The Washington times., 1933-08-30
KIN Of ACCUSED
LIKE STATUES
IN COURT
David Lamson on Verge of
Tears as Intimate Details of
His Marriage Are Barred
BY ERNEsTINE BALL

BY ERNEsTINE BALL
SAN JOSE, Cal, Aug. 80
G.N.S).-If it were your own
son, your own brother, charged
with wife-murder, what would
you do about it? How could you
act?
You might we'll hope that you
could conduct yourself as Loyalty,
with as much dignity, as the
family of David Lamson, on trial
for the murder of his wife,
Allene, in the bathroom of the
Stanford campus home on the
morning of May 80.
Another Ordeal
Don't be so sure that you could
successfully stand the impact of
a murder trial on your nerves if
one of your very own had his
life at stake.
Put yourself in the place Of
David Lamson's family today.
Another heartbreaking ordeal for
his two sisters, DR.. Margaret
Lamson. and Mrs. Willis ThoitS,
who come to court every day, as
regularly as the defendant him.
self.
More intimate details today of
that dreadful, bloodsoaked morn
ing when David Lamson found
the body of his wife in the
bathtub. More intimate exhibits
Of the home life of Allene and
David Lamson, considered by the
majority of their Stanford friends
an ideal couple until tragedy
used them for shining target.
A Trial Exhibit
Allene's soft, white flannel
rightgown with it's long sleeves
and high neck like a nuns robe,
the kind of 'nightie" you never
see on fashionable lingerie coun-
ters piled high with silken pa
jamas and transparent wisps Of
chiffon and lace.
Allene Thorpe Lamson, can't
you see her. a slender girl, dark
eyed, with shining, soft, dark HAIR
colled in two braidS around her
head, STOPPING over the Christmas
box from her mother in Lamar,
Mo-, and pulling out this robe Of
white flannel?
And now Earl G. Hamilton,
deputy sheriff of San Jose, like
some strange Santa Claus without
a beard or flowing white hair,
brings it out of hamper, here in
court, and the nun-like night
gown is peoples exhibit in the
Lamson murder trial.
Women Controlled
If your brother were on trial for
his life, could you stare straight
ahead, never one hostile look to
right or left at those who have no
business in the courtroom, but
crane their necks, rivet their eyes
into the white folds of the gown
Allene Lamson wore the night
before she was killed or died of
accident?
Not a belligerent flicker of an
eyelash from Margaret Lamson, or
Mrs. Thoits, more controlled than
David Lamson. on the verge of
tears again yesterday.
More controlled than the young
woman juror who almost tainted
yesterday when out of the clothes
hamper from the Lamson bath
room came bloody towels, sheets
stained with Allene LamSon'S life
blood.
The police had placed them on
the hall floor to prevent the peo-
pie who were tracking through the
house on the morning of tragedy
from leaving more bloody finger
prints on the polished living room
floor of the charming little bunga-
low that Allene LamSon had fur
nished with such discriminating
care.
Proud of Dave
The sisters of David Lamson
shield their worn, grief stricken
faces from the photographers, but |
there are no shrill outbursts of
temper on the invasion of their
privacy, the dodging of their foot i
steps night and day.
It is as if they say to them
selves, every day in this court
room, Steady, now, for David's
Sake!"
For David. their young brother!
They helped him throughout
his college years at Stanford. |
They were proud that after grad
uation he was an executive in the
Stanford publishing business.
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