My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 311

Episode Date: December 26, 2022

This week’s hometowns include a neighbor who is in the mafia and moving to the country.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. It's my favorite murder. The mini-soad. Where we read you your stories, just like that. Thanks for your stories. Hey, thanks for sending them to my favorite murder at Gmail. Please continue to do so. And then we'll continue to read. Do you want to go first? Oh, sure. Okay. This is called the time my uncle Tom returned Mafia member Sam Giancana's dog

lighthearted. Let's hope so. Then it just starts. This story is about my grandfather and his brother Tom. I'm not sure the exact year this happened, but it would have probably been in the mid 40s. My grandfather born in 1929 and his brother a few years younger grew up in Oak Park, Illinois, which was at the time a rapidly growing suburb of Chicago. They lived in a rather unassuming house in a rather unassuming neighborhood and spent most of their summers playing with the other children on the block. As most suburban children seem to do, they shared stories about that one house on the block they were all afraid to go near. The children spread rumors amongst themselves about the monstrous things the owners of that house does. In this particular case,

however, the monster was real. Just a few streets up from my grandfather's house and on the corner lived Salvatore Mooney Giancana or just Sam Giancana as he was known in the neighborhood. Giancana was a rising star in the Chicago Mafia and had earned an infamous reputation as a vicious killer. By this time, Giancana had been in and out of several correctional facilities and was running the Chicago illegal gambling scene amongst other things. Well, one day my great-grandmother was home alone while my great-grandfather was away at work when guests who come strolling up to the door. That's right, Sam Giancana himself was knocking at the door. My great-grandmother cautiously unlocked the deadbolt, cracked open the door and asked, can I help you? Giancana replied

with the question of his own, is Tommy here? I imagine it's pretty anxiety inducing when a famous gangster and murderer comes up to the door asking for the whereabouts of your 10-year-old son. Thinking the worst, I'm sure she asked what he'd done, maybe expecting Giancana to say, Tommy broke a window in Sam's house and now the family is in debt to the mob. Instead, Giancana said, my dog ran away earlier and Tommy brought him back for me. I came here to give him this in return and he extended his hand holding a $20 bill. And it said, I looked it up for you. That's something like $300 in today's money. Hell yes. Relieved, my great-grandmother called Tommy down and he accepted the payment from Giancana because what are you going to do? Refuse the

murderer's money? Later, when pressed for more details, Tommy said that when he brought the dog back, he was brought through a downstairs room that had tables with a bunch of phones on them, likely taking bets for the bookie that Giancana was running. Years later, Giancana graduated to head of the Chicago mafia and was allegedly working with the CIA during this time. Giancana was slated to testify before the church committee in 1975 about the collusion between the CIA and the mafia. Still living in that same house in Oak Park, now under police protection as a witness, Giancana was making sausage and peppers in his downstairs kitchen when an unknown gunman entered through the basement and shot him in the head and neck seven times for the 22 caliber.

My family has since moved out of Oak Park, but this story is often retold at family gatherings to impress any newcomers. Great-uncle Tom and my grandfather are now in their 90s, but when they tell the story, it's if they're both kids again, nervously walking up to return the lost dog to the scary house on the block. Thanks for all you do on the pod. I've learned so much about my family since you encouraged us to get the deets. Stay sexy and return those lost dogs, Kayla. I love that because, yeah, he's a mobster, but he still loves his dogs. That's great. Dogs still get lost when they're mafia dogs. And they're still loved and missed and then valued when they're returned. 20 bucks, kid, here. 20 bucks in 1940s is fucking insane. It's insane. That's back when

like everything was a nickel. Totally. Exactly. It was like coffee and a candy bar and a newspaper. I'm sure the great-grandma was like, yoink, that's mine. For real, this is like room and board. Also, the idea that like, if it were what the great-grandmother feared of like, you, you know, break a window at the mafia boss's house. Oh, no, no. God, God forbid. God forbid. God forbid. Also, if that little kid was like, and I went through the basement and there was tables with telephones, it'd be like, you saw nothing. You saw nothing. Okay. My first one, the subject line is trash parent story. I've got a lot of trash parent stories. Yep. We asked. I mean, what's better? Dear all, just a quick trash parent story for you

