Timesuck with Dan Cummins - 423 - Serial Killer Carl Panzram: One Man Apocalypse

Episode Date: October 7, 2024

Carl Panzram is one of the most interesting serial killers we've ever covered. He was incredibly self-aware. He knew he was bad. He didn't pretend, following his final arrest, that he hadn't done any of the horrible things he did. He only wished he could've done more horrible things. He truly hated the entire human race. Including himself. To the point that he when it was his time to die, he practically ran to the hangman's noose. True Tales of Hallow's Eve 4. Hope to see you there! Here's the ticket link: https://www.moment.co/scaredtodeathMerch and more: www.badmagicproductions.com Timesuck Discord! https://discord.gg/tqzH89vWant to join the Cult of the Curious PrivateFacebook Group? Go directly to Facebook and search for "Cult of the Curious" to locate whatever happens to be our most current page :)For all merch-related questions/problems: [e-mail] (copy and paste)Please rate and subscribe on Apple Podcasts and elsewhere and follow the suck on social media!! @timesuckpodcast on IG and http://www.facebook.com/timesuckpodcastWanna become a Space Lizard? Click here: https://www.patreon.com/timesuckpodcast.Sign up through Patreon, and for $5 a month, you get access to the entire Secret Suck catalog (295 episodes) PLUS the entire catalog of Timesuck, AD FREE. You'll also get 20% off of all regular Timesuck merch PLUS access to exclusive Space Lizard merch. And you get the download link for my secret standup album, Feel the Heat.

In my lifetime, I have murdered 21 human beings. I have committed thousands of burglaries, robberies, larcenies, arsons, and last but not least, I have committed sodomy on more than a thousand human beings. For all of these things, I am not the least bit sorry. I have no conscience. So that does not worry me. I don't believe in man, God, nor devil. I hate the whole damned human race, including myself."

These are the words of Carl Panzram, an early 20th century American serial killer, rapist, arsonist and thief. And I do believe he believed what he wrote there. Unlike the majority of serial killers we have covered here, Carl was extremely self-aware. And unless he was trying to swindle a parole board into an early release or trick someone into doing something So he could escape from prison or rob rape or kill them. He wasn't afraid to tell you exactly who he was He didn't try and deceive himself into thinking he was somehow the good guy. He knew he wasn't he knew he was bad He'd known it since he was a child and he never seemed to show or express any interest in reforming He hated humanity all of it including himself including himself. For him, life was not

only not sacred, it was best to end it in nearly any and all situations. Despite Karl confessing to 21 murders, he suspected of killing well over a hundred boys and men in the United States, a dozen or more in Angola, and God knows how many other murders in any number of the many nations he visited. He committed countless acts of rape against people of all ages, including children. So many he literally lost count. Carl spent more than two decades of a less than four-decade life in prison. His longest stretch of freedom as an adult would last just five years. Five very criminally active years. Carl lived an extremely transient lifestyle,

making his way across the country by train jumping, illegally hopping on freight trains that took him around the nation, where he committed countless crimes everywhere he went. He later, he bought a yacht with some stolen money, got a real taste for life at sea. He brought his mayhem around the world, ultimately traveling to 31 different countries

and committing God knows how many crimes in each and every one of them. And how about I don't give away any more than that. One of his final acts was to document his life story and many of his crimes which he shared with one prison guard he felt showed him some kindness. Were it not for what he wrote the world would have never known how truly horrific he was. He's been called by many the most evil serial killer the world has ever seen and the meanest. I don't think that's true. As bad as he was, I feel like we've covered several other serial killers like Robert Kraft,

Bob Burdella, Joseph Duncan, and many others who were more sexually sadistic, who seemed to relish the suffering of their victims more than Carl did. I do think though that Carl may have been the toughest most formidable serial killer we've ever covered and the most singularly focused. There was no real compartmentalization. He didn't have a wife and kids and pretend to be a good family man while choking the life out of strangers when no one was looking. No, he seemingly lived primarily to bring about pain, destruction, and mayhem. The most he could. Dude was a one-man wrecking crew who dreamt of killing millions. So let's meet him. Karl Pansram. The man who grew up in Minnesota, a state known for a culture of being so damn nice.

And yet, Karl was filled with almost nothing but rage. Another true crime serial killer episode coming your way on this October, let's get scary again, edition of Time Suck. This is Michael's get scary again edition of Time Suck. This is Michael McDonald and you're listening to Time Suck. Well happy Monday and welcome or welcome back to the Cult of the Curious. I'm Dan Cummins, the secondator, official spokesman for the Salisbury North Mayor's Office. Possible future rock spider exterminator.

Fingers crossed. Fraud investigator looking into claims brought against Bob's bountiful bonsai fruit.biz. And you are listening to Time Suck. Hail Nimrod, hail Lusifena, praise be Good Boy Bojangles, and Glory be to Triple M. Real quick before we get started, I'm doing a live virtual show later this month if you want to watch and be a part of it. It's Lindsay and I's 4th annual Scared to Death live show Haunted Halloween True Tales of Hallow's Eve Horror.

We'll be recording from New Orleans for the first time this year. And also for the first time, in addition to Lindsay's fan-submitted true horror stories, I will be sharing a new nightmare fuel that will not be released on the regular Scared to Death podcast feed. You can go to moment.co. slash scared to death to get a ticket. Again, it's Thursday, October 24th,

6 p.m. Pacific time, 9 p.m. Eastern time, and then you can re-watch it all the way through Halloween. Again, go to moment.co. slash scared to to death for tickets and it'll be interactive. You know we'll be taking comments from those who are watching you'll be able to interact with other people watching. It's gonna be a lot of fun. And one more thing many of you have heard of or even met the guys from Blackfip Creative, Elliot and Jamie who have been working on a documentary about bad magic for the past five years. And while they don't have a release date for our project yet, their newest feature-length

documentary Rhythm in the Darkness premieres on YouTube tomorrow night, October 8th, 9 p.m. Central. The film follows three Nashville-based professional musicians including current The Voice contestant Brad Sample, Katy Perry bassist Kyle Whalum, and as they struggle to balance career and family while also attempting the Pinjote 100, a grueling 100-mile ultra marathon through Alabama's Talladega National Forest. So be sure to subscribe to their channel at youtube.com youtube.com slash at back flip at back oh my god at black FIP creative that's at black FIP creative to watch the free premiere and support a couple fellow meat sacks doing something really cool creative and some quality stuff and now for today's show I will start things off by introducing the man who first exposed Carl's story to a wider

audience followed by a full timeline of Carl's fascinating life and crimes. If it weren't for all the crimes he committed, Carl's travels around the world could be seen as inspirational. I mean, he led a very adventurous life, saw much more of the world than most of us ever will. Too bad he had to bring so much pain with him everywhere he went. In 1938, renowned American psychiatrist Dr. Carl Menegher published the book Man Against Himself, a case study of a self-destructive man he named John Smith, which was an alias.

John Smith was actually serial killer Carl Panzram. Menegher passed away July 18, 1990 1990 at the age of 96 in the city he was born in Topeka, Kansas, the city he worked out of. He was considered one of the foremost practitioners and advocates of psychiatry in the US for decades. According to the New York Times, Menager was considered a crusader for abused children, prisoners, indigenous people, and wildlife. He's one of the first physicians in the U.S. to receive psychoanalytic training. He believed that

psychiatric treatment was helpful for almost every emotionally disturbed person and that a lack of parental love caused most individual destructiveness and mental illness. He thought crime in general was a stage of mental or emotional sickness and felt that imprisonment without treatment was useless in preventing antisocial behavior. But I don't think even Menager, I don't think any therapist on earth, could have cured or reformed Pansram towards the end of his life. Menager became aware of Pansram through another psychologist who was an associate of a man named Henry Lesser, a prison guard at the District Jail in Washington DC. A guard who had grown

somewhat close to Panzram may have been the closest thing to a real friend that Karl ever had. Menager was eventually able to meet Panzram thanks to the request of a federal official he was friendly with in Topeka, Kansas. It didn't go well. Panzram wasn't a big fan of, well, almost anyone, but it happened. Years later, Menager wrote a letter to James O. Long, author of the book Pansram, a Journal of Murder, one of the main sources for this week's info. And in part of that letter he wrote, without hesitation, he told me of murder after murder that he had committed. Then he went on and further diatribe about the

incurable evilness of mankind, justifying complete extinction, including himself. After his final arrest for burglary in 1928, Karl chose to be extremely open about his criminal history and was willing to go into great detail to describe various brutal murders and sexual violence. He no longer seemed to care about trying to be free again. Or maybe he just wanted prison officials to think he no longer cared so he could pull off another escape. He started writing his life story in the district jail in the fall of 1928.

Gave a few pages at a time to Henry Lesser, a young guard. Their friendship, if you can call it that, began directly after Carl was caught loosing the window bars of his cell and was tortured as punishment. He encountered Lesser when he returned to his cell and the guard gave him some pocket money to buy some cigarettes with and Carl would later write to Lesser, you are one of the very few people I do not wish to harm. That's all it took to get on this killer's good side. Some sympathy, bit of money for some smokes. Today's timeline is based primarily off of Carl's own words, the research of authors James O. Long and Thomas E. Gaddis, and also a whole bunch of old newspaper articles. Dr. Menegher would describe Carl's manuscript as, An unflinching self-analysis, in which the prisoner spares neither himself nor society.

No one can read this manuscript in its entirety without an emotional thrill. Carl wrote a confession approximately 20,000 words long. Details of the murders he described were later confirmed by authorities. He also provided his opinions on the criminal justice system and how one's environment shapes them from a young age. If only every serial killer could be so honest and descriptive,

then we might now have better rehabilitative options for criminals in general and social workers and the like might be able to identify certain hallmarks of future violence earlier with more accuracy and use that info to create legislation to get children out of dangerous environments quicker get them more effective treatment to keep them from growing up and becoming someone like Karl Panzram. In the introduction to their book Panzram a Journal of Murder Gatiss and Long wrote though the body count he tallied outnumbers those of most serial killers,

Panzram seems cut from a different psychopathic cloth. The picture that emerges in these pages is not of a squalid little creature in the grip of a grotesque sexual compulsion, but of a one-man apocalypse, an implacable human engine of destruction and retribution bent on wreaking havoc on a contemptible world oh yeah yeah I would agree after becoming very familiar with Carl's life's work for lack of a better phrase yeah I totally agree with that assessment he did seem to be cut from a different psychopathic cloth than any other serial killer I can think of I don't think

Carl would have liked any of the other serial killers we've ever covered given Given the chance, I don't doubt he would have, you know, he wouldn't hesitate in killing them. I think he would have rather strangled them than to share any sense of camaraderie. So let's meet Carl now. Carl Panzram, our one-man apocalypse in today's timeline. today's timeline. Quick note before we get started on our main timeline sources. One is Pansram Butchering Humanity, Karl Pansram the autobiography. From the book's official description this book collects and represents the confessional statements of convicted and executed American serial killer Carl Panzram. These writings were created by Panzram whilst in prison, serving a sentence towards the end of his life. And the other book is Panzram, A Journal of Murder, by Thomas E. Gaddis and James O. Long, published in 1970.

Before passing away in 1982, Gaddis was an author, director. He had worked as a California probation officer for a while. He was also a professor at Reed College in Portland, Oregon and a practicing psychologist who founded Project Newgate to establish college educational programs inside prisons. James O. Long, still a reporter for the Oregonian in Portland, the veteran journalist, covered the prison system and the death penalty extensively has covered them and has won numerous awards for his work. And now it's Karl O'Clock. Charles, Karl Panzram, was born on June 28th 1891 on a homestead farm near East Grand Forks Minnesota, the son of East Prussian immigrants. East Prussia is a former German province that was

divided between the Soviet Union and Poland following World War II, up near where Lithuania is now. Karl's father, John Panzram, was a veteran having fought in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870 and 1871. After his service, John had had enough of Europe's continual fighting, and he left for the U.S. in hopes of earning a better living out in the frontier than he'd be able to achieve in East Prussia. However, good homesteading opportunities were few and far between by the time he arrived.

John didn't want to live on the East Coast where the best land had already been divided up amongst previous waves of European immigration. So he moved to the upper Midwest where he and his family joined a German community in Suck Center, Minnesota. Little town of about 4,500 now, about 1,200 back then in the late 1870s. And he got a job there as a farm laborer. In 1878, he married another German immigrant named Matilda Elizabeth Bolden, odd spelling for Matilda, who went by the nickname of Lizzie. And Lizzie may have been John's second wife. Some sources list him as having been married to a woman named Bertha from 1871 to 1877

with whom he had four children, two boys and two girls. Lizzie was originally from Berlin, had moved to America with her parents when she was 13 and she is described as self-reliant, industrious and passionately devoted to the Lutheran Church. Soon after getting married the young couple moved 200 miles away to Marshall County, Minnesota, in the northwest corner of the state near the Canadian border, and made a down payment on a farm. John was enthusiastic about how they might prosper, until they experienced their first drought and nearly lost everything. He now started to spend long periods away from home, leaving Lizzie alone to do all the work,

while he visited the town of Warren, the county seat. While around 1600 live in Warren today, only about a hundred people lived there in 1880. Like every other part of Minnesota, Warren and the surrounding area gets cold, cold, cold in the winter. Like negative 40 degrees Fahrenheit cold. Just please God get it over with and fucking kill me now cold. Record low is negative 40, negative 43 and that is without wind chill. Imagine that temperature back when you couldn't buy modern winter gear, you know, little hand warmers you could keep in your pockets and shake up and use when needed.

Back when doctors knew almost nothing about how to effectively treat frostbite. Back when roughly one out of every 10 Minnesota men would become a eunuch by the age of 50 due to literally freezing their balls off. Yeah the first appendage to get frostbite and detached from the body in extreme cold weather is the testicles. Anyway John had hopes of homesteading even further north in Canada but his wife didn't want to. He and Lizzie fought about the move frequently and then it would never happen

because he found out they found out she was pregnant and I should say now that I did make up the freezing your balls stuff off just before I forget to to disclaim that it was easy to literally freeze your balls off in the winter I would be recording this podcast from Florida or Costa Rica somewhere their first child together was a son named Paul who was followed by Albert then Louis who would be Lizzie's favorite And then their father their father John was moody and resentful of his kids They stood in the way of his dreams of finding a better farm in Canada John had to get a job at a local sawmill to supplement the income or their income which made him further resentful of the kids

But then they did move just not to Canada Lizzie was pregnant with their daughter Louise when they decided to move to a different farm in Minnesota. Carl's parents and siblings arrived in East Grand Forks, Minnesota in 1888. Town on the border of North Dakota, across the Red River, lay the North Dakotan town of Grand Forks. A lot more people in this area. About 700 people lived in East Grand Forks at the time, with another 1,700 right across the river, and although a bit farther south than Marshall, just as fucking unbearably cold in October of 1888 John and Lizzie took out a mortgage on a house in a 2.5 acres of farmland along the Red River and this farm didn't seem to treat him any better than the last farm

John became depressed forlorn Struggled with alcoholism spent most of his wages on drinks instead of on his growing family They fell behind on payments quickly and then the farm was put up for auction just two years after they got it, in August of 1890. Fortunately, John would be able to buy the farm back the following summer, July of 1891. Carl would be the couple's last child. Lizzie was in her 40s when he was born, and she suffered from high blood pressure and dizzy spells but still worked every day on the farm while she was pregnant. John continued to drink

too much, family barely scraped by and then John straight up abandoned the family when Carl was either seven or eight years old. Tough age for dad to leave maybe dad finally made it to Canada after all started a new fam. How many times the fucking dads abandoning their families come up in true crime episodes? You want your kid to become a serial killer? Well, if you're the dad, abandon them. And you'll be giving them a solid push in that direction. There are actually a whole bunch of studies out there that have examined the correlation

between incarceration and growing up without a father in the home. And that correlation is positively undeniable. According to many, many studies, a significant portion of violent criminals, often cited as between 70 and 85%, up to 85% grew up without a father in the home, indicating a very powerful correlation between father absence and later criminal behavior.

Kids need dads to help raise them. Single moms obviously definitely can raise great, well-adjusted kids, do so all the time, unfortunately, since so many dads are fucking shit and just bounce. But it sure helps a kid's development to have a good dad around. Carl didn't have that fatherly influence.

Maybe if he had, maybe if he'd had not just a present dad, but a good dad, we wouldn't be talking about him today. After Carl's dad bounced, his older brothers, Albert, Paul, and Lewis helped their mom with the farm work and childcare for Luis and young Carl. In his autobiography, Carl would describe his parents as hardworking, ignorant, and poor. Carl wrote that he had five brothers and one sister. Death records, however, suggest that he had two brothers and one sister plus two half-brothers and two half-sisters. Maybe he didn't feel all of them were worth counting or remembering. Also, some were so much older than him, he likely

never knew them. They were grown and out of the house, never to return by the time he was walking around forming memories. According to Carl, all my family are as the average human beings are. They are honest and hard-working people, all except myself. I have been a human animal ever since I was born. When I was very young, at five or a human animal ever since I was born. When I was very young at five or six years of age I was a thief and a liar and a mean despicable one at that. The older I got the meaner I got." And I gotta wonder if that's true. Carl will later say he wasn't that bad until he went to reform

school later and then he will again later say he wasn't that bad after reform school until he went to prison. Carl seems to have always definitely taken the nature side of the nature versus nurture argument regarding the root of his criminality. But if he had had a good firm father who showed him love, discipline, but not abuse, wasn't a drunken mess, then would he have still turned into somebody just hell-bent on destruction? Maybe we've certainly come across sadistic killers who grew up in loving, nurturing homes, but also again maybe his behavior could have been corrected. As Carl's brothers grew up,

they left the farm one by one. Eventually it was just Carl, his sister, one older brother, and his mom Lizzie living together. Carl and his little sister or young sister would go to school in the day and then spend their evenings working in the fields. His mom and older brother worked from sunrise to sunset on many days. And his older siblings and mom may have been pretty quick to give Carl a smack, or at least that was Carl's perception. Carl described some of the abuse he experienced in childhood writing,

"'My portion of pay consisted of plenty of work "'and a good sound beating every time I looked cock-eyed "'or done anything that displeased anyone "'who was older and stronger and able to catch me "'and kick me around whenever they felt like it. Carl was a sickly child, but he was able to attend school and he was smart enough to learn to read and write. Carl had his first run in with the police when he was just eight. He was charged in juvenile court for being drunk and disorderly at the age of eight. That's fucking wild.

