Every Town - Circleville, Ohio - The Unsolved Mystery of the Circleville Letters

Episode Date: August 7, 2021

American writer and literary critic Anatole Broyard once opined, “In an age like ours, which is not given to letter-writing, we forget what an important part it used to play in people’s lives.” In the 1970s, the ability to instantly communicate through e-mails, texting, or social media was still decades away, so people employed the use of paper and pen, the mailman, and mailboxes to stay in touch. One of life’s simple joys was writing and receiving letters. Through letters, people built friendships, sustained relationships, and strengthened romance. But for the residents of one small town in Ohio, the fun of exchanging letters was turned to terror when many of them received anonymous, vitriolic, and threatening handwritten messages. These poison pen letters of the mid-1970s came to be known as the “Circleville Letters,” and for nearly two decades, they spread fear through the mail in Circleville, Pickaway County, Ohio.💥 Watch This Episode On Youtube Here: https://www.youtube.com/scarymysteries💥 Exclusive Content Here: https://www.patreon.com/scarymysteries 💥 More Creepy Podcasts From Us: https://www.buzzsprout.com/1235579💥 Contact Us [e-mail]  Support the show Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

If you love true crime, grab your favorite mug and pour yourself a dose of creepy true crime every single morning with a morning cup of murder. This short daily show is the perfect podcast to incorporate into your morning routine because in less than 15 minutes, you'll hear about a true crime that took place on a day's date in history. Each day's dark history lesson will kickstart your morning with intriguing tales of murder, abduction, serial killers, cults, and everything in between.

With over 20 million downloads, Morning Cup of Murder has something for every true crime lover. One listener describes the show as a small package with a powerful punch of crime. Another writes that the show is an absolute delight in the morning. Support yourself a piping hot cup of murder every single morning with Morning Cup of Murder. Find it on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts. Every town has a dark side. For this week, we head to Circleville, Ohio, where we check out the unsolved mystery of the Circleville letters. American writer and literary critic and Tolly Broyard once opined,

In an age like ours, which is not given to letter writing, we forget what an important part it used to play in people's lives. In the 1970s, the ability to instantly communicate. communicate through emails, texting, or social media was still decades away. So people employed the use of paper and pen, the mailman, and mailboxes to stay in touch. One of life's simple joys was writing and receiving letters. Through these, people built friendships, sustained relationships, and strengthened romances. But for the residents of one small town in Ohio, the fun of exchanging letters was turned to terror when many of them received anonymous and threatening handwritten messages.

These poison pen letters of the mid-1970s came to be known as the Circleville letters, and for nearly two decades, they spread fear through the mail in the town of Circleville, Pickaway County, Ohio. Hi, I'm Andrew Fitzgerald, and welcome to another episode of Everytown. Imagine how an untraceable handwritten letter could expose an illicit affair, punish a man with likely false conviction, cause an untimely death, and bring a town into complete chaos. These were among the destructive consequences of the so-called Circleville letters. In particular, they most severely affected the family of Ron and Mary Gillespie, effectively ruining the lives of two men in the family. family. One died, and one spent several years in jail for a crime he claimed he didn't commit.

Despite some theories about the real identity of the letter writer, the Circleville letters, mystery remains unsolved today. When opening a mailbox, one might dread finding a pile of envelopes containing bills to pay, bank loans to settle or insurance claims that were denied. On a brighter day, the mailbox may bring welcome surprises like an invitation to a dear friend's wedding, a letter of acceptance to university, a birthday or Christmas card from a loved one. But what are the odds that an envelope will contain a heart-stopping message like, your family and friends should know that you were sexually molested by your Uncle Mike 12 years ago? Or, don't abort your mistress, baby, or else you will die? It surely would send chills down the recipient's spine, knowing that they're loathe by a letter

sender who was not only anonymous, but also out for blood. This hypothetical scenario became a chilling reality for several people in the town of Circleville and the surrounding Pickaway County area in Ohio starting in 1976. A number of people, mostly those who were embroiled in small-town controversies, began receiving letters that exposed their vile sense. secrets, and carried veiled threats. The damning handwritten messages sometimes came with lewd drawings and sexually explicit notes. In every case, the letter was written in a distinctive blockwriting style, possibly done

