My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 188

Episode Date: August 17, 2020

This week’s hometowns include a Grim Sleeper connection and a nursing home confession.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 and welcome to my favorite murder. The mini-soad. It's mini. It's an episode. We've explained it to you so many fucking times. Why don't you get it? To listen. It's so simple. It's called reading email. We're going to do it to you right now. Are you ready? Let's do it. Go first. You want me to go first? Do it. Mix it up. All right. Fine. Yeah. This says freshen it up. Let's do it. This says hello, everyone. Hello. I'll try to make this as brief

as I can. I was listening to your mini-soad number 186 when you read a story about a New Jersey man named Anton LeBlanc who was hanged after murdering a family. A doctor did experiments on his body and made keepsakes out of his skin. I thought this story sounded really familiar. Remember that one from a couple weeks ago? Yep. Okay. It was horrible. Yes. I live in Rollins, Wyoming, a small town on Interstate 80 in the middle of the high desert. George Parrot was known as Big Nose George, was also known as Big Nose George, was a cattle wrestler and a highwayman living in Wyoming. In 1878, he and his gang were planning to rob a train outside of Rollins. Local law enforcement caught wind of the plan and attempted to stop the robbery, but two law enforcement officials

were killed in the ambush. Big Nose George and his gang fled to Miles City, Montana and were bragging about killing the officers in a local bar. Big Nose George was arrested and returned to Rollins for trial. He was sentenced to hang on April 2nd, 1881, but attempted to escape from his jail cell by filing down his shackles with a rock and hitting the jailer over the head, fracturing his skull. Shit. Luckily, the jailer's wife was quick thinking and grabbed the pistol and forced George back into his cell. Shit girl. I know. News of the attempted escape began to spread and a group of towns people broke into the jail, held the jailer at gunpoint, and then it says, this poor guy had the worst day. You see it's in the fucking head and then held up by

towns people. It's like, I'm doing my job. And broke George out of the jail so they could hang him themselves. He was lynched in the street on a telegraph pole with a mob of 200 people. This is the part that sounds a lot like the New Jersey story. After his death, Dr. John Eugene Osborne took possession of George's remains and attempted to do experiments on his brain for clues to his criminality. The doctor was also assisted by 15 year old Lillian Heath. To commemorate the experience, the doctor had George's skin from his thighs and chest sent to a tannery in Denver and made into a medical bag and a pair of shoes. Then it says, what the fuck? Which is your face is saying as well. It's so horrible. It's so insane and recent.

It is. Was this a common practice in the 1800s? Question mark, question mark? Lillian decided to keep the skull cap and used it as an ashtray and doorstop throughout her life. George's body was later stored in a whiskey barrel and buried near a medical office, the medical office. Dr. Osborne wore the skin shoes to the inaugural ball after being elected the first Democratic governor of the state of Wyoming. The story of Big Nose George was kind of forgotten until construction workers unearthed the barrel with human remains in 1950. Dr. Lillian Heath, yep, that teenage girl became Wyoming's first female doctor. Then in her 80s was able to identify the remains when the skull cap she had kept all those years fit the remains

perfectly. The skin shoes are on permanent display at the Carbon County Museum in Rollins, Wyoming. Wikipedia tells me that the shackles and skull cap are on display at the Union Pacific Museum in Omaha, Nebraska, and the medical bag made of his skin has never been found. I'm hoping one day someone writes in about a mysterious bag found at a pawn shop or in their grandmother's attic. Thank you for all you do. Stay sexy and always keep your skull ashtray in case you needed to identify a body L. I don't think it sounds that recent to me. That's what the 1800s looked like to me is just people fucking experimenting on people, breaking people out of prison to kill them in a happy mob, then experimenting on their brain and their body and then keeping a souvenir

that's fucking morbid and creepy. It's very like Wild West where it's like, you know what, we're all going to keep to ourselves and then do whatever fucked up thing we've decided to rationalize. It's just so inhumane. We've all seen Back to the Future 3. We know what it was like back then. George's favorite film. The whole canon is my all I know about history is from Back to the Future. The phrase we've all seen Back to the Future 3, I might call you on that one. Okay, here's my first one. Okay, I'll read you half the title. Nurse Mom Stories. Great. Okay. So Masked Up MFM Crew. A few minisodes ago, you asked for Nurse Mom Stories. I meant to write in earlier, but dot, dot, dot, quarantine life with a five year old. Oh my god, no. Bless you

