Kidnapping, Murder and Mayhem

Elmer Leon Carroll
Pedophile murdered neighbor
by Robert A. Waters

On May 29, 2013, Elmer Leon Carroll is scheduled to be executed for the rape and murder of ten-year-old Christine McGowan.  Twice convicted for assaulting children, in 1990, Carroll was a time-bomb ticking toward murder.  In 1976, a Pasco County court had sentenced Carroll to 6 years in prison for “indecent assault on a child under 16.”  In 1982, he was sentenced to 15 years for raping another young girl. 

Carroll’s Florida Supreme Court Appellate Brief describes the crime for which he was sentenced to death:

“On October 30, 1990, at about 6:00 a.m., Robert Rank went to awaken his ten-year-old stepdaughter Christine McGowan, at their home in Apopka.  When she did not respond to his calls, Rank went into her bedroom and found her dead.  Shortly thereafter, Rank noticed that his front door was slightly ajar and that his pickup truck he had parked in the yard with the keys in it the night before was missing.  When the police arrived, they determined that Christine had been raped and strangled. 

“BOLO [Be On the Lookout] was issued for the missing truck, which was a white construction truck bearing the logo ATC on the side.  Debbie Hyatt saw a white pickup truck parked near her residence east of Orlando on Highway 50 as she left for work about 6:50 a.m.  About a mile down the road, she saw a man whom she later identified as Carroll walking in an easterly direction along the highway away from the truck. She described him as having long scraggly hair and wearing a brown jacket.  She did not think to too much about it until she later heard over the radio that the police were looking for a white pickup truck bearing the ATC logo described in the radio bulletin, she called the police. When the sheriff’s deputies arrived, she told them about first seeing the truck and the man walking down the road. 

“Carl Young, a state wildlife officer, was traveling on State Road 520 in Orange County on the morning of October 30, 1990.  At a point near the intersection of Highway 50, Young noticed a man with shoulder length hair walking down the highway.  Young thought this was strange because he was not carrying anything.  The man looked back over his shoulder at Young as he passed.  After turning onto Highway 50 and proceeding west, [Young] saw a deputy sheriff behind a white pickup truck with his revolver drawn.  Young went back to the scene to render assistance. 

“By this time, another deputy had arrived, and [Young] heard Debbie Hyatt tell them about the man she had seen walking down the highway away from the truck.  Young recalled that her description resembled the person that he had just passed.  Young drove back to where Carroll was continuing to walk down the road.  Young called to him, but he kept on walking.  Young pulled his gun and ordered Carroll to lie down on the ground.  Young made a search for weapons and found a box cutter razor blade and some keys.  Through radio communication with a deputy who remained at Rank’s truck, it was determined that a number on the keys matched a number on the truck.  Young and a deputy who had arrived to assist him then placed Carroll under arrest.    

“At the trial, two other witnesses testified that they had seen the man they identified as Carroll about 6 a.m. at a 7-11 store near Apopka.  The witnesses said that Carroll was driving a white truck with the ATC logo.  It was also discovered that Carroll was a resident of a halfway house located next door to the Rank home.  A resident of the halfway house testified that Carroll had told him that the girl who lived next door was ‘cute, sweet and liked to watch him make boats.’  She was seen talking to a man next door who may have been Carroll the day before the murder.   Semen, saliva, and pubic hair recovered from the victim were consistent with that of Carroll.  One DNA profile of a specimen obtained from the victim matched Carroll’s DNA profile.  Blood was found on Carroll’s sweatshirt and on his penis.”

Governor Rick Scott has said that he wants to execute the “worst of the worst” on Florida’s death row, once they’ve run out of appeals.  Elmer Leon Carroll certainly qualifies.

Lies from the other side
by Robert A. Waters

Here’s my idea of what a psychic (if there really were such people) should do.

Let’s say there’s a teenage girl missing from Cleveland, Ohio.  Her mother goes on national television to ask the psychic for help.  A real clairvoyant would say: “Your daughter is being held in a house just blocks from where you live.  Send the cops down to 2207 Seymour Avenue Street and they’ll find your daughter—still alive—along with two other kidnapped women.”

Instead, self-proclaimed psychic Sylvia Browne informed Amanda Berry’s mother that her daughter was dead.  Years later, Amanda escaped her captor and led the others to safety, proving Browne dead-wrong. 

Or let’s say an eleven-year-old boy is kidnapped from Richwoods, Missouri.  Here’s what a real psychic would have told his grieving parents: “A big fat pervert kidnapped your boy and is holding him in an apartment in Kirkwood.  Tell police to search in the 400 block of South Holmes Street for a guy who works at a pizza shop.”

Instead, Sylvia Browne advised Shawn Hornbeck’s parents that he’d been kidnapped and murdered. By a tall, thin, “dark-skinned” man, no less.  Four years later, 300-pound, light-skinned Michael Devlin abducted Ben Ownby.  It was only because an eyewitness described his truck to police that Devlin was captured.  Cops rescued Onwby, along with Hornbeck, who'd been held alive for four years.

If a so-called psychic can be so wrong, how in the world can anyone trust her?

Don't gimme that garbage about Browne being right most of the time.  I just don't believe it.  I think she fishes for information and plays the law of averages when making predictions.

For some reason, while penning this blog, the following song kept wigging my mind.

http://youtu.be/cS4LCoh0VGQ
 

Babe Ruth Poses with the Orphan Heroes Orphan heroes meet the Sultan of Swat
by Robert A. Waters

On the evening of May 3, 1933, a cloudburst opened up over Passaic, New Jersey.  Rocked by thunderous flashes of lightning, the Passaic Home and Orphan Asylum stood at the center of the storm.  Six boys, worried that their makeshift baseball field might wash away, observed the gale from the asylum’s windows.  Called “inmates,” the boys were: Jacob Merinizek, 12; Johnny Murdock, 11; Douglas Fleming, 14; Rudolph Borsche, 15; Frank Mazzola, 14; and Michael Mazzola, 11.

Baseball was their passion, and Babe Ruth their hero.  They were disappointed that the day before, their beloved New York Yankees had lost to the Detroit Tigers 3-2 and Ruth went hitless in three attempts. 

Founded by members of the Presbyterian Church, Passaic Home and Orphan Asylum was located on 238 River Drive.  It “provided residential care for 47 orphan and deserted white and Negro children, age 4-14,” according to a 1933 and 1934 state census.

Time magazine reported that as the deluge continued, the six orphans “cunningly approached their matron.  Didn't she want to know if the rain had damaged her garden?  She did.  She said they might go out if they were careful to put on raincoats and rubbers.”

After determining that the garden had no damage, the boys checked their ball diamond.  To their relief, it was fine, too.

Then they glanced over at the nearby Erie Rail Road.  Perhaps with dreams of riding the rails, each boy knew the schedule of every train that passed.  A commuter train from Jersey City was due in just a few minutes, at 8:10 p.m.

The newspapers never reported which of the boys first spotted the damaged railway.  But someone saw that “a washout had completely carried away the ballast from under a section of track.”  About fifty feet of rails and ties dangled in the air.

The boys never hesitated—they rushed toward the track.  Ahead, they spied the train’s spotlight coming through darkness.  Waving their raincoats, the boys shouted for the train to stop.  They heard the squeal of metal on metal, the grinding brakes, and noticed a trail of sparks cutting away from the wheels.  The heavy engine shook the earth as it ground to a halt.

It was only then that Engineer John McGlin realized the disaster that had been averted.  Had the train traveled a few more feet, the 500 passengers on board may have been killed.

The story of the “orphan heroes” was written up in newspapers across the country, and the baseball boys were recognized as heroes.

Erie Rail Road officials gave each of the boys medals and a Lionel Train set.  Timereported that “Passaic's small heroes met some of their big heroes at the circus in Manhattan.  Clyde Beatty, tamer of lions and tigers, shook their hands and gave autographs.  Hugo Zacchini, the human cannonball, greeted them.  [Boxer] Gene Tunney came over to say hello.  [Heavyweight Champion] Max Schmeling invited them to his training camp at Oak Ridge, N. J.”

Later, Babe Ruth (himself an orphan) wrote of meeting the heroic boys:  “Remember those kids in that Passaic orphan asylum over in New Jersey three years ago?  Looking out of their windows early on that May evening, the flashes of lightning showed them that, with rain falling in torrents, the railroad was washing away.  Then one of them remembered that the express out of Jersey City was due any minute.  It didn't take Johnny Murdock and his pals more than a second to figure out that there would be a real wreck if that express came through.  But there was no trackwalker around and there wasn't time to phone ahead to stop the train.  And there was the roadbed washed away from underneath the rails.