deliberately to conceal the writer's true handwriting. These letters were postmarked from Columbus, Ohio, state capital, 28 miles away from Circleville, but they lack the sender's name and return address. Untraceable and unknown, the nasty letters presented the tormented recipients with an unseen enemy. In a town with a population of just 12,000, it sometimes felt like everyone knew everyone else

and perhaps knew nearly everything about everyone else. Could the mysterious Circleville letters writer be one of the town's common faces with an uncommon agenda? In 1976, while Cleveland, Ohio became the most bombed city in the U.S. due to a continuing gang war between the Italian and Irish mobs, bombs of another kind were being placed inside mailboxes 170 miles away in Circleville's mailboxes.

Many of the town's inhabitants started receiving poison pen letters that exploded with shocking allegations. Perhaps the hardest-hit victim was Mary Goulders. Gillespie, who was married with children and worked as a school bus driver at the local Westfall School. In December of 1976, Mary received the first frightening letter from an unknown sender. It accused her of having an extramarital affair with Gordon Massey, the superintendent of the school district she worked for, and said that she should end it. Stay away from Massey. Don't lie when questioned about knowing him, part of the message said. And in true starker fashion, the writer added something that gave Mary the chills. I know where you live. I've been

observing your house and know you have children. This is no joke. Please take it serious. Everyone concerned has been notified and everything will be over soon. Naturally, the allegation and ominous threat shocked Mary, who initially kept it to herself. A week later, she received another message again about her alleged affair. Stay away from him, noon as well as night. Too many think this is a joke. We'll see in time. Mary hid the letters, fearing that her 35-year-old husband, Ron, would get a hold of them. She continued working, but remained vigilant, keeping a close eye on her daily activities, in the hope that she would find out the person behind the incriminating letters.

But her secret was soon revealed by the anonymous letter sender, no less, who wrote to Ron informing him of Mary and Gordon's supposed affair. Just like the letters Mary had received, the first one sent to Ron, concluded, with a threat. His life would be in danger if he didn't tell the West Fall School Board about his wife's purported affair. Ron was devastated, though Mary denied the accusation when Ron confronted her, and they decided to keep mom about their personal troubles. But soon, rumors about Marion Gordon's alleged liaison spread through the small town of Circleville. After a couple weeks, another letter made its way to the Gillespie's mailbox, specifically for Ron. He faced a more concrete threat that intensified his psychological torture.

The message read, Gillespie, you have had two weeks and done nothing. Make her admit the truth and inform the school board. If not, I will broadcast it on CBs, posters, signs, and billboards until the truth comes out. This became too much for the couple to handle and their world turned upside down. Ron and Mary decided to seek help, but it further complicated the problem and implicated people close to them. Shockingly, it even proved fatal for Ron.

The Gillespie shared their predicament with trusted family members, Ron's sister Karen, Karen husband's Paul Freshower, and Paul's unnamed sister. They discussed the possibilities of who could have written the letters, and Mary's intuition directed her suspicion to her fellow school bus driver, David Longberry. Mary said that David had gotten angry when she rebuffed his advances towards her, so writing the humiliating and menacing letters was his way of getting back at her.

But the group decided that Paul would write David a letter informing him that they knew he was the one sending the messages to Ron and Mary, and that he should stop it right away. Their plan seemed to have succeeded, as the anonymous letters ceased for several weeks. They believe that their suspect, suspected culprit had understood the message loud and clear. But as Ron and Mary were getting their lives back to normal, they were besieged by another round of turmoil.

This time it was worse. Planted on the sides of roads were signs claiming that school superintendent Gordon Massey and Ron and Mary's 12-year-old daughter were involved in a sexual relationship. Such a malicious and foul attack was beyond comprehensible, and Ron had to do everything he could to protect his wife and children. It reached a point when he had to wake up way earlier than usual just to drive around Circleville and remove the nasty signs before anyone could see them, especially his daughter while on their way to school.

Ron continued getting letters warning him that his movements and activities were monitored, perhaps getting accustomed to being the prime targets of the Circleville letters. Ron and his family continued on. about their lives. Most likely, this infuriated their unnamed enemy. Nine months after the first letters were sent to Marion Ron, things then escalated and got out of control. It was quite a normal Friday on August 19, 1977.

