Infamous America - KIDNAPPINGS Ep. 1 | The Lindbergh Baby: “Crime of the Century”

Episode Date: September 24, 2025

On May 21, 1927, 25 year old Charles LIndbergh became the biggest star on the planet. He advanced the travel industry to a level many doubted was possible after completing the first ever solo flight from New York to Paris in 55 hours. That should have been the most dramatic moment of any person’s life, but it wasn’t for Charles. Five years later his 20 month old son was kidnapped from his home in Hopewell, New Jersey in circumstances so bizarre they made everyone suspect, from household staff to Al Capone, and captivated the world’s attention.  Join Black Barrel+ for ad-free episodes and bingeable seasons: blackbarrel.supportingcast.fm/join   Apple users join Black Barrel+ for ad-free episodes, bingeable seasons and bonus episodes. Click the Black Barrel+ banner on Apple to get started with a 3-day free trial.   On YouTube, subscribe to INFAMOUS+ for ad-free episodes and bingeable seasons: hit “Join” on the Legends YouTube homepage.   For more details, please visit www.blackbarrelmedia.com. Our social media pages are: @blackbarrelmedia on Facebook and Instagram, and @bbarrelmedia on Twitter. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It was a gray and dismal spring morning in New York on May 20th, 1927. Charles Lindbergh awoke restless and sleep-deprived. The previous night, he had been consumed by nerves and anticipation. Today, at just 25 years old, he was going to attempt something that had never been done. Naysayers called it a gamble. The boldest skeptics labeled it a death wish. Lindberg's goal was to fly across the Atlantic Ocean by himself in a sense. single-engine plane. In the early morning, Lindbergh arrived at Roosevelt Field, Long Island.

Awaiting him was the spirit of St. Louis, a custom-built aircraft with just one seat, named in honor of his St. Louis investors who scraped together funding for his endeavor. The stakes were high. Not only was the flight unprecedented, but a $25,000 prize sweetened the challenge. Others had tried and failed. Military pilots had managed transatlantic journeys, but only with stops and multiple crew members. Eight years earlier in 1919, Captain John Alcock and navigator Arthur Brown braved a 16-hour flight from Newfoundland on the northeast coast of Canada to Galway on the west coast of Ireland. It was the shortest distance across the Atlantic Ocean, and the flight had been treacherous.

They endured icy storms, faced engine failures, and survived only by crash landing into an Irish bog. It was heroic, but they were experienced military men and they could work together as a team. Charles Lindberg had comparatively little experience. He was going to try to fly double the number of hours and nearly double the number of miles, and he was going to do it alone. Lindberg was going to fly 33 and a half hours non-stop from New York to Paris. Many doubted him, but Lindberg, with his cobbled together funds and makeshift plane, was determined to prove them wrong.

At precisely 7.52 a.m., Lindberg took off from Long Island, and the flight tested his limits almost immediately. Just four hours in, the lack of sleep caught up with him. He dipped dangerously low and flew only 10 feet above the ocean waves to fight off drowsiness. Ahead of him, there were still 29 hours of seven. silence, loneliness, and exhaustion. Lindbergh wrestled with hallucinations, battled disorienting fog,

and made spur-of-the-moment decisions, including navigating away from a storm that threatened to ice his wings. At one point, he felt himself slipping into micro-sleeps. His chin slipped toward his chest and then his head jerked up in moments of panic. But he survived the long night, and as the sun rose on May 21st,

he knew he only had about eight hours left. Lindberg rallied, and a second wind carried him toward his goal. On May 21st, 1927, at 10.22 p.m. local time, Charles Lindbergh descended onto French soil in Paris. He had been awake for 55 hours. He had flown for 33 and a half continuous hours, and he had covered 3,600 miles, most of it over the open ocean. Exhausted but triumphant, Lindbergh emerged from the plane as an instant international hero. An estimated 150,000 people flooded the airfield to celebrate the historic achievement. Three weeks later, he and his plane rode a Navy cruiser back across the ocean to the United States,

and his return was the biggest spectacle the nation had ever seen. He received a military escort into the Washington Navy Yard, where President Calvin Coolidge presented him with the very first distinguished flying cross. Later in the year, Charles Lindbergh was awarded the Medal of Honor, which made him one of 204 people who received the award for non-combat actions. New York City held a parade in his honor with millions in attendance. The $25,000 prize, which was the equivalent of nearly $450,000 today, cemented his newfound wealth and fame.

