Teacher Was Found Guilty Of Gruesome Crime In 1850, But There Was One Major Catch

On November 24th, 1849, the Parkman family made a desperate plea to Boston authorities. They hadn't seen their beloved George for two days. It wasn't like him to just up and vanish; in fact, he was a man who loved his routine.

Granted, it wasn't a routine that made Parkman especially popular around Boston. The already wealthy man built up his estate as a professional moneylender, and he made quite the impression as he collected his debts around town. George walked everywhere, making him rail thin, plus he wore a towering top hat. No matter where he went, someone was bound to recognize him.

Because of his business, Parkman's associates weren't happy to see him turn up on their doorstep. He made a point of collecting his payments on time. George was worth a whopping half a million dollars, so it's not like he needed the money; but as a rather cold man and a spendthrift, he always settled his accounts. Police couldn't help but wonder: could that diligence have earned him a dangerous enemy?

The authorities tracked Parkman's movements in the days leading up to his disappearance. One of the final clients he visited was John Webster, a professor at Harvard Medical School. A well-known figure around campus, he gained a reputation for some unusual scientific pursuits.

Some who weren't well-versed in chemistry found Webster tedious, but the school's dean, Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., called him, "pleasant in the lecture room, rather nervous and excitable." He made his lectures a bit of an event by incorporating pyrotechnics into his demonstrations. His students affectionately nicknamed him "Sky-rocket Jack," though Webster wasn't all fun and fireworks.

Webster enjoyed mingling with Boston's upper crust — families nicknamed the "Boston Brahmins" — but doing so was an expensive endeavor. In fact, his salary was far less impressive than that of many of his colleagues, and the Webster family had to sell off their ancestral mansion to make ends meet. That financial stress brought Webster to George Parkman.

By the time of Parkman's disappearance, John Webster had been a longtime associate. He first borrowed $700, equivalent to nearly $11,000 today, seven years earlier in 1842, but this was no one-time deal. Webster's uncontrolled spending got him in deeper and deeper.

Fearing that Parkman wouldn't lend him any additional funds, Webster acquired $1,200 from another man named Shaw. That wouldn't have been a problem, except that the professor had put up a collection of valuable minerals as collateral, and those minerals had already been mortgaged under Webster's deal with Parkman.

Needless to say, Parkman wasn't too happy when he learned about Webster's financial habits. He paid a visit to the professor at the college on November 22nd — that afternoon was the last time anyone had seen him. Anyone could have guessed that their conversation wasn't too pleasant either.

Given that Webster was quite possibly the last person to see Parkman, that made the chemist a natural subject. But was he capable of harming the moneylender in any way? His friends and family doubted it. Webster was respectable and well-liked; besides, he also attended a party just hours after his meeting with Parkman and came off like his normal self.

When questioned by police, Webster brushed off his issues with Parkman and said that he went on his way. They didn't seem to have any evidence against him. However, one man wasn't so sure about Webster's innocence. He wasn't a social rival or an ace detective, but rather a janitor.

Ephraim Littlefield had been the janitor at Harvard Medical College for the better part of a decade, and he even lived in the basement of the building with his wife. Nothing went on in that school without Littlefield knowing about it, and following Parkman going missing, the handyman noticed something odd about the chemistry professor.

Harvard kept a powerful incinerator in the basement, which came in handy for disposing of medical waste and cadavers used in demonstrations. The same day that the Parkman family reported the disappearance, Webster approached Littlefield and demanded that he start a fire.

It wasn't just the sudden request that piqued the his curiosity. Webster was also holding a large wrapped bundle that he seemed anxious to get rid of. Littlefield had no choice but to follow the professor's instructions, though as more days passed without Parkman returning alive and well, the janitor began to put his own theory together.

He wasn't alone in that regard. The moneylender's fate became a media circus, especially because the Parkmans issued a cash reward for anyone who had information about his current whereabouts or — god forbid — the location of his body. Bostonians spun all kinds of fantastic tales about Parkman, and all this attention seemed to take its toll on Webster.

Despite working closely together, Webster and Littlefield barely spoke. That was why the janitor feared for his life when the professor cornered him one day. Brandishing a cane, Webster demanded to know whether Littlefield saw Parkman coming and going from the Medical College that day. Littlefield claimed to know nothing about it, and Webster responded by frantically explaining why Parkman stopped by.

He came off as incredibly defensive. Webster insisted that Parkman had simply stopped by to collect a debt, then went on his way. Unable to get away from the professor, Littlefield nodded and agreed. At last, Webster left him alone.

That outburst convinced Littlefield that he had to act. Creaking open the grate of the incinerator, he searched for the remnant's of Webster's mysterious bundle. What he found among the ashes nearly made him sick. Looking for more clues, Littlefield dug into a nearby wall section that looked like someone had recently patched it up.

