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It's the morning of March 22nd, 1924 in Washington, D.C. Senator Thomas Walsh is sitting at a large oak desk in room 210 of the Senate office building, surrounded by stacks of notes and documents that he has meticulously prepared for today's hearing. But his key witness is nowhere to be seen. And as the minutes tick by, Walsh is growing increasingly frustrated.
For the last two years, Walsh has been leading the Senate's inquiry into whether three of the country's largest federal oil reserves were illegally leased to private industry. Walsh knows that leases were brokered in secret and without public bidding, and that the man responsible, the former Secretary of Interior Albert Fall, received money, gifts, and job opportunities from the two oil tycoons who benefited, Edward Doheny and Harry Sinclair.
But time and time again, Walsh has questioned the alleged conspirators, and they've managed to dodge or stonewall him. At one point, Sinclair even fled to Europe, presumably to avoid questioning.
Now Walsh's inquiry is winding down, and his investigation is being handed over to a team of special prosecutors. They'll determine whether anyone involved in the oil leases might be subject to criminal charges. As things stand now, that seems unlikely. But today, Walsh has one last chance to make his case. Sinclair has returned from Europe and has been summoned back to Senate Room 210. And Walsh is determined to hold Sinclair to account.
As Walsh has continued his investigation in Sinclair's absence, he's uncovered new evidence that Sinclair bribed Fall for oil leases. What's more, he also has evidence suggesting that Sinclair paid millions of dollars to put Fall's late boss, President Warren Harding, in the White House, specifically in exchange for access to federal oil reserves. All Walsh needs now is for Sinclair to actually show up.
Finally, Walsh hears some commotion at the back of the hearing room and looks up to see the multimillionaire striding in, flanked by his legal team. As usual, Sinclair is dressed to the nines, grinning as he passes friends in the gallery. Sinclair takes his seat at the witness table, but before Walsh can open his mouth to ask a first question, Sinclair pulls a set of typewritten pages from his jacket.
"'I'd like to read a prepared statement, if I may.' "'Go ahead, Mr. Sinclair. "'I have been before your committee in five different sessions, "'and I have answered all questions and produced all books and papers called for. "'I was finally excused from further attendance, or so I thought.'
At this time, I shall reserve any additional evidence I may be able to give for those special prosecutors and the courts to which you and your colleagues have deliberately referred all further questions. Mr. Sinclair, with this statement, are you saying you're taking the fifth? No, I do not decline to answer any question on the grounds that my answers may tend to incriminate me, because there's nothing in any of the circumstances of the Teapot Dome lease which could incriminate
But with due respect to your committee, I do claim that you are without any jurisdiction to question me further regarding procurement of the lease or the validity thereof. Well, be that as it may, I'd still like to ask about testimony I received from Mr. Frederick Bonfils, publisher of the Denver Post. He mentioned a contract you had with him concerning Teapot Dome. You paid him one million dollars.
Over and over again, Sinclair evokes the same line, smiling through every syllable.
He declines to answer on the advice of counsel. Walsh is furious. It's clear that Sinclair intends to parry until Walsh is out of questions, and eventually, Walsh has no choice but to excuse him. As Walsh watches Sinclair saunter out of the hearing room, he feels his face flush red.
For two years, Harry Sinclair has done everything he can to evade Walsh's investigation. But this time, he's gone too far. And Walsh knows exactly what he needs to do next to make Sinclair pay for his actions.
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From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American Scandal.
By 1924, the Teapot Dome scandal was two years old, and the Senate investigation into it, led by Thomas Walsh, was winding down. But the real battles over the scandal were just beginning, and they would play out in federal court. Over the next six years, a bewildering array of lawsuits and indictments would find the scandals major players hauled into court again and again.
Oil tycoons Harry Sinclair and Edward Doheny would face legal challenges to their leases, as well as charges of bribery, conspiracy, and defrauding the American government. Former Interior Secretary Albert Fall, who had granted the leases, would face bribery and conspiracy charges of his own. If convicted, two of the wealthiest men in America and a former U.S. Cabinet official could face years in prison.
