Dramatic Killer-Hunt Ends
__ A
(Repealed from Thursday's Edilion)
Joseph Emmett McLimans, 33, orally con
fessed Wednesday afternoon to the sadistic
slaying of O’Neill’s Police Chief Chet Calkins.
The chief was killed in the early. morning
hours of March 7, 1952, when his body was
riddled with five bullets at point-blank range.
McLimans is being held in Holt county
jail after preliminary hearing in which he
made his confession in the presence of Coun
ty Sheriff Leo Tomjack, County Attorney
William W. Griffin, Capt. H. D. Smith of the
Nebraska safety patrol, and others. He admit
ted his guilt and said, I killed Chet Calkins.
Larceny was McLimans’ undoing. He was
arrested in Norfolk following a February 1 6,
1953, robbery of a hardware store. Holt coun
ty authorities learned he was driving a 1948
model green Kaiser sedan. Madison authori
ties were asked to hold him and from that
point the investigation began to unfold. Not
until his foster mother, Mrs. Lillian McLimans
of Norfolk, arrived Wednesday and urged him
to “tell all” was the confession gained.
McLimans' verbal confession substantiated most of the evi
dence which had been baffling the investigators since that fateful
morning when fresh snow covered the tracks and Wall Calkins,
brother of Chet, found the chiefs body slumped against the steer
ing wheel of the cruiser car.
A railroad brakeman with residence at Long Pine, McLimans
said he had been doing a day’s work on the Bonesteel to Winner
branch of the Chicago & North Western railroad and had pulled
into Bonesteel from Winner for the night. He drove to Spencer
“looking for a poker game.” He spent an hour or two, he recounts,
drinking beer in several Spencer taverns.
Still itching for a poker game—he frankly admits he likes to
gamble—McLimans drove on south to O'Neill. He visited at least
three O'Neill beer taverns, as he remembers.
Emerging from a tavern on South Fourth street, he went across
the street to get into his own car. Another vehicle had parked in
such a manner he couldn’t back out immediately. He peered inside,
saw the blue" D.D.” suitcase, transferred it to his own car and pro
ceeded to free his own vehicle. McLimans told how he drove out
to the edge of O’Neill, took some money out of the suitcase, remov
ed the clothes. He put the suitcase back in his car and returned to
town and then he dumped the clothes on the floor of the back seat
of the car from which the case was stolen.
The theft had been reported to O’Neill police shortly after it
happened by Delores Dobrovolny, a telephone operator.
About 1 a.m., Chief Calkins turned west on Everett street, near
the comer of Fourth and Everett (Dr. L. A. Carter’s office comer).
Calkins suspicioned McLimans’ activities. The chief queried, “What
are you doing?”
“Drinking a can of beer,” replied the voice in the dark. McLi
mans had emerged from one of the taverns with two six-packs.
“Let me look in the trunk of your car,” Calkins ordered. McLi
mans said he reluctantly opened the trunk.
It was at this point at least four witnesses said they saw Calk
ins “shaking down” a blue or green Kaiser, a late model, or some
similar car. Those witnesses were Mrs. Mary Fleming of O’Neill
and three Ewing youths—Richard Spittler, LeRoy Boies and Bill
Sisson.
McL said Calkins readily spotted the "D.D." case and
ordered him to get into the cruiser car and accompany him.
Calkins got into the cruiser car first, according to the testi
mony, and McLimans went around the car and started to get into
the front seat alongside Calkins. It was at that point he pulled his
.32-calibre revolver and emptied it into Calkirn’ right side. The
first bullet is believed to have killed the chief instantly.
McLimans, who professed to be “hazy about the details” be
cause he had had too many beers, got into his own car and drove
west five blocks on Everett street.
"I got to wondering if anyone was going to find the car,” he
said. He left his car parked in the residential district and walked
east down an alley, coming to the rear of the Shelhamer implement
store. He explained, “From there I could see the police car. I stood
and watched the car for ‘quite awhile.’ Still nobody came and in
vestigated.”
Finally he decided to break into the Implement store.
He gained entrance into the building forcibly by breaking a
glass in the rear door, scooped up $10 or $15 change from the cash
register, and emerged from the building. He said he could still see
the cruiser car and there was no activity.
He then walked to the scene of the slaying and peered inside
the car to make certain that Calkins was dead. He then returned to
his own car and drove out of town. He continued on to Bonesteel
that night and spent the night in the caboose—his normal sleeping
place.
