My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 264

Episode Date: January 31, 2022

This week’s hometowns include discovering your home was once a crime scene and a child who learns an important life lesson.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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And welcome. To my favorite murder. Oh, this is the mini-soad. Oh, hi. Oh, hi. Hi, cutie. Are you ready to hear your own emails read back to you? I am.

You want to go first or you want me to go first? I'll go first. Okay. It's in my hand. Great. This subject line of this is a surprise murder carousel. Hello, my dear MFM friends. My husband and I were chatting about creepy stuff as our baby played on our living room

floor this morning. He casually brought up the time he randomly received a carousel of murder photos. I asked him to please repeat because in my head, I imagined a very weird custom Etsy carousel chachki or toy, but he meant an old projector carousel with slides. Got it. He explained that when he was in college, he opened the front door of his house to find the carousel sitting on his doorstep. When he picked the slides out to examine the photos, he saw gruesome murder scenes and

victims. At first, he thought they were fake images, but after looking through more, he realized that they were real because you could see the blood was coagulated in the photos. Oh my God. When I asked him what he did with the carousel, he looked at me incredulously and said, took them to the police. I realized after he said this that he thought they could have been a bizarre but scary threat of some sort.

It turns out the carousel had come from the police. My husband's next-door neighbor was a detective and had to ask the coworker to drop the carousel off for a lecture she was doing, but they delivered it to the wrong home. No, that's too big of a mistake. You can't. It's quite a large mistake. Oh my God. So many thoughts on how careless this was considering their gruesome nature.

And then in parentheses, my husband said, it's still kind of screwed him up. Yeah, I'm sure it did. But he never even got an apology. Shout out to small town police departments. Stay sexy and turn those murder photos into the police, Liz. Holy shit. What a fucking, oh, what's this? Like a childhood photo reel?

No. Oh my God. Right. Exactly. Because you're looking at its slides on a carousel, which means, oh, fun 70s. We went to Coney Island. Look, we're all in the water together. Nope.

No way. Oh my God. Okay, this one's called in the room where it happened. It starts, oh crap, I can't believe you're going to read this. Greetings. Long time listener here with a story that seems unbelievable to me whenever I tell it, but it's true. It happened decades ago, but the feeling of the moment is as fresh as it was then.

And I doubt I'll ever be able to shake it. Quick backstory. I was a single mom to a young son of nine at the time living in my hometown of San Diego. We lived in a small apartment in the neighborhood where I grew up, a suburb called Claremont. Quick name drop. Our high school was the model and source of research by Cameron Crowe for the book, Fast Times at Ridgemont High. He kept a low profile around the campus in the late 70s.

My apartment was small, but perfect for us in the complex, Buena Vista Gardens, was large and known for young college students or professionals just starting out. It was also known as the site of several murders by serial killer Cleo Fisk Prince, Jr., known as the Claremont Killer, who stalked and murdered six women in the area, three of which were residents of the complex. The murders took place several years before we moved in and he was convicted and sentenced well before that time. I chose to move back to the neighborhood for both comfort and financial reasons to get

my feet back on the ground after a yucky divorce. I never felt unsafe in our little nest and we were quite happy. One night I was up late watching the local news and a piece came on about some legal wranglings concerning the murderer. I was a bit sleepy but the word Claremont got my attention so I perked up. As I listened to the story being told, I noticed there was file footage of Mr. Prince at his trial being played, then some photos of him being arrested, then a clip of the body bag coming down the stairs of the apartment.

I focused on the apartment address shown in the background. As I recognized the number on the wall, the same numbers outside my door on the wall. My eyes popped open and I let out a very long, very quiet, fuck, so my child sleeping in the next room wouldn't hear it. I felt a massive burst of adrenaline. In those days, there was no way to hit rewind on the remote so I was left wondering if I'd made a mistake, wondering which young woman may have lived in my apartment and imagining the horror of what happened in the very room I was sitting.

Next morning, I stopped by the Buena Fista Gardens rental office and left a note for the property managers. I asked them to disclose all information about the apartment I was living in, including whether one of the murderer's victims was murdered there. A few days later, I received a call from the CEO of the company, confirming that yes, my apartment was a crime scene in April 1990. They offered to put me on a list to be moved ASAP if I felt uncomfortable living in the unit.

