My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 260
Episode Date: January 3, 2022This week’s hometowns include a death row optometrist and a hike with dad gone wrong.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/priva...cy#do-not-sell-my-info.
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Hello and welcome to my favorite murder. The minisode. It's mini. I have to throw treats at
cookie throughout the entire recording, otherwise she'll go upstairs and bark. So if I look just,
my hands are moving around a lot. All right. All right. You want to go first? You want me to go first?
I'll go first. Okay. Okay. The subject line of this one is death row optometrist. Hello,
my queens. Long time listener from almost the beginning. First time writer. Hey. Hey. So you
know how so many convicted serial killers wear those creepy glasses? Well, which is a pretty
hilarious question slash statement. Well, I know the guy that kept their prescriptions up to date.
Just all of them everywhere. Those serial killers. I've known for many years now that my husband's
uncle, let's call him Uncle Rex, used to work as an optometrist in the prison system. But it wasn't
until a river trip this year that I was finally able to corner him to all caps, tell me everything.
Here, my friends is what he told me. Well, Uncle Rex was raising his family in Santa Cruz,
California in the 80s and through the aughts. He was working as a contract optometrist for
prisons all over California. One of his contracts was for tending to the eyes of the inmates
of Sam Quinton, the only death row prison in the state. This death row was home to some of the
worst. Rodney Alcala, Charles Manson, Charles Eng, Richard Ramirez, the list really does go on.
Uncle Rex, along with one nurse, would see each prisoner over the course of the year
to update their glasses, prescriptions and treat any eye ailments.
My God, like, I didn't even, didn't cross my mind that that needed to be,
yeah, of course it needs to be a job. Yeah, totally. That's wild. There would be like a clinic or
whatever. Obviously doctors on hand, but autometrist, that's like specialty. Yeah. Wow.
Um, the exam room was a pretty intimate setting. He had to be cordial with his patients to get up
close and personal and do his work, but he wasn't allowed to take any quote unquote gifts from them,
which apparently they were always trying to give him. What? He'd be given magazines, books, food,
cards for his children's birthdays and parentheses. Ew. And he'd have to have a witness watch him
throw these items in the trash at the end of the day. He also worked at the California Medical
Facility, where our hometown serial Ed Kemper was incarcerated. And he told me that he was friendly
and polite and that actor Cameron Britton did an excellent job portraying him in Mind Tenters,
which we all already knew. That's, but that's like from an inside man. What a huge, cool compliment,
yeah. This optometrist doesn't say people are good actors willy nilly. He's very discerning.
Absolutely. I asked him if after literally staring deeply into the eyes of all these murderers,
rapists and sociopaths, he could see something missing or different in their gaze. He said he
really couldn't most of the time, except, and this was maybe one of my favorite, uh, what's a
mistyping? Oh, mistyping. Typo. Typo. Thank you. This is my favorite typo of all time, except
David Manson, who gave him the major creeps. David Manson, the brother. The same as brother.
Charles Manson, everyone knows. He played jazz trumpet, you know, David Manson. He went to,
he went to white collar prison for some, uh, just some simple, you know, for being bad at tennis.
Tax evasion. Oh my god. David Manson gave him the major creeps. And then he said,
and pedophiles as a rule had the worst eyesight. What does that mean? I don't know. That's just
not one optometrist's opinion. You know, we're, this is the legend. Okay. So there you have it.
To this day, Uncle Rex will still get letters and phone calls from prisoners at his home,
which he does not answer. Thanks for the show and the community you've created Zika.
Wow. Insight. Insight. That's fascinating. Like he had a, you know, optometrist have
to get up close and like look at your eyeballs. So he was like faced. I hope he didn't say anything
about a security guard in there with them. Well, it's a, it's San Quentin. So I think
that's rife with security guards. Yeah. But like a prison guards, but he said him and a nurse.
What did I say? Security guard. He didn't have a bouncer with him. That's crazy.
What about a bodyguard of his own? Okay. I mean, they must have had it set up. And so
kind of my thing is, I think it's very compelling that he said looking in the eyes of a, say,
sociopath isn't different. I think that's the thing people should keep in mind. You're not
going to see it. We all want to hear like, yep, I was able to see it. And then that's how you know,
but that's not, because we all want to be like comforted that we would spot it.
Yeah, you're not going to. No. So, so sorry. All right. This one, we've been talking about
the Tamo Shantar in a little bit lately. And we just happened to get one called Good Times at the
Tamo Shantar. Hell yeah. Shantar, which is one of our favorite restaurants here in town. All right.
Hi, loveys. Just finished Minnesota 254 and listening to your Heimlich maneuver chat.