McLimans, who was a gunner on a B-17 Flying Fortress dur
ing World War II, avoided O'Neill after that and started a mus
tache. Occasionally he'd go through O'Neill with trainmen but
wouldn't circulate. i
On the side he indulged in plenty of gambling and, apparently,
thievery. Ostensibly, Holt county authorities brought him here in
connection with the breaking and entering of the Galyen Motor
company office in Atkinson several months ago, and now he has
admitted doing thr Galyen job.
McLimans is a sharp-featured fellow with a pointed nose. He
weighs 140 pounds, stands about 5 feet 6 or 7 inches, and normally
would be considered on the light complexioned side. But the bur
dens of the Calkins slaying and the larceny problems were weigh
ing heavily and aging him fast.
The bout with the Norfolk police on February 16, 1953, cost
him his railroad job. He was in line to become a conductor but his
nocturnal maraudings interferred with his rail career.
Griffin, Tomjack, Smith and other peace officers were visibly
relieved after they had heard the confession. It meant they had
reached the end of a long, seemingly endless trail, which time-after
time had bumped into a dead end. ,
McLimans was relieved, too. He said: “I’ve been electrocuted
•two or three times in my own mind.” His light mustache would
come off as quickly as he could get it off, he said. His mustache
is brown, small and scraggly. While telling his confession, McLi
, mans was wearing a GI T-shirt and overall pants.
Asked if he had any motive for killing Calkins, the confessed
slayer said he knew who the chief was, but was certain the chief
did not know Mm.
"At least he didn’t recognize me when he was checking my car.”
Jnry finds for
^ Wefler. Pntnam
*
The federal court jury in ses
sion in Norfolk found for the
defendants Wednesday afternoon
in the cattle case brought against
the Atkinson Livestock Market
and L. D. Putnam, O’Neill ranch
er. The verdict was announced
about 4 p-m., after the jury had
deliberated about four hours.
Ed Fiala, who runs a one thou
sand acre ranch 12 miles north
west of Fulton, S.D., brought
suit against E. C. Weller, Joe
Kokes and Putnam because he
claimed 55 head of cows he
bought there in 1951 had Bang’s
disease.
The jury case opened Monday
and Judge John W. Delehant
delivered the case to the jury
Wednesday noon.
Earlier, the defense attorneys,
Julius D. Cronin of O’Neill and
Frederick M. Deutsch of Norfolk,
had asked for a directed verdict
after maintaining that Fiala’s
attorney, Francis M. Casey of
Plattsmouth, had failed to make
a case. Judge Delehant declined
to give a directed verdict Tues
day.
•
Arlen Miles, son of Mr. and
Mrs. G. E. Miles, has been pro
moted to airman second-class and
Donald Sauser has been upped to
staff sergeant at Goodfellow air
force base. San Angelo, Tex.
Mr. and Mrs. Alan Van Vleck
were Sunday visitors at the
Henry Smith farm near Clear
water.
Drama Hearib y Radio Audience
(Editor’s note: The “Voice of The Frontier” went on the air at $>
10:15 a.m., Saturday with a 45-minute special broadcast in which
the background on the murder was reviewed. A portion of the
text follows):
Cal Stewart Speaking
from the Studio—
In the early morning hours of
March 7, 1952, O’Neill’s police
chief, a man who was beloved by
all the kids and a man who was
a friend of wayfarers, and even
the wayward, was killed in cold
blooded murder. Chet Calkins
had been O’Neill’s police chief
for well over 20 years. He was a
man who had been reared here
in Holt county, he’d been on the
athletic side as a younger man,
his friends were legion.
Chet Calkins was a powerful
heavy set fellow, 51-years-old.
That early morning of March
7, 1952, Chet was sadistically at
tacked with a death-dealing
weapon that in a split-second
took the life of a man who never
had a chance.
An assassin, whose identity
would not become known for
one year, three months and 17
days, had emptied five bullets
from his .32-calibre pistol into
the chiefs right side as the chief
sat in his cruiser car. Chet Calk
ins died instantly that cold win
ter morning . . . there was light
snowfall that quickly covered
any evidence of the murder. In
fact, for an hour or more it was
believed O’Neill’s likeable, affa
ble, courteous, mild - mannered
and model police officer had
died from a heart attack.
That tragic murder did some
thing to this town of more than
three thousand persons. Feeling
ran high for days on end and in
vestigators sought to find the
killer of O’Neill’s police chief.
Leads fizzled out—one after an
other. The search spread to other
states, even to a foreign country.