The janitor recounted the effort it took to get to the hiding place: "I took the crowbar and knocked the bigness of the hole right through. There are five courses of brick in the wall. I managed to get in ... and to get the light and my head into the hole, and then ... I held my light forward." Inside, Littlefield found parts of what Webster had carried in a few days earlier.

The charred bundle contained body parts: a torso, bits of arms and legs, and a fairly intact jawbone. Some buttons and coins were scattered about as well. While it wasn't unusual for dead bodies to be tossed into the furnace, Littlefield didn't remember the chemistry professor ever studying any human remains — or disposing of any waste in such a hurry.

That was enough for police to arrest Webster for murder. The news sent Boston into an uproar. Some wanted blood, while others cried that a great injustice had been done. Though the evidence seemed pretty damning at first, what proof did authorities have that Webster himself did the deed? What proof did they have that the remains were from George Parkman?

Webster firmly maintained his innocence and reached out to some of the top lawyers of the day to defend him, including Rufus Choate (below). He, and many others, declined. The professor had little choice but to write up his own version of the events, and his defense neared a whopping 200 pages. His case went to the Massachusetts Supreme Court.

The prosecution clearly needed to prove that the incinerator held the remains of George Parkman, and so they developed a novel strategy to make their case. They pioneered the use of forensics — the scientific analysis of evidence to aid a criminal investigation.

The forensic evidence painted a damning picture. The jawbone matched Parkman's dental records, right down to the false teeth. Medical experts testified that the other body parts were dissected by someone with surgical expertise. They also found traces of copper nitrate, an effective compound for removing blood stains. A chemically knowledgable murderer might've spilled some while cleaning up his gruesome work.

Ephraim Littlefield was the star witness, and he provided additional details about Webster's strange behavior following his meeting with Parkman. Supposedly, the professor began locking doors that were always open before. He repeatedly questioned the janitor about whether the light in the dissecting room could be seen from outside. And Littlefield noticed that the basement walls were often red-hot, as if someone was using the furnace again and again.

Despite these breakthroughs, Webster's guilt wasn't obvious. The defense pointed out that there were many other body fragments in the incinerator. Was it possible that authorities picked pieces that most resembled George Parkman? On top of that, there was no direct proof tying the professor to the crime. He fit the profile, but all the evidence was circumstantial.

Would a jury feasibly convict a popular teacher and social figure without any further proof? After all, many believed that Ephraim Littlefield embellished his story to get the Parkman family's reward. Some didn't even think Parkman was murdered — perhaps he just skipped town. By March 30th of 1850, a verdict finally arrived.

The court found John Webster guilty of murder and sentenced him to death by hanging. No longer able to keep his composure, the professor collapsed, sobbing. He soon gave a full confession, detailing his actual confrontation with Parkman. But even that account cast doubt on the jury's verdict.

Webster's official confession explained it this way: "Parkman had shouted insults at him and threatened to have him fired if he didn’t pay up. In a fit of passion, Webster picked up a thick wooden stick and struck Parkman once on the head, fracturing his skull." There was no longer any debate about the blood on the professor's hands, but some insisted he was no murderer.

For one thing, Parkman's killing didn't appear to be premeditated. That fact made Webster's actions seem closer to manslaughter. Then there was the matter of the prosecution. They built up a case on circumstantial evidence and occasionally tweaked details under oath to support their argument, so Webster hardly received a fair trial. He and his defenders filed a passionate appeal.

Governor George N. Briggs weighed the matter carefully. On one hand, the prosecution ensured the deck was stacked against Webster from the start. On the other, most of the people asserting his innocence were the wealthy Brahmins. A Black man had recently been executed on similar grounds, so if the Governor pardoned Webster, he could have a riot on his hands.

So Briggs let him hang. Webster was put to death that August, and guards had to supervise his burial, as there were rumors that some unsavory types were plotting to steal the murderer's body. But the professor was laid to rest without incident, though his fate forever changed the way that U.S. courts handled murder cases.

Wanting to hold the prosecution to a higher standard, lawmakers firmed up laws about circumstantial evidence and using deception on the witness stand. They also divided murder charges into the first, second, and third degrees, so as to not treat all killers with the same severity. And what about the survivors of this grisly affair?

Boston's elite long maintained Webster's innocence, though there was relief that the scandal didn't harm Harvard's reputation. For Littlefield, it was the break of his life. He collected the Parkmans' $3,000 and retired to the country. Nobody could deny the investigation worked out quite conveniently for him.

Grief overtook the Parkmans, to the point where they rarely left their luxurious Beacon Street home. George's children inherited the family estate, but because they had no offspring of their own, the city of Boston eventually gained ownership of his vast fortune.