“You remember the story.  While the lady in charge telephoned for help, the six kids—Johnny Murdock, Jacob Melinizak, Rudolph Borsche, Douglas Fleming, Frank Mazzola and his brother Michael—ran down the track a quarter mile waving their raincoats, refusing to budge from the track, risking their lives to convince the engineer that he either had to stop or run over them.

“It was a real act of quick-thinking heroism.  Without question, they saved lives.  Remember what Johnny Murdock and his pals said that night when the railroad officials told them they could have almost anything they wanted as a reward?

“They said, ‘We don't want anything special as a reward.  But could you please let Babe Ruth know what we did?  That's what we'd rather have than anything.  We have a ball team here and we'd like him to know that we did something worthwhile, even if we're not great ballplayers.  Perhaps we could even meet him.’

“The Yankees, as I recall it, were out in Cleveland.  A telegram telling me about the boys and their great stunt woke me up early in the morning out there.  I sent them a telegram and wrote them letters, and when we got back into New York, they came over to the Yankee Stadium.  I posed for pictures with them and autographed balls and we became real friends.  If you could have seen what that meant to them, you'd have a little idea of what I mean.  And don't forget that kids all over the country read that story in the newspapers.”

NOTE: I’d love to know what happened to the six heroes from Passaic after the hullaballoo died down.  If anyone knows, please email me.

Ron FranscellA few years back, I wrote a book entitled, Sun Struck: Sixteen Infamous Murders in the Sunshine State.  During my research, I made a brief trip to Homosassa to visit the site where Jessica Lunsford was abducted and murdered.  While standing in front of the burned-out ruin of a shabby mobile home, chills crept up my spine.  (One or more unknown citizens had set the trailer on fire as if to wipe away the stain of murder.)  Here a beautiful, well-adjusted, and totally innocent pre-teen girl had been sadistically brutalized.  As I viewed the spot where John Couey buried Jessica alive, I recoiled in utter horror. 

In his series of state guides to the locales of infamous crimes, true crime author and award-winning novelist Ron Franscell has recorded hundreds of locations where the reader can experience the same emotions as I did on that day in Homosassa.  So far, he and Globe Pequot Press have created the following books: The Crime Buff’s Guide Outlaw Texas; The Crime Buff’s Guide to Outlaw Washington, DC; The Crime Buff’s Guide to Outlaw Rockies; and The Crime Buff’s Guide to Outlaw Pennsylvania, due out in the fall of this year.  These books not only describe some of the most interesting crimes in US history, they provide the reader with GPS coordinates to the sites. 

Ron agreed to answer a few questions about the creation of this intriguing series, and about future editions.

How did you come up with the idea for the Crime Buff’s Guide series?

My wife and I were traveling across northern Louisiana and I wanted to see the spot where lawmen ambushed Bonnie and Clyde in 1934.  In the nearby village of Gibsland, we asked a fella how to get to the monument on a lonely rural road. He told us, but whether the directions were bad or we misunderstood, we couldn’t find the place.  We returned to town and asked somebody else. The directions were different … but we still couldn’t find it.  We finally succeeded on our third try, but by then the afternoon was banjaxed and I was frustrated.

“Wouldn’t it be much easier if instead of counting mailboxes and left-hand turns they just gave us GPS coordinates?” I spluttered.  And in that instant, the CRIME BUFF’S GUIDE books were conceived!  So far, we’ve covered Texas, Colorado, Wyoming, Maryland, Washington D.C., and Pennsylvania (in October). Coming soon will be Arizona, New Mexico, Oklahoma, and Nevada.

A lot of history is hidden, especially crime history. It’s so well hidden that we often dash through life blissfully unaware that some of the most startling crimes in America happened right in our own backyards—sometimes literally. By harnessing the power of satellite navigation, I wanted to help fellow history and crime buffs discover something extraordinary in ordinary places – to show how surprisingly close we live to the darker side of American history.

Why is location so important?

I’m an old-school newspaperman. I believe there’s something important to be learned from “being there.”  For example, I always imagined JFK’s assassination had been a great drama played out on a great stage – so expansive that one man couldn’t possibly have committed that heinous murder at such a great distance.  Then I visited Dealey Plaza, which was, in reality, much more intimate and small than I imagined.  When I peered down on the fateful spot from Oswald’s sixth-floor perch, I realized that any Wyoming kid who ever hunted rabbits with a .22—as I did—could have made that shot.  “Being there” changed my whole perspective of that tragic event.

Crime is part of history, part of who we are.  So the history of crime is important to understanding our culture.  And just like other historic sites where imagination, myth and history entangle, significant outlaw-related sites can also offer a glimpse beneath the surface of the present.  As every traveler knows, visiting important—and sometimes forgotten—places can enlarge our understanding of history infinitely.

The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre happened in a Chicago warehouse that’s now a park where children play. The Black Dahlia’s dismembered body was found in an open field that today is somebody’s suburban Los Angeles front yard. Actor Fatty Arbuckle’s debauchery took place in a landmark San Francisco hotel room—which you can still rent today.  You can eat at a Scottsdale strip-mall restaurant once owned by Gambino mob informer Sammy “The Bull” Gravano while he was in witness protection.

And without asking for vague directions, you can stand on the exact spot where Bonnie and Clyde died in a storm of gunfire.

What are some of the favorite cases you’ve researched for your books?

It’s impossible to visit the site of the Columbine mass murder in Littleton, Colorado, and not be moved.  It’s impossible to stand in Ford’s Theatre and not feel surrounded by ghosts.  And it’s impossible to visit the crumbling site of the famous Chicken Ranch—“the best little whorehouse in Texas”—and not smile.

But many of my favorite places have told very human stories.  There’s a cemetery in Texas where the patriarchs of two feuding families, killed by each other in a fatal barroom brawl, are buried side-by-side and (by order of the sheriff) their two graves have been literally chained together for eternity. 

Then there’s the strange tale of small-time Oklahoma outlaw Elmer McCurdy, shot down by a posse in 1911.  When nobody claimed his body, the local undertaker mummified him and displayed his corpse until a few years later when some outlaw cohorts claimed the body—and promptly sold it to the carnival circuit.  Elmer’s body was a midway attraction for decades, then disappeared. In 1976, a TV crew filming a “Six Million Dollar Man” episode in a deteriorating Los Angeles amusement park found a mannequin in a warehouse. The mannequin turned out to be Elmer’s mummified corpse.  He was returned to Oklahoma and buried under two tons of concrete—so he’d never be moved again.

And in the sleepy town of Granbury, Texas, where men claiming to be John Wilkes Booth, Jesse James and Billy the Kid showed up -- long after they were all presumed dead.

In the small, overlooked stories, I often find the kind of human stories that make it all worthwhile.

One of my favorite stories is in your Guide to Washington, DC.  The grave of Edgar Allan Poe has been visited by millions, yet there is still a mystery about his death.  What do you think really happened to him?

We love our mysteries, don’t we?  And as the world’s first mystery writer, Edgar Allan Poe’s mysterious ending seems almost poetic.  Of course, I don’t know what killed Poe. As a storyteller, I sometimes lean toward the most fantastic theories because they make the best stories.  Illness is certainly a leading diagnosis (and some have suggested rabies from a rat bite).  Nevertheless, the possibility that Poe was “cooped”—forcibly inebriated and coerced by local electioneers to vote repeatedly for a chosen candidate—is a compelling theory.

Each state has a unique culture.  Does this relate to crime, too?

Yes, to a degree.  Wyoming has a very different crime history than, say, Pennsylvania because their pasts are so different.  So each state or city has its own extraordinary historic twist.

More striking to me is how the crime histories of diverse places like Wyoming and Pennsylvania overlap.  For example, one of Wyoming’s most infamous outlaws is Harry Longabaugh, better known as the Sundance Kid.  But did you know Harry was born in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania (where his childhood home still exists)?

I have been rather amazed at how many crimes and outlaws have spanned time and space to pop up in places where you least expected to find their shadows.

This seems like a natural TV series idea to me.  Is that a possibility?

You’re right!  And some TV people agree.  An entertaining cable series based on the CRIME BUFF’S GUIDE series is on the table right now.  It could be a fascinating program that’s part history, part travelogue, part crime show.  Fingers are crossed!

Thanks for a great interview from one of the finest true crime writers alive today.  And like many of the better true crime writers, he is also an outstanding novelist.  Check out Ron’s website and buy one of his books.

Crimes are nothing but “mistakes”
by Robert A. Waters

With a new batch of thugs signing outlandish contracts, criminal lawyers have lined up like ambulance chasers outside the doors of the various NFL teams.  Since poverty is alleged to be the root cause of crime, you’d think multimillionaires could get through life without breaking the law.  But the transfer of funds to defense attorneys seems as natural for NFL players as breathing.  In order to minimize NFL thuggery, sports writers and ESPN talkers use soft words to describe the offenses of those anointed to be our heroes: “mistakes,” “character issues,” and “personality quirks” are few of those terms.

