My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 302

Episode Date: October 24, 2022

This week’s hometowns include waking up from a nap and meeting Henry Winkler. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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. Hi. This is the one where you write in emails of your hometowns and your childhood pranks and your grandma being a badass and any other anecdote you'd like to tell us. That's a good story. Yeah, if you can write a good story in an email and you can figure out how to send that to My Favorite Murder at Gmail, then maybe you too can be a part of the My Favorite Murder hometown episode. Brigade. Brigade of episodes.

Do you want to go first this time? Yep. Here we go. The subject line of this email is, My Great Great Grandpa Defended the Sausage King. Oh, what? Hello, big fan. It just starts like that, with a period after a big fan. Love it. A few years ago, I heard a hint of family lore that one of our great-great-grandfathers was involved in some kind of crime in Chicago. No more detail was given, and I was told it wasn't really something the people who knew more about it wanted to talk about. But I started hunting, learned the crazy story, and now I'm here after learning more on the pod. That is the definition of a murdering note. No one wanted to talk about it, so I went, hunted all the information down, and now I'm telling my best friends about it.

What's up? That's right. Who told the larger story and that I hunted down basically the PS of the story. Yeah, exactly. Thank you, friend. My great-great-grandfather was Adolf Lootgart, the Sausage King's defense attorney in his second trial. Reportedly, he felt so strongly about the king's innocence that he didn't accept payment and even spent thousands in his own money to quote, unquote, find Louisa, who he believed was just missing. He was the architect of the I Was Making Soap Defense, I guess. Some years later, he was committed to a state asylum by a different court, which, after briefly escaping from authorities, is where he died. My mom thinks he likely had dementia given we have a family history, and that was just the way they handled that kind of thing

back then. Anyway, thanks for the show. It is a relief in this fucked-up country, and if you happen to read this on the pod, I will just end with, and this is in all caps, please vote this November, everyone. We can only stop these crazy fucking people if we vote, and then it just says D. Thank you, D. You're right, D. It's very true. Yeah. Slip those positive liberal, political messages into your hometowns. We don't mind. We'll read them. At this point, it's not liberal. At this point, it's logic. At this point, it's anti-fascist. This is a fascist takeover. Yeah, liberal. Let's call it logical liberals. Liberal. The world's very first internet dating story, and instead of lighthearted, it says, feel good. It just starts blah, blah, blah.

And then it goes, my mom was born in the Netherlands to Dutch and Canadian parents. When it came time to go to uni, she decided she wanted to move to Canada and go to Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia. My dad, a born and raised Canadian, was a college dropout living in the neighboring Providence of New Brunswick. As this was the late 80s, early 90s, the internet wasn't really a thing yet. My mom had access to some of the earliest online chat rooms, which were only available via the university to talk to other nearby university students. My dad somehow still had access to his platform, despite being a dropout stealing. Not sure how, but I'm not questioning it. We're talking about the same guy who, at 12 years old, was brought home by police

in handcuffs because he hacked into the local police phone lines. My grandmother was pissed, of course, but I think she's still a tiny bit proud too. Anyways, as my mom tells it, every other man in this online chat room would constantly hit on her and make a fool of themselves. She was not fucking with it and publicly humiliated every man who dared make a move. My dad thought she seemed cool. Quote, I was fucking terrified. He knew his ego couldn't handle it, so he never said a word to her. Being the only man in the group, she hadn't emotionally and spiritually crushed. My mom made the first move. The two got on super well, and when you know it, started dating soon after. He was my mom's first boyfriend and the last.

They traveled across Europe, and my dad got my grandfather's permission to ask for her hand in marriage, and then there's a little emoji rolling its eyes, I think, at the outdatedness of it. I appreciate it. He then, all caps, fake proposed to her. Like, got down on one knee, made a little speech, and then said, JK, LOL, to this day, my mom is so bitter. Men, take note, don't fucking play around. It still bites him on the ass almost 30 years later. Eventually, they got engaged for real, got married, and had me a year later. My dad even started the first competitive internet provider in the Providence. Take that, useless university degrees. I like to say that my parents were the very first people to get together via online dating.

