My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 151

Episode Date: December 2, 2019

This week’s hometowns include an escaped convict and grandparents with knives.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This is exactly right. 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 and welcome to my favorite murder, the mini-soad, where we read you your shit right back to you.

That's Karen Kilgera. That's Georgia Hart Stark. Should we get started? Let's get right into it. Okay. Are you, is it me first? Yes. And the gimme-gimmies.

The subject line, that time I was almost kidnapped. Hello ladies and animals. So this isn't necessarily a hometown, however, it's an experience I had as a kid that I will never forget. We love those. Okay. So let me start by saying I was around eight years old and was a confident and observational little girl.

Now 15 years later, a confident murderina, a legit quick sidebar. I love it when people try to do like the feminization of murderino is murderina as if this is a Latin based word, when this word is from the Simpsons. This is Ned Flanders talk from a Halloween episode calling people saying hi diddly ho murderinos. Right. There's no, you don't need to put an A on the end. Yeah.

And like gender is a construct anyways. Hey man, get with it. It's 2020. Yeah. Anyhow. I'm in San Jose, California in a lovely little neighborhood where everybody knows everybody. As a kid, I would always play outside whether it was with neighbors, friends or by myself. This might sound bizarre, but I used to love playing in my dad's old Jeep Wrangler.

You know, the kind that has the hard shell that you can take the hard shell top off. Yes. No. Maybe. Well, anyway. No, that's on the page. I'm telling her. Yes.

The answer is yes. My dad's Jeep Wrangler without a hard shell has a metal bar roll cage inside. I hope this makes sense because that's the only way I know how to describe it. Lol. Okay. So when I was a kid, I used to use my dad's Jeep as a little playground and do flips on the bar and pretenders to be a gymnast. I got it.

God bless her. We're there with you. Okay. Now getting to the important part of the story. So one summer day I was playing in my dad's Jeep and this black car with a man and woman inside pulls up. I looked at them for a few seconds and decided to keep playing. The woman got out of the passenger side and walks toward me.

She has long, straight, dark black hair and looked a little scary. But at the time, I thought I was super cool, so I tried to act like I was tough. So she said, and I will never forget these words, hi there. You look like such a beautiful, sweet little girl. Can you help us? My sassy ass slash confident eight-year-old self replied, thanks, but why should I help you? Oh my God, the eighties.

And she said, oh, we just need some directions. Can you come over to our car and show us on the map? And in that moment, I knew this bitch was up to something, so I screamed, mom! And the lady took off running to the car and the couple sped away, leaving tire marks in front of our house. My mom came out just in time to see them drive off and take down the license plate. Turns out it was a stolen car and we still don't know anything about the couple. Well, cheers to not being kidnapped.

Also, my apologies for my poor spelling grammatical errors. Stay sexy and don't get murdered. Haley A. Wow, what a memory to have. I know, isn't that crazy? And what a great, bad-ass little eight-year-old who already knew what to do. She's like, I'm a gymnast, don't fuck with me. She's like, I will kick you right in your kidnapping hair.

Your beautiful kidnapping hair. Your gorgeous, long luxurious. Okay, I'm not going to tell you the name of this one. Okay. Sorry. My piece is... I know, it's complicated. Okay.

Hello, all. My older sister went to a community college outside of Iowa City, Iowa, and would travel into Iowa City with some of her friends to party with people at the University of Iowa, which is located... In Iowa. In Iowa City. Jesus, got that out of the way. One fateful drive to or from Iowa City, I can't remember, she was driving with four

of her friends when all of a sudden they were pulled over. They couldn't figure out why it was taking so long for the officer to come and tell them why they were being pulled over. Then several other police cars were swarming them with their guns drawn, telling them to get out of the car with their hands up and to get on the ground. Keep in mind that these are all young college girls who were rightfully freaked out, crying and confused. They were each handcuffed and put into police cars.

Whoa. As they were sitting in the cars, the officers came over and said there had been a mistake and that they thought that my sister was driving a stolen vehicle. Why did they think that? Okay, all caps. Because our last name is stolen. The cop ran her plate and saw the word stolen popped up so he freaked out and pulled them over without a second thought.

