THE MISSING BANKER, PART ONE OF FOUR

Kenneth Lindberg was a respectable citizen, as solid as Carrara marble. His life was an open book written in simple sentences. He never dappled in intrigue and his life held no mysteries. His death however was an enigma which neither the police nor the FBI have yet completely solved. In 1955, Kenneth Lindberg was 44 years old. He was married and the father of four children -- Ronald, 10, Janice, 15, Evonne, 8 and year-old baby, Nancy. He had lived in Thief River Falls, Minnesota all his life and had worked for the Northern State Bank for almost half of it. At the time of this baffling death he held the trusted position of cashier.

He was an active PTA worker and a prominent member of the Trinity Lutheran Church. His hobbies were energetic. He liked to hunt, fish, skate and tramp in the woods. In these pursuits he was usually accompanied by his son, Ronald. Lindberg was popular and highly respected in his community. Orvis Oen, his high school classmate and longtime friend, said after the tragedy, "to the best of my knowledge, Kenny Lindberg never had an enemy in all of his life."

That was probably true. For the man who murdered Kenneth Lindberg wasn't even an enemy. Hardly knew the victim.

For 44 years the life of Kenneth Lindberg had run on an even keel. If he had never known great ecstasy he had never known tragedy either. He was an average American citizen who led an average middle-class life. The insurance company actuaries would have laid you a nice price that Kenneth Lindberg would die in his own bed, quietly and peacefully at a ripe old age. The actuaries would have lost their money. Kenneth Lindberg died outdoors. Moreover, he died violently, mysteriously, and prematurely.

Although Lindberg had no inkling of the at at a time, he is bloody death was pre-staged at 11 o'clock on Saturday morning, November 12, 1955. At that moment, a telephone on Lindberg's desk rang. It was a long distance call from Minneapolis.

An amiable voice said," This is Herbert F Johnson. I'm calling from the Nicolet Hotel in Minneapolis. What time does your bank close today?"

"It's Saturday," said Lindberg. "We close at one o'clock."

"In that event," said Johnson, "I wonder if you could do me a favor. I can't reach Thief River Falls until late this afternoon. I am carrying some $23,000 in cash with me which I need to close a business deal on Monday morning. Could you possibly meet me at the bank at about half past four and let me deposit the money? I don't like to carry all this cash over the weekend."

Lindberg agreed. Although the bank closed at one, the cashier intended to work through the day. He promised to open the bank when Herbert Johnson arrived.

An hour later the telephone rang again. Once more he was Herbert Johnson calling from Minneapolis. "Sorry to bother you," he said, "Could you make a hotel reservation for me in Thief River Falls? Reserve two rooms for us. One for me and one for my secretary, Ms. Hadley."

Lindberg announced that he would be glad to make the reservations.

"Thanks a lot," said Johnson. "How about having dinner with me tonight?"

Lindberg, who had a prior engagement to attend a local school function, politely declined. Then he hung off and went back to his ledgers.

At 4:30, Herbert F. Johnson hammered at the locked door of the Northern State Bank. Lindberg left his desk and opened the door. A dark eyed man with curly haired stood on the threshold. He was well dressed, about 30 years old and had been affable manner. "Hi," he said, thrusting out his hand," I Herbert Johnson."

Lindberg introduced himself, shook hands and led Johnson to his office. As they passed down the corridor they met George Werstlein, vice president of the bank. Lindberg introduced Johnson to Werstlein.

Werstlein then went into his own office. He left for home at 6:30. At that time he heard Lindberg and Johnson laughing and talking in the former's office.

At nine o'clock that night two men emerged from the back door of the bank, a door which serve other offices in the building. One of them was carrying a black satchel. A porter, who was mopping the floor of the building, saw them walk out into the street. If these men were Lindberg and Johnson -- it was never been absolutely proved that they were -- a porter was one of the last persons ever to see Kenneth Lindberg alive.

At 11 o'clock at night it occurred to Mrs. Lindberg that her husband was working much later than usual. She put through a telephone call to the bank. There was no answer. At this point, Mrs. Lindberg was not particularly worried. She assumed that her husband had left the bank and was on his way home. At 11:20 p.m. the telephone rang. Violet Lindberg picked up the receiver and heard her husband's voice.

"Kenny," she said," where are you calling from?"

"I'm in Detroit Lakes." This is a town 90 miles south of Thief River Falls. "I'm calling from the Greystone Hotel. I'm here on bank business and it will take me two or three hours to clean it up. Don't wait up for me."

Reassured,Violet Lindberg hung up and went to bed. When she awoke on Sunday morning she found that her husband had not returned. Mrs. Lindberg called George Werstlein.

Werstlein said, "Kenny was in the bank talking to a client when I left last night about 6:30 and I haven't heard from him since."

"He called me last night from Detroit Lakes. He said he was there on bank business."

This puzzled Werstlein. There was no bank business which could possibly have taken the cashier to Detroit Lakes. He did not communicate his sudden fear to Mrs. Lindberg. Instead he said, "I am sure everything is all right. I'll check on it and call you back."

When he hung up, Werstlein put through a call to sheriff Arthur Rambeck of Pennington County. Rambeck immediately drove over to Werstlein's home. Werstlein told the sheriff of the visit to the bank of Herbert Johnson, and that Johnson and Lindberg were in the bank when he left it at 6:30.

"You never saw or heard of this Johnson before?"Werstlein shook his head. "No, but Lindberg told me he that he'd telephone from the Nicolet Hotel in Minneapolis."

"Anything missing from the bank?"

"I don't know, there is a time lock on the vault which won't open until Monday morning."

"Is all the cash in the vault?

"Most of it. There'd be some silver left in the tellers drawers."

The sheriff stood up. "Let's go down to the bank and take a look."

Werstlein and the sheriff drove to the bank. The vice president unlock the door and they entered. Lindberg's office was in good order. There was no sign of a struggle. Werstlein check the ledgers and the tellers drawers.

"There is some silver messing," he said. "I figure the amount as $1850. And there are a number of Bank of America travelers checks missing. I don't know exactly how many. The auditor will have to figure that out."

Sheriff Rambeck returned to his office and got in touch with Thief River Falls police chief Elton Cummings. Then, because it appeared that a member of the federal reserve banking system had been robbed, Rambeck telephone FBI agent Mark De Wolfe in the town of Bemidji.

A detailed description of Lindberg and a sketchy one of Herbert Johnson, furnished by Werstlein was sent on the police teletype throughout Minnesota and into neighboring states. Three days went by and no trace of either man was found. But the FBI, working quietly and efficiently, had managed to learn a great deal regarding the movements of the mysterious Johnson on November 11 and 12.

He had flown in from Chicago to Minneapolis on Friday, November 11. He had told the airline ticket agent that his name was J. O'Malley. Shortly before midnight he had checked into the Nicolet Hotel in Minneapolis. He signed the name of Herbert F. Johnson on the register. His address was given as Route 1, Racine, Wisconsin.

The Wisconsin FBI agents investigated. They've found a Herbert F. Johnson at the address alright. But this particular Johnson was neither a kidnapper nor a thief. He was a wealthy, highly respected President of Johnson and Son, manufacturers of Johnson's wax. Naturally Mr. Johnson was not the man who had visited the Northern State Bank. He could not explain how or why his name had been used. He knew no one who answered the description of the stranger who had appropriated his name.

Stay tune for Part Two