Ink, Grit and Blood

On a cold December evening in 1935, a fearless journalist stepped out of his car, groceries in hand, and into a storm of bullets that would end his life in an instant. Walter Liggett wasn’t just any journalist—he was a muckraker, a truth-teller, and a relentless critic of corruption in the highest echelons of power.

From exposing mobsters to taking on a sitting governor, Liggett made enemies in both the criminal underworld and political elite. But who pulled the trigger that night? Was it a notorious gangster with a grudge or something more sinister, sanctioned by the very system he sought to expose?

This is the story of Walter Liggett: his life, his crusade for truth, and the chilling legacy of his unsolved murder.

The snowy evening of December 9, 1935, brought an abrupt and violent end to the life of one of America’s most fearless journalists, Walter Liggett. In an alley behind his Minneapolis home, groceries still clutched in his hand, Liggett fell to a hail of bullets from a Thompson submachine gun. His wife and ten-year-old daughter watched in horror as their husband and father collapsed in the snow. The murder, brazen and chilling, remains one of Minnesota’s most notorious unsolved crimes, emblematic of the dangers faced by those who speak truth to power.

Walter William Liggett was born on Valentine’s Day in 1886 on a farm in Benson, Minnesota. Raised by parents deeply committed to progressive ideals, he absorbed their values and set out on a path defined by his passion for fearless journalism. After leaving the University of Minnesota, Liggett pursued a career that took him from local newspapers to national prominence. Inspired by the muckraking movement, he exposed corruption wherever he found it, earning both accolades and enemies. By the 1920s, his scathing articles about the corruption fueled by Prohibition earned him a nomination for the Pulitzer Prize. Yet his sharp pen often brought threats. Gangsters enriched by illicit liquor profits, and the politicians who enabled them, viewed Liggett’s work as an intolerable threat. Despite the risks, he pressed on.

In 1933, after years in New York, Liggett returned to Minnesota, drawn by the promise of the Farmer-Labor Party under Governor Floyd Olson. The party, which Liggett had helped establish, was a beacon of progressive ideals in a time of economic despair. Initially, Olson welcomed Liggett back with open arms. However, as Liggett immersed himself in local politics, he grew disillusioned with what he saw as a betrayal of those ideals. He accused Olson of cozying up to organized crime, particularly mobster Isadore “Kid Cann” Blumenfeld, whose criminal empire dominated the Twin Cities.

From the pages of his newspaper, the Midwest American, Liggett waged an unrelenting war against Olson and what he described as a political machine corrupted by gangland influences. He accused Olson of turning a blind eye to mob activities in exchange for political and financial support. Liggett’s reporting was incendiary, naming names and linking prominent politicians to violent criminals. His refusal to temper his accusations placed him squarely in the crosshairs of powerful enemies.

The backlash came swiftly. In 1934, Liggett was arrested on trumped-up charges of statutory rape, allegedly orchestrated by Olson’s allies. The trial was a spectacle, with Liggett appearing in court visibly bruised from a beating delivered by Kid Cann’s men. Despite the odds, he was acquitted after the teenage accusers were discredited as coached witnesses. His victory was short-lived. Just one month later, his life would end in a narrow alley behind his home.

The Liggett family had spent the day running errands, enjoying what little normalcy their fraught lives afforded. As they parked in the alley behind their Minneapolis apartment, a dark car turned sharply toward them. Walter, noticing the vehicle’s sudden approach, stepped forward to allow it to pass. Instead, the driver accelerated. A gun appeared from the car’s window, and five shots rang out in quick succession. Walter fell where he stood, struck fatally in the chest. His wife Edith and daughter Marda, only feet away, witnessed the horror.

Edith later identified the gunman as Kid Cann, claiming she would never forget his “snarling smile.” Cann denied involvement, presenting an alibi supported by employees and patrons at a barbershop who claimed he had been there at the time of the shooting. The trial that followed became a national sensation, with Edith as the star witness. Her testimony was emotional and unwavering, but the defense pounced on perceived inconsistencies. They argued that the alley was too dark for a reliable identification and questioned her credibility by pointing to a phone call Edith made to her mother on the night of the murder. In that call, she sobbed that “Governor Olson’s gang got Walter.” This provided the defense with ammunition to suggest her accusations were politically motivated or influenced by grief.

The jury deliberated for just 90 minutes before acquitting Cann. Jubilant, he kissed the hands of female jurors, a gesture that underscored the trial’s surreal atmosphere. Edith, devastated by the verdict, left Minneapolis with her children soon after, disillusioned by the corruption and fearful for their safety.

Theories about Liggett’s murder abound. While Edith remained steadfast in her belief that Cann pulled the trigger with Olson’s tacit approval, others have pointed to Liggett’s potential involvement in a North Dakota corruption trial as a motive. On the morning of his death, he had been on the phone with former North Dakota governor Bill Langer, a controversial figure facing allegations of extortion. Some speculated that Liggett’s planned testimony in Langer’s defense made him a target of political enemies. Others suggested the Farmer-Labor Party sought to silence him permanently after realizing he would not be swayed by bribes or intimidation.

Walter Liggett’s death marked the violent collision of journalism, organized crime, and political power. His relentless pursuit of the truth and his refusal to be silenced cost him his life, but his legacy endures as a testament to the risks and rewards of fearless journalism. His daughter, Marda Liggett Woodbury, later chronicled his life and murder in her book Stopping the Presses, capturing the spirit of a man who believed that speaking truth to power was worth any cost.

Liggett’s story remains a haunting reminder of the fragility of press freedom and the courage required to challenge entrenched systems of corruption. Decades later, his murder continues to compel us to reflect on the sacrifices made by those who refuse to look away from the darker corners of power. What price would we pay to hold the powerful accountable, and what does it say about us when we let such sacrifices go unanswered? In the snowy alley where Walter Liggett fell, the echoes of those questions linger, demanding our attention.