My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 291

Episode Date: August 8, 2022

This week’s hometowns include a driver’s ed test and kismet on a cruise ship.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This is exactly right. We at Wondery live, breathe, and downright obsess over true crime. And now we're launching the ultimate true crime fan experience, Exhibit C. Join now by following Wondery, Exhibit C, on Facebook and listen to true crime on Wondery and Amazon Music. Exhibit C, it's truly criminal. Hello, and welcome to my favorite murder, the mini-soad. We read you a story, a quickie that you wrote us.

Thank you. Amazing personal stories from amazing personal people. That's right. That's our tagline. That's our motto here on the mini-soad. Always has been. Always has been. Always has been since day one.

Do you want me to go first? Sure. I'll kick it off. The subject line of this email is Pearl Smith and the $3 Dewey's. Last month, I went to a wedding in Portland, Maine. I was hanging out with some of the other wedding guests, but our group grew too large for the current establishment to seat, so the bride suggested that we head over to $3 Dewey's. One of them mentioned that this bar was on an episode of forensic files.

That's like me seeing a celebrity. What? Where? I went from being pretty indifferent to where we went next to an extremely interested in $3 Dewey's. I had to know what episode. The episode is season six, episode two, missing Pearl. I'm sure both of you and most if not all of your listeners have seen this episode, but

I'll give you a brief summary. Pearl Smith went missing in 1991 after an argument with her husband, Bill Bruns. At first, police treated it as a routine missing persons case until they found a trail of blood leading to the basement. An initial search did not locate the body, but subsequent searches found Pearl's body wrapped in plastic and buried in the basement. When they found her body, Bill was upstairs eating spaghetti. The smell of decomposition was overwhelming when the body was unearthed, but when told

he was under arrest, he asked the officers if he could finish his dinner. So where does the $3 Dewey's come into play? Supposedly after the argument before Pearl disappeared, she went to $3 Dewey's and the bar footage in forensic files is this bar. We did try to go there when I was in Portland, but they were packed and our group couldn't get in. But the Pearl Smith murder isn't the only thing I learned about $3 Dewey's that day. The rumor has it that the bar used to be a brothel that offered $1 Lookies, $2 Touchies,

and $3 Dewey's. Oh my God. You guys are amazing, and I never get tired of your podcast, whether you're sharing murder stories or just chatting about whatever, it's always entertaining, ssdgmlt. Oh my God, $3 Dewey's. I thought Dewey was a DUI. Oh. A Dewey.

That's hilarious. So I was like, okay, that adds up with a bar, but... I immediately imagined it to be like a Mickey's Big Mouth style can of beer or a bottle of beer. Yes. Yes, $3 for a Dewey. Yes, but there's something about the Dewey, like it's got grain alcohol in it or something that makes it special.

Right. What if it was for a Dewar's? $3 for a non-alcoholic beer. Oh my God, just sale top shelf brown liquor. Yes. Yeah, it's the classiest bar in town. It is. That's just so awful, you know, those forensic files where it's just like, you're watching

it and it feels run-of-the-mill, right? You're just like, doesn't this always happen, a husband kills his wife? But it's like, I think that's part of it is just like, for that man, it was one of the things he did in his day. That's how totally fucked up that guy is where you sit there and watch it, and they're just like, yep, another husband kills his wife. Yeah, and he wants to finish dinner before he goes away to prison for... Let's make it weird again.

Let's make murder weird. Not okay and not run-of-the-mill. I mean, don't murder someone interestingly. Just let's not make it so fucking normal. Let's stop fucking murdering people. Yeah, exactly. It's not the answer. If it was the answer, we would all be okay by this point.

It's not the answer. No. This is called Disney Behind the Scenes Secrets. My chance, question mark. Yes. G, K, S at all. Originally sent this up to your live show in Anaheim where G spoke about Disneyland. Maybe it's my chance.

No, please keep me in on. I don't want the Disney mafia going after me. I worked as a quote friend of a character, aka, yes, I wore those costumes in all of the heat at Disney World in Florida for my high school years. It was a pretty fun job as we worked as characters for only about 20 minutes in the summer. And then had the rest of the hour off and we're the only department on property that had mandatory hour breaks as we were sweating our asses off. We had lots of fun.