You hands off of me officers. I am half drunk. If I was drunk you'd be in trouble. Hops on a small kid's bike, tries peddling off into the distance. Then in 1903, at the age of 12, Carl serves a little time in the East Forks Grand County Jail for incorrigibility and burglary. Incorrigibility, that's pretty funny. That essentially was the label for a kid who just refused to obey their parents or guardians or just authority in general. They were incorrigibility, that's pretty funny. That essentially was the label for a kid who just refused to obey their parents, or guardians, or just authority in general. They were incorrigible.

It was literally illegal for kids not to obey their parents. Pretty sure that's no longer an actual crime. Feels kind of subjective, right? It's like charging somebody with being an asshole. Or with being just annoying. What are you in prison for? Being annoying! Being annoying! Being annoying! Being annoying! Being annoying? Being annoying, being annoying, being annoying, being annoying, being annoying, being annoying, being annoying, being annoying. Guards! You need

to charge this fool again! He's still very fucking annoying! Carl wrote that shortly before this, around the time he turned 11, he realized the way he was being treated was wrong. He started to learn about other places in the world and people who had good lives, lives he wanted, lives where they weren't abused, weren't working themselves to death. Carl decided he wanted to leave home, but before he left at the age of 12, he noticed that one of his neighbors, quote, had too much. So he decided to break into the neighbor's home and steal anything that caught his eye, including apples, cake, and a pistol. Very much what a 12 year old boy would steal, cake and a gun. Very much a 12 year old's rationale for committing crime, right?

Why did I do it? Because they had too much! They needed to get some shit stole. He walked to the railroad yards, boarded a freight train afterwards, had visions of being a cowboy out west, but he missed his connection. He got caught, got brought home, got beat, and then he got sent to jail as punishment. In October of 1903, Carl's mom now sent him to the Minnesota State Training School, a boys reform school for stealing money from her purse and for still being completely incorrigible. Before we learn about that reform school that reformed Carl right into being a future rapist and murderer, time for today's first of two mid-show sponsor breaks.

Thanks for listening to those ads. If you don't wanna hear anymore, get the entire catalog ad free and more by signing up to be a space wizard on Patreon for five bucks a month. Now let's learn about this Minnesota State Training School. The school was located in Red Wing, Minnesota, about 370 miles east from his home in East Grand Forks, and Carl would spend almost two full years there.

And obviously he was not reformed. Carl committed many infractions during his time there and he'd be punished for all of them. His first defense, failure to fold a napkin properly. My god those fuckers were militant. Other infractions were for the very serious crimes of bad work. Calling another boy a snitch. Kicking another boy. Filling his hat with sugar from the snitch. Kicking another boy. Filling his hat with sugar from the dining room. I love that one. Well, kid doesn't want a hat full of sugar.

Not telling that he was short of cups in the dining room, but letting the officers wait without them. Using impudent and bad language. Breaking two dishes. Whistling and amusing himself instead of practicing his music lessons. And attempted escape. Carl's final terrible unforgivable and evil act of misconduct was reported on October 2nd, 1905.

Whispering in school. Not gonna lie, I expected his infractions to be far more serious than these. We knew he'd grow up to become a ruthless rapist and killer when we kept catching him whispering and whistling. He was a true bastion of incorrigibility. As light as these infractions were, Karl was punished as if they were much more serious transgressions. According to a journal of murder authors, Gaddis and Long, two-thirds of the boys in the training school in 1904 were immigrant children, many of whom spoke English poorly

or not at all. The anti-foreign feeling of the native staff found a ready outlet in punishment of the ruffian-like, unappreciative children of quote, foreigners. Carl later wrote in his autobiography that he was beaten, tortured, even raped by various staff members. It's believed he was raped by some students as well. Wouldn't name who raped him. And Winn just said that they did.

Also said that when he first arrived he was healthy, mischievous, innocent, and ignorant. Which doesn't align with what he said earlier about his even younger self. Guess he was just trying to communicate the fact that while he may have been a troubled kid when he showed up to reform school instead of being reformed that school turned him into a monster. Even though the main stated purpose of the school was to teach boys to become good Christians. Carl wrote, they started me off by was to teach boys to think for myself. I first began to think that I was being unjustly imposed upon. Then I began to hate those who abused me.

Sounds like it was a pretty hateable place. Does beating religion into a kid really ever truly work? Does it really help him? Carl began to fantasize about getting revenge. I mean, who wouldn't? And he decided if he couldn't hurt those who were abusing him, he would go on to hurt someone else. And although it will still take a while for him to seemingly go damn near full evil, this seemed to be his primary line of thinking from this point on. Carl

would go on to spend about 20 years of his life in prison, and by the end of his life he intensely hated the entire human race, including himself, and he no longer had any desire to live. At this school, Carl said he experienced all types of punishment, such as the whip, the paddle, the hose, the jacket, chained up frontwards, backwards, bucked and gagged, spread-eagled, water-cured, starved, beaten, thrown into sweat boxes and half-cooked, thrown into ice-cold dungeons and half cooked, thrown into ice cold dungeons and half frozen. Tam reminds me of the torture of a terrorist suspects

in recent decades by the CIA. Except these are just some unruly kids. Carl described various prison torture methods in detail in his autobiography. The following are some excerpts. A dose of salts, I guess, you know, I say prison, but this is for the school here. A dose of salts, this may be a fine remedy for anyone who is constipated and looking

for relief. This is a sure remedy for that ailment. Believe me, I know. If you don't think so, just try it. The punishment is usually tried out right on the job while the men are working. When the boss man decides that someone is in need of a Physic, he calls another screw who pulls his gun to back up the other boss. The first one will take his number 4 strap from a saddle or kit and then call three or four of the other prisoners to

Grab the sucker that is about to be whipped. I never saw any of them ever hesitate They grab the chump throw him down on his belly pull his pants down in his shirt up one will hold one leg and one the Other a couple will hold his arms and sit on his head Then the boss man does his stuff after about 15 whacks with his number four, there is no one around there that has constipated anymore. The Hummingbird. This bird was made of steel, water, wire, a sponge, and a little electricity. First, an ordinary steel bathtub in which was four or five inches of ice-cold water. The victim is laid down in that, and they are chained hand and foot. Then the chief torturer enters the scene and his hands he holds a common sponge.

This sponge is connected to an electric battery by wires. The switch is turned on and the torturer advances on his victim. He first begins on the soles of the feet by gently rubbing the charged sponge there and then gradually works his way up the body to the head. The sensation of the victim is that there seems to be millions of red hot needles sticking into them. The agony is intense. Two or three minutes and the victim is ready for the grave or the madhouse.

Yet there's not a single mark or bruise on his whole body. What the hell's going on in this school? Man, sadly it was just one of many schools operating in this way back then. Back in the good old days, when government regulatory agencies didn't exist yet to regulate abuse at places like a reformed school or prisons, or when they were around in theory, but didn't actually enforce regulation and practice, and when so many adults would beat the shit out of kids, you know, like

it was just a fucking way to work out or some acceptable kind of hobby. According to Karl, there were about 250 boys at the school ranging in age from 7 to 8 all the way to 21. They were divided into five cottages as far as where they would sleep each night. Each cottage was supervised by a manager and a matron. Carl was put in cottage number 2, managed by George Mann. The matron was a woman named Miss Martin. When he arrived, George Mann laid out the rules for Carl, then called him into his room for an oral and physical exam for the school's records. He asked Carl his name, his family's names, his school history, about his home life, etc.

He was asked if his dad was insane, a drunk, lazy, or industrious. He was asked if his mom was a prostitute, a drunk, educated, or uneducated. Mann then made Carl strip naked and examined his body for any signs of sickness, then allegedly examined Carl's genitals while asking if he'd ever committed fornication, sodomy, or masturbated. What the fuck? Why were these pervs running to Christian school asking naked kids if they fucking beat off while they examined their junk? What is wrong with so many people?

How do you just not know that's a fucking creepy weird thing to do? I so often wish I could just lead a vigilante gang like John and his fellow Snowtown murders from last week, but do it the right way. No money scam. Let's just get rid of the dirties the real dirties The boys of this school the Rocks spied us The boys of school were taught to say prayers when they woke up and to bless each meal They received a daily Bible lesson in the evening before nighttime, and they went to Sunday school and church on Sundays. Carl was not able to read well when he first showed up, so Sunday school was a especially difficult for him. He claimed he would be literally whipped if he didn't learn the material in the time they felt he should learn it. That's some real strong incentive to get to reading

and writing, and also hating religion. Carl wrote that he was beaten every Saturday night during his first year, sometimes three to four times during the week as well for breaking rules. He described a room he and the other kids called the paint shop, where children would be severely abused by staff members. He wrote, they had various methods for punishing us for doing wrong and teaching us to do right.

The most popular was to take us to the paint shop, so-called because they used to paint our bodies black and blue. The paint shop was a very ingenious entrivance for inflicting the worst punishment where it would do the least harm and the most good. They used to have a large wooden block where we were bent over and tied face down

after first being stripped naked. Then a large towel was soaked in salt water and spread on our backs from the shoulders down to the knees. A man then whipped the student with a strap 25 to 30 times, causing blood and blisters, which would sting like hell from the salt water. Carl wrote he was whipped regularly, and when he was too sick to handle the whipping, he was beaten on his palms with a smaller leather strap. Did people actually think back then, oh, this is a great way to turn these boys into fine, well-adjusted young men and excellent citizens?

Or were they thinking something more like, ah fuck them, fuck these rascals, I hate them, wish we could beat them to death. And then not really think beyond that. While the other boys played, Carl was typically given additional Sunday school lessons, had to stand at attention with his arms folded, his back facing a field while he received these lessons. It's a lot of good thinking going on here. Wasn't the only one who was punished. Sometimes up to a dozen boys would be lined up with him. Boys were supposed to attend school for half the day, worked the other half, but according to Carl they deemed him quote too dumb to learn anything. So he just worked all day washing dishes and waiting tables in the

teacher's dining room and that gave him an opportunity to get a little revenge on his abusers. Carl claims he used to literally piss in their soup. Ah, piss in their coffee, piss in their tea, and even better, that he would beat off onto their ice cream and desserts, and then stand by and watch him eat it. I fucking love it. I hope before he left, you let some of them know what he had done. How'd my piss and cum taste asshole? You drank and eaten a lot of it the past few years. Every week Carl was told that he was sent to fetch clean linens, wrote that he was sent to clean, oh my god, he wrote that he was sent to fetch clean linens.

I don't know why that was so hard for me to say. For the dining room and the laundry. And that one day he tried to escape but he was caught and quote damn near beaten to death. Following this incident he tried to poison his cottage manager George Mann by putting rat poison in his rice pudding. He got caught again and severely beaten for that. He was also transferred to band class after this poison attempt where he said he learned how to play just one note and literally nothing else. Yeah sounds like he at least learned a little more about music than Yoko Ono ever did,

which is pretty cool. Come on. Carl plotted an alternative method of revenge by burning down the paint shop building in July of 1905. Based on his writing, it does not seem like he was caught for this, so that had to feel great. Carl described how he did it, writing, I got a long thick piece of heavy cotton string, wrapped it around and round a long stick, lit one end of it, and hid it in the laundry near some oil-soaked rags. That night the whole place burned down and it cost over $100,000. Nice, eh? Fuck yeah, bro. Noice!

And again, while he doesn't list any specific examples, he did write that he was raped numerous times at this school. Late January of 1906, now 14 year old Carl is granted parole, released to the custody of his mom who had sold the farm and was now renting a small house within walking distance of the Emmanuel Lutheran Church across the river in Grand Forks, North Dakota. Here's how he was able to get that school release. Some of the boys at school told Carl that if he wanted to get out he needed to act like a good boy, tell everybody how much he loved Jesus, and

that he wanted to stay home, go to school, and become a preacher. And Carl wrote, I done just as they suggested, and I am damned if it didn't work out just as slick as hot grease through a tin horn. That is a great phrase. Slick as hot grease through a tin horn. Carl was called before the parole board, told them the lies they wanted to hear, and was granted his release. He wrote, In that was where I first found how to use religion as a cloak of hypocrisy to cover up my rascalities. How many rascals do that today? Dirty, dirty birds using the pretense of being one of the faithful so they can exploit and manipulate the actual faithful.

According to Carl, his enemy George Mann was dishonorably discharged from his job for committing a moral act against some of the boys under his care. I wonder if a moral act is code for rape. The head superintendent who fired Mann also later dishonorably discharged for brutal and humane treatment of the boys. Maybe that also included rape. The Minnesota State training school taught Carl how to lie, steal, and hate others more than anything else. When Carl left, he decided that he would rob, burn, destroy, and kill everywhere I went and everybody I could as long as I lived. Carl was discharged with a suit of clothes, five bucks, and a ticket back home. He quickly spent the five dollars on candy and fruit. Of course he did.

Okay, it wouldn't. Once he got home, his suit was exchanged for a pair of overalls. He was back to work. Back working in the fields for mama. Like his schoolmates advised, Carl told his mom he wanted to be a preacher and help save souls. Yeah, they didn't have like a big farmer this time, but like a little bit. Everybody's grown at least some vegetables. And his mom sent him to the German Lutheran Church and School of Grand Forest, North Dakota, where a minister taught German lessons to children in the

basement on weekdays. Things were fine for a couple months until the children started to bully Carl, he said, by calling him reformed school when he passed by. And he said he retaliated by, quote, knocking their blocks off, when whenever he could catch him alone. His beaten classmates would then tell their parents, who would then tell Carl's mom, who would then tell the preacher to punish Carl, and Carl was whipped some more. He said he was whipped often by this preacher and eventually decided to fight back. Unfortunately for Carl, the preacher was bigger and stronger, so he lost and got an even worse beatdown. He wasn't discouraged though. He was inspired to do what he did next by a line of poetry he read. It's not

like an advertisement. Be a man either great or small in size, Colonel Colt will equalize. I'm pretty sure that line was written by the cowboy artist Charlie Russell, aka Kid Russell. Carl now found a kid who had a Colt pistol which he stole. He wore one of his brother's vests to school, hid the pistol inside. When school opened that day, Carl warned the preacher to lay off or he would, quote, fix him. Well, the preacher responded by getting out his whip. Ordering Carl to come to the front for some punishment. And Carl refused. Preacher tried to pull him out of his chair now.

Started whipping Carl about the head and shoulders while he did. Preacher yanked on his coat and vest to try and pull him out of his seat and that caused the pistol to fall out. And now the preacher was shocked. Carl was angry. He wrote that he jumped up, grabbed the gun, pointed it right at the preacher's head, and pulled the trigger two or three times. But the gun didn't go off. But that fuckhead preacher was now terrified of Carl, and he would never whip him again. Carl left the school grounds, went home thinking he was a hero, but instead when he got home he was beaten upside the head by his older brother who choked him, demanded to know where he'd hid the gun. Carl told him and then his brother left the house to look for it. While he looked Carl said he

strongly considered shooting his brother dead when he came back. Instead that night he decided he was getting the fuck out. He was leaving Minnesota and heading west and he did. March 29th 1906 still 14 year old Carl runs away from home makes it to the freight yards in these Grand Forks. Authors gattas along wrote that hitchhiking did exist at this time for wagon and buggy rides, but if you really wanted to get somewhere far away you had to hop on a train. And if you didn't have money for a ticket you had to ride the rails. Travelers learned to hide on passenger trains between the coal tender, a coal car hauled by the train and the baggage car, or between two locked baggage cars. That was called

riding the blinds. Carl learned how to ride the blinds and to ride the rods as well which was hiding underneath the cars. Also learned to just ride the rails by hopping on freight cars, you know, hiding both in and underneath the freight cars. According to Gaddis and Long, one of the main categories of criminals who hitch rides on these trains at the time were called the Yeggs. Yeggs were hobos who made their money mostly by mugging other hobos. Yeggs were hobos who made their money mostly by mugging other hobos. Some hobo on hobo action,

fucking finally one of these sucks. Carl soon had a violent encounter with some of these Yeggs who he considered quote, the lowest element of the road traveler. Carl strongly implied in his autobiography that he was raped by a group of these men, group of dirty Yeggs, while traveling via train shortly after leaving home.

Said he'd become skilled at sneaking onto freight trains and passenger trains. Made it all the way to the west coast all the way to the Pacific and was continuing to travel around the West sleeping in boxcars barns sheds haystacks begging for food when he needed. Made up stories about being a poor orphan on his way to see a rich uncle. He would sometimes work a day or two for some cash but mostly he would steal what he needed. One day Carl was out West riding in a boxcar alone He was lonely wanted someone to talk to walked over found an open lumber car where four men were inside for Yakes Told him about the boxcar. He had just left which was clean had a bunch of straw for warmth

The men asked him to lead him back to his boxcar and he did right He's still just a kid at this point still just 14 years old out alone in the world Once they arrived and shut the door the train began to pull out of the station. Once he got going, the men told Carl he was a nice boy, real nice boy. They could make him rich. They could give him some diamond jewelry. First, they needed something from him. His ass. Carl pleaded with the men not to harm him, but he wrote, I left that boxcar a sadder, sicker, but wiser boy than when I entered. Interesting way to find the bright side of being gang raped by a pack of dirty hobos. After this, Carl

traveled alone as much as possible. Fuck yeah. And he didn't go seeking other travelers to speak with. Said he had a similar experience in a small western town on a Sunday afternoon. He was broke and hungry, went into a stable where some men were sitting around drinking. He asked for something to eat, told him his usual sob story. These men offered him alcohol. Carl drank, quickly got drunk on the hooch, and he implied that he was then sexually assaulted by another gang of men. These men, when he lost consciousness. Carl said these lessons taught him that, quote, force and might make right.

He was sick of being victimized and realized he could impose his will on others, be the perpetrator for a change, if he just got strong and big enough or clever enough. If someone's gonna be held down and fucked in his vicinity, he want to be the one doing the holding and the fucking. In the summer of 1906, Carl, now just 15, was arrested for burglary in Butte, Montana, and he told the police his real name. Back when Butte was popping, baby! When all the mines were going full steam ahead, they had 35 to 40,000 people living there, more than today. He then spent three months in the county jail in Butte, where he was tried, sentenced to

a full year at the Montana State Reform School, 370 miles east in Miles City. There he would spend his days working, and when he wasn't working, he would try to escape. He said he was punished often for his escape attempts. All that punishment was making him tough, real tough. Carl was grown up to be big, strong, stubborn. Officers were now warned to watch him closely. There was one officer who went by the name of Bushart, who was an ex-prize fighter from Boston. He tried his best to make Carl miserable, so one night Carl decided he was gonna kill that son of a bitch. Every evening Officer Bushart had one of the boys shine his boots in the schoolroom, and

Carl used this opportunity while the man was distracted to sneak up on him from behind, and with a two-foot-long wooden board with some iron on one end, he swung that board with all his might and connected with that dude in the back of the head. Almost took his fucking head off, but somehow didn't kill him. Fucked him up real good though, and he stopped messing with Carl.