guys as requested. My lovely mother, Grace, is still with us, so no lurking tier jerkard drops us down the road, Karen. Thank you. Thank you. And you're welcome. Speaking of Karen, I'm the same age, go 1970 babies and was lucky enough to have an intrepid world traveling single mom, fluent in Spanish and French, who thought nothing of packing me and my brother up to take us on overseas adventures when we were teens. We were lucky enough to take trips to Spain, France and England in the mid 80s, renting scary cars that don't shift, staying in youth hostels and generally having a great time. Wow. What a mom. Yeah. That's rad. She even trusted my teenage brother to pick hotels and restaurants from guidebooks. Nice. It's literally back when

it was like, was it the Zagat guys? Zagat. Yeah. Did Michelin even have? I don't know. Anything but tires yet? I think they were just tires. Michelin had nothing to say about dinner. It was only tires and was comfortable making spontaneous decisions on the road in a time before cell phones and ATMs. It was more like traveler's checks and stashes of cash stuffed into those underclosed money belts that seem vaguely religious. When I read that line, I completely tripped out to this money necklace thing that my mom bought for me when I went on this trip in high school to Europe, to Russia, and it literally was like this weird, it was like a necklace with a very large nylon pocket. Yeah. I remember those, the tattoo body. Yeah. Yeah. You have your

passport against your heart, basically. In the summer of 1985, we were in London. I had my choose death button on. That's literally only funny to people who grew up in the 80s, but in parentheses, it says, fuck you, wham UK, and was planning to visit the King's Road, birthplace of the Sex Pistols, with my brother. But first, we both needed proper London trench coats. My brother, my mom, and I started in Trafalgar Square with plans to meet in the same spot in an hour or so. My mother probably wanted to visit some important historical site, parentheses yawn. So Craig and I set off in search of used military outerwear. I don't remember the exact details, but, and then this isn't quotes, we got separated. i.e. he ditched me.

Little sisters, am I right? Anyways, I somehow found a coat and was wandering around looking 15 when an older gentleman began to engage me in conversation. He was wearing a suit and didn't seem that creepy. Besides, he said, I looked like a model. I could be a model. He ran a modeling agency. I should be a model. Model, model, model. Oh no, model, model, model. And then it says, did I mention I was 15? Yes, I followed him back to his office, which actually did look legit. Yes, I had no idea where I was going. Yes, I told him the name of our hotel. Yes, I was going to let someone take my picture. But then when they said something about taking off my bra for the picture, my personal self-preservation unit finally lit up. No, I got the F out of there. Definitely

lost and very spooked. I somehow found my way back to Trafalgar Square to meet my mom and brother and shared my very scary tale. The guy ended up calling our hotel and then in parentheses, oops, I gave him my name too. Every single day, the whole time that we were in London, my brother was in charge of answering the calls once they became persistent and came up with increasingly rude ways of telling him to leave us alone. A little part of me still wonders what might have been, assuming of course it was an abduction, torture, murder, etc. Because deep down inside, I am still 15. But as a mom myself of two daughters who are 21 and 25, I say, mom, what the fuck were you thinking about? Stay sexy and don't let your 15-year-old daughter wander

solo in large foreign cities in the 80s and then all caps, she has poor judgment. Devin, she, her. Oh, Devin. Unfortunately, I feel like so many of us have stories like that where we're like, we are, I was 15, I was 18, I didn't know I was whatever. Oh my God. You're being complimented in this way that you want so badly for so long, but you never believe is going to happen. And suddenly it's the ultimate, you're getting picked. Yeah. Like it's the ultimate bait. It is such, it is such bait. It's exactly right. Wow. 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

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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 mask men hijack a school bus full of children in the sleepy farm town of Chowchilla, 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. This is called a literal dream come true. And this just, I don't even know if it like fits anything we've ever asked for, but it's, oh no, you know what it does, coincidence stories. Hello, murder gang, pets, and Steven obviously included. I know you've been enjoying crazy coincidence stories lately. And as it just so happens, I had an experience that a month ago, so wild that when it happened, my first thought was of writing to you guys. That's right. That's what we want. Let me preface this by the story by saying that I along with my mom have been prone to having dreams that later wind up coming true. Here we go. I live in a safe neighborhood and

always leave my car unlocked because I don't usually have much in there. And I've always assumed that if someone did try to steal anything, they just open the door and take it. Unfortunately, I'm a dumb bitch. And I woke up one morning a couple weeks ago to my car window smashed in. The only thing missing being a backpack with a broken zipper full of clothes I was taking to a friend to get fixed that day. Among the articles of clothing were my favorite pair of jeans. They're Levi's covered in cool colorful patches. One is a tiny hot sauce that I had sewed to the ass pocket. I was pissed. More pissed about losing them than the $400 I had to pay to get my car window fixed. In the days that followed, I checked every thrift store in town for my patch pants.