So here’s a brief list of NFLers who’ve had recent “troubles.” 

Armonty Bryant.  The “troubled” defensive end was recently selected by the Cleveland Browns in the NFL draft.  Because of Bryant’s prior run-ins with the law while in college, Browns coach Rob Chudzinski felt the need to justify his selection, and told reporters: “We feel like [Bryant] is past the mistakes he has made and is ready to move on.”  Move on he did.  The ink wasn’t even dry on his contract before he was arrested for DUI.  In college, he was arrested twice for selling drugs on campus. 

Titus Young.  Last week, wide receiver Young became a double arrestee in one day, possibly ending his short, non-storied career in the NFL.  After being charged in California for DUI, the former St. Louis Rams trouble-maker allegedly attempted to steal his own car from the lot in which it was impounded.  He was arrested again.  Some of his previous “character issues” include sucker punching an opponent and intentionally lining up in the wrong position while with the Detroit Lions.  Sportswriters called Young a “troubled soul” instead of, well, a lawbreaker.

Cliff Harris.  The former New York Jets cornerback set an NFL record by getting arrested three times in nine days.  His last arrest, for beating up his girlfriend, occurred in the parking lot of Buffalo Wild Wings in Hillsboro, Oregon. This is the same guy whose college team, the Oregon Ducks, kicked him off the squad because of a series of run-ins with the law. 

Daryl Washington.  Immediately after he signed a 32.5 million dollar contract with the Arizona Cardinals, Washington celebrated by allegedly assaulting his girlfriend.  According to police reports, the linebacker choked his lady pal and pushed her to the ground, causing several serious injuries.  Just a few weeks earlier, he learned that he would be suspended for the first four games next year for violation of the NFL’s drug policy.  Notwithstanding, one of his teammates said Washington is “an awesome guy.”

William Moore.  Immediately after signing a 30 million dollar contract with the Atlanta Falcons, police arrested Moore for simple battery.  After an argument with a woman, Moore allegedly “threw the victim’s phone” on the ground and grabbed her shoulder.

Michael Boley.  In a secret deal with prosecutors, New York Giants linebacker Boley pleaded guilty to child abuse.  He’d previously been investigated for a separate incident of the same nature, and had been arrested for assaulting his girlfriend.  If he completes a “diversion program,” charges will be dropped.  Boley was recently cut by the Giants, not for his alleged crimes, but because he stunk up the field.

Tharold Simon.  The day before “Tharold Simon Day” in his hometown of Eunice, Lousiana, the “troubled” LSU cornerback was arrested on charges of public intimidation, resisting an officer and noise violation.  He bragged to the arresting officer, “I own Eunice.”  Then he threatened to get the lawman fired.  None of that stopped the Seattle Seahawks from drafting Simon in the recent draft.  He’d previously been suspended by LSU for violating the team’s substance abuse policy.  Because of his inadvertent error, the city canceled “Tharold Simon Day.”   

Tyrann Mathieu.  Speaking of LSU, Coach Les Miles kicked Mathieu off the team for numerous incidences of substance abuse.  But that didn’t stop the Arizona Cardinals from drafting him.  General manager Steve Keim told reporters that “at the end of the day, there is always an element of risk with any of these picks.  We're going to take the necessary measures to make sure he walks the straight and narrow.”  A week later, so far, so good.  But it doesn’t sound promising when a Phoenix “head shop” put an ad in the local paper welcoming Mathieu and inviting him for a visit.

Quentin Groves.  After signing a 2.8 million dollar contract with the Cleveland Browns, the linebacker made himself proud by getting arrested for soliciting a prostitute. 

Just a few “mistakes” here and there.

Nothing to worry about.

Innocent Victim Amanda BrownWhy Wait?
by Robert A. Waters

Intending to speed up executions in the state, Florida legislators recently passed the Timely Justice Bill.  While their intentions are good, the statute is unlikely to make much difference because of challenges that will be brought before various courts.  (In 2000, the legislature passed another law designed to shorten death row appeals, but the United States Supreme Court deemed it unconstitutional.)  If, however, the Timely Justice Bill actually becomes the state’s death row modus operandi, here are two killers they could start with.
 Willie Crain, a previously-convicted pedophile, kidnapped seven-year-old Amanda Brown.  Her body was never found, but DNA proved that Crain sexually assaulted the child.  For nearly fifteen years, this inmate has played hop-scotch with justice.  Now it’s time for him to pay.  The description of his crime is taken from court documents.

“Willie Crain was introduced to Kathryn Hartman by his daughter on 09/09/98, while at a bar in Hillsborough County.  Crain and Hartman danced and talked for four hours that night, until 1:30 or 2:00 in the morning.  Crain dropped Hartman off at her trailer, and Hartman asked to see Crain again.

“On the afternoon of 09/10/98, Crain returned to Hartman’s trailer, where he met her seven-year-old daughter, Amanda Brown.  Crain and Brown sat at the kitchen table, playing games and doing her homework.  Before leaving that afternoon, Crain accepted Hartman’s invitation to return for dinner that evening.

“After dinner that night, Crain and Brown played games with Brown and told her that he had a large collection of videotapes at his trailer.  Brown pleaded with her mother to let her go to Crain’s trailer, and she agreed.  Crain drove Hartman and Brown to his trailer in his white pickup truck.

“After beginning to watch the movie in Crain’s living room, Crain and Brown then went to his bedroom, where Hartman found the two sitting on Crain’s bed, watching the movie.  Hartman noticed that Brown was sitting between Crain’s sprawled legs with her back to his front.  At some point in the evening, Hartman asked Crain if he had any medication for pain.  Crain offered her Valium, which she took, and marijuana, which she declined.

“Eventually, Hartman decided it was time to leave, and Crain drove Hartman and Brown to their trailer.  Around 2:15 a.m., Brown went to sleep in Hartman’s bed.  Crain appeared intoxicated, so Hartman advised him to lie down to sober up while she went to bed.  Within five minutes of Hartman going to bed, Crain entered the bedroom and lay down on the bed with Hartman and Brown. 

“Hartman awoke the next morning to find Crain gone and Brown missing.  Hartman called Crain on his cell phone, and he told her that he did not know where Brown was and that he was loading his boat at a boat landing.  

“Other people at the boat ramp testified at trial that Crain carried what appeared to be a rolled-up item of clothing with him when he was launching his boat.  One of the men at the boat ramp that day testified that Crain had told him on two separate occasions that he had the ability to get rid of a body where no one could find it. 

“Police later interviewed Crain, and he told police that he left Hartman’s house around 1:30 a.m. on 09/11/98.  He also told police that he accidentally spilled bleach in his bathroom and spent the early morning hours cleaning his bathroom. 

“While searching Crain’s trailer, a detective applied Luminol, a chemical that reacts with blood, to Crain’s bathroom.  The detective testified at trial that the floor, bathtub, and walls “lit up”. 

“Detectives also found blood stains in the bathroom and on Crain’s boxer shorts, both of which contained DNA consistent with a mixture of the DNA profiles of Crain and Brown.  Despite an extensive, two-week search of Upper Tampa Bay, Brown’s body was never found.”

Crain worked as a commercial fisherman.  Investigators suspect that he placed Amanda’s body in a crab trap and dumped her into Tampa Bay.

Douglas Ray Meeks, convicted of murdering a store clerk and a customer in different robberies, has been on Death Row for nearly 40 years.  The description of his crimes comes from court documents.

“On the morning of October 24, 1974, Meeks, a twenty-one-year-old African-American, entered the Majik Market convenience store in Perry, Florida.  While attempting to rob the store, Meeks stabbed the store manager, Chevis Thompson.  Three high school students (James Southerland, Jeffrey McKee, and Thomas Hingson) saw Meeks exit the Majik Market as they drove into the store's parking lot.  When the students went inside the Majik Market, they noticed that Thompson was lying behind the sales counter and that she was apparently injured.  Upon closer inspection, the boys saw that blood was flowing out of a knife wound in her neck.  Thompson was gasping for air and waving her hand wildly.  There was also blood on the counter and on the sides of the cash register.

“Failing to find a telephone in the store, the boys raced to their car and drove three blocks to the nearest hospital. Before leaving, they instructed two other students (Dennis Wilds and Michael Blanton), who had since arrived at the Majik Market (but who had not seen Meeks exit the store), to stay with Thompson while they went for help.  Hospital staff subsequently arrived at the Majik Market, but were unable to rescue Thompson; she died of the knife wounds inflicted upon her by Meeks.