Carl received several beatings for this attempted murder murder and was put under stricter supervision. Authorities, some of them wanted to send him to the state prison, but he was deemed too young. Carl said that over the course of the rest of his sentence, he received many more beatings and that he even had his foreskin surgically removed against his will to prevent him from masturbating. What the fuck? That really was the thing back then. Sometimes in the late 18th century, early 19th century, some doctors believed that by getting rid of a boy's foreskin, they would lose the urge to masturbate.

Nope, I have no foreskin and jerking off, not a problem. Never hurt anyone else who's been circumcised. Talk about just not being able to beat off anymore. No, you'd have to take off a little more than the force guy I think you have to shave it extra close to make that an issue It's so fucked up. They did that to Carl or anybody else reminds me of clitoral removal And Americans so fucking worried about sex Our culture has gotten better, but we're still so weird about it. Lucifina constantly laughing about our puritanical hangups

About a year into his time in the Montana institution Carl befriended a boy named Jimmy Benson from Butte, and together they made a plan to escape. Jimmy was trusted by prison staff, so he was gonna run away first. Go Jimmy, go! Let's go Jimmy! And then while the staff were looking for Jimmy, Carl was gonna make his move. They discussed hiding places when the search was over, where they would meet at this location 40 miles away, at the first water tank east of the little town of Terry, Montana and this escape attempt was successful Carl arrived at their agreed-upon location on the third night after he escaped spent the night alone Jimmy wasn't there yet Which was concerning then he woke up He smelled some food saw a man in a blue suit with a Stetson hat had a bag of clothes and food with him

Carl had an iron bar that he stole him from prison He was about to pass that fucking bastard in the head when he realized it was Jimmy! Oh, Jimmy! You made it out, you rascal! Good work! Hip hip hooray for Jimmy! Maserati bugatti spaghetti, maserati bugatti spaghetti, maserati bugatti spaghetti, Luigi pizza pie!

That was confusing. Don't even worry about it. You missed some episodes. It's fine. Jimmy had brought Carl some food, clothing, even a gun he'd stolen from a homesteader. And Carl and Jimmy now hoped to find some of the officers who were looking for him so they could shoot and kill him. But then they decided to get their revenge in some other ways.

Carl and Jimmy traveled together for about a month. They made their way east. Carl wrote, stealing and burning everything they could. Jimmy showed Carl how to steal from churches. Carl taught Jimmy how to burn down buildings. What a pair! two agents of mayhem They made it to Fargo, North Dakota with two guns closed about $150 in cash each as well as watches rings other stolen goods And then they went their separate ways

Jimmy went back to Butte where he was promptly arrested and sent to the state prison for ten years Carl within reunite with him behind bars years later After Fargo Carl went home for a brief visit to see his siblings and his mom before heading west again prison for 10 years. Carl would then reunite with him behind bars years later. After Fargo, Carl went home for a brief visit to see his siblings and his mom before heading west again. Didn't say much about the visit, which speaks to how little his family meant to him at this point.

And it doesn't seem he will visit his family ever again. December 28th, 1906, now 16 year old Carl is hitching a ride on the rails over the Rockies. Gets off in Helena, Montana because he's hungry. Makes his way into a saloon, spots an army recruiter from Fort Harrison talking to a group of people, and within a few hours Carl has joined a group of recruits. He is in the 6th Infantry Regiment. Many of the recruits were under 21, which was the legal age at the time for enlisting, but the attractions of peacetime soldiering in America's rural outback were so few in 1907

that recruiters seldom looked closely at the unshaven cheeks of those who signed the The attractions of peacetime soldiering in America's rural outback were so few in 1907 that recruiters seldom looked closely at the unshaven cheeks of those who signed the enlistment papers. Carl Sargent and A Company assigned the new recruits to clean the privies. And within just a single hour, Carl was already being brought to the company commander for refusing to work. He didn't want to clean the fucking privies. He was given a copy of the Articles of War and told what was expected of him. What would happen if he disobeyed? He was already in trouble. It didn't even

last 60 minutes in the military before he was punished. He did something, again he was with those Articles of War, had something to say about them, and was ordered to be locked in the guardhouse for a full week. How did he ever think he would do well in the military with his temperament? Then just two days after being put in the military with his temperament? Then just two days after being put in the guardhouse, he gets in more trouble. He's reported by the guardhouse commander for fighting and impertinence, and now he's sentenced to 30 days of just bread and water diet. He's not doing well in the army. This is never going to work for him. On April 8th, 1907, just a little over three months after enlisting,

Carl has somehow not been court-martialed yet and he's granted 24-hour leave and tries to sneak off base with two stolen coats, a civilian suit, and a pocket full of a bunch of gold collar buttons he had stolen from some of the officers. He gets caught, now he's court-martialed on an April 20th and he's sentenced to 37 months in military prison. His sentence is approved by his Secretary of War William Howard Taft, the future US President, who will pop up later in this timeline when these two fellows begin a romantic relationship. Not a lot of serial killers can say that they have fucked a US President. And Carl also can't say that because I just made that up. But if a serial killer were to have ever fucked a US President, Carl wouldn't be a bad bet.

And Taft really will pop up again later in this timeline. Carl will hate Taft for the rest of his days for approving this three-year sentence. On May 20th, 1907, Carl was transported to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas with a group of Fort Harrison prisoners. And before we learn about his first stay in Leavenworth, time for today's second of two, mid-show sponsor breaks. Thank you for listening to the sponsors. Hope you heard some deals you liked. And now let's learn about Leavenworth. For Leavenworth was a military prison

that was built a decade after the Civil War. It was a very high control environment, a lot of rules, a lot of punishments. And it held a lot of the nation's most dangerous inmates. New inmates were assigned second grade status and could earn first grade status, which came with extra privileges. They could also be demoted to second grade status and could earn first grade status, which came with extra privileges. They could also be demoted to third grade status, which was the worst inmate status.

Third grade came with extra confinement, a mandate of total silence, and certain quote exercises. Carl, sweet, sweet baby Carl would be firmly in the third grade camp for almost the entire duration of his stay. If a man in third grade broke a minor rule the whole group sometimes had to stand at attention throughout the night. Inmates were beaten, forced to run drills, they were confined in a straitjacket so tight they sometimes lost consciousness. If an inmate attempted to escape they were forced to quote carry the baby, a very heavy iron

ball chained to their ankle. Carl was assigned to work in the rock quarry shortly after arriving and he tried to escape just a few days later. He got caught quick and as punishment he was shackled to a 50 pound iron ball. 50 pounds that's the baby and he had that thing chained to his ankle for the next six months. Had to wear it 24 hours a day sleeping with it, working with it. Inmates in the third grade says they'd have to march a full three miles every day to get to a rock quarry. So now Carl had to haul this iron ball plus an 18 pound hammer, a pick, a shovel, and a crowbar and he pushed all that shit in a wheelbarrow. After an eight and a half

work hour work day he would then have to push that wheelbarrow back those three miles with all that shit in it. And thanks to all this hard labor, Carl gets fucking strong, like real strong. It was basically like he was you know doing weightlifting, like a strength training workout for about ten hours a day every day. By the age of 20, Carl was six feet tall and quote 190 pounds of concentrated hell-fired man-inspired meanness. Also more filled with rage than ever before. Carl claimed that while at Leavenworth, once he got that damn ball off him, he caused a lot of destruction by burning all the prison shops, by placing oil soaked rags inside a gallon can and then lighting a

candle he'd carefully placed inside. He claimed he caused around a hundred thousand dollars in damages here with his fire, starting ways and never gotten any trouble. No one ever figured out it was him that did it. Carl was discharged from Fort Leavenworth in 1910, but he will return to Fort Leavenworth later. In order to secure his release, Carl told the parole board that he loved Jesus, and finally, truly, truly, not fucking joking around this time, not freaking joking around this time, he had truly taken Christ into his heart, and was a better man for it after serving time. All this was of course, you know, a bunch of bullshit manipulation, but it worked. He was angrier, more hell-bent on causing hurt and mayhem than ever.

He was given five bucks and clothing and a ticket to Denver, Colorado. He wrote, well, I was a pretty rotten egg before I went there. But when I left there, all the good that ever may have been in me had been kicked and beaten out of me long before. All that I had in my mind at that time was a strong determination to raise plenty of hell with anybody and everybody in every Way I could and every time and place I could Just rage personified

Carl was broke when he arrived in Denver and he took a job at a mule skinner's camp on the edge of town Everything wait what he was paid to skin mules. I thought that too for a second. That'd be a pretty creepy job That's not what he did Mule skinner was a mule driver who could skin quote-unquote or outsmart a stubborn mule Basically, he was 1910 equivalent of a delivery truck driver and he probably loved it You know because he was paid in part to whip the shit out of the mules Well, he only lasted a few weeks in this job before he was fired for fighting He got into some altercation that freaked his boss out enough that the boss

Boss man forced Carl out of camp at gunpoint. Carl then used a lot of the wages he'd saved up to go into town, buy himself a gun, and then he spent the rest of his money in Denver's red light district. And when he woke up the next afternoon he had no gun, no money, no coat, no hat, no shoes, and a few nasty bloody lumps on his head. And a later a little bonus diagnosed with gonorrhea a little cherry on top Carl wrote that after that quote I began to suspect that the ladies were very good things to leave alone I have followed that policy pretty closely ever since Once in a while since then one would get their claws into me But not while I was sober or in the daytime where I could see him first

Jesus Carl maybe you're maybe you're just hanging around the wrong ladies. Maybe a brothel, you know, where John's getting mugged wasn't the best place to make an assessment regarding all women. Or maybe you were gay, didn't want to say that because of the times you lived in, and it was easier to blame your lack of interest in women on this one time you got beat up and mugged in a brothel. Carl left Denver stealing what he needed to get by now, uh, to get by now as he made his way to Hutchinson, Kansas, where he would join

Colonel Dickie Circle D Wild West Show. What a name. Uh, which was playing with Klein's Carnival Company at the state fair. His horse riding gig lasted for a week and then he was fired for, do you want to guess? Yep, fighting again. And also for animal abuse. I'm guessing he fought some cowboys and his horse. You know, I've never been fired from a job, but if I were to be fired, I think I would like to get fired for fighting, right? Because then you get a great story out of it.

And if I had to get fired for, you know, for fighting, ideally, I'd like to get fired for punching the boss in the face. I hope he punched Colonel Dickey himself. I mean, that would be a great story you get to share. So sad the direction that Carl will soon take. It still feels like at this point in the story he could have turned his life around and done something productive. Like what if he went to law school? Channing all that rage of his and becoming a prosecutor who sent people like the people who once beat and raped him to the hangman's

news instead of just hating everybody. Well Carl's next stop was the State Fair in Sedalia, Missouri. Klein's Carnival Company in the Circle D Wild West show came to that fair. So why would he want to see them again? Well, wouldn't you know it? On their opening night, their horse tent and cook tent were burned down

by some scoundrel touching a match to him. And of course that was Carl, getting some revenge on the people who fired him. Carl then headed to St. Louis, where he took a job as a guard and a strike breaker as a strike breaker so guard slash strike breaker for the Chicago and Eastern Illinois railroad and the Illinois Central railroad and he seemed to enjoy his job because it gave him authority to legally beat the shit out of people. Carl was soon transferred to Cairo, Illinois where after his first payday he went to town for some drinks and drinks and to take a visit to the town's red light district.

Man, Cairo is a strange, sad little town. It was booming back when Carl swung through it. It had about 15,000 people then. It has about 1,500 now. It is becoming a ghost town. I can do a whole suck on Cairo, Illinois. Numerous race riots have happened there. Terrifying lynchings.

Like all lynchings are terrifying terrifying but these are especially terrifying. All the industry abandoned the town. Then when the interstate was built and bypassed it and already troubled town was dealt a death blow. You can find a lot of videos of people taking walking tours in recent years through Cairo. It looks like something out of the twilight zone. Like a lot of the comments are be careful probably want to be careful there. Looks like well over half the buildings have been abandoned. Sorry, I know that has nothing to do with today's story. I was just so shocked when I watched some footage

making sure I was pronouncing the town's name correctly. There wasn't some weird Americanized version of Cairo. In Cairo, Carl met a man who let him do a group of a dozen union strikers who then proceeded to gang up on him and beat the shit out of him. Carl wrote that he ended up getting arrested for being involved in this brawl, but his boss then bailed him out, gave him a ticket to East St. Louis, Illinois to keep

working as a strikebreaker. But then Carl decided he didn't want to do that anymore and he headed to Chicago instead. And then he changed his mind again and headed to Mexico. He heard there was a war in that country and he wanted to loot some Mexican churches because he had heard they were full of gold and silver, which they were at one time. Excuse me. Carl made it as far as Jacksonville, Texas and then he got arrested again. By this point he was traveling with a young boy. It is unclear what the nature of their relationship was but I'm gonna guess because this is Carl there's a decent chance he was fucking this kid. Hopefully he was looking out for him but probably fucking him. He'll do this a few times over the course of the rest of his life and never say why he was able to travel peacefully with some people

but kill most of his travel companions or want to kill them. The few he had. Carl was stopped by the police in Jacksonville for illegally riding the rails it seems and the cop seized his two guns. He and his young companion were then sentenced to 40 days working for a county road gang in Rusk, Texas. His sentence ran through the winter of 1910,1911. Exact dates not specified by Carl. At this time Carl was going by the alias

Jeff Davis, sometimes Jefferson Davis. I'm sure that was after the the Confederate. And the boy was using the alias of John H. Clark, the boy with him. Carl was angry because he was separated from quote his boy. Carl's companion would later claim he was sexually abused by his supervisor with the county rogue gang in Texas. Carl says when he asked for his freedom after he'd served his full 40 days his chain gang boss quote knocked his block off. Sounds like a scary ass Texas town. Some scary ass cops and prison officials. Carl ran away the next day but was quickly caught and severely whipped. He now worked 20 more days then asked for his freedom a second

time and got beat again and rejected so he tried to escape again but was caught once more days, then asked for his freedom a second time and got beat again and rejected. So he tried to escape again, but was caught once more. But then he made his third escape attempt five days later and this time was successful. And now he walked about 30 miles to Palestine, Texas, where he caught a train to Houston. A lot of the city was on fire at that time. So he went for a little tour, enjoyed watching the destruction, big smile on his face, watching shit burn.

Oh, classic Carl. He then traveled to El Paso, crossed the border into Ciudad Juarez, Mexico Tried to join the Mexican army, but was not accepted for unknown reasons Not being able to speak a word of Spanish probably didn't help and he was a hot-headed psycho Crossed the border again back into Del Rio, Texas Traveled with a man a native man for a couple weeks in a small town 50 to 75 miles from El Paso the two met a 25 year old man said he was working in nearby small town 50 to 75 miles from El Paso the two met a 25 year old man Said he was working in nearby railroad camp and had 35 bucks on him dumb thing to admit

They tricked this guy into walking with them on a wagon road beside the railroad tracks once they were out in a remote area With no one else around Carl and his buddy dragged him off the side of the road and beat the shit out of him and robbed him Then they tied him up but left him alive Then Carl's friend suggested they go back to make sure he was tied tightly and couldn't escape so they did and when they got back there Carl's like you know what I should rape this guy and he does that. Not sure if his companion knew that was his plan or not. And this seems to be Carl this might have been Carl's first

sexually violent crime maybe not. The first one he writes about possibly the first time he targeted someone who had never done him any wrong, which would be a big turning point for him. Possibly the first in a thousand or more rapes he will later say he committed. Only a few will be specifically called out in the timeline, we can assume from here forward,

and possibly even earlier, that just about everybody or everywhere that he went, Carl was tearing somebody's butthole up. Carl and his friend purchased a train ticket back to Del Rio shortly after this and then they split up. And now he crossed over into Acua Prieta, Mexico, where he enlisted in the Foreign Legion of the Constitutionalist Army of Northern Mexico, the army that was fighting against the Federal Army during the Mexican Revolution. I guess he didn't need to learn Spanish after all to enlist in one of these Mexican armies.

He stayed with the army for a month, but then he found himself getting dissatisfied because all the churches they went to had already been robbed. So he's like, what's the fucking point? So he deserts, he deserted, and he took his military issued horse and army issued weapons with him. He then literally rode his horse to death before he got back to the border and then abandoned his possessions before walking over the border on foot. He now traveled to Yuma, Arizona and from there to Fresno, California. Along the way he robbed some folks, burned some chicken coops, barns, other buildings, probably raped a bunch of boys and men.

Also enjoyed shooting at random farmhouses just for funsies and cutting ranchers' livestock loose. Not sure if he raped the livestock as well. Never said he fucked any animals, but who knows? Just out there raising hell. While he was riding the trains traveling and he wasn't buying tickets, Carl constantly was checking to see if what other unauthorized travelers with some hobos around him were up to and if he saw somebody he thought was decently attractive, he would rape them at

gunpoint. He wrote, I looked him all over and whenever I met one who wasn't toolooking, I would make him raise his hands and drop his pants. I wasn't very particular either. I wrote him old and young, tall and short, white and black. Made no difference to me at all, except they were human beings. My God, just indiscriminately destroying buttholes all across America. And he must have been destroying them, right? I mean, I highly doubt he was carrying some nice lube and nutty cream with him.

You know, out of consideration for the health and well-being of his future victims. No, by road him, I have to assume. He means he was anally raping dudes on trains. Raw dog, no lube. A lot of guys must have walked away from Carl a lot more gingerly than they walked when they got on those trains. A lot of guys who probably didn't have a prolapsed colon or PTSD on their list of shit to worry about when they headed out to the still pretty wild west. Carl was arrested a few times on his travels around Arizona and Southern California, Central California.