He was a worldwide celebrity on an unparalleled level. In today's day and age, with computers, smartphones, and the internet, it's almost impossible to understand the global fame of Charles Lindberg during an era where the most advanced communication technology was the radio. And the glory came with a price. He had gone from an unknown, 25-year-old Minnesota farm boy to the most well-known person in the world, literally overnight, from May 20th to May 21st, 1927.

The following years of his life unfolded in the spotlight as he was followed everywhere by cameras and crowds. Lindbergh enjoyed camaraderie in social circles, but he quickly grew uncomfortable with the invasive scrutiny of fame. And then, just five years after his monumental flight, he was in news headlines around the world again, this time for the darkest and most difficult chapter of his life. Lindbergh's 20-month-old son was kidnapped from the family home while the family was in the house.

The events were terrifying, and the case was baffling. Lindberg and the authorities rushed to find the child and then the kidnapper, and suspicion fell on everyone. From Black Barrel Media, this is Infamous America. I'm your host, Chris Wimmer, and this season we're telling stories of some of the most notorious kidnappings in American history, the crazy events which surrounded each abduction and the chaotic, investigations into the cases. This is episode one, The Lindberg Baby Part 1. Crime of the Century. In 1929, two years after Charles Lindbergh's legendary transatlantic flight, he was a household name.

He had financial success, and he was a newlywed. He married Anne Morrow, the daughter of a bank executive and the U.S. ambassador to Mexico. She came from a life of privilege and prestige, and together they became America's most glamorous power couple. But for Charles, status and fame were always a mixed bag. He enjoyed his exalted position in society, but he did not like the relentless public attention. Charles and Anne bonded over their mutual love of flying and shared dreams of starting a family.

They embraced adventure and thrived in social circles, but they also wanted privacy. On June 22nd, 1930, their designate, desire for privacy took on greater importance when Anne gave birth to their son, Charles Jr., whom they called Charlie. Sharing a birthday with his mother and a name with his father, baby Charlie's arrival ignited a media megastorm. The newborn was thrust into the spotlight, and the Lindbergs tried to shield him from public view. Their quest for privacy only fueled speculation. Some wondered if the Lindbergs were hiding something. The public started asking if something was wrong with the baby's

health. The world had expectations, assuming the son of an aviation pioneer would someday fill his father's shoes. United States Surgeon General Hugh Cumming publicly wished young Charlie to have, quote, as useful a life as his father. Eventually, Charles Lindbergh bowed to public pressure. To quiet the rumors, the Lindbergh shared a few photos of their son around. around his first birthday in 1931. The pictures depicted a healthy boy with a head of curly brown hair, but they did little to stem the world's insatiable curiosity. If the general public was given nothing, they were rabid for something.

If they were given something, they wanted more. The Lindberg's quest for privacy seemed unwinnable, and to make matters worse, there was growing tension in the family. To the general public, who were not familiar with the downside of fame, the Lindbergs appeared to have it all, but cracks in their idyllic image began to show. While Charles championed the idea of family life, his thirst for adventure often pulled him away. He still had the skies to conquer, and he wanted Anne to accompany him, a plan that conflicted with Anne's desire to stay with baby Charlie. Anne was raised in a wealthy household where nannies were common,

but she wrestled with the idea of replicating her own childhood for her son. ultimately, when Charlie was about nine months old, Anne conceded to Charles's wishes and hired a caretaker. Betty Gao, a young woman from Scotland with no prior nannying experience, joined the household in February 1931. Despite her inexperience, she quickly became Charlie's primary caregiver during his parents' frequent absences. Betty shared a deep bond with Charlie, often going above and beyond her duties. She spent her own money on clothes as Charlie rapidly outgrew his outfits, and she developed a hands-on affectionate parenting style. But when Charles was home, things were different.