There were many relationships and friendships made. Aladdin and Peter Pan dated one summer, dot, dot, dot, make it happen. Anywho, Disney World isn't technically in Orlando. When the WDW company bought the land, they set up their own quote town known as Reedy Creek. This means that Disney property in Florida is not in Orlando and therefore not always subject to the same laws that Orlando is. One of the most scary things that I heard and granted never was confirmed was that no

one has ever, and I've heard this too, that no one has ever been or ever will be declared dead on Disney property. There are paramedics from both Reedy Creek and Orlando that service the park, but every report of anyone in an quote incident on property was always declared dead off property. Some say that Disney mandates that paramedics must continue to try to revive someone until they have left property and immediately declare them dead when they cross the line. Even if it's not true, it's held up over time and is a good one, no? Other news also tends to never say people died at the park, so other deaths at WDW.

One day in the daytime parade, Pluto got run over by a parade float and died. No! The float breaks broke, and to this day you'll never see characters in between floats dancing. Which makes sense. I'm not a Disney person at all, and I find that to be heart-stoppingly horrible. Because it's a bunch of kids watching the whole, that's every Disney desk, that's what it's about. And it's like, your beloved, no one loves Pluto, but you're a beloved character.

Pluto's nobody your favorite. There's no tears for this shit. It's Mickey's dog for God's sake. No one cares. But I mean, still. Traumatizing. Trauma from ice cream laying to fucking Minnie Mouse Boulevard. It's so many people.

Also, the vibe, I'm sure it's the same. I have been to Disney World, but I can't remember. But that Disney vibe of everybody being like, this is it, this is our big vacation, this is our big chance. Oh yeah. Yeah, goddamn. That is so intense. Yeah.

It's a big deal. A kid got taken off the beach at the Grand Floridian by an alligator and was found floating in the lagoon days later. No. I know. I think I've read that one too. Anytime you see a splash mountain down, it is generally because someone either stood up in the ride and got hit by show equipment or stood up or moved as the final plunge

happened and they hit the brambles at the end. This has happened multiple times. Oh, that's awful. Not a death, but one Christmas, the show at the castle had an incident where the pyrotechnics went off early and severely hurt several characters on stage and melted Goofy's face off. It happened at night, so they were able to go to black and get the performers off. But I can vouch for this as I saw the mask after the show. Good.

Just the costumes face, thankfully. Hope this isn't TLDR. Please keep me anonymous. What does that mean again? Too long. Didn't read. Thank you. Oh.

Just could easily Google that and never have. Please keep me anonymous, stay sexy, and don't work as a character at Disney. Or do and send us your fucking stories. Or do and how about you as a writing exercise this summer because you know you want to be a writer. So sit down and the scene begins with that parade coming down the street, POV, seven-year-old child sitting on the sidewalk clapping and waving their little flags. And then Goofy's my favorite, I love, mommy, here comes Pluto, Pluto's my favorite.

Yeah. Here comes Pluto, mommy. Pick a new one, honey. Mommy, remember you got that tattoo of Pluto because I love him so much? But I mean, think about that. It actually makes sense why they're like no deaths declared on because it can't be, it can't happen. No, I totally got it.

Because they know at this point, the irony, that story of a child getting, oh, it's so awful. I know. So awful. So awful. Oh, alligators are so fucking scary to me. Like you know when people, they're always like, look at this guy crawled up on a golf course and I'm like, that's a fucking dinosaur, don't just stand around, they know how to

move if they feel like it. I never need to see one in my entire life, I'm fine without it. No way. And there's kind of nothing scarier than when an alligator or crocodiles floating just with their eyes up. Oh, oh, with a bird perched on their back, riding along? That's pretty cute. You got to admit, when a bird and an alligator make fun.

When the bird is the alligator's dentist, that is my favorite thing in all of history. See there's always a light at the end of the tunnel. Okay. Looking for a better cooking routine? With meal planning, shopping and prepping handled, HelloFresh has you covered. HelloFresh makes home cooking easy and affordable so you can stay on track and on budget in the new year. HelloFresh meals are convenient, seasonal and delicious.

