Dark Downeast - The Infamous New Sweden Church Poisonings (Maine)

Episode Date: November 2, 2020

INFAMOUS MAINE TRUE CRIME, 2003: Walter "Reid" Morrill heard there were leftovers from the bake sale the day before. They would be the perfect pairing for the strong Swedish coffee always served in the fellowship hall after Sunday service.What Reid and his fellow parishioners didn't know on the morning of April 23, 2003, was that their strong Swedish coffee was tainted, and one of their own was responsible for what would become one of the largest intentional mass poisonings in modern medical history, using a substance that was known all too well among the small community of potato farmers. View source material and photos for this episode at darkdowneast.com/newswedenpoisonFollow @darkdowneast on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTokTo suggest a case visit darkdowneast.com/submit-caseDark Downeast is an audiochuck and Kylie Media production hosted by Kylie Low.

It was April 27th, 2003, a quiet Sunday morning, and Walter Reed Morrill sl shadows on the faces of his fellow parishioners, his neighbors, as they all rose from their seats and made their way to the fellowship hall for morning refreshments. Reed heard there were leftovers from the bake sale the day before. It would be the perfect pairing for the strong Swedish coffee they always served in the fellowship hall. What they didn't know that morning of April 23rd, 2003, was that their strong Swedish coffee was tainted, and one of their own was responsible for what would become

one of the largest intentional mass poisonings in modern medical history, using a substance that was known all too well among the small community of potato farmers. I'm Kylie Lowe, and this is the case of the New Sweden Parishioner Poisonings on Dark Down East. In 1870, the American consul to Sweden and the newly appointed Commissioner of Immigration, Mr. William W. Thomas Jr., recruited 51 immigrants to move their lives from their Nordic homes to the northernmost part of Maine. Thus began Maine's Swedish colony, with the first township of New Sweden. The population of New Sweden, Maine, was just over 600 at last count. It's a small but self-sufficient community. Everyone knows everyone, as cliche as that might sound,

but it's really hard not to when many of the residents can trace their lineage back to those original 51 Swedish immigrants. I found it interesting in my research for this case that New Sweden was the birthplace and home of Einar Gustafsson. Now that name might not ring any clear bells for you right off the top, but the Jimmy Fund might. The Jimmy Fund fundraising effort supported the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, a children's hospital in Boston founded in 1947. At the time, childhood cancer survival rates were a heartbreaking 20 to 30 percent. Twelve-year-old Einar was walking to school along the potato fields in New Sweden one morning when he started feeling a deep pain in his stomach.

That pain led to two surgeries, and ultimately he was transferred to Dana-Farber in Boston the same year it opened. Einar received his diagnosis from Dr. Sidney Farber. and ultimately he was transferred to Dana-Farber in Boston the same year it opened. Einar received his diagnosis from Dr. Sidney Farber, non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Einar became the first child to receive chemotherapy. When the famous radio host Ralph Edwards joined forces with Dana-Farber to raise money for the Cancer Research Fund, Einar was selected as the poster child for the effort. Edwards interviewed Einar on air, asking him what he wanted most as he faced chemo and treatment

for his cancer. Einar told Edwards he wanted a television set so he and the other children could watch his favorite team, the Boston Braves, play the next day. Edwards told his listeners that if they raised $20,000, they'd get the television set in the cancer ward. Not only did they get the television set, the funds raised far exceeded their goal. Over $230,000 was raised. Ralph Edwards was the one to give Einar the nickname Jimmy, saying, quote, he's the Jimmy Fund was born, and the boy who became the face of childhood cancer research was treated and discharged in 1948,

returning to his home in New Sweden, Maine. Learning those little nuggets of Maine history will never lose its luster for me. I mean, I never would have stumbled upon that story of the Maine boy who became the namesake of such a recognizable and important institution if I hadn't started digging into what happened at the Gustav Adolf Lutheran Church. The historic church stands at 29 Capitol Hill Road in New Sweden, where construction began in 1877, seven years after the Swedish colony was formed. Prior to erecting the tower and steeple, its gable roof and stucco walls, the congregation formed and worshipped in the space that now houses the Swedish Historical Museum. In 1880, the church was dedicated as the first Swedish Evangelical Lutheran Church of Maine, and in 1896 the name was changed to its present moniker

in honor of the King of Sweden. According to an article in the LA Times by Stephen Braun, G.A. Lutheran, as it's often called, was in a period of transition in the spring of 2003, and the changes and uncertainty unsettled its dedicated council members. They'd lost their pastor almost two years prior, and a replacement didn't seem to be on the horizon. Parishioners just took turns leading the sermons. Although it worked in the interim, the church council began workshopping ideas to make their church more appealing. Getting someone who wasn't already from the county to move to the small, secluded, cold northern Maine town wasn't a small ask, but maybe some modifications to the church practices could help.