But before those trials began, Walsh had one final score to settle with his old nemesis, Harry Sinclair. This is Episode 4, Contempt. It's the morning of March 24th, 1924, in Washington, D.C. Thomas Walsh is in the U.S. Senate chamber, sitting at his desk as he waits to be called to the lectern at the front of the room. His colleagues are expecting him to offer an update on the status of the Teapot Dome inquiry, but Walsh has planned to use his time for something else.
He's going to ask his fellow senators to cite Harry Sinclair for contempt of Senate. To Walsh, Sinclair's refusal to answer a single question from the investigative committee showed a flagrant disregard for congressional authority. It made clear that Sinclair thinks he's above the law and that he doubts anyone will have the courage to tell him otherwise.
Of course, Walsh knows he's taking a risk. Some of his colleagues will be reluctant to charge one of America's wealthiest businessmen with contempt. Republican senators are especially likely to object. Sinclair is one of the GOP's biggest donors, and nobody wants to jeopardize his support of the party.
But Walsh knows that some Republican senators also share his conviction that Sinclair is guilty. They believe he bribed his way into a preferential lease on the country's greatest oil reserve, and that he spent the last two years evading justice. These are the men Walsh needs to reach with his plea today. So when he's called up to the lectern, Walsh looks directly at as many of his Republican colleagues as he can to let them know that he sees them, and that history will see them too.
Then he takes his notes out from under his arm, sets them on the lectern, and begins to make his case. Walsh says that Harry Sinclair's performance in Room 210 cannot be viewed as anything light or trivial. In fact, it might be one of the greatest matters facing the Senate.
Walsh argues that both the Senate and the House of Representatives cannot fulfill their constitutional duties if they cannot compel witness testimony. Therefore, Sinclair's actions were essentially an attack on the effective existence of the United States Congress.
So for each question Sinclair refused to answer, Walsh asks the Senate to cite him to the limit of the law. And after reading through the list of Sinclair's offenses, Walsh presents a motion to pass the contempt accusation onto a Washington, D.C. district attorney who will take the case to a grand jury. Then Walsh closes his notebook and nods to the clerk, who takes his spot at the lectern and begins calling out the name of every senator to be followed by a yay or nay.
As Walsh takes his seat, he hopes that his colleagues understand the historical significance of this moment. He hopes that they will vote their conscience and weigh truth above party loyalty. When the votes are tallied, the motion to cite Sinclair for contempt of Congress passes in a landslide, 72 to 1. It's a tremendous win for Walsh.
But his Senate inquiry is coming to a close. Soon, the case will rest squarely on the shoulders of a two-man special counsel appointed by President Calvin Coolidge. It will be the job of lawyers Owen Roberts and Atlee Pomerene to determine if legal action needs to be taken against any party involved with the oil leases. Initially, Walsh was skeptical about the team. But in his early meetings with Roberts and Pomerene, they demonstrated diligence, honesty, and deference to the work Walsh has already put into the case.
And following Walsh's recommendation, Roberts and Pomeroy decide that the best course of action is to focus first on regaining control of the reserves. To do that, they need to file civil suits based on the idea that the leases were granted through bribery. So the special prosecutors travel to Cheyenne, Wyoming, to file an injunction against Harry Sinclair's Mammoth Oil Company, effectively halting the drilling at Teapot while their lawsuits are pending.
Then the prosecutors go to Los Angeles to file against Edward Doheny's Pan American Oil and Transport Company, which is currently drilling at the Alkheels and Buena Vista reserves. From the government's side, the goal of the case against Doheny in Los Angeles is to invalidate the California leases and restore federal control over the reserves. So the special counsel argues that the oil leases were procured by fraud because Interior Secretary Albert Fall did not have the legal authority to grant them.
But the defense counters that Fall didn't grant the leases. They claim that Naval Secretary Edwin Demby brokered them instead, and that Fall merely facilitated. This argument gets tested and prodded over 10 days of testimony. But when the prosecution rests, Doheny starts to worry that he didn't do enough to counter the government's narrative.
The press seems to think that Doheny will be cleared of the charges, and Doheny is confident too. But even if he is, Doheny knows the smell of scandal won't wash away so easily. Losing in the court of public opinion could prove catastrophic to his business interests. So as he waits for the judge to render a decision, Doheny starts to brainstorm ways he can put a positive spin on the story.
