Lore - Episode 8: The Castle

Episode Date: June 15, 2015

When the authorities entered a building in Chicago’s south side in 1895, they weren’t prepared for what they found. Above and below the neighborhood pharmacy was a seemingly never-ending maze of doors and rooms. What those hallways and staircases led to, however, was beyond disturbing. ———————————————— Lore Resources:  Episode Music: lorepodcast.com/music  Episode Sources: lorepodcast.com/sources  Lore News: www.theworldoflore.com/now  Learn more about your ad-choices at https://www.iheartpodcastnetwork.com Access premium content!: https://www.lorepodcast.com/support See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

On January 17, 1894, a couple stood before a minister at the Vendome Hotel in Denver, Colorado. Henry Howard and Georgiana Yoke were about to be married. Standing near them was their witness, a woman named Minnie Williams. The bride had come from Indiana to escape a scandalous reputation, and had found work in Chicago at a store owned by Henry. She was a tall, slender woman, about 25 years of age, with blue eyes and blonde hair, and she was madly in love with Henry. It sounds wonderful. It sounds perfect, actually. But there was trouble in paradise even before they met the minister there at the hotel. You see, Henry was already married. He was, in fact, married to two other women, and Minnie, the woman standing

as witness, was actually Henry's mistress of over a year. Even Henry's name was fake. His real name had been abandoned long before, and it would be months before Georgiana would discover who he really was. Sometimes we think we know a person, only to discover that we were fooled. Community is built on trust, and that trust allows us to make connections, to let down our guard and to feel safe. When that trust is broken, though, our minds quickly shift to disappointment and stress and outright fear. Sure, it happens less often now in the age of Facebook and social media, but in the late 1800s, very little stood in the way of a person falsifying their identity. And Henry Howard, or whoever he was prior to that moment in Denver, had turned that skill into an art. Few

people knew this about Henry, though. In fact, few people could have imagined what deep dark secrets boiled just beneath the surface of this smiling young groom. And when the world finally did find out exactly 10 months later, they could barely contain their horror. I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is Lore. Henry Howard was born in New Hampshire in 1861 as Herman Mudgett. His parents were wealthy, well respected people in their community, and their son was born into that privilege. But from an early age, Henry was a problem child, constantly getting into trouble. According to Mudgett himself, as a child, his classmates forced him to view and touch a human skeleton after learning that he

was afraid of the town doctor. Their prank backfired, though, generating a deep fascination rather than frightening him off. And that obsession with death would only grow. Soon, the boy was expressing interest in medicine. One report even claims that he would actually perform surgery on animals. Along with his excellent performance in school, he was able to pursue that interest and enter medical school enrolling at the University of Michigan as H.H. Holmes in 1879. Far from home and with access to resources that he previously lacked, college allowed Holmes to get creative. He devised an easy way to make money, a drive that would fuel many of his future crimes. It involved stealing a cadaver from the medical lab. Holmes would disfigure the corpse, plant the body

somewhere that gave it the appearance of being the victim of a tragic accident, and then a few days later, he would approach the life insurance company with a policy for his deceased relative and collect the cash. His final insurance swindle in Michigan netted him $12,500, but he knew his welcome was wearing thin. After collecting the money, he vanished, abandoning school and his new wife and child, who he never saw again. He moved around the country doing legitimate work, but also learning his way around the business world. He mastered the art of buying product on credit, avoiding the bills, selling the items, and then vanishing with the profit. Armed with that skill, he soon settled in Englewood just south of Chicago, and that's where he met Dr. Elizabeth Holden.

It was 1885, Holmes was trying to avoid creditors from all around the country, but rather than vanish into obscurity, he chose to hide in plain sight. He married his second wife, polygamously of course, and took a job at a local drug store owned and run by Dr. Elizabeth Holden, whose husband was dying of cancer. Holmes spent the next two years becoming more and more essential to Holden's business, paying her for ownership in the business and building relationships with the customers. When Mr. Holden finally did pass away, the payments from Holmes stopped, and Mrs. Holden became upset, threatening to end their business partnership. But nothing happened. Nothing happened because Dr. Holden mysteriously vanished. When asked about

her disappearance, Holmes told the authorities she had moved to the west to live with her family, right after she had signed over the business to him, of course, and the police bought the lie. Holmes operated the drug store as if nothing had happened, growing the business and continuing his chess game of evading creditors. But when the empty lot across the street became available, he couldn't resist the temptation. Holmes, you see, had bigger plans. The World's Colombian exhibition was scheduled to be hosted in Chicago in 1893, and he envisioned a hotel that could house the countless visitors who would travel to the area. His project was lovingly called The Castle, which wasn't far from the truth. It was 50 feet wide and over 160 feet long,