They discussed changing the communion ritual, the LA Times reported, instead of the traditional Lutheran method where the officiant faces away from people in the church to bless the bread and wine at the altar, they voted to allow the blessing to happen facing the congregants at a communion table. They even discussed a more contentious proposal to merge their church with another Lutheran church. But while the communion ritual was an easier subject to broach and the vote passed, the merger was met with more opposition. Still, it appeared that any conflict was mild. The headcount on Sunday mornings might have been dwindling and the future of the church was in flux, but the people of New Sweden continued to fill their usual seats each Sunday morning, just as they did on April 23, 2003.

There was Dick and Frances Ruggles. Fran had been an active member of the church, holding many different positions on the parish council throughout the years. She'd been a county girl since the day she was born in Caribou in 1941, though she and her husband were quite well-traveled. In their 40 years of marriage, Fran and Dick had visited every state except Oregon, Washington, and Alaska. They dreamed of crossing Alaska off their list, making the long journey in their RV. But today, they were at church. And so were Dale Anderson and Lois Anderson, Lester Beaupre and Herman Fisher. Robert Bengtsson and his mother Peggy Bengtsson shuffled out with the crowd,

chatting about the weather, remarking about the snowmelt, which was always slow but sure this time of year. There was Ralph Ostlund, who was coming off another season of skiing and was looking ahead to the annual New Sweden Midsummer Celebration. Ralph was proud of his Swedish heritage, and of all the things he was known for around the small northern Maine community, dancing the Swedish hop, polka, and waltz was at the top. You'd never know Ralph was approaching his 80th birthday in just a few weeks. He was often the last person off the dance floor. But today, he was at church. And so were his in-laws, June Grenier and her husband Reginald. Shirley Erickson, who was on the parish council, she was there too. Eric Margason, he was among the youngest of the congregation at

31 years old. He and his dad often attended church together, but a cold kept Ed Margason at home that morning. One face was missing from those regular 50 or so people in the congregation that day, a man named Daniel Bondeson. Maybe he was taking it easy that morning, having himself a Sunday at home after attending the church bake sale a day earlier. They were raising money for a new furnace because we know that a furnace has to work that much harder in the county, and theirs was due for replacing. Daniel Bondeson wasn't on the church council anymore, but he did his part to get the church closer to their goal, one brownie, one quarter at a time. But on April 23, 2003, Danny wasn't at church.

Danny Bondeson lived in Woodland, Maine, just about five miles down the road, and like many of the men in New Sweden, he was a potato farmer. He was also a substitute teacher, and he worked at a nursing home. He picked blueberries. Danny did what he had to do to get by. He was quiet and preferred to listen rather than speak. He kept to himself, though not in a loner kind of way. You see, Danny and his family had been through a lot in recent years. Both his brother and his father died of health complications, and another family member was killed in a snowmobile accident. But Danny, reserved as he was, seemed to be carrying on all right. He maintained the

potato fields and stayed busy in his community. He always was there to help out his neighbors, even climbing on Walter Reed Morrill's roof and clearing the mountains of winter snow. So back to Walter Reed Morrill. Everyone called him Reed, and Reed was the most popular man in church. As the church caretaker, he knew everyone in that congregation, and he counted himself lucky to be in that community. If you asked anyone, they'd tell you that Reed was lucky in other ways too. He was famous around town for his golf game. He had hit two holes in one at the Caribou Golf Course. Reed was recovering from heart surgery from the past winter, and though it may have slowed him down for a little while,

he and his wife walked to church from their home next door that morning. The coffee urns and paper cups were arranged alongside the previous day's goodies as everyone made their way into the fellowship hall. Sixteen of the 50-something people there that day politely sipped their coffee and carried on about the lingering snow and the approaching thaw. Now from what I've read, Swedes are super proud of their tolerance for strong coffee. They take it black, no sugar or cream or unnecessary additions, just strong coffee. A few sips into her cup, June Grenier wrinkled

her nose at the taste. According to an article in the Washington Post by David Montgomery, she asked Shirley Erickson to try it too. Shirley agreed. It was bitter coffee. Across the room, Eric Margason noticed a strong aftertaste, and he considered what it could have been, maybe some soap residue or maybe another cleaning product was left over, but he kept drinking. As Reed Morrill and his wife walked back to their home next door, leaving the gathering a bit prematurely, he echoed what others were saying that morning. Reed told her the coffee tasted funny. And that was when he started to feel light-headed. Just 30 minutes into the small gathering, the 16 coffee drinkers became violently ill.

