Dark Downeast - The Murder of Anne "Nancy" Payson Holt (Maine)

Episode Date: June 26, 2023

MAINE, 1976: Anne Payson Holt, better known as Nancy, was almost 80-years old, but not quite yet. Her milestone birthday and the fancy gala planned in her honor was still a few days away in early October of 1976, but Nancy never saw a day past 79.On October 5, 1976, the safety of her secluded Falmouth Foreside estate was violated by intruders seeking electronics. Before they fled the dirt drive of Thornhurst Road though, they stole more than a television. They stole Nancy’s life.Nancy’s granddaughter, Anne Fowler, is on Dark Downeast to tell her grandmother’s story. Anne gives a glimpse into the life of a woman from one of Portland, Maine’s most well-known families, she shares how her family navigated a very public investigation and trial, and offers her unique reflections on what she believes Nancy would’ve thought about her manner of death.View source material and photos for this episode at darkdowneast.com/annepaysonholt Dark Downeast is an audiochuck and Kylie Media production hosted by Kylie Low.Follow @darkdowneast on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTokTo suggest a case visit darkdowneast.com/submit-case 

Anne Carol Payson Holt, better known as Nancy, was almost 80 years old, but not quite yet. Her milestone birthday in the fancy gala planned in her honor was still a few days away in early October of 1976. It would have been everything Nancy loved, an entire celebration in her name, attended by people she loved most, with the beam of a metaphorical spotlight warm on her face. But Nancy never saw a day past 79. The safety of her secluded Falmouth Foresight estate was violated by intruders seeking electronics. Before they fled the dirt drive of Thornhurst Road, though, they stole more than a television. They stole Nancy's life. Nancy's granddaughter, Ann Fowler, is on Dark Down East

to tell her grandmother's story. Ann gives a glimpse into the life of a woman from one of Portland, Maine's most well-known families. She shares how her family navigated a very public investigation and trial, and offers her unique reflections on what she believes Nancy would have thought about her manner of death. I'm Kylie Lowe with Anne Fowler, and this is the case of Anne Nancy Payson Holt on Dark Down East. It was dark on Thornhurst Road, the damp air of a seaside October night quiet, except for the distant crashing of waves against a stone beach on Bartlett Point. The stretch of family land curved around one of Casco Bay's many coves, and the secluded Falmouth Foreside acreage had long been a sanctuary for many a Payson, past and present.

The rhythmic beating of water on rock was interrupted that night by the sound of tires on dirt. A sedan was making its way down the private drive with six people crammed into the cab, three men and three women. They'd been joyriding around the Portland area, passing around a bottle of coffee brandy when an idea struck. One of the women in the car worked for a wealthy older lady helping out with the ironing on occasion. The lady had some antiques in the house, probably worth a lot of money. How the scheme truly unfolded is known only to the occupants of that vehicle, and where they thought they'd put stolen antiques in a car already packed above capacity apparently wasn't a consideration, as they followed Veranda Street towards Falmouth, veering on to the foreside.

Somewhere between swigs of sugary sweet brown liquor, they found themselves pulling into the driveway of 40 Thornhurst Road. The three women, weeded in the car as the men, with a tire iron in hand, walked behind the home of Ann Payson Holt. Ann Payson, who was always known by her nickname Nancy, was born on October 14, 1896. If you're from Maine or even from away, the Payson name may ring a bell. In many of the news articles about her murder, Nancy is referred to as the sister-in-law of the late Joan Whitney Payson, who was once the owner of the New York Mets, as if that association alone is what made her lineage impressive. But Nancy's family line on

her mother's side has even deeper roots here in Maine. I met with Ann Fowler, Nancy's granddaughter, at her home in Portland. She was generous with her time and memories, introducing me to her grandmother and family history as we sat together in her study on a rainy summer morning. Her great-great-grandfather was John Marshall Brown, and her one great before that was John Bundy Brown. And John Bundy was a moving force in Portland in the 19th century. He was a ramen, sugar, and real estate. Ended up doing a lot of real estate, but he definitely, I would say, he did not own slaves, but he was somewhat complicit in everything that was going on.

