalidomide children — some without arms or legs, some born just trunks — they’d been denied compensation for ten years. Why wasn’t there a huge national scandal about it? Why? Because we in the press weren’t allowed to comment on a case before the courts,” said Evans.

Evans changed all that. He sued Distillers in Britain and took the case right up to the European Court of Human Rights. Through this investigation, the determined and energetic editor succeeded not only in obtaining significant compensation for the children and their families but in having existing restrictions on reporting civil cases in Britain substantially reduced.

And the reference to Nazi war crimes in the movie title? The documentary reveals that thalidomide was developed in Nazi concentration camps as an antidote against nerve gas. It didn’t work. However, after being discovered by Chemie Grünenthal in 1953 thalidomide was aggressively marketed — without any significant testing protocols — as a wonder drug: a powerful sedative and an agent that would reduce the effects of morning sickness in pregnant women.

Grünenthal got off virtually scot free. A criminal case in Germany against nine employees in 1968 failed, and the company was granted immunity against further criminal charges.  Families were not permitted to bring civil cases against Grünenthal. In what is regarded as a huge scandal, all that victims received were modest compensation packages offered by the company and the German government.

Did Florence Lassandro take the rap for murder, believing that she would receive a lighter sentence because she was a woman?  Did it work?

Let’s find out…..

Want more information on Florence Lassandro?  The Edmonton Journal has more interesting information on Florence and her trial.

THE UNSETTLING CASE OF COOK TEETS

 “THE LAST SCENE!” trumpeted the Flesherton Advance on December 11, 1884. “Cook Teats [sic] Launched into Eternity.” The paper carried a long report on the execution of Cook Teets, hanged at the Owen Sound Gaol on December 5, 1884, for the murder of his new and very pregnant wife, Rosanna Leppard.

The case caused a sensation in the small farming community at the time. Teets undoubtedly had access to strychnine, which had been used to poison his wife, and he had taken out a $4,500 insurance policy on her life, payable to him in the event of her death. But he and his wife were living apart at the time of her death; he with his mother and she with hers. He did not have the opportunity to administer the fast-acting poison in the crucial early morning hours when Rosanna took ill and died. Additionally, Teets was completely blind and would have had difficulty in administering the foul-tasting poison without arousing suspicion.

Newspapers of the day hinted that someone else might easily have taken advantage of the blind man to murder Rosanna and have the blame pinned on him. Suspicion fell on her disreputable and seemingly disturbed mother, who had access to her daughter that night and had threatened her in the past.

The case against Teets was based on what many in the community claimed was very flimsy circumstantial evidence. But in spite of a request for mercy from the jury and petitions for clemency from both residents of Grey County and members of the Ontario bar, Teets went to the gallows.

Was Cook Teets innocent?

He went to his death steadfastly protesting his innocence, and there is enough doubt swirling around the case to suggest that he was, in fact, wrongfully accused and wrongfully convicted.

While I was researching Drop Dead, I found that creating a timeline helped keep me on track.  I’ve had a few requests for a copy of it, so I thought I should share it with all of you.  It’s an overview and, obviously, simplified, but it should give you an idea of how Canada progressed to building a criminal punishment system free of the death penalty.

Since the mid-1800s, the Don Jail has left its stamp on the skyline, and the psyche, of Toronto. Over the years it developed a fearsome reputation as a dehumanizing snake pit where tuberculosis and other diseases caused by overcrowding were rife. And between 1872 and 1962, thirty-four men were hanged there. But, as is shown in the following excerpt from Drop Dead: A Horrible History of Hanging in Canada, it all started off with such great promise…….

To find out the rest, please visit the John Howard Society of Canada’s blog.

I was invited to take part in a panel discussion following the screening of Shepherds and Butchers at the Toronto South African Film Festival. Inspired by true events, the film tells the story of a young white South African prison guard, traumatized by his work on death row, who faces the death penalty after killing seven black men. In the film, chilling facts emerge about capital punishment in South Africa during the Apartheid years. For example, in December 1987 21 men were hanged over a period of 72 hours, bringing the total of hangings in that year alone to 164.

Also appearing on the panel, which was moderated by journalist and author Dan Robson, were professor of psychiatry Anthony Feinstein and criminal lawyer Leonard Miller. Some of the questions I fielded: Why did hanging become the go-to punishment for serious crimes in South Africa? What did Canada and South Africa have in common when it came to capital punishment? Did Apartheid affect the numbers of black vs. white persons hanged in South Africa?

The easy part was deciding on the contents of the door prize for the official book launch of Drop Dead. Dundurn Press kindly donated three books: After the Bloom by Leslie Shimotakahara, A Boy from Botwood by Bryan Davies and Andrew Traficante, and Miss Confederation: The Diary of Mercy Anne Coles by Anne McDonald.

Also included were a trio of notebooks designed by Toronto artist Kate Austin, and, appropriately, a bottle of The Hanging Man wine.

More difficult was to decide how to package the prize appropriately. This is where the considerable flair of gift stylist Corinna vanGerwen came into play, with spectacular results. Corinna has posted a blog entry on her website to explain her design choices.

Bold colours were used for the packaging to echo the black, red and white palette of the book cover. Corinna packed the gift items into a bed of black paper strips within a wooden crate (to evoke the rough wood once used in the construction of gallows), swathed everything in clear cellophane, and attached a huge red satin bow for good measure.

The effect was further highlighted by a length of rope draped down the front, fashioned into a hangman’s noose to echo the noose on the cover of Drop Dead. 

The heavens opened. Traffic slowed to a crawl. (I know. Two clichés in two sentences…) Nevertheless, people from all walks of my life turned up on Thursday evening, August 17 at Ben McNally Books in downtown Toronto to celebrate the launch of Drop Dead: A Horrible History of Hanging in Canada.

So many individuals were caught up in the criminal justice system between Confederation in 1867 and the abolition of capital punishment in 1976; I could only include a fraction of their stories in Drop Dead. So while the gathering at the launch sipped their drinks and nibbled on nibblies, I shared with them the story of a case that didn’t make it into the book: a murder trial after the circus came to Picton, Ontario, in 1903, which had a happier outcome than most.

And at the end of the evening, lucky, lucky Vanessa Judelman walked away with the draw prize: a gift package of books, notepads, and a bottle of The Hanging Man wine, with a length of rope thrown in to boot!

PLAYERS IN THE DEADLY GAME OF HANGMAN IN CANADA

THE HANGMAN

“The main players are all assembled….And standing by on the sidelines, waiting for his turn, is the most contentious participant of them all: the hangman.

The game is on.”

Excerpted from Drop Dead by Lorna Poplak Copyright © Lorna Poplak, 2017

All rights reserved

www.dundurn.com

Death by hanging.

That was the fate of more than 700 people in Canada between Confederation in 1867 and the abolition of capital punishment in 1976. How did this affect individuals caught up in the criminal justice system during this dark chapter of our history?

The family of Elizabeth Popovitch was devastated when she was hanged in 1946 for the robbery and brutal slaying of her benefactor.

Cook Teets was hanged for poisoning his wife, but he could not have administered the poison.

A youth was hanged a second time after recovering from his first hanging.

These and other sad, horrific, bizarre, but sometimes uplifting stories of people involved in the criminal justice system formed the basis of my recent conversation with Russell Bowers on the CBC’s Daybreak Alberta.