Doheny knows that the motion picture industry is growing like mad. Every night, all across the country, millions of people are flocking to silent movie theaters to watch their favorite heroes light up the silver screen. And in the winter of 1925, Doheny decides that he wants to be one of those heroes too. He reaches out to Hollywood movie mogul Cecil B. DeMille and invites him over for lunch.
DeMille is one of Hollywood's most successful directors, both with critics and the box office. And he's intrigued by Doheny's invitation, so he accepts. When DeMille arrives at Doheny's sprawling Los Angeles estate, the oil tycoon greets him warmly. He orders his staff to bring out a lavish surf and turf lunch. And as the director indulges himself on shrimp cocktail and filet mignon, Doheny pitches his idea for a film based on his life story.
DeMille listens patiently as Doheny spins his rags to riches tale. He talks about fighting off cattle thieves and Indians during his youth in New Mexico territory, surviving a 100-foot fall down a mine shaft and making his fortune in the oil-rich tar pits of Los Angeles. He says he even once wrestled a mountain lion and faced down the fierce Apache warrior Geronimo himself.
Between bites of shrimp, DeMille says it definitely sounds like silver screen material. But then he asks, how does the story end? Moviegoers are going to want to know the truth behind the latest and most infamous part of Doheny's saga. Is he prepared to reveal to the public what really happened between him and Albert Fall?
Instead of answering, Doheny cuts himself a bite of steak and pops it in his mouth. Then he chews, swallows, and announces with a grin that he knows the importance of keeping an audience on the edge of their seats. So he can't tell DeMille the truth about his part in the Teapot Dome scandal, at least not until they have a contract signed. DeMille bursts out laughing and says he has to give Doheny credit. He gives a better movie pitch than most screenwriters.
And he extends his hand, thanks Doheny for lunch, and says they'll talk again soon. But on his way out the door, DeMille has already made up his mind. There will be no film version of Edward Doheny's life, at least not one directed by him. Doheny is just too controversial right now. And besides, no one would believe a word of it.
On May 30th, 1925, Edward Doheny finally gets a verdict in the civil lawsuit filed against him by special prosecutors Owen Roberts and Attlee Pomerene. But it's not the one he was hoping for. The judge rules against Doheny's Pan American Company, declaring that his $100,000 loan to fall was indeed a bribe. The California leases were therefore granted based on fraud and conspiracy, which renders them null and void. The Naval Reserves will go back to the government.
When news about this decision reaches Harry Sinclair, he's facing his own civil trial in Cheyenne, Wyoming, about 200 miles from the Teapot Dome Reserve. But if Sinclair is concerned that Doheny lost his civil case, he doesn't show it. Instead, he continues to conduct himself in much the same way as he always does. Sinclair floats around town slapping backs, buying rounds of drinks, and wining and dining local bigwigs, including the judge's closest friend.
And during the trial, it seems most of the prosecution's witnesses have suddenly been called away to Europe or are otherwise unavailable. Among those who do testify, Sinclair, Albert Fall, and Fall's son-in-law, Malin Everhart, all take the fifth. The trial ends in 11 days. And in June 1925, the judge rules that there was no conspiracy or fraud. Sinclair's teapot leases are valid and drilling can continue.
As soon as this good news makes its way to Doheny, he immediately appeals his own verdict to the U.S. Supreme Court. But while he awaits for them to consider his appeal, Sinclair gets some bad news. On October 1926, more than a year after Sinclair's civil trial, the U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals reverses the Cheyenne decision, ruling that the teapot lease was granted under fraudulent circumstances. It's a heavy blow for Sinclair.
His drilling operation stops immediately and control of the reserve reverts back to the government. But for Senator Thomas Walsh, the decision is vindicating. It's been more than two years since Walsh's Senate committee concluded its inquiry, but Walsh has remained actively engaged with the cases. Despite his already heavy workload, he's continued to help the special prosecutors navigate evidence and case files.
Walsh has spent so much time as the sole torchbearer of Teapot that for him these cases feel personal. But as pleased as he is about the Sinclair decision, he refuses to celebrate until the Supreme Court decides the fate of Doheny's appeal. The court is scheduled to hand down a ruling sometime in February, but most of the month goes by without any news. Until on February 28th, Walsh's top staffer John Holland rushes into the office.