It made me think of my waitressing days at the Tamo Shantar in and the Don't Let Your Patrons
Die training we all received. Yes. For those who don't know, the Tam is a charming old-timey
Scottish-ish restaurant in the furthest reaches of Northern LA, where Walt Disney had a favorite
table and costume carolers sing table side from Thanksgiving to New Year's Eve. It's really charming.
Also, it's that's what the animators at Disney used to go there and Snow White and the Seven
Dorves houses are based on what the Tamo Shantar looks like. Oh, I didn't know that. Yeah. Anyway,
it's a favorite of all old people, real-life gypsies, who knew, and pharmaceutical reps looking
to impress doctors with free prime rib. It's also haunted as fuck. And then it says, but I digress.
The restaurant staff is costumed, Google it, and trained in the art of keeping their geriatric
guests alive. Everyone is encouraged to be CPR certified and instructed to keep an eye on the
guests, especially older women, and check the bathrooms if they've been away from the table
too long. Ooh, we were told that women would excuse themselves and die in a bathroom before
they would call attention to the embarrassing acts of choking, stroke, or heart attack. And we
needed to be on the lookout. I thought bullshit, but I was wrong. Mm hmm. One night I was working
the closing shift and we were down to three tables, a middle-aged couple, two older ladies
left over in a side room, and a group of swingers wannabes who kept asking me, but what else would
I have seen you in? Nothing notable, you fuckwits, or I wouldn't be your waitress. So I guess
she's an actress. The couple left. I did my closing sideworks, the D-bag fellas, what were
hipster millennial types even called in 2001, ordered more drinks because of course. And the
older woman at the tootop had knotted off and dropped her spoon while her friend continued
to sip at her soup. And whichever one of you guessed the ending, yep. Upon clearing their
table in an effort to get the woman to leave, my incredible busser Ignacio, shout out to all
the bussers out there, it's a slog and you're underappreciated, discovered that the sleeping
woman was, in fact, not breathing. He commenced with giving her CPR while the manager called 911
and the friend kept repeating, I didn't want to make a scene, I thought she was just tired.
Ladies dying politely was suddenly trending at the restaurant. Two weeks later, a woman choked
on a bite of steak at one of my tables and had to be rescued by, you guessed it, Ignacio,
giving her the Heimlich. Technically an almost death, but come on. The woman later told us
that by the time she stood up for help, which was well into her choking, she was starting to see
black and pass out. What the fuck? This is serious stuff, girlfriends. There are simply not enough
Ignacios to go around. Stay sexy ladies and yell when a life depends on it, Danielle. Choking hazards,
it's an important message that Danielle is trying to send to everybody. So I should all listen.
All right. This is a badass grandpa story. It says, Hey guys, gals and non-binary pals,
usual pleasantries, let's jump in. My great-grandfather Cornelius lived in the Netherlands
before moving to Canada with my grandfather, Renus. Renus. It's the running joke in our family that
our frugality comes from being Dutch and my great-grandfather exemplified that in the most badass way.
When the Nazis were taking over Holland in the 1940s, my great-grandfather Cornelius was having
none of that shit. They were asked to turn in their livestock to the Nazis. Instead, my family
hid the chickens and the other farm animals in the attic. Oh no, those poor animals. It was like,
what the fuck? Better that than just being killed along with hiding Canadian soldiers in the walls.
Fuck. When the Nazis came calling, they had the young children make lots of noise to cover the
sounds of the animals and the soldiers. They were also asked to turn in their rubber bike tires for
the war effort. Instead, my family buried them in the yard. When the war was over, Cornelius dug
them up and was the first one riding his bike in town. Yeah, he was. Cornelius. He's like,
this will end at some point. It's fine. We're not giving this shit to the Nazis. Fuck those guys.
They don't just get to take everything that's good. Yeah. One night, Cornelius went to use the
outhouse to find it already occupied by a German soldier. He never spoke of the details, but one
of them came back and the other did not. Stay sexy and shove the Nazis down the shitter, Joel.
Oh my god. Wow. Damn. Damn for real. The Netherlands during World War II, the Nazi
occupation of the Netherlands. Now I want to read a book, watch a documentary. Because there was
something that was just on that I was flipping through on TV that I was like, I can't do a
World War II story right now. It's too intense. One day. One day. But it is the way people,
you know, we've told a couple stories. When people do the resistance, resistance fighters.
Yeah, there were lots of resistance fighters in the Netherlands, small and big. Yeah. They're
peace-loving people. Don't fuck with them. Also, they love their bikes. I mean, if anybody loves
their bikes, it's those people. That was the last straw. Then they came for our bikes. Okay.