Cary Medical Center in nearby Caribou, Maine, became the second meeting place for these 16 people. They all seemed to arrive at once, overwhelming the small hospital. Makeshift beds and examination tables were propped up everywhere. And the number one symptom was violent, frequent vomiting. And the severity only expanded by the minute. The intense vomiting made nurses think maybe it was food poisoning. Was something off with those leftover bake sale treats they were eating? But it all just seemed too sudden and too intense.

The treatments for food poisoning weren't working. That's when a nursing student working at the poison center at the time had a hunch. She suspected that it might be poisoning of another kind. The next morning on April 24, 2003, Walter Reed Morrill died at the hospital suffering cardiac arrest. His delicate and healing heart from prior bypass surgeries couldn't carry him through the sudden onset of illness he experienced after that church gathering. Six patients were rushed from Caribou to Eastern Maine Medical Center in Bangor, while doctors and nurses began working with law enforcement to figure out what the heck happened to these people.

The rapid onset of symptoms, paired with other things like low blood pressure and tingling extremities, were pointing to something more severe than spoiled food. A health inspector checked those baked goods at the church. It could not have been food poisoning, he said. That's when they started to realize the hunch they'd had the day before might have been true. All signs pointed to arsenic. While still awaiting lab results that would indicate

what the victims ingested for sure, Maine CDC officials rushed an arsenic antidote to the hospitals. The doctors, however, weighed the risks of administering a treatment for arsenic poisoning without confirmation if that's what was causing the illness. It could do more harm if it turned out to be something else. But ultimately, the CDC officials urged doctors to begin the antidote treatment. By some stroke of fate, that antidote had just arrived in Maine and was awaiting distribution to hospitals. After September 11th, the Maine CDC wanted every Maine hospital to have antidotes for arsenic, should it ever be used in

any sort of attack. The Maine CDC director at the time was Dr. Dora Ann Mills, and she told WGME13 that without the antidote, quote, could have been a dozen people dead by then, end quote. The chemical element known as arsenic is both naturally occurring and mind-produced and introduced into the environment by humans. It's often present in groundwater, and in fact, arsenic-contaminated drinking water is responsible for widespread poisonings across the globe, most notably in Bangladesh and other neighboring countries. It's not unusual for it to appear in well water here in Maine in trace amounts. If you have a well, take this as your reminder to have the water quality tested.

Beyond its natural occurrence in groundwater, arsenic was once a very common substance in Aristocounty and for agriculture across the country. Liquid arsenic was used as top kill in the potato fields. They literally sprayed liquid arsenic over crops to kill the leafy top portion of the plants. This apparently allowed the skins of the potatoes to toughen. However dangerous it's known to be in modern day, it produced a hearty potato crop, one that could withstand the harvesting process. Now arsenic was banned for this use sometime in the mid-1900s, replaced by sulfuric acid, according to the Washington Post article by David Montgomery, but it wasn't unusual to find it kicking around in old barns, pushed to the back of the shelves,

covered in cobwebs and dust just forgotten with time. It was a full day before testing confirmed that they were 100% on point with their suspicions. The lab results came back revealing bodily fluids from the sick congregants contained astronomical levels of arsenic. Investigators quickly moved to test the water at the church, but results showed nothing concerning. They tested the sugar, the coffee beans, no arsenic, which ruled out any contamination at the coffee plant or other production facilities. When they tested the urns themselves, one of the two used that Sunday morning, they found the source of it all. The urn was contaminated with enormous traces of arsenic, and with levels that high, it indicated to investigators that it didn't end up there on accident. Someone had poisoned the

members of Gustav Adolf Lutheran Church on purpose. Walter Reed Morrill's death was ruled a homicide. Residents of this small community were reeling from the news that really did not seem possible. They couldn't even remember the last time the word homicide was used in the same sentence as New Sweden. Investigators interviewed everyone who attended GA Lutheran on the day of the poisonings. They took fingerprints and DNA samples and handed out questionnaires to anyone and everyone connected to the church. One of the questions came right out and asked, Did you do it? The idea that someone from their town could have done this horrible thing, could have killed one of their own on purpose,