The family often referred to him as the colonel, an honorary title he had received after his historic flight. The title now reflected his parenting style. Lindberg was a stern and regimented father who believed in fostering independence and resilience in his son. He shunned the coddling ways of others, and he insisted on a hands-off approach which clashed with Betty's nurturing methods. Anne Lindberg, who was torn between her own instincts and her loyalty to her husband, remained reluctant to challenge Charles's authority. In the autumn of 1931, the Lindbergs gave Betty Gao a few months off.

Maybe it was because of disagreements over parenting styles, or maybe it was simply that the young woman had taken on far more responsibilities than anticipated. And there was a major change coming. The holidays were approaching, which would add extra chaos to the family's lives, but the major change was that Anne and Charles had purchased a new home. In their continuing quest for more privacy, they bought a 400-acre estate near the town of Hopewell, New Jersey. At the end of 1931, workers were still finishing construction on the new house, but the family planned to start the slow move-in process in January 1932, and they wouldn't be finished when tragedy struck in March. In January 1932, when Charlie was a year and a half old, the Lindbergh started to move into the

Hopewell estate. Betty Gow had returned to the family toward the end of 1931 after her vacation, and they all split time between the estate and the home of Anne Lindberg's mother in Englewood, New Jersey, about 60 miles north along the Hudson River. The Lindbergs typically traveled down to the Hopewell estate on the weekends and supervised the final phase of construction while they gradually moved in. As Anne and Charles watched the estate come together, they had a glimmer of hope that privacy might finally be within reach. The new house was surrounded by dense woods and was accessible only by narrow dirt roads. It wasn't far from towns like Princeton and Trenton. but neighbors were spread out and the area still didn't have street signs.

It was the perfect retreat for a few weeks. News of their new home quickly spread, and the seclusion and long, twisting driveway did little to deter die-hard fans from trying to catch a glimpse of the famous family. In the last week of February 1932, the Lindbergs were still commuting between the Morrow Mansion and the Hopewell estate. Typically, they spent the weekend at Hopewell and then returned to the Morrow Mansion on Monday morning. But in the final weekend of February, a frigid winter storm hit the region.

By Monday morning, February 29th, both Little Charlie and Anne Lindbergh had colds. Anne was four months pregnant with a couple's second child, and the family decided it was better to stay at the estate another night. On Tuesday, March 1st, the winter storm continued. It was dark, windy, and pouring rain. Traveling back to the Morrow Mansion was out of the question. The Lindbergs decided to stay at Hopewell one more night, and the night turned out to be one of the most controversial, mysterious, and notorious in American history.

At approximately 7.30 p.m., Anne Lindberg and Betty Gow put Charlie to bed in his second-floor nursery. Charlie was snug in his sleeping suit, wearing thumb guards to deter thumb-sucking, and his chest was coated with medication to help his cold. The women carefully latched the windows, but one window was warped, and it refused to close properly. Betty checked on Charlie between 8 and 8.30 p.m.

The room and the boy were as she had left them, and she slipped back out until her next check-in at 10 p.m. It was Betty's routine to take Charlie to the bathroom before everyone else went to bed, so Charlie was familiar with the 10 p.m. wake-up call. While Charlie slept between 8.30 and 10 p.m., the evening proceeded peacefully downstairs. By most accounts, around 8 p.m., Charles and Anne dined on a meal prepared by their butlers, Elsie and Oliver Waitley. After dinner, Charles and Anne talked in the living room for a little while, and then by 9.15, Anne retired to the master bedroom to get ready for breakfast.

bed. Charles went to his study to read, and Betty Gow spent time chatting with Elsie in the kitchen. Around 10 p.m., Betty climbed the stairs to check on Charlie. The nursery was dark, just as she had left it an hour and a half or two hours earlier. But as her eyes adjusted, she became anxious. The room wasn't alarming because of what she saw. It was alarming because of what she didn't hear. She didn't hear Charlie's faint coughing or soft breathing. sounds she had grown accustomed to hearing when she entered the room. She rushed to the crib and found it empty. Hoping her mind was playing tricks, she patted the bedding, but Charlie was nowhere to be found. Betty started to panic, but she tried to remain composed as she hurried to Anne Lindberg.

