My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 125

Episode Date: June 3, 2019

This week’s hometowns include a sleepwalking near-miss and a paramedic story.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

We at Wondery live, breathe and downright obsess over true crime and now we're launching the ultimate true crime fan experience, Exhibit C. Join now by following Wondery, Exhibit C on Facebook and listen to true crime on Wondery and Amazon Music. Exhibit C. It's truly criminal. Hello. Welcome. This is my favorite murder. The Minye Sodes. Where we read Minye Sodes. Oh, your emails. Our mouths. What a combination. Ready for the first one? Do it. My grandparents survived the Hyatt Regency Collapse. Oh, shit. It was in the middle of my pile. And when I got to that subdued line, I was like, what? This is it. You buried the lead. Okay. Ladies, I was so surprised to hear Karen share the story of the Hyatt Regency Collapse. It was a tragic event

that even here in Kansas City seems almost forgotten. My grandparents were at the Hyatt that night and survived the disaster. My grandmother passed away when I was a baby, but my grandfather used to tell the story quite often. I remember when I was a little girl and would go downtown on school trips or with friends, I would proudly point out the Hyatt to my friends and tell the story of how the hotel collapsed on my grandparents. The way my grandpa told it was this. He and my grandmother went to the dance with two other couples. So there was a tea dance that they were having there when that happened that day. So they were there. They were standing near the bar waiting to order drinks when a special song came on. One of the other women

said it was her and her husband's song. So she dragged her husband to the dance floor with her. My grandfather told the second couple to go on ahead that he and my grandmother would get the drinks for everyone. So the second couple left for the dance floor. My grandfather was at the bar ordering drinks when they heard the crash. And afterwards they couldn't see anything but dust. Someone grabbed them and helped them out of the building and they survived with minor injuries. It wasn't until the next day that they learned the four friends who had been with them had all perished and they collapsed. My grandfather is certain that they would have been killed if they hadn't stayed behind to get drinks. In retrospect, he likely had a great deal of survivor's guilt,

but as a hardened WW2 veteran, he was conditioned to downplay tragedy. Hey, who isn't? He said he still knows exactly what song was playing when the ceiling collapsed, but for the life of me, I can't remember what song he told me it was. My grandfather passed away a few years ago at the age of 94 and I regret not keeping better track of his stories. Lady in red is dance. That's it, right? I just thought of any song from the 80s. Lady in red, that's perfect. There it is. And also just the perfect song to haunt you terribly. Despite hearing this story from my grandpa many times over the years, it wasn't until I heard Karen's telling of the story that I gave any thought to the first responders that night. As a first responder myself, it's humbling to think

that I might not be here if not for the first responders who saved my grandparents. Maybe I'll catch you sometime. You're in KC, SSDGM Sabrina. Wow. Yeah. That's a good one. I love those ones. I mean, we hate it. It sucks. We love it. Okay. We love the background information. We love the personal firsthand telling of, oh my God, it was there when that thing came down. That's right, because these are real people that the shit happens too. And we know it. This is called Insane Sleepwalking Scare. Hi, Karen, Georgia Stephen and furry friends. I started going back and listening to some older episodes like any true murdering I would do and I came across the story of the sleepwalking murderer, Ken Parks. My crazy sleepwalking story also happens to take place in

Canada only seven years later in 1994. My family and I vacationed to Niagara Falls almost every year during my childhood. I remember so vividly that we stayed in a Ramada. I was six and my brother was eight. We went to sleep and woke up like any other normal night of our trip. Our phone rang around seven a.m. that morning and it was the front desk asking my mom if her son was safely returned to his room that night. My mom told the woman on the phone that she had the wrong room, given that my brother and I were still asleep in the bed next to her. The woman stated, ma'am, our security officer brought your son back to his room at 3 a.m. He was found trying to cross the main intersection in front of the hotel. My mom had this puzzled look on her face and asked my

dad if anyone had come or gone through the door during the night. As a former police sergeant, my dad always double locked the doors and even kept the desk chair in front of the door of her added safety. My parents were still not convinced that they had the right family, but they decided to wake up my brother and ask him themselves. My brother said that he had a normal night's sleep and doesn't remember anything out of the ordinary. So we start to get ready for the continental breakfast, the only thing I came for. And my brother sits on the end of his bed to put on his socks. My mom lets out this horrible scream and yells, why are the bottom of your feet black? My brother looked terrified as he looked at them himself. Turns out the Ramada parking lot

