Compulsion

Yesterday was what would have been my mother's 114th birthday.  She was on my mind, more so because I watched a documentary on the Richard Loeb-Nathan Leopold crime and trial.  That might seem incongruous, but you'd have to know Mother's history and habits.  She was raised in Chicago and, in 1920, was sixteen years old.  Even in what was then called The Crime Capitol of America with mobsters, bootleggers, and the Roaring 20s just hitting its stride, the senseless thrill killing of a young boy by two wealthy nineteen-year-olds made the nation gasp.  That, and the trial five years later, made a big impression on Mother.

Fast forward to 1956.  Meyer Levin wrote a book, "Compulsion," a fictionalized account of the grisly murder and, of course, Mother was anxious to read it.  When she brought the book home from the library, she told me what she remembered of the time, and I wanted to read it, too.  It got to the point where we hung about like vultures, waiting for the reader to put the book down so we could pounce and grab it up.  I remember that as much as the book itself.  That's probably when I learned to read quickly so I could cram as many pages into my turn before Mother would claim seniority and take the book back.

Happy birthday, Mother.