But he always made sure to keep his pistol stored away somewhere safe during the daytime so he could come back for his gun later if he got busted. And he would carry a Bible and a list of work history with him so he could recite this information to the police when he was stopped, which got him out of some sticky situations. When he reached Fresno, Carl was sentenced to 120 days for stealing a bike there. And I don't mean he assaulted some lady again, when I say bike. Now this was an actual bicycle. He managed to escape that for 30 days and got back on the train And if you're confused like why I said that about bicycle with a little silly joke I've had about bikes one day shortly after escaping from Fresno Carl was riding in an open coal car with two other men when another man entered the car and told them to dig up or unload

This guy fucked up when he did this is rough Carl now pulled out his gun told him that he was a fellow who went around doing people good. He then asked the man if there was anything the man wanted from him. And then all of a sudden was like, no, no, nevermind. Sorry about what I said a second ago. I'm good. And then this guy to try and get in Carl's good graces, he offered to buy all the men in the car food, also handed Carl all of his money, his watch and his chain, and then Carl not only raped this guy, he also forced the other two men in then Carl not only raped this guy, he also forced the other two men in the car

to also rape this guy or be shot. Holy fuck did that guy end up regretting trying to rob Carl and the two other guys. Man, getting a train ran on him while he was riding on a train. What a world! Carl then proceeded to kick all these guys out when their little orgy was done,

even though the train was still moving. He wrote after our very pleasant and profitable for me, anyway, a little trip was all over the other three got off to walk. They didn't want to, but they did. Carl made it all the way to Seattle on that train where he spent a short time in jail for what he didn't say. When he was arrested, he said his name was Jack Allen now. And it was under that name that he was arrested for highway robbery, assault,

and sodomy a short time later in the Dalles, Oregon. Carl would spend two to three months in jail in the Dalles, very cute little city along the Columbia River by the way, waiting for a grand jury indictment before he escaped again in 1912. Carl met a safe blower in jail in Oregon named Cal Jordan who taught him how to break out of his cell. Carl and Cal, excuse me, then traveled to Spokane, Washington, just 30 minutes from where I sit, and then on to Moscow, Idaho, south of me about an hour or so. Carl wanted to break Carl out of a jail in Moscow where he was arrested for robbery. Carl hit some stolen weapons he'd acquired along the way, then broke into the jail in Moscow and was promptly caught. He was sentenced to 30 days for petite larceny and assisting

prisoners escaping. It seems like a pretty light sense. He now uses the alias of Jeff Davis again when he's arrested, his favorite alias. Carl wrote that Cal thought he was in love with him and tried to fuck him, but Carl was like, uh-uh, I'ma fuck you instead. Based on his writing, it seems like Cal did not consent to being fucked by Carl. Another butthole broken in the Wild West by the prolapse kid. Prolapse kid strikes again

Your draw kid who's getting their cock out quicker who's getting their butthole wrecked today Carl wrote at the time he was about 50 years old, this cow guy, and I was 20 or 21. But I was strong and he was weak. And then he was, you know, pretty fucking sore, I'm guessing. Carl now moved on to Harrison, Idaho, which is a place Lindsay and I go to every year. It's on the other side of Lake Coeur d'Alene from the city of Coeur d'Alene. A very small town now, just about 200 people and I doubt many of them live there year-round. Back at this time had about a thousand residents. Carl's arrested for what he doesn't say

here and he immediately tries to break out by setting the entire jail on fire. He gets caught though and then he's sent to a more secure jail in the also very adorable town of Wallace, Idaho under the alias of again Jeff Davis. He'll be released a month or so later and head to Montana and then get arrested in Chinook, Montana for burglary. He'll be released a month or so later and head to Montana and then get arrested in Chinook, Montana for burglary. He will plead guilty to the charge and will be sentenced to a year in the state prison at Deer Lodge where he reunites, oh it feels so good, with his old buddy Jimmy! Ah, Jimmy Benson! Still serving that 10 years of robbery. Fucking Jimmy! Oh man, he actually didn't write a lot about Jimmy. I don't know how close they were. But he did get reunited. Carl was admitted to the prison on April 27th, 1913,

and then will escape less than seven months later, November 13th. And I think that that's about the fifth time he's escaped from incarceration, if my math is right. At least the fifth. But within a week, he is arrested for burglary again in Three Forks, Montana, where he now says he's Jeff Rhodes. Carl pleads guilty again, is sentenced to a year in prison, plus another year for his escape. His new alias didn't work, right? They didn't buy it, they knew who he was.

He now serves 23 months before being discharged. Carl said he was never assigned a job at the Montana State Prison and that he spent most of his time sexually assaulting other prisoners. The fucking prolapsed kid, baby, fast as cock in the West. Carl specifically used the term committing sodomy and called himself an experienced wolf. No dude's butthole was safe

in the vicinity of the prolapsed kid. Carl was released March 3rd, 1915, with a new suit, five bucks, and a ticket to the next town six miles away. He quickly left Montana, and the now 23-year-old Carl soon arrived in Astoria, Oregon, where Goonies was filmed, fun town as well, in mid-April. At the time, Astoria was considered one of the toughest ports

in the Northwest, a lot of rough and rugged lumberjacks and sailors and fishermen. And there, Carl would be arrested at a bar called The Louvre for trying to sell a silver watch, which matched the description of an item stolen from the home of C.R. Higgins, the president of the Bank of Astoria. Carl was arrested this time under the name of Jeff Baldwin, and he was offered a deal. They said he'd only be sentenced to a county road gang for like a few months instead of being sent to a prison for years

if he just told the police where they could find all the stolen goods. Carl had hid the following items in a blanket under the docks, $130 in cash, gold shirt studs, tie pins, a box of silverware, a silver pepper shaker, and some gloves. He showed authorities where they were. He pled guilty to the watch theft. His larger indictment for the rest of the goods

was dismissed, in theory, but then prosecutors did not follow through on their promise of much less time, and Carl was sentenced to seven years in prison. He was fucking pissed about it. Before he was sent to prison, he somehow managed to escape from his jail cell. Then he, according to his autobiography, quote, wrecked their damn jail. I tore loose all the radiators, steam pipes, smashed all the electric wiring, took the

cook's trove, all the dishes, all the food, all the blankets, mattresses, and clothing, all the furniture, benches, tables, chairs, books, and everything that was loose or could be torn loose and that would burn. And I piled it all up and set it on fire. Fuck it, he loves when he gets pissed off, that's his go-to, it's just to burn everything. After setting the fire to the jail and then escaping, Carlos caught again, tries to pretend he's insane, but they don't buy it. They get some doctors to examine him and they're like, now he's sane. So in June of 1915, Carl is now transported to the Oregon State Penitentiary in Salem, considered one of the worst prisons in the Northwest at the time. He was sent some of the a-list of Jefferson Baldwin and during his

admission into prison, Carl swore that he, quote, would never do that seven years and I defied the warden and all his officers to make me. Carl claimed he was 30 years old, born in Alabama during his stretch behind bars now and he listed his occupation during intake as thief. I love it. That's pretty funny. Well what do you do? A thief. No but like what do you do for an actual job? I know what you're in for. What do you do for work? Uh, thief. Okay, but come on. No, I need like like how do you make money outside of crime? I don't Conditions were strict and harsh to this prison, which was run by Warden Henry or Harry Minto 400 prisoners lived in three different cell blocks

Just about everything was forbidden inside the prison even talking between inmates and breaking the rules usually meant you were beaten deprived of food, and isolated. Ward Minto also reduced inmate pay from a dollar a day previous to his time running the jail or prison to just 25 cents a day. The money that previously went to prisoners' families was also placed in an institution betterment fund. Yeah, prisoners hated this, too. The prison mill was the only place where inmates could earn any money. Only 50 jobs were available, meaning over 300 inmates worked non-paying jobs or were idle. Some men would sell themselves as servants to other prisoners with mill jobs so they

could get a few nickels a month. By servant, I'm guessing they meant they were those guys' sex slaves. The deputy warden at the time was a man named Jim Vinegar Cooper, whom the prisoners called the Man of the Flogs, because he loved to whip that shit out of inmates. Just fucking whip people left and right. Morning after his res- uh, resi- oh my god, the morning after his registration, I had resignation stuck in my brain. Couldn't switch it out.

Carl threw something at an officer for which he received a beating and was sentenced to the dark cell, which was total isolation for a full 30 days. After Carl got out of the hole he put in a request to work instead he was sent to what was called the island which was an isolated section of the yard designated for quote idle men. Several weeks later Deputy Warden Vinegar Cooper was getting a haircut at the prison barbershop when he glanced up saw Carl in the crawl space cutting a hole in the roof for a later escape attempt. He was put back in the hole for another month after being flogged. On September 27th

1915 less than three months into his seven-year sentence, Carl helped a fellow inmate 21 year old Otto Hooker escape the state penitentiary in a violent prison break and Hooker would fatally shoot Warden Minto about 1130 p.m. that evening to Carl's great delight. Carl wrote that he hated Minto so much he helped other prisoners escape. All the while plotting his own escape for later. Like he was gonna hold off on his escape so he'd get these other guys out and hope one of them fucking kill this guy. Part of the escape a plot involved Hooker asking for a job on the prison farm. He got it and then Hooker escaped the farm guards on the morning of the 27th, ran into the woods south of the prison farm. He got it and then Hooker escaped the farm guards on the morning of the 27th,

ran into the woods south of the prison. In the mid afternoon, city marshal, JJ Denson, spotted Hooker, pulled his gun on him when he tried to cross the South Santiam Bridge. There was a struggle. Denson ended up getting shot instead of Hooker and he was badly wounded and Hooker disappeared now with his gun.

Warden Minto now joined the manhunt. Late that night, Minto and guard Walter Johnson were stationed in the bushes near the railroad when they heard some footsteps. Warden ordered the man to halt. Minto's shotgun would fire the same time as Hooker's pistol would. Minto would miss and Hooker would not.

Warden Minto was killed instantly by a single bullet to the head. Guard Johnson emptied his gun, firing back at Hooker, who escaped again unharmed. He was later found hiding under a house though and was killed on the spot by a patrolman. Harry Minto's brother John Minto now took over the prison and Johnny didn't care for Carl too much. Carl was punished for helping plan the prison break by being thrown into what was called the bullpen. The bullpen was built in the center of the prison. It held eight isolation cells surrounded by brick walls with a tiny yard in the middle. Carl would be held

there for excuse me with about six other inmates. They were forced to walk in a circle all day, could not stop. If one of them stepped out of line it was considered an escape attempt and guards were authorized to shoot them. Talking or even looking around was prohibited so was walking too slowly or too quickly. Inmates here were fed bread and water only just once a day. Clearly the prison Talking or even looking around was prohibited, so as walking too slowly or too quickly. Inmates here were fed bread and water only, just once a day. Clearly the prison officials just wanted to shoot these guys, but Carl wouldn't take the bait, wouldn't break the rules, and make it easy for them.

John Mendo tried to make Carl's life as miserable as possible. The following spring, on May 26, 1916, the prison's flax mill caught on fire and the fire hose had been cut. Carl was identified as the one who tossed a torch into the storage bin, but no one saw who cut the fire hose. But that was Carl as well. When people pissed him off and were hard on him, he tried to burn shit. Now he was sent back to the hole for another long stretch of isolation.

And he got another good beating. Around this time, the governor of Oregon heard about the brutality going on inside this prison, appointed a commission to study the conditions, and the commission obtained evidence that illegal whips and clubs were being used on the inmates. While this study was being conducted, tensions were rising inside the OSP. A prisoner in the bullpen allegedly threw a rock at a guard and got shot to death for it. In response, the prison administration did away with the bullpen torture and put a stop

to whippings and constant beatings, at least for a moment. Carl now responded to the break in punishment by banging his bucket on his cell door all night long and cussing out the guards. And when other inmates realized they weren't going to get in trouble for this, they started doing that shit too. And Warden Minto not amused. He now locked Carl in a dark cell and put him on reduced rations. A few days later Carl was released, given a job in the kitchen carrying stovewood. And One day, a short time later, he goes on a fucking axe rampage in the kitchen where he broke the locks on a row of unused cells with an axe. He got clubbed into submission for this and put back in the bullpen. The bullpen now is back on the table. After not getting killed in the bullpen again, Carl makes friends with a prisoner named Jim Curtis

and they plan some escape for other inmates like Carl had previously helped Auto Hooker with. Minto increased security in response to whispers of more escape attempts. Guards patrolled the cell blocks all night, turned on the lights every hour to wake inmates up. By early November tensions between guards and inmates were so high that a lot of guards were now refusing to go into the yard. They were worried about being killed. Around this time, Carl managed to bust a metal hasp off of his cell door one night and he started beating the walls and door with it while screaming. Following morning, he was given a new cell. Some guards then found a hacksaw in his old cell, which he was going to basically give to this guy Jim Curtis so Jim could escape with it. They didn't find a second hacksaw blade

he hid. And on the night of November 11th two inmates were able to saw off their locks in Carl's old cell and use a blanket rope to help scale the main wall and get the fuck out. Carl and Jim Curtis they were punished in their places. They found out Jim was part of the escape attempt and he didn't get to go when these guys left. They were stripped, chained up, sprayed with a fire hose until the hose had bruised pretty much their entire bodies. And when the governor received word of this punishment, he now forced Warden Minto to resign. Deputy Warden Cooper was now left in charge. And Cooper soon discovered that the inmates were planning a mass escape that involved putting rat poison in the night guard's food and killing every guard on duty that shift. So he resides. He's scared. No

one feels safe in this hellhole. And fucking Karl Panzram is the ringleader of all this chaos. Well the new warden is now 49 year old Charles A. Murphy, a former engineer and veteran of the Spanish-American War. Murphy had a few conditions before he accepted the job and the big one was that he wanted the immediate dismissal of nine of the most brutal guards there. He also got rid of the worst dark isolation cells and he emptied out the bullpen. The worst punishment a prisoner could get now was just peeling potatoes. So many inmates would be ordered to peel so many potatoes that the warden would be nicknamed Spud Murphy and Spud Murphy's

gentler ways worked, at least for a little while. Morale improved tremendously with better conditions, no beatings, improved food, tensions decreased, there was little mutinous activity from the incorrigible prisoners like Karl Panzram. Karl would write about this new warden, whom he respected, a man who was different from any other prison official he had met in his life. On March 25th, 1917, Deputy Warden Charles Burns reported that Carl was cutting the bars on his cell trying to escape though. And instead of punishing him, Spud Murphy ordered him extra rations, gave him some books and some magazines. Carl now got to talking with the warden about his philosophies and the warden told Carl he was not the worst man in the prison, even though he had read his record. Warden Murphy told Carl that if he would give him his word that he wouldn't escape, he'd open up the gates,

let him go anywhere he wanted during the day, so long as he was back by dinner time. That's insane. Well, Carl agreed to these terms, fully intending on escaping. But then Carl was shocked when the gates were actually open for him, and he didn't try to escape. He just walked around for a little while, then he just sat down until it was time to head back. Warden Murphy asked him why didn't he escape and Carl said I don't know. The other prisoners told Carl he was nuts for not running. Carl even asked a doctor to examine him. He was worried that he was insane for not trying to escape but the doctor said no man you're a sound mind. And now Carl started to work directly for the warden. Murphy put together a baseball team and a band told Carl to learn how to play

both baseball and an instrument. Carl said he was too dumb to learn music or be the drum major but he would carry the flag. He did play baseball. Carl wrote every week after that the whole band of 30 or 40 men in the baseball team of 10 to 12 men would load onto trucks or onto the train with one guard, only one guard with us, and we would go to towns all over the state of Oregon. This outfit of cons had every kind of mongrel, crook, and murderer there was in the prison. Some doing life, some 99 years, some 50, some 20, and so on down to one or two years. The state was in an uproar. The papers all over the country had their eyes on Spud Murphy and everybody was watching his experiment with interest.

Throughout the summer, Carl was given work outside the prison walls, continued to be let out. And while a few men also offered this work would escape, Carl didn't. And things went on like this for seven to eight months, but eventually Carl got bored and decided to return to his old ways. There was a hospital near the prison where, according to Carl, some of the nurses wanted to date him. One night he went out with the nurse, got so drunk that he stayed out the whole night the next morning and then just decided, I'm not going to go back. And he disappeared on September 18th, 1917, which was very embarrassing for Murphy. Spud had trusted him.

A week later, Carl is caught again after he stole the bicycle, an actual bicycle again, not a lady, near the little unincorporated community of Shedd, Oregon. And he rode that bike north into a farming community called Tangin, about 33 miles from the prison. Sheriff's posse was already after him when he broke into a house, stole some food, some clothes, and a pistol. He ran off with that a few hours later in Albany, Oregon. Chief Deputy Sheriff Joseph Frum recognizes Carl and attempts an arrest. The two men get into a gunfight that does end with Carl's capture. During the ride to the station, Carl takes a deputy's gun, tries to shoot him. So now he's trying to shoot two different officers this day,

but that gun doesn't fire. Carl is then knocked unconscious and returned to the prison in Salem. Murphy now has Carl put in the bullpen. Bullpen's back, damn it. Damn it, Carl! And he cuffs him to a cell door for eight hours a day for the last three days of September, 1917.

Spud's plan to run the prison in a much more a much more gentle way again worked for a little while but then backfired and now the prisoners were unruly again. Beatings were back on the table and chaos had returned. The deputy warden was sending daily reports to the governor which detailed several escape attempts. A Marion county grand jury now launched an investigation into the prison another investigation. Murphy addressed a letter to a judge of the circuit Court of Albany requesting that Carl be brought in chains to the court because, quote, this man is desperate and will undoubtedly try to pull some desperate stunt during the trial. His request is granted. Carl has two trials in one day, one in

the morning for assault with intent to kill, when you try to shoot that officer, one in the afternoon for burglary, not sure why he didn't get two charges for assault there with intent to kill when he tried to shoot that officer. One in the afternoon for burglary. Not sure why he didn't get two charges for assault there with intent to kill. He pled not guilty, refused to allow an attorney to represent him. He lost. He was convicted. Three days later, he was sentenced to eight additional years for assault. Two more for burglary. Murphy sent a letter to the judge that said, Baldwin's, which is Pan's Rams, fall has done more to hurt the cause of the honor system than any other one thing that I know of. If he had made good, it seems to me that the rest would have been easy, because he was such a notorious criminal. I think this reformation after all he had gone through and

all the grief he had caused other wardens would have shown there was some good in every man if you could find it. I hardly know what my future course will be regarding Baldwin. I know for certain I will never trust him again But what steps to take towards reformation? I do not know. I'm inclined to think it's hopeless man He fucking crushed spuds spirit God Carl the spud tried try to be a good guy and you fucking broke him There was no hope of reforming Karl pans around you might behave for a little while might show signs of hope But I was always best guess you know just best case me, one bad day away from a return to violence

and mayhem. Carl was given a kitchen job a few months after returning. Then in late April of 1918, a prison snitch told the deputy warden that Carl and four others were plotting an escape. Carl was always plotting an escape. Guards subsequently discovered that a bar had been cut in a window leading to the prison basement. On the other side of the basement was another barred window that led to the prisoner's front lawn.