Okay, I'm not going to read you the line. That's the thing of this. Hi, Georgia, Karen, Stephen,
and Pets. I feel like at some point you've requested wilderness survival stories, but if not, here's
one anyway. It's a great area. I support it entirely. It's great. I'm from a small town in
East Tennessee where being one with nature is really one of the only things to do. And then
mountains and rivers are its only redeeming quality. A few years ago, while I was visiting for
Christmas, my dad, stepmom, and younger brother decided to go on a hike and I joined last minute.
I'm more of an indoor cat, so I thought that a hoodie, some yoga pants, and tennis shoes would
be fine. It wasn't insanely cold outside. We left at like 11 a.m. and the hike was only supposed
to take a couple hours. So we started up the mountain and maybe halfway through, we came to
a split. Neither side was well maintained and there were no signs. So it wasn't clear which
one was the obvious right way. But my dad likes to think he's bear fucking grillis. So instead of
playing it safe and turning our geek squad around, he said, let's go this way and let us down the
pathway to hell. Oh, so we went down the wrong quote trail for so long that by the time it finally
dawned on him that we should go back, it was completely dark. And since we weren't on a clear
path to begin with, it wasn't like we could just retrace our steps. The temperature plummeted and
it started raining. We had no cell service. We barely had any food. We had been out there for
several hours and I remember stopping and sobbing hysterically saying, I didn't want to die like
this. And my dad getting mad at me for quote, being a baby. Good dad. Yep. We eventually decided
that the only way we were getting down was if we went down the side of the steep as fuck bluffs.
So we literally started sliding down the hill on our butts. And remember how I wore yoga pants?
Turns out that $7 pair from Amazon wasn't very durable. The ground ripped right through them
and my underwear and eventually I was sliding down on my bare ass. But thankfully it went numb
after a while. At one point during our adventure down the worst slip and slide I've ever been on,
my dad checked his phone and finally had service. So we called 911 and they got a rescue squad
out to find us. It took several hours but they finally located us and helped us repel down
the side of the mountain. We got a very prestigious motor card of four wheelers to drive us out to
the entrance insurance for us into ambulances. It's fucking serious. It was past midnight by the
time we got to the hospital and the doctor said that if we had been out there even just a few
more hours we likely would have died. My brother dad and I ended up being fine but my stepmom had
hypothermia and had to stay in the hospital for a few days. Jesus Christ. I know this is serious.
I had some very intense road rash on my ass and literally could not sit down for days and I had
to wear adult diapers because of how oozy it was. So that was super fun. But hey at least I didn't
die from not being able to complete what should have been a fairly simple hike because that would
have been embarrassing. Anyway, stay sexy and don't go hiking with my dad. Meredith, she, her.
Agreed Meredith, not a problem.
Like that is a nightmare territory. Calling 911 at that point like asking for help because
you're fucking lost to shit is like. It's like so not worth it. No, stay home. Jesus Christ.
Or know the path. Yes. But yes, that combination of the two is.
That feeling when suddenly it's like, oh, this is, we're not messing around anymore.
Yeah, it's dark. We've all done versions of it. Oh, yeah. Oh, you don't actually know what you're
doing. Oh, no. Yeah. Mm, great. Looking for a better cooking routine with meal planning,
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20. Goodbye. What makes a person a murderer? Are they born to kill or are they made to kill?
I'm Candice DeLong and on my new podcast Killer Psyche Daily, I share a quick 10 minute rundown
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The subject line of this email is hometown story Chippendales. Hey y'all. And here we go. Short,
sweet, and straight to the point. Episode 300, you asked for Chippendales stories
and you triggered a lost memory. My mom went to a local bar in the 90s to see the scantily dressed
men in person. After their set, they came to the floor and walked around doing lap dances
and shaking, well, you know. My mom was walking. What? Maracas? Did they have maracas? In a way,
they're like Maracas. Yes. My mom was walking to the bar when one flipped his luscious hair
and hit her square in the face with his head, like broken tooth and swollen nose in the face.
What did she get from this encounter? You ask a picture with almost nude guys with her face
swollen, red and without a tooth. To which she'd come home to a seven-year-old daughter to explain
A, what the heck happened to her face? B, who did it? And C, why she had a picture with eight
almost nude guys. Stay sexy and watch out for the male dancers with long hair. Keisha.