and bless your soul. My mom was a nurse when my sisters and I were growing up. She worked in both the ER and in labor and delivery throughout her career in Denver and in Orange County. Though her accounts from her time spent as an RN range from crazy car baby deliveries due to massive Denver snowstorms to having to do an emergency C-section solo as an RN due to a doctor not answering his pager. Dude. And then in parentheses, the 70s were a different time. A couple standout. Like the time an ambulance pulled up with a non-responsive individual, her and the ER team worked 15 minutes to try and revive him with no success. After 15 minutes flatlined, the man sat straight up, pulled the tube out of his mouth, threw it on the floor,

and laid back down all while still flatlined. To this day, the hair is on the back of my mom's next standup when she recounts that story. What? But did he go on to live or was he still dead? I think he was still dead. He was, but he did a thing that only living people can do. Or can they? That's why they need to keep experimenting on undead bodies. You're justifying the last letter. With the next letter. I'm justifying back to the future of the rate. That's my love for it. Okay. But the thing about my mom's time as an RN that stands out most to my sister's and I is how she worked in the ER alongside Jeffrey McDonald. No. The Jeffrey McDonald's still in prison for murdering his whole family. Not only did she work with him, they were friends. And

here's how I found out that little detail. One night when I was only 10 years old, I was somehow permitted to stay up late watching TV with my parents before bed. That was a mistake. They were watching a made for TV movie called Fatal Vision, apparently about Jeffrey McDonald's murdering of his family. I was too scared to move, let alone go to bed. After the movie, my dad looks at me and says, oh, and your mom's friends with him. She says he didn't do it. Needless to say, I barely slept for years. And to this day, she says, quote, everyone loved him. He didn't kill his family. Oh, no. Cheers to all the nurses out there. Many in my family included. Be considerate and wear a mask. And don't let your 10 year old

stay up late watching movies about murderers, you know, Laurie. The scariest thing I feel like in a kid's mind, it's like my parents know this murderer. That means that they might be in on it and murders too. Possibly. Although I believe that the Jeffrey McDonald's story is the one that Errol Morris went on to write a book and I think make a movie about. It's someone with the hippies, right? I did. I did that one. Yeah. Yes, you did. And, and this whole thing is that the whole case was botched and it is, he is innocent. I just, I wish I couldn't, I wish, I wish I could believe that because the way those poor children were killed is just horrific. And the thought is so awful. It's really awful. But I think there was there, it's interesting. I,

it's an interesting thing because I figured it out. I mean, I, I mean, I, I did that case years ago and I still know the details of it. It's just so horrible. Yeah. So it's bad. Yeah. It's very bad. Okay. This one's called my dad's friend, the serial killer. Oh, great. I probably shouldn't have told you that. We're, we're in a theme now. It's good. We're ready. Greetings, fellow Jew and Gentiles too. Thank you. Thank you. Oh, Mazel. Mazel tov. Well, talking to my dad on the phone one Sunday night, he casually mentioned that he was once friends with a serial killer. Oh, it's in the first line. It doesn't matter. Naturally, I said, tell me everything. In the early 80s, my dad was living in a small apartment above a food co-op in Eau Claire, Wisconsin,

where he also volunteered regularly. He became friends with a man named Alvin who stopped into the co-op from time to time while my dad was volunteering. My dad also worked a second shift at a local hospital and Alvin sang late nights at a restaurant in downtown Eau Claire. On his way home from the restaurant, Alvin would check to see if the lights in my dad's apartment were on and would stop by to hang out, I guess until my dad decided it was time to go to sleep. One day Alvin told my dad that he was leaving Eau Claire and moving to a rural town about 15 miles away. My dad thought this was a little strange, but didn't think much of it. A short time after Alvin moved away, my dad learned that he had been arrested for murder.