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And we're the hosts of Wondery's podcast, Even the Rich, where we bring you absolutely true and absolutely shocking stories about the most famous families and biggest celebrities the world has ever seen. Our newest series is all about the incomparable diva, Whitney Houston. Whitney's voice defined a generation and even after her death, her talent remains unmatched. But her incredible success hit a deeply private pain. In our series, Whitney Houston, Destiny of a Diva, we'll tell you how she hid her true self to make everyone around her happy and how the pressure to be all things to all people

led her down a dark path. Follow Even the Rich wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. Hometown Story, short and sweet hometowns, St. Marcus, Texas. Like everyone else, I wait impatiently for new episodes and binge them as soon as possible, then impatiently wait again. Thank you with three exclamation points. I just finished this week's Minnesota where someone turned away the off-brand Jack Sparrow

at their doorstep and it reminded me that I too made some risky choices in my first apartment. This made me think, if you can think of your first apartment stories, which usually have take place for some part of the population when you're a sophomore in college and move off campus and for some part of the population when you graduate high school and you're like, bye, I'm on my own. That was me. Bye. I don't want to open the door to any stranger.

Absolutely at all. It's so fun to have my own apartment. That's right. Okay. Yes. The year was 2016. I was 23 and I just moved to San Marcos, Texas for my first real job. I was living with a grad student from Texas State University.

One day while she was away on winter break, I came home to a series of strange events. You see, I didn't lock my door often because I rationalized that as I was on the third floor of a walk-up, it was safe. No one wants to do that many steps. Amen. No. Of course they will. There are two entrances to the apartment, one from the front stairs that entered my room

directly and another near the kitchen. That day I walked into my room and laid down. I could hear what sounded like whispering coming from the kitchen, but I told myself it was probably ghosts. That's the word when they try to make everything logical. Rationalize. Rationalizes everything that doesn't make sense. I love just slapping a ghost label on stuff and walking away being like, ugh, a ghost

again. Don't make me get up. It's a ghost. Who's watching your car getting stolen? Okay. Or maybe, but less likely, the people next door. Later, I walked into the hall and noticed the balcony door was wide open. It was the hall bathroom and my roommate's door, which she always kept closed.

I figured the balcony door blew open with the wind and the large gust must have opened the others. Seriously, anything to not assume the worst. Later when my friend came over, I told her about the weird happenings. She immediately said, someone is in here, made me leave the house and call the cops. She was clearly older and wiser. The cops came, searched the house, and it wasn't until they entered the attic crawl space that I heard them shout, hands up, get down, it's the police.

A loud thud and rumble followed. I panicked, screamed, and ran out of the apartment. Well, it turns out no one was up there. The police have to say that, or at least that's what they told me. And one of the officers fell on my washing machine. They did believe someone had been in the apartment and slipped out the balcony when they heard me come home. I learned my lesson, lock your doors.

And after listening to this podcast, especially lock your doors in a college town, ssdgm readah. Readah. Readah. Good job. Great name. Good job. Love the name readah. Love it.

It's my mom's middle name. Put down one of those broom handles in your sliding glass door things to keep it. That's so important. We have one. It's just such a basic thing. Sliding glass doors are so fucking easy to break into. So easy. If I had all be gone in the dark, you know, like that's just no big deal to people.

And the other thing I thought of when the quarantine started, and this is like the first time I've had a garage in my life, don't leave your garage clicker in the car if you park on the street or anything. Oh, right. People just come right in your fucking house. I didn't even think of it until I don't know why I was anyways. Yeah. You had time in lockdown to think about stuff like that.

But no, you have to like that kind of stuff is it takes you two extra seconds. Like the mentality of no one's going to come up to the third floor. What's the benefit here? Right. Two seconds. What's the benefit of not locking your door? And put your seatbelt on too. And God damn it.

Because the people, I've heard someone go, I don't wear my seatbelt because what if I get like, get trapped in my car and the seat, we're going to crash and the seatbelt gets trapped. Yep. What if I plunge into the seat? Saved you. No, stop planning for the 0.09% thing that could possibly happen while everything else that's actually endangering you, you're pretending will never happen.

Listen to us. We're your older roommates and we know best. Listen to us. We are your roommates that are already in a fight with you, which is some of the most fun electric energy to interact with. And you have to admit that. No, I hate it. We care enough to yell into your face because there is third floor.

