My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 325

Episode Date: April 3, 2023

This week’s hometowns include jury duty for a notorious criminal’s trial and an amnesia story.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This is actually happening is a podcast that features extraordinary true stories of life-changing events told by the people who live them. In a special five-part series called Point Blank, this is actually happening sheds a light on the forgotten spree killings of Rancho Tejama. So this is actually happening wherever you get your podcasts. Hello. Hello. And welcome.

To my favorite murder. The mini-soad. That's right. That's Karen Kulgarov. We don't do this, right? No, we don't. Oh, yeah. I'm Georgia.

What's up? Hey, what's up? I'm Karen. It's none of your business who I am. You're just going to listen to these emails. Yeah. That's right. Why don't we do that on this?

I don't know because it's more casual, I guess. This is the teacher's lounge of the podcast. I love that. Right? Yeah. Definitely. You want to go first in the teacher's lounge? We smoke in here.

We smoke in square in here. That's right. I'm really starting to enjoy how much, like the feedback emails that we're getting after we tell a story and people are like, hey, that was my dad or whatever. And so this is one of those, the subject line is terrifying amnesia story. And it says MFM crew. In this week's episode, Karen mentioned that Donald Boardman's sister suffered amnesia after learning about the identification of her brother's body.

That's a very sad story of a man who was missing. I think it was over 30 years and they finally identified a John Doe. And when his sister got the news, she immediately had amnesia, if you haven't heard. So immediately I thought, they need to know my story. So Donald's sister, I suspect, experienced a case of a very rare type of amnesia called transient global amnesia. It involves the temporary loss of all memory from up to the past year and can be brought on by strenuous exercise, sexual intercourse, and then there's three question marks or sudden

emotional distress. Wow. Yeah, never heard of that, but it's not surprising really. So it cut to me and my 70 year old dad cycling up a hill. We were on a disgustingly idyllic holiday in the south of France and had decided to leave the rest of the family at the house and cycle to the nearby hilltop town. I reached the top and waited for dad. When he finally reached me, we were both exhausted and out of breath, but happy.

Suddenly he stopped panting and calmly said, hang on, where are we? I told him the name of the tiny French town and he stared at me clueless. In Provence, I said, and he stared at me again, clueless again. We're on holiday in France, dad, come on. I said, again, starting to lose my patience, but it was no use. I sat him down at a cafe and asked him a bunch of questions to figure out what was going on. It turned out he didn't remember anything from the past 10 months.

That sounds terrifying. And he's not like, doesn't seem to be terrified. He's just like, doesn't know what's going on. So he doesn't remember anything from the past 10 months, my graduation, my sister's wedding, or even the name of his new son-in-law. In a moment of panic, I ordered him a mass of beer, but then decided he should probably be drinking water instead. Yes, right.

These are our instincts. The strangest part about it is that he seemed insanely chill. While I was freaking out that we had no phones, understood zero French, and were clearly experiencing a medical emergency, he was just sitting there cool as a cucumber stroking some straight dog. It was like out of nowhere, he just forgot how to be anxious, something I've been trying to do every day for the last 30 years. With the help of some locals, we got him to the nearest hospital and his memory slowly returned over the next 24 hours with no lasting issues.

But to this day, it's the scariest experience of my life. The French doctor says it's a built-in defense mechanism to save the brain when experiencing emotional or physical trauma. He had seen it happen once before to a lady who had caught her husband cheating and suddenly had no idea where she was or who the guy was in front of her. Anyway, stay sexy and don't give alcohol to people experiencing brain malfunctions, Richard. And then listen to this PS. Okay.

You're going to like this. PS, my husband Peter directed episode three of The Last of Us, the gay Nick Offerman one. We're both day one listeners and to hear Karen praising his work has been a real defining moment in his career. Thank you for the love. Oh my God. We thought we liked you first and you were saying you liked us first. What?

I don't get it. Wow. Exciting, right? That's crazy. That's great. Yay. Thank you, Richard. I'm so honored.

Okay. This is called Titanic family ghost-ish story. Hello MFM family, pets, Steven et al. You asked, and boy, do I have a Titanic slash family slash ghost story for you. I am named after my family members, John, Marion and Jack Thayer who sailed on the Titanic in 1912. My parents considered making Thayer my first name and I often asked them if they were crazy when they decided to go with Hannah instead.

