Futility Closet - 284-The Red Barn
Episode Date: February 17, 2020When Maria Marten disappeared from the English village of Polstead in 1827, her lover said that they had married and were living on the Isle of Wight. But Maria's stepmother began having disturbing d...reams that hinted at a much grimmer fate. In this week's episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll tell the story of the Red Barn, which transfixed Britain in the early 19th century. We'll also encounter an unfortunate copycat and puzzle over some curious births. Intro: In 1859, a penurious Henry Thoreau donated $5 to a college library. Georges Perec rendered "Ozymandias" without the letter E. Sources for our feature on the Red Barn: James Curtis, The Murder of Maria Marten, 1828. Shane McCorristine, William Corder and the Red Barn Murder: Journeys of the Criminal Body, 2014. Lucy Worsley, The Art of the English Murder: From Jack the Ripper and Sherlock Holmes to Agatha Christie and Alfred Hitchcock, 2014. James Moore, Murder at the Inn: A History of Crime in Britain's Pubs and Hotels, 2015. Colin Wilson, A Casebook of Murder, 2015. Maryrose Cuskelly, Original Skin: Exploring the Marvels of the Human Hide, 2011. Henry Vizetelly, The Romance of Crime, 1860. "Trial of William Corder for the Murder of Maria Marten," Annual Register, 1828, 337-349. James Redding Ware, Wonderful Dreams of Remarkable Men and Women, 1884. Jessie Dobson, "The College Criminals: 4. William Corder," Annals of the Royal College of Surgeons of England 11:4 (1952), 249. Richard Grady, "Personal Identity Established by the Teeth; the Dentist a Scientific Expert," American Journal of Dental Science 17:9 (1884), 385. Harry Cocks, "The Pre-History of Print and Online Dating, c. 1690-1990," in I. Alev Degim, James Johnson, and Tao Fu, Online Courtship: Interpersonal Interactions Across Borders, 2015. Sarah Tarlow, "Curious Afterlives: The Enduring Appeal of the Criminal Corpse," Mortality 21:3 (2016), 210–228. Ruth Penfold-Mounce, "Consuming Criminal Corpses: Fascination With the Dead Criminal Body," Mortality 15:3 (August 2010), 250-265. "The Trial of William Corder, for the Wilful Murder of Maria Marten, Etc.," 1828. "The Trial, at Length, of William Corder, Convicted of the Murder of Maria Marten," 1828. "An Accurate Account of the Trial of William Corder for the Murder of Maria Marten," 1828. "The Trial of William Corder at the Assizes, Bury St. Edmunds," 1828. "Dream Testimony," Notes & Queries 52, Dec. 27, 1856. Paul Collins, "The Molecatcher's Daughter," Independent on Sunday, Nov. 26, 2006, 20. Peter Watson, "Alternatives: Natural Barn Killer," Guardian, Feb. 19, 1995, 23. Jonathan Kay, "Lessons From a Molecatcher's Daughter," National Post, Jan. 9, 2007, A17. Michael Horsnell, "Red Barn Murderer Finally Laid to Rest," Times, Aug. 18, 2004, 10. Max Haines, "The Red Barn Murder," Sudbury [Ontario] Star, Aug. 16, 2003, D.11. Maryrose Cuskelly, "Of Human Bondage," Australian, June 3, 2009, 18. "Gruesome Murder Still Has the Power to Fascinate," East Anglian Daily Times, Oct. 28, 2013. "True Crime From the 1820s: Shades of Capote," Weekend Edition Saturday, National Public Radio, Oct. 28, 2006. Colin Wilson, "A Murder Mystery: Why Do Some Killings Dominate the Headlines?", Times, Jan. 28, 2006, 25. Pamela Owen, "The Day Murder Became a National Obsession," The People, Sept. 22, 2013, 34. Stephanie Markinson, "Dark History," Yorkshire Post, Jan. 10, 2020, 7. "Collection Articles: The Trial, at Length, of William Corder, Convicted of the Murder of Maria Marten," British Library (accessed Feb. 2, 2020). Alsager Richard Vian, "Corder, William," Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900, Vol. 12. Alsager Vian, "Corder, William," Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Sept. 23, 2004. Listener mail: Malcolm Gladwell, "Safety in the Skies," Gladwell.com, Oct. 1, 2001. Hugh Morris, "The Strangest Stories From the Golden Age of Plane Hijacking," Telegraph, July 5, 2019. Thom Patterson, "How the Era of 'Skyjackings' Changed the Way We Fly," CNN, Oct. 2, 2017. "Three Cheeseburgers and a Rental Car," Fear of Landing, July 26, 2019. Wikipedia, "D. B. Cooper" (accessed Feb. 4, 2020). Joni Balter, "Attorney: Hijacker Couldn't Hurt Anyone," UPI, Jan. 21, 1983. "Man Killed in Attempted Hijacking on Coast," UPI, Jan. 21, 1983. This week's lateral thinking puzzle was contributed by both Ronald Gainey and Chris Zinsli, based on an item they heard on the podcast 99% Invisible. Here are four additional corroborating links (warning -- these spoil the puzzle). You can listen using the player above, download this episode directly, or subscribe on Google Podcasts, on Apple Podcasts, or via the RSS feed at https://futilitycloset.libsyn.com/rss. Please consider becoming a patron of Futility Closet -- you can choose the amount you want to pledge, and we've set up some rewards to help thank you for your support. You can also make a one-time donation on the Support Us page of the Futility Closet website. Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!