What? That doesn't hold up for you to- 100th floor. God damn second. Your next door neighbor could be a pervert. You don't know anything. Anything. Anything.

Also, but you're so right about the broom handle because that is such a simple, real version of when people tip the chair under the door jam or whatever. But like, you cannot open a sliding glass door that has the broom handle in the back half of it. You'd have to smash the entire sliding glass door open, which burglars aren't going to do. Nope. They're going to move on to the next house.

Yeah. Exactly. The next person that's rationalizing away danger for no fucking reason. Yeah. You heard it here first-ish. Okay. Okay, I'm not going to read you this one. It is one of my favorites, which is lighthearted question mark.

Oh, yes. Let us help you decide. Hello all. I think it is lighthearted. I've always wanted to write in a hometown, but I didn't think I had any stories. It just hit me. What about my dad and his secret we found out after he died? Here it is.

My parents divorced when I was quite young and me and my brothers only saw my dad a couple times a year for the school holidays. He was the most gentle, calm man you could have ever met. He never once lost his temper at me and I was a pretty annoying kid. He lived in community housing and never had much money, but he always made it fun for us kids. He had a genuine, beautiful soul. So we were all devastated when he sadly died three years ago of early onset Alzheimer's

disease at the age of 72, the worst. My brother, two aunts and uncle, were sitting in the funeral director's office organizing his service when the director asked for anecdotes to share of him. My uncle pipes up, what about when he robbed that bank? My brother and I looked stunned. My aunts were shooting daggers with their eyes at my uncle and the funeral director stammering. Yes, yes, usually it's a light or funny story, but up to you as the family, my aunts swiftly

changed the subject and you better believe I called my mom demanding the details as soon as I left the office. Here's what she told me. When my dad was in his 20s in the 70s, high on acid, he decided it would be a good idea to rob a bank. Acid brings out all the very best ideas, don't it? Yes it does. I ate a crayon.

It was after hours, so there were no traumatized employees or customers, thank God. He broke into the back room and was able to take thousands just by breaking into the back room. It was probably a sliding glass door. Yeah, that's right. On a bank. What if the safe had a sliding glass door? And the vertical blinds next to it, you slowly twist it.

He was able to steal, he's able to take thousands, which he stepped into a duffel bag. However, when he ran out and got home, the safety dye had been triggered, so all of the money was useless. He was caught. My mom was very vague as to the details and he spent a few years in jail. He met my mom quite soon after he was released. He didn't want us kids to know and never spoke about it. For him, it was definitely a stupid mistake and he certainly learned his lesson.

I just hope he doesn't mind that his brother spilled the beans after he died. Thanks to you and your team all the way from Australia, Rachel. Goddamn. Family secrets. Family secrets. Family secrets. And also, that is so hilarious. Clearly not a career criminal, clearly not someone interested in doing something like

that in reality. Right. I also wonder, like, wouldn't you've had success breaking into the bank if he wasn't on acid? You know, you get that, like, druggy luck sometimes where it's just like, boop. I thought of this because I'm thinking outside the box because my brain has opened. My brain has expanded tenfold. I'm entertaining every possibility and I'm also really good at pool, imagine the life

I'm leading right now. But also, that idea, like, I would just love to see that scene as a TV scene that's so fucking funny with the brother being like, like, as if there was nothing else to talk about. Right. Like, dad was a wonderful person. It doesn't sound like he was, like, he wasn't an asshole that they had to make shit up about him for at his funeral.

I was like, he was a great guy. Right. Let's talk about, you know, the uncle's been sitting on that for so fucking long and it's finally. It's genuinely hilarious except for that, you know, it is against the law and you had to go to jail, which was hard. But he learned his lesson, so. It's called living.

It's called getting out there and being a part of things. It's called don't do drugs or if you do stay at home and just enjoy. And, and while at home, if you get some idea about how fun it would be to rob a bank, run it by someone that you trust. It's not on drugs. Yeah. Run it by Carol who got so pissed when the suggestion was made, she'll, she'll help you out.

Okay. Here's my last one. The subject line of this email is saved by a hearse and it just starts. All right. How are we doing? Yeah. Is that your dad? How are we doing?