By that time, I'd come down from the shock, talked it out with some of my friends and was in a different place emotionally about it. I decided to finish up the remainder of the lease and change the way I thought about that space in the meantime. The only thing different was the information I gained of what happened there. We were happy and comfortable, so why leave? I didn't share the story with my son for many years. By that time, I was able to locate the news of the Claremont killer on the internet and

show him the magnitude of what the murderer had done in our neighborhood. I was also able to learn about the sweet young woman who lost her life in the place we had lived. It was horrific to learn our home was a crime scene while I was sitting right in the middle of it. I think that was the moment I unknowingly became a murderer. My experience was insignificant compared to the violent deaths of the six beautiful people he murdered for his own entertainment, but it is a part of my memory and always will

be. Thanks for helping me remember that victim's stories often last well beyond their deaths, sometimes in unexpected ways. Thank you for making me laugh inappropriately and unapologetically lock my car doors. Stay sexy and do some research before you move into a hunting ground of infamous serial killers. Mary, yeah, that it's so weird because that's one of those stories that I remember that's like the famous cold case file date line, like all of that stuff.

It's just another one of those beyond horrifying kind of sticks with you. It's so dark. It's so awful and it, you know, six. The idea that there were six victims before they could find and stop. That person is. Yeah. The thing about terrorizing a neighborhood that is just so bleak, you know what I mean? When like everyone knows something is going on in that neighborhood in a short period

of time and it's just terrified. And it's because it's young people. It's like it's intentional. It's the college neighborhood. So it's like people who are just starting out being on their own and it's yeah, it's rough. Yeah. I'm just going to read you the second half of this subject line because it's a light-hearted

cautionary tale. It starts hey, hey. A few years ago, I was leaving work when a man pulled open my door, got in and told me to drive. I just got an awful late night shift at a cookie bakery in Boise, Idaho. The bakeries located downtown right next to all the bars. And because I'm the most paranoid person I know, I always made sure to get a well-lit parking spot close to the bakery.

However, on this cursed evening, the parking lot was full and I was resigned to the dark parking spots in the alley. I went about my shift, clocked out around 1 a.m. and began walking around the building to my car. As I made my way around, I noticed a man leaning against the side of the building. He tried saying something to me, but I wasn't in the mood and kept walking. I got to my car and started backing up when my passenger door swung open and a man gets in.

It's the man from earlier. I am so taken off guard that I can't say anything and I just stare. He aggressively says, go to Whitewater Park. So now is the time I start questioning my common sense, because instead of telling this guy to fuck off, I start driving. My mind starts going through all the episodes of criminal minds and I remembered something about if you humanize yourself to an attacker, they're less likely to harm you. So I say a quick prayer to Matthew Gray Gubler and I start chatting.

As I'm sharing my life story, I realize the man in my car is very drunk. I have a knife in my purse and I start assessing how I could fight him off and escape. I ask him again where we're going and he just says drive towards the park. He pauses and then he says, are you with Lyft or Uber? Oh my God. It immediately clicks in my mind that this guy is so far gone, he thought I was his Uber. I went to kick him out of my moving car, but instead I respond just with neither, to which he asks, then how did I get in your car?

Oh my God, dude, I don't know, I'm speechless. It's also around this time that I realize there's a large complex next to the park called Whitewater Park Apartments. I pull up to his building and let him out. He thanks me for the ride and I wish him the worst hangover of his life. By the way, he stumbled to the door. I would say my wish came true. Stay sexy and lock your car doors Adele.

Oh my fucking God. We've heard this story. It happens a lot to people. Yeah, that you just get in the waiting car. Drunk people aren't all about going, is this the right license plate number? Is this what I should be doing right now? No, a car pulls up in front of the bar and you get in. Here's what I think is funny.

Usually your Uber driver doesn't walk by you and get into their car. Like that guy was hammered. Right. Oh my God. I would say that you did the right thing by not telling him to fuck off if you thought he was carjacking you. Yes. You driving somewhere and being compliant is probably the safest option.

If he's already in the car, I think so. And you're in an alley and no one's around. And yes. Completely. Yeah. You did the right thing. Okay. Okay.

I'm not going to reach you the storyline or whatever they call it. Hi, MFM crew. I'm from Kiev, the capital of Ukraine. It is important to the story and yes, your podcast has reached that part of the globe. Unbelievable. Unbelievable. Ukraine. Also, shout out to Ukraine.

They're going through some potentially hazardous, horrible issues. So sending all you guys safety and et cetera. Yeah. Good thoughts, care, concern when you're hearing and reading about your stories in the newspaper. Yeah. We hope you're okay. I've been listening to your podcasts for over two years now and I've always wanted to write in a hometown, but I couldn't remember anything whatsoever.