The deputy warden now stationed armed guards a few yards away from that exit while they repaired the first cut bar. Carl Cot worded this, waited until the guards had relaxed during their duties, they thought the escape attempt was over, and then he carried out his plan alone. Author's Gadison Long wrote, sawing his way into the basement, he put on the white uniform of a trusty cook. A bar spreader, a screw jack made from a heavy nut and bolt and a short notch piece of pipe, took care of the bars in front. Pans ram then strolled out of gun range before the wall guards opened fire. Yeah, Carl escaped May 12th, 1918 as reported by the United Press. Proper escape number seven, at least. And

then he'd also escaped a few other times before being caught within a few hours or days. He hitched a ride now on a freight train heading east, started using the alias John O'Leary, also shaved his stash, made further efforts to change his appearance. Carl wrote, for the next five years or from 1918 to 1923, I was in 31 different countries, had stolen and spent thousands of dollars, committed many murders, robberies, and other crimes. Oh yeah, shit's about to get wild. Username John O'Leary, Carl registered for the draft in Myersdale, Pennsylvania,

as the U.S. had entered World War I the previous spring. I don't know why the fuck he thought he could last in the military again. He didn't think it for long, he changed his mind almost immediately, moved on to Baltimore, where he met another, quote, nice boy who told him about a hotel they could rob in Frederick, Maryland. He did not remember the boy's name. He used the name John O'Leary to register at that hotel, and the two robbed the clerk at 2 a.m., taking over $1,200.

Tremendous amount of money for the time. Carl and his friend then parted ways after that successful venture. Carl now traveled to New York City, obtained a seaman identification card, a document that was used by all professional seafarers for keeping track of their movements and identifying themselves, and he sailed on the steamship James S. Whitney all the way down to Panama. From there he made his way over to Peru, where he left the ship, traveled to work in the copper mines in Cerro de Pasco, worked there until there was a big labor strike, then he traveled to Chile, where he worked for the Brayden Copper Corporation for a short time.

Man, what the hell? If this guy just could have kept from raping and killing, you know, robbing, ideally, you know, just the story would be so inspirational. The impoverished immigrant kid from rural Minnesota building one hell of a life for himself after barely receiving an education and being abused in reform school. Going on adventures, getting work all over the world. He now headed back to Panama, signed up as a labor foreman for the fortification division of the US government. It's incredible all the shit he's doing. Doing this all under various aliases. Then traveled along the coast to an island in the Boca del Toro province where he got a supervising job with the Sinclair oil company. From

there he was sent to manage workers in the Talamanca indigenous territory in Costa Rica. Dude is holding down a lot of actual jobs. Clearly could have turned his life around, but he didn't want to. 1919, Carl is fired again for fighting. And again he doesn't take this firing well. He decides to burn down the oil rig in Boca del Toro in retaliation. He wasn't caught, but the people at Sinclair Oil knew he did it and offered a $500 reward now for his capture. But he was gone. It's off in the wind. After his time in Costa Rica, Carl wanted to learn more about some indigenous people in Latin America. He returned to Panama, where now he decided he wanted to go to the San Blas Islands along the Gunayala Archipelago,

composed of 365 islands, 49 of which are inhabited currently. Many of these islands have become places for just tourists in recent years. Hotels built on tiny tropical slices of heaven. I looked at some videos, holy shit, white sand, crystal clear water, warm temperatures all year round. Man, a number of travel videos about these islands on YouTube call them paradise. And they do look like paradise, just beyond peaceful and tranquil, just lovely. A number of the islands are home to indigenous people, the Guna. They have been living there for centuries after they were pushed out of the Panamanian mainland by Spanish invaders.

And Carl wanted to go live with these people. Didn't say what he wanted to do, I Spanish invaders. And Carl wanted to go live with these people. Didn't say what he wanted to do. I don't know, maybe he wanted to rule them. Maybe wanted to beat, knock out their buttholes for a while before he bounced. Well, whatever reason, he wanted to get out there, so he needed a boat to do so. So he found a sailor who would help him steal a schooner. They find a schooner with six men on board and plot to kill the entire crew so they can take the boat. As written by Carl, the two of us got all ready to do the business, but the other fellow got to

drinking and while drunk he alone went to the schooner, killed all the six men, but he was too drunk to handle the schooner and the consequence was that he got caught. What the hell? Before this guy told the authorities that he'd plotted to kill the man with Carl, Carl now abandons his island dreams and boards a ship back to the US. One stateside he gets a job on another ship. An oil tanker called the SS Huma, or Homa, excuse me, traveled from New York to Port Arthur, Texas to Glasgow, Scotland. Carl being Carl he ended up robbing some other passengers on the ship and he spent several days in a Glasgow prison now. When he gets out he still has some money stashed away and a

Panama passengers passport. So now he travels to London and from London he travels to Paris. Still was really seeing the world. And probably also leaving so much trauma in his wake. He nearly ran out of money in France, barely could afford a ticket on a ship to Hamburg, Germany. From there he made his way back to the States. One stateside again, Carl now travels to Bridgeport, Connecticut where he robs a jewelry store. Still $7,000 worth of jewelry, but after selling it only ends up with $1,500. One stateside again, Carl now travels to Bridgeport, Connecticut where he robs a jewelry store.

Still $7,000 worth of jewelry, but after selling it only ends up with $1,500. Carl then signs on to the SS Manchuria, returns to Hamburg, Germany to do God knows what. Nine days later, he's already broke. I bet he spent a lot of money on brothels or something. He returns to New York in the summer of 1920. I wish I knew exactly what he got up to in Europe. September 16th, 1920, now former President William Howard Taft's home in New Haven, Connecticut was burglarized. I told you he would come up again.

He was the president from 1909 to 1913, the 27th president. Carl wrote that he was behind this robbery, claimed he stole $40,000 worth of jewelry, bonds, and Taft's Colt.45 caliber handgun. He wrote that he targeted the mansion because he held a grudge still against Taft for his incarceration at Fort Leavenworth. Luckily for Taft, he was in Canada for the summer, so he and his ass were spared Carl's direct vengeance. Carl probably almost did fuck a U.S. president. Former president, but still. Also, I wonder what being sodomized would do to a US president or US presidential candidates chances today, right? Like what if somebody like kidnapped fucking Biden or Trump, you know, filmed themselves just brutally sodomizing them, then posted the video online. I mean, Biden's already on the way out, but like what if somebody

did that to Trump? I mean, he's a victim of way out. Uh, but like, what if somebody did that to Trump? I mean, he, he, he's a victim of a tragic crime in this scenario, but I bet he can't win a, an election now. Like, you know, it's fucked up that that would be the reason, you know, it shouldn't matter, but I bet it would do a lot of people, it wouldn't matter to me, but it would matter to a lot of people. Like I bet a lot of people would feel some version of how are you supposed to protect our country if you can't even protect your own butthole?

Sorry, that was just a random thought that I probably shouldn't have shared. Carl used $3,000 of the cash he stole to now purchase a yacht called the Akista. Pretty fucking crazy that he robs a former president's house and uses some of the money to buy a yacht. And he decides he's going to hire a small a small crew of sailors, get him drunk, rape him, rob him, and kill him. Of course. Almost every day he would go to New York City and size up some sailors on South Street. When he saw some guys who were about his size, looked like they had some money on him, he would hire them to work on his yacht. He promised him good pay, easy work. Then he would take him to City Island in the Bronx. I had never heard of this island before, but almost 4500 people

live there right now and it looks awesome. It looks like it has some sweet diners randomly. On this island Carl would feed the sailors and get him drunk and then when they were asleep he would take out his Colt 45, he would shoot them, and he would throw their bodies overboard. He claimed he killed 10 people in three weeks doing this shit. After these 10 murders people around City Island were starting to get a little nervous around him, a little suspicious. So he spares the next two sailors he hires. Practices a little bit of self-control. He can do that when he needs to. Carl and a small crew now go to Graves End Bay in Brooklyn and he robs another yacht.

He isn't worried that the sailors he's with see him do this because he's planning on killing them soon. But then he never gets a chance because his yacht wrecks off the coast of Atlantic City, New Jersey, right after this robbery, shortly after. Carl and his crew are rescued on October 6, 1920 after spending the night lashed to the masts. After the rescue, Carl pays the two men and never sees them again. Then he gets sick. Then a doctor takes him in, gives him some time to recuperate. He pays the doctor with stolen jewelry and a gun. Once he recovers, Carl now returns to Connecticut where he gets arrested again and gets sentenced to six months in prison for burglary.

He won't escape this time. He'll serve a sentence that'll wrap up in early 1921. Once he gets back out, he heads to Philadelphia, meets back up with the doctor who had treated him in New Jersey, gets his gun back, then joins the flying squadron of the Siemens Union who are on strike. And just a few days later, gets into a gun battle with police and some sailors. Nothing but constant adventure for this wild man. He's arrested, he's held for aggravated assault, inciting a riot, but he's able to make bail and he bounces. He now travels to Norfolk, Virginia, gets on a ship bound for Europe. And from Europe, he would then travel to Matadi, a port city, the Democratic Republic of the fucking Congo now. Now he's in Africa. Then he goes to Luanda, the capital of Angola. At the

time the Congo was colonized by Belgium and Angola was colonized by Portugal. Although it was still a reward out for him at the time. He burned down an oil rig. Of course he does. I want to take some time on your travels to burn down another oil rig. He burns down one in Boca del Toro. And then he is able to get another job for Sinclair Oil under a new alias. And now in Africa, Karl decides to do something

that makes him even less likable than he already is. The prolapsed kid sinks to a lower low. He decides now he wants to rape a virgin girl. Seriously, I guess it was just something he'd been thinking about. So he finds some poor impoverished native woman, pays the girl's mother and father 80 escudos, the local currency of the time, which was equivalent to about eight dollars US, eight bucks, to take their daughter for the night, rape her and then return her. This girl was either 11 or 12 years old. Her disgusting parents,

I don't fucking care how poor they were, sell your own ass for cash before you ever sell a kid. Well, they sell her to this psycho who just decides to go full evil. Carl takes her to his shack, rapes her, then returns her to her father the next night and demands to have his money back. Because he felt that they lied to him about the girl being a virgin.

Well, the girls parents do not give them his money back. They do something much worse, unfortunately. Incredibly, they now offer him as an apology their fucking eight-year-old, right? To make it up to him. He takes the eight-year-old girl, rapes her as well, brings her back the next night, and berates her parents again. Now he's claiming the eight-year-old's not a virgin. And then finally, he at least leaves his family alone. Not sure if they gave his money back or not. These- those poor kids. How would that fuck you up? How much would that fuck you up? To have your own parents? The people who are supposed to protect you sell you to a rapist as an eight-year-old. Around the same time, Carl also writes that he rapes a waiter.

He's fucking raping everybody. He rapes over a thousand people. And this waiter reported the rape to Carl's boss. And now Carl gets fired. But not arrested. Which is weird, right? Mr. Pan's Ram, can I speak with you for a moment? Oh yeah, boss.

What's going on? I have to let you go. Well, what? Why? Well, you, you raped your waiter yesterday. Yeah, but he doesn't work here, so why do you care? We here at Sinclair Oil, we're not opposed to exploiting the locals. In fact, it's kind of our bread and butter.

But we do not sodomize them. We don't rape them. You should know that. It's literally our slogan. Sinclair Oil. We're never going to rape you. Carl now returns to Luanda. Tries to see the U.S. Consul there regarding finding new work, but the man had apparently heard

all about Carl and his rapey kid rent in ways and wants nothing to do with him. So Carl now goes to a nearby park, thinks about like, what do I do next? Well he's contemplating his next move. An 11 or 12 year old boy comes into the area and he just thinks, you know what? I should probably rape this kid. So Carl talks this kid into falling into a gravel pit near the main camp of Sinclair oil where he does rape him and then just kills him to blow off some steam. Carl wrote in graphic detail his brains were coming out of his ears when I left him and he will never be any deader. Well Carl now goes into

town purchases a ticket on a Belgian steamer to Lobito. Lobito, a city in Angola, oh my god, Angola. It's always, it's always this syllabic emphasis that confuses me when switching back and forth between languages. Once he arrives to the seaside city, he hires a canoe with six men on board, goes crocodile hunting. He claims he shot all six men with a Luger pistol, then feeds them to the crocodiles. Why? He doesn't say. He probably just wanted Luger pistol, then feeds them to the crocodiles. Why? He doesn't say. He probably just wanted to see what it would look like to feed somebody to a crocodile,

or six people, and free canoe. He steals the canoe, returns to town, then has his stolen canoe stolen from him, same night. God, he must have been mad. Oh, come on! You know how hard I worked for that thing? I had to fucking feed half a dozen guys to crocodiles. I didn't have to, but I did.

Carl then purchases a ticket back to Luanda, returns to the U.S. Consul, tries to get a ticket to Europe, but now the Consul sends the cops after him. Carl wrote that while fleeing, he ends up in the home of a Spanish sex worker, robs her of 10,000 escudo. She reports him to the police, and now he takes off on foot, since he can't get on a train or a ship. And he will stay on foot for a while. He will hike north through the jungle, towards the mouth of the Congo River. He's just like a fucking

terrifying rapey Indiana Jones now. Ends up traveling on foot some 300 miles buggering God knows how many locals during his travels. Then he hires a canoe and paddlers who take him to the little town of Banana. There's actually a town called Banana, a small port along the Democratic Republic of the Congo's Atlantic coast. There he's finally able to get a ticket on a French ship back to Matadi, where he stays for a month. He then sneaks on a few US ships, traveling as a stowaway, making it all the way to the British province

of the Gold Coast, which is now Ghana. He starts walking again. Walking and robbing some so-called lime juicers. Well, he steals enough off of these poor lime juicers to buy a ticket to Las Palmas, the capital of Spain's Grand Canary Island off the coast of northwest Africa. A place I've wanted to travel to for years. It looks spectacular. The consul there didn't know him, so he was able to give a fake story, a fake name, and

secure a proper passenger ticket on his ship to Lisbon, Portugal now. He makes it to Lisbon. Carl goes to see the consul there, try and get a ticket on a ship to Lisbon, Portugal now. He makes to Lisbon. Carl goes to see the Consul there, try and get a ticket on a ship back to the US, but this Consul knows of him as well. The director of Sinclair Oil had already been there and informed the Consul that this motherfucker is the worst ever. Carl now hides out on the island for a bit before he sneaks onto another ship and travels as a stowaway on an English coal carrier that gets him to Avonmouth, a port outside of Bristol, England. A couple days later, he signs on to a US ship as a Consul's passenger to New York City. And once he's back in New York City, Carl gets a new copy of his license, naming him captain and owner of the Akista, that yacht he used to own that he sank off the coast of Atlantic City.

With his new documents in hand, he goes looking for another yacht about the same size of the one he used to have, and he intends to steal it, take the name and number off of it, and put on the name Akista and the number that he just got. Well, while Carl is on the hunt for his new boat, he claims that in July of 1922, when he's now 31, feels like he should be at least 50 with all the shit he's done, he kills an 11 or 12 year old boy in Salem, Massachusetts by quote beating his brains out with a rock after first raping him. He kills an 11 or 12 year old boy in Salem, Massachusetts by quote, beating his brains out with a rock after first raping him.

He left the boy's body there, headed back to New York, quote, robbing and hell raising as I went. Over the course of the summer and fall, he travels to Philadelphia, Baltimore, does some more raping and killing, buys a boat ticket to Jacksonville, Florida. Once he gets there, he takes another ship up to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Doesn't go to Baton Rouge, though, gets off in New Orleans instead. And there, Carl pretends to be sick,

so he can stay at a place called the Marine Hospital for a few months. It was a hospital built to treat ill and disabled seamen in either the merchant marines or the Coast Guard. And while he's there, he robs the drug room of a whole bunch of cocaine. Takes a bunch of coke, morphine, and opium. And then sells that around the city. Now he's a drug kingpin. Fucking so, again, so much

mayhem. It's my word of the week. This guy is just a constant menace. He eventually splits town with a whole bunch of drugs and sells them in St. Louis, Missouri, and in New York City. In January or February of 1923, Carl in the New York area gets a job as a watchman, aka security guard. He's in Yonkers, New York for the Abico Mill Corporation. Yeah, fucking why not? And while working there he meets a 14 or 15 year old boy named George. Carl had a sex relationship with George until he leaves that job in April of 1923. And he doesn't even try to kill him one time. Even though Carl is a fucking pedophile here, a rock spider, I am relieved that at least George didn't end up with his brains getting, you know, his

head getting bashed in and his brain spilled. Well, Carl's next job was as a watchman and caretaker of boats at the New Haven Yacht Club in Connecticut. How is he getting these jobs? Carl writes, I took very good care of their boats, so much so that I robbed one the next night. And in May or June, he steals a yacht in Providence, Rhode Island and now sails it to New York. He's got his boat back. He picks up a young man, brings him on the yacht for a while, then lets him go New York. Carl doesn't specify what happened on the yacht, but he did use the phrase, I let him go, so probably murdered him. Probably threw him off in the fucking water to drown.