Transcript
Discussion (0)
Welcome to the Futility Closet podcast, forgotten stories from the pages of history.
Visit us online to sample more than 11,000 quirky curiosities from Thoreau's Charity
to Ozymandias Without Ease.
This is episode 284.
I'm Greg Ross.
And I'm Sharon Ross.
When Maria Martin disappeared from the English village of Polestead in 1827,
her lover said that they had married and were living on the Isle of Wight.
But Maria's stepmother began having disturbing dreams that hinted at a much grimmer fate.
In today's show, we'll tell the story of the Red Barn, which transfixed Britain in the early 19th century.
We'll also encounter an unfortunate copycat and puzzle over some curious births.
Until the 1820s, the village of Polestead in South Suffolk was considered a little Eden where nothing momentous ever happened.
Its 900 inhabitants lived on a hill that overlooked a duck pond, a Norman church,
and the fields of the Stour Valley. Most of the men worked as agricultural laborers,
and the area was known for its cherries, the basis of an annual festival held on the village green.
One of the residents was Maria Martin, the daughter of the local mole catcher. Though her birth gave her few opportunities, Maria had been sent as a maid to a clergyman,
where she received some education and, some said, a taste for dress and fashion.
She was literate and loved gardening, but was known mostly for being pretty and promiscuous,
and by the time she was 24, she'd had two illegitimate children by two different fathers.
That didn't dissuade William Corder, who began
to court her in 1826. The son of a successful yeoman farmer, William lived in a fine Elizabethan
house near the pond. He had a shifty reputation and had criminal contacts in London, but he
promised, even in public company, to marry her, and she trusted him. They held their trysts in
the Red Barn, a storage building on his family's property.
She became pregnant again and bore a son in April 1827 who died shortly thereafter.
She begged William to fulfill his promise and marry her. They were from different social classes,
and at the time the only way for women to advance socially was through marriage. He didn't deny his
promise to her, but he always found some reason to postpone the discussion. They had several arguments, and then, on the morning of May 18, 1827, he went to the Martins
cottage and told Maria that the local parish constable had a warrant for her arrest in
consequence of her illegitimate children.
He said she must flee and told her parents that he had a license to marry her quickly
in Ipswich.
He convinced her to meet him that morning in the Red Barn,
and Maria's stepmother heard him tell her to dress in men's clothes to avoid detection.
The family didn't see Maria again after that day, but Corder frequently visited their cottage.
Maria was in Ipswich, he told them, or Great Yarmouth. He passed along messages from her. He told them she was in good health but had a lame hand and so could not write to them herself.
When they tried to write to her directly, these letters always seemed to fall into William's hands
and he would write back to allay their fears. But he said that she was healthy and happy and
that he would marry her at Micklemas after he'd supervised the family's harvest.
Soon after the harvest came in, William received an inheritance that made him a rich man.
He let it be known that he was very ill and must withdraw from Polstead to a health resort. During the months before his departure, he held the key of the Red Barn
in his own keeping, a new practice that raised some suspicion. But shortly afterward, the Martins
received a letter from him saying that he and Maria were now married and living on the Isle of
Wight. He wrote on October 18th, Thomas Martin, I am just arrived at London upon business respecting
our family affairs,
and am writing to you before I take any refreshment, because I should be in time for this night's post,
as my stay in town will be very short, anxious to return to her who is now my wife,
and with whom I shall be one of the happiest of men.
