Before reading this, all I knew about the Lindbergh kidnapping could have fit in one sentence: The baby had died, Bruno Hauptmann was executed for the crime, and some people believed that he was either innocent or had help. I’m grateful to Robert Zorn for offering such an interesting and compelling narrative of the crime and its aftermath. Now my sentence can be revised to read: The baby had died, Bruno Hauptman definitely did it, and he surely had help.

Zorn effectively conveys just how famous Lindbergh was and why the kidnapping was the crime of the century—a phrase first used in conjunction with the 1932 crime. (Mencken called it “the biggest story since the Resurrection.”) Early chapters, about how and why Lindbergh made his Atlantic crossing, may have seemed like padding in another book, but they are useful here because they give a sense of Lindbergh’s celebrity. When Zorn begins the story of how the world’s most famous baby was taken from his home in a burlap sack, the reader better appreciates the crime for the worldwide event that it was. Zorn tells the story well, without ascribing thoughts to the figures; he knows that the story of Cemetery John, Jafsie, and the New Jersey State Police is incredible and needs little embellishment. More than once, I had the same shock one feels when a major surprise in a film is revealed. The chase, the repeated negotiations with Cemetery John, the press coverage, the all-night strategy sessions of Lindbergh and his advisers, and Hauptmann’s trial and execution are all deftly handled.

I make no claims for the validity of Zorn’s application of modern profiling techniques onto John Knoll, the title figure. Zorn’s conjecture that Knoll deliberately planted clues about his crime—clues that would only make sense decades later—seem stretched. But the physical evidence seems compelling. Alone, any one of the pieces of Zorn’s evidence would fall flat, but the totality of the evidence suggests that Knoll was a terrible person who enjoyed humiliating other people and who would have been willing to plan and execute the kidnapping. But does being a terrible person who may have said "Englewood" in the presence of Bruno Hauptmann make him guilty of kidnapping and murder? For all I know, the Knoll explanation could be like the one given by Dr. Reo Symes to Ray Midge in The Dog of the South about the lost works of John Selmer Dix. At any rate, Cemetery John is worth reading not only for the forensic elements and Sherlockian puzzles, but for the ways in which Zorn recreates the atmosphere of the crime and trial.


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An excellent book. This is the first time I've really read into the Lindbergh Kidnapping and I'm glad it was this one! Very unique perspective involving the author's father. ( )

An interesting - but not entirely convincing - premise.
As a child, George Zorn hears a conversation that he believes reveals the true identity of the Lindbergh baby kidnapper. His son, author Robert Zorn, follows through and comes to the conclusion that a German immigrant named John Knoll was the real mastermind behind the event.
Robert Zorn does manage to find many convincing bits of evidence; for me, the most compelling was a contemporary analysis comparing Knoll's writing to the writing in the kidnap notes. There were other coincidences, as well, notably the fleshy mount on the finger of the kidnapper, and the same on Knoll's finger.
What lacked was a single concrete link: no deathbed confession from Knoll, no proof that he actually knew Hauptmann (who was, inarguably, involved in the kidnapping), none of the marked bills discovered in his possessions after he died.
So the speculation here is fascinating and well-researched, but I wasn't left convinced. ( )

Story of the supposed kidnapper of Lindbergh baby ( )