Maybe Anne or Charles had collected the boy while Betty was talking to Elsie Waitley, but Anne confirmed she hadn't visited Charlie. She said to check with Charles in the study. Betty dashed to the study and asked Charles Lindberg if he had taken the boy. The colonel responded, the baby, he's not in his crib? Betty's panic was now full and loud. Charles bolted up the stairs, charged into the nursery, and scanned the room for his son. He saw no sign of Charlie. Downstairs, Anne started to search the house.

She clung to a sliver of hope that the whole thing was a poorly timed practical joke by her husband. It would not have been the first time the colonel. played such a prank. But when Anne confronted Charles and demanded answers, he had nothing. He was visibly shaken. He grabbed his rifle and moved to the front door. Before he ran out to his car, he looked back at his wife and said, Anne, they've stolen our baby. The narrow dirt road became treacherous with each passing minute. It was obscured by relentless rain and swirling fog. Charles Lindberg drove cautiously as his headlights tried to slice through the the gloom. He searched for any glimpse of his missing son, but the task was proving impossible.

In the house, Anne, Betty, Elsie, and Oliver scoured every corner of every room and found nothing. When Charles returned, Hope had evaporated. The boy was gone. With no other options, the colonel called the police, and the group headed back to the nursery. This time they weren't looking for Charlie, they were searching for clues. There were smudges of mud which were probably footprints that led to an open window. On the windowsill, they found an envelope, but its contents would remain a mystery until the police arrived. At about 10.30 p.m., the New Jersey State Police converged on the Lindberg Estate. Philadelphia and New York were the closest major cities, and their police forces also mobilized. They set up roadblocks at every key intersection and bridge.

At the Lindbergh house, officers carefully opened the envelope to preserve any fingerprints. Inside was a handwritten ransom note demanding $50,000 for Charlie's safe return. The instructions were brief. They promised further guidance within two to four days and warned the Lindbergs not to involve the police or speak to anyone. The warning was moot. The authorities were already on the scene, and the magnitude of the case had made silence impossible. By midnight, headlines raced across radio waves and down the newswires. Within hours, the whole world knew the Lindbergh baby had been kidnapped.

The ransom note confirmed their fears, though it also gave them a sliver of hope. Charlie was taken, but he might still be alive. Since the financial devastation of the Great Depression, kidnappings for ransom targeting wealthy families were on the rink. eyes. So if this was about money, the Lindbergs could pay. But time was against them. The police scrambled to gather evidence, that they were hindered by a chaotic scene. Crowds of press and officers trampled the area and contaminated potential leads. Still, every effort was made to piece together a trail. Notably, there were no bloodstains or fingerprints, not even around the crib. It was as if

the room had been wiped clean. The only physical clues were the smudges of muddy footprints which led to Charlie's window. Outside, on the ground, Charles Lindberg and officers found a muddy trail left by the kidnapper. Rain blurred any detail, but the group followed the splotches until they hit the nearest road. Then the tracks disappeared. At that point, the kidnapper must have had a car waiting. As the searchers made their way back to the house, they focused on the area below Charlie's window. Something caught an officer's eye in the nearby bushes. He discovered a makeshift wooden ladder

which had been broken into two pieces. It was crudely built, but immediately significant. Suddenly, a memory clicked into place for Lindburn. He recalled hearing a snapping sound earlier, but dismissed it at the time as a tree branch breaking in the storm. But it wasn't a branch. It was likely the sound of the ladder breaking, either under the weight of the kidnapper, or as a deliberate act to try to hide the ladder. The wooden ladder, however rudimentary, offered potential clues. Its craftsmanship suggested the kidnapper might have knowledge of construction or woodworking. If the nails and tools used to build it could be determined, that might help identify the builder.

The builder might be the kidnapper or at least connected to the kidnapper. The ladder wasn't much, but it was the only tangible lead at the moment. though it raised a host of questions. Assuming the kidnapper was a man, how did he know he would need a ladder? How did he know which room was the nursery? How did he know the exact height he needed for the ladder? And worse, how did he know one of Charlie's windows

couldn't be locked because of warped wood? It seemed unlikely he would attempt the kidnapping if he had to smash a window to get into the nursery. That would bring the whole house running. Furthermore, how did he know the family was still the house. They had only been delayed in their return to the Moro mansion because of Charlie's cold. Did he have inside knowledge of the family's plans? How many kidnappers were there? The ransom note made it seem like multiple people were involved, but there was no way to know how

many. Were there two? The person who abducted Charlie and the getaway driver? Were there more than two? Was it a vast criminal conspiracy? Or just the work of one desperate person who insinuated there were multiple people involved as a way to confuse the investigators. At the moment, no one knew, and the net of suspicion tightened. The Lindbergs hadn't fully moved into the house. Only a few select people knew the layout of the home and the family's last-minute schedule changes. As the interview started, everyone was a suspect.