I should have had her with me, but it was her wish to stay at our lodging in Newport, in the Isle of Wight,
which she described to you in her letter, and we feel astonished you have not answered it, thinking illness must be the cause. He later claimed that
the post office told him that Maria's letter had been lost. This and similar letters lulled the
Martins' suspicion for some months. Perhaps Maria really had begun a new married life on the Isle
of Wight. But that fall, after Maria remained silent, her father wrote to upbraid her. In her
absence, the family had been looking after her surviving child,
and they hadn't the money to continue this indefinitely.
If she continued to neglect him, he said, they would have to apply to the parish.
At this mention of the authorities, Cordo sent them a sovereign,
and after that they heard no more from him or from Maria.
Now comes the oddest part of what is already a very odd case.
One day, when Maria had been gone about ten months, her stepmother said to her husband,
I think were I in your place, I would go and examine the red barn.
He asked why, and she said, I have very frequently dreamed about Maria,
and twice before Christmas I dreamed that Maria was murdered and buried in the red barn.
He asked why she hadn't told him this before, and she said she hadn't wanted him
to think she was superstitious. Thomas Martin put no stock in dreams, but she continued to press him,
and on April 19, 1828, he got the permission of William's mother and went in with another man to
search the barn. They raked and poked at the straw for some time before they noticed that one part of
the floor didn't appear as solid as the rest. The earth there was loose and could be removed fairly easily. They dug down about a foot and a half and discovered a human body
wrapped in a sack. Through the sack protruded a green silk handkerchief. There is no record of
Thomas's feelings at that moment. He went back to the house and asked what kind of handkerchief
Maria had worn around her neck on the day she'd left home. His wife said a green one. The handkerchief had belonged to William Corder.
An inquest was convened to look into the cause of Maria's death.
Maria's family explained that they hadn't seen her since May 18th,
when she'd left home with William Corder, ostensibly to be married in Ipswich,
and that he'd been evasive since then as to her fate.
In view of this, the coroner suggested adjourning the inquest until Corder could be found.
A local constable went to the city where he teamed up with the intrepid police officer James Lee,
the same man who later led the investigation into Spring-Heeled Jack, which we covered in episode 34.
Together, they tracked Corder to Ealing, West London, not the Isle of Wight, as he told Maria's family.
There, they discovered that he'd married another woman and opened a school for the reception of young ladies.
There, they discovered that he'd married another woman and opened a school for the reception of young ladies.
Corder's new wife knew nothing about any of this, though she would later say that she had found her husband restless at times and that sometimes in his sleep he would moan and cry out incomprehensibly, which alarmed the boarders in their house.
They returned to Polstead, and the inquest was reconvened.
Evidence placed Corder in the barn at the time of Maria's disappearance,
so the jury passed a verdict of willful murder against him,
and he was sent down for trial at Barry St. Edmunds.
By now, the whole affair had become a giant sensation,
the focus of broadsides, traveling showmen, itinerant actors,
puppet shows, peep shows, and print illustrations.
Quarter had already been judged guilty before the trial began,
and clergymen were pressing him to repent and confess,
even as
his now-pregnant wife dropped everything in London to attend him in jail. The trial opened amid a
torrential downpour in the Shire Hall in Bereset Edmonds on August 7th. The crush of people was
so strong that some magistrates lost their wigs and even their gowns trying to get in. Women had
been forbidden to attend, but some climbed a ladder to listen at an air vent,
and others climbed onto ledges to peer into the courtroom. Corder pleaded not guilty, but the
prosecution piled up its evidence. Constable John Ballum testified that he had never had a warrant
to apprehend Maria for having illegitimate children, as Corder had told Maria. Members of
Maria's family testified that she'd left the house with Corder on May 18th and hadn't been seen since.
Maria's 10-year-old brother, George, said he'd seen Corder leaving the Red Barn with a pickaxe on the afternoon of Maria's disappearance,
and other witnesses said that Corder had specifically ordered laborers to lay corn in the barn's upper bay, where Maria's body was later found.
James Lee said he'd apprehended Corder with a small velvet bag containing a brace of pistols.