John Bundy Brown, often abbreviated to just J.B. Brown, was recognized as Maine's wealthiest resident and Portland's largest landowner of the time, including over 400 acres of land to his name on the west end of Portland's peninsula. He built his own home there, an impressive mansion known as Bramhall, though it was torn down in 1915. Nancy grew up in that same neighborhood, the West End, in a house on Bowdoin Street. Her family also had a summer compound on the prestigious and exclusive Falmouth Foreside. Though not far from Portland, the Falmouth Foreside would have provided a contrast in scenery. Bowdoin Street in the West End is lined with large,

stately brick homes and the shingle-style abodes designed by notable Portland-area architect John Calvin Stevens. It's a city neighborhood, a city as Portland could get both then and now. But just eight miles away, at the family summer home in Falmouth, the landscape changes from the city feel

to a lush, coastal haven. Anne told me that at one time, all the land from the Martins Point Bridge at the Presumpt Scott River to Waits Landing belonged to members of her family about a three-mile stretch as the crow flies. It was parceled off long ago and developed into smaller neighborhoods with modest homes on carefully planned streets splintering off of Route 1, but the further you get from Portland, those neighborhoods thin out. If you veer right onto Forsyth Road before entering Falmouth's commercial district with its fast food restaurants and supermarkets, you'll find yourself traveling

along some of the most coveted acreage in Cumberland County. Today, homes on the oceanfront property sell into the multiple millions if they ever hit the market at all. These homes often stay in the family. Many of the roads leading to those waterfront views are gated, with wooden signs informing any looky-loos that these are private. It makes it all the more tempting to turn down one of the pine-flanked dirt drives to see what's hidden beyond. One of those gated roads is Thornhurst Road, and at the very end of Thornhurst on Bartlett Point once sat the Payson family's summer home, a big Victorian

right on the water. Nancy spent the summers of her youth at Thornhurst on Falmouth Foreside. Anne doesn't know much about her grandmother's childhood, though. She knows that Nancy had five siblings, and that she liked to ride horses horses and that when Nancy finished high school at Wayne Fleet, a private school also located in the west end of Portland, she went off to college. She went to college. She went to first to Vassar and got expelled for spending too many weekends at West Point. And then she went to Radcliffe for a while and studied playwriting. Her love of the theater and dramatics flourished in college. She later went on to direct plays for children and act in repertory theater.

She never shied away from any chance at the spotlight. And she considered herself a radical. And in some ways she was. I mean, she was adventurous. And then somehow, I think rather unfortunately, she met my grandfather and married him. He was very good looking. He was older. I'm sure he caught a dashing figure. Nancy married then-Lieutenant Benjamin Holt.

I could sense that the fondness Anne had for her grandmother was not quite the same for her grandfather. He was a lawyer. They went to live in Cleveland, where one of her brothers was. Her youngest brother was there, and he encouraged them to come out there. And he thought they could have a good time, and my grandfather could make a living. I'm not sure how much of a living my grandfather ever actually made. And so Nancy worked too. My grandmother wrote and read radio plays for a while, and she worked in a children's bookstore. I mean, it was not a usual thing for a woman of her class and upbringing to work, but either she wanted to or she had to because my grandfather was never much of a moneymaker. While living in Cleveland, Nancy and

Benjamin welcomed their daughter, Anne's mother. Nancy later gave birth to a son, but he passed away as a young child. The trauma of that loss stayed with her, however composed on the surface she later seemed. Nancy and her family eventually moved to New York City in 1932, where Nancy's husband continued to practice law. They always returned to Maine for the summer, though. The family compound at Thornhurst beckoned. Then, in the 40s, Nancy's father gifted his children property to build their own homes. Nancy's six-acre plot was just up the dirt drive from the big family Victorian on Thornhurst, and that's where she would design and build her own dirt drive from the big family Victorian on Thornhurst,