When he's back in Yonkers, he picks that kid George back up, that kid he'd been molesting. Takes him to Kingston, New York, now where he paints over the yacht, changes the name and numbers. It's the Akista! Once more! Oh, the prolapsed captain! Formerly the prolapsed kid is back in business. Carl claimed that he then tried to sail the boat, but the potential buyer tried to rob

him so he had to shoot and kill him. Carl then threw the body overboard, which scared his buddy George, his fucking victim. Now he sails to New York, to Newburgh, New York and lets George go because George is terrified. Interesting. Clearly had a soft spot for George. I wish he would have said why. Despite everything he's done, he's still not completely dead inside. Terrible, but not completely dead. George now rats Carl out to the police and the cops will catch Carl in Nyack where he is arrested and charged with sodomy, burglary, robbery, and attempted escape. Carl hires a lawyer, tells him that his boat is worth five to ten thousand dollars and that

he would give it to him if he could get him out of jail. And the lawyer does get him out of jail. And Carl stays true to his word. He hands over the boat in the papers saying he owns the boat But then the lawyer when he goes to register the boat realizes it was a stolen boat and the real owner is there to collect it Fucking Carl classic Carl Got him got the lawyer. Now he's off in the wind again Few days later Carl turns up in a new and turns up in New Haven, Connecticut Where he claims he raped and killed another boy said he strangled him with his own belt and then left his body in the bushes He raped and killed another boy said he strangled him with his own belt and then left his body in the bushes

Now he travels back to New York clearly loved New York and got a job as a bathroom steward on the Army Transport US Grant Which are USS Grant which was heading to China? But before he could wreak havoc on yet another continent, which would have been his fifth He gets fired for being drunk and fighting and the very next night night he robs an office in Larchmont, New York. He used an axe to pry open a window this time and get into the baggage room of the New York, New Haven and Hartford Railroad Company. Then on August 26, 1923, John O'Leary is arrested for this crime in Larchmont at a train depot. John, but of course Carl, now sentenced to five years for third degree burglary. He's now transferred to New York State's infamous Sing Sing prison in Austin-ing. Austin-ing? That's a fucking dumb word. Apologies if it's very important to some people.

Austin-ing in the fall of 1923. It's a hard word to say if you have a borderline lisp. Their authorities learned that Carl was still wanted in Oregon to finish out his lengthy sentence. Oregon put a hold on him so that he could be transferred after five years. Carl wouldn't stay long at Sing Sing. Before the end of October he was transferred to another New York prison, the Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora, New York. I like that word, it's easy for me to say. There were strict rules at Dannemora, such as no talking in line at work or at meal times. Really into the no talking in these prisons back work, or at meal times. Really into the no talking in these prisons back then. No moving around outside a marching unit supervised by a guard.

No complaining. That's a rule. And there's more rules. According to authors Gaddis and Long, Danimora, which is about 15 miles from the Canadian border, was known as the Siberia of America, isolated in the mountainous countryside. Some cells there just 40 inches wide. That's insane. That's three and a half feet. Oh my god I'd be so cramped. The food allowance for inmates was six cents a meal. The food allowance had now been increased since 1868. Zero fresh fruit or vegetables were ever provided. Sounds like hell. Men who tried to escape or faked insanity were put in a small stone building at the end of the yard

where they were beaten and tortured until they begged to return to Genpop. Well, Carl's, his pyromaniac would resurface. And Dan Amora, he wrote, "'I was there only a few months when I made a time bomb and tried to...' I love it. I made a time bomb and tried to burn down the shops. The screws found it, but they didn't blame me for it. I made a time bomb and tried to burn down the shops

The screws found it, but they didn't blame me for it They put the blame on a couple of other guys and put those two in isolation then I tried to murder a con I Snuck up behind him as he was sitting in a chair and I hit him in the back of the head with the 10-pound club Didn't kill him, but he was good and sick and he left me alone after that Then I was locked up for a few months more Carl tried to escape after six months at Danimora. Of course he did but this attempt out really backfired But he was good and sick and he left me alone after that. Then I was locked up for a few months more. Carl tried to escape after six months at Danimora. Of course he did, but this attempt really backfired.

He slipped and fell 30 feet down onto some concrete, broke both legs in multiple places, fractured his spine and ruptured a testicle. Then because they fucking hated him, he spent only five days in the hospital recovering. And then they put him back in his cell with no medical attention, no cast and no doctor's visits going forward. They wanted him to die probably. He couldn't took him about eight months for his bones to heal enough to walk even with crutches.

Carl wrote, at the end of 14 months of constant agony, I was taken to the hospital where I was operated on for my rupture and one of my testicles was cut out. This is so Carl. Five days after my operation I tried to see if my sexual organs were still in good order. I got caught trying to commit sodomy on another prisoner. For that I was thrown out of the hospital and dumped into a cell where I suffered more agony for many months. This fucking lunatic.

I wonder if my ball still works. I better try and rape some guy. He claimed that for the next several years his male was now held up or destroyed. He was not allowed to file complaints without retaliation. Who is fucking mailing him? Who is mailing him at this point? Dear John O'Leary, aka Carl Pantram, We really need to talk about the matter of my brother's destroyed butthole.

It's been two years and he still can't walk right. He can't even enjoy going down a waters slide without being stuffed to the gills with a dangerous amount of liquid. He can't eat soup, just falls right out of him. How are you going to make this right? Carl said his sole focus now became finding ways to annoy and punish his enemies. Wasn't that already kind of his focus? But he wrote, that was the frame of mind I was in when my five years was up and I was

turned loose to go anywhere I wanted to go. My intention was to rob, rape, and kill everybody I could. Anybody and everybody. Carl even started plotting mass murder events while he waited to get back out. One plan involved traveling to the railroad tunnel between Meyersdale, Pennsylvania and Cumberland, Maryland. He intended to wait until a fast steel train came along. Then he would place a large contact bomb in the tunnel so that when the train hit it, the bomb would explode and block that end of the tunnel.

The explosion would burst large glass containers of formaldehyde and other gases and set fire to a few hundred pounds of sulfur. The gas fumes would then kill everyone in the tunnel. And Carl would stay at the rear entrance of the tunnel to shoot anybody who tried to escape. My God. He would then put on protective gear and steal all the valuables from the train he could carry. And to ensure he had enough time to do this, he would set a time bomb 12 to 15 miles up the line, which would explode at the same time as the tunnel explosion. Carl thought he could get 50 to 100 thousand dollars from this plot. And how many people would die? Well, he didn't give a

fuck. That didn't factor into this plan. Didn't matter to him. He said he would then hide the loot, go into hiding, then return a couple months later to get all stolen items and sell them for cash. He wrote with unlimited funds in my hands I then intended to steal millions of dollars and kill millions of people. And how did he think he was gonna kill millions of people? By literally starting a war between England and the US. That's what he wanted to do. He wrote the way I figured on doing this was to work through numerous brokers on Wall Street playing the stock market ahead of time with the knowledge that I alone would know that England and the U.S. would soon be at war. Forearmed with this knowledge,

I would know exactly which stocks would rise and which would fall in value. He was almost an evil mastermind. Carr wrote that he intended to start the war by waiting until there were strained diplomatic relations, then sinking a British battleship in American waters. He would do this with a boat with a bomb on board that he would then send towards the battleship. Karl wrote that he had worked on boats and ships before, and his job with the affordification division gave him experience with explosives. He added, these schemes may sound fantastic and, I've never seen this word before grandiloquent but it's a fun word to say an impossible of accomplishment by one man but I feel sure that it could

be done and I also feel sure that I could have and would have done just exactly as I planned if circumstance and luck had not been against me Carl had other plans for mass murder he also wanted to kill off an entire town just kind of to see if he could do it. He planned to purchase a barrel of arsenic. This is so weird. And then obtained six to eight dogs. Very specific. He would then starve the dogs and then feed them a mixture of flour, water, mash, and arsenic. He would hang them up then by their hind legs with a tub underneath so their saliva and other fluids would drain into the tub. And then he would put this weird fucking dog blood poison stew into several pots,

which he would then dump into a creek that flowed into a town reservoir, which would poison the water supply. Why were the dogs needed here? I'm very confused about the dog part of this plan. If you have all the arsenic, why not just dump the arsenic into the creek directly? What am I missing? Why first poison a bunch of dogs? Like, do the dogs intensify the poison? They seem like an unfortunate, unnecessary middleman in this situation. But I've never thought about, you know, poisoning an entire town quite this way. I don't think I've thought about poisoning an entire town. I say that because I sometimes am crazy. I don't think I've thought about poison and turd. I say that because I sometimes am crazy. I don't think I've ever had a weird fantasy about I should poison a town. Carl was discharged from Danimora on July 6, 1928 and for reasons never explained, he

is not put on a train and chains and sent to serve his additional time in Oregon. Now he's just released. And 18 days later, the now 37 year old master of mayhem begins a string of six to eight burglaries. Two days after those are done, he commits another murder in Baltimore. 12 days after that, he commits a burglary in Washington, DC, followed by two more burglaries in Baltimore. He is then arrested again in Baltimore, August 10th, 1928.

Carl and three others are arrested for burglarizing the home of Dr. L.W. Eustor, a dentist in Washington D.C. Carl stole a radio and jewelry from the home. And detectives located Carl with the help of informer Joe Sierwinski, some fucking insane Polish name, with way too many consonants, too many consonants and vowels, weird consonants stacked together and too many constants and vowels. Weird constants stacked together and too many vowels. This Joe guy was caught pawning the stolen radio from the dentist's home. Joe then told the authorities that Carl was staying in a boarding house and he was and when they

entered one of the rooms of this boarding house they find Carl. He gives him his true name and age. He's like yeah I'm 37 year old Carl Panzram. He admits to stealing the radio and kind of laughs and says he thought that charge was a joke at first. When asked why he thought it would be a joke, he said he had killed way too many people to worry about some bullshit burglary. And they thought he was lying. Nope, he wasn't. Seems as if Carl has now finally gotten tired of ping-ponging around the world, lying, stealing, raping, murdering, plotting fucking weird dog arsenic poison schemes, and you know just trying to constantly not end up back in prison. It feels like he just wants to get caught, just have it all be over.

Remember, he doesn't just hate the rest of humanity, he also hates himself. Well Carl now spoke about his lengthy prison history, mentioned two specific dates regarding some murders he committed, but the officers are still skeptical. On August 20th, 1928, Carl now meets 25-year-old Henry Lesser, a prison guard at the D.C. jail. The man we have to thank more than any other person outside of Carl himself, for the info we know about him. Lesser was born in 1902 in Fall River, Massachusetts. His father was a Russian immigrant and a door-to-door salesman.

He was the youngest of his siblings, struggled for status in his family. So he's a familiarity with Carl. They're both the son of an immigrant, both the youngest in the family. He disliked school, dropped out in the 10th grade. He then worked in a clothing store before moving to DC where his brothers worked in accounting and law. Lesser continued to work in sales, but his managers just liked him because of his low numbers. Lesser then joined a retail clerks union, which gave him a sense of identity and new friends. However, his efforts to better conditions in his workplace

led to a fist fight with his manager, who then fired him. So another commonality with Carl, you know, getting fired from fucking punching the boss. Now gets a job as an attendant at St. Elizabeth's Hospital, a psychiatric hospital, and was asking about some juvenile probation work when he found out about a guard position opening up at the district jail. Lesser takes a job, earns the staff's respect quickly, and the prisoners would like him as well because he would not show excessive force. There was rarely

trouble on his wing when he was working. Lesser recalled the moment he laid eyes on Carl. He said there was a kind of stillness around him, how he looked. At first Carl didn't speak much to Lesser because prisoners were not supposed to interact with guards. But Lesser was curious about Carl. There was something about him. He was different than the rest of the prison population. Lesser wanted to know more about what Carl had said one time when he said that he reformed people. So one day Lesser asked said that he reformed people. So one day Lesser asked

him how he reformed people and Carl smiled and said the only way to reform somebody is to blow up their butthole. No he didn't say that. He did say the only word, only way to reform somebody is to kill them. And I think here he wasn't just talking about his victims, he was also talking about himself. In early October, prison superintendent W.L. Peek learns that Carl is a dangerous criminal who has already served a lot of time in various jails and prisons all around the world. He wasn't joking when he got arrested. And one evening in early October, Carl is taken to the basement where he is then cuffed

to an iron post with his arms above his head and his toes barely touching the floor. Why? Well, because he had loosened the bars of his cell in yet another escape attempt. So maybe he wasn't quite ready to give up all the mayhem? Maybe he just loved the challenge of a prison break. The prison physician visited him throughout the night to check his heart, make sure he wasn't going to die from the abuse. Carl was stuck in this stretched out position for roughly 12 hours. And Lesser wrote, The next time the doctor came to put his stethoscope to his heart,

Panzram taunted him with a charge of committing sodomy on his assistant. The doctor was shocked and voiced intense disapproval. Panzram and his suffering shrieked and blasphemed, hurling the vilest epithets at the doctor and everyone present, and expressed his desire to kill them all. He cursed his own mother for bringing him into the world and yelled that he would kill her and everything human. Excuse me. Carl was taken back to isolation the following morning. Lesser saw him, felt ashamed that he'd been mistreated in such a manner. He asked if there was anything he could do, but Carl only cursed at him. Well, later that day, Carl saw one of the officers who

had taken him to the basement, called him a son of a bitch. He was then knocked unconscious for that insult. And eyewitnesses said he was then kicked and punched by other guards following being knocked out. He was then taken to the post and tortured again that night. Other prisoners could hear him shouting and screaming throughout the night. The next morning word got around that Carl spent the night confessing to the murders of

three boys, which took place in Boston, New Haven, and Philadelphia. This time the police took him seriously. Superintendent Peek called on the press and the Washington Post published a story about his admissions. Carl said that one of the murders took place in Philadelphia at a pier on League Island, where Carl had choked an 11-year-old boy to death. Carl said he met a Philadelphia victim at the foot of State Street, hired him to carry his bags as a ruse to lure him away. They got him to a lonely spot a quarter mile away from Pier 96 where he attacked the boy and choked him to death, then disposed of the body.

Regarding the New Haven murder, on August 9, 1923, the body of a man in his 20s with a cloth gag in his mouth had been found on the Milford Turnpike in West Haven near the New Haven County home. He had been shot twice in the chest and there was nothing to see to identify him. A man taking a shortcut through the woods found his body, which was extremely decomposed. Although he was shot, the police believed he was strangled by a leather belt that was wrapped tightly around his neck. And he was probably sodomized by Carl. And in Massachusetts, the Salem police said that Carl's confession to a Boston murder fit the details of the 1922 murder of a 12-year-old boy named Henry McMahan, who had been beaten to death with a rock.

Henry McMahan's body was found in Great Pastures on the afternoon of July 21. He was last seen with a tall, quote, foreign-looking man, July 18, 1922. Carl accurately described the lonely section of Windy Point Meadows near a riverbank where he left the body wrapped in a blanket. Also described pieces of a radio set that were wrapped in a blanket. He said he stole the radio set from a yacht anchored in Essington, Pennsylvania, a few miles from where the skeleton was found. The yacht owner would confirm this was indeed, that indeed a radio had been stolen from him. And this convinced the police that Carl was telling the truth.

When Henry Lesser came back to work after these confessions, he asked a prisoner to pass a dollar to Carl so he could buy himself some smokes. Carl thought it was a joke. But when he realized the gesture was sincere, literal tears came to his eyes. It's never made totally clear exactly why Lesser treated him with such kindness after hearing about the horrible things he had done, but he did. Carl later thanked him, said that no guard had ever done a favor to him before, or for him before. Carl said that some reporters had been asking for more of his story, but now Carl refused to see them. But he asked when Lesser was going to question him, and Lesser said that, well, if and when Carl wanted to talk, sure, he'd listen. Carl now told him, I'm going to see to it that you get the story

of my life, all of it, just keep me fixed with pencil and paper and that was how most of this information came to be publicly known After that moment the two men would be friendly the next day lesser smuggled writing materials to Carl He told him to come every night after midnight to collect his writings Carl said he wanted to write it all out to explain his side of his story the Philadelphia police now Let's get back to these murders, plan to start criminal action against Carl in November for the murder there, but that would never happen for some reason. That same month Massachusetts detectives would seek an indictment for the murder of Henry McMahan, but that also would never happen for some reason. And in the

Connecticut case, detectives were still trying to get more details to make sure Carl was not bullshitting them. Carl said the victim was a 16 year old boy who wore glasses. Said he brought him something to eat and that they went into the woods. After the boy finished eating he strangled him and for whatever reason he enjoyed this murder more than any other he was confessing to. Perhaps this is because the boy said he had a relative who was a police officer in Brooklyn. But he won't be charged for that murder either.

Carl's burglary trial will start November of 1928. He will ask to represent himself. The prosecutor called multiple witnesses without cross-examining them. The last prosecution witness was that Joe Czerwinski, who was caught selling stolen goods and was the man who implicated Carl. Carl would openly threaten Joe's life in court. He said to him, take a good look at me, and then he drew his finger across his throat. I've promised it to you that you'll get it. Now get away from me. All right, good cross-examination.

Carl then told the judge he had some things to say. He said, you people get me here, you people got me here, charged with housebreaking and larceny. I'm guilty. I broke in and I stole. What I didn't steal I smashed. If the owner had come in I would have knocked his brains out. There's something else you ought to know. While you were trying me here I was trying you. I found you guilty. Some of you I've executed. If I live I'll execute some more of you. I hate the whole human race. You think I'm playing crazy don't you? I'm not. I know right from wrong. No delusions. I don't hear anything you don't hear. My conscience doesn't bother me. I have no conscience.

I believe the whole human race should be exterminated. I'll do my best to do it every chance I get." Well, the jury found Carl guilty in approximately 60 seconds. Like I said earlier, he seems done. He seems tired of playing the dangerous games he's been playing. Doesn't seem like he really cares about anything anymore, including getting out of prison. Carl is now sentenced to 25 years at the federal penitentiary back in Leavenworth. And for reasons not made clear, again, he's just not charged for the murders of those boys in Philadelphia, Boston, or Connecticut. On November 12th, 1928, before

being transferred back to Leavenworth, Karl hands Henry Lesser more pages. Karl gave him a detailed description of crime, how the underworld worked, and descriptions of criminals. In part of his manuscript he wrote, A child is very easily led. Any child, if properly taught, will live the way he is taught to live. All criminals are merely overgrown children. It is in your hands to make us or break us. We, by our own efforts, are failures in life, simply because we don't know any better. We don't know how to live decent, upright lives. Heredity has very little to do with the shaping of our lives. The main causes of why we are here

or of why we are what we are is because of our improper teaching, lack of knowledge in our environments. Every man's philosophy is colored by his environment. If you don't want us to rob, rape, and murder you, then it is your place to see that the mental and moral misfits are properly taught a sufficient amount of useful and sensible knowledge and put into the proper environment where they can be best fitted to exist in life. My own case is very similar to many thousands of others. I was born a normal human being. My parents were ignorant and through their improper teachings and improper environment,

I was gradually led into the wrong way of living, little by little, from bad to worse. While he continued to await his transfer, Henry Lesser was assigned the task of checking Karl's cell bars every day. One day Karl told him, You're the one man in the world I don't want to kill, but I'm so erratic I'm liable to do anything. For a fucking psycho, he was pretty self-aware, wasn't he? I like that he warned Lesser, essentially, to never ever trust him. That he didn't trust himself to not at some point snap and murder the one guy he didn't

think was deserving to die. He was aware that his temperament was extremely volatile. That he truly didn't value life anyone's, even his own at the end of the day. Carl was transferred to Leavenworth January 30th 1929. He promised to ride his friend Henry Lesser and he would. It had been over 20 years since he first stepped foot inside Leavenworth and now he's back. He was told that he'd be working in the laundry room. Right off the gate he threatened to kill the first man who bothered him there. Fucking classic Carl. right off the gate he threatened to kill the first man who bothered him there. Fucking classic Carl. Never hesitates to throw some murder into the conversation. The former of the prison laundry was a civilian named Robert Warnke who was called RG,

and RG was a real piece of shit. Active in the Leavenworth KKK, inmates called him a pencil artist meaning he wrote them up often. Meanwhile back in Washington DC, Henry Lester's friend Eleanor Trott had now offered to type up copies of Carl's manuscript to submit them to a publisher. March 2, 1929, the Jones law goes into effect, making bootlegging a federal felony, and this will lead to an influx of new prisoners at Leavenworth. As the prison grew more and more crowded, it was more and more difficult than ever for Carl to avoid his fellow inmates, and tensions were rising.