Ron was at home that evening, looking after his younger children when he received a mysterious phone call. Hello? The sinister voice on the other end of the line told Ron that he knew where he lived and what his pickup truck looked like. Ron thought he recognized the voice as that as David, which confirmed his suspicion about the identity of the unidentified letter writer. It was the last straw that broke Ron's long-stretched patience,

and it sent him into a rage. He told his children he had to go confront someone. Hurriedly, Ron grabbed his pistol and took off in his red and white pickup. truck. But a few minutes later, tragedy struck the Gillespie family. In an unexpected turn of events, Ron died on the spot when his truck crashed into a tree at 10.30 p.m. on five points pike. Ron succumbed to massive internal injuries. Pickaway County Coroner Dr. Ray Carroll pronounced Ron dead at the scene. It was Sheriff Dwight Radcliffe who headed the police investigation. And after examining Ron's gun, Radcliffe determined that a single shot had been fired

in between the time Ron left his house and hit the tree. However, there was no evidence suggesting anyone had actually been shot at the crash site and neither the bullet nor the casing were ever found. That was the first mystery surrounding Ron's dark fate. The second one came after Ron's autopsy results revealed that at the time of his death, his blood alcohol content was 0.16, which in Ohio is one and a half times more than the legal limit. However, Ron's family refuted that he was a drinker and attested to his teetotaler lifestyle. Based on the test result, Sheriff Radcliffe changed Ron's declared cause of death from foul play to a drunk driving accident.

Paul Freshower, Ron's brother-in-law, said, The sheriff agreed with me that there was foul play, and then when I contacted him again, he'd changed his attitude completely. Then he was telling me that it wasn't foul play, that the suspect had passed a polygraph test. It was another gray area that wasn't resolved. Ron's wrecked pickup truck was disposed of in an Ohio junkyard, a questionable decision because it prevented further examinations of the vehicle for more clues about Ron's death.

This tragedy could have pricked the conscience of the Circleville letters anonymous writer and convinced him or her to stop all the vile schemes. On the contrary, the ruthless author relentlessly continued writing more poison pen letters and many more lives were turned upside down. apparently dissatisfied with Sheriff Dwight Radcliffe's ruling on Ron's death, the person behind the Circleville letters sent the townsfolk messages, accusing Radcliffe of concocting a cover-up of the real nature of Ron's death. The writer demanded a more thorough investigation,

which made people believe he probably wanted credit for his role in the accident. Moreover, the nameless writer hurled another accusation against the sheriff that he had mishandled the investigation of sexual abuse charges filed by several children against coroner Ray Carroll. Of course, our main protagonist, Mary Gillespie, wasn't spared. She continued to receive more vulgar messages and constant threats that drove her to take desperate measures. She turned her initial denials of an affair with school superintendent Massey

into an omission of guilt, but Mary clarified that their affair started only after she had received the anonymous letters. How strange that Mary would get embroiled in a forbidden affair after receiving letters that boldly pressured her to stay away from Gordon. Mary's sister-in-law Karen and her husband, Paul, also had their marital woes. Paul discovered Karen was cheating on him, so he filed for divorce and gained full custody of their kids. From nowhere else to go, Karen moved out of their house and settled in a trailer in Mary's backyard. Misery loves company, after all.

But if Mary had thought that her misery would diminish after admitting her affair with Gordon, she was awfully wrong. The harassment tactics against her continued, yet Mary kept her job in order to support her children. When her daughter once again became the focus of threats, after seven years of harassment, harassment. Mary's motherly instinct drew out all her courage. On the morning of February 7, 1983, while working behind the wheel of the school bus, she noticed a sign put up along the road targeting her daughter with an intimidating message. The disgusted Mary hopped out of the school bus and proceeded to rip down the sign, but it wasn't any ordinary sign because attached to it was a

