Contrary to popular legend, The Fugitive’s Dr. Richard Kimball is not based on the real-life Dr. Sam Sheppard. But it’s easy to see why the myth persists. Sheppard’s journey through the legal system is filled with enough twists and turns to satisfy any screenwriter.
The swerving plot of Sheppard’s life should have been an animating feature in James Neff’s The Wrong Man. Sheppard was a young, wealthy doctor, married to a pretty young wife, with one young son and another child on the way. The Sheppard family lived in Bay Village, Ohio, on the shores of Lake Erie. On July 4, 1954, Sheppard’s wife Marylyn was bludgeoned to death in her bedroom. Sheppard was arrested, convicted, and sent to prison. A fledgling attorney named F. Lee Bailey took Sheppard’s case, got the conviction overturned, and then won a retrial. Sheppard was released from prison, remarried, divorced, became a wrestler, remarried again, and died a broken figure. His estate later filed a civil lawsuit for his wrongful conviction. The Sheppard estate lost when a jury decided that Sam hadn’t been wrongfully imprisoned in the first place.
That’s an eventful story! In the right hands, it might have been a rollercoaster.
It’s not a rollercoaster.
Before I begin the complaining aspect of this program, I should try to say something positive. Well, okay. The Wrong Man is thorough. It is exceptionally researched, to the point that the State of Ohio attempted to subpoena Neff’s research during the pendency of the civil trial. In other words, Neff spent more time investigating the case than the people paid to investigate the case. He is the oracle, the undisputed master of this small corner of history.
Sometimes, however, too much research can have unintended consequences. One of those consequences being word-vomit – the understandable inclination to put everything you learned on the page. The Wrong Man is a shade less than 400 pages of text, but it felt much longer. There is a lot of extraneous detail. Normally, I’m the type of person who believes in over-sharing rather than under-sharing (this is especially true when I’m drunk). Here, though, a lot of information served only as a hiccup to the natural trajectory of the story. Neff clearly interviewed just about every living participant, who he dutifully quotes. Much of the time, though, these participant observations add little value other than a higher word count.
Nevertheless, things open quickly. The first three chapters briskly set up Marylyn’s final night, reconstructs the crime, and narrates the opening stages of what might charitably be called a botched investigation. Then, for no good (literary) reason, Neff slams on the breaks for a rather lengthy flashback chapter about Sam and Marylyn’s courtship. This chapter not only breaks the book’s flow, but it’s a drag. Sam is an asshole, Marylyn is a cipher, and nothing we learn sheds any light on the crime. Also, in a criminal case as procedurally complicated as this, I’m not sure the decision to employ a nonlinear narrative is the best choice. Why needlessly confuse an issue that is already quite confusing?
Pacing is a big issue in this book. True crime is typically a genre I associate with page-turners, something you consume effortlessly. This took a bit of effort.
The Wrong Man gets back on track in time for the trial. We learn a bit about Sam’s accusers – namely newsman Louis Seltzer and coroner Samuel Gerber – who were quite willing to convict Sheppard on the basis of their own certainty. The first trial was a proto-O.J. Simpson-type circus with a celebrity-obsessed judge telling one reporter “Well, he’s guilty as hell. There’s no question about it”. With that kind of impartiality, it’s perhaps not surprising that Sheppard was convicted and sent to prison. Despite numerous and glaring errors by the trial court judge, the Ohio State appellate courts denied Sam’s request for a retrial. It took F. Lee Bailey and a writ of habeas corpus to the federal court system to change things around. Ultimately, the U.S. Supreme Court struck down the conviction and ordered Ohio to start over.
At this point, the book sort of starts over too, and we go through another trial. And then, after that – even though Sam is dead – there’s another trial.
Part of me can’t find fault in Neff’s approach. It is, after all, methodical. After awhile, however, you cross the line from detailed and meticulous to belabored and repetitive. The Wrong Man began to remind me of Theodore Dreiser’s classic crime novel An American Tragedy. Like An American Tragedy, Neff plods through each and every tortuous step of the justice system. Dreiser eventually built to a powerful climactic scene. Neff’s book sort of just trails off into an ellipse.
This is a book in need of better structuring. True crime is built on a foundation of moral clarity. That may sound like a strange statement, but bear me out. When you read true crime, you are likely going to hear about one of two things: either the hunt for a terrible person, or the exoneration of an innocent one. These books are, in a way, like crusades. The righting of a wrong. Crusades are fed by passion. The Wrong Man lacks that. Instead of taking a strong position (Sam Sheppard is guilty as hell! Sam Sheppard is innocent as a newborn guinea pig!), Neff is pedantic. He never steps back from the mass of detail he has assembled to simply state his case in a well-argued and forceful manner.
The subtitle states that this book is “the final verdict” on Sheppard’s case. If that’s so, I’m still struggling to interpret the finding. Neff clearly believes that Sheppard is innocent, but that conclusion is undercut by ending the book with the civil trial. So we are left with a muddle. Three different trials with differing results. A man who probably didn't kill his wife but – in the realm of possibility – might have done just that.
Restructuring this book might have helped a lot. Rather than dutifully pushing through each trial, Neff might have focused instead on his theory of the case. He definitely has one. He proposes a likely suspect and spends a lot of time developing him as the real murderer. Separating Neff’s “verdict” from the historical reportage might have made for a cleaner, more compelling reading experience.
Life is filled with ambiguities and uncertainties. Things do not fall neatly on the side of right or wrong, black and white. The true crime genre exists, I think, as a way to order the chaos of lives disrupted by violence. It gives us a form of justice – that of a moral judgment – that is otherwise elusive. This is a thorny kind of case that does not easily conform to those standards. Still, I think a different author might have embraced the messiness of this case and leveraged that particular reality into a more-satisfying literary experience. That said, if you simply want to know all there is to know about the Sam Sheppard murder case, this is the obvious choice.