It turns out that Alvin murdered four men in Wisconsin and Minnesota between 1985 and 1988. One of the victims, a 33-year-old man from Minnesota named Daniel Lundgren, was killed in what police believed to be a car accident in 1986. However, when Alvin later admitted to killing the other victims, he told police that he had also shot and killed Lundgren, who was his roommate at the time. Lundgren's body was exhumed and the medical examiner confirmed that there were three bullet holes in his head. Police at the time said that Alvin likely shot Lundgren in the car and that Lundgren drove a short distance before crashing. It's not clear how the three bullet holes were completely amiss the first time around. I guess if you get

in a car accident, they're not going to like, search your scalp for bullet holes, right? Right, exactly. This is kind of reminding me of the beginning of Fargo too. Oh, yeah. It's like, it's that you'd have to really, if you're assuming it's a car accident, it's a car accident. Totally. That's what everyone's doing, I bet. Yes, 100%. Why look into it? Don't look into it? Yeah, you've got better things to do. Alvin was arrested at the funeral of his last victim, 27-year-old Timothy Hayden. He was found not guilty by reason of mental disease or defect in all four killings and has been confined to a mental institution in Madison, Wisconsin ever

since. We've been there. Oh yeah, we love Madison. It's very charming. I'll ask my question after we go. Stay sexy and never trust a person who suddenly decides to move to a shack in the middle of nowhere, Ariela. Ariela. Great job, Ariela. Okay, here's my question. How does he get off reason of insanity when he is the foresight to go and be at the funeral of a victim? And to fake the death as a car accident. That's planning, which takes some forethought. What else don't we know? I want to know this whole story. Because obviously, there's some bad stuff going on. Wow. Yeah. And also just, it's like, that's like something from a movie where they're always like, oh, they come back and they go to the funeral, so take pictures

of it. He actually did it. But I wonder why I didn't kill her dad, because it sounds like he was like a young man living alone as like the other victims were as well. Just got fucking lucky. He, yeah. Crazy. All right. Okay. The subject line of this is scientists who worked the Grim Sleeper case. And then, so the opening is this parentheses, insert awkward and anxious filled opening here. Perfect. You fucking nailed it. Dead on. Welcome. I'm about a month behind since there's only so much death and chaos a girl can take during 2020. I mean, for real. Are you sure about that? Ask us at the end of this pause and thank everyone for hanging in there with us while the world melts. Thanks guys. I just listened to episode 230 about the Grim Sleeper.

Look, listen, I am a scientist that specializes in DNA and serology as they relate to forensic science, hot for holes all day every day. Yeah. In parentheses. Amazing. All day every day. As well as clinical diagnostics. I've also recently founded and built my own laboratory called Lander Labs because I saw a need in my community and decided to fill it. Dude. A few years ago, I was working in another forensic laboratory when a new case came across my lab bench, a presumed homicide linked to the Grim Sleeper. At this point, Lonnie Franklin Jr. had been arrested, but had not yet begun trial. I had very little information to go off of before I began my analysis. Usually a victim's name was written on the evidence

packaging, but not this time. All I was told was that she was a sex worker. There was nothing else to give this woman humanity. No report came with the evidentiary item. The date written on the evidence package was from the mid 80s and the package had never been opened. I was born in 1989 and baffled by the fact that I was working on a homicide that was forgotten about before I was even born. This woman who deserved a name had to wait until I grew up, went to college, became certified and randomly picked a box in an evidence room before her case was even opened. I'll never forget it. The item was a pair of blood spattered purple jeans. It was my job to figure out where her killer would have left his DNA on this item of evidence. I had to think like

he did. I used an alternate light source to see if there were any bodily fluids on the jeans. Nothing. So I assumed I would only find touch DNA, which doesn't stay valid for long, but I tried my best. I swabbed the button and zipper. I swabbed the top of the jeans. I swabbed the side belt loops. I swabbed the bottom cuffs. All these areas I chose because I figured those would be spots he grabbed when he was trying to remove her clothing. Guess what? We were able to get a full DNA profile from those swabs. The DNA was consistent with Lonnie Franklin Jr, aka the Grim Sleeper. In 2016, he was convicted of killing 10 women. Since I don't know her name, I hope my lady in purple was one of those victims, but I don't know. Maybe she wasn't and is still

among those stacks of photos he had of unidentified victims. Either way, I remember her. I saw part of her most intimate moment, evidence of her death that based on the evidence packaging, only one other person had witnessed. Let's remember her together. From a raging stem-ist, stay safe, stay sexy, don't get murdered, Annie. Wow. Fuckin' A, Annie. Good job. Oh my god, I've chills. Well done. Wow. What a beautiful thing to think that there are people working in like forensic criminal justice that are caring that much about the people and the cases that they're working on. The goal is that everybody in law enforcement eventually gets the training and the vetting that is needed so that people like this are the people that are working in law