just wasn't computing for so many of New Sweden's longtime residents. Brenda Nassberg-Jepsen was one of the residents grappling with the theory that the person responsible might be hiding in plain sight. She told the Washington Post, quote, Everybody trusts everybody here. That's why this case has us so shook up. This whole way of life is threatened, end quote. Five days into the investigation, the small community was hit with a second death. But this wasn't the result of an arsenic-laced cup of coffee. When police were called to Daniel Bondeson's home at 113 Bondeson Road in Woodland, Maine, on Friday, May 2, 2003, they found Danny with a single gunshot wound to the chest.

In a Bangor Daily News article written by Bermond Banville and Gloria Flannery, it's reported that Danny underwent emergency surgery at Cary Medical Center, that very same hospital where the arsenic victims were treated the weekend prior. He died three hours later. They didn't reveal the details of his death at the time, but one week later, the townspeople learned that the gunshot wound was self-inflicted. And what investigators found at the scene of his death drew a straight line between Danny Bondeson and the 16 victims at G.A. Lutheran. Sarah Anderson owns and operates North Star Variety in town, and she was like the switchboard of town news and gossip. Sarah told the New York Times, quote, none of us believe that Danny did this, or at least not him by himself. Even the people still in the hospital, unless the police

find proof and put it in their faces, they're still not going to believe he would have done this, end quote. It was the same story over and over. There was no believe he would have done this, end quote. It was the same story over and over. There was no way Danny could have done this, they thought. He just shoveled the roof of Reed Morrill earlier that winter. Reed's own son told the New York Times, quote, it's a big puzzle, but we believe that Danny would never intentionally want to hurt dad. He was a friend, end quote. Danny was friends with half the congregation and was related to the rest, but bits and pieces of possible motive began to rise from the rumor mill. Although Danny wasn't actively serving on the church council, his sister Norma

was, and the Bondeson family had always been closely tied to the church. When the changes in the communion practices were voted on and passed, Danny and his family pitched in to buy a communion table to be gifted to the church in honor of their late parents, brother, and nephew. Danny built the table and delivered it to the church, but it hadn't been formally accepted by the church, they said. Apparently, it was standard to vote on the acceptance of a gift like that, but by the Sunday of the arsenic attack, the table was still unused. But to me, that motive just doesn't seem strong enough. Of course, I don't know what it's like to be one of only 600 or so in a northern Maine town where everyone is either related or knows each

other in some way, and I don't know what it's like to be on a church council, or any governing body of anything for that matter. I don't know how the change in church practice could have impacted Danny's life, or how he could have felt when his family's gift was not immediately accepted. So maybe it was enough for the unassuming Danny Bondeson to snap and take it out on his community. At the scene of his death was a note, and investigators wouldn't reveal any specifics about that note for three years,

but they did share enough information to let the New Sweden residents know that their friend Danny Bondeson may not have acted alone. The investigation remained open and extremely active. Now this part of the story might be the most unbelievable. If you can't quite wrap your head around living in a town as small as New Sweden, or what it means to be part of a truly close-knit community, this next part says the most about that town. Despite the knowledge of Danny Bondeson's connection to the arsenic poisoning, his funeral was held at Gustav Adolf Lutheran Church. The seats at GA Lutheran were just as filled as they were for the funeral of Reed Morrill,

Danny's victim. Eric Margason, the youngest victim, later told the Washington Post, quote, something snapped, something went wrong, and it wasn't the same person that any one of us knew and grew up with. It was a different person who needed help. Maybe we all missed messages from that person. Maybe we should have done something to help him or her, end quote. Reed Morrill's son also told the Washington Post, At the second service back at G.A. Lutheran after the poisonings, the communion table constructed and donated by the Bondeson family was finally used to serve communion. In April 2006, three years after both Danny Bondison and his victim Walter Reed Morrill were laid to rest, Maine's Assistant Attorney General William Stokes and Maine State Police Chief Craig Pullen announced in a press conference that they'd concluded investigation into the 2003

poisonings, and no further investigative efforts were planned in connection with the case. They revealed that during the grand jury process, they were able to closely examine all evidence obtained during the three-year investigation and determined that there was insufficient evidence to indicate that anyone other than Daniel Bondeson was involved in the tainted coffee attack. Here's a snippet of that press conference. We are now satisfied that on the morning of Sunday, April 27, 2003, Daniel Bondeson drove alone to the Gustav Adolf Lutheran Church in New Sweden and there entered the kitchen while the members of the congregation were attending the worship service.