Ann Martin, Maria's stepmother, said that she'd seen him with one of these pistols on the day that Maria had left home.
And other Polstead residents testified that Corder had given them strange, and in hindsight creepy, answers to questions about Maria's whereabouts.
A neighbor named Phoebe Stowe said that Corder had once told her,
I can go to her any day in the year, just when I like.
Stowe had said, perhaps you are rather jealous,
and when you are not with her, you think somebody else is.
Corder had said, oh no, when I am not with her, I am sure nobody is.
Corder claimed, with some justice, that the media had presumed his guilt
and had so biased the public against him that it had prejudiced the trial.
His defense was simply that he hadn't done it.
He said that he and Maria had argued in the barn
that she'd accused him of being too proud to marry her,
and that he'd left, heard a shot, and returned to find that she'd killed herself with one of his pistols.
Knowing that suspicion would settle on him, he'd panicked and buried her body.
This didn't convince the jury, which took only 35 minutes to find him guilty.
On the night before his execution, he confessed to shooting Maria,
but still claimed it had been an accident that had occurred during a scuffle. He was hanged in
the rain before 10,000 spectators on August 11th, and the rope is said to have been sold for a
guinea per inch. We still don't know exactly what happened in the Red Barn that morning.
William had been under pressure to marry Maria, but the fathers of her two earlier children had
more or less abandoned her, and William might have done the same.
But there seems to have been some secret concerning the death of William and Maria's baby.
They disappeared for two days with its body and later told people the baby had been buried at Sudbury, which turned out to be untrue.
James Curtis, an extraordinarily thorough reporter who addressed himself to this case, thinks that perhaps the baby had not died of natural causes, as they'd said, but that Corder may have killed it deliberately. Even that doesn't explain all this lame subterfuge, not fleeing and everything.
A number of sources I've read wondered how on earth he hoped to get away with this.
A number of sources I've read wondered how on earth he hoped to get away with this.
Basically, he just buried the body in a shallow grave in the most damning and likely spot,
and then just went to London and advertised for a new wife.
And that was the whole plan.
The entire plan.
I mean, when they caught him, he was boiling eggs.
His wife and his mother-in-law were there.
And he couldn't say anything.
He didn't even have a story or an alibi. He didn't say he'd done it. He claimed he didn't know who she was, but that was ridiculous.
It's just impossible to understand what his thinking was. Yeah, I don't know.
This gruesome case stays gruesome even after its conclusion. After the execution, 5,000 people filed past Corder's body, which was dissected the next day before an audience of medical students at Cambridge.
Corder's head was displayed at a two-week London fair soon after the execution, and his skin was even used to bind a book about the trial.
It bears the inscription,
The binding of this book is the skin of the murderer William Corder, taken from his body and tanned by myself in the year 1828.
George Creed, surgeon to the Suffolk Hospital.
In fact, the ghoulish sensation continued for decades.
Merchants sold knickknacks, pictures, and song sheets.
At least four ballads were published about William Corder,
and a play about the whole story was performed to crowded houses for 75 years.
Corder's skeleton spent many years in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons,
but was finally removed in 2004 when a descendant of Corder claimed and cremated his remains,
176 years after his execution.
She told the Times of London,
I became very indignant and angry about the way Corder's death was handled and how he was treated.
I felt it was only right to give him a Christian send-off that he was denied at the time.
In Polstead, Maria Martin's gravestone has been
devoured by souvenir hunters, so today a wooden sign tells visitors only that her body is buried
somewhere nearby. Both Maria's cottage and William's house are marked with signposts,
but the red barn was pulled down long ago. When I took up this story, I assumed that its most
sensational feature would be Anne Martin's dreams. Her stepdaughter hadn't been seen for 10 months when Ann claimed to have dreamed of her murder in the barn, and her husband found
that to be true. But none of the contemporaneous accounts make much of this, and some don't mention
it at all. We covered a similar story in the case of the so-called Greenbrier ghost in episode 219.
When a girl was discovered dead in Greenbrier County, West Virginia in 1897, she was presumed
to have died of natural causes,
until her mother claimed that the dead girl had visited her and revealed that her husband had killed her.
An autopsy supported this claim, and the husband was found guilty of murder.
That makes a good story, but as we explained in that episode,
it's not clear that anyone involved really believed the ghost story.