Still the same old story. There
were dead ends. The trail grew
cold . . • colder even than the
fresh snow that covered the mur
der scene that fateful early
morning hour on March 7, 1952,
that wee hour when Police Chief
Chet Calkins died unmercifully
in the line of duty . - he was
brutally killed while the city he
loved so well slept
Wednesday of this week, the
24th of June, 1953, the quest
for the killer came to a swift and
dramatic ending.
On trial this morning (Satur
day) is Joseph Emmett McLv
mans, a 33-year-old railroad
brakeman from Long Pine and
Norfolk. Joseph Emmett McLi
mans, a 5 foot 6 inch fellow,
weighing around 140 pounds,
is charged with murder in the
second degree. He admitted his
guilt orally late Wednesday af
ternoon, he bared all of the de
tails to Holt county authorities,
and this morning he stands be
fore the bar of justice, in Holt
county district court.
* * *
George Hammond Speaking
from Courthouse—
The “Voice of the Frontier”
microphone announced to a
startled world, a stunned O’Neill
citizenry, that the police chief
had been murdered by a strange
sadist. Chet Calkins had no en
emies. He’d been a police officer
for years, he had encountered all
types of mankind — the rough
hewn rowdies, dope addicts, gyp
sies, clergymen, troubled old la
dies, other peace officers, travel
ers who were in need, kids who
were off base for this reason or
for that reason. He met them all
... in many different circum
stances. And they all respected
him.
Chet Calkins’ violent and sud
den death left a big void in bis
family circle, a vacancy that
never can be filled. His widow
bore up well and she had the
sympathy, spoken and silent, of
every man, woman and child in
the town of O’Neill . . . plus . . .
uncounted thousands of others
who were bitter and grieved. He
left two sons and a daughter.
Harold, the eldest son, is a
Walt Calkins ... he found his brother's lifeless body that
fateful morning—March 7, 1952.
This is the interior of the cruiser car . . . where the body of
Chet Calkins was riddled with five successive bullets at point
blank range.
fine citizen, he travels on the
road for a wholesale tobacco
company. Donald, a star athlete
in high school, performed on a
basketball floor, in a tournament,
before his dad’s own eyes, on
the eve of the murder.
Don now is in tJie navy getting
specialized training. Chet’s
daughter, Jean, is married, is a
young mother, and this week,
while this momentous news was
unfolding, she was enroute with
her husband to New Mexico to
make her home. Chet left other
relatives, too, including a broth
er, Walt, who promptly was pro
moted to police chief to fill the
vacancy created by a heartless,
cold assailant.
The clues were meager and
the columns of The Frontier were
filled week-after-week with sto
ries that filled readers with sus
pense and hope — yet threaded
their way only into infinity. You
might say a blind alley—a dead
end.
Investigators were frustrated
to be sure. The slow, meticulous
build up of evidence on all kinds
of leads and tips would suddenly
explode with a dull, resounding
thud. Hours of toil meant noth
ing, and the privacy of lives of
some very good citizens was im
posed upon, studied, and, finally,
the notes and memorandums that
concerned those citizens made
their way to the inevitable
wastebasket.
Its all over now, apparently.
For Joseph Emmett McLimans
has admitted his guilt and this
morning a crowded courtroom
looks on as the shamed, con
fessed slayer of O’Neill’s police
chief stands before justice.
In his confession, McLimans
told how he had finished a day’s
work at Bonesteel, S.D., while
working as a brakeman on the
Bonesteel to Winner, S.D., branch
of the North Western railroad.
He customarily slept in the way
car, or you might call it a ca
boose, in the Bonesteel rail yards.
The night of March 6 he climbed
into his car, a late model, a green
Kaiser, and drove to Spencer.
He said he was hunting for a
poker game, he visited several
taverns, and then continued to
O’Neill. Most of you know the
story, having heard several of
our special “Voice of The Fron
tier’’ broadcasts and having read
it in The Frontier as well as the
dailies.
He visited two or three O’Neill
taverns, did some more drinking,
went to his car, was annoyed
because another vehicle had
parked in such a manner it was
awkward to free his own car. He
looked inside that ill-parked ma
chine, so the confession goes, saw
a blue overnight case . . . took it
. . . put the case in own car . . .
finally pulled away and went to
the edge of town. He took some
money from the purse, drove
back into O’Neill, restored the
clothes loosely on the floor of the
same car from which the case
had been taken. By now it was
later in the evening and he sat
on Everett street, about midway
between Third and Fourth
streets, drinking some beer v/hich
he had purchased in a tavern.
Meanwhile, Police Chief Chet
Calkins had received the report
of the stolen suitcase.