It was before one time I went to my neighbor who lives in the apartment above me to wish her a happy Hanukkah. She's a lovely 86 year old Jewish woman who I've known pretty much my whole life. We got to talking and she briefly mentioned that it would soon be the anniversary of a murder of an underground combat group leader who lived in the apartment that my family and I have been living in for the past 22 years. I didn't put these together on purpose. That's so random.

Yeah, that is. I just didn't cross my mind. Being a little startled upon hearing that information, I asked her to repeat again to make sure I heard her correctly and lo and behold, she tells the story. From January 1942 till January 1943, in said building lived a man named Soroko Nikolay who worked for a Soviet Union government at the time. In short, Kiev was pretty much at the epicenter of the Second World War. Ukraine lost more people than the combined losses of Great Britain, Canada, Poland, the

US, and France. Whoa. The total Ukrainian losses during the war is an estimated eight to 10 million lives. Oh my, I've never heard that before. Me neither. Wow. In the apartment where we are currently residing, he held a whole secret operation which included organizing and printing anti-fascist leaflets and reports of the Soviet Informed Bureau.

The group arranged for war prisoners to escape, provided them with documents, and sent them to the partisans through the safe houses. One of the Nazi undercover agents was somehow able to place a receiver near the apartment so that soldiers that occupy the city would be able to gather evidence and prosecute the people involved. And so they did. One day, Nikolay was coming home late at night and he was snatched near the building entrance and shoved into a car.

Later that night, he and other members of the organization were executed and thrown into Babi Yar, a place where mass shootings of Jewish people were happening. Upon hearing that story, I called my mom to ask if she knew about it, to which she replied, Of course I have. She told it as she remembers it happening in front of her own eyes. Turns out my neighbor lived in the building all along. She was only six years old when it happened, so she remembers some parts of it. But the rest was told by her aunt, who helped hide her from Nazi soldiers.

The building only has eight apartments and one apartment usually consisted of about three families in it. Everybody there knew about a sweet Jewish girl hiding in a top floor apartment with her aunt and no one ever said anything, even under pressure of constant searches and questioning. I know. She still lives there. All those years later, remembering this huge part of her country's history, she's an incredible woman with lots of fascinating stories that I've been listening to since I was a little

girl. Sadly, I don't know what happened to her family or to other neighbors who used to live here, but maybe someday she will share that. Also, I was able to confirm this story since it was mentioned numerous times in multiple sources pertaining to the topic of the Nazi occupation of Soviet Ukraine. Stay sexy and please never forget the history of World War II and the people who contributed so much to saving millions of lives. And then there's no name.

Wow. Isn't that wild? Yeah. That's amazing. And it is amazing, too, I've never heard about that. Yeah. Yeah. Looking for a better cooking routine?

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You can listen ad free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. This is a classic kid one. Feel my sensational MFM family. First time hometown submitter. I've been catching up on minisodes recently and had literal tears in my eyes, laughing over the childhood drinking stories while they don't have any fun ones like that. My first drink ever wasn't until high school when my best friends and I snuck two blood lights of the four of us for the four of us from my parents fridge and chased every single

sip of beer with cool ranch Doritos because it tasted so bad. According to those stories did unlock a deep memory from when I was around eight years old. It was the 90s, so things were a little more lax back then. My family was all together at my grandma's house for a pool party. Us kids were making up annoying games that involved yelling and splashing as much as possible. Right.

While the adults sat on the deck around the pool drinking, smoking and probably doing their best to block out our annoying behavior. Good luck. Now the classic red solo cups that day were reserved for the adults, so I was drinking my coke straight out of the can. At one point during my swim, my mother needed an ashtray, so she dumped my pop into a cup and proceeded to use the can for her Virginia slims. Oh no.

It then became the table's ashtray of choice. When I got out of the pool parched and blissfully unaware of what was awaiting me, I ran straight to my coke can and took a huge gulp where the adults at the table who realized what was happening watched in horror. Oh my God. Instead of a delicious drink, I think so many people have this story, so many people. Instead of a delicious drink, I swallowed a mouthful of residual pop mixed with ashes. I coughed, threw up, and was promptly lectured by my family about checking my drinks before

taking a sip. What? Yes, once again, it's the kids fault. Keep blaming children. Stop it. Oh my God. That's disgusting and horrible. It's so horrible.

Your podcast has brought me so much joy into my life along with important life lessons. You too were what I listened to to help me get through my panic attacks when I first started having them at 28. It helped me feel not so alone in my mental health struggles and gave me the confidence to look into therapy. I will forever be grateful. Stay sexy and never leave your drink unattended, even if you're eight and around family. Katie.