I looked in all the alleys and dumpsters in my neighborhood to see if the thief had dumped the backpack. And almost every night, I had a dream that I was walking through a crowd and passed someone wearing my pants. So fast forward two weeks later, it's Saturday night on hollow weekend. And I'm dressed to the nines as sexy Bob Ross. My friend's called me Boo Ross. And I'm walking downtown with my cousin in search of the rainbow hot dog stand that sells chili cheese dogs for 350 exclamation mark exclamation mark. When a man walks towards me wearing my patch pants, I stopped dead in my tracks and said, Hey, where'd you get those pants? And he's all like, Oh, my friend Jesse. And I'm like, Oh, yeah, well, those are my pants. They got stolen out of my car

a couple of weeks ago. And he goes, Oh, yeah. And I go, Yeah, and show him a picture of me wearing the pants. He looks down at them back up at the picture, back down at the pants. And then he goes, Well, do you want him back? And so of course I say yes. And right there on the street, this man takes them off and gives them back to me. Thank Christ he was wearing pajama pants underneath. I was so shocked not only because I had actually found my beloved patch pants in the exact same manner as my dreams, but that he gave them back to me happily. I have no idea if he's the guy who broke my window or if it was quote, Jesse. But at that point, I really didn't give a shit. And because I know about positive reinforcement, I bought him a chili dog after he gave them back

to me. So that's the story of how my prophetic dreams led me to getting my patch pants back. I have other stories of dreams I've had that have come true. And so does my mom. If you ever want to hear more, Ayla, Kayla without the K. I love hot sauce pocket pants story. I love chili dog embellishment. I love it all. How lucky is she that that guy was like absolutely here? Sure. Not like, Oh, hey, I'm a car robber. Or like I'm defensive. Right. Nope. You couldn't have him back. Yep. God, God bless. There's no Jesse. He earned that chili dog by breaking into a car. Do you think it was him? Yeah. You know, first of all, I was going to say it is so scary when you get your car broken into it and

you come out to a shattered window. So there's something so scary about that. Like it is. It seems dangerous and weird, even though it's like probably just someone that needs cash or is in desperate times or whatever, but it's so scary. Yeah. The other thing I was going to say is, did you hear the way I said, yeah, when you were talking and I was, I had just taken a sip of really hot tea and I was like, yeah. Yeah. Yeah, man. For anyone listening, go back and listen to how weird that yeah sounded because I was going to say something, but I didn't want to interrupt such a good story. There's no, there's no Jesse. There's no friend Jesse. There's never been a friend Jesse. There's no such thing as a friend named Jesse ever. Everyone knows that. That is the,

the ultimate cover story. That's right. The subject line is country living is safe, they said. Hi all, long time listener and excited to finally be writing in a story that will hopefully peak some interest. I was born and raised in the city of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. They put Canada in parentheses, but don't appreciate that conversation. We know. We know what. Also, Winnipeg home of the odd block comedy festival where people paid the comedians on time. Oh, remember when we talked shit about a comedy festival, the guy from odd blocks like, yeah, that's a different one. We're not that one. We pay on time. Me and Michelle Bouteau talking massive shit. Okay. When I moved out of my parents place, my adorable 30 pound dog and I

lived right in the heart of downtown. Let's just say there's a lot of crazy shit to see downtown Winnipeg amidst a meth pandemic. But this story is not about any of that. So when I met my boyfriend slash now husband, he was always concerned about me because he was born and raised a country boy in a small town about an hour south of the city and found the city to be a bit crazy and dangerous, especially where I lived. My building did get broken into a lot. So over time, he convinced me to move back to his hometown amid the COVID pandemic and promised me that you'll love it and the country is so much safer than the city. Fast forward to a month into living in our new home in the country. I'm home sick from work with a really bad bout of anxiety caused by work,

