THE PHILADELPHIA DAILY NEWS	Local Wednesday, June 18, 1997

Excerpts from ``The Unicorn's Secret: Murder in the Age of Aquarius'' by Steven Levy (Prentice Hall Press, 1988)

First of Three Parts

Less than three weeks before he would be sitting in a courtroom seeking bail as a defendant on a murder charge, the man who called himself the Unicorn flew home to Philadelphia. It was March 15, 1979, the cusp of a new era, and the Unicorn was ready for it. He had spent years embracing the future. A survivor from the sixties, he was a man who had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the top Yippies when the antiwar protesters levitated the Pentagon in 1967, but only two days earlier he had been rubbing elbows with Prince Chahram Pahlavi-Nia, nephew of the Shah of Iran. They had driven back to London together after the Unicorn addressed an intimate gathering sponsored by the prince. The conference, attended by an elite corps of heavy thinkers, was touted ``a focal point where environmental, ecological, and spiritual concerns meet internationally.''

The Unicorn's turf.

A month before that, he was in Belgrade, meeting with government officials to help promote relations between American and Yugoslavia, and arranging a centenary celebration for Nikola Tesla, a legendary Yugoslavian inventor.

And just a month before that, the Unicorn was at Harvard, lodged in the Establishment's belly as a fellow in the Kennedy School of Government.

The whole thing verged on a goof, a cosmic giggle, a sudden hit of irony unleashed by cannabis truth serum. Yet Ira Einhorn, who had adopted the ``Unicorn'' nickname in the sixties, was utterly serious. He had gone from a media guru who promoted LSD and organized Be-Ins, to an Establishment-approved self-described ``planetary enzyme,'' a New Age pioneer who circulated vital information through the bloodstream of the body politic. Through his networking, consulting, lecturing, and writing, Ira Einhorn was doing his best to inject the values of the sixties into the global mainstream, and amazingly, he was making some headway. Without making compromises in his outlook or life-style, Ira Einhorn and his pro-planetary vision had attracted the attention of some very powerful people -- leading-edge scientists, influential politicians, and captains of industry.

THE . . . FAILURE to pin down Ira Einhorn on the particulars of his existence was only to be expected. Einhorn's life defied labels, and he was perfectly accustomed to the bogglement of listeners when it dawned on them that the person they were speaking to had no antecedent in their experience. For years, Einhorn had been shaping his work to fit not only his ideals and visions but his own uncompromising life-style. In doing this, he confronted the frustrations of an upstream swimmer with a robust sense of humor. Now that he was finally succeeding at his lifelong career, was it any wonder that this career was so complex than even Einhorn was unable to easily enlighten the puzzled minions who could not grasp exactly what it was that he did?

Why couldn't they accept the simple explanation? That Ira Einorn had made a career of being Ira Einhorn.

IN 1979, HIS BASE of operations, as it had been for several years, was a small apartment on 3411 Race Street in the Powelton Village section of Philadelphia. It rented for $135 a month. . . . Visitors to the apartment would find a narrow hallway with a small kitchen on the left.

In addition to the expected kitchen paraphernalia, there were rows of books, and a squat computer terminal, quite unknown as a home appliance in 1979. Proceeding north, one passed a bathroom with a prominent claw-foot tub. Over the toilet was an enlarged photograph of an enchanting little blond girl; a baby picture of Einhorn's former girlfriend, Holly Maddux, who had curiously dropped out of sight in the early fall of 1977.

Still walking north, one entered the main room of the apartment, a cozy twelve-by-twelve or so square that Einhorn used as both living room and bedroom.

The bed was a mattress on the floor. There was a small desk covered with letters and papers. The room was furnished with plants -- most of them remnants of the days when Holly had tended them -- and especially books. Hundreds of books, filling the cinder-block shelves on all the walls, and placed in towering stacks at various points in the room. Otherwise, the furnishings were minimal. There was no television, not even a radio. The room had a spartan, almost oriental, feel.

IN THE DAYS after he returned from England that March, Ira resumed [ his ] routine with a vigor. The telephone got a workout. He spoke to a Lockheed executive about unexplainable psychic events in Texas. To a local business leader about city politics. To a well-known economist about her theories on matriarchy. To a British reporter about CIA activities in psychic warfare. To a television producer about the possibility of Einhorn's doing regular appearances on a youth-oriented television show to appear opposite ``Saturday Night Live.''

WEDNESDAY, March 28, 1979, would have been an eventful day for Ira Einhorn in any case. At around four a.m., while Ira was reading, radiation began leaking into the atmosphere near a nuclear plant 100 miles west of Philadelphia. The plant was named Three Mile Island. Ira Einhorn's prediction a few days earlier of the nuclear issue heating up had been fulfilled sooner than he had expected. . . . But Ira Einhorn was destined to make headlines of his own.

The Unicorn was still sleeping when Detective Michael Chitwood rang the outside buzzer of 3411 Race Street on the morning of March 28. It was approximately 10 minutes before nine. Ira Einhorn grabbed a robe and pressed the button that unlocked the outside door. Chitwood, accompanied by six other police officials, opened the door and began climbing the steps. Before the detective reached the door, Einhorn had opened it. Ira had not bothered to fully cover himself with the robe.
It was then that Chitwood identified himself as a homicide detective, and told Ira that he had a search-and-seizure warrant for his house. Michael Chitwood, a tall, wiry man in his thirties, was smiling. Einhorn laughed. ``Search what?'' he asked.

What could the Unicorn have to hide?

Chitwood told him to read the warrant. He handed Einhorn the thirty-five page document . . . granting permission for the police to search his apartment for any evidence relating to the disappearance of one Helen (Holly) Maddux, age thirty-one.