Detectives questioned anyone who was remotely connected to the family, and they interviewed neighbors within a four-to-five-mile radius. Among the responses, a neighbor mentioned spotting a suspicious green car the day before the kidnapping. According to the neighbor, the car didn't belong in the area. The car had also agitated the Lindberg's dog, which barked furiously as the car passed. The clue stuck with investigators and became a key focal point as they began to dig deeper. The initial rounds of questioning turned up unsettling leads close to the family. Betty Gow, the Lindbergh's nanny, was of particular interest. She knew every aspect of baby Charlie's routine and everything about the house. Her caregiving style had clashed with

Charles Lindbergh's strict parenting methods, and she was the last known person to see Charlie that night. It seemed unthinkable that she would harm the child, but it was a possibility the investigators couldn't ignore. Attention then turned to Betty's boyfriend, Henry Johnson. Anything Betty knew, Johnson likely knew as well. He was aware that the Lindbergs had decided to stay an extra night at the Hopewell estate. He also owned a green car. When police searched the vehicle, they found an empty milk bottle in the back seat, which they thought could have been used to feed Charlie after the kidnapping.

But Johnson had no criminal history, nor any discernible motive to commit the crime. Next, there was Violet Sharp, a woman who worked at the Morrow Mansion. the home of Anne Lindbergh's mother. Like Betty, Violet knew the patterns of the family's movements. During interviews, Violet appeared anxious, and her story shifted with each telling. Though her specific connection to the crime was unclear, her nervous behavior kept her under investigator's scrutiny. And then a very unexpected suspect emerge,

one who essentially volunteered himself, Al Capone. The day after the kidnapping, Al Capone made a public announcement offering $10,000 for any information that led to the child's recovery. He claimed his own experience as a father made him sympathetic to the Lindbergs. When his initial offer was ignored, he doubled down, eventually pledging $200,000 in bail money if he could be released to personally assist in the manhunt. If I were out of jail, I could be of real assistance, Capone told an L.A. Times reporter, I have friends all over the country who could aid in running this thing down.

Capone was in jail because he had been convicted the previous year on charges of tax evasion, after a multi-agency task force finally found a way to take down the legendary Chicago mobster. In March of 1932, Capone was two months away from beginning an 11-year sentence in federal prison, and his offer created a whirlwind of speculation. theories were split. Capone may have orchestrated the kidnapping as a way to secure his freedom. His vast criminal network certainly gave him the ability to organize while behind bars. But if he wasn't the mastermind, his connections could be valuable in the search for the real kidnappers. As crazy as it might sound, the matter grew so serious that it fell to the United States Senate to make a decision.

Even for a case that had been dubbed the Crime of the Century, the Senate thought Capone's offer was too suspicious to trust, and his bail was denied. The investigation continued, and it became more puzzling with each day. The most curious edition was a 72-year-old retired school principal and gym teacher. His name was Dr. John Condent, and he placed an ad in a local newspaper offering to act as a mediator between the Lindbergs and the kidnappers. He used the alias Jafsey in his ad, and his uninvited. at offer raised eyebrows. Why would an outsider insert himself into the case? Was Condon genuinely

trying to help, or was he seeking fame under the guise of heroism? But when the kidnappers responded to Condon's ad, the police were forced to take him seriously. The kidnappers sent a letter to Condon, and it contained a critical detail. The ransom note at the Lindbergh house had featured the symbol of two interlocking circles as a part of the signature. the police had been extremely careful to keep the details secret, and now the letter to Condon featured the same symbol. The note's authenticity was confirmed, and with the Lindbergh's cautious approval,