I mean, it really is a cool name. Now, I know you and all of the MFM listeners know the story of the Titanic. So for the purposes of my story, all you need to know is that Jack and John were separated from Marion when the boat started sinking. As a woman, Marion made it to the lifeboat, but the men, like all the others aboard, surrendered themselves to the inevitable fate that they would be going down with the ship. It was so scary. However, at the very last second, knowing he was in good shape and that he had nothing

to lose, Jack jumped off the side of the vessel. In his autobiography, which has been touted as the most accurate recount of the sinking of the Titanic, and I don't have the name of it, Jack describes how he was suctioned under the icy waves and swam for his life until he was pulled atop of an overturned lifeboat. Later Jack and Marion were reunited, but tragically they never saw John again. Now here is where the ghost, I think we can call it that, story comes into play. My fourth grade class took a field trip to a pop-up Titanic exhibition at the Smithsonian. Part of the experience was that every guest received a mock boarding pass that had a name,

bio, and survival status of one of the members of the ship. No, no. Close. Hold on. Okay, okay. To my utter shock, whose boarding pass did I receive? Marion Thayer. That's what I thought.

That's insane. Oh, you did? Is that fucking crazy? It's insane. Nearly 20 years later, and I still don't know what to make of this insane happenstance, is it a true ghost story? Maybe not, but more than anything, it stands as a reminder that family will find a way to say, ahoy, even from beyond.

I hope to one day pass the first named Thayer to one of my children and will continue to tell this story to all who will listen. Thank you both for all you do and for sharing Titanic stories on your episodes. They bring me immense joy when I hear them and make me feel further connected to my family. Stay sexy and don't freak out when your great-great-aunt contacts you from beyond, Hannah Thayer, she her. Wow, Hannah. That is, that's like your glitch in the Matrix.

That's totally a glitch, yeah. That's it. I mean, she just hit on several requested stories. And that one is like, what are the, I guess it's one in 5,000 or however many people are on that ship. Yeah, wild. Insane. Wild.

So cool. Jill Evans has it all. A big house, fast car, and a great career as a decorated police sergeant in Wales. But when it comes to love, she can never seem to get things right. And after multiple failed engagements, Jill's starting to think it's never going to happen for her. That is until she connects online with a charming, handsome, successful man named Dean Jenkins. From the outside, there may be some red flags, but Jill doesn't care.

He is the one. And just six months in, Jill finds out she is pregnant and they make plans to spend the rest of their lives together. But the night after Halloween, Jill receives a shocking text that will change everything. From what she reads, threatens to take away her dreams of happiness, her career, and maybe even her freedom. Wondering a novel's new podcast, Stolen Hearts, tells the intricate love story of Jill and Dean and how opposites really do attract.

Follow Stolen Hearts on Amazon Music or wherever you get your podcasts. And hey, Prime members, you can binge the entire series ad-free on Amazon Music. Download the Amazon Music app today. Goodbye. The subject line of this is Junkyard Treasure, and it says, hello all. A few episodes ago, or maybe a many so, I can't remember, y'all talked about junkyards and all the weird things found in them. So I had to write because my dad worked in a scrap metal yard for most of my childhood.

And let me tell you, it was spectacular. I could tell you about all the brass animals that belonged to a Noah's Ark set that he brought home. The many brass band instruments, dangerous stuff like bear traps, and yep, you guessed it, guns. But today's episode is about the dead body in the railcar. I'd gone with my dad to work on a Saturday morning, and we were the first ones there. Dad was always wary of the yard because when the railcars came to deliver scrap metal, sometimes

there were unsavory characters aboard. My dad always carried a pistol for self-defense, and besides, it was Texas in the 70s, so it was perfectly normal. On this particular morning, I was instructed to wait in the office so he could make sure all was well. It wasn't. From the office window, I saw my dad go into one of the cars, abruptly come out, puke all over the ground, and then run to the office.

He called the police and told them he had a dead guy in the railcar. Apparently, this poor guy had been beaten beyond recognition. The cops were very serious and even took a statement from me at eight or nine years old specifically about what time we got there and what I saw. I figured they were trying to decide if my dad was a suspect. I don't know whatever happened or if the crime was ever solved. After the police left, dad took me to Dairy Queen for a burger and ice cream because, you know, food therapy.

We didn't talk much about what had happened. Anyway, my dad was the best, and I love him very much. Hug your parents. They don't live forever. SSDGM, Tanya. Oh. Can you imagine the site that had to make a grown-up who's probably seen some shit barf?

Like, that's a site. And the innocence where you're in the office probably drawing on a piece of paper or something and you kind of look up, waiting for the all clear, and it's not. And that's those kind of very real moments that just happen as you grow up, where it's like, whoa, this is big. And no one knows what to do, so you go get a hamburger. That's right. That's right.