The girl's mother suspected foul play, and the authorities already had their own suspicions and so agreed to exhume the body and examine it. The truth here may be
similarly mundane. After Maria Martin had been gone for 10 months, her parents were naturally
concerned and thinking about their child, and suspicion was beginning to settle on Corder.
If he had killed her, the Red Barn would have been the natural place to hide the body, and hints had
already been dropped that that's where it was. so it wouldn't be surprising if Anne Martin found herself dreaming about this.
But if we're willing to speculate, there's a further possibility. Anne Martin was only a year
older than Maria, and there were some rumors that she herself had been having an affair with William
Corder. We have no evidence of that, but her dreams began only a few days after Corder took
a new wife in London, so it would be consistent with the facts that Ann Martin knew that Maria's body was in the red barn,
but kept quiet about it until she learned that William had married another woman.
In her anger, she wanted to expose the murder, but didn't want to reveal her own knowledge of it,
so she invented the dream and urged her husband to search the barn.
Again, there's no evidence to confirm that theory,
but if that's what happened, then she got away with it.
The main story in episode 124 was about D.B. Cooper, who hijacked an airliner in 1971, demanded $200,000 and four
parachutes, and bailed out of the plane over Washington state to never be seen again.
Scarlett Casey, one of our younger correspondents, wrote,
Hello, Futility Closeteers. Have you heard about Glenn K. Tripp? He tried to do what D.B. Cooper
did, but in 1980, he hijacked a Boeing 727 aircraft with a ransom of $600,000.
But the flight attendant was ready for this and spiked his drink with Valium. Yay!
After a 10-hour standoff, he lowered his ransom to three cheeseburgers plus a head start on his getaway.
Some sources say he asked for $100,000 and others say $600,000, but I'm going with going with 600k because that's what the majority of the
sources say. Some also say he asked for two parachutes as well, like Cooper. Here are some
sources if you want to read a little deeper. Keep up the super awesome work. I recommend your
podcast to anyone that breathes, and I'm sorry for your loss. Sasha was really special. I hope
you can find a new pod animal soon to make your life more full of love. So thank you,
Scarlet. We are still trying to figure out what we want to do on the pod animal front, and we really
appreciate your thoughtful words. And Scarlet sent some very helpful links to get me started on some
research into this story, which I hadn't heard of before. One thing that I saw when I started looking
into this was that at the time of the Cooper hijacking,
hijackings were surprisingly common compared to today,
with more than 130 aircraft hijacked in the U.S. between 1968 and 1972.
At the time, there just weren't the security measures at airports that we have today,
so you could pretty much just walk onto a plane with, say, a gun in your pocket or carrying a bomb in a briefcase.
In 1972, the year following the highly publicized Cooper hijacking, there were 31 hijackings in the
U.S., with 19 of them involving extortion of money, similar to Cooper, and in 15 of those cases,
the hijackers demanded parachutes so that they, too, could jump from the plane. None of those
attempts were actually successful for the hijackers. Airlines had resisted instituting security measures that might deter customers
by inconveniencing them or making them feel like criminal suspects. But in January 1973,
the U.S. Federal Aviation Administration began requiring screenings of all airline passengers
and their carry-on luggage, and the number of attempted hijackings in the U.S.
fell to two that year and remained rather low for some years afterward. So there weren't any notable
Cooper copycat attempts again until July 11, 1980, when Glenn Kurt Tritt made an attempt that
pretty clearly mirrored Cooper's. The 17-year-old attempted to hijack a Northwest 727, the same
airline and aircraft that Cooper had, flying from Seattle to Portland.
Cooper's flight had been flying from Portland to Seattle.
Tripp wore the same mirrored sunglasses that Cooper was shown in in his identity sketch,
and like Cooper, he carried a briefcase in which he claimed there was a bomb.
As Scarlett noted, Tripp is reported to have asked for either $100,000 or $600,000 and two parachutes.
While the sources Scarlett checked mostly said $600,000, some others that I found seemed to go with the $100,000.
Tripp had made his demands while the plane was still taxiing to the runway, so the 727 never actually left the ground.
One of the flight attendants spoke to Tripp for some time during the incident, listening to him talk about how bad his life had been and how nothing had ever gone right for him,
during which time she brought him a drink into which she'd added three Valiums, a sedative drug.