“Two weeks later, on November 6, 1974, Meeks and an accomplice, Homer Lee Hardwick, entered the Junior Food Store in Perry at between 8:00 p.m. and 8:30 p.m.  Hardwick walked up to the front of the cash register and put his arm around the neck of Lloyd Walker, a sixteen-year-old boy who was in the store to make a purchase.  While Hardwick immobilized Walker, Meeks approached the store clerk, Diane Allen, at gun point and demanded that Allen give him all the money in cash register. Allen complied and handed over between thirty and thirty-five dollars.

“Meeks then instructed both Allen and Walker to walk to the back of the store and get in a storage closet.  When they had done so, he told them to lie on their backs and then to roll over onto their stomachs.  At that point, Meeks fired several shots, hitting Allen in the shoulder, and Walker in the head.  After Meeks and Hardwick left the store, Allen waited a few minutes and then called the police.  She was taken to a hospital and later recovered from her shoulder wound.  Lloyd Walker died six days after the shooting.”

On March 12, 1975, Meeks was sentenced to death for killing Thompson.  Two weeks later, he was convicted of murdering Walker and received a second death sentence.  Since there is no doubt about his guilt, the long delay in carrying out Meeks’ sentence is unfathomable.
 

Alice PorterKidnapped in Pueblo
by Robert A. Waters

In April of 1942, Americans cheered Jimmy Doolittle’s kamikaze-style raid on Japan.  In Europe, there was little to celebrate—World War II had bogged down into a bloody slugfest between the Allies and the Nazis.  And off the southern shores of the U. S., German U-boats sank dozens of American-bound ships.

None of that mattered to Donald Fearn, 23.  The Pueblo, Colorado resident, married and working as a railway mechanic, had long harbored an obsession with a little-known Indian religious cult called the Penitentes.  Because the sect had been persecuted for millennia, they worshipped in secret.  Using an adobe church deep in the desert, the group practiced self-flagellation and mock-crucifixion.  Fearn claimed to have visited the church, but his pre-occupation with the blood-stained altar had little to do with religion and everything to do with sexual arousal.

On April 22, at 9:30 P.M., sixteen-year-old Alice Porter walked down East Eleventh Street.  The pretty brunette, returning home after registering for a nursing course at Central High School,  didn’t realize she was being shadowed by a monster.

As the lone teenager neared her home, Fearn parked beside her and jumped from his car.  He stuck a handgun in Porter’s face and ordered her to get in.  The teen screamed, then obeyed.  As quickly as that, Alice Porter vanished.

In a home across the street, Mr. and Mrs. Ezra Mckinney heard screams and a commotion that seemed to come from the sidewalk outside their residence.  Rushing to their front window, the couple spied a tan-colored Ford sedan speeding away.  

Fearn drove his victim straight to an abandoned ranch-house in the wastelands southeast of Pueblo. For six hours, he unrelentingly tortured the girl.  Finally, after killing her, he dropped the remains of Alice Porter in a cistern and covered it with branches and leaves.

But as Fearn attempted to leave, his car became stuck in the mud.  (A violent rain-storm had passed the night before.)  Try as he might, he couldn’t get it to budge.  Eventually, at about four in the morning, Fearn walked to a farmhouse and called Whaley’s Garage in Pueblo.  The owner, Boyd Whaley, drove into the desert and pulled Fearn’s automobile from the mud.

When Alice Porter hadn’t returned home by midnight, her father, a former police officer, reported her missing.

Almost immediately, police began canvassing the route she would have walked home.  Detectives knocked on the door of a home in the 1600 block of East Eleventh Street and met Mr. and Mrs. McKinney.  The couple breathlessly described what they’d witnessed a few hours earlier.  Now investigators knew that Alice had likely been abducted, and that they were looking for a tan-colored Ford sedan.For three days, police and Pueblo residents conducted a massive search for Alice Porter.

Finally, Boyd Whaley contacted investigators and informed them that Donald Fearn had a tan-colored Ford sedan that had gotten stuck in the desert on the night the girl disappeared.  Whaley led investigators to the ranch and there they discovered the blood-soaked crime scene, and the body of Alice Porter.In the book, Mountain Murders: Homicide in the Rockies, Betty L. Alt and Sandra K. Wells describe what the coroner found when he autopsied the body: “Coroner J. R. Blair’s autopsy indicated that a depression skull fracture just between the eyes of Alice Porter had caused her death.  The fracture was beneath a two-inch wound in her forehead, and above that was another half-inch wound.  In addition, a bullet fired from a .32 caliber revolver had entered her head just above the right ear, had pierced the brain, and had lodged between the scalp and the skin on the left side of the girl’s head.”

But that was just a fraction of the injuries suffered by Alice.  Coroner Blair also reported that the victim had “multiple bruises over her entire body with contusions on her shoulder and right ankle.  Burns, inflicted by a hot wire that had been heated in the fireplace, were spread over her body—fifteen on her stomach, two on her left groin and ten on her back and left hip.”  In addition, there were numerous stab wounds on the body.  As an afterthought, Blair reported that Alice had been repeatedly raped.

Pueblo Police Chief J. Arthur Grady told reporters that the scene was the “most gruesome” he’d witnessed in his 38 years on the force.  

After his arrest, Fearn quickly confessed.  Tried and convicted, the monster was sentenced to death.    

On October 23, Fearn kept his date with the executioner.  He’d shown no remorse for his victim or her family.  For his last meal, the killer requested a steak and a beer.  After eating, Fearn entered the gas chamber.  He undressed down to his shorts, and was strapped into the chair by guards.  Then the cyanide was released, and a smoky poison rose into the air. 

In three minutes, Fearn was dead. 

Alice’s father and other relatives watched, praying for their daughter, and wondering if the six hours she’d spent at the hands of the sadist was worth only three minutes.

On Friday night, between 10:55 P.M. and 11:15 P.M., Jessica Heeringa vanished from the Exxon Mobil gas station in Norton Shores, Michigan.  Police investigators have announced that the disappearance is likely an abduction.

The station, located on 1196 E. Sternberg Road, is open until 11:30.  The fact that there are no surveillance cameras in the store is hampering the investigation.

At 10:55, Heeringa made a transaction.

Twenty minutes later, a customer called 911 to report that no clerk was in the store.  Police reported no money had been stolen.

Heeringa is five feet one inch tall, and weighs approximately 110 pounds.  She has blond hair and blue eyes.  She sometimes wears wire-rim glasses.  At the time of her disappearance, she may have been wearing a blue-collared shirt with a “Sternberg Exxon” logo on it.

Police wish to speak to a white male seen driving a silver mini-van, possibly a Chrysler Town & Country, near the store in the time-frame in which Heeringa disappeared.

Anyone who may have witnessed suspicious activity near the Exxon Mobil gas station is asked to contact Silent Observer at 231-722-7463.
 

 American airman survives free-fall
by Robert A. Waters

High above Saint Nazaire, France, Sergeant Alan Magee, a ball-turret gunner from New Jersey, began his fall out of the sky high.  On January 3, 1944, while engaged on a bombing mission, his plane took a direct hit from enemy flak.  Magee later described the hectic scene: “We were hit by anti-aircraft guns, but what knocked us out of the sky was a [German] Focke-Wulf FW 190 shooting our wing off.  The last thing I remember was that I was at 20-some thousand feet trying to get out of a burning plane.”

During the dogfight, exploding shrapnel pierced Magee's body.  Worse, it tore a large hole in his parachute, making it inoperable.  

“Snap! Crackle! Pop!” began to spin. (The B-17’s nickname was a tribute to Captain Jacob W. Fredericks of the 360th Bomb Squadron, who’d worked at Kellogg’s Cereal before the war.)  The wounded plane, now out of control, suddenly erupted in flames.  Seven of its ten crew members died instantly. 

Magee had a choice.  He could be roasted alive, or he could dive out of the plane.  22,000 feet up, he jumped.

All around him, gunfire and explosions rocked the sky.  “Snap! Crackle! Pop!” had been one of 17 American bombers sent to destroy a major U-boat port at Saint Nazaire.  Two dozen German planes met them head-on.  During the battle, seven B-17s were shot down, and 85 American airmen killed.

Magee stated that as he fell from the sky, he asked God for divine intervention.  He remembered telling his Maker, “I don’t wish to die because I know nothing of life.”  Shortly after his prayer, he drifted into an unconscious state. 

Falling at 120 miles per hour, Magee’s chances of survival seemed non-existent.

But after two minutes of freefalling, the airman plummeted onto a skylight at the Saint Nazaire train station.  The glass shattered, somehow cushioning his landing.  He ended up in the rafters, alive but severely injured.