is asphalt and the front desk woman was true. I'm just reading it as she wrote it. My dad at the security guard come to our room and explain the whole story and identify my brother as the child he returned to our room. Turns out my brother was able to tell the officer our room number and everything during the night. Why in God's name did the officer not wake up my parents? Sorry, how old was the kid? Eight. Oh my God. He just slips him in the door and walks away. Night, night. He didn't want to get involved. Yep. You little so and so, don't go by the car. It's a story we joke about in our adult years, but having young children myself, I am still a tad freaked. After the incident, my parents brought a door alarm to every hotel we

stayed in to ensure that they would wake up if my brother decided to take another solo adventure. I think of the story every time I hear Billy Joel's The River of Dreams. Which one's that? Lady in red. That one is sense. No, it goes like this. In the middle of the night, I go walking in the middle of the night. Okay, got it. That makes sense. Yeah. Stay sexy and always check the bottom of your kid's feet in the morning. Callie. As a rule from now on. Thanks Callie. What an insane near miss. Dude. And then also how horrifying. It's three in the morning out in front of this aromata and it's pitch black and you're just trying to drive back from the fucking cool party you were at and there's a sleeping eight-year-old walking in front of your car. Oh my God. Like

dazed look, pajama jams. You just keep going because it's the 80s. Pajama jams. You've gone it. You're like, I'm not. I'm not getting involved. I can't get involved with that child. Not now. The subject line of this one is, when murder gets you an A, Karen Georgia and fluff nugget menagerie, including Steven. That is complicated. That is a new low. But well written. Yes. In my town, seniors in high school can take an emergency prepared. That's it. That's the beginning. Yeah. Love it. Emergency preparedness class in their senior year. The elective beats baking cakes in home economics and was less of a physical risk to me than a wood shop where I surely would have lost an extremity or two. The final project in emergency preparedness includes taking a police

ride along and giving a presentation about our experience. Yes. At the time, I lived in a small sleepy town in the Pacific Northwest. Standard ride along presentations told stories of minor drug infractions, traffic stops, and when they were really eventful, a DUI arrest or even busting a house party full of classmates for underage drinking. How embarrassing. During my ride along, we spent most of our time running plates, catching speeding drivers, and we even recovered a stolen bicycle and returned it to its happy owner. We were driving back to the station when we received a call of a neighbor complaint. The neighbor said that the mangy mutt next door wouldn't shut up and was howling. We pulled up to the house and could not see or hear the dog. What we did see

was a front door wide open on the home. The detective instructed me to stay in the vehicle and went inside. It was not two minutes later. The detective came running out of the house, holding a large dog and flung open the hatch of the SUV. When he got closer, all he said was, we have a problem. That's scary. Oh my God. He called for backup, told me not to get out of the car and was off. I heard slight whimpering coming from the back of the SUV and realized the dog he was carrying was not the threat that was reported, but he was sad. I crawled in the back of the SUV, used a blanket, and laid back there with him. I later found out the dog's name was Moose. Moose, the most loyal of dogs, was merely an innocent bystander and his howls were cries

to notify someone, anyone, that his owner was hurt, as if we needed further proof that dogs are better than humans. That was parenthetical. When the detective entered the home, he found a grisly scene of a single gunshot victim and Moose laying next to him. It turns out the dispute was an escalated landlord-tenant issue and the homeowner was murdered by his tenant, a man living in a nearby guest house. He stayed in his home after the crime and was arrested that same day. Oh my God. The crime scene was closed, so I spent nearly six hours in that SUV with Moose. Dispatchers, yeah, right? Dispatchers had the fun job of telling my parents that their 16-year-old daughter would be late coming home from her ride-along because she was stuck in a murder crime scene.

They took the news well because they had no other choice, I suppose. I presented to my class my ride-along experience but didn't get to divulge many details since the case was an active one. Fast forward two years and I was working at our local courthouse. Murder cases are assigned to judges due to their complexity and the first murder case assignment we got was this case. I wasn't able to work on the case since I was a named witness, but my judge did hear it and a jury convicted the defendant and he was sentenced to life in prison. I still work for the courts today and I'm never short on MFM content, whether that's local woman feeding murder victims to her pigs, meth-induced cult murders, or the time I had to hold up four-foot-tall images of severed

penises. Yes, more than one for the jury, but more on that later. I know you're wondering, and yes, I did get an A on that paper. Thanks for your time, anonymous. Oh, I bet. I bet the fact that she had to stay there for six hours was so comforting to Moose. Like, if Moose had to be there by himself that whole time and it's a strange car, like that's having witnessed really bad violence, I wonder what happened to Moose. I was really hoping she kept him because then I would have cried. I'm sure she didn't let anything happen to Moose. No, why would she? Okay, why would she ever? 4. Looking for a better cooking routine? With meal planning, shopping, and prepping handled, Hello Fresh has you covered.