Walsh has worked with Holland since the earliest days of the inquiry, when Holland was still a young law student at Georgetown. Together, the two men almost single-handedly built the case against Fall, Doheny, and Sinclair. So Walsh trusts Holland and knows he feels just as personally connected to the case as he does. The minute Holland closes the office door, Walsh jumps out of his seat. All right, John, tell me everything. The court went against Doheny on every count.
Every count. Yeah, they stated that the Elk Hill's lease was, quote, tainted with corruption. This proves everything we've been arguing since 1922. But it gets better. Because the whole deal was fraudulent. They're going to force Doheny to pay the government for the millions of dollars of oil he's already drilled. Walsh slumps back in his chair, feeling both elated and suddenly exhausted. I don't even know what to say. We've been building towards this moment for...
Such a long time. Now that it's here, I don't know what to do with myself. Well, how about we celebrate? Yes, of course. Walsh retrieves a bottle of bourbon, pours two glasses, and then comes around the desk to hand one to Holland. Here's to justice. To justice. Walsh swallows his bourbon with a triumphant gulp. But as he does, he notices Holland's smile fade. Walsh pats him on the shoulder. Now, what are you frowning about? Well, I was just thinking...
For men like Sinclair and Doheny, this really isn't punishment. They're just losing money, which they've already had more of than they could possibly spend. So I'm not sure it is justice. I understand. But don't let tomorrow's worry rob you of today's triumph. Lest we forget, all of these men will be facing criminal trials soon enough, too. Sinclair is going to be facing two. One for contempt of Senate and one for fraud. So have a little faith. This fight isn't over. The truth will win out.
Holland nods, seemingly willing himself to feel the same optimism. But as Walsh pours them both another round, he can't entirely shake the feeling that Holland might have a point. Walsh has been around long enough to know that the justice system works differently for men with money. And as he hands the glass back to Holland, he says they better save their next toast for the results of those future trials.
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After two years of fighting, he loses the appeal in his civil case, and he's forced to return to Washington, D.C. in March, where he faces another trial, this time to decide whether he's guilty of contempt of Congress for refusing to answer Thomas Walsh's questions during the Senate inquiry three years ago. This trial ends in a guilty verdict, and Sinclair is sentenced to three months in jail and a $500 fine. But his troubles are far from over.
On October 17, 1927, Sinclair and Albert Falls' criminal trial begins in the District of Columbia Supreme Court.
The U.S. Supreme Court has already revoked Sinclair's teapot lease, costing him millions. So when he arrives in court today, Sinclair appears to have shed his trademark bravado in favor of a more conservative image. And for the first time, he brings his family to the courtroom, including his aging mother. Albert Fall also appears humbled, arriving with his wife, his adult children, and his physician, who is ready to state that his client is a sick man with probably only a few months left to live.
But in case the defendant's new personas aren't enough, Sinclair decides to rig the jury as well. He hires 15 investigators from the Burns International Detective Agency to shadow both the active members of the jury and their alternates to determine who might be susceptible to bribery. The agents quickly discover that three of the jurors have money problems, so Sinclair directs the agents to make them an offer.
The jurors who accept the bribes are sworn to silence, but not all of them are able to keep that promise. One afternoon in October 1927, a juror named Edward Kidwell strolls up to his favorite spot near the courthouse, a soft drink stand, the kind of place that's become popular during Prohibition. A few other men are standing around, sipping bottles of ginger ale and Coca-Cola. Another regular, an off-duty streetcar conductor named Ray Akers, greets Kidwell.
Kidwell flashes a $5 bill, and Akers exchanges a knowing glance with a new face at the soda pop stand, a thin man with glasses and receding hair.
This guy's a big spender. Remind me again, Eddie, how is it you're so flush? I told you all the other day. Well, tell me again. It's a good story. Okay, so a couple of weeks ago, this guy approaches me outside the courthouse. Says I look like a smart man and asked me what I think of Harry Sinclair.
I say, he seems like a down-to-earth guy, like he hasn't let all that money go to his head. So then this guy says he has a little business proposition for me. If I just put in my time on the jury and don't pay too much attention to the evidence, he'll pay me five bucks a day, no questions asked. Well, that sounds like a pretty sweet deal. You're telling me, but that's not even the best part.