and that's where she would design and build her own summer home on the Falmouth foreside. Anne Fowler told her grandmother's story in a collection of poems published in her book titled The Case of the Restless Redhead. She gave me a copy to prepare for our interview. It's now dog-eared and tabbed and filled with my notes. It was a very different experience, a deeper and richer one, learning about Nancy's case in this poetic format. In her poem, Hybrid Tease, Anne describes Nancy's home on Thornhurst Road. The second stanza begins, She designs it, long pine-paneled living room, azure cathedral ceiling, French doors

overlooking the bay. The house was a sight to behold. The architecture made perfect sense in the coastal setting, but it was very obviously not just any old house. A version of it, numerous French doors included, still stands today. The shingles have since been swapped out for new material, and the red shutters with the pine tree cutouts are missing, among other updates and aesthetic changes, but it's still very much recognizable as the home Nancy lovingly designed. In 1945, the house, built as a summer home, actually became Nancy and her family's full-time residence. Anne told me that a sexual misconduct scandal got Mr. Holt kicked out of his law firm and sent the family back to Maine for good.

Back in Falmouth on the shores of Casco Bay, where she once played as a little girl, now a grown woman with a child of her own, Nancy put down roots and poured into the community. She became quite the woman about town. Many news articles at the time dubbed her a socialite. Meanwhile, her husband became a so-called gentleman farmer. Once they were here in the 50s, she became the sort of grand dame of Falmouth and to some degree Portland. And it was decided that my grandfather would become a gentleman farmer. So there were some bulls and cows always in the field across from my

grandmother's house. Nancy's grand dame of Falmouth era was about the time that Anne's most vivid memories of her grandmother formed. She would call my mother and say, well, this bull is looking through my French doors in my bedroom. And she became, because of that, this sort of facade of an occupation for my grandfather, she became involved in the United Country Women of the World, whatever that is, and became ultimately the president of it. And I think that before she died, she was planning to go to Australia at the age of 80 to convention of the United Countrywomen of the World. And for you, what were the most memorable traits about your grandmother?

What really sums up Nancy's personality? She was, different words come to mind. One of them is performative. I mean, she was an actress and she always looked beautifully put together and she was generous. She was a woman of great faith, and she was an intellectual. She was quite an intellectual, and she had a curious mind, and she was always learning. She was very loving to me. She was a wonderful storyteller, and she was wise. She was a wise woman. She had suffered, I know. Losing a child, her husband's scandals, Nancy's life was not without trauma or darkness.

She was a mistress of denial. That's one thing she was. And I think she always really loved my grandfather on some level. But it was her misfortune to be married to somebody who was not her equal. But Nancy's life was about to begin anew as she approached her 80th birthday in October of 1976. Age was truly just a number for her. She was planning that trip to Australia with one of the many organizations she was a part of, and her husband had recently moved to a nursing home. So she was free. I mean, she was starting a new phase of her life and didn't get to live much of it at all. In October of 1976, Ann Fowler was living in Belmont, Massachusetts with her three-year-old daughter

and was teaching part-time while working on her doctorate in English. She came back to Maine as often as she could, and she remained close to her grandmother, her namesake. But it was a challenging time. I was just, you know, a single parent and without any contact at all with my daughter's father. So there were, you know, money was an issue. Granny was paying my health insurance and she was very generous to me. I mean, she loved, we both loved shopping and clothes and my mother didn't want anything to do with that. And my mother said once, of course I'm jealous.

You're the daughter my mother always wanted. Ann remembers the last conversation she had with Nancy. I was close to my grandmother, and the last conversation I had with her, she was planning to have a big, or I don't know how big, but fancy 80th birthday party. And we talked about that. I was going to come up for it. And I told her that I had changed my name back to my maiden name and I had changed my daughter's name so she knew that that name was carried on in the family. In Anne's book of poems, she describes that final phone call in her piece titled Last Call. The third stanza reads, I have dialed it back 30 years, my brick and board bookshelves,

late afternoon light, west-facing windows. But did she call me pet as always? Did I say, I love you? Anne learned the details of what happened inside her grandmother's home on the night of her murder at trial, and from court documents that she studied while writing her book. The three men cased the outside of the house, locating a ground floor window that opened into Nancy's bathroom. They shattered the glass with the tire iron and hoisted themselves inside. And then I think my grandmother must have heard them, and so she called out or something, and that's when two of them at least came into the bedroom.