Chief Calkins’ car came down
an alley, not a stone’s throw
from O’Neill’s main thorough
fare. He turned soutn on Fourth
to Everett street, spotted tne
McLimans car and the man lin
gering in the dark. The chief
made an inquiry by asking what
he, meaning McLimans, was do
ing. The man responded by say
ing he was drinking beer. Chief
Calkins asked if he could inspect
the car. And in the trunk the
stolen suitcase was discovered by
the police officer. He ordered
McLimans to get into the cruiser
car and accompany him. The
chief, who may or may not have
recognized McLimans, seated
himself first. McLimans went
around, began to get into the
cruiser car. Instead he flashed
his gun, in an instant he sent
five shells into the chief’s body
at point-blank range. The range
was so close there were powder
bums on the chiefs coat and
arm . . . the interior of the car
muffled the shots and the hei
nous crime had been committed.
This raises a question: Why was
this man carrying a loaded gun?
McLimans, so his confession
goes, got into his own car and
drove west several blocks. He
parked his car and told authori
ties about walking eastward
down an alley—the same alley
the chief’s car had traveled only
a few minutes before. When he
got to the rear of the Shelhamer
store, he could see, across the
way, the dark, lifeless cruiser
car. With no leaves on the trees,
and with new snow on the
ground, he could see there was
no activity. He waited ... and
waited. Finally, he decided to en
ter the rear of the implement
store—and he did. He scooped
up some change from the cash
register. He emerged from the
store and stared through those
cold eyes across one hundred
yards of freshly laid, light, fluffy
snow. Still no activity. Then he
became very brave, so it would
seem. He walked over to the
cruiser car. He saw the body
slumped there, the chiefs flash
light still glowing, the arm and
head of his victim leaning
against the steering wheel.
Then, and we’re reciting from
the confession, McLimans walk
ed to his own car, several blocks
away, and drove away into the
night. „ ...
He was an amateur, all right,
and every break in the book of
killers worked for Joseph Em
mett McLimans.
It is possible that before we
The Confessed Slayer
These are Nebraska safety patrol and police
photos of Joseph Emmett McLimans. 33, the
confessed slayer of O’Neill’s Police Chief Chet
Calkins. After the killing he raised a brown,
scraggly mustache. I naa Deen umming
many beers . . . it’s all hazy,” was about the only
comment he offered. McLimans is not the talka
tive type.
Holi Sheriff Leo Tomjack (right) wore a
wide grin after the confession suspense was
over. Capt. H. D. Smith, chief of the criminal in
vestigation bureau of the Nebraska safety patrol.
assembles McLimans' file after the preliminary
hearing. The slayer faced second degree mur
der charges.—The Frontier Photo.
The slayer's foster mother, Mrs. Lillian Mc
Limans, tearfully explains to Holt County At
torney William Griffin: "The man in the cell is
not the boy I raised," Mrs. McLimans, who lives
in Norfolk, thanked Holt authorities for being
considerate. "I adopted Joe when he was 24
hours old. I had my hands full after my husband
died in 1932 ... I was proud of him in the air
force ... he was in a horrible German prison
camp 15 months.—The Frontier Photo.
leave the air with this special
broadcast we might bring you
from the courthouse the results
of the trial, now in progress.
We’ll continue with our story
following this announcement.
The man who killed Chet
Calkins spent the remaining
hours of that night in that red
caboose in the Bonesteel railroad
yards.
Next morning, the “Voice of
The Frontier” came on the air.
Cal Stewart was doing the an
nouncing in a special broadcast.
He told the hastily pieced to
gether story . . . and, I might
say, I’ve played back that re
cording a number of times, and
the story was quite accurately
written and told. I wish time
permitted us to replay that for
you now.
Mr. and Mrs. Bill Meyers, the
depot agent and his wife at
Bonesteel, invited McLimans into
their apartment to hear on their
radio the story of the Calkins
slaying. The Meyers say he sat
there, motionless and unmoved
Mr. Meyers had known Calkins
over a period of years. When
the broadcast was over, he said,
“I hope they catch the killer.”
Mrs. Meyers turned on McLi
mans and accused him, outright,
of murdering Calkins. She said
to him ... you drive a green
late model Kaiser . . . that’s what
they’re hunting for . . . you were
gone last night . . you’re the
man!
Friday morning we received a i
letter from Mr. and Mrs. Meyers.
Cal Stewart and Joe Biglin, our
engineer, promptly set out for
Bonesteel. They stood in front
of the caboose and talked with
the Meyerses. Joe Biglin, the ra- |
dio technician, complained about
the wind beating into the micro
phone, but here’s the story, by
tape recording.