LOL. When I hear a car door slam closed outside, my dog starts going nuts. And I think that my husband has come home for lunch to surprise me and check up on me. My dog and I rushed to the front door and I let her loose. Usually when she sees him, she stops barking and starts to wag her tail, but she wouldn't stop barking and she seemed nervous. Next thing I know, a six foot something tall man, not my husband, appears from around my deck in grubby clothes looking nervous. He tells me that his car broke down on the highway and asks to use my phone. Stunned and not knowing to fuck politeness at this time, I unlock my cell phone and hand it over. Meanwhile, my dog has not stopped barking. This man makes a call and leaves a voicemail with someone to call him back. And then in

parentheses it says, on what phone? He used mine. So creepy. At this point, he hands back my phone and asked me for some water. Being scared to say no and be rude. And then in parentheses it says, Canadian. I go inside and lock the door, leaving my dog to bark at him outside. I immediately phone my father-in-law who lives five minutes down the road and tell him what's going on. He tells me he'll be right over. I return back outside and hand the stranger a water bottle and tell him my father-in-law is on the way to help with his car. This seems to spook him as he says, oh, don't worry about it. Thanks. And starts to meander away, but not down the driveway. He walks into the thick brush of the spruce trees and shrubs at the side of my yard,

closest to the highway. My dog and I are watching through the window now as my father-in-law pulls up and starts to talk to the man in the bushes from the highway. The man then runs across the highway into town. My father-in-law tells me that he told me was looking for his dog in the bushes. My father-in-law said, there's no fucking dog here. Get the fuck out of here. Yeah. And that's and that's when he ran away. And then it says there was no truck on the highway either. I jumped in my father-in-law's truck and we called the police and followed the guy through town, even though the police told us not to. Don't do that. No, no. Don't. Eventually they picked him up and we learned that he had stolen a quad from a neighboring town. Oh, what? It's almost like a,

they ride him through like sand dunes, those like motorcycles, but with four big wheels. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. He stole that from someone and then like drove it to the next town and he'd run out of gas in our town and was looking for something else to take a joyride on. I then realized that the car door slamming earlier, which I thought was my husband's, was my own car in the garage that he was searching through to see if he could steal it. Luckily, nobody was hurt in the end, although it was very scary to experience as a 26 year old woman, fresh in the country, assuming the best of everyone. After speaking to some neighbors, it turns out he scoped out a few places before visiting ours and apparently he had taken a huge shit right beside my neighbor's

shed. What? Anyway, hope this wasn't too long. Thanks for all the laughs and advice over the years. Stay sexy and don't move to the country. Selena, she, her. I will never move to the country. I will never live in the fucking wilderness. I just won't do it. No, it's a whole different thing. I fucking love it because the people that are, that actually do live there, there's some yeah, hilarious, fascinating people. Yeah, but then you're home alone and then you're like, you know, street lights in the real country, like where we grew up, you could see the neighbors, like driveway lights. Yeah. And that, that was kind of it. I'm such a suburban like girl at heart, city suburban girl. Like I don't even like being home alone and I live in a fucking densely populated

city and I'm still like, what was that? What was that? No. All right. Well, here's one. We asked for this New York, New Year's Eve diaper story. Yeah. That's how I'm a year. It's that time of year. It's just start to listen. I know you've probably gotten many stories about people wearing a diaper for their trips to Times Square for New Year's Eve, or maybe I'm just telling myself that because I don't want to be the only one that says, yes, everything you described about New Year's Eve in Times Square is true. You're locked in depends on the street that you cannot get into any later than three PM, meaning you're standing sitting huddled in a ball in the middle of New York for nine hours with no bathroom in sight. How is that legal? That's inhumane. They're

volunteering to do it. Like you don't have to do it. I guess it's only natural that people become creative when it comes to their human needs in these situations, right? So after hours of watching 20 year old drunk men piss in anything, and I mean anything, Snapple bottles, plastic bags, Pringles cans, all caps. I was thankful that my mother had prepared us for this tremendous journey to ring on the New Year. At the time as an 18 year old girl, I obviously resented my mother for making me wear a pink depends. But as the countdown came after nine hours of trying to stay warm and hydrated, it finally happened. Yes, I peed my fucking pants in the street as the crowd around me screamed three, two, one. The kicker is that my mother with a pea sized bladder after having

three kids and a coffee addiction did not even feel the slightest urge to go the whole night. Oh, well, at least I got to see Miley Cyrus in her wrecking ball era. All the best. Stay sexy and go anywhere besides Times Square for New Year's Eve, Emily. Emily, how brave of you to show that truth, the truth of your journey. We applaud you. We depend on you. It must have felt amazing to just freely pee in your pants and have there be no repercussions. I mean, what if you like, you can't have a conversation with anyone without thinking to yourself they might be peeing at this very moment while they're looking me in the eye. Are the conversations better because people are peeing and looking each other in the eye? Maybe. Is there a level of vulnerability? Do