He says that if the case ends in a mistrial, there's an even bigger payday. How much? I don't know. I don't know. But considering who I'd be letting off, it better be a new car. One as long as this block. Kidwell's friends laugh and clink their soda bottles together. Akers joins in, then turns to the thin man in the glasses and gives an almost imperceptible nod.
The man starts to walk away, but as he does, he takes out a small notebook and begins writing. He's a reporter for the Washington Herald, and Akers has just given him the scoop of a lifetime. Washington Herald reporter Don King does more than just write an article. He also takes what he's learned to federal prosecutors and signs a sworn affidavit detailing everything he heard Edward Kidwell say. Streetcar conductor Ray Akers also signs an affidavit confirming King's account.
When lead prosecutors Attlee Pomerine and Owen Roberts present these affidavits to the judge, Harry Sinclair's criminal trial screeches to a halt. And on November 2nd, the judge declares a mistrial. The incident makes headlines nationwide. Sinclair and Billy Burns, head of the Burns Detective Agency, are indicted for jury tampering. So just as one trial abruptly ends, another begins.
Sinclair's attorneys try to assert that it's perfectly within their rights to have jurors under surveillance. But during the trial, it becomes clear the Burns detectives did more than just track the jurors. They attempted to bribe and blackmail them, and even forged false evidence that the government was engaged in its own jury tampering scheme.
On February 21, 1928, Harry Sinclair and Billy Burns are found guilty. The judge sentences Burns to just 15 days in jail, but for Sinclair, he hands down a six-month sentence. Sinclair immediately appeals both the verdict and the sentencing and is released. But less than two months later, he's back in court again, this time for his criminal conspiracy trial.
This is Sinclair's fourth criminal case and his most consequential. If things don't go his way, Sinclair could be facing a lengthy stretch at the District of Columbia jail and asylum. And knowing Sinclair may be up to dirty tricks, the judge lays down some ground rules. He wants proceedings to move along without any grandstanding. He orders the jury sequestered to prevent tampering. And he declares that only certain evidence will be permissible.
The focus of the trial will be the $233,000 that Sinclair gave to Albert Fall. It's up to the jury to determine whether it was made as a genuine investment in Fall's New Mexico ranch or as an attempt to curry favor with the man controlling access to federal oil reserves. Any evidence that isn't directly related to that question will be barred from the courtroom.
This is good news for Sinclair. Restricting the scope of the evidence will make the prosecution's job harder. They can't tell the jury that the U.S. Supreme Court has already revoked Sinclair's teapot dome lease, or that Sinclair has already been convicted twice for jury tampering and contempt of Congress.
But when court is called to session on April 9th, 1928, Sinclair is still worried. Because today, for the first time ever, Albert Fall's son-in-law, Malin Everhart, is going to have to testify. Back in May of 1922, Everhart was the person who delivered the money from Sinclair to Fall. And he knows things that could sink Sinclair's case.
In all of Sinclair's previous trials, Everhart has pleaded the fifth. But Senator Thomas Walsh has recently ensured that that won't happen again. Just months ago, in a clever bit of legal maneuvering, Walsh introduced a bill to reduce the statute of limitations for certain kinds of fraud from six years to three. The bill passed, which means Everhart can no longer claim risk of self-incrimination. He's going to have to answer the prosecution's questions.
But first, he's going to be a witness for the defense. Since they knew Everhart would be called to testify, Sinclair's legal team has decided to preemptively call him themselves, but only after carefully coaching him. When Everhart takes a stand, he'll spin a version of events that will explain away Sinclair's $233,000 gift as a sound investment.
They've rehearsed the story countless times, and Sinclair has full confidence in it. But as he watches Everhart get sworn in, he feels less certain about how Fall's weak-willed son-in-law will hold up under cross-examination.
After Sinclair's lawyer finishes questioning Everhart, Special Prosecutor Attlee Pomeran steps up. He begins his cross by asking Everhart to explain again what he was doing in Washington in May of 1922. Everhart answers that he came to town for his mother's funeral, but that while he was there, Albert Fall asked him to come to his apartment.