taking up half a city block. With three stories and a basement, it would eventually have over 100 rooms within its walls, and Holmes, ever the micromanager, took on the task of project architect, refusing to share the plans with anyone else. Workers on the building asked questions, naturally, but when they did, Holmes would replace them. Most of the men working on the project never lasted more than two weeks. It all told over 500 carpenters and craftsmen worked on the castle. True to form, Holmes managed to avoid paying most of them as well. He would accuse them of shoddy work and refuse their wages. Some sued him, but he managed to put those cases off long enough that they eventually gave up. And once completed, Holmes moved the drug store into the new building's

ground floor and rented out space to other shops. His personal offices were located on the top floor, and the remaining space was rented out as temporary living quarters marketed as a boarding house for young single women. The castle was open for business. Unfortunately, not everyone who stayed there managed to survive the hospitality that Holmes offered them. When Mrs. Pansy Lee arrived from New Orleans, she rented a room at the castle. She was a widow and had traveled all over the United States before arriving in Chicago to settle down. When Holmes learned that she kept $4,000 in cash in the false bottom of her trunk, he kindly offered to keep it in his store vault for her. Mrs. Lee declined the offer and vanished a short time later.

While some people came to the castle for lodging, others were looking for work. One of the requirements that Holmes imposed was that all his employees were to have life insurance policies for the sum of $5,000. Holmes, remember, knew the life insurance business well. When 17-year-old Jenny Thompson arrived from Southern Illinois looking for work, Holmes saw an opportunity. She was young and pretty, the exact sort of blonde-haired blue-eyed beauty that he preferred, and he quickly gave her a job. In casual conversation, Jenny let slip that her family didn't actually know where she was. She had told them she was traveling to New York, but the offer of a good job was enough to keep her right there in Chicago.

She told Holmes that she couldn't wait to tell her parents about her good fortune. Before she did, though, he escorted her up to her room, and she was never seen again. In 1890, Ned Conner arrived at the castle looking for work. He traveled with his wife Julia, who was unusually tall for a woman at nearly six feet, and their young daughter Pearl. Ned was a watchmaker and a jeweler, and Holmes hired him right away, but it was Ned's wife who captured his attention the most. Holmes soon fired his bookkeeper and gave the job to Julia. Not long after, it began to be obvious that Holmes was more than a little friendly with Ned's wife. Ned, for his part, turned a blind eye, and seems he was simply glad to have a good job with steady

pay and a roof over his head. When Julia became pregnant, though, Ned finally took the hint. He packed up, filed for divorce, and left her and Pearl in the care of Holmes, who immediately took out life insurance policies for both of them. But Holmes had a new problem. Julia knew the business too well, and she presented a threat to his illicit activities. Holmes found a solution, though. He told Julia that he would marry her, but only if she would have an abortion. Julia resisted at first, but finally on December 24, 1891, she gave in. She asked Holmes to put Pearl to bed, and then he led her to the basement, where he had a makeshift operating room. Julia and Pearl were never seen again. That same winter, Holmes summoned a man named Charles

Chappell to his office. Now, Chappell performed odd jobs around the castle, but he had a particular skill that Holmes required. He was incredibly gifted in the craft of articulating skeletons. Chappell arrived, and Holmes led him to a second-floor room where the body of a woman lay on a table. According to Chappell's own testimony to the authorities, the body had been skinned like a jackrabbit. He assumed, since Holmes was a doctor, that he had simply been performing an autopsy on a patient and pushed his doubts to the back of his mind. Holmes paid Chappell $36 to strip the flesh off the body and prepare the bones for articulation. The finished skeleton was sold to a Dr. Pauling of the Henneman Medical College. Dr. Pauling would often look at the skeleton in

his private office and marvel at how unusual it was to see a woman who was nearly six feet tall. Holmes eventually made a critical mistake. Ironically, it was his old love of insurance scams that caught up with him in the end. After killing his right-hand man, Benjamin Pytzel, and attempting to pass the death off as an accident to the insurance company, the authorities caught wind of the crime and tracked him down. He was finally arrested in Boston on November 17, 1894, 10 months to the day from his wedding ceremony in a Denver hotel. Before his trial began, however, the castle was mysteriously gutted by fire. Thankfully, the authorities had already been able to search the building, and after doing so, they had given it

a new name, the murder house. The authorities discovered that, like any boarding house of the time, the castle had a reception room, a waiting room, and many rooms for residents to live in. But the building had more inside its wall than was expected. There were secret chambers, trapdoors, peepholes, and hidden laboratories. Aside from the 35 guest rooms, the second floor was a labyrinth of passages. Some doors opened on brick walls. Some could only be opened from one side, and others were hidden completely from sight. Trapdoors led to staircases that led to hidden chambers, and there were even alarms in all of the rooms that would alert Holmes in his quarters if any prisoners tried to escape. Some of the rooms were windowless, and could be sealed