It's something that she will never forget and to make matters even worse, the cops were dicks to them and offered no apology for the incident. That's something, it's something that needs to get worked on on many levels. It's stolen. And on another note, my mother's maiden name is Weiner. My siblings and I hit the last name, Jackpot. Can you imagine the engagement announcement in the newspaper of Stolen Weiner? Stolen Weiner.

Anyways, love y'all and everything you've done. Stay sexy and change your last name, Maddie. That was good. I should have saved that for last. Amazing. Okay. This, the subject line is just escaped convict. Okay.

Hey you guys. It's perfection. Yeah. My hometown is Alden, New York, so Buffalo, which is basically a cult. In the summer of 2006, Ralph Bucky Phillips escaped from the county jail. He cut through the metal roof of the kitchen with a can opener, took a guard's uniform and escaped. My uncle is a New York state trooper who assured us that we shouldn't be concerned because

he was only in jail for a parole violation and was considered non-dangerous. Supposedly, he was set to be released two weeks after his escape. Dude, that doesn't make sense. Just stick around for two more weeks. Bucky, don't be crazy. Because of this, the community found his escape and manhunt to be a big joke. I saw Run Bucky Run spray painted on nearby bridges. There were t-shirts and posters of Run Bucky Run.

Don't shoot, not Bucky. And some restaurants in the area even started naming food after him. Man, we gotta move to a small town. That's where the shit really kicks off. It's the good stuff. Let's do it. Or we just have to start really communicating more intensely with people in this large town. Be like, guys, okay, so here's the convict's name from this morning.

Spray painted on a shirt. By the way, if you haven't, sorry for the sidebar, but if you haven't seen, there is a video that these guys made and it's how people should react when an Amber Alert comes up and it is one of the funniest things I've ever seen. No, I haven't seen it. It feels like it's a 12-camera shoot. It's an action film, but it's basically, they made it on their iPhones and it's like a TikTok video.

If we look it up, how someone should react to an Amber Alert, what it feels like you're supposed to do during an Amber Alert. It's amazing. We'll look it up. We're all looking it up together. Everybody look it up together and then just let us know if you liked it or didn't like it in the comments below. Okay.

We're getting paid for it. So, a couple months into the manhunt, Bucky shot a state trooper named Sean Brown. This is when the manhunt went from funny to scary, as many of them do. Throughout the manhunt, Bucky shot two more state troopers, Donald Baker and Joseph Longobardo. Longobardo did not survive his injuries. After a long summer of constant helicopters flying overhead, police roadblocks, tons of extra state troopers in the area and random sightings called in everywhere from the North towns to the South towns, Bucky, surrounded by police, turned himself in without firing

any more bullets and he pleaded guilty as hell. No shit. But I think he literally said guilty as hell in court. Oh, fuck. It's what it sounds like. Everyone has a story or connection from that summer of being near a sighting or having their cabins or the woods behind their house searched. Stay sexy and remember, an escaped convict is no joke and they didn't sign a name.

Okay, I don't want to live in a small town anymore. Right? That just ended it for you. Yeah. Shit, man. Right? That's scary. This one's called grandparents, knives, hips, UK story.

Perfect. Hi, MFM gang. This isn't totally my story, but my husband is happy for me to share it. So my husband's grandparents were proper soulmates. They did everything together ever since the day they met and were still so in love after so many years. This explains somewhat why we were a little surprised to receive a phone call saying, Grandma has stabbed your grandpa.

You need to come home now. No explanation. That's all the information my mother-in-law gave. Myself and my husband rushed across the country, UK, so it's not that big of a deal, in our little car, only to arrive to find that actually both grandparents were in the hospital. It turns out that they were cooking together in the evening and my husband's grandma felt herself slip. Coming to save herself from falling, she grabbed her and then it says, 92-year-old husband

trying to get him to catch her and instead had accidentally stabbed him with the knife she was holding. Oh, no. She then proceeded to fall and break her hip, knocking her husband over and he also fell and broke his hip. No, but that's almost cute. I know. Thankfully, it was what the hospital referred to as a, quote, very minor stabbing.

And so they had their matching hip replacements and were discharged quickly. We sorted them out with meal delivery after that. Nice. Seriously. Thanks for everything you do. So come to see you in London, Emily. Okay. Can I just say this to Emily's mother-in-law?