Everhart is clearly prepared for this part, showing no signs of stress when Pomeraine asks if Fall sent him to the Washington rail yards to meet Harry Sinclair in Sinclair's private rail car. Everhart affirms that his father-in-law did send him, that Sinclair gave him a package of Liberty Bonds, and that he brought the bonds back to Fall's apartment.
But when Pomerene asks what the money was for, Everhart starts to look a little nervous. He delivers his practiced lines, explaining that, as he told the defense, Sinclair wanted to buy a share in Falls New Mexico Ranch to use it as a private hunting club. But Everhart avoids eye contact and shifts in his chair as he answers.
Pomerine follows up, noting that if this was indeed a business transaction, there should be a receipt of some kind, especially since the money exchange was so substantial. Everhard glances at Sinclair, who keeps his well-practiced poker face. Then the young man acknowledges that he never delivered a receipt for the payment or a deed for the property.
Pomeraine looks like he's about to pounce on this point, but Everhart suddenly recovers, explaining that the whole thing had been more of a handshake agreement, a business deal among friends. Pomeraine tries a few more times to undercut this narrative, but after a few more attempts, he's forced to yield the witness. Given the judge's restrictions, that's all the prosecution can ask Everhart.
So when court adjourns for the day, Sinclair is feeling optimistic. Everhart performed well, and as Sinclair walks out of the room circled by his legal team, he thinks that this time, when it matters most, he might finally receive a favorable verdict. My dad works in B2B marketing. He came by my school for career day and said he was a big ROAS man. Then he told everyone how much he loved calculating his return on ad spend.
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But thanks to the judge's ruling on allowable evidence, they can only reveal a fraction of it to the jury. So on April 21st, after 10 days of testimony, the prosecutors rest their case. The jurors deliberate for two hours before returning to announce they found Harry Sinclair not guilty. Sinclair is jubilant. His legal team shakes hands and slap each other on the back.
While for prosecutors, it's a heavy blow. The ruling means that the money Sinclair paid to Albert Fall was officially a legitimate business transaction. It also means that Fall cannot be tried for conspiracy since it takes two to conspire. The New York Times calls the verdict the greatest surprise Washington has had in years, as most observers assumed Sinclair would be found guilty. There are widespread cries of rich man's justice.
But Sinclair has not avoided justice entirely. He is still due to serve three months in jail, stemming from the contempt of Congress conviction he received in March 1927. And as the date of his incarceration approaches, Sinclair starts to get nervous about the life that awaits him behind bars. For most of his life, Harry Sinclair has been one of the wealthiest and most powerful people in America.
But as a prisoner at the District of Columbia Jail and Asylum, he will have to do what he's told, wear what he's told, and live alongside lower-class common criminals. So when his limousine pulls up outside the jail at 8.45 p.m. on May 6, 1929, Harry Sinclair carries the weight of that reality on his back. Reporters and photographers stand along the prison driveway, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sinclair as he emerges from the car and walks through the facility's imposing iron gate.
Once inside, Sinclair is promptly escorted into the office of jail superintendent W.L. Peek, who offers Sinclair a seat before laying out the house rules. First, Sinclair is expected to wake up at 5.45 in the morning. He'll be in a dorm with other short-timers, mostly petty thieves and bootleggers, and he'll be required to work. Peek notes that according to Sinclair's records, he studied pharmacology in college, so perhaps he can assist the prison doctor and nurse in the pharmacy.
Sinclair nods, relieved that he won't be expected to do any kind of hard labor. And after reviewing a few more rules, Peake instructs the guard to show Sinclair to his cell. As he's let off, Sinclair wonders if maybe this experience won't be as terrible as expected. After all, if he has to do something behind bars, getting to hand out drugs and having access to medicinal alcohol is probably as good as it gets.
But upon arriving at his quarters, Sinclair hears a scream erupt from down a darkened hallway. The sound reverberates off the hard walls and sends a chill up his spine. He thinks to himself, thank God he only has to be here for 90 days.