Ice cream should be involved in any trauma. Very clean is the first stop. The end of every trauma. Okay, this one's called Maybe a New Topic for Minisodes, which we always love. Hey, ladies, I don't think I've ever heard a minisode about jury duty stories, and I feel like that could be fun. Perfect. Yes, great.

The year was 2013, and I had just graduated dental hygiene school in Boston. I had moved back in with my parents in the suburbs and had just gotten my first dental job at a terrible dental chain working 50 plus hours a week. One day I came home to a bright orange letter in the mail summoning me in for jury duty. I noticed it had requested my presence in Boston, but I was living in, oh, fuck, I hate this word. Word gesture. How do you say it?

Worcester. Worcester, that's it. Worcester County. That town name is the ultimate say it like you spell it, like it's radic. A couple of Mondays later, I hopped on an early train to Boston and was ushered into the federal courthouse. Now when I was in college, me and my girlfriends would call ourselves the back row crew, because in every class, no matter what the size, we would always sit in the back together.

So as I was being ushered into the room, I started heading to my usual seat in the back. The court officer stopped me and pointed to a seat in the front row and told me to sit and start filing out my questionnaire packet as the room slowly filled in behind me. We were told to rise as the judge entered the courtroom. Then we were all seated as an old man in an orange jumpsuit, handcuffs, and a guard on either side of him came in and stood directly across from me. Oh, what did this little old man do? I thought to myself.

Then the judge announced, this is the case of James J. Bolger. Bolger? Oh, Bolger. Why do I know that name? When it hit me, Whitey fucking Bolger was standing directly across from me. Oh, man. Yeah. If you don't know, he's like the biggest mob dude in like the East Coast, essentially.

He's essentially just like a professional murderer who was on the run for a long time. My eyes widened and I scanned the room waiting for someone I could lock eyes with and exchange the what the fuck look. But everyone seemed surprisingly calm for standing in the same room as the guy who was the most infamous crime boss in Boston or maybe even America. The judge told us they would be looking over our questionnaires and to specify if there was anything we had that would be biased to the case. We had to look through multiple witnesses and police officer names making sure we had

no connections. I did write that my uncle was a state trooper slash detective at one point in Boston, but his name was not on the list. As I was filling it out, I couldn't tell if I wanted to be a juror or to stay as far away as I could. Did he still have connections to people who could have me down and threaten my family if I didn't vote not guilty? Probably.

Could I make it big and write a book about being front row to this highly anticipated trial? I was torn. I walked right in front of Whitey and handed in my packet when I was done. The judge told us a few things before we left. One, they would have more potential jurors coming in every day for the rest of the week. Two, we had to call a specific number every night to see if we had been cut or if we were still a potential juror.

And three, we were not to discuss the case with anyone. I called every night that week and finally on the last night, I was cut. I was relieved, upset, happy, pissed. I still can't tell how I feel about it to this day. Maybe writing down that my uncle was a state trooper got me cut or maybe me being a hygienist and his girlfriend being one made me get the chop. Interesting. But after that week, I think I've seen every documentary or slash movie and have checked

out every book on him using my mom's library card because I thought I could somehow get traced back to him. So you're throwing your mom under the bus. Anyway, stay sexy and always sit in the back row, Chandler, she, her, and then it says, I was born before friends. She used to say that every time. I feel like, and I absolutely could be wrong, the first thing that pops into my mind is that I think Whitey Bulger turned on the other mafia guys.

Or am I thinking of good fellows? Yeah. Yeah. I thought he turned and so they're. That's why he was on the run. If I'm, yeah, if I'm right, she, I'm just saying, I don't know if Chandler would be at risk. Yeah.

Because. Right. He wouldn't have those same connections, but. So jury stories and Whitey Bulger stories is what we need. I'm sure everyone in Boston has one, right? Absolutely. Or we can actually expand out to mafia stories. Love mafia stories.

Karen's favorite topic, I'm not going to read you the subject line. It just starts. Hey, y'all. Let's do this. The year 2006, time of day, late after midnight, mental state, meh, sobriety level 100% and this is important to know. After hanging out with friends at a party, I finally decided to call it a night and go home.

At around 12 30 AM, I pulled into the driveway of the home I shared with my dad when I noticed a huge furry, dark brown, black animal laying in our driveway next to where I park. Not knowing what else to do and also having nowhere else to park, I, sorry, I slowly pulled my car up next to it. What do you love that? This is my parking space. Like it's like just like the inflexibility of like, well, I have nowhere else to park. So I guess I'll pull up next to the monster.