That's a good one. That's great. Her mom got head butted by a Chippendales dancer with long
Fabio 90s hair. And all she got out of it was a photo. That's all she got. A photo with the whole
cats. Yeah. That was her. That was the bonus. If you don't sue us, you can get everyone in one
photo. Oh my God. We'll crowd the guys together and give that to you. Yeah. All right. This one's
short and sweet too. It's called We Could Have Been Rich. Hi, Karen and Georgia. Love the show,
etc., etc. I was listening to Minnesot 247 when you talked about a four-year-old making bank runs
for her dad, which, by the way, is the new Nick Terry video on YouTube. So make sure you check
that out. When I remembered a funny slash heartbreaking story, my mom told me, my mom was
born in 1975 and sometime in the mid 80s, my grandmother, Beverly, amazing, started sending
my mom to the store to play her lottery numbers. Yes. This is amazing. This also took place in
New York City. So as you can imagine, the neighborhood number whole, as my grandmother
calls it, was not the best place for a child. Anyway, my mom apparently made these runs all
the time and my grandmother never hit the jackpot. So eventually my mom decided there was no harm
in using that money for something else, like snacks. So she just stopped buying the fucking
lottery ticket. Guess where this is going? Yes. Yes. This went on for who knows how long until
one day my grandma excitedly asked my mom for her ticket because all caps, her numbers hit
the jackpot. Knowing the trouble she would be in if she told the truth, my mom told my grandma
some older kids took the money from her so she couldn't play the numbers. My grandma felt so bad
she didn't even ask any more questions about it. And she doesn't know what really happened till this
day. Stay sexy and remember kids are liars, Ty. I love that lesson.
Was it all the numbers? Like they could have been wealthy. I mean, but you know what? That's
that thing is like, but they weren't supposed to be. Right. And also, if you're so convinced
you're going to win, don't send a six-year-old with your task if it's that important. Be a little
more responsible with your ticket. You're rolling extra dice by sending a child to do your errand
because every story in human history is a child going somewhere with a task that they don't fucking
do. Jack and the beanstalk. Yeah. And at all. Little red riding hood. How many more fucking
stories of kids fucking up do you need to hear before you stop giving them important errands?
That's right. They're kids and they're liars. They're fucking liars. And they'll buy.
Candy is the only thing that matters. They can't see a world where like a lottery is one. They're
just like, there's a Snickers right there. I keep giving this guy money for no reason. Yeah.
I used to break into my sister's little kid. What's it called? Safe. You know, the like shitty
little kid ones. Feel change. Go across the street to the grocery and get a fucking bag of
Reese's pieces and to squeeze it. Just stole all her money. Yeah. Sorry, Lee. Yeah. Lee, you must
have known. She knew. She was partially compliant. My dad had a bowl of change that he would empty.
We come home from work and empty his pockets into a bowl of change. Oh my god. And that was our
bowl of change. Yes, it was. My dad would be like, stay at her. Stay out of my bowl of change. Where
do the quarters go? Okay, sounds good. Just like, you don't need them. You have money. Yeah. 60 cents. Taking it. Yes.
I need to take my candy quarters. That's right. Send us your story of stealing from your parents or
lying to your parents. Yeah, we're doing a thing like that lottery move, which is we all have it.
Like the big. What's the thing you fucked up as a child that was this big? Like I remember I lost
for, I sold Girl Scout cookies and it was this big sheet that came with the set. Yes. That people
had to fill out and I lost that. Oh, that's huge. My mom had taken it to work. So all these people
signed up so that I could try to win the cookie, a thon or whatever. And so you just had to keep
all the cookies? No, no. She brought it to work and just said, what's the phrase? Honor system?
Yes. Honor system with the cookies because there was no way to check it. Because Karen lost it.
She brought it up for seven years. Yeah. What's the thing that they still bring up about to prove
your response? You're irresponsible, but it's something you did when you were 11 and how did
they and like, it's something you did where it's like, hey, how about I don't get a sales job when
I'm nine years old because I'm going to fuck it up. Yeah. Yeah. How about I don't become a fucking
admin assistant and fucking have to fill out paperwork that I don't understand? If it's this
important, you as the adult take it and put it some fucking way. Right. I'm not going to. I don't
have a lot of experience with highly important paper documents justified now. It feels so much
better. I do sick of feeling guilty for that stupid shit. It was your seventies parent parenting
minus, not mine. If you guys want to hear one more fascinating, amazing story from each of us
hometown, join the fan call. They're all up there. Tons of them. And if you want to hear me kind of
go to therapy, then just listen to this mini set because that's what I did. That's what I decided
to do. And also stay sexy and don't get murdered. Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie?
This has been an exactly right production. Our producer is Hannah Kyle Crichton,
associate producer Alejandra Keck, engineer and mixer Steven Ray Morris, researchers J. Elias
and Haley Gray. Send us your hometowns and your fucking praise at my favorite murder at gmail.com.
And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at my favorite murder and Twitter at my fave murder.
And for more information about this podcast, our live shows, merch, or to join the fan cult,
go to my favorite murder.com. Rate, review, and subscribe.