My dad texted my husband recently. What'd he say? Just to talk about sports. He's, he really loves Vince Averill so much. Yeah. Who doesn't man? Yeah. My dad loves your dad too.

He's pretty great. Yeah. And also I really love that my dad likes to text. Yeah. It makes things so much easier. Yes. My dad does too. Thank God.

Yes, right? Where you're just like, I don't want to feel guilty because I can just be like, he loves to send me a Newsmax article. That's his favorite thing. Okay. I don't know what that is. Okay. I'm from north of England and a few months before the pandemic, I started taking driving

lessons. I really didn't know what to expect to be honest, but from my first lesson, I realized that I was a bit of a nervous driver, mainly because UK roads are absolutely bonkers. Anyway, the pandemic crashed into our lives and halted all lessons and tests. After a year of waiting, I finally got a test booked and that's when the test anxiety began. I actually felt physically sick anytime someone asked me, how's the driving going? That's such a like a problem of youth that then an adult volunteered to have.

Right. Like when you do stuff in your adult life where it's like, yeah, no one, this is just for you. Yeah. You're giving yourself this anxiety. I love it. Okay. The morning of my test, I had no sleep and compensated for this with a banana and half

a liter of Coke. Oh, no. Which made me jitter like I was on something. My instructor realized I was a bit nervous and said, helpfully, have you tried just not worrying about it? Thank you. Thank you. Okay.

Charles, thanks a lot for your help. Okay. I get to the test center and Dave, the examiner gets in the car. I try to make a few lighthearted jokes like, let's hope I don't crash to which he does not reply. I'm bricking it. I'm so nervous and sweaty that my hands are slipping on the steering wheel. I say one last prayer and we're off.

The test usually lasts about 40 minutes. Dave begins the test by asking me to follow a sat nav. I think I've already screwed up when I take the wrong turn and end up on a country road. We reach some traffic and I get a moment to breathe and relax. I then realize the cars ahead of me aren't traffic, but a funeral procession. Oh no. So I'm crawling behind this procession at about five miles an hour. I'm worried.

My instructor hasn't prepared me for this eventuality. Am I meant to overtake them? Would that be disrespectful? Who knows? So I go with the safe option and drive behind them, thinking they might turn off soon. About 30 minutes fast. Oh no. I'm going five miles an hour down a country road in a funeral procession.

Oh God. We're still stuck behind the bone cart. Dave's getting agitated. Bone cart. The bone cart. Finally, there's a left turn and Dave says, sorry love, I've got another test waiting and directs me back to the test center. I park up and expect the worst.

But to my surprise, Dave said, I'm delighted to say that you've passed and just like that, I got my license. No roundabouts, no intersections, no zebra crossings. How lucky is that? Even though my test was fairly straightforward, I have to say that learning to drive is one of the hardest things I've done as an adult. But you'll be pleased to hear that since passing, I've become a much more confident driver and I actually love how much freedom it's given me.

I've also adopted the very British mentality of saying shitting hell at any minor inconvenience on the road. Shitting hell. Hell. It's not a empirical incidence, but it definitely feels like someone from beyond the grave helped me out that day. Aw. Cheers, box of bones, rest in peace and all that.

There's no name. That was excellent. I love it. I love the twist of them beyond the grave helping you. My favorite part is my new favorite phrase, I was bricking it, meaning shitting a brick. Yes. I was bricking it. I mean, the British know how to turn a phrase.

Something like the Scottish, but definitely great at it. My favorite British saying that I've picked up from British sitcoms is piece of piss, which is cockney rhyming slang for, like, it's really easy. I can't remember. I actually looked it up and it's like a piece of cake instead. But it's cockney rhyming slang. There's some phrase that's like, this is easy, but I don't know what it is. And then they rhyme it.

That's a phrase that your grandma or someone used to say all the time that made no sense, but made you pass your driver's test. Okay. My last one is- I was actually going to answer. I'm like, what in the Sam Hill? What in the Sam Hill? What in the Sam Hill?