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free meals with purchase plus free shipping on your first box at hellofresh.ca slash murder20 with code murder20. That's up to 20 free meals plus free shipping on your first box when you go to hellofresh.ca slash murder20 and use code murder20. Goodbye. Hey, I'm Aresha. And I'm Brooke. And we're the hosts of Wondery's podcast Even the Rich, where we bring you absolutely true and absolutely shocking stories about the most famous families and biggest celebrities the world has ever seen. Our newest series is all about the incomparable diva, Whitney Houston. Whitney's voice defined a generation and even after her death, her talent remains unmatched. But her incredible success hit a deeply private pain. In our series, Whitney

Houston, Destiny of a Diva, we'll tell you how she hid her true self to make everyone around her happy and how the pressure to be all things to all people led her down a dark path. Follow Even the Rich wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. I'm not going to read you the title of this one. Okay. Guys, it says lots of wise all caps. Yes. Turns out I do have something to contribute to the MFM verse. Here we go. In 2011, a man named Luke Crisco went to the 2011 Honeyman Boulder Yoga Festival, where he climbed into the tank of a porta potty to spy on women. No. Because that's his thing where he was found out, arrested and sent to prison for several years. Good job, Colorado. Cut to about a week before

this happened, my friend and I were at a house party in Denver sometime around beer 30 1130 Denver time when looking for volunteers to hoof it to the LQ for more grips. I don't know what any of that means liquor store or more beer. Probably. I'm square. A woman screamed out there that there's some fucking pervert laying down in the bathtub masturbating. It was you guessed it, Luke fucking Crisco. Oh, no. As you can imagine, the last thing anyone in attendance wanted was cops around. So he was located and kicked out as gently as 10 metal dudes living all in one house are want to do. There was the instant paying of holy shit. I was totally in there. And also, have you seen who lives here? How did you lay down in that bathtub? Still love you dudes,

but your house was a war zone. However, as I was solidly in my early 20s, quote, I can't be this asshole forever phase. I realized the joke was on him because everyone knows you only use the bathroom at a house party to get lit. And then if you have to go to the bathroom, you go to the bar across the street. We have manners. They have toilet paper. It all works out in the end. By the way, you guys inspired me to stick with my therapy journey. And I have finally found someone who can help me unwind my collective bullshit and experience this joy thing people keep talking about. Thank forever. Thankful, Jess. Oh, my God. Everything, every aspect of that story was disgusting. And also just how fucked up are you when you lay down in a bathtub and

jerk off at a house party? She must have had the curtain closed. Right. But just the sound. He wants to get caught. I mean, that's part of it. Also, a yoga festival, if you have a scat fetish, it's not that I feel like a vegan. It's like a lot of vegans. And use your imagination for what that means. It's good or bad. Lentils going in. Lentils coming out. Guys. Guys, you hear it all on the spot, guys. Okay. Okay. The subject of this is paramedic first responder story light hearted. Hey, ladies, Steven J. Katz docs. My boyfriend is a paramedic in Orange County and has been for years. Being a long time listener, I always ask him for crazy stories or if he walked into a crime scene or whatnot. And he never tells me anything good. Recently, he came home and said,

Hey, so I ran this weird call last night. And I immediately got super excited. And I knew I'd be emailing you. Supposedly, some guy broke into a house and pointed a gun at the homeowner, who was thankfully the only one there that night. The homeowner ran into a bedroom and grabbed a gun and aimed it back at the original guy with the gun. But before you think this is getting crazy, the homeowner grabbed a Nerf gun and started firing little foam Nerf bullet things at the guy with the real gun. I guess the guy with the real gun was so confused or distracted that he fired a few shots, missing the man with the Nerf gun, except for one bullet grazing his leg and ran out. So when my boyfriend got there, he walked into a house with Nerf bullets all over

the floor, a man bleeding from his leg and bullet holes in the wall behind him. The homeowner is all good and was more upset at the fact that the kid's Nerf gun had blood on it and he had to clean it. Stay sexy and always carry a Nerf gun with you just in case, Ali. That is so dangerous. That could have gone so poorly. It's so dangerous. And also, if that man on the ground had been killed, it would have looked like a Nerf murder. Like when the first responder walked in and just be like, well, from everything I gather here, this man was actually murdered by a Nerf gun. Oh my God. Well, congratulations, Ali. Good job. Yeah, you've done it. Now you can break up with your boyfriend. Totally kidding. Don't

break up with him. Okay. This is called, I was hit by a cart while inside a steak restaurant, light hearted. Hi, all. This is my hometown story and almost surely my claim to fame. I was hit by a car while inside a steak restaurant. My husband, brother, and his girlfriend and I went to our local steak joint, kind of fancy, several years ago to celebrate something or other. I forgot what. And we were seated at a four top at the far wall underneath a big screen TV. I had first choice of seats and chose the one under the TV against the wall with a broad view of the room. I ordered an old fashioned with a double shot of bourbon, my favorite cocktail, and a ribeye. There we all sat eating steak, me drinking bourbon when my brother's eyes grew wide. Suddenly there was a