While inside the kitchen, Daniel Bondeson poured an undetermined amount of liquid arsenic into the percolator and then brewed coffee. He then left the building. We are now satisfied that the source of the arsenic was a chemical container located at the Bondeson farm. That container has been recovered. While the police did not directly release the contents of the note found at the scene of Danny Bondeson's death, the Portland Press-Herald dug up the contents of that note via a police affidavit filed in a Massachusetts court in connection with a request for a warrant to search the home of Danny's sister Norma, who was living in Massachusetts at the time. The note read in part, I acted alone. I acted alone.

One dumb poor judgment ruins life, but I did wrong. As reported by the Bank or Daily News, Danny sought the counsel of an attorney in Caribou the day before he took his own life. The attorney, Peter Kelly, told the BDN that Danny had told him the same story that was contained in that note. Danny apparently didn't know what arsenic could do or that it was lethal in doses as small as half an aspirin. He didn't mean to kill anyone, according to that note. He just wanted to give them a belly ache like the churchgoers did to him. But we'll never really know what caused Danny's upset stomach or what pushed him over the edge. As the investigation showed, Danny did not have an accomplice, at least there was no evidence of an accomplice. The quiet but ever-present member of the New Sweden community was singularly responsible for the death of his friend and the lingering health complications of 15 others. The long-term impact of arsenic poisonings

isn't widely studied or reported in medical journals. However, the victims were cautioned that their health would need monitoring and the aftershock of drinking the poison could extend years or even a lifetime. For victim Dale Anderson, who spent 12 days in a medically induced coma after the poisonings to withstand the pain of the antidote treatment, his legs and feet throb with pain most days, and others, they're so numb he can't feel them. Dale was one of the victims who left Gustav Adolf entirely after the incident. Lester Beaupre logged 34 days in the hospital, the longest of any victim, and many of those were in a coma. While he told the Bangor Daily News in 2009 that

he improved every year, he still suffered from neuropathy, which causes a loss of feeling in your feet. Frances Ruggles, she never did get to take that bucket list trip in her RV to Alaska with her husband. She died in 2009, six years after she was poisoned. Her obituary called out the long and courageous battle she fought against the health impacts of ingesting the arsenic. Doctors told many of the victims that their bodies had aged the equivalent of 20 years. According to the medical director at the Northern New England Poison Control Center, the worst impact was nerve damage and weakened organs. While many of the members of the New Sweden

and GA Lutheran Church community, even the poison victims, stayed present and active at the very scene of the crime, others ventured off to other places of worship. The town remembers, because how could they ever forget? But from an outsider's view, they appeared to move on. It appeared to maybe even make them stronger. Survivor Ralph Ostlund still attends the church. He told the LA Times, quote,

you've got to let bygones be bygones. It's over. You've got to forget about it. Life goes on, end quote. But maybe it wasn't the forgive and forget spirit of a close-knit community that fueled the forward motion. Maybe instead, moving on and forgetting about it was the best way to keep a dark hometown secret buried deep. Survivor Dale Anderson told the LA Times, quote, It's almost as if ever since day one, people didn't want to talk about it. That's one of the problems with a lot of the people at the church. People didn't want to talk about it.

I think there are people out there who know stuff, and they're not talking. I don't think the whole truth has come out. End quote. in the Washington Post by David Montgomery, a May 19th, 2003 article in the LA Times by Stephen Braun, an April 24th, 2006 article in the Bangor Daily News, a June 15th, 2008 article by David Sharp, an April 27th, 2008 report by WGME News 13, as well as a curated collection of information shared by Murderpedia.org.

All of my sources for this episode and others are listed at darkdowneast.com so you can dig in and learn more. Subscribing to Dark Down East is free, and subscribing not only supports this show, it's the best way to ensure you never miss an episode of Maine and New England true crime stories. If you have a story or a case I should cover, I'd love to hear from you at darkdowneast at gmail.com. Follow along with the show at darkdowneast.com and on Instagram at darkdowneast. Thank you for supporting this show and allowing me to do what I do. I'm honored to use this platform for the families and friends who have lost their loved ones and for those who are still

searching for answers in cold missing persons and murder cases. I'm not about to let those names or their stories get lost with time. I'm Kylie Lowe, and this is Dark Down East.