Oh, okay. Thanks. Okay. My last one is called, kismet on a cruise ship. Dear MFM crew, so we are leaning hard into coincidences and kismet stories lately. So prepare for some spine shivers. First let me say, I am not a cruise ship endorser. I've blamed the love boat for making me think I wanted to go on a cruise because who wouldn't

want to be on the Lido deck and possibly meet Isaac. But the one cruise my parents tricked us into was a cruise not simply sunny and warm, but to Canada. The Anne of Green Gables house was cool. I digress. The story I want to share happened to my parents about 18 years ago. They decided last minute to take a quick four night New Year's cruise to the Gulf of Mexico. There were meals on the ship, if you were in a party of two, you tended to be sat either

with another couple to make a four top or with a larger party, which is one of the reasons I never fucking want to go on a cruise. Yes, except I have to say the one cruise I've been on, I think about the people we were sat with. There was two sisters that were from New Jersey who started off seeming mean and became my favorite people who, and they actually, my mother and they exchanged like letters over the years after. Okay.

I mean, I always get scared of that shit and then it always ends up being wonderful. People are just like, everybody just wants a little connection and to drink some wine. Yeah. I just can't eat in silence. So there's an issue there. Okay. It's one of my things. Do you think like eight people are going to just not say anything?

Yes. This quiet food sound and then, but no, it won't be that. It'll just be me asking stupid questions the whole time to give people the talk. And then everyone being super quiet. I'm sweating right now. I'm sweating. I can't eat in silence. Okay.

On the second night of the cruise, my parents in their early seventies at the time were seated with a recently engaged couple in their early forties. As you do, sitting with complete strangers, you start spilling your life story to make that prime rib go down easier. The man shared how it had taken them a long time to live into his life, hence for him his just now getting engaged for the first time. He talked about how he had joined the Navy and his youth serving in the Pacific and as an attempt to get his life in order.

He mentioned a commanding officer who really pushed him hard, even though it sounded like this cruise dude was a real pain in the ass to his CEO, commanding officer. Even with all that struggle, he credited this officer with setting him on the right track. My father's younger brother, Terry, had also served in the Pacific like this guy. So dad asked him the name of the officer thinking there is no way this guy could be Terry. His name is Terry Carmody. The man replied. The table fell silent as the shock of my uncle being the commanding officer registered with

my dad. The man was so excited and he wanted Terry's contact info so he could reach out and thank uncle Terry for all he had done for him. My dad, who I'm sure is crying at this point because that is his thing, informed the man that Terry was in the final stages of suffering with ALS and that he should reach out very soon if he wanted to contact. And then amazing, the man and his fiance went to Chicago to visit uncle Terry and say thanks before he died.

My uncle was a real ass kicker and in my opinion, this guy was super lucky to have crossed his path. This story still gives me goosebumps about how big and yet how small the world can be and I thought you would appreciate it. On a closing note, I am one of your ordained listeners as a school chaplain and an Episcopale priest. Hey. Hi.

Please rest wonder before about how you could possibly have any folks in my vocation love your show. Sounds right. Well, we love strong storytelling. Preach it. We are studies of human behavior, the good, the bad, all of it. And we take justice especially for the marginalized and silenced in our world very seriously. This story about Terry definitely preaches.

Keep doing what you do, stay sexy and don't get irritated by being sat with strangers because you never know the Rev Betsy, she, her. Oh, Reverend Betsy, that was just a delicious email. Praise be. Praise. Jesus, Mary and Joseph are with us now. And Terry and uncle Terry. So now we have, did she say Betsy?

Yeah, Reverend Betsy. So now we have Reverend Betsy and we have my Aunt Mary the Nun. That's right. So it's like we're growing. We are legion. Piling them up, piling them on, get in our boat. Let's get the good Christians on their feet and active. That's right.

We need you guys. We need you. Please. Please. You're the ones. All right. Send us your stories. You're the ones.

It's on you now. It's on you. We can't do it clearly. Thanks for writing and tell us your stories, we appreciate you. Man, the coincidence slash kismet slash glitch in the matrix slash that whole area is a rich area. It's right. It's great stories.

Potter. Yeah. Love it. Loving it. Love it. Thank you all. Stay sexy. And don't get murdered.

Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie? This has been an exactly right production. Our senior producer is Hannah Kyle Crichton. Our producer is Alejandra Keck. This episode was engineered and mixed by Stephen Ray Morris. Our researcher is Gemma Harris. Email your hometowns and fucking hurrays to myfavoritmurder at gmail.com.

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