JamiJy Weekly February 21 1960
The
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From psychiatrists' files comes a case unrivaled by the most imaginative fiction:
By CURTIS MITCHELL
Eddie waitkus had no business going to the girl's
room alone that midnight in June, 1949, but
there was the urgent and mysterious note he had
found on his dresser: "It's important that I see you
as soon as possible ... I think it would be to your
advantage to let me explain it to you."
He took an elevator to the 12th floor and walked
hesitantly to Room 1297A. He knocked and heard
footsteps. When the door opened, he saw that she
was tall, slim, and very pale. Her eyes, as he stepped
pasj her into the room, flashed with annoyance.
"I've got a surprise for you," she said, striding
toward the closet. Then she turned swiftly, pointing
a .22 rifle at him, and said, "For two years, you've
been bothering me, and now you're going to die."
It's a joke, he thought. Maybe the fellows are pull
ing a rib. He said, "What goes on here?"
The bullet hit his chest, tore through the right
lung, and lodged near the spine. He fell, crying,
"Baby, what did you do that for?"
Hours later, the American baseball public was
asking the same question, and so were two psy
chiatrists in the Behavior Clinic of the Criminal
Court of Cook County, 111., Dr. William H. Haines,
director, and Dr. Robert A. Esser, his assistant.
To them, Ruth Steinhagen, 19-year-old typist for
a Chicago firm, tried to explain her attack:
"I'm sorry Eddie has to suffer so, but I had to
shoot somebody. He reminded me of my father.
Since I shot Eddie, I feel more consoled and relieved
than ever before in my life."
Her answer led to another query: was Ruth sane
or insane? Could she be tried under Illinois law?
Psychiatrists Haines and Esser, public servants as
well as physicians, had to find out. They began to
question her in the gloomy Cook County jail. Con
ditions were hardly the best. Chicago newspapers
made a field day of the event, filling their pages with
her pictures. "I've never been so happy in my life,"
she announced.
Meanwhile, Eddie Waitkus had to endure two
operations to remove the bullet from his lung. He
ILLUSTRATION BY ISA BARNETT