Magee woke up in the Hermitage Hotel.  Afterwards, the airman always stated that when he awoke, he thanked God for being alive.  A German doctor, amazed that he’d survived, examined him and found 28 shrapnel wounds, a punctured lung and kidney, a nearly severed arm, and a broken leg and ankle.  He also had massive facial injuries.

The doctor said, “We are enemies, but I am first a doctor and I will do my best to save your arm.” True to his word, the doctor provided excellent care, and did indeed salvage the American’s arm.

After spending two and a half months in a German hospital, Magee ended up as a prisoner of war.  He was liberated in May, 1945, and later received a Purple Heart and an Air Medal for meritorious conduct. 

Magee worked in the airline industry until he retired.

In 1995, the old soldier and his wife flew back to France, this time to be honored by the citizens of Saint Nazaire.  The railroad station still stood, and Magee got to see the skylight that miraculously saved him.

He died at age 84, in San Angelo, Texas, the recipient of one of the most unfathomable feats in World War II.

NOTE: Two of Sgt. Magee’s fellow-crewmen survived the crash.  Lt. Glen M. Herrington, navigator, lost his leg.  Upon landing, he was captured by the Germans.  He later became one of the first USAAF men to be repatriated.  He died in 1987.  S/Sgt. J.I. Gordon also bailed out and was captured.  He disappeared somewhere in the brutal German concentration camps—he is still missing.

Krystle CampbellOn the trail of Boston bombers
by Robert A. Waters

Just look at the dead: Krystle Campbell, 29, the hard-working manager of a steak house; Lu Lingzi, a Chinese graduate student majoring in finance; and Martin Richard, a normal eight-year-old boy.  Place them in a mall, or on a beach, or inside a church, and they would have fit in.  But with a blast of shrapnel, three vibrant lives drained onto a Boston street.  

If the FBI is right, two smarmy-looking college students launched a grisly assault on the Boston Marathon, and on the country that took them in, gave them freedom, and a chance. 

So why did Tamerlan Tsarnaev, 26, and his brother Dzhokhar, 19, choose to attack the United States?

Their uncle, Ruslan Tsarni, has a theory.  “They’re losers,” he said.  They were not “able to settle themselves and hating everyone else who did.”

He may be onto something there.  So many perpetrators who commit mass murders are loners, unable to relate to others.  Foul spirits lost in the shadows, they have few if any meaningful relationships.  Led by resentments, they can easily careen off the tracks of sanity. 

But I don’t really care about the creeps who commit these mass killings.  Many millions of people have trouble relating to others and never harm anyone.  And anyway, Dzhokhar, at least, smoked pot with other students and listened to rap music.  He had a girlfriend, and friends in the college he attended.  He wasn’t a lone-wolf.

He and his brother came from Chechnya.  For decades, Russia has attempted to exterminate the Chechens, leaving their cities rubble-strewn and uninhabitable.  These bloody wars have left many Chechens scarred, but Tamerlan, Dzhokhar, and their families had the good fortune to gain political asylum in America.

Speaking of his nephews, Tsarni said, “They don't deserve to even exist on this Earth, that is what I think.  I just wish they never existed.  I'm wordless.  I'm shocked.”

Now Tamerlan is dead, wounded in a shootout with police, killed after his brother drove over him in a desperate attempt to escape.  Few Americans will grieve his passing.

Dzhokhar, wounded by police, gave up after hiding out for nearly twenty-four hours.  In typical American fashion, he was taken to the hospital instead of the gallows.

And I’m glad.  We need to determine why he and his brother turned on the country that gave them respite, even if it makes little difference to the wounded souls and grieving families. 

But when it’s all said and done, Dzhokhar, if he’s found guilty, should be executed.  It’s shameful that Massachusetts has no death penalty for crimes such as these, but at least the Feds occasionally execute terrorists.  Ten or twenty years from now, maybe Dzhokhar will get the needle, a ridiculously small price to pay for the pain and suffering he’s caused.

Whatever the case, let’s pray for the dead and for the living victims.  And let’s pray for our country.    

Today the FBI released these photographs of suspects in the Boston bombings.  If you have information concerning either of these suspects, call the FBI at 1-800-225-5324.  

25 years and still counting
NOTE: The following information comes directly from the website of the Munroe County Sheriff’s Office.
Patty Lanza, 4 years old, murdered on Little Torch Key in 1988

Patricia Lanza was just four years old on July 2, 1988 when she was murdered. Patty had attended a fourth of July party with her mother at a home on Gato Road, Little Torch Key. She was last seen by her mother at 10 p.m. Her body was found nearby the following afternoon. She had been raped and hit in the head, then her body was thrown in some bushes off the side of the road.

Several hundred people have since been interviewed in relation to the case. A man who was at the party admitted to being with Patty, but said she was alive when he last saw her. He was arrested shortly after the crime on charges of false imprisonment, but the charges were later dropped for lack of sufficient evidence. He died the following year of natural causes. His DNA was later tested and he was excluded as a suspect in the crime.

No one has ever been arrested for her murder. Anyone with information about this case should contact Major Crimes Detective Geni Hernandez at 305-809-3040 or 305-797-0046.
Lisa Sanders, 20 years old, murdered in 1988 on No Name KeyLisa Sanders was just 20 years old when she was brutally murdered on No Name Key December 16th, 1988. Lisa lived on Big Pine Key. She was a small woman, just 4’10 inches tall, 106 pounds when she died.That night, she attended a party with friends at the end of No Name Road on No Name Key. Her friends last saw her leaving on foot about 9:30 p.m. Her parents reported her missing the following day and a short time later, her body was found lying beside a dirt road near a gravel pit on No Name Key. She had been beaten, stabbed and dragged behind a car by a rope tied around her neck.Since that time, hundreds of people have been interviewed by detectives and her case continues to be investigated but no one has yet been charged with the crime. Major Crimes Sgt. Linda Mixon has been assigned to this case. Anyone with information about it can contact her at 305-797-0089. 

 Wannabe outlaws subdued by passengers
by Robert A. Waters

In 1937, Wisconsin-born Henry Lorenz Loftus, 22, and Canadian Harry Dwyer Donaldson, 27, longed to see the Wild West they’d read about in the pulp magazines.  Slaving away in a Brooklyn, New York factory, the friends dreamed of riding the range, gunfights, and rescuing fair damsels in distress.  After saving nearly $200, they quit their jobs and boarded a train for the border town of El Paso.

Rattling along the tracks, Loftus and Donaldson fantasized about adventures to come.  But when they disembarked, the friends found El Paso not so much different than Brooklyn.  The wannabe cowboys were disappointed to find paved roads, automobiles, telephone wires, and thriving neon-lit businesses.  Undeterred, they spent $140 on horses, saddles, pistols, and hand-tooled leather holsters.  Traveling across the border to Juarez, Mexico, Loftus and Donaldson purchased black sombreros and fancy Mexican boots.  Now, dressed like dime-novel cowboys, the friends paraded around El Paso, much to the amusement of local residents.

While townspeople laughed at the northern “drugstore cowboys,” the Southern Pacific passenger train, nicknamed the Apache Limited, made its daily run through the city.

On November 24, 1937, at 11:20 p.m., the Limitedheaded out of El Paso, bound for Los Angeles.  Jim Velsir, a brakeman on the train, described what happened next: “These two fellows got on the train at El Paso with tickets for Hermanos, N. M.,” he said. “They were in the first day coach.  We were about 40 miles out when they pulled out their guns and ordered everyone to put up their hands. Everyone did.”

While Loftus covered conductor W. M. Holloway, Donaldson began moving down the aisle collecting valuables from passengers, including cash, watches, and jewelry.  Loftus then moved to the engine room and ordered brakeman Velsir to stop the train. 

Back in the passenger coach, Jose A. Rodriguez of El Paso “made a sudden move,” and Donaldson took a shot at him.  The bullet hit Rodriguez’ pocket watch, saving his life.  However, the shot caused other passengers and crew to react. 

Roger Moon, Southern Pacific yardman, swung from the hip and knocked the gunman down.  As Donaldson was being beaten senseless by about twenty passengers and crew, Loftus rushed back to help his partner.  He, too, was tackled by W. L. Smith, a Southern Pacific employee traveling as a passenger.  Struggling on the floor of the coach, Loftus shot Smith.  Several passengers, including two sisters, Margaret and Beatrice Breton, disarmed Loftus and beat him until he stopped struggling.

The enraged crew and passengers lashed the robbers to seats, and tended to the mortally wounded Smith.  The train continued to Deming, New Mexico, where Loftus and Donaldson were arrested.  Donaldson had been beaten so badly he could hardly speak.  The El Paso Herald-Post reported that “a bloody bandage draped his forehead.  His jaw was swollen twice its size and his mouth was bruised out of shape.”  Loftus had a broken nose.