But on June 10th, only several weeks into his term, Sinclair discovers that he'll be spending a lot more time in the District of Columbia jail. The U.S. Supreme Court has decided to sustain his earlier conviction for jury tampering, which means he'll have to serve another six months behind bars. But life in prison is not as horrific as Sinclair imagined. His job in the pharmacy requires no heavy lifting, and with the friendly nurse on duty, it can be quite pleasant.
After every one of his full day shifts, Sinclair returns to a private cell where he can smoke his favorite Cuban cigars, relax with a good book, and listen to the radio. His fellow inmates know him and treat him well. Some even thank him for the money they've won over the years by betting on his racehorses.
And after seven months in lockup, Sinclair is released, seemingly unchanged by his prison experience. He walks through the jailhouse gates dressed in his finest and grinning as reporters and photographers document his happy reunion with family and friends. But for Sinclair's friend and former business partner, Albert Fall, things are not going so well.
When the former Secretary of Interior finally heads to his own trial on October 7th, 1929, he looks like a ghost of himself. His legal fees have virtually drained his bank account, and his health has deteriorated so significantly that he's bound to a wheelchair and coughing up blood.
Fall's lawyers implore the court to allow their client to return to the warmer climate of his ranch in New Mexico. They say Fall will probably not survive more than a few more months, but the judge instructs the jury to ignore the lawyer's requests. They are here to determine the outcome of the case based on evidence, not pity.
Fall, Sinclair, and Edward Doheny have all been acquitted of conspiracy charges. So Fall's guilt or innocence in this case rests on one question. Did he accept a $100,000 bribe from Doheny in exchange for the Elk Hills and Buena Vista oil leases? Over the course of a 19-day trial, the defense tries to convince the jury that the money was merely a loan between friends.
They also try to play on the jury's sympathies, arguing that for the decrepit 68-year-old Fall, any prison time would be a death sentence. But it's hard to tell how many of these arguments are landing. And when the jury is excused for deliberation, Edward Doheny feels deeply concerned about the fate of his old friend Fall. In his heart, Doheny believes that Fall is only in this situation because he acted in the best interests of others.
The reason he even took the interior job was because Warren G. Harding insisted. And when Fall seized control of the federal oil reserves and leased them to Doheny and Sinclair, he had the nation's best interests at heart. He even made the Elk Hills lease contingent on Doheny financing the construction of a Navy oil storage facility in Hawaii. So as far as Doheny is concerned, Albert Fall should be celebrated as a patriot. Instead, he's been vilified and dogged by scandal for years.
Doheny also knows that he shares in the blame for Fall's present circumstances. If he'd only been more careful about the timing of the loan, none of this would have happened. And that's why he's agreed to pay Fall's legal fees, to help his old friend however he can. On October 22nd, the judge calls everyone back into the courtroom. The jury is ready to announce a verdict. Doheny files in with the rest of the gallery and finds a seat close to the defense team's table, where Albert Fall sits in a wheelchair.
Doheny knows Fall must be worried. But while they wait for the jury, he tries to lift up his old friend's spirits. How are you holding up, Albert? How's it look like I'm holding up? Well, honestly, I've seen you look worse. Our old prospecting days, you used to walk around covered in a layer of dirt so thick you were practically camouflaged. Yeah, well, those days are over. And I've got you and Harry Sinclair to blame. Doheny is taken aback. Listen, listen, Albert. No, you listen.
You made this worse when you made me go to Ned McLean and get him to pretend he was behind the law.
And if you had just come clean back then, we probably could have avoided the whole thing. But now, I'm the one who's on the chopping block. Well, you're right, Albert, and I hate to see you go through all this. But just remember, never in the history of this country has a cabinet member been convicted of a felony. Precedence is on your side. And for whatever it's worth, my money's on you. Well, what choice do you have? If they convict me, that probably means you're next. But I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
Fall turns away, ending the conversation. And soon after, the jury begins to file into the courtroom. The judge asks the foreman to deliver the verdict, and Doheny holds his breath as the foreman stands and announces that they find the defendant guilty as charged. Shrieks erupt from the audience. Fall's wife and daughters rush to his side as the old man sinks into his wheelchair.
But Doheny can't bring himself to move. He cups his hands over his ears in disbelief and then begins to cry, both for what it means for his friend and what it means for himself. Because soon, Doheny will face his own bribery trial. And Fall is right. Today's verdict is not likely to help him. Five months later, in March 1930, the final trial in the Teapot Dome scandal begins.