enforcement. Amen. That's the dream. That's amazing. That's amazing. Thank you, Annie. Thank you. Great job. Great job. Great fucking work you're doing. We are proud to have you as a listener. Yeah. For real. And now I know why you can't listen all the time. For real? Or enough. 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. Hello Fresh meals are convenient, seasonal, and delicious. Stay cozy all winter long with classic comfort foods available weekly. Why stop with just dinner? Now you can enjoy Hello Fresh's expanded menu of quick lunch solutions,

weekend brunch, simple side dishes, and amazing desserts. Karen, January is going to be my month for Hello Fresh. I am so sick of takeout. I miss cooking so much I haven't lifted a knife or a pan since like early fall. So I can't wait to get back in the kitchen and Hello Fresh makes it so easy and also makes it so that my food tastes good, which is hard to do on my own. It gives you everything, everything you need. So get up to 20 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

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My last one is that time I saved my friend from being abducted. Hello Elvis and Co. This story begins about six years ago when I was 18 years old and my only hobby was being drunk at clubs. I was out clubbing with some work friends, several espresso martinis in and heading to the dance floor. Vodka and coffee. What is wrong with you? Coffee, liquor. So you're just like vomiting coffee. Couple beans down in the bottom. Yeah, just make yourself perfectly nauseous for later. God. It's like when you and when you finally get home, you can't fall asleep because okay. Because you've got the spins extra bad. That's right. When we realized we had lost one of our group, we'll call her Sarah. After 15 minutes of searching, I finally found her back at the bar

looking very lost and confused. Sarah kept saying, you left me. Where did you go? Assuming she had just had too much to drink, we decided we should leave and make sure she gets home okay. Once we got out to the front of the club, however, we turned around and she was gone again. Taken aback, I went back in to find her and found her standing alone near the dance floor, once again looking confused and saying, where did you go? At this point, I realized something was wrong and that maybe her drink had been spiked. Making sure to keep hold of her hand, we walked back out towards the main strip where we could get a taxi home. Whilst walking, however, I ran into some other mates at which point my dumb drunk self let go of Sarah to hug them and say,

hello. After a brief chat, my friend points further down the road and says, where's Sarah going? To my horror, I turn around to see my friend being led down the road by two men who would grab hold of her hands. Sarah was looking back at me, super confused, but seemed unable to pull away from them. I ran after them, managing to catch up and snatch Sarah back from their grasp. The two men turned around and began laughing and telling me they were simply joking around. Now, at 18 years old, I was extremely shy and deeply afraid of confrontation. I still am, but in that moment, and probably thanks to all the espresso martinis, I channeled an impressive amount of, fuck you, energy and just let loose. I pushed one of them in the chest and began waving

my finger in their faces. The other hand now firmly grasping onto Sarah's hand and yelled, fuck you, you fucking rapists. At this point, they stopped laughing and swiftly turned around to walk away. That's right, they did. I continued to shout some more fuck yous and assholes as they left and then finally went and hopped into a taxi to take Sarah home. The next day, Sarah couldn't remember anything confirming my fear that her drink had been spiked. I was so relieved that we had managed to get her home safely because who knows what could have happened. SSDGM and never underestimate the value of a fuck you energy. Emma from Brisbane, Australia. Good job, Emma. Emma, that's how you keep track of your friends. And also, it's a good idea to have a friend if there's one person for

some reason that isn't drinking or isn't going to get shit-faced because there needs to be somebody with the big picture. I felt like I was going to have a heart attack the whole time because it's like drunk girls trying to help drunk girls. Please get someone that's in the mix there that would see that immediately. Keeps an eye, yeah. Easy for me to say, but yeah. Of course, it's so scary. Watch your drinks. It's me, coffee martini. You start using that as your bar name. How about Expresso Martini? Just saying the word, Espresso, like an 18-year-old word. Expresso martini, please. Send us your story. What? So sorry. What were you going to say? Send us your Expresso martini stories? No, but I want them. Tell us the most disgusting martini you've ever had.