Oh my God. Don't leave your, that's like the first lesson of don't drink, like don't leave your drink unattended. She got it early. Yeah. She got it early so she could throw up when she was just a kid because later on that usually happens at like a house party in high school. Yeah.

Yeah. And then it's really embarrassing. When you drink a cigarette, can? Yeah. And then barf in front of everybody. All right. This is called, the last one's called, when you make your kid a bartender. Yes.

Here we go. Yes. Hi crew. Thanks for all you do. This week you put out a call for hometowns of kids screwing up adult tasks because they're kids and I've got one of those. One eighties afternoon at the neighborhood pool, my sister and I were swimming while my mom and her friend were drinking wine out of plastic cups.

Yes. That's right. You do. As you must at the pool. You must. They didn't have cans back then either. Why? Cans of wine.

So what are they supposed to do? And also those are two moms that are like you guys are going to just be in the pool screaming this whole time. I can have a half a buzz on and by the time we all pack our stuff up to go, I'll be fine. That's right. Yes. We live two houses down from the pool. So wine refills, popsicle runs and the like were a breeze.

Oh my God. Then those moms can get chip faced if they want to. That's right. It's like a night. It's walkable. No glass at the pool. Yeah. The plastic cups are empty.

So my mom asked me to take them back to the house and refill them with their wine. It's up the eighties. It's up the 1980s. The 1980s and then it says no foreseeable issues with this task, right? No way. Well, as it turns out, I'm the worst looker for things and the family designation because you know who that is. Yes.

Where's my whatever the fuck? And they always like they do two passes and then you go when you go to help them, it's like the mustard's right here. It was literally in front of you, literally in front of you and then they blame ghosts moving those around and my attention to detail was kidlike, age appropriate, nonexistence, however you want to call it. I shivered in my wet bathing suit in front of the open fridge and quickly found what I believed to be the only bottle in the fridge.

Never mind that this bottle was brand new with foil and a muscle it. And then it says wire cage thingy on champagne bottles. I gulped it for all of us muscle it muscle it. I worked and worked to open this bottle and finally to my great shock, the court came flying out and hit the ceiling while bubbles were spewing out of the bottle. It was momentarily stunned and then proceeded to fill their cups and returned to the pool as cool as a cucumber. My mom took one sip and immediately knew what had happened.

I did not open the shitty pool wine. I had opened a bottle of Don Perignon that my parents had been lovingly holding for all caps years. Anyhow, then the shakes when you make your kid a bartender. That's right. Why is it in that? Why is it accessible in your refrigerator? Exactly.

Stay sexy and expect kid results with kid labor. That's right. Vanessa. Girl, get it. I think I've told you that story, but that reminds me of Adrienne. There was some like other mom that was complaining to Adrienne. As you know her, my sister's friend, Adrienne, I need to save her time. And they were talking about the kids like kids being over at her house and one of the

like their son's friends breaking this really valuable antique and Adrienne like look the woman in the face and goes, that's your fault. Why would you have that at a kid level? Why would you put, if it's that valuable, wrap it up in bubble wrap and stick it in the closet. You're the idiot. I hope you learn the lesson. Stop blaming it on your kid.

And like when she told that story, I was just like, finally someone, it's like, yes, don't have the Hummel figurines out to touch. Yeah. Here's one for my mom, for Janet. Don't put your nail polish. Don't leave it on your nightstand. A little Georgia goes in there and says, I'm going to paint my nails too. And then drops the entire bottle of nail polish on your duvet cover.

Yes. Don't get mad at me for that. Hide your shit. Also, how about you screw it on tight and stick it in a drawer and also in calmer times be like, hey, nail polish stains, so don't mess around with this. Yeah. And also who cares, I'm a child, child's do stuff stupidly. They're there to break your shit.

That's right. They're there to ruin it. If you don't want things ruined, don't have kids. If that's your best duvet, only pull it out when I guess the good company comes over. Right. Right. Like, what do you? Yeah.

What do you? Yeah. Okay. I think we've all learned some valuable lessons on this episode. I think so too. If you want to watch a video of this episode, you can at their, you know, stories you can at the fan cult. And also there'll be one extra story each of us on the fan cult.

And please write in any of these especially child injustice stories that you have. They're always really hilarious and wonderful. Yes. But how dare you use to your parents or adults are the best. Incredibly satisfying these days. Also stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye.

Bye. 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. Producers Jay Elias and Haley Gray.

Send us your hometowns and your fucking raise 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. And don't forget to like, comment, and subscribe.