They quickly confessed to their crimes, and both provided written details corroborating accounts of the crew and passengers.

Deputy Sheriff Jack Robertson decided to have a little fun with the city dudes.  “So you thought you'd come out here and get tough, huh?” he said.

Loftus responded: “Well, we just decided on this stunt after our money got low.  We wanted to go on west to California.”

Describing the area where the attempted holdup occurred as “sandy wastes” near the Mexican border, Robertson asked, “How do you think you could have gotten away in that sand with your high-heel boots?”

“We hadn't thought of that,” Loftus said.

W. L. Smith’s distraught wife explained to reporters that her husband had taken the Apache Limited to California so he could visit his seventeen-year-old daughter, who was ill.  “I hadn't thought of his bravery until early this morning,” Mrs. Smith said. “It's wonderful to think that he would ‘go after’ those criminals to save others’ lives and protect property.”

On February 21, 1938, Loftus and Donaldson pleaded guilty to second degree murder.  Each expressed remorse for killing Smith.  After the judge sentenced each man to 50-75 years in prison, they were transported by automobile to the New Mexico Penitentiary in Santa Fe.  There the robbers served out their time, ending the sad yet comedic saga of the “drugstore cowboys.”

 

Joseph TaborskySentenced to death and set free to kill again
by Robert A. Waters

Joseph Taborksy could never quite get it right. A hardened criminal with a cocky attitude, he even got a second chance after being sentenced to death.  Walking out of prison on a technicality, “Mad Dog” Taborsky informed the press that he was done with crime.  Even as a youngster, Joe was an incorrigible little brat. His first recorded crime was the theft of a bicycle.  Released with no time served, he pilfered another bike.  He eventually served a few months in a reform school for theft, but it didn’t help.  Throughout his teens, Taborsky, a part-time boxer, learned to bob and weave through the justice system, escaping punishment time and again.

Born in Hartford, Connecticut in 1926, Joe came from a middle-class family.  His father, a door-to-door salesman, worked hard to keep his family afloat while Joe’s mother kept house.  In addition to Juvie Joe, there was Albert, dull of intellect and certifiably insane.

At 18, while serving a short sentence in the local jail, Joe escaped.  After being re-captured, he finally did hard time—three years in the state penitentiary.  Upon his release, he fled to Seattle, Washington.  True to his nature, Joe began burgling houses and, in 1947, served a short sentence for his crimes.  Returning to Connecticut, the career criminal did a six-month stint in the Hartford City Jail for carrying an illegal weapon.  In the next few years, he racked up arrests for burglary, robbery, and other offenses.  In most of those cases, he avoided prison.

Then, according to the North Adams Transcript, Joe hit the big time.  “In January 1951, [Joseph] Taborsky arrived on the public scene with a spectacular burst of notoriety. His mother, Mrs. Esther M. Taborsky, called police and said her son Albert would like to talk to officers. Albert said he and Joe parked near a liquor store one day and Joe got out with a gun. When he returned, Joe said: ‘The guy jumped me and I had to shoot him.’ The store operator turned out to be Louis I. Wolfson, whose murder police had been trying to solve for months. A month later, Joe was found guilty of first degree murder and his execution was set for Nov. 7, 1951.” Albert pleaded guilty, testified against his brother, and drew a life sentence. 

In 1955, Joe received a stroke of luck that might have turned his life around.  During his incarceration, Albert had been committed to an insane asylum.  Because of this, Joe’s attorneys appealed his death sentence, alleging that a crazy man’s testimony couldn’t be used in court.  The justices agreed.  Suddenly, the prison doors swung open and a grinning Joseph Taborsky was released once again to prey on society.

On December 15, 1956, cops found Edward J. Jurpiewski and Daniel J. Janowski murdered in their rural service station. Then Samuel H. Cohn was killed in his liquor store.  Next, Bernard J. Speyer and his wife, Ruth, died.  They happened to walk into a shoe store as it was being robbed.  Finally, the bandits stuck up a pharmacy and killed John M. Rosenthal.  Most of Taborsky’s victims were forced to kneel on the floor, then shot in the head.

With the bodies piling up, cops finally got a break.  The shoe store owner had been beaten but survived—he told detectives that the killer had pretended to be a customer and asked for size 12 shoes.  Investigators looked through their crime files and came up with the name of only one offender who wore that size shoe.  Joseph Taborsky.    

“Mad Dog” and his partner, Arthur “Meatball” Culombe, confessed to murdering six people.  In total, their deadly heists netted only a few hundred dollars.  At trial, Culombe, called a “mental defective” and “moron,” got life in prison.  Taborsky was once again sentenced to death.

This time the sentence would be carried out. On May 17, 1960, Taborsky was strapped into Connecticut’s electric chair.  As the switch was thrown, his body snapped back, then he went limp.

He donated his remains to Yale Medical School and his eyes to a New York eye bank.  If he hoped to make up for the number of ruined lives that followed in his murderous wake, he failed.  Nothing could atone for the innocent victims he killed.
 

Vintage stories of robbers shot by armed citizens
Compiled by Robert A. Waters

Almost from the beginning of this country, armed citizens have successfully fought back when attacked.  Until the advent of the Internet, these stories were just blurbs in some local newspaper, and therefore, unknown to the general public.  Because of this, anti-gun politicians got away with disparaging those who claimed there were many cases of armed self-defense.  Now it’s easy to locate numerous cases online.  In today’s blog, I’ll publish a few of the older shootings that never made national news—you’ll notice that many are just two- or three-sentence write-ups.

BURNED FINGERS CLOUD IDENTITY OF SLAIN BANDITMiami Daily News-Record, Miami, OklahomaHOBART, Okla., Nov. 13, 1934—UP—Acid-burned fingertips on the body of a little tattooed robber killed here last night in the course of an attempted filling station holdup impeded efforts of officers to establish identification today. George Allen, attendant at the station, told officers the stranger entered the building alone last night and ordered him to open the money till. When Allen refused, the robber attempted to pry open the drawer himself. Allen said he drew a pistol and shot the intruder five times as the robber tried to draw a .45 automatic from inside his shirt. In the car in which the man drove up to the station was found a submachine gun. There were no papers or other means of identification on his person. The robber was described as from 27 to 35 years of age; 5 feet 7; weight 130 pounds; black hair; sallow complexion; with two tattoo marks on his body.

BANK ROBBER KILLED The Daily Northwestern

Eiland, N. C., November 13, 1930—(AP)—One robber was killed and another escaped after an unsuccessful attempt to rob the bank of Eiland here Saturday. The dead man was identified as Frank Carpenter, of Durham. He was shot down by F. Carl Forrest, a merchant, as he left the bank with several thousand dollars in his pocket. As Forrest's shot rang out, another bandit, who had been waiting in an automobile in front of the bank, sped away.

ATTEMPTED BANK ROBBERY IS FOILED; ROBBER IS KILLEDBradford Era (Bradford, PA)

Westville, Oklahoma, Oct. 14, 1930—(UPI)—An attempted bank robbery was frustrated here today, a robber was killed, a bank president was wounded, but a posse failed to capture the second of the two holdup men. A man giving the name of Tom Haworth was killed when bank officials first grappled with the bandits and then obtained guns and fired at the fleeing robbers. Before he died he said his companion was named Elmer Jones.  F. S. Howard, president of the bank, was wounded in the hand when he rushed outside the bank to continue firing at the robbers, who sped away in a motor car. Haworth, fatally wounded, left the car about a mile from Westville, and was captured.

ALBUQUERQUE MAN KILLED ON COASTClovis News-Journal (New Mexico)

LOS ANGELES, Sept. 26, 1940—UP— Police announced today that the Federal Bureau of Investigation had identified a gunman killed during a holdup Monday night as William Anderson, 23, of Albuquerque. The FBI said the victim's fingerprints tallied with those of Anderson, taken when he enlisted in the army at Ft Lewis, Wash., a year ago. He was the second robber killed in two months by Mike Bossio, liquor store owner.

ROBBER KILLED BY POSTMASTER Muscogee Times-Democrat (Oklahoma)

TROY, New York, Oct. 7, 1913—Frank Stumpf, postmaster at Stillwater, Saratoga county, aroused at 3 o'clock this morning by the sound of an explosion in the post office about 100 feet east of his residence, took his rifle and fired at random through a window by the side of the safe, instantly killing an unidentified man who was attempting to rob the safe. One of the burglars stationed outside the post office was armed with a repeating rifle and fired three shots at Stumpf. Two men then ran from the building and made their escape. The third was found dead by the safe, the bullet having entered just behind the left ear.