Yeah. What you did on that phone was irresponsible. You cannot call people and say that after 100 years of marriage, your grandma stabbed your grandpa. And maybe start with the problem, which is that two people broke their fucking hips. That's what you're going to be dealing with when you arrive. Grandma and grandpa broke their hips. Don't panic.

No one's trying to murder each other. No, no. It didn't suddenly turn bad for them. After 80 years, Christ on the cross, as my mom used to say. Looking for a better cooking routine? With meal planning, shopping and prepping handled, Hello Fresh has you covered. Hello Fresh makes home cooking easy and affordable so you can stay on track and on budget in the new year.

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Okay, you ready for this one? The time I almost probably got murdered when I was 11. Dear friends, mustached and non-mustached. I love it forever. And that means we're all that means all of us. Yeah, that's all of us. I'll get to it. I grew up on a gravel road in the middle of nowhere, Iowa.

Seriously, the nearest town with the grocery store was 13 miles away. Oh my God. Love it. So when I turned 11, apparently I was a hot commodity for all the country folk because that magical age meant I could now babysit their children and they didn't have to, quote, drive into town to pick up their babysitter. 11. Shit.

So one night I was babysitting a baby. Like I was in charge of a six month old and I was 11. What were they thinking? What has anybody ever been fucking thinking? Have you ever thought in your fucking life? Try it. Can you imagine having a baby, you're looking to it, you're like, this is the most precious thing on the planet to me.

You there, what are you in third grade? Hold this for five hours. Make sure it doesn't die. See you later. We're going to go out to the disco. Oh, by the way, there's all these ways you can die. Right. Okay.

Eat whatever you want. Anyway, we're going to Olive Garden. Okay, so, so, so. Okay. I was in charge of six month old and I was 11, just a couple of miles down the same gravel road from my house. I had fed the baby and was sitting in the living room watching TV when I noticed a weird reflection on the screen.

It wasn't me or the baby. So I turned around and looked out the window directly behind my head. I shit you not. There was a man's grinning face fucking looking right back at me. I screamed. He started laughing and then I get up and ran to the back door to lock it because why would an 11 year old need to have the door locked right in the middle of nowhere and at night in the middle of nowhere?

Oh, no. I literally just beat him to the door. He started banging on the door screaming out how he knew I was alone. Miraculously enough, I managed to still have a hold of the baby who was screaming her head off at this point. Of course, I grabbed their cordless phone, didn't have one of those at my house yet and ran into the bathroom and locking the door. Did I call 911, you ask?

Why no, I did not. I called my fucking dad because my 11 year old baby murdering a brain knew that my dad had a gun and he'd get there faster than the sheriff's office. Hell fucking yeah. So clearly they chose the perfect babysitter who can handle almost any situation. I hysterically explained to my dad what was happening and he told me to stay put, call 911 and he was on his way. Meanwhile, crazy eyed shouty McMurder face was still running around the house screaming

and banging on doors and windows. Apparently, sorry, approximately one minute later, I hear my dad's very loud, muffler free Caprice classic, I'm barreling into the driveway. Then I hear yelling. Finally, he knocks on the door and yells it's okay for me to come out. When dude saw my dad and his giant shotgun jump out of the car, he took off into a cord field. Yeah, he did.

How very Iowa of him it says in the email. The cops finally got there took mine and my dad's statements, followed the footprints into the cornfield, then decided meh, it's probably just some method. Everything's fine. No further investigation here folks. Nope. The baby's parents came home to cops in their driveway. My dad and his gun and me standing there with their daughter wrapped in a blanket all staring

into a fucking cornfield at 8pm. I guess it didn't bother them too bad because I babysat their kid for the next six years. Are you kidding? Can I ever go back there? Yep, I actually kept babysitting because $2 an hour was very good money back then and bizarrely enough, this incident wasn't enough to convince my parents to ever get locks on their doors. What the fuck is wrong with the 80s?

Midwest trustworthiness strikes again. Sorry, this was so long. I tried to edit it down as much as possible. Side note, I'm a forensic DNA analyst at a crime lab and I listen to the podcast at work. Amazing. I listen to murder stories while working on murder cases. Definition of a murder-ino, anywho, thanks for being cool and have a spooky Halloween.