Ironically, my dad's internet startup also destroyed countless marriages. Women would come into the office and yell at him because their husbands would meet women online and leave their partners. Somehow, my dad, the internet provider, was responsible for their marriage breakdown. An eye for an eye, I guess. My parents are still together after all these years and show me every day what true love is. After years of working in tech, my parents opened a little homemade ice cream shop in my hometown. They are endlessly supportive and kind and pushed me to follow my dreams. As my 50-something-year-old dad always says, I am still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. I love them both very much. Stay sexy and drop out of college. Claire,

she, her. Sweet little love story. 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. Stay cozy all winter long with classic comfort foods available weekly. Why stop with just dinner? Now you can enjoy HelloFresh's expanded menu of quick lunch solutions, weekend brunch, simple side dishes, and amazing desserts. Karen, January is going to be my month for HelloFresh. I am so sick of takeout. I miss cooking so much I haven't lifted a knife or a pan since early fall,

so I can't wait to get back in the kitchen and HelloFresh makes it so easy and also makes it so that my food tastes good, which is hard to do on my own. It gives you everything, everything you need. So get up to 20 free meals with purchase plus free shipping on your first box at hellofresh.ca slash murder20 with code murder20. That's up to 20 free meals plus free shipping on your first box when you go to hellofresh.ca slash murder20 and use code murder20. Goodbye. Hey, I'm Mike Corey, the host of Wondery's podcast against the odds. In our next season, three masked men hijack a school bus full of children in the sleepy farm town of Chautilla, California. They bury the children and their bus driver deep underground,

planning to hold them for ransom. Local police and the FBI marshal a search effort, but the trail quickly runs dry. As the air supply for the trapped children dwindles, a pair of unlikely heroes emerges. Follow against the odds wherever you get your podcast. You can listen ad free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. Well, this subject line is a meteorite story. So different kind of love. Yeah, it just starts high. You didn't ask for this, but there are no rules at this point. So you're getting it. Amen. I grew up in a tiny town in Alabama, a population about 9,000 people. On November 30th, 1954, a meteorite blasted in from outer space and hit Anne Hodges while she

was taking a nap. I know this story. I know this story and I love this story. It's so good. Journalist Alice George quoted that Hodges, quote, experienced a rude awakening, and that is the most hilarious shit I've ever read. Oh, she's not dead or she's dead? No, no. I'm about to tell you. Anne Hodges was 34 years old, having a nap on her couch, blissfully unaware that a 4.5 billion year old meteorite was hurtling towards her. I wanted to put in directly towards her. Apparently, the meteorite split into two parts during its descent, and one of those parts hit Anne on the side. And then in all caps, she survived. The meteorite was named the Hodges

meteorite, and half of it is at the Smithsonian's Natural History Museum. Hodges is the only known human to survive being hit by a meteorite. Evidently, there was a kind of custody battle between who got to keep the piece of the meteorite that hit Anne because her landlord believed that it belonged to her since it landed in her house. The two women eventually came to an argument and Hodges got to keep the meteorite, which she used as a doorstop for a while before eventually donating it to the Alabama Museum of Natural History. That is truly the most southern way to respond to being hit by something from space. You just use it to prop your door open. Anyways, I love you both. Maybe it'll bring you both some solace in this dystopian nightmare that

we call a reality, that if an asteroid is headed our way, we might live, who knows anymore, by Shelby. I love that. Okay, as a nap connoisseur, that's like the dream, like the literal dream of what happens during your, like, best nap. You get hit by a meteorite and survive and then get to keep it. From what I remember, because I've seen this, like, whatever it was, a Wikipedia post or something, but it's like she was literally, like, on her side on the couch, and then it just came through the roof and, like, hit her in the hip or, like, ribs or whatever. It's the craziest. That's the craziest. All the fucking space and time in the fucking universe and this little fucking meteorite, like, points at you, basically, and is like, you. I'm in love with you. That

meteorite was in love with her. Wouldn't you be, like, it's all, this is all about me, like, from now on. And then it gets named after her. That's so cool. I'm sorry, but the hard stark meteorite, that would be pretty rad. Come on. That's, you know what, there's still possibility. There's plenty of time, and any and all of us could get hit by meteorites, for sure. If only. Okay. This one's called, I'm not going to tell you. Okay. It just starts, goddesses. Okay. I've been wanting to submit this story for a few years now and recently someone beat me to a train story. Let's get into it. The year was 1990 and I was backpacking across Europe for two months after graduating college. My travel mate and I were chill travelers and tried hard to never be stressed

about train schedules, but this overnight train journey required a few connections in order to meet another traveler. So we were on high alert and stressed about what stopped to exit the train to grab a connection to get us to the rendezvous spot. This takes us to 7 a.m. and the two of us are standing on the step of the train debating if this is the correct stop for us to exit or not. She's standing in front of me. They're on the train on the, like, on the step to the platform, but on the train. She's standing in front of me as we argue. Yes? No. Yes? No. As the train started to depart, I decided it was the correct stop. So naturally I pushed her. I witnessed her hit the platform hard and almost roll, but her backpack stopped her. A split second later and the train