During the 10-hour standoff with FBI negotiators, Tripp ended up releasing all 52 passengers from
the plane and lowered his demands to three cheeseburgers and a rental car
so that the plane's two pilots could drive him out of the airport. When he was told that it would
take some time to get the cheeseburgers, Tripp then agreed to leave the plane when the car arrived
if they would give him a head start. When Tripp did disembark the aircraft, he was apprehended
by three FBI agents who also determined that the briefcase did not actually contain a bomb.
Tripp was convicted
of first-degree kidnapping and extortion and was sentenced to 20 years probation. During his trial,
he was described as developmentally disabled and he was placed in a home for the developmentally
disabled in Washington state, where he lived for a time. Then on January 20th, 1983, Tripp tried again to hijack a Northwest 727 airliner in Seattle, heading to Portland.
This time, he waited for the flight to take off and then showed a cabin crew member a shoebox that he said contained a bomb.
Tripp demanded that the aircraft fly to Afghanistan, where he said the U.S. had been failing to support his people against the Soviet Union,
U.S. had been failing to support his people against the Soviet Union, and he claimed that he'd been in prison for the last 10 years and had been unable to see his wife and child in
Afghanistan during this time. Tripp was actually only 20 years old at the time and had grown up in
California. He agreed that the plane could land in Portland for refueling, where after two hours
of negotiations, he agreed to release half of the plane's passengers and reduced his demand from going to Afghanistan to San Diego, California. As the passengers were leaving the aircraft,
two FBI agents were hoisted onto the shoulders of their colleagues and climbed through the cockpit
windows. One of the agents shouted at Tripp to freeze, and when Tripp made a motion as if to
throw the shoebox, the agent shot and killed him. It was only afterward that Tripp was identified
as the same developmentally disabled hijacker
from 1980
and that the box was found
to contain only crumpled paper.
That's a dramatic story.
I'm surprised I haven't heard of this before.
Yeah, I hadn't either.
If Scarlett hadn't sent it in,
maybe we wouldn't have ever heard of it.
Yeah.
And I have follow-ups
to two of the puzzles from episode 278, the first of which
will include a spoiler. Florian Leibold wrote, you recently talked about a puzzle where two people
had identical keys for different cars. I experienced quite a similar situation as a child.
My father used to work for a German car maker, and in addition to my mother's privately owned car,
he would get a different new company car each year. One day, both of my parents' key rings sat on the table next to each
other, and I recognized them as identical. No one would believe me at first, but it turned out both
keys were in fact interchangeable and fit both cars. So for about a year, they could ride each
other's cars without having to exchange keys. Of course, this was before electronic immobilizers became
common in Germany in the mid-90s. That seems like, I don't know, a real gamble. I can understand why
the manufacturers would do it that way. It sort of simplifies things, but... Yeah, I was thinking
about that. I mean, back when you had to have a physical key, I mean, it would be maybe extremely
costly to have an infinite number of physical keys, right? I don't know.
You'd have to decide how many unique keys to make.
Yeah.
And you risk exactly this happening.
Yeah. Well, or what happened in the puzzle where somebody actually got into the wrong person's car.
Yeah.
Another of the puzzles in episode 278 was about how an art dealer offered a genuine
Gauguin painting for sale but was arrested for forgery.
Stephen Jones wrote,
About the forged painting puzzle,
my first thought is that the painting was of Gauguin rather than by him.
It would be a genuine Gauguin in the sense that it really depicted him
even if the painting itself was forged.
So that answer I thought would make a good puzzle in itself.
And Kevin Murphy wrote,
As a fan of lateral thinking puzzles and a generally obsessive person,
I started a spreadsheet of utility closet puzzles a while back.
This was mainly because I was curious what percentage of lateral thinking puzzles are actually fatal.
Today I finished computing the spreadsheet.
The findings?
From 2014 to 2019, there were 354 puzzles. Of these, 72, 20.3% were fatal,
and that's using a somewhat broad definition of fatal. Basically, I counted any puzzle in which
a death or a corpse was involved. Even so, it's a smaller percentage than I was expecting.