people fall in love more because they're peeing all the time? Maybe. There's just an openness, literally. Yeah, vulnerability. I love it. And we don't want emails about this, but I'm just wondering how like for myself, first of all, the idea that her mother didn't go to the bathroom for nine hours is mind boggling. Absolutely. Absolutely. The needing to go to the bathroom is why I don't go to most large shows because I'm just like, I will have to pee so much. It's just my reality. But has anyone ever worn a depends, held it for as long as they could, then let fly and then it like didn't hold? Oh, yeah. When that's not your world. Yeah. And you don't really know how to like use it. Is there a way to do it wrong? I guess is my question. You're questioning the

dependability of depends. Really? How could I do that? When it comes down to it. They're ubiquitous like Q tips. Everybody knows those things work. It's literally called depends. They wouldn't, I don't think they'd call it that if it was not dependable. That would be false advertising. Although it could be in the read. Depends. Depends. Oh. That's someone's standup joke. I just stole someone's standup joke and I don't know who it is. Depends. Well, this has been a promo for depends promo code murder. This whole thing has just been an ad. Yeah. This is the new viral marketing that's sweeping the nation where we're so natural at pretending and reading. We're just reading. This is just a long con really. It really is. And then you can now buy depends

in my favorite murder store. Yeah. What a turn they took in the end. Truly. The subject line is my dad's first time in the USA. Hello team. I'm an Indian murderer. And if I remember correctly, from a hometown y'all read a couple years ago, there's a few of us out there not interested in meeting anyone, but nice to know I'm not alone. I love you. I love you socially awkward person. I love you new best friend. So this story is about my father who way back when in the early 90s attended a rafting championship in the States rafting. Wow. And had a bit of a comical misunderstanding. After the rafting championship ended, he got some free time. So he decided to do one thing that could not be done back home in India, eating turkey. Oh, interesting. He walks into the nearest

diner. Another American thing that he really wanted to experience sits on the bar stool, pretends to look at a menu. The guy behind the counter walked around to stand next to dad waiting to take his order. One turkey, my dad said confidently. The man blinked at my father and he repeated his order. One turkey, sir, the diner guy asked, will you be joined by anyone? My father mistook the man's question as an insult and said, I will have the turkey by myself. The diner guy asked my dad again, if he was sure about his order, then resignedly went back to the kitchen. Finally, my dad's order arrived and he was horrified. Oh, no. What my poor dad did not know at the time was that the turkey he saw in Hollywood movies was for a whole family,

that he should have specified which part of the turkey he wanted, which is what the diner guy kept trying to ask. Sitting in front of my five foot two first time in America, father was a whole turkey. He stared at the thing and realized his mistake, but my dad's ego is as big as he is short. So he picked up his knife and fork and began cutting his way through the thing. He obviously couldn't finish it. I asked him why he didn't take it back to his teammates and he told me he was too embarrassed to explain the story to them. I don't blame the waiter. My dad is still quite stubborn and I can only imagine how he must have resisted this poor guy's concerns. But the thought of my dad visiting America for the first time, which he only knew from Top Gun, the thriller music

video, and Laura Branigan's songs. It's such a deep cut. And being given a reality check never fails to make me snort out a laugh. Stay sexy and maybe next time the waiter looks doubtful about your order, just have coffee. Lots of love, Kay. I will have one turkey. Demanded a turkey. I love that. That's so funny. It's so good. Oh my god. We did it. That was a nice batch. That was a good batch. That was good stuff. Good job, you guys. Thanks for writing in. Thanks for being a part of it. Thanks for just listening. If you didn't write in, that's okay. Hey, all those passive mini-soaked imbibers, you're good too. Yeah, that's right. So a little hot sauce patch on your back pocket and 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 researchers are Maren McLean and Gemma Harris. Email your hometowns and fucking hurrays to myfavoritmurder at gmail.com. Follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at myfavoritmurder and Twitter at myfavoritmurder. Goodbye. Listen, follow, leave us a review on Amazon Music, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, Prime members, did you know that you can listen to my favorite murder early and add free on Amazon Music? Download the Amazon Music app today. You can support my favorite murder by

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