off and made airtight, if necessary. Some were equipped with gas jets that were fed by pipes from the basement. Others were lined with asbestos, and had visible scorch marks on the floor. But then, there was the vault. There was a room that could fit a single person, and only then if they were standing. The walls inside the vault were lined with iron plate, broken only by a handful of gas fixtures and a trap door that led to a shoot. On the inside of the door was a single footprint, the size of a woman's boot. It was a homemade gas chamber that was designed to deliver corpses straight to the basement. And when the police descended to the lowest level of the building, they discovered that Holmes

had expanded the basement beyond the foundation of the building and out beneath the sidewalk. He did this to make room for all of his equipment. Here they found the dissection table, still splattered with blood, jars of poison filled a shelf, and a large wooden box nearby contained multiple female skeletons. A crematorium was built into one wall, which still contained ash and bone fragment. A search also found valuables that belonged to some of his victims, a watch that belonged to many Williams, scraps of fabric, tin type photographs, and a ball of women's hair carefully wrapped in cloth. The bones of a child were found buried in a pit and the remnants of a bloody dress were recovered from a wood burning stove.

When Ned Connor was asked to identify the fabric, he confirmed it belonged to his wife Julia. A rack designed to stretch bodies was also discovered. Beneath the dirt floor, they found a vat of corrosive acid and two quick line pits used for quickly dissolving the flesh off of corpses. There were human skulls, a shoulder blade, ribs, a hip socket, and countless other human remains. Whatever the police had hoped to find that day, they were simply unprepared for the truth. In the end, they had discovered a medieval charnel house right beneath their feet. It's easy to feel safe in our own neighborhood, walking past the closed doors and manicured lawns. But what goes on behind those walls is never something that we can be sure of.

Each and every person we meet wears a mask, and we're only allowed to peek behind it if they let us. A society is built on the idea that we can trust the people around us, and we can take our neighbors, our family, even our coworkers at face value, and enter into relationships with them. But with every relationship comes risk. We risk disappointment. We risk pain and betrayal. For some of us, we even risk our very safety. The European mapmakers of the 15th century would sometimes mark unexplored areas of their maps with a warning. Here, there be monsters. There's danger in the places we haven't explored. And while this was true then of undiscovered continents, it has always been true of humanity,

beneath the surface, behind the mask hides the monster. On May 7, 1896, after a final meal of boiled eggs, dry toast, and a cup of coffee, H.H. Holmes was led to the gallows at Moyamensik prison. A black hood was placed over his head, and as the crowd outside the prison walls shouted their insults and jeers, he was positioned over the trapdoor. When it opened, Holmes dropped and his head snapped to the side. But rather than killing him quickly, the rope had somehow broken his neck and left him alive. The crowd watched for over 15 minutes, as Holmes hung from the noose, fingers and feet, twitching and dancing, before his heart finally stopped beating.

Holmes was buried in an unmarked grave in Holy Cross Cemetery, just south of Philadelphia. As per his request, there was no autopsy, and his body was buried in a coffin filled with cement. Holmes, you see, was afraid that someone would dig up his body and use his skeleton for science. And he was probably right. We don't know how many people he killed. Holmes confessed to a variety of numbers, even changing his story again on the Hangman's platform. Some experts who have studied the missing person reports of the world's Columbian exhibition have placed the possible death toll as high as 200. There's so much we don't know about Holmes, a man whose entire life seemed to be

one elaborate lie built atop another, like some macabre house of cards. He will forever remain a mystery to us, a monster hidden behind a mask that was painted to look just like you or I. But one last insight into the man can be found in his written confession. I was born with the devil in me, he wrote. I could not help the fact that I was a murderer, no more than the poet can help the inspiration to sing. I was born with the evil one standing as my sponsor beside the bed where I was ushered into the world. And he hasn't been with me since. Take pride in your home with the new Swiffer Power Mop. The new Swiffer Power Mop gives you a mop and bucket clean in just half the time, leaving you more time to enjoy your home with

the ones you love most. Swiffer is proud to sponsor I Heart Radio's Can't Cancel Pride 2023, an evening honoring the LGBTQ plus community and celebrating organizations creating a more inclusive and equal world. Learn more at Can't Cancel Pride dot com. This episode of Lore was researched, written, and produced by me, Aaron Mankey. Lore is much more than a podcast. There's a book series in bookstores around the country and online, and the second season of the Amazon Prime television show was recently released. Check them both out if you want more Lore in your life. I also make two other podcasts, Aaron Mankey's Cabinet of Curiosities, and Unobscured, and I think you'd enjoy both.

Each one explores other areas of our dark history, ranging from bite-sized episodes to season-long dives into a single topic. You can learn about both of those shows and everything else going on all over in one central place. The World of Lore dot com slash now. And you can also follow the show on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Just search for Lore podcast, all one word, and then click that follow button. When you do, say hi. I like it when people say hi. And as always, thanks for listening.