is accelerating. So I decided that jumping is not for me. At this point, I lean out of the train and scream, I'll come back for you. Remember, there were no cell phones and we had a standing agreement that if we got separated, the person on the train would come back for the person at the station. The train then slowly comes to a stop. I stupidly believe they stopped the train so I can exit and join my friend. This was not the case. They stopped the train because they saw someone fall off. I exit the train and start to walk the long walk back to the platform. This required a big jump down to the ground, not the platform. This is where the police get involved and we probably could have gotten in serious trouble. It turns out it was the wrong

stop. They put us back on the train, but will not let us sit in the seat. The police stand with us for the 40 minute ride to our correct stop. They are clearly pissed that we can't stop laughing while we stand there with them. Man, that's a good friend who's laughing that you pushed her off a fucking train. That's right. That's right. I know it was rude of us, but we couldn't help it. I would like to formally apologize to any of the commuters on that train that relate to work that day because it's too stupid and selfish American women. Also, my apologies for all the parentheticals there. And then in parenthesis, it says, they are my love language. Stay sexy and don't push your friend off a moving train, stupid American traveler. Good advice. But also that idea that

you can't figure it out and then just basically it's like both times up. This is it. So now you have to make a decision. Yeah. It's like, this is it. I'm not going to jump. This is it. I'm going to push you. You go first. You're going to take the hit and then I'm going to stay here in my indecision. Right. This is first responder story, lighthearted. Hi, I'm FM family. My husband just got home from work and told me this story from a shift. So I knew I needed to share it with you all. My husband is a patrol cop that works at the graveyard shift in an affluent suburb. He was dispatched to a call for a burglary in progress at a residence. The caller told the dispatcher that she was upstairs in the bedroom and that she could hear lots of movement coming from downstairs. It sounded like

someone was going through the drawers and moving furniture. The caller hangs up before dispatch can get any more information. My husband was first on the scene. He walked around the perimeter of the house, but didn't notice anyone or anything suspicious until he checked the back door and discovered it was unlocked. He entered the house, gun drawn and flashlight in hand and announced himself. County police come out with your hands up. It was completely dark in the house, but he could sense movement in the adjacent room. At this moment, the caller rushed down the stairs and yelled, he's in there pointing to the room where the movement was coming from. My husband told the caller to go back upstairs for her safety, but of course she didn't listen. My husband swept his

flashlight over the corners of the, in the adjacent room, but he didn't see anyone inside until the light shone on the floor and he found an overzealous Roomba buzzing past him, subsequently knocking into a chair near him. Oh no. He let out the biggest laugh as the caller raced down the stairs and fumbled for the light switch, bathing the first floor in light. She saw the Roomba and turned to face my husband with a look of utter embarrassment. She apologized for calling 911 and explained that she was house sitting for her friend and that it was her first night in the house. It would be so scary. The resident failed to mention that they programmed a Roomba to clean at an odd hour in the night. Yeah, that's a fucking

pretty important detail. Yeah. My husband brushed off the apology and continued to clear the house to make sure there wasn't a burglar hiding somewhere in the residence. As he was finishing up the call, the woman apologized again, remarking that she should have known it wasn't a real burglar because it would have been the worst burglar in the world since he was making the loudest racket. Stay sexy and call 911 because it's better to be safe than sorry, Danielle. Oh my god. I will never own a Roomba. I can almost guarantee that. It just sounds like problems. Yes. Just vacuum. Yes. Just do it. You're fine. Okay. This is my last one called Awesome Celebrities, Henry Winkler. Yes. Hey, all. I remember Georgia told a story about Henry Winkler being a great guy

and I wanted to back her up on this. Probably like 12 years ago, Henry Winkler was signing autographs at the Cleveland, what's one X? 10? Cleveland 10 center auto show. Now, oddly enough, it was my little brother who was probably about 10 at the time who wanted to go meet him because my brother loved his kids book series. I didn't know Henry Winkler had a children's book series. I didn't either. My brother hated reading but related to this book so much because, according to my brother, they made him feel included despite his learning disorder. Anyways, day of the meet and greet, we are in line. There's a bunch of kids and adults there to meet Henry. He starts by rearranging the line and letting everyone in a wheelchair