Edward Doheny is accused of making the bribe that Albert Fall was convicted of accepting. During 10 days of testimony, lead defense attorney Frank Hogan paints Doheny as a patriot who rose up from nothing. Hogan argues that such a towering figure would be incapable of even conceiving of bribery, and this argument seems to work. The jury deliberates for only an hour and returns with a not guilty verdict. Doheny is thrilled, but Albert Fall is outraged.
It does not make sense that he could be guilty of taking a bribe if Doheny isn't guilty of offering one. But the people have spoken. Now, Owen Roberts and Attlee Pomerene's work as special counsel is done. They've managed to get the naval oil leases canceled, but out of four indictments, they've only scored one conviction for Albert Fall. In the wake of the Teapot Dome scandal, the Supreme Court established that Congress could compel witness testimony, a legal precedent that remains in force to this day.
After 20 years in the Senate, Thomas Walsh was nominated for Attorney General by President Franklin Roosevelt in 1933. But he never assumed the role. On a train headed for Washington, D.C., where he was to be sworn in, Walsh died of a heart attack.
Edward Doheny's son, Ned, became known as the bag man of Teapot Dome for delivering his father's $100,000 loan to Albert Fall. In 1929, Ned was killed in a still-unsolved murder-suicide, along with his friend and associate Hugh Plunkett.
Ned was the apple of his father's eye, and Edward Doheny never got over his death. In the last few years of his life, Doheny's health and depression worsened. He died on September 8, 1935, at the age of 79, still a very wealthy man.
After serving his jail time, Harry Sinclair went back into the oil business, growing his already considerable wealth. Sinclair Oil, the company he'd begun on a shoestring budget in 1916, was worth over $1.2 billion when he retired in 1949. Sinclair died seven years later at his Southern California mansion at the age of 80.
Albert Fall received a one-year sentence in the New Mexico State Prison and a $100,000 fine. With time off for good behavior, he spent nine months and 19 days behind bars. But he was unable to pay the fine, and the government never tried to collect. He was released on May 9, 1932.
Fall lost his beloved Three Rivers Ranch to foreclosure and lived out his last years in a small home in El Paso, Texas. Nearly destitute, Fall and his wife Emma lived off his small military pension. Emma managed a local Mexican restaurant and sold home canned vegetables.
In the end, Fall was left sick, broken, and disgraced. But despite his attorney's prediction during the trials that he had only a few months left, he outlived his old friend Edward Doheny by nearly a decade. He died in his sleep at an El Paso hospital in 1944 at the age of 83. In all that time, he never admitted any guilt or wrongdoing in the Teapot Dome scandal. From Wondery, this is Episode 4 of Teapot Dome for American Scandal.
In our next episode, I speak with author Nathan Masters, who wrote Crooked, a roaring 20s tale of a corrupt attorney general, a crusading senator, and the birth of the American political scandal. ♪
Wondery Plus subscribers can binge American Scandal early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. If you enjoy American Scandal, be sure to give us a five-star rating and leave a review. I read every one of them. I also have two other Wondery podcasts you might like, American History Tellers and Business Movers. Follow American Scandal on the Wondery app, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts. You
You can binge all episodes of American Scandal early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. And before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. And to find out more about me, including my other podcasts, go to notthatlindseygram.com. That's notthatlindseygram.com.
If you'd like to learn more about this story, we recommend the books The Teapot Dome Scandal by Leighton McCartney, Tempest Over Teapot Dome by David H. Stratton, Dark Side of Fortune by Margaret Leslie Davis, The Teapot Dome Scandal by Jake Kobrick, and Teapot Dome by Burl Noggle. This episode contains reenactments and dramatized details. And while in most cases we can't know exactly what was said, all our dramatizations are based on historical research.
American Scandal is hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Gabriel Gould. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Peter Gilstrap. Edited by Emma Cortland. Fact-checking by Alyssa Jung-Perry. Produced by John Reed. Managing producer, Olivia Fonte. Senior producer, Andy Herman. Development by Stephanie Jens. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman, Marsha Louis, and Erin O'Flaherty for Wondery.
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