TRAIN ROBBER SHOT BY AN EXPRESS MESSENGER WHO BRAVELY DEFENDS HIS CAR FROM ATTACK—ANOTHER ROBBER WOUNDEDThe Other Desperadoes Escape on Horse-back—A Sheriff's Posse in Hot Pursuit— Supposed to be the Dalton Gang

The Ohio Democrat (Cincinnati)

WICHITA, Kan., April 11, 1894—The Daltons or other train robbers attempted Monday night to hold up the Rock Island train No. 1, four miles below Pond Creek, in the Oklahoma Territory. They met an unexpected resistance at the hands of Jake Harmon, the Wells-Fargo express messenger, who shot the first man who tried to break in the express car by the use of dynamite. The other men in the gang tried to escape, but the trainmen succeeded in wounding and capturing another of the men and two horses. The other bandits succeeded in getting away, but without any booty.

The train went through Pond Creek, which is a new town in the strip, about 11 o'clock. It was evidently at this point that two men mounted the front platform of the express car next to the locomotive. The train had gone about four miles from the town when one of the men with a revolver in each hand climbed on the tender and compelled the engineer to stop. No sooner had the train come to a standstill than three or four men suddenly appeared out of the darkness. The men on the locomotive kept the engineer and fireman from giving the alarm while the rest of the gang went back to the baggage and express car.

They tried to open the door, but the messenger had become alarmed and had the door securely fastened. The bandits then fired through the car and brought out a stick of dynamite with which they blew out the end of the car. They then tried to enter the car, but Messenger Harmon was ready for them. He shot and killed the first man to put his head in sight. This was more than the other members of the gang had expected and they attempted to beat a hasty retreat.

By this time other trainmen had come to Harmon's relief and another desperado was wounded. The other masked men ran to their horses which were waiting, hastily mounted and rode away in the darkness, leaving their wounded companion on the ground. He was picked up by the trainmen, put in one of the cars and his wounds cared for as well as could be under the circumstances.

Two horses which had been left for the victims were also captured. The train then backed up to Pond Creek, from which point the alarm was sent out and arrangements made for the pursuit of the bandits. Telegrams were sent to all the sheriffs in this part of the country and every effort will be made to bring the robbers to justice. The robbery was well planned.

The region is a wild one, in which the bandits, who are well acquainted with the lay of the land, would have a great advantage over any posse that would attempt to follow them. One of the masked men had his specific duty assigned him in true bandit style, and the horses were ready for the escape and for carrying off the booty. Had it not been for the unexpected bravery of Jack Harmon the hold-up would have been a success. The amount of money on the car is unknown, but it is supposed to be large.

Elisa NelsonThe Long WaitFlorida Governor Rick Scott announced that he has signed a death warrant for child-killer Larry Eugene Mann.  The murderer is scheduled to die by lethal injection on April 10th at Florida State Prison in Starke.The following description of the crime and its aftermath is taken from court documents.  WARNING: The details are gruesome.

“Elisa Nelson was 10 years old and attended Palm Harbor Middle School, which was seven or eight blocks from her home. On November 4, 1980 Elisa had a dental appointment to have braces put on her teeth, and so she went to school late after her visit to the dentist. Elisa left home for school on her bicycle between 10:15 and 10:30. She had an excuse note her mother had written for her to explain her tardiness. Elisa Nelson was seen riding her bicycle on Nebraska Avenue toward 15th Street, the street on which her school was located, at around 10:30 that morning. Around 4:00 on the afternoon of November 4, 1980, Wendy Nelson called the Pinellas County Sheriff's Office and reported her daughter missing. A deputy was dispatched to take a report, following which a search was begun. Elisa's bicycle was found that day, lying on its side in a ditch or ravine area a little bit north of the middle school. The search continued around the area where the bicycle was found until midnight, when it was called off.  “The search began again the next morning, and Elisa's body was found around 8:00 or 9:00 lying face down in a wooded area next to an orange grove. She was fully clothed except for her sneakers, which were off to the side of the body. Her jeans were closed. There were several areas of blood within a few feet of her head, which was in a shallow depression. Her left arm was behind her back, and there was a piece of vine around it. The cause of her death was a skull fracture, inflicted by some type of blunt object. There was a lamp post or pole with concrete on the bottom of it about six feet from the body that weighed 45 to 50 pounds, had blood on it of the same type as Elisa Nelson's blood, and was consistent with having inflicted the injury Elisa suffered. Hairs consistent with Elisa's hairs were found on the pole, and on concrete chips recovered at the scene. It would have taken a great deal of force, similar to an auto accident, to have caused the injury to the skull. The associate medical examiner, Dr. Corcoran, opined that Elisa was still alive and breathing at the time her skull was crushed. In addition to the skull fracture, there were five wounds to the neck that would have been inflicted with a sharp instrument, and which Dr. Corcoran believed were inflicted first. These included a cut on the left side of the neck that was about four and one half inches long, and a cut on the right side of the neck that was about three and one quarter inches long. These would have cut the external jugular veins and gone into the muscle, but not to any significant distance. The other three wounds to the neck consisted of two smaller cuts and a tiny puncture wound.

“If left untreated, the wounds to the neck probably would have ultimately resulted in death; they may or may not have actually contributed to Elisa's death. One would remain conscious for a matter of minutes up to roughly half an hour after receiving the wounds to the neck, however, the blunt trauma to the head would have caused immediate unconsciousness. Elisa also had a recent bruise on her chin, which would have been caused while she was still alive, and which was consistent either with a blow or a hand over the mouth. Finally, there were four bruises on each of her legs, all of them less than an inch in diameter, some of which were recent, and some of which were several days old. “On November 8, 1980 deputies of the Pinellas County Sheriff's Office received a radio call to go to [Larry Eugene Mann’s] residence in Dunedin, where they were given a note by Appellant's wife, Donna, that she had found under a shirt on the front seat of Appellant's pickup truck. It was the note Wendy Nelson had written for her daughter to take to school on November 4. The investigation intensified at that point. The sheriff's deputies proceeded to Mease Hospital to question Appellant, who was being treated there as a result of his attempted suicide on November 4, but "there was no statements given.'' The deputies also secured a search warrant for the Mann residence and Appellant's truck. Appellant was arrested on the basis of probable cause on November 10. Two fingerprints found on Elisa Nelson's bicycle were identified as matching Appellant's known prints. A hair found in vacuum sweepings taken from the floor of Appellant's truck and hair from auto floor insulation removed from Appellant's garage matched the hair of Elisa Nelson. 

“Tires on Appellant's truck were similar to tire impressions the sheriff's deputies found in the area where Elisa Nelson's body was found. Foam rubber seized at Appellant's house was similar to foam secured from Elisa's body.” Mann was sentenced to death on March 26, 1981, and later resentenced on January 14, 1983, and March 2, 1990.

Courts and lawyers have a way of subverting justice, so it remains to be seen whether Larry Eugene Mann will actually go to sleep on a state gurney.

Emily GriffithWho Killed the Retired School-marm?

A recent Denver Postarticle by Kirk Mitchell alerted me to this unusual case.  Unfortunately, after 67 years, there’s little hope of determining who murdered Emily and Florence Griffith.

On June 18, 1947, an assailant forced two elderly women to kneel on the floor of their mountain cabin.  Then the killer dispatched each with a shot to the back of the head.  Two months later, the man suspected of the murders was found dead.  But did he really do it?

A lifelong educator, Emily Griffith, 67, had positively impacted the lives of many children.  But she’d done much more.  In 1916, she established the Opportunity School in Denver.  According to Kirk Mitchell, “it was a free school within the public Denver school system [that] offered trade education for barbers, bakers and plumbers.  Many of her students had come from foreign countries and couldn’t speak English. Parents learned English, math and the basics of American government.”

Now called the Emily Griffith Technical College, the school has helped more than 1.5 million people, including a high percentage of immigrants, to learn viable skills necessary for success in this country.  Opportunity School was one of the first of its kind, and started a trend across America.

After retiring, Griffith built a rustic cabin near Pinecliffe.  There she cared for her invalid sister, Florence.  The two lived comfortably on a pension that Emily received from the Denver Public School System.  A friend and neighbor, Fred Wright Lundy, helped care for the sisters.  Almost every evening, Lundy, also a former teacher, had supper with Emily and Florence. 

About twenty-four hours after the murders, Ethelyn Gurtner (a sister of the dead women) and her husband, Evans, found the bodies.  Time magazine reported that “the dining table, near the window overlooking a creek, was set for three. On the living room floor lay Florence Griffith, in a puddle of blood. On the bedroom floor lay Emily. Each had been shot through the head with a .38-calibre revolver.”