Prisoners were put in further and further crowded makeshift housing with little sanitation and the quality of the food also worsened. Carl began laundering extra handkerchiefs for a few nickels, cigarettes, and extra food. A prisoner warned him not to let Warnke, that dickhead, find out, but Carl didn't care. And Warnke soon got word of Carl's scheme and he was now reduced to third grade prisoner status, right, again and sent to the hole to spend time in solitary. Third grade prisoners, as I mentioned when Carl was in Leavenworth earlier, held in a separate section of the prison, subject to the silent system and other exceptionally strict rules, right, they couldn't use the commissary, couldn't watch a movie, couldn't

receive any mail, nothing. Any infraction meant automatic isolation time in the hole. When Carl was released from the hole, he expected to be transferred out of the laundry, but he was sent back. This was not standard procedure. It's possible he was not transferred because he had threatened to kill Warnke. And Warnke didn't want to appear scared or weak, but he should have been scared because Carl was an especially scary motherfucker. Carl now bided his time waiting to exact some revenge against Warnke. Waiting for the chance to strangle or beat him to death. And on June 20th, 1929, Carl got his chance. He ate breakfast, had to work as usual that morning.

But then he hid behind a large steel post near a disassembled washing machine. And nobody noticed he wasn't in his normal post. In his normal place. 47-year-old Robert Warnke was doing his morning checks, was walking past the steel Post when Carl popped out, hit him with a 10-pound iron bar and kept hitting him. Carl now caved Bob's fucking head in without bar. And when he was satisfied that the man was very dead,

he started chasing some other inmates who ran away from him in terror. He ran away, ran all the way to the isolation building, ran all around it. He ran over to Deputy Warden Fred Zerp's office. I'm not sure how he got the fuck in there, but he made it to his office with his iron bar, hoping he could kill him too, but he wasn't there. He then entered the mail room, swung at some of the clerks inside, but missed. Then went back to Zerp's office.

A convict runner was there. So Carl chased him all the way to the dining room, trying to beat him to death. Then he returned to isolation. He seemed to kind of calm down and he told a guard guarding the isolation cell, Dale Ballard, I just killed Warnky, let me in. Ballard told him he wasn't gonna let him in with the iron bar still in his hand and Carl said okay this is my lucky day and he just threw the bar down and now Ballard did let him walk himself into his cell. Eight days after this murder on June 28th, Carl wrote Henry Lesser to tell him all was okay and explain his side of things. He wrote, say I want to tell you something. You know my letters to you. I've been grousing about my job here.

I didn't like it. I wanted to change. Well, I got to change, all right? But I had to kill my boss to get it. That makes either 21 or 22 that I have to my credit. You can put that down in your little storybook. Carl also wrote that he was greatly looking forward to either sitting in the electric chair or being hanged. Federal investigator J.R. Berger now went to the prison to question Carl, who was not cooperative. He finally asked Carl if he intended to kill Warnke when he hit him with that iron bar. And Carl responded, sure, I intended to kill him. What the hell do you think I hit him for? I love it.

I bashed his fucking head in you moron. What do you think I intended? To give him a mild headache or a massage? In August, capital punishment groups advocated for Carl, arguing that he must have been insane and therefore should not be executed. C.B. Van Horn, a psychiatrist at the Kansas State Training School for Boys, was sent to obtain Carl's mental history, but he couldn't talk to Carl because of all the shouting and cursing from the other inmates. So he settled for photocopies of his prison record and a copy of Carl's

will, which left his body to a dog catcher in East Grand Forks, and he left a curse for mankind. Literally left a curse. I love that he wrote that into his will. And to Johnny Whiskum, my old friend, who now works as a dog catcher at East Grand Forks, please take my body and bury me back where this all began. As for the rest of mankind, I leave you a curse. I cursed you! May you all suffer and die. Sincerely, Carl Panzram, One-Man Apocalypse. Guard Dale Ballard shared with the psychiatrist that Carl was eager to be hanged and summarize some of his claims of murder which Carl described in detail. Authorities once again looked into the truth behind his

statements. Extradition proceedings were requested for several of Carl's murders but he would never face trial for the murders he confessed to. The murder he committed in prison would be enough to get him killed. Meanwhile Henry Lesser now attended a meeting in DC and met a psychiatrist named Benjamin Carpenter who was a leader in the field of penology, the study of the punishment of crime in both its deterrent and reformatory aspects and Carpenter wanted Lesser to ask Carl questions formulated by him to shed light on the sexual basis of violent murder and on October 6, 1929, Karl wrote to Lesser,

You ask me as to my motives in doing some of the things I have done. Surely you know that I am very impulsive, very vindictive, and absolutely unscrupulous. Those are reasons enough to explain my actions. You also know why I feel and am that way. As for the kick I get out of it, I meant figuratively and not literally. Whatever possessed you to think that me or anyone else ever had a sexual-like feeling when we commit a crime like a murder or arson, that's the bunk. I myself have intelligence enough to know the feeling but I haven't knowledge enough

to explain it so that you could understand it. The only way I know of for you to find out just what sort of kick I get out of all this is for you to do as I have done." Not the insight the doctor was hoping for. You'll never know what it truly feels like unless you do it. Lesser wrote Carl a letter proposing a hypothetical scenario now. What would Carl do if he was pardoned and received financial and moral support? On November 13, 1929, Carl wrote back, Your letter of November 7 reached me this eve.

What a kick I got out of reading it. You have it all doped out, eh? You're all wet. Wake up, kid. You're having a nightmare. I can dream better dreams than that myself. If there was even the faintest possibility of your idea ever becoming a fact, then I would be right on the job. I would be the best little yes man you ever saw. You may not believe me, but if I cared to, I could be just as smooth a liar and hypocrite as any would-be Christian you ever saw or heard tell of, and they are all experts. The real truth of the matter is that I haven't the least desire to reform. I would not reform if the front gate was open right now and if I was given a million dollars when I stepped out. I have no desire to do good or to be

good. Yeah, for Karl, man stealing wasn't about the money. Not primarily and maybe rape wasn't either. Maybe it was all about inflicting just harm on the world. He lived to dish out pain. The pain you feel when somebody is broken or burned down some possession you care about. The pain you feel when someone directly assaults you. The pain a family feels when their child has gone missing or turned up dead and the police tell them the child was raped and strangled or the like. Carl really was a one-man apocalypse of sorts. Just mayhem incarnate.

Carl did not know that Henry Lesser mailed his confession manuscript to psychiatrist Carl Meneger, the guy we met at the beginning of the episode, as a suggestion of Dr. Benjamin Cartman. Meneger was assembling examples of people whose wish was to destroy themselves and Carl's case will be used in his 1938 book again referenced at the beginning of this episode. Well, Carl was indicted for first-degree murder now December 5th, 1929 and he had a plan to ensure his speedy execution. He would plead not guilty which increases chance of a death sentence. He would not take a plea deal. He would also set up a conflict with his attorney that would weaken his defense. And then he would do his best to

appear sane so that no one could question the death sentence and try and appeal it. His attorney was Ralph O'Neill and Carl refused to cooperate with him. That made O'Neill think that Carl truly was insane so he asked Dr. Carl Menegger to now come examine Carl. Carl's trial was to start on April 15th 1930. Just before the date. Carl underwent a 50 minute exam from Carl Menager. Didn't go well. Carl threatened the doctor's life to start the exam.

And then he said, I want to be hanged. And I don't want any interference by you or your filthy kind. You know. Well, I am no more insane than you are. I just know more about the world and the essential evil nature of man and don't play the hypocrite. I am proud of having killed off a few and regret I didn't kill more. I absolutely refuse to permit you to get up and testify about my mental condition and blab a lot of stuff about insanity and irresponsibility.

I am saying I am responsible and I am guilty and the sooner they hang me the better it will be and gladder I will be so don't go trying to interfere with it. That's hardcore Menager would not testify at Carl's trial. Maybe he was scared, but he did give his impressions of Carl to the judge At the start of the proceedings Carl told the judge he would never cooperate with his attorney And that he pled not guilty cooperate with his attorney and that he pled not guilty. Prosecutor Dan Cowey introduced three eyewitnesses to the murder of Robert Warnke. The prosecution rested in less than an hour. Then against Carl's wishes, defense attorney Ralph O'Neill asked the court to appoint a sanity commission to examine Carl. The

proceedings of the sanity commission were later reported in the press. Carl literally threatened to kill every single one of them, every single member of the commission. Like that was how the examination began. With Carl telling them he would fucking end them, the first chance he got. He then told him, I'm mad, plenty mad right now. I don't believe there's any good in any man. I'd like to have the opportunity to go away, gain power and brains, and then I'd like to kill off the rest of the world. The fuck does that mean?

Opportunity to go away and gain some power and brains? Sounds almost like he wanted to go cheat death maybe come back to this world as a demon. Really fuck shit up. I think if Carl would have thought that the devil was real he would have begged him to take his soul in exchange for the power just to kill kill and kill some more. Carl said he had zero desire to live. He boasted about committing 21 murders said that if his parents were alive he would kill them too just for bringing him into the world. The Sanity Commission submitted their report later that day. They found Carl to be of unsound mind, but also declared he knew what he was doing, which meant he could understand the nature of the charge against him and

was capable of assisting in his own defense. O'Neill then asked Carl to take the stand in his own defense, but Carl said, You and the judge wouldn't let me be my lawyer, so go ahead. I got nothing to say. O'Neill then asked Carl to take the stand in his own defense, but Carl said, You and the judge wouldn't let me be my lawyer, so go ahead. I got nothing to say. O'Neill now just gave up. And the defense rested their case. And 45 minutes later, the jury had a verdict, but the judge would choose to wait to read it until the following morning. Maybe just doing that to fuck with Carl.

Next day, April 16, 1930, Carl is found guilty of murder, and his execution is scheduled for September 5, less than five months down the road. Carl now calmly told the judge after appearing happy with his verdict, I don't want any attorney to file for a new trial or appeal anything. I am satisfied with the verdict. He got his wish. He was going to die. On April 17, Carl wrote another letter to Henry Lesser, informing him it would likely

be the last letter he would write him. It wouldn't, but he thought it would. He asked Lesser to send him some reading material to occupy his mind and tell his execution if he could. He ended his letter with, You are one of the very few men in the world that I know and who I do not wish harm and do not wish you any bad luck, but I do wish you all the good luck that you are entitled to, and it is my opinion that you deserve quite a bit of good luck.

That is all that I care to tell you now. This will be the end of this letter. And in 89 days from today, it will be the end of me." At this time, Lesser had been invited to work for the Federal Bureau of Prisons and was going by train to Atlanta. In May, a group of anti-death penalty advocates came to visit Carl,

asked him to sign a petition for the commutation of his death sentence by President Herbert Hoover. Carl in response roared curses at them when he realized why they were there. Also wrote a letter to the Society for the Abolishment of Capital Punishment on May 23, 1930, part of which said, the findings of the court and the sentence of the judge meet with my approval and I am perfectly satisfied to have the sentence carried out without any further interference from anyone. I do not wish to have another trial and I do not wish to have the sentence change in any way. I have been informed that your organization or at any rate some of the members of it have made

or are making an attempt to change my sense to life imprisonment in solitary confinement in a prison or in an insane asylum. This you are doing without my consent and absolutely against my will. I shall never willingly grant you my permission to have this done for me." Then in classic Carl Style he ends his letter with, "...the only thanks you or your kind will ever get from me for your efforts on my behalf is that I wish you all had one neck and that I could put my hands on it. I would be sure to put you out of your misery just the same as I have done with numbers of other people." He might be the only prisoner in history awaiting his execution date to literally threaten the lives of a group of people simply trying to save him, trying to get him off a death row. He also might be the only guy ever to

threaten the lives of a commission of people trying to find him insane so he wouldn't be killed. He truly just wanted to kill everybody. Even Lesser, he basically told him, right? He'd try and kill him at some point due to his impulsiveness if given the chance. Well, to ensure nothing would interfere with his execution, Carl now wrote a letter to the US president on May 30th,

telling him that he was very satisfied with his trial and sentence. On June 5th, Carl wrote another letter to Henry Lesser, but decided to save it being sent until after his execution. Carl thanked him for sending the reading materials he'd requested, again told him that he deserved good luck, happiness, peace, and contentment. He also wrote that he looked forward to his death, which would be easier on him than any of the ways he had killed his victims. He wrote, as for me, I'll soon be at peace. I have never had the good fortune to find it in life, so I expect to find it in death. This guy is fascinating to me.

Carl wrote his second to last letter June 20th. He wrote that he was going to end his life that night instead of waiting for his execution. One of his fellow inmates in the segregated unit had been talking loudly to the guard and one other inmate about how to end one's life, hoping Carl would hear. Carl waited for the guard to end his shift. He plugged up the lock of his cell with wood and cloth, forced himself to eat a rotten plate of beans he'd been hiding, and he cut a deep gash in his leg. That's a fucking weird way to try and kill yourself. But then later that night the guard heard him vomiting, found him in his cell, his stomach was pumped and the cut was treated.

Carl's legal limit for an appeal expired on July 16th. Before he died, a man named Austin McCormick, second command of the Federal Bureau of Prisons, came to Carl's cell for a visit and Carl asked McCormick to give his letters and documents to Henry Lesser. And McCormick agreed. Lesser read Carl's June letters which saddened him and made him question if there were some cases that were indeed truly hopeless. Yeah, I think there are Lesser. I think there are. I believe firmly that some people are just truly unable to be

saved, lost souls that cannot receive redemption, at least not in this life. And the only cure for the misery they continually inflict upon others and the misery they continually feel themselves is their death. And the sooner they receive it the better. I think Carl believed that. Lesser wrote to Carl on August 40th, or August 40th. He wrote to Carl on August 40th, 1930, August 4th, thanking him for his letters and informing him that he sent his story to Carl Menager. Carl responded quickly, I've read this letter and in reply write there is nothing more that you can do for me. Also that as far as any financial publication and sale of my autobiography are to go,

you are to do with as you see fit. On September 40th, 1930 a group of reporters came to the prison, just ahead of Carl's execution. Carl would not answer any of their questions, so they talked to guard Dale Ballard instead. But then when a reporter asked if he had any regrets, Carl did speak up and said, yeah I regret I won't be able to read the end of this magazine story. It's continued on the next issue. Pretty funny guy for a monster. Carl Panzram was hanged. September 5th 1930. He was 39 years old. This may be my favorite detail of the whole episode. Fellow inmate Robert Stroud wrote

that Carl paced his cell the entire previous night singing quote an original pornographic song. God that made me laugh so hard when I first read that. Just fucking with everyone around him right the bitter end. Do you want to suck my pecker? Let me be your rectum wrecker. It would be the bee's knees if you grabbed my cock and squeezed. Wouldn't it be the cat's meow if I could bugger the warden? Holy cow! If someone could break me out, I'd make your kids scream and shout. Yeah, Mr. Guard Man, you with the nice tan, have your boys been fucked by a madman?

I want to come, come on your faces and a bunch of other places. I once fucked a family in Angola, was harder on Africa than Ebola. Come on, Jam, sing along! If they don't kill me tomorrow, I'm still fucking your mothers! My song doesn't always need to rhyme. I'm not holding the correct time. I wish I could get my hands on your spine. I'm gonna fuck ya, I'm gonna fuck your kids.

I'm gonna fuck your grandpa and throw him off a train in the pouring rain Gonna fuck the man till he needs a bedpan if I don't my name ain't pensram sing along god damn it's my last engagement The Carl show stops tomorrow you're worth this fucking scum Who knows what he's singing or maybe his song wasn't original Maybe people just thought it was because they hadn't they hadn't heard the original You know he could have met Albert Fish on his travels You know they're killing people doing horrible things around the same time some of the same places was because they hadn't heard the original. He could have met Albert Fish on his travels. They were killing people, doing horrible things around the same time, some of the same places. Maybe he stole one of Albert's famous ditties.

No, it's the best when the poop pits your chest. That's how I come. I'll shoot my seed when your ass starts to bleed that's how I come That's how I come Who knows could have happened showbiz that's how I do it in Leavenworth The morning Carl decided that or demanded that any and all church officials needed to get the fuck out of his cell immediately. He also told everyone to quit stalling when it came to killing him, and even helped his escorts fasten his leather corset to speed it up. His last words were spoken to his executioner and they were so very Carl Panzram.

Didn't show a lick of fear or regret, only annoyance and anger. He said, yes, hurry it up, you hoosier bastard. I could hang a dozen men while you're fooling around. They said that Karl practically ran to the scaffold to be hanged. Before hanged, he spit on both his executioner and on some of the reporters who had come to watch him be hanged. Incredible. Karl was then buried in the Leavenworth Cemetery,

which was nicknamed Peckerwood Hill, and his one friend Henry Lesser read the following United Press story about his death at his new job in Atlanta. Showing contempt for life until the end, Carl Pan's Ram, who proudly referred to himself as the most criminal man in the world, died on the gallows here today for the murder of a prison foreman. The trap was sprung at 6.01 a.m. He was declared dead at 6 20. Henry Lesser put Carl's confession with his other typed copies of what Carl had written him. He would go on to become a parole officer in Virginia, then later be promoted to junior warden's assistant in a federal reformatory camp. In early 1933 he received the only circulating copy of

Carl's confession from Dr. Carl Menegar, which was later turned into his book, Man Against Himself. In 1983, years before he died, just shy of the age of 81, Henry Lesser donated all of Carl's writings to San Diego State University. it back. Barely. Karl Panzram. Man, what another wild ass ride this week. We've covered a lot of serial killers. And he does not remind me of any we have covered before. He hated almost everyone. He was disgusting creep who preyed on children, but he also wasn't afraid to fight a grown man or a prison guard or anyone really. So unusual. He'd curse and threaten the men around him while chained up and being tortured. I feel like he might be the most fearless serial killer we've covered.