Yes. Well, I mean, yeah. Tell us your stories of how bad you got the spins and then barfed on an Espresso martini. Do you think an Espresso martini has just the flavor of coffee beans in it and maybe a visual bean or two? Or do you think it has Espresso in it? I would guess it's Espresso liqueur. I used to be a mixologist. I should know this. Is this true? Yeah. When you had your little twisty mustache? No, but you know, I had all those cooking channel shows about making cocktails. You don't know who I am. Have we met? You didn't make them professionally behind a bar every night. No, I never worked in a bar. I'm sorry. I don't mean to take away the label of mixologist. I know that you combined something and chicken nuggets, so I'm not taking

anything away. I wish you wouldn't. Otherwise, I'm going to sit you down and make you watch fucking Back to the Future 3 with me. Is that from this episode? And I'm going to make you make me an Espresso martini, see how far we get. Okay. Are you ready for this last one? Oh, yeah. Let's do it. It's the subject line is nursing home confessions. Howdy. I am from a sleepy town in southern Indiana, and I work as a nursing assistant in a nursing home. Thank you. That's God's work right there. Earlier this week, one of my residents confessed to me that she killed her husband in the 50s. I will call her Glenda in this story. Wow. Yeah. It started when I came into her room with her favorite nightgown to get her ready for bed. Glenda said absence makes the heart grow fonder,

referring to the nightgown. You know how old ladies love sleepwear. I'm an old lady then. Then she said, you know, who else is absent? My husband. I responded with, oh, did he pass away a while ago? Assuming she was a widow like so many of my residents. She said, yes, he's dead and I killed him and got away with it. And then I picked my job off the floor and got the rest of the story. Glenda married her husband when she was 15. Oh, yeah. And he was 30. Oh, no. Uh-huh. Parentheses, yeah, not chill. Her husband was an abusive alcoholic police officer that started beating her immediately after they got married. She stayed in the marriage because she had two little kids and it was the 50s, so she couldn't

really provide for them on her own and she couldn't call the cops because he was a cop. Then one day, her husband got suddenly sick with flu-like sickness. She stayed by his side as a dutiful wife caring for him as he belittled her. She said all of a sudden, she realized how sick she was of him beating on her in front of her babies. So when he fell asleep, she covered his face with a pillow and held on for dear life until he stopped moving. In her own words, I just held it there as hard as I could until he stopped squirming and then held it there a little longer to be sure. Oh, my God. Just be like, Luna, I'm going to step out of the room for a second and then run up the middle of the street.

Why don't you put your nightgown on while I'm buck, screaming. And then she turned, she turned to the nurse and there's a little bit of blood in the front of her mouth. I held her hand as she told the story and I asked her if she ever regretted what she did and she gave me the most heartbreaking response. I feel bad sometimes, but then I remember how bad it hurt when he hit me and how much it scared my babies. She said she called the cops in the morning and nervously waited while the coroner declared that he probably died from quote, a heart attack or something. No one ever suspected foul play from tiny little Glenda, because apparently murdering husbands was something else they didn't think women could do

in the fifties. I asked Glenda if she ever told anyone about this and she's thought for a second and said, no, I think you're the first one. I could see the pain in her eyes as she told the story and it's clear to me that she knew this was the only way to keep herself and her babies safe from such an awful man. I don't know why I inspired her to come clean. My best guess is that she, this has been weighing on her for a long time and since she's now in her late eighties, she had to get it off her chest. I let her know that her secret was safe with me other than to email my murder friends where I would change her name. Glenda then became successful. Her kids became successful also and became successful. Today, Glenda frequently asked me for kisses

and loves when I paint her nails. Stay sexy. Don't get murdered. Wear a mask. And if you have loved ones in a nursing home, don't forget about them because they still love you. Also, be kind and patient with health care workers because although our country is acting like this pandemic is over, we are still being greatly affected. Sarah. Wow. Shit. Sarah. Shit. Wow. Big. Thanks for sending that to us. Yeah. And trusting us with that story, incredible story. Bravery. I mean, how many, how many times has this happened? It's how many times has this been like the secret, you know, the unspoken thing? I was thinking that there was a possibility that when they came, when the corner came, they knew what a Pricky was. Yeah. They were just like,

yeah, part attack. See you later. Yeah. Wow. You know, that's happened before. Definitely. Oh, my God. That's heavy. Right? Well, okay. I'm glad their lives turned out good. I am too. That was amazing. Please tell us your stories, whatever you want them to be. Don't make them up. Tell it to us though. And we'll even, we'll copy edit further if you get sloppy. Yeah. You just tell people all the details. My favorite murder Gmail or go to our website and fucking tell us your hometown stories. Tell us everything and stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye Elvis. Do you want a cookie?