* * *
Much Written and Said—
After the confession was gain
ed from McLimans late last Wed
nesday afternoon, much has been
written and said about him.
We conducted interviews here
with County Sheriff Leo Tom
jack, with Captain Harold Smith,
chief of the Nebraska safety pa
trol bureau of criminal investiga
tion, and with Lieut. Harry Bi~,
who is in charge of the Norfolk
area office for the patrol.
They told of the investigative
work ... the long, hard, and
trying search for the killer. They
told how a series of robberies,
in recent months, led to the kill
er’s undoing. He broke into a
Norfolk implement store one
evening, around 8:30. And it was
in Norfolk, his home town, he
was captured February 18 of this
year. The main thing about Mc
Limans that interested O’Neill
investigators was the fact he
owned a late model Kaiser. Then
the story began tg unfold, but
not until after McLimans had
spent about two months in the
Madison county jail and had
spent several weeks in the Nor
folk state hospital under obser
vation. Finally, he was brought
to O’Neill and within a very few
days, and under careful, prudent
and fair questioning, he bared
his story, he said he killed Chet
Calkins.
One person’s voice you haven’t
heard on our special events mi
crophone either at the time ci
the slaying or, even now, that
the confession has been gained
and the slayer stands before the
high judge in this section of
north Nobraska. I refer to the
voice of County Attorney Wil
liam Griffin.
Bill has spurted on Sheriff
Tomjack, he his been dogged
and determined with some mat
ters pertaining to the safety pa
trol and other peace officers.
Please understand, cooperation
was always fine and everybody
tried to be helpful, but some
body, some force has to be in
! the driver’s seat. Bill Griffin
never relented, and he guided
the investigation through to its
climax and is the prosecuting
attorney in the courtroom.
McLimans’ foster mother, Mrs.
Lillian McLimans, the woman
who took her adopted son from
an orphanage at the age of 24
hours-old and reared him, re
peatedly ha^ thanked Mr. Griffm
for being kind and courteous—
now that the investigation is ov
er and the confession gained.
The investigating officers have
been universal in their classifica
tion of McLimans as a cold,
sharp - featured fellow with de
vious eyes, a scraggly mustache,
a lone operator and a strange
fellow.
The foster mother, upon de
scending the courthouse steps
after she had first heard the con
fession from her adopted son,
and then urged him to tell it all,
pointed to the cell upstairs and
said, “That’s not the boy I raised.
He’s changed. He’s different. 1
raised a good boy.” She blamed
the war. McLimans was a gunner
on a Flying Fortress.
Police officers and the prison
er’s foster mother share some of
the same ideas concerning Mc
Limans, who is standing trial
this morning in that crowded
courtroom.
Every man is loved somewhere
by someone. Let’s listen to Cal
Stewart again, speaking by tape
recording.
* * •
Varied Opinions
of McLimans—
There you have a word picture
of the man . . . you know the
deed . . . you’ve heard how the
police and his foster mother feel
about him. Perhaps you heard
the McLimans children . . two of
them were playing in the sand
pile and the third, a tiny baby,
is only one-month-old. Thursday
afternoon authorities took McLi
mans out of the cell and they
visited several points, accumu
lating some of the loot. They also
took him to his nondescript
home, a cluttered up affair
alongside the railroad tracks at
Long Pine, just a few hundred
feet from the rail station there.
McLimans then saw the new
baby for the first time.
Mrs. McLimans, the wife of the
confessed slayer, wouldn’t dis
cuss with Cal the murder ... or
the robberies ... in fact, she de
clined to talk at all if he asked
any pertient questions. That ex
plains the nature of some of his
questions. But she insists she’ll
stay by her husband till the end.
And the mother-in-law says the
same thing.
This morning, the day that is
expected to climax this story,
dawned bright and clear. There’s
not a cloud in the sky and the
courtroom filled to capacity well
before the trial was to begin.
(Stewart then interviewed in
Long Pine the wife, Pearl, and
the mother-in-law, Mrs. Alice
Coen. See article, ‘Wife Will
Stick By Him’ elsewhere in this
edition.)
* * •
Reporting at Its Best—
(Editor’s note: Time and space
do not permit a transcript of the
tape - recordings made in the
courthouse by Mr. Hammond.
However, they were heard by
the WJAG radio audience and
they will be preserved for all
time. The Frontier honestly be
lieves Mr. Hammond’s reporting
from the door of the courtroom
will go down on record as a re
markable instance of radio re
porting at its best.)