And I think I said this before, the most singularly focused on destruction. I even wondered, did he rape men and boys primarily because he was gay or bisexual? Or did he just hate boys and men in general so much that he just wanted to abuse and humiliate them through sodomy? Did certain boys and men remind him of the boys and men who raped him growing up in reform school and on trains? Did he feel the need to constantly prove to himself that he wasn't that little boy being held down and assaulted anymore by holding down an assault and others? Carl was also in some ways the most honest of all the serial killers we've covered. I mean he certainly lied and lied often, but he didn't try and lead a dual life nearly to the degree that most of serial killers we've covered. I mean, he certainly lied and lied often,

but he didn't try and lead a dual life nearly to the degree that most of the killers we've covered have. He didn't feel the need to try and appear respectable to others in polite society. Didn't need to take a wife, start a family. Didn't feel a need to go to church or join a rotary club or Freemasons

or some group that might make people think, oh man, Carl's a great guy. Oh man, you should meet him. And then on the sly do horrible things. No, he didn't compartmentalize like so many killers. He was pretty much just constantly doing terrible things. The jobs he picked, you know, strikebreaker, working on an oil rig, being a watchman. These are jobs where he could swear, you know, not have to get overdressed. Often where he could fight, where he could for the most part, you know, be himself. Also, his rage might have had the widest scope of any killer we've come across. He never held a relationship for more than what, few months? And they weren't really relationships.

It was just kids he groomed and molested. He never could hold a job for any length of time. Never stayed in one place for any length of time. Just hated almost everybody. Only ever really had one friend, that guard Henry Lesser. And they weren't really friends, right? Had they both met in the free world, no way they're going to spend time together. And if they had, their friendship probably would have ended by Karl robbing, raping, and or killing him. Karl said as much, right?

That given enough time and opportunity, he'd kill anybody, Lesser included. He truly was incorrigible, hated authority, hated humanity, hated himself, consumed by rage and hate. If antisocial personality disorder exists on a spectrum, which, you know, they think it does, I think he pretty much fucking maxed out on it. Just 100% sociopath. Sociopath, psychopath.

Kind of almost tilting into psychopath. Karl Panzram, executed in Kansas September 5th, 1930. And before that, for over two decades, holy shit, did that one-man apocalypse wreak havoc wherever he went. The epitome of a guy you don't want to run into in a dark alley. Now let's recap and learn a bit more about the psycho in today's takeaways. Time shock, top five takeaways.

Number one, Karl Panzram was first incarcerated at the age of only 12 His own mother turned him in for stealing money from her purse Carl then lived in a high-control environment where he claimed he was beaten and abused by staff members possibly by other boys That motivated him to seek revenge and inflict pain on anyone who dared crossing him going forward or just anyone for any reason at all number two dared cross in him going forward. Or just anyone for any reason at all. Number two, Carl didn't receive much education, but he did learn how to read and write. And in the fall of 1928, he began writing his entire life story,

a 20,000 word manuscript that was confession to most of his crimes. I'd say all, but he committed so many crimes, he literally couldn't remember them all. Carl's writings also detailed a lot of the abuse he endured and his views on criminality in the world. Some parts of his confession were verified by the police linking him to several unsolved murder cases. Number three. Carl traveled to 31 different countries, committed multiple murders along the way.

Some of his most heinous crimes occurred in Angola. He raped two young girls from the same family, raped and killed a young boy, and potentially killed six men and fed him to crocodiles. Number four, Carl was arrested for the last time in 1928 for burglary. He was sentenced to 25 years in prison, mainly because he was a repeat offender. He was then sentenced to death for murdering a prison employee. In his final months, Carl looked forward to his execution and wrote as much as he could. And of course, sang some sweet, sweet songs. Number five, new info Harry Sinclair. A prisoner who arrived in the DC jail in early 1929 was Harry F.

Sinclair, an oil millionaire. He was the chairman of Sinclair Consolidated Oil Corporation, Carl's former employer. Sinclair had been convicted in the aftermath of the Teapot Dome scandal, an infamous corruption case. It was a major bribery scandal involving the administration of President Warren G. Harding, Harding's secretary of the interior, a man named Albert Fall, leased petroleum reserves at Teapot Dome, an oil field in Wyoming, as well as two other oil fields in California, to private oil companies at low rates without any competitive bidding. And why did he do that? Well, because they had bribed him. Fall leased exclusive drilling rights to all of the teapot dome to his friend, Harry Sinclair, who paid him to do so. And the two reserves in California were leased to another friend of

Falls. Fall would serve a year in prison. Sinclair would serve six months for contempt of Congress and jury tampering. And one day in May of 1929, Pan's Rams, old pal Henry Lesser found Sinclair would serve six months for contempt of Congress and jury tampering. And one day in May of 1929, Pan's Ram's old pal Henry Lesser found Sinclair alone, asked him about a former employee of his named Carl Pan's Ram, and Harry remembered Carl. He told Henry that Carl had gotten into a fight with a foreman, gotten fired, then set fire to one of his oil rigs as revenge. Sinclair asked to see Carl's letter where he wrote about this incident and Carl wrote, your comment about Sinclair aroused interest in the oil well in Bocas del Toro, Panama. Tell him not to blame me even though I am the one who touched it off. A big man by the name of Morris was the real cause. He canned me when I was doing all right and everybody else was satisfied.

His mistake cost Harry a hundred grand. Lesser met Sinclair before Carl was sentenced to die in Kansas and Sinclair told Lesser to tell Carl that he would finally have the reward for his capture removed. Time Shuck Top 5 Takeaways Serial killer Carl Panzram one-man apocalypse has been sucked. Thank you to the Bad Magic Productions team. Sorry actually before I say that I just keep laughing to myself. I just keep thinking about what he was talking about when he's burglarizing places where he just referenced that if he you know didn't take stuff he just like smash shit in the house. Just so much anger all the

time. Just stealing stuff from somebody's house and then also just things he didn't want just fucking breaking them just to be a dick. Okay. Thank you to the Bad Magic Productions team for all the help making time suck starting with Queen of Bad Magic Lindsay Cummins. Thanks also to Logan Keith helping to publish this episode. Signing merch for the store at badmagicproductions.com and we do have new designs for October now by the way. Check them out. I don't want to spend too much time on announcements up front or I would have said something there.

Thank you to Olivia Lee for again doing the research on this one and for suggesting this topic. Thank you to the Allseen Eyes, moderating the Cult of the Curious private Facebook page. The Mod Squad, making sure Discord keeps running smooth. And everyone over on the Time Suck and Bad Magic subreddits. And now, updates. Let's head on over. And now, updates. Let's head on over. Updates. Get your time sucker updates. Our first update is from time traveling smartypants sack.

Uh, Sonia Alves. Subject line of filthy leather workers. Well, Sonia, this is great what you wrote. Uh, hi Dan Sucklord Supreme with the extra suck sauce. Might, Sonia, this is great what you wrote. Hi Dan, suck Lord Supreme with the extra suck sauce. Might be Sonia. I was listening to the Yakuza episode and as a time traveler, okay no, I researched family history which feels like the same thing sometimes, I wanted to provide some context on the filthy subhuman leather workers. Japan isn't the only society to have deemed various occupations as the lowest rung of society and leatherworking has always been on the list

for one simple reason. It literally stinks. The products used in tanning leather, sometimes including urine, smelled just absolutely awful and without modern laundry detergents and body washes, the tanner himself would inevitably bring the stink with him like a cartoon stench cloud. So while leatherworking seems like an odd choice alongside gravedigger, it was the literal stench rather than any cultural association that kept them in the lowest rung on the societal language. With love from your friendly neighbor time traveler, Sonia. Oh, I see, pronounced the same way as Sonia. Okay, Sonia, got it, got it. Sonia. Oh, it's Sonia. Thank you so much for cleaning up that detail

or clearing it up on the Yakuza Suck. I've lost the ability to speak for some reason. No, I love it. I would have never understood that association between gravedigger and leatherworking without your help. I appreciate you. I hope you have a good week, Time Trailer. And now Super Space Lizard, wise Space Lizard,

Brian Fuller writes in with the subject line of, thanks for the philosophy suck. Hey, Dan subject line of Thanks for the Philosophy Suck. Hey Dan and all. Thanks for doing the Philosophy Suck. My first exposure to philosophy and philosophers was in my freshman year of college in Bellingham, Washington in the late 1970s. Yes, there are some aged suckers out here. I largely found philosophy majors to be pretentious windbags who wore berets and smoked European

cigarettes and had turned me off to the whole subject. This week's suck filled in a lot of the blanks but also verified what life has made plainly obvious to me. Life is short. If you don't like what you are doing and you have the option to do so then find something else that is important to you and do that. Here is a note to anyone wallowing in despair about a lack of meaning in life. No one, and I mean no one, gives two

shits about your self-inflicted woe. Grow a spine, find what works for you, and hack a niche for yourself in this world. Nothing comes easy, but if you believe in what you are doing, it gives you the drive to get up in the morning and keep hacking away at it. For inspiration, just look at what Dan and Lindsay have created from nothing, beginning with the early sucks recorded on Dan's kitchen table That is what you could that is what can come from having something you believe in and grinding ahead every day We all love what you do spaces your Brian PS of all the intoxicated sucks

I found this one with weed to be the least distracting from the content in the presentation in fact It was kind of fun. So I vote for weed and sucks 500 and onward it is your podcast though So do what you want. I'll listen either way. Oh, Brian, thank you so much. I cackled at your description of philosophy majors. Oh, yeah, my first encounter with them, also in college, also turned me off from the entire field.

I found them so pretentious. And they just seemed so full of shit. I am so glad that Molly Box laid out such amazing research to start off that episode to allow me to finally understand some Of it and really actually like it. And yeah, I think weed Has been the best. It is the drug I'm most familiar with and I think it kind of I think it kind of mutes some of My worst most anxious tendencies and relaxes me. I was surprised I was able to talk though that much on that being that stoned If I wouldn't have been a podcasting I would have just been thinking a lot of that stuff with no interest in trying to

communicate it. You seem like a very awesome dude. I love your advice and I agree with it. And now an awesome bit of extra trivia from an awesome longtime sucker Cody Reed. Cody wrote in with the subject line of follow up on the torture suck. Greetings Dan and fellow suckers. I know this message is relatively short compared to others but my wife promises me that it's normal and totally long enough if anyone asks. Just listen to your history of torture, suck. And the stories of US vets enduring horrible torture during Vietnam compelled me to share this video. Every time I watch it, I'm absolutely amazed. During the Vietnam War, Admiral Jeremiah

Denton was a POW and was forced to go on camera to deliver a message stating he was being treated well. While vocally delivering that message, he simultaneously was blinking the word torture in Moore's code over and over. My five remaining brain cells cannot fathom the brain power that would take, especially after enduring torture. I think it's another shining example of the incredible men and women who serve in our armed forces. Anyway, I love this podcast and because of it I actually look forward to my two hour round trip commute as I can work to

the back catalog. My wife and I just welcome our second son to the world. While my little meat sacks aren't suckers yet, can you please give a shout to Liam and Nolan? They are the center of my universe and even though the world can really be fucked up sometimes, my sons and your podcast are a reminder that there are always good people doing good things and laughter is the best medicine. Keep on sucking, Cody." I mean, Cody, thanks for sharing Admiral Jeremiah Denton's story. I watched that video and was also blown away.

I can barely talk and walk at the same time. I can barely talk. Just stop. I can barely talk coherently. He was answering questions while communicating something else with his eyes. Fucking insane. And hey Liam and Nolan, you are some lucky little dudes to have a dad who loves you so much. No Karl Panzram life is in your futures. If your dad sticks around. So stick around and keep on loving him Cody. Hail Nimrod. And now one more from giddy sucker Chris Schwartz who writes

in with joy in his heart in a subject line of amazing life update. Dan, it is I, the Cumminslaw Commander, and I wanted to share with you a little life update. I hope you'll be happy to hear that I have taken it upon myself to reach out and grab my dreams by the sack and work hard to make them a reality. I started streaming videos at night after work mostly Fortnite, streaming video games sorry, and also after my kids have gone to bed. At first it was just a stress relieving activity. I was under a lot of stress and had a tremendous amount of anxiety at the time and streaming really helped me cope with that. But as I continued to stream I began to realize

changes in me, positive changes. Streaming forced me out of my introverted shell and got me to open up to people. I started to build relationships with my coworkers. It helped me share feelings with my family and friends that I would previously keep to myself and bottle up. And it allowed me to forge deep and amazing friendships with those I had met online. I quickly came to realize I had found my passion and quickly realized that I wanted to be a professional streamer. Having the freedom to do what I love and still providing for my family as well as having more time to spend with them has been a dream. Or that is the dream. I just recently celebrated my two years stream-aversary. In that time through dedication, hard work, and perseverance,

I've grown to almost 11,000 followers and I'm so close to the possibility of being monetized. So the dream finally fills within arm's reach. Not only that but the online community that I have built through meeting amazing people and the friendships that have flourished have become an additional emotional foundation for me and it has made me a better person. This amazing community has seen the real me and they have accepted me and I don't know what I would do without them. Words cannot adequately describe how much they mean to me. I wanted to let you know this because in part I have you to thank. Through your example I learned what it's like to go out and achieve your dream which makes me want to strive to realize my goals and make them come true.

Thank you for being one of my amazing inspirations. Keep on sucking your faithful space lizard, Chris Schwartz, aka the CumminsLaw Commander. P.S. Only if it is okay with you, could you let everyone know that my name is TheRandomHero6 on TikTok. I would love to meet even more amazing meat sacks and have them join my community. Thanks. Well, Chris, unfortunately, I cannot share. I just wouldn't feel right about sharing, you know, because I don't always get to share everybody's stuff. So I can't tell everybody that you are the random hero six on TikTok. I will not, unfortunately, be able to tell

people that you are the random hero six. It is the number six, not the word six. Uh, if you just put in random hero, uh, you will have him come up in your search bar and tick tock, I would love to share that with the audience, but I can't, I can't the random hero six, um, but I'm very happy for you. I'm thrilled. You're doing what you're doing for the best of reasons, for a sense of belonging, for a purpose that is not to be famous or some, uh, you know, related, egocentric trappings, but for family and community. And of course for fun, you know,

for mental health and to be able to provide, you know, financially good on you, man, enjoy this ride, enjoy it, enjoy it, enjoy it. Uh, the random hero six on tick tock. That is who you find meat sacks. Go find that Fortnite wizard. I watched some of the videos. He is fucking great. I love playing Fortnite with Kyler Monroe by the way, but God, I suck. I watched some of the videos. He is fucking great. I love playing Fortnite with Kyler Monroe by the way, but god I suck. I suck. I don't have a lot of time to play, but I do like it. I like it. I like it with them. I like it when they let me tag along and they do most of the killing, and but maybe let me finish a few people off and then they share cool guns with me and stuff.

I'm fucking terrible. They mostly bring me along for comedic relief, but when I get lucky and I kill someone without their help, god it makes me weirdly happy. So go follow Chris, nice beard by the way, Chris. And again, that is, if I were able to say it, which I won't, the random hero six on TikTok, hail Nimrod. Thanks time suckers, I needed that. We all did.

Oh, before I have to say my last things, Thanks, Time Suckers. I needed that. We all did. Oh, before I have to say my last things. Also, Lindsay and I just saw that movie, See No Evil. Holy shit, it was riveting. One of the best thrillers I've seen probably in a decade. So just random recommendation. I think it's called See No Evil. It's the McAvoy guy. It's the McAvoy, James McAvoy, I think.

This is just impromptu thought. Yeah, but thank you for listening to another Bad Magic Productions podcast. Scared to death, Time Suck each week. Short sucks and nightmare fuel on the Time Suck and Scared to Death podcast feed some weeks. Please don't decide to destroy literally everyone in the world this week. That's just, it seems like a lot of work. It seems like an awful lot of work. Just fucking calm down. Smoke some weed. Stay at home and keep on sucking. Hey fucking idiots, it's Bob again. It's Bob. From Bob's Battleful Bonsai Fruit.

Why the fuck have you never been by my tiny ass Bonsai Fruit trees? What's your problem with little fruit? Have you even ever fucking tasted my tiny fruits? Have you? You're not amazing! You like grapes dummy? But so much better! I should be a billionaire

but I'm about to lose my tiny orchard in my ass because the world is filled with idiots! Right now at Bob's Banal for Bob's Eye Fruit dot biz, we still fucking by. Aren't you adorable little orange trees? Little tiny lemon trees, precious little peach trees that'd be pear trees,

but we're sold out of the kilo of coconuts! Man, we're not really sold out, my stupid fucking dogs destroyed them! But I do have some tiny ass almond trees, if you like almonds, but you wish they were smaller. Turns out we don't have any shrunken blueberry bushes, though, they're tiny blackberries. Ah, God, I wonder why the hell they kept

cutting my hands of shit, but they're delicious. But I hate them. Because of the hurtful thorns. Could you just fucking buy my tiny blackberries? Gonna buy a bunch of bonsai fruit dot biz right now. Move your big ass and buy some small shit. I'm not fucking around. I'm fucking around less than I was a few weeks ago.

My trees are still small. My dick is still huge. It's not actually. It's more of a bonsai sized dick than a full sized penis which is why I'm constantly full with rage! I FIGHTED WHO I LIVED! YOU THINK YOU CAN GET A BUNCH OF A CHICKEN WHEN YOU'RE GOING TO GET A WALL OF CHICKEN! YOU KNOW! I HATE YOU!

I still want you to spend $500! With some nice pine sized suck in the neck to rage you fucking ding dong! BOMBS! BATTLEFUL BONSILEFUL FUTA BITZ! BOMBS! BATTLEFUL FILEFUL FI ding-dong! Bobs! Badaful! Badaful! Fruit-top bitch! Bobs! Badaful! Fine-eye!

Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye!

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Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye!

Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye! Fine-eye!