Oops. Stay sexy and always call your dad instead of 911 and maybe don't live on gravel roads in meth country, Katie. Oh my god, that twist and turns and cornfields. I love it. I mean, I'm sorry I love the stories of 11 year olds in peril because it always pays off so nicely. Yeah, especially when they're babysitting infants.

Babies babysitting babies. All right, I'm not going to tell you the name of this. This is a leftover from our Halloween that I just loved so much. I wanted to read. Great. Hello, booze and ghouls. No, I should have thrown it away. Was that supposed to be boys and girls?

Yeah, but it was booze and ghouls. So let's spook right to it. Oh god. Please stop it. My parents first, this is a long one, I'm sorry. My parents first home was located in a canyon in Southern California, which unfortunately, like most of California, had a habit of catching on fire from time to time. They were lucky enough to avoid any fires while they lived in the home, but the previous

owners were not so lucky. Supposedly it had caught fire a couple different times and one of those times somebody died due to smoke inhalation. My mom told me that from the moment they moved into the house, weird things would happen. Doors closing mysteriously, drawers in the kitchen would randomly be open again after she swears she closed them. Her toothbrush would show up in odd places, toilets randomly flushing and faucets turning on.

That's legit fucking spook. Yeah. Right? For sure. You know, typical ghost shenanigans. Then they started to find their sinks and bathtub randomly filled with water and other weird ghost shenanigans again, but whatever gets your ghost rocks off, I guess. She was creeped out, but she is, as they say, more spiritual than religious and decided

it was either a harmless spirit, but more likely just weird coincidences in their home. That isn't a one day she realized all of the furniture in their house was just a few inches too far from the walls. No. She thought she was just being overly anal about placement, so she pushed it back and went on her merry way. A few days later, she nosed it again and pushed it back again. A few days later, again.

Now thoroughly creeped out, my mom and had my dad go through their house with a level to see if it was the old flooring or if their foundation was crooked. Nope, my mom told me she believed that whoever died in the home was trying to push the furniture away from the walls so they wouldn't catch fire in case of the fire. Super creepy. A few months go by and they decided to take a month long trip. When they came home, all of their furniture was pushed entirely to the middle of each room.

All the drawers and cupboards were open and their bathtub and all of their sinks were full of water. Holy shit. Now completely freaked out by her spirit friends, my mom cleaned everything up, saged the shit out of their home and made my dad bolt all the furniture down. After that, it all stopped. One day I was talking to my dad in our non-haunted family home and a door slammed shut. I laughed and told my dad that their ghost was back for the younger generation of his

family. He just stared at me blankly. I said, dad, the ghost, the ghost that haunted your first home, the ghost that would fill sinks up with water, the ghost that put all your furniture in the middle of the room, he stared at me for a second more as if waiting for me to go on about all of the hauntings he experienced before bursting out laughing and said, nah, I was just fucking with your mom. He did it?

Apparently, with a lot of lies, my dad faked haunted my mom for over a year after they moved into the first home and even gave his friend keys to the house to move the furniture while they were gone. What the fuck? I said he was so relieved when she finally saged the damn place so he could stop. Stay sexy and don't get fake haunted, Maya. Jesus. What a dad.

I was going to say, it was up from Johnny Knoxville's dad, like what the fuck is the point of that? You want to scare this shit out of your wife. What weirdo. So like. And not letting her off the hook. It's like this trusting thing that you don't have anymore in the person that you love. Oh.

Can you imagine? No. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. If Vince did that to me. But also it would mean that Vince would be enjoying your fear and I wouldn't know for it. Weird.

I wouldn't know. I would just think that our house was haunted. Also, then it makes me think of like one, the one million ghost shows that are on like the history channel or whatever. We're like, what if the majority of those are bored has been. Yeah. They're like, oh shit, this has gone too far. She called, she called fucking TLC or whatever.

Look, there's water in the sink. It's like, I gotta keep doing it because now she's calling in fucking. They were single-handedly responsible for the drought three years ago. It's fucking right. It's family. Holy shit. Yeah. Totally.

Holy shit. It's a good one. I'm glad you went back for that. Thank you. That's really funny. Send us your hometown at my favorite murder at Gmail, whatever your fucking story is. Just send it. And of course, happy Halloween.

Yeah. Everybody. Remember that. Remember Halloween. And stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Elvis, you want a cookie?

Yeah. Bye. Bye. Bye.