Holly was the woman Ira had lived with on and off since 1972. A blond Texas-born beauty, she was shy and waiflike -- people who described her always seemed to light on words like delicate and ethereal. Ira had not seen her since September 1977, when, he told his friends, she went out do some shopping at the nearby food co-op and did not return.

ON THE EAST WALL was a closet that took up a decent chunk of the porch. Chitwood had worked purposefully to that closet. Now he stopped, contemplating the thick Master padlock on the closet door. . . .

Mike Chitwood planned to follow strict procedure on this case. He did not want to make a mistake that might invalidate any evidence that might later be presented in court . . . Thus the photographers from the Mobile Crime Detection Unit. Chitwood instructed one of the crime unit men to take a picture of the locked door. Photograph. Then, he took a crowbar and broke the lock. Another photograph.

The closet was 4_1/2 feet wide, 8 feet high, and a little less than 3 feet deep. There were two foot-wide shelves that were crammed with cardboard boxes, bags, shoes, and other paraphernalia. Some of the boxes were marked ``Maddux.'' On the floor of the closet was a green suitcase. On the handle was the name ``Holly Maddux'' and a Texas address.

Behind the suitcase on the closet floor was a large black steamer trunk. . . .

Chitwood began to notice a faint but unpleasant odor. He continued to remove boxes from the closet. Ira Einhorn, who had been shuttling between the main room and the porch while all this was going on, was now standing by the doorway again.

Chitwood thought he could sense the fear rising in Einhorn at that point. But Einhorn would claim that he was almost in a meditative state. He would say he suspected that this intrusion was somehow connected to his efforts to disseminate crucial information about highly charged subjects like psychtronic weaponry. Perhaps the police were working in concert with intelligence agencies. . . .

Chitwood took the crowbar and broke the lock. Photograph. He opened the trunk. The foul odor Chitwood noticed was now much stronger. Now Chitwood was sure he knew what the odor was.

``Hey,'' said Mike Chitwood to one of the Mobile Crime men, ``get me a pair of gloves.''

Chitwood put on the clear rubber gloves and went back to the open trunk. On top were some newspapers. Photograph. . . . Underneath the newspapers was a layer of styrofoam packing material . . .

Beginning on the left-hand side of the trunk, he slowly scooped the foam aside. After three scoops, he saw something. At first he could not make out what it was, because it was so wrinkled and tough. But then he saw the shape of it -- wrist, palm, and five fingers, curled and frozen in their stillness. It was a human hand, and now there was no doubt in Mike Chitwood's mind about the contents of this trunk. He dug just a little deeper following the shriveled, rawhidelike hand, down the wrist, saw an arm, still clothed in a plaid flannel shirt. And he had seen enough.

Chitwood backed away from the trunk. He removed the rubber gloves. He told one of the men to call the medical examiner. He headed to the kitchen to wash his hands. Then he turned to Ira Einhorn, who was still maintaining his studied nonchalance. ``We found the body. It looks like Holly's body,'' he said.

``You found what you found,'' said the Unicorn.

THE TEST of whether people would stand by Ira Einhorn would occur on Tuesday, April 3, at the hearing to determine Einhorn's bail. By then Ira had secured an attorney . . .

[ Arlen ] Specter was in some way an unusual choice for Ira Einhorn. Specter was a member of the Republican establishment. His political career had temporarily peaked at two terms as Philadelphia's district attorney, followed by ill-fated runs for mayor and governor. Within months, though, he would successfully run for the U.S. Senate. . . .

Arlen Specter's first objective was to secure a low bail for his client. . . . [ But ] would the gravity of a first-degree murder charge lead Einhorn's friends to abandon him?

Not according to the list of character witnesses who appeared on April 3, 1979.

Edward Mahler took the stand. . . . Specter had the telephone company executive explain his relationship with the accused murderer.

``. . . We talk fundamentally about things related to the community . . . ''

Joe Murray wanted some more detail on the unusual union between Ira Einhorn and the telephone company. He asked how much Einhorn was paid for his Bell consultancy.

``Nothing in cash,'' said Mahler.

``What? In check?''

``No, nothing. Nothing like that. No money changed hands.''

At that point, the judge [ William M. Marutani ] could not contain his curiosity. . . .

It apparently began to dawn on Marutani that the telephone company actually took Einhorn seriously. It had an arrangement with him. It learned from him. ``And Bell Telephone,'' the judge asked, ``with all its wealth, never gave him a dime?''

``No sir, no sir. We did do one thing for him. I feel I should explain in part what went on. It seems that Ira represented the people in the community . . . [ We ] would reproduce articles that Ira would find . . . It was a service we performed, you could say, for Ira.''

JUDGE MARUTANI was ready to make his ruling. He said that despite Specter's claims, he was troubled by the possible likelihood of conviction. . . . The judge also noted that Einhorn was a sophisticated traveler who, if tempted to flee, would certainly know how to do so. On the other hand, the judge considered that the crime Einhorn was charged with was, after all, a so-called crime of passion, and this fact (not to mention the glowing testimonials given under oath that day) meant that freeing the accused on bond did not represent a threat to the community.

``Balancing all those factors,'' said the judge, ``the court hereby grants forty thousand dollars bail.''

The $4,000 cash required to post bond was, according to Ira's friends and family, provided by another prominent Einhorn supporter, Barbara Bronfman, wife of Seagram liquor heir Charles Bronfman. Ira's parents assumed liability for the remaining $36,000. The Unicorn was free.

Philadelphia Online -- Philadelphia Daily News -- Local News Copyright Wednesday, June 18, 1997