Lundy quickly became the immediate (and only) suspect.  About a mile up the canyon, searchers discovered his 1941 Nash.  Inside, a note read: “If and when I die, please ship my body to Roscoe, Il. No autopsy. Correspond with Roy Cummings, Roscoe, a cousin. No funeral here. Money in the brief case can be used for immediate expenses. Thank you. P.S. Embalm in Boulder, Colo. Fredy Lundy.”  Investigators opened the briefcase and found an envelope containing $350.00.

Lundy’s body, however, was nowhere to be found.

Rural mountain homes, called “outlaw cabins” by the news media, were searched.  For several days, lawmen and “mountain men” scoured the area, including the creek that ran near Emily’s home.  No body was found.  As the search for the alleged killer continued, Undersheriff Don Moore of the Boulder County Sheriff’s Department informed the press that he didn’t think Lundy had committed suicide.  Photos of the suspect were published in newspapers all over America, but still he eluded capture.

Then, on August 17, the Associated Press reported that “the severely-decomposed body of a man was found wedged against a large rock in South Boulder creek Saturday and coroner George Howe said he was certain it was that of Fred Wright Lundy, 65, missing key figure in the Griffith sisters slaying case.”  Lundy had indeed committed suicide, jumping from a railroad bridge about a mile from the Griffith home.

Police told reporters that the killer of the sisters had been found, and effectively closed the case.

Not everyone agreed, and over the years questions arose.

By all accounts, Lundy had no motive to want his friends dead.  Neighbors said he occasionally groused that the area around Pinecliffe was a “prison,” and it was thought that he would have liked to have lived in a city, such as Chicago.  In fact, he was said to have asked Emily to go with him to the Windy City for a visit.  She politely informed him that she couldn’t leave her homebound sister.

Was this a motive for murder?

Cops insisted it was a “mercy killing.”  Lundy, they claimed, had expressed displeasure over his friend Emily having to be the perpetual caregiver for her sister.  He had allegedly told friends that he’d “rather see them dead than the way they are living.”

Did Lundy obsess on these seemingly minor difficulties to the point that he would murder his two friends?

Another theory emerged when author Debra Faulkner published her book, Touching Tomorrow: The Emily Griffith Story.  She concluded that if Lundy had intended to kill the women, he would have chosen a “gentler” method.  But since he had nothing to gain by their deaths, Faulkner looked for other suspects.

Faulkner speculated that, in order to inherit Emily’s estate, Ethelyn and Evans Gurtner may have slain the sisters.  They soon began traveling the world, using funds they would never have had without the inheritance.  But while the Gurtners had motive, there was no evidence they committed the crime.

The question remains: who killed Emily and Florence Griffith? 

Death in the City of Brotherly Loveby Robert A. Waters

The gruesome events that took place at Gosnell’s Women’s Medical Society in Philadelphia are beyond belief.  Dr. Kermit Gosnell, owner of the clinic, is on trial for seven counts of first degree murder, one count of third-degree murder, and numerous other charges.  Eight of his employees have already pleaded guilty to killing babies and related crimes.

In addition to “snipping” the spines of living infants that escaped his cocktail of poisons, Dr. Gosnell is accused of murdering Karnamaya Mongar in a botched abortion.  His hospital of horrors reeked with decomposing body parts, cat urine and feces, as well as mold-covered walls.  On shelves surrounding the abortion table, Dr. Gosnell allegedly stored the severed feet of babies in specimen jars.  A grand jury report labled the clinic a “baby charnel house.”  Inside the room where once-secret horrors unfolded, police found broken medical equipment, unsterilized surgical implements, bloody blankets, and blood-stained furniture.

The actual numbers of babies murdered in the clinic will never be known because investigators found few records.

Adrienne Moton, who pleaded guilty to third-degree murder, testified that she had snipped the necks of at least ten viable, living infants.  Some had lived up to thirty minutes before succumbing to her scissors.  In graphic testimony, Moton claimed that Dr. Gosnell taught her the procedure, and that he performed it himself on many occasions.

The grand jury report corroborates Moton’s testimony.  Gosnell, it reads, “induced labor, forced the live birth of viable babies in the sixth, seventh, [and] eighth month of pregnancy and then killed those babies by cutting into the back of the neck with scissors and severing their spinal cord.”

If Dr. Gosnell is found guilty, he faces the death penalty, like those sad children who never got a chance to live.

 

Karl Gustav HultenCrime spree occurred during World War II
by Robert A. Waters
In 1945, a blitzed-out Great Britain was in no mood to molly-coddle a cold-faced killer.  Even if he was American.  So, on March 8, at Pentonville Prison, AWOL paratrooper Pvt. Karl Gustav Hulten, 23, of Boston, Massachusetts, dropped through the gallows trap-door and met his ignominious end.  His crimes were so atrocious that even the United States government never protested the execution.British army veteran George Edward Heath had been wounded at Dunkirk.  After being discharged, he spent the last part of the war trying to support his wife and two children by driving an unlicensed taxi.  On October 7, 1944, Heath’s body was found in a ditch at Knowle Green, Staines, Middlesex.  He’d been shot in the back, and his cab stolen.  At first, no one recognized him, so the press dubbed him the “cleft chin man,” after his one outstanding feature.

It didn’t take long for Heath’s wife to identify her husband from news accounts, and soon constables went looking for his taxi. Finding it parked on a busy street, British police waited until Hulten came back to the car, and arrested him.

Since he was an American, investigators turned him over to the U. S. Army.  But the military waived extradition, and handed him back to the British authorities. 

English detectives soon learned that a few days before, Hulten and a stripper named Elizabeth Jones had embarked on a crime spree.  They met in a bar, and the American’s gift of gab entranced her.  She loved to hear him brag about his Mafioso friends (a lie, of course) and the Nazi bastards he’d killed in battle (another lie, of course).  In truth, Hulten was a coward of the worst sort, attacking only defenseless women or shooting an unarmed man in the back.

Part of the D-Day assault force, Hulten had abandoned his unit and stole a military truck to make his getaway.  After hooking up with Jones, the deserter felt the need to impress her, so together they began their brief life of crime.

While driving the purloined Army truck, he noticed a teenage girl riding her bicycle in West London.  Hulten, looking for a big score, snatched the surprised teen's purse. 

The pitiful take on that haul did nothing to slake the couple’s taste for money, so the deserter decided to rob a cab.  He stopped his truck in front of the first taxi he saw, and, brandishing his gun, ran toward the cabbie demanding money.  He hadn’t noticed a real American army officer in the back seat—when the serviceman pulled his own handgun, Hulten, coward that he was, raced back to the truck and fled.

On Edgware Road, Hulten and Jones spied a girl walking.  Toting a suitcase, she was en route to Paddington.  When Hulten offered her a ride, she accepted.  It was almost her last ride.  Hulten smashed her head with a crowbar, strangled her, and attempted to drown her.  She barely survived the unprovoked assault.  But again, the girl had little money, so the love-struck couple was still broke.

Their next crime resulted in the death of cab-driver Heath.  This robbery netted a measly eight pounds.

Hulten’s final crime was almost laughable.  Jones informed her paramour that she'd always wanted a fur coat.  So, sitting outside a hotel, her lover waited for a likely mark to emerge.  Sure enough, a woman in a fur coat soon exited the building.  Hulten ran up, grabbed the coat, and attempted to pull it off her.  She fought, and the coward ran back to the cab he’d taken from Heath.

A few hours later, British investigators, staking out the taxi, caught the braggadocios “mobster” and “war hero.”

Hulten and Jones were quickly tried and sentenced to death.

Five months later, Elizabeth Jones’ death sentence was commuted to life in prison.

On March 8, 1945, as American troops swept toward Berlin on the eastern front and the Russian army on the west, Hulten was hanged.  Outside the prison, Mrs. Violet Van der Elst and some 200 anti-death penalty protestors, demonstrated.  “You let the girl off, but you let the man hang,” Van der Elst shouted.  “It’s a damned shame.”  She demanded that officials let her go inside the prison and visit Hulten before his execution, but authorities denied her request.  She then commandeered a passing garbage truck and tried to break through the police barricade that lined the prison walls.  Van der Elst and the hapless driver were arrested.

Despite requests for mercy from Hulten’s wife and mother, British authorities avenged the death of the innocent cabbie.

Nine years later, Jones was released from prison, and disappeared into the ash-bin of history.

Violet Van der Elst died in 1966, 21 years after Hulten’s execution.  A former washerwoman, she’d married the Belgian painter, Jean Van der Elst, and inherited his fortune.  She wrote books condemning the death penalty, and ran unsuccessfully for political office on three occasions.  She squandered her fortune, and died penniless.  But Van der Elst did live long enough to see the death penalty forever abolished in Great Britain.