Dr. Condon stepped into the role of intermediary. Between March 1st and March 9th, three more ransom notes arrived before negotiations commenced with Condon as the go-between. What began as a $50,000 demand escalated to $70,000. $1,000. The kidnappers justified the increase by claiming the heightened police attention had forced them to lay low and lengthened Charlie's captivity, and it potentially required adding another accomplice. Adjusted for inflation, the new ransom equated to $1.3 million in

today's money. But the Lindbergs had the money, and as the days continued to pass, they believe they had no other option but to pay the ransom. On March 12th, 19th, The fifth ransom note arrived. It was addressed to Dr. Condon, and it was delivered by a taxi driver named Joseph Perron. He claimed a stranger gave it to him with instructions for delivery. The note set Condon on a scavenger hunt. Following the directions, Condon eventually uncovered a sixth ransom note, which was hidden under a stone near a subway station.

The note ordered Condon to go to Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx to discuss the next steps. When Condon arrived, he had his first face-to-face meeting with a person who was connected to the kidnapping. Dr. Condon met a man who called himself John, and John said he had baby Charlie. Condon was naturally suspicious, and he demanded proof that John had the Lindbergh baby before they could proceed with ransom negotiations. Four days later, on March 16th, the Lindbergs received a sleeping suit which belonged to their son. But instead of signaling an end to the ordeal, the proof signaled a new phase. More notes followed.

They alternated between promising that Charlie was being well cared for and accusing Charles Lindbergh of delaying the process. Frustration escalated on both sides. The ransom demand climbed to $100,000. The kidnappers claimed Lindbergh's hesitance was wasting time and allowing misinformation to derail the outcome. But the kidnappers, though agitated, signaled their readiness to negotiate. Another note arrived via a different taxi driver.

That one sent Dr. Condon to a stone near a greenhouse in the Bronx. There he found instructions detailing the time and place to hand over the ransom. Before complying, the two sides entered one final negotiation and agreed to reduce the ransom back to $50,000. On April 2nd, 1932, one month after the nightmare began, Dr. Condon and Charles Lindbergh went to another cemetery to meet the mysterious figure who called himself John. Lindberg waited some distance away while Condon met John and handed over the money, though the money wasn't entirely in the form of cash. Most of the ransom was paid in gold certificates, which had certain dollar values attached

to them. It was a fading form of currency at the time, but they could still be used like cash. And with the ransom in hand, John gave Condon a note with directions to Baby Charlie's location. As John disappeared into the woods around the cemetery, Condon alerted the authorities to head to Massachusetts. The directions were painfully vague. They said the boy was on a 28-foot boat called the Nellie near Elizabeth Island, which was one of a series of tiny islands between the Massachusetts coastline and the popular island of Martha's Vineyard.

Investigators decided to scour the entire region, and they found nothing. No boat named Nellie and no Lindberg baby. And now that the kidnappers had $50,000, they also had no further reason to communicate. But Charlie's team wasn't giving up. A total of 13 ransom notes had been delivered during the month-long series of bizarre communications. The handwriting was consistent, and Dr. Condon had met a man called John twice. Condon provided a physical description for a police sketch, and he believed he would recognize the kidnapper's appearance, voice, dialect, and mannerisms if apprehended. New Jersey

authorities offered a $25,000 reward for information which might lead to the capture of John. Thousands of tips poured in, but most led to dead ends. At that point, investigators had just one viable lead they could follow, the ransom money. The money could be tracked, especially the gold certificates. It was complicated, but possible. The Lindberg family was forced to endure an agonizing 18 months before the money trail finally paid off. Next time on Infamous America, the Lindberg family discovers the fate of Little Charlie. and investigators follow the ransom money to a man they label the kidnapper.

The man faces a sensational trial and a media frenzy and serious questions about his possible guilt. That's next week on the second half of the story of the Lindbergh kidnapping, here on Infamous America. Members of our Black Barrel Plus program don't have to wait week to week to receive new episodes. They receive the entire season to binge all at once with no commercials, and they also receive exclusive bonus episodes. Sign up now through the link in the show notes or on our website, blackbarrelmedia.com.

This episode was researched and written by Mandy Wimmer, original music by Rob Valier. I'm Chris Wimmer. Thanks for listening.