And we have remarked several times on the mortality rates of the puzzles, so I was also
surprised that it was actually as low as it was. And then it seemed to me that maybe the impression of the higher death rates had come from
the earlier puzzles and that the more recent ones had been somewhat less fatal. So we asked Kevin
about this, and he replied, there were more fatal puzzles in the early years. From 2014 to 2016,
fatal puzzles accounted for 25.7%. From 2017 to 2019,
fatal puzzles accounted for only 15.5%. And Kevin very helpfully sent us his spreadsheet,
so I checked it and found that the earliest puzzles
had an even higher death rate,
as 30.8% of the puzzles from 2014 were fatal.
So I guess it's nice to know we've been killing off
increasingly fewer people in our puzzles.
I was going to say, maybe we have the impression that a lot of them are fatal because we mention
it from time to time.
Yeah, well, and I think it just, we set off with, you know, almost one in every three
puzzles was fatal the first year.
So I guess, you know, and then you start looking for the fatal puzzles or noticing them.
Yeah.
Kevin also mentioned that 62.4% of the puzzles came from our listeners, and that by his count,
more than 150 different listeners have had their puzzles read on the show.
So thanks to all our listeners who've contributed puzzles.
It really helps increase the variety, and I don't think we would have been able to come
up with this number of puzzles on our own over the years.
And we mention this from time to time, but if you've sent in a puzzle and haven't heard
it on the show, please do feel free to try sending others.
There are lots of reasons why puzzles don't make it onto the show,
including that they get solved too quickly or they take too long,
or the person being asked the puzzle already knew the answer.
And sometimes we just mess up, like the person posing the puzzle might give a wrong answer
that ends up confusing the solver, or the solver just can't get anywhere at all.
So, so many things can go wrong, and it
doesn't mean that we didn't like your puzzle. Yeah. We only get one shot. I don't know if
people think of us. We only get one chance at them, and you can't do it again. You can't do
it again. Yeah. Thanks so much to everyone who writes to us. We really appreciate hearing your
comments and updates. So, if you have any that you'd like to send to us, please send them to
podcast at futilitycloset.com.
It's Greg's turn to try to solve a lateral thinking puzzle.
I'm going to give him a strange-sounding situation, and he has to work out what's
going on, asking yes or no questions.
This puzzle comes from Ronald Ganey.
There were an estimated 100 to 150 people born in the 1940s in New Mexico
whose place of birth was listed on their birth certificates as P.O. Box 1663 Santa Fe.
To be clear, this is not just the field for the parents' mailing address on the birth certificates,
but their actual place of birth.
Why?
They were born in a P.O. Box.
Yes. Is that what you're saying? According to their birth certificates, they were. Okay. In the They were born in a P.O. box. Yes.
Is that what you're saying?
According to their birth certificates, they were.
Okay.
In the 1940s, you said 100 to 150.
Yes.
Is this related to World War II?
Yes.
Okay.
How would you even, like to returning soldiers somehow?
No.
I don't even know what I'm asking.
Babies born in a P.O. box.
Yes.
Meaning physically that their mothers gave birth and
something that was designated a p.o that can't be what you mean um i don't think i mean what you're
asking all right okay so let's say all right we said it's related to World War II. And I asked you if it was related to returning soldiers and you said no.
Right?
Right.
Which means, okay, were they born to parents where the father was a soldier, was fighting in the war?
That is not correct.
So both, did this happen during wartime?
You said it was in the 40s.
Yes, yes.
Okay, so were both parents in New Mexico at the time of the, for each of these cases?
Yes.
But it's related to the war somehow?
Yes.
Was this in somehow, some way, this plan, was it intended to help the war effort in some weird way?
Or in some sensible way?
way? Or in some sensible way? Let's say in some very indirect way, but I'm afraid of misleading you. But you could make a case for arguing that. All right. You said that this wasn't...
Can you read the latter part again? You said that they were actually, in some real sense,
born to a PO.O. box.
He wrote, to be clear, this is not just the field for the parents' mailing address on the birth certificates, but their actual place of birth.
Meaning the line for the place of birth, not just the line for somebody's mailing address.
Okay.
Like there's a line on the birth certificate for where you were born.
And that lists the P.O. box?
Yes. Was the hospital assigned the P.O. box? Yes.
Was the hospital assigned a P.O. box?
Was that designated the hospital?
No.
Were the babies born in a hospital?
Probably.
Okay.
But there's more to it than that.
Yes.
Was it some part of the hospital?
No.
No.
Okay.