The men moved between Nancy's bedroom and the living room, causing a commotion in the night. Nancy's live-in housekeeper, Glenda, heard the voices, and then moments later, gunshots. She clambered down the stairs from her living quarters on the other end of the house. Glenda later reported seeing several people in the living room, but she did not run to Nancy's aid. Instead, she quickly ascended the stairs and locked herself in her room before making two phone calls,

first to her sister, and then finally, Glenda called the police. Lieutenant David Cloth of the Falmouth Police Department was on patrol in the area and responded to the call. He arrived a short time later, and according to court records, Lieutenant Cloth actually passed a speeding vehicle, a full-size sedan, leaving the Holt house. He only managed to glimpse the first three digits of the license plate, though. 6-2-0. He broadcast the vehicle description over the statewide channel from his cruiser. The officer called for an ambulance ambulance and emergency crews arrived quickly. Mrs. Holt was transported to Maine Medical Center.

She had suffered several gunshot wounds, with one to her eye. Four hours later, in the early morning of October 6, 1976, she succumbed to her injuries. The beloved Mrs. Ann Nancy Payson Holt, only days away from her 80th birthday, was murdered. The investigation at 40 Thornhurst Road began swiftly. Within hours of her death, police were already telling Miranda Spivak of the Evening Express that they had at least

three good leads, though they didn't expand on what those leads were. The news of Nancy Holt's death traveled quickly. Murder was not a word you heard tossed around Falmouth very often, if at all, and her prominence in the community unraveled the perceived safety that class and wealth afforded the neighborhood. Residents of the Forsyth area, and beyond, locked their doors for the very first time. Long dart roads and tree-shaded property were no longer enough of a security system when there was a killer or killers on the loose. What I remember first, I mean, the community was traumatized by this death. I mean, my grandmother was, you know, a well-known figure. She lived in an exclusive family compound,

and people were afraid. At Nancy's funeral service, her longtime pastor, Reverend Stephen Foot, spoke to the heavy fog of fear that had weaseled its way into the otherwise quiet and calm community. He told the mourners, quote, what we have witnessed may, if we allow it, build up a deep and abiding anxiety, especially among those who live alone. Fear is a degrading emotion which we must reject in our lives. We must acknowledge, in the broadest sense,

that our lives are always in the realm of potential calamity and accident, much of which is tragic, end quote. But Anne and her sisters were unwilling to let the fear control them. They rejected it and, perhaps subconsciously, decided to make a statement at their grandmother's funeral with their attire. I don't remember that we said this to each other, but we all wore bright dresses and we were saying we're not afraid. Nancy was laid to rest at Pine Grove Cemetery in Falmouth, adjacent to the Church of St. Mary the Virgin, which her family had built and established a century before. That same week, friends and relatives announced a $5,000 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction

of her killer or killers, who were still on the lam. Police would only say that they had a few leads, but no major developments were disclosed to the public at the time. That changed, though, in just two and a half weeks. Less than three weeks after her death, police announced the arrest of two suspects for the killing of Nancy Holt. 32-year-old Edward B. Austin was arrested and charged with criminal homicide in the third degree, that is, a death resulting from the commission of a felony. 29-year-old Leon Rich was at first charged with criminal homicide in the second degree, but he'd later be indicted for first-degree murder, defined as knowingly causing death or death resulting from the commission of a felony. Leon Rich was identified as the Trigger Man. Both men had prior convictions and had served time in Maine State Prison.

According to the Evening Express, Leon Rich was previously convicted of breaking and entering, while Edward Austin served time for assault and kidnapping. He had kidnapped a Portland police patrolman. The arrests were a result of an extensive two-and-a-half-week investigation, but authorities actually had the two suspects on their radar from the morning after the murder. According to court records, an officer with the South Portland Police Department spotted a vehicle matching the description of that All Points Bulletin and he pulled the car over. The six people inside the car voluntarily submitted to questioning that day. Leon Rich and Edward Austin were among them.