box in a string, and that box contained a pistol. Upon closer examination, the gun was part of a crude booby trap designed to make the weapon go off if the sign was pulled down. Luckily, Mary didn't pull the sign in such a manner to set off the trap. Otherwise, she would have been injured, or worse, killed by a gunshot. The threats to her life, once written on pieces of paper, were now as real as they could possibly get. Mary sought that. Mary sought that. help of the police, and the gun was sent to the crime lab to determine its distress serial number, the result was as shocking as the threats Mary had received. The gun belonged to Paul Freshower, her ex-brother-in-law. But of course, he had an explanation. He said, I admitted the gun was mine,

but I hadn't seen it for a long time. I had no reason to check up on it or anything, and I don't know when it had come up missing. I really don't know what happened to it, and I told them that, and that's the truth. Paul's a strange wife, Karen, however, shared her suspicion with Mary that Paul might have been behind the threatening letters, calls, and signs all along. After Mary had told Sheriff Ragcliffe about this,

the latter summoned Paul to take a handwriting test on February 25th, either to confirm or rule out Paul as the possible Circleville letter writer. Paul was asked to copy some of the anonymous letters sent to the residents, and Radcliffe was satisfied that Paul's handwriting was close enough to the mysterious writers. So Radcliffe then arrested Paul and charged him with the attempted murder of Mary and a $50,000 cash bond. Just like that, the unseen figure terrorizing Circleville finally had a face and a name. Paul Freshower.

But was he really the one? Prosecutors proved that Paul was guilty in a trial that started on October 24, 1983. He was charged for the attempted murder of Mary Gillespie, but not for writing the threatening Circleville letters, though they were used as key evidence against him. Handwriting expert, Stephen Green, took the stand and testified that it was Paul's handwriting on the envelopes, letters, and the sign with the booby trap.

The evidence was disputed, though, for the incorrect manner in which the handwriting test had been conducted. Paul's boss confirmed that Paul was absent on the day the booby trap was found. Mary, too, told the jury that she started to believe Paul was the letter writer after Karen had shared her own suspicions with her. Paul never took the witness stand, which he regretted years later, saying, I can't blame the jury because the jury didn't hear all the evidence, but I just couldn't believe it.

I was really in shock. He was convicted of the attempted murder of Mary and sentenced to seven to 25 years in prison. Many were convinced Paul was guilty even before the verdict had been handed down. So could the small town's residents finally heave a collective sigh of relief? Unfortunately, despite Paul being thrown behind,

behind prison bars, the writer of the vicious letters didn't put down their pen. The letters, postmarked in Columbus, were delivered throughout a large swath of central Ohio, which puzzled many people. How could Paul Freshower, who was locked up in jail in Lima, Ohio, do that? One of the letters alleged that Roger Klein, the prosecutor who handled the case, impregnated a schoolteacher and later killed her. The writer promised to dig up the corpse and mail the bones to the police if they didn't investigate Klein's role in the teacher's murder. The jail warden placed Paul in solitary confinement upon the request of the county sheriff's office, yet the letters kept coming.

Unbelievably, at one point, Paul himself received a letter. It said, Now when are you going to believe you aren't going to get out of there? I told you two years ago. When we set him up, they stayed. stay set up. Don't you listen at all? This convinced the warden that Paul wasn't the mysterious writer. After seven years of displaying good behavior inside jail, Paul was eligible for parole. However, this was rejected by the parole board due to the volume of letters that people were still receiving. Four years later, Paul was paroled. In the whole ten years that he was incarcerated and even after his parole in 1994, Paul maintained his innocence. Oddly, the anonymous letters stopped in 1994 as well.

Theory is about the real identity of the notorious writer, centered around David Longberry, Mary's co-worker, whose advances she rejected. Many think that it's not far-fetched that he retaliated by writing the first anonymous letters that expose Mary in Gordon's affair. Karen, Paul's ex-wife, also became the subject to speculation. Described as a very angry and manipulative woman, some believe that she planted the booby trap, used Paul's typewriter to write a few letters, and raised suspicions about Paul to marry.

Perhaps it was all a setup to frame Paul after their bitter divorce that had awarded Paul their house in custody of their kids. Though plausible, these theories were never pursued. The Circleville letter's mystery is yet to be irrefutably solved and is still mainly associated with Paul Freshower, who died at the age of 70 in 2012. So that's it for this week's episode of Everytown. Tune in next week for another episode filled with scary, strange, and mysterious stories,

and who knows, maybe your town will be next.