I sat in my car staring at this beast at what felt like forever. It wasn't moving. But there was no way in hell my ass was getting out of the car to investigate. I did what many single, a single girl does in her time of need. I called my dad. As soon as he answered all of my fear caught up with me and I burst into tears, dad, there's a bear in the driveway next to my car, please help. There was a silent pause and his end followed by a long typical dad sigh.

Alison, he said, I have told you time and time again that you are not to do any drugs or get drunk while you live in my house. He started to continue his dad lecture, but I interrupted swearing up and down that I was sober as a newborn and there was for real a bear in the driveway. I think the tone of my voice and level of crying finally clued him in that there was in fact something wrong. What happened next is one of my favorite memories of my dad. So my dad likes to sleep only in his underwear, tidy whiteies to be exact.

This thought did not cross my mind when I called him, but next thing I know, my dad has thrown the front door open and he's standing on the porch in his tidy whiteies, old tattered robe thrown on, but left open, of course, loaded shotgun in his hand with the lights from the inside of the house, illuminating him in a way that only a movie could replicate. My dad, my superhero, ladies and gentlemen, he slowly made his way down and over to the animal while I still sat in my car crying and pleading for him to be careful. He poked the animal a few times before I noticed he was laughing and shaking his head. He motioned for me to get out of the car, but I refused and instead cracked the window

to ask what was so funny. It's not a bear, he said, it's a bore. I've never seen a bore in real life, but holy shit, they can get big. I finally got out of my car, came over, still shaken up, looking at the bore, just left us with more questions and no answers. Its back feet had been tied up. So we deduced that someone had killed it elsewhere and then put it in our driveway for some reason.

Yeah. We had no idea what to do, so we called the police. They were basically useless, said they couldn't do anything and that we could call animal control the following morning and they would come pick it up. They did ask us to take pictures of them with the bore though, so that happened. Anyway, the following week I learned that this had happened to multiple homes around my city. What?

Is this a mafia story too? It's a real threat. A local neighborhood had been having issues with boars and had hired people to get rid of them and apparently those guys thought it would be hilarious to go dump the dead bore bodies in different people's yards. Not my idea of funny, but what do I know? Stay sexy and don't let your dad sleep in only tiny whiteies, Alice and she or her. I was hoping it was a stray dog and they got like a live stray dog and they adopted it.

That one was tough because the idea that the bore was dead is really a nasty turn in. As we all love animals so much. I do love the kind of like she just basically pulled herself up into a terrible situation and then just was like, dad, you have to do something about it. Yeah, no, that's a good point. Okay, my last one is called my friend did a money booth. Remember we were just talking about money booths? Yes.

Hello, my loves. Hello. In today's episode three to 2023, Karen and Georgia talked about how they love to be in one of those game show money booths where the wind currents whip bills around in a contestant who tries to grab them out of the air. My friend got to do this. It's the early 1990s. We are newly minted 21 year olds ready to booze and sleaze it up as much as we can.

So we take a day trip to a then new casino in a small Colorado mountain town that was meant to revitalize the town's economy. AJ, my friend and star of the money booth is one of the best people I know. She is open to all experiences and is a kind, thoughtful and hilarious person with energy that seems to bring out the best in people. Maybe that's why only 10 minutes after he saw the money booth and said, man, I want to go in that. His name was called over the loudspeaker to get his ass over to the booth.

And then it says, I guess we put our names in a hat or something. That part of the story is lost to Bloody Mary's. Nice. Turns out the booth is a lot harder than it looks and he wasn't too successful, but I'll never forget the sight of young AJ, Bill's plastered to his face by the wind, laughing and grasping at the air. There's no way to look classy. No, you're just like greedy nnf when you do a money booth.

A little crazy. Nearly 30 years later, we've both found more responsible ways to make money. I'm a librarian and he's a psychotherapist and casinos now feel more predatory than fun. But I'll always cherish that memory of youth and early summer day in Colorado and one of my favorite people on the planet. Stay sexy and take care of your friendships. They will sustain you.

There's no name. It's not sweet. Knowing how much we would appreciate a first hand money booth story, I just, I am so grateful for that understanding of us as people. Well, thank you so much for sending it yet again, another great batch of personal stories that you're sharing with us. Thank you so much. And we appreciate you opening your heart and your ears and your home to us and your money

booths. God, I want to go in a money booth. 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 Marin McClashen and Sarah Blair Jenkins. Email your hometowns and fucking hurrays to myfavoritmurder at gmail.com. Follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at myfavoritmurder and Twitter at myfavemurder. Goodbye. Goodbye. Listen, follow, leave us a review on Amazon Music, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

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