Knowing six people were in the car that matched the description of the one fleeing Thornhurst Road around the time of the shooting, Rich and Austin weren't the only suspects that police sought. More arrests and more charges were expected, as the two men in custody were arraigned and ordered held without bail. Neither entered a plea at the time. A few days later, police arrested a third suspect, 20-year-old Donald C. Billingsley, who was also charged with third-degree homicide and ordered held without bail. Though three men were in custody for the killing of Nancy Holt, the investigation continued as the state bolstered their case.

Divers took to Casco Bay near Custom House Wharf in search of evidence relevant to the case. Authorities wouldn't disclose exactly what they found, but said they previously recovered personal items from the water near the wharf. That location, Custom House Wharf on Portland's working waterfront, was the same location that suspect Edward Austin gave us his home address. The next day, Deputy Attorney General Richard S. Cohen revealed to the Evening Express that, quote, When asked if divers had recovered a murder weapon, Cohen would only say that they were,

quote, Nancy Holt's murder attracted tons of attention both locally and nationally, given her prominence in the community and her family name. Anytime a case receives ample press coverage, it runs the risk of jeopardizing the investigation or trial proceedings, and so investigators were scant for comment whenever the media came knocking. It wasn't until the indictment, when key court documents became part of the public record, that more information about what happened on Thornhurst Road was revealed. The indictment documents confirmed that the suspected motive for murder was pecuniary benefit,

that is, Leon Rich killed Nancy Holt in the commission of a robbery, ultimately committing murder for money. The first-degree homicide charge he faced came with a mandatory life prison sentence. Edward Austin would be charged with both second and third-degree homicide, but the state could opt to prosecute just one of those charges when the case actually went to trial. Meanwhile, Donald Billingsley was not actually indicted for the murder charge. He later pleaded guilty to a lesser Class B burglary charge and turned state's witness, agreeing to testify for the prosecution against his alleged co-conspirators at trial.

He faced a maximum 10-year sentence. According to the Bangor Daily News, Billingsley told the judge that he didn't know Leon Rich had a gun when they entered the Holt home, and he stood in the hallway as the shots were fired. Assistant Attorney General Pat Perino stated that the investigation revealed the three men used the tire iron to break the bathroom window and gain entry to Nancy's house. Once inside, Perino said the men stole a television and radio, and Leon Rich had shot Nancy with a small-caliber firearm, later revealed to be a pen gun. The men later dumped those stolen items into Casco Bay. After several pretrial hearings, Superior Court Justice William McCarthy ruled that Leon Rich and Edward Austin would be tried together due to the similar circumstances and same witnesses, despite arguments by each of the men's lawyers against the joint trial. That trial was slated for early March of 1977. Just a few days before the proceedings began,

suspect Edward Austin got married at Cumberland County Jail. The new Mrs. Austin was one of the women who sat in the car as the three men broke into Nancy's house, and she'd previously been listed as a state's witness. But if the jailhouse nuptials were an attempt to protect Edward from his new bride's testimony, it wouldn't work. Spousal privilege covers confidential conversation between a husband and wife, but it doesn't apply to events prior to the marriage. work. Spousal privilege covers confidential conversation between a husband and wife, but it doesn't apply to events prior to the marriage. Edward and his new missus would spend their first

week of marital bliss inside a Cumberland County Superior Courtroom, as the murder trial began with 14th, 1977. Anne attended the trial, sitting bravely in the gallery as both sides argued and defended their case. Leon Rich did not take the stand at any point during the trial, but Donald Billingsley and Edward Austin did. Donald Billingsley was the state's chief witness. He described that night, the breaking of the window with a tire iron, him waiting outside in the hallway and hearing one shot, and then seeing Leon Rich step into the hallway to reload his gun that was, quote, shaped like a magic marker, end quote. And that's when the shooter came back, went out, came back in and shot her three times with this little pen gun.

And then they fled. The number two guy who gave the account of what had happened, I believed him. The number two guy, she refers to Edward Austin, was emotional on the stand as he described the night. Austin told the court that before the fatal shots were fired, he spoke to Nancy and apologized for what they'd done. According to the testimony that I heard at the trial, one of them said, I'm sorry we did this, you know, and we'll pay for the window or something like that.

And my grandmother said it was certainly wrong and please give me my glasses and give me the phone so I can call the police. Does it surprise you at all knowing your grandmother that she spoke to the intruders in that way and asked for her glasses? It doesn't surprise me a bit. I, you know, I could perfectly well believe it. You know, she was a very brave woman and entitled. The Morning Sentinel reported that Austin broke down into sobs as he described his horror when he realized Leon Rich had shot Nancy. The judge called a recess for him to compose himself before testimony continued. Reflecting back, Ann feels that Edward Austin's emotions were genuine, that he did feel badly about what happened.

He was socialized in a way it did not seem that Leon Rich, who was the shooter, was. He had insight. He had remorse. Edward Austin's new wife also gave her testimony at trial, telling the judge and jury that when Leon Rich returned to the car, he kept repeating, I had to do it. I had to do it. I shot her. According to the Evening Express, Mrs. Austin told the court that she had previously worked for Nancy, mostly ironing and other domestic tasks. Her cousin had also worked for Mrs. Holt, she explained, and she and Edward Austin had been at the estate to pick up her cousin just three weeks before the murder. Another witness took the stand and testified that she'd previously heard Mrs. Austin talking about how Nancy lived

all alone and that she had valuable possessions in her home. If you're curious, none of the women ever faced charges for any crimes related to Nancy Holt's death. In closing statements, Deputy Attorney General Richard Cohen told the jury that evidence clearly indicated that Leon Rich and Edward Austin were guilty of a, quote, brutal, vicious murder, end quote. Anne and her family waited for the jury to decide the fate of the two men charged with murdering their mother and grandmother. The verdict came after six and a half hours of deliberation and five separate votes. Finally, the jury found Leon Rich guilty of second-degree homicide and armed burglary, not the first-degree homicide charge he was faced with at the start of

the trial. The foreman explaining that they were not satisfied that Leon Rich shot Mrs. Holt for pecuniary benefit, as the indictment alleged, making secondary murder the more appropriate charge in their minds. As for Edward Austin, he was convicted of fourth-degree homicide and simple burglary. According to the state's new criminal code enacted the previous year, Leon Rich faced a minimum 20-year prison sentence, and he'd have to serve four-fifths of whatever sentence he got before parole eligibility. Edward Austin was looking at a max of 10 years.

Their sentencing was delayed to allow for the state's new criminal code, which required an evaluation by the Department of Mental Health and Corrections for anyone convicted of second degree homicide before sentencing. Meanwhile, Nancy's family reckoned with the courtroom conclusion of her murder, finding guidance in their faith as they often did. The Morning Sentinel reported that in his sermon at the Church of St. Mary the Virgin the following Sunday, Reverend Stephen Foote told his congregants, quote, Let this go, resolved or unresolved, and commit our attention to the future.

Your reactions have been of a wide range, from disbelief on the one hand to anger on the other, that somehow the penalty does not fit the crime. What concerns me now is that the decision of the jury does not satisfy our dramatic sense of personal loss. The convictions do not match our need for maximum punishment. Perhaps that is why, in the great order of the legal system, there is need for an impartial opinion. End quote. Reverend Foote also defended the proceedings,

assuring those questioning the result that courtroom procedures are painstakingly methodical and that they are designed to protect the truth. Leon Rich and Edward Austin finally received their sentences in April of 77. Rich received 50 years imprisonment, and according to the new criminal code, he'd have to serve a minimum 40 years before being eligible for release. Edward Austin received concurrent 10-year sentences for his homicide and burglary charges. Leon Rich would not serve those full 50 years, though, or even the 40 minimum that the criminal code supposedly required. Anne later learned that her grandmother's killer was released after about 30 years, around the same time she decided to write about Nancy and compose the

collection of poems to tell her story. To Anne's knowledge, Rich did not have to report to a parole officer after his release, and no one she spoke to knew where he was. He was in the wind, and he's still in the wind. Ann Fowler is a retired Episcopal priest and now a certified spiritual director. I was curious about her stance on forgiveness, especially when it comes to her grandmother's murder. All I can come up with is this was not a personal, this was not personal. I mean, it was awful. I tell people when they want to talk to me about forgiveness that there is no imperative to forgive somebody if they haven't repented. It may be good for us to forgive, but it's not morally reprehensible if we can't. And I would say I have forgiven Austin,

the second guy. Leon Rich, I'm agnostic about this. I don't know. Nancy's murder is a piece of the family history. But immediately after the trial closed and the sentences were handed down, the topic was filed away, rarely discussed. Ann remembers how it eventually resurfaced, like a buoy tugged below the waves only to inevitably pop up again, bobbing in the current. It was not something we talked about very much. I remember the next summer going out on my parents' boat and coming up, meeting up with my brother, who had his own sailboat. And mom said to him something like you've never asked me to be on that boat

and I said you sound just like granny and it was it changed the tone you know this was it was not sort of sacred tragedy anymore it was you know mom you just sound just cause granny was you know this passive

aggressive aspect both of them Mom, you just sound, just because Granny was, you know, this passive-aggressive aspect. Both of them. How would she feel about you writing a book about it and speaking on a podcast and telling her story all these many years later? She'd love it. She'd love it. You know, she loved being the center of attention. You know, she would love to know that her story was being told. Anne has had over four decades to process and reflect on how her grandmother died. She revisited the details of that night so many years later while writing her book of poems.

The time and reflection has given her a unique vantage point, and she's come to an interesting conclusion. I will say that it occurred to me that if my grandmother had been able to choose her way of death, she would not have been unhappy with this. She went out as a heroine with great drama. She was a sensation. She would have loved it. You know, there's a part of her that would have loved it.

Anne described her grandmother to me as strong, as generous, a woman of great faith, as a radical. She sees many of those traits now within herself. I feel that some part of my grandmother resides in me. I felt it quite strongly not too long after she died. And I could in some ways see, I became a more generous person. She was very generous. And I think I absorbed some of her strength.

And that's been formative for me. Anne, just like her grandmother Nancy, is a woman of great faith. And she could be considered a radical in her faith Anne has focused her ministry on social justice issues Including the full inclusion of the LGBTQ community in the church and society As well as women's reproductive rights and health Anne's hair is dyed pink At the close of our conversation,

I asked why. Was it a statement she was making or simply a style choice? Her response was every bit of proof that the best parts of her grandmother reside in her. It was something when I was on the board of Planned Parenthood, but I think it's now, it's a statement of, it's sort of like when I was on the board of Planned Parenthood. But I think it's now, it's a statement of, it's sort of like when I'm old, I will wear purple, you know, and it gets a lot of attention, of course. Which I don't mind. I want to leave you with the final poem from Anne's book. It's called Returning. The house still calls out to me across the meadow,

where cattle once grazed. Across decades, new owners, renovations. Tea rose is still blooming under the bedroom windows, crimson shutters, their pine tree cutouts, and the gully where the fox kept her kits. I stand in the dusty road, beyond the stone wall, no longer welcome, still so poor for the loss of her, her soft, freckled arms open. open I can see across to the bay blue opening three white sails horizon blurry today sky sea exchanging I come here waking and sleeping the landscape always shifting to love somewhere Somewhere in lush light, my grandmother's walking in green August. Bees in clover, dragonflies darting. She takes the farm track, dusty and rutted, past the old cow barn, the low polo stables.

Cicadas and crickets are warning of autumn, but not yet. She swings with her cane at the blue iron standpipe. It rings out. She comes down the path to the tea house perched on the banking, stops at the top of the stairs to the rock beach. She could almost touch the cumulus pillowing down the bay. She calls to me, come out of the sun now, come up to the house, come in, have a glass of tea. Thank you for listening to Dark Down East. Sources cited and referenced for this episode are listed at darkdowneast.com. Please follow Dark Down East on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you're listening right now. The best way to support the show is to leave a review on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you're listening right now. The best way to support this

show is to leave a review on Apple Podcasts and share this episode or any episode with your friends. If you have a personal connection to a case I should cover, please contact me at hello at darkdowneast.com. Thank you for supporting the 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 homicide 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.