or some sort of walking aid come up first. Who's in charge of this? Who's in charge of this meet and greet? That is standard procedure. What are you doing? He kissed every lady on the cheek, including me, not to brag, but I'm not into cheek kisses personally, even by Henry Winkler's face. My brother became so overwhelmed with emotions as he struggled to say everything he wanted to, so got his autograph, tears in his eyes, and then we all went to look at the cars. However, when we were leaving about an hour later, the signing was being cleaned up and we had to walk back past. Henry Winkler saw my family and yelled for my brother, remembered his name and everything. My dad and brother both went over to talk to him. He knelt down and talked to my brother for so long

about how he was proud of him and to not give up and that he can overcome anything. He was crying, my brother was crying, my dad said he wasn't crying, but he was lying. Henry finished off by giving my brother a big hug, shaking my dad's hand and sending us on our way. I've never seen my brother so happy and he still thinks about Henry Winkler all these years later. Long story short, Henry Winkler is simply one of the best, Morgan. I mean, Morgan, you are so right, that just made me cry. I know, I love it. I still remember meeting him in the Jewish camp parking lot. I was in a cabin with his daughter and she brought us all over to meet him. It was so exciting. I was so little and I just remember looking up, so I must have been really young because he's

pretty short, right? Being like, holy fucking shit, it's the fawns and he like shook each of our hands. It was very, very sweet. He is. Wait, when you told your story, did I tell my story of when I met him? Maybe. Yeah, you had to. When we worked on Hollywood Squares and he was like, the Karen's. He acted like we were the stars and he was just some guy and I couldn't get over it. I was just like, we watched Happy Days. We were right in that demographic where I was like eight years old when Happy Days was huge and it was truly like our appointment. Totally. We were so into it. My cousin Nancy had the board game. We were into it. Yeah. Oh my God. First of all, that's a great tip. If you ever want to impress or like endear yourself to people, just remember people's names.

It's not that hard and I never fucking do it. It's so hard. It is hard, but you're right. How does he know he's going to see that kid again? I think he just has that brain. Well, he's also having a sincere moment. He's not fake. So I'm sure when he met that kid and he saw that, you know, why it meant so much to him, like it actually meant something to Henry Macler too. I think that's probably what it is, but it always makes me think of that where I'm like, when I'm being introduced to people, all I think about is myself and all you have to do is listen in that moment and then people will just attribute so many great things to you and I can't do it. If you have a story about someone remembering your name and it meaning something or you

remembering their name, like a touching story, I guess the point is make Karen cry and teach us how to remember people's names. If you can do that in a hometown, we'll read it and we'll love it. Also, just Henry Macler stories, like let's get him. Sure. Let's get him to do a hometown on this fucking podcast. Could you imagine? I can. Well, you know, he would do it and he would love it and he would talk like this. Well, I got to tell you, Karen and Georgia girls, let me just tell you, I got to tell you. Hey, right, is your Henry Macler stories at my favorite murder at Gmail? Or Ron Howard, depending on me. Remember when we did whatever that morning show was in New York

and Ron Howard was the guest before us and when he walked out, he looked at me and Georgia. This was one of the most exciting things because again, I am from that happy days era. He looked at me and Georgia with this huge smile on his face and goes, hey, good luck. Yeah, he was so nice. Like he just went in and now he knows we're going in and it was like... Yeah, he couldn't believe he did grade. Like he was just some dude who just like killed it. Yeah, he was great. He was great. It was like, yeah, that was, hey, you guys are going to, you got the word. I was like, oh my God, that was fucking Ron Howard. That was huge. That was wild. It was awesome. It was awesome.

Yeah. If you have any stories about us being on that TV show. I do. We just sitting there quietly smiling ridiculously while you have smart things to say because I couldn't fucking handle it. It's not how I remember it. Not how I remember it. Oh, thank you for listening. We appreciate you guys. Yes, 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 Creighton. Our producer is Alejandra Keck. This episode was engineered and mixed by Stephen Ray Morris. Our researchers are Marin McLashen and Gemma Harris. Email your hometowns and fucking

hurrays to myfavoritmurder at gmail.com. Follow the show and Instagram and Facebook at myfavoritmurder and Twitter at myfavoritmurder. Goodbye. Hi. Listen, follow, leave us a review on Amazon Music, Apple Podcast, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, Prime members, did you know that you can listen to my favorite murder early and ad free on Amazon Music? Download the Amazon Music app today. You can support my favorite murder by filling out a survey at Wondery.com.