So they were born conventionally as they would have been otherwise yes in a hospital i'm presuming so yes but for some reason
on the birth certificate yes the place of birth was listed as as this specific po box and they
all had the same po box do i need to know more about the kids' identities?
No, I don't think so.
I mean, there's too many of them to be related in any way.
Right.
It was just sort of a random group of kids that were born in a certain period.
Is that right?
I wouldn't say that.
So they had something in common.
I would say that, yes.
Besides being born in New Mexico in the 40s during World War II.
Something a little more specific than that.
being born in New Mexico in the 40s during World War II?
Something a little more specific than that.
Were they related biologically?
No.
Were they born in the same time, a certain time period,
besides the 40s, more restricted than that?
I would say probably it was more specifically during World War II.
But I don't know more specifically than that.
It might have been just that? I mean, that's not enough kids in the whole state to no no no no it's not all the kids born during world
war ii sorry it's some of them yes so they must have had something else i was thinking did it
cover the whole 40s and i don't think it covered the whole 1940s was it was it all the babies born
in new mexico in this particular hospital during the war?
Probably, yes, if I understand the question correctly.
Yeah, I think so.
I'm just trying to get my arms around what they have in common. I don't know that it was one hospital.
Would you say that the kids benefited in some way from having this happen?
Or the parents did?
No.
Did this lead to something else happening down the road, like when they grew up? No. Did this lead to something else happening down the road, like when they grew up?
No.
It gave them some privilege that they wouldn't have had?
No.
This isn't something that I think the parents or the families would have chosen deliberately.
Did the parents know it was happening when it happened?
Very possibly.
Before they got the birth certificate?
I think it wouldn't have surprised them.
But they didn't arrange for it?
Correct.
Themselves.
Or ask for it or want it specifically.
Did the government arrange for this?
Yes.
Not the hospital?
Probably not, yes.
The state government?
Probably not.
Some more local?
No.
The federal government?
Probably, yes.
But only in New Mexico?
More specifically.
Not just, I mean, more specifically than New Mexico.
But it's the federal government.
Yes.
The federal government designated that this would happen in some area within New Mexico.
Yes.
Did this have to do with like a reservation, something like that?
No.
But something along those lines.
Some sort of designated place.
Something more connected to World War II.
An army base, something like that?
Some military base?
Sort of, not exactly, but more along those lines.
Or a ship, something like that?
I think I've asked this.
I know they were in the country.
Were the parents in the military?
Probably not.
I mean, they might have been.
Some of them might have been, but some of them were not.
So that wasn't it.
Why would the government...
So if the government hadn't taken that action,
they'd just be given the place of birth of, I guess, the hospital.
Yes.
Yes, but the government didn't want that known.
The government didn't want the place of birth of these babies known.
Listed on their birth certificates, yes.
Because they were born... Because the location of the hospital was classified in some way?
Yes.
They didn't want it to be recorded that babies were being born there?
Yes, yes.
Because they were what, illegitimate births, something like that?
No, no, this is more directly tied to World War II.
Is it that they didn't want people to know that there was a hospital there at all?
Yes.
Because it was a military hospital?
Did I just ask you that?
Yeah, it was not quite a military hospital.
Some classified spy-related CIA or something facility.
Yeah, yeah.
I'll just tell you.
Ronald said the Manhattan Project, which involved a
number of sites around the country, had its most famous location at Los Alamos, where the bombs
were actually assembled and tested. While the facility ultimately housed thousands of people
and constituted an actual city out in the remote New Mexican desert and had its own medical
personnel, hospital, etc., its very existence was top secret during the war and it did not appear on any maps or official public records.
Any correspondence to people working there
was directed to one of two mailboxes in Santa Fe,
one for the military and one for civilians.
The thousands of people consisted of men and women.
As will happen, people met, some became couples, and babies were born.
The babies were assigned the P.O. box for their place of birth
since their actual place of birth did not officially exist. I should have, I kept thinking,
why New Mexico? I should have put that together. And from what I read on this, a historian for the
Los Alamos National Laboratory said that it actually was a real problem that they went from
a place in the middle of nowhere where pretty much no children were ever born to having eight or so births a month, which would
look really suspicious.
So they just couldn't use Los Alamos on the birth certificates.
That's an interesting solution.
So thanks so much to Ronald for that puzzle.
And if anyone else has one for us to try, please send it to us at podcast at futilitycloset.com.
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