loud crash. People jumped up and started yelling at me, gesturing and pointing. I turned around to see a car bumper poking through the wall inches from where I was sitting and looked up to see the big screen TV dangling by wires right over my head. Oh shit. You know, I do this. I sit in the right place so I can see the whole room, but little do you know, the wall behind you is where the fucking car is going to come through. Wait, it was from behind her? So I think it was the back wall of the restaurant. Oh shit. So she had her back to that wall. The big screen TV is above her head. It's almost crashes through the wall. Oh my god. Isn't that insane? If the car had been an inch or two farther into the restaurant, that car would have

mowed me down and that goddamn TV would have finished me off. Yeah. I learned that I'm the kind of person who doesn't immediately run away from danger. No. In the middle of all this craziness, I calmly picked up my steak and cocktail and moved to a farther table, sat down and continued eating. Sorry, can I just add something? Yeah. That might be because you were drunk. It says, in hindsight, the bourbon may have had something to do with this. All right. Good. I didn't want to accuse anybody of anything. No, you're not wrong. But that's kind of the joy of alcohol. Is it like, there's a little bit of a nice hazy kind of distance. Yes. That's right. An ambulance came rolling in sirens on. The cop made me go to the ambulance where I had to sit to have my blood

pressure taken, et cetera, et cetera. While diner stood around, craning their necks to see the woman who got hit by a car while in a steak restaurant. All I can think about was my steak getting cold. My Asshab brother stood outside the ambulance laughing and pointing at me. After having two paramedics examine the scratch on my arm, worriedly, they let me go. My brother, his girlfriend and my husband had got to go finish their dinners while mine was taken away because all caps. There was too much plaster in it. Yes, because all caps. I got hit by a car. After I got hit by a car, my reaction was to continue eating a steak salted with plaster. You know, priorities. But kindly Mr. Steak, the owner, comped our meal and made me a new steak complete with a twice

baked potato and the ubiquitous steakhouse iceberg salad. Hell yeah. That's right. An article about the car accident was in the local paper. Yes, I was named as the woman who got hit by a car while inside a goddamn steak restaurant. For weeks after I received advertisements for personal injury lawyers, all I wanted was a steak. Today at the fancy steakhouse, there's a drive-up window where the hole in the wall used to be. What? I'd like to think I had a hand in that window somehow. I haven't been to a steak restaurant since and I'm vegetarian now. Stay sexy and don't sit under a big screen TV against the back wall of a steak restaurant. Hugs, Sharon, and then it says, P.S. my latest book, Girls on the Verge was on Cosmo's best books list along

with yours. So that makes us book sisters, right? Sharon. Oh my God. Congratulations. Sharon Biggs Waller. And then she writes XO. What's the name of the book again? The book is Girls on the Verge. It looks really good. Sharon Biggs Waller. Wow. Check it out. That's a great ending. I don't, yeah. That was great. Okay. Are you telling me that somewhere in this country, there is a steak restaurant with a drive-up window that I could go get a twice baked potato? How have we not gone to this now? Can we please go now? Let's have all steakhouses have drive-up windows. What city do you remember? I don't know. Sharon, can you please let us know what city? Yeah. We need to know. I mean, is it like a, she said Mr. Steak. Well, she called him Mr. Steak.

Cause she, you know, it sounded fancy though. It did sound fancy. Oh man. Drive-through. Listen, Ruth's Chris, when you get a fucking drive-through. Let's do that thing. Let us know. Come on. Well, what a great slew of letters we got this week. Thank you everybody for sending them in. Thanks. Send yours in by going to our website. You can submit one there or just send it to my favorite murder. And I'd like to do a call-out for just regular old hometowns. What is this, what is the crime story from your hometown that happened big or small that made you get into true crime the first time? Cause we've gone off on, oh sorry, on all these tangents and we get lots of them and they're great, but we really should be doing, you know, we need the meat and potatoes,

Mr. Steak. Yeah. We need the drive-through so we can drive up and grab our meat and potatoes and then as well have some plaster. That's right. Send us your drive-through version of Steak House. Creepy drive-through stories would be good too. Yeah. Are there? Do people have creepy drive-through stories? I'm sure. Well, you know people who've worked in fast food have the worst stories. I'm sure. I didn't love to hear that side of the window. Oh my God. Send them in. Both directions, but if you've worked at a fast food restaurant, something creepy has happened to you. Please. That's right. Please tell us about it. But also, I'm also asking for regular ones. Stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie?