My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 327

Episode Date: April 17, 2023

This week’s hometowns include volunteering for a police lineup and helping your neighbors in a catastrophe.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This is Justin from The Generation Y, and we're doing a four-part series on unraveling the story of Khalif Browder, a young boy falsely accused of stealing a backpack and held at Rikers Island for three years without trial. This story is about a young life caught in the middle of the justice system. Listen to Generation Y on Amazon Music or wherever you get your podcasts. Hello. And welcome to my favorite murder. The mini-soad. That's right. It's been a minute since we recorded one of these, huh? We got to get into our email mode. Yeah, here we go. Our speaking and reading mode. We're representatives of the listener this time.

That's right. We are you. You are we. Feel it. Feel us. You want to go first? You want me to go first? You can go first. Okay. My first one's called Police Lineups Grandmothers and Banana Curls. Karen, Georgia, and four-legged friends. Ever wonder where cops find random guys to fill their lineups? Sure. That's a great question. Yeah, never did I, until my dad told me this now all-time favorite story of his. Set the scene. It's the summer of 1980 in Providence, Rhode Island. My dad, fresh out of college, is working at a UPS warehouse while determining what he wants to do with the rest of his life. Dude, I almost got a job at the UPS warehouse in Petaluma what after I flunked out of college, I'd done like three sets of stand-up and I thought it was a failure

and I was just in Petaluma going like, I need to get a decent job. And my mom's like, UPS, you got to get over there. They pay really well. And then I was like, I don't want to lift a bunch of shit. It's hard fucking. I mean, they pay because it's hard work. Yeah. I thought about that too, like working at the post office might be kind of cool. Like at the window, you know, that would be fine. I bet. Yeah. Tell us if it is, but let's get some emails from UPS and more post-worker stories. Oh my God, you know they have the best stories. Absolutely. Did you see the fucking UPS guy who, or Amazon guy, I don't remember, who like walked through a fucking standoff to deliver a package? That was genius. The women narrating from a window, like an apartment window above,

they're watching the standoff and then they start, yes, it's like, they're kind of giggling along because they're watching the standoff. And then here comes the like, whatever it was, Amazon or UPS guy just walking through. He's got a job to do. He doesn't give a shit. I was like, is that guy high? Anyway. Okay, fresh out of college, UPS warehouse, da, da, da, da. One afternoon as he's loading trucks, a police officer strolls in, takes the manager aside, and then announces to the crew that he needs a couple guys to help the extras in a police lineup. Mm-hmm. He looks around the room and starts selecting men. I'll take you and you. Oh, you'd be great. He says, pointing straight at my dad, standing there with his long,

dark banana curls and thick 80s mustache. What's banana curls? I was going to ask you the same thing. I assume just like thick curls. Big, like, I think we might call them sausage curls. Yeah. Okay. Should I look, should I ask Mr. Googles? Sure. Well, I tell you that they say, a young Tom Selick as my grandmother's friends used to all giggle. Oh. That's what he looked like. Hot dad. Mm-hmm. Banana curls. What the fuck? Yep. It's essentially sausage curls. Okay. Got it. In Rhode Island, it's banana curls. Okay. Okay. Excited for an opportunity to skip out of work early, my dad and his friends piled into the back of the police car and head towards the station. On the drive there, they pull up to a stoplight and who of all people

happened to be in the car next to them? My grandmother, Margaret, and my dad's older sister. They turn to make eye contact just in time for my dad to smile and wave before the light turns green and the cop car takes off. Now, need I remind you that this was pre-cell phones, so my horrified grandmother speeds off after the police car and ends up at the station. She marches in and demands that the front desk officer tell her what her son was being held for. He looks at the reports and insists there's no record of my dad ever being there. While Margaret argues with the officer, my dad is led into the building through the back door and directed straight into the lineup. They do their thing, the purpose identified,

and then everyone else is sent on their way. In typical young man fashion, rather than go home and let his mom know he wasn't in any trouble, my dad and the other guys decided to go grab a beer. Sure. Meanwhile, poor Margaret frantically drives all over the state to different police stations trying to find out what happened to my dad. Oh, no. And then they say, good thing we're talking about Rhode Island and not Texas. It wasn't until several hours later that she finally got the call. Turns out the real perp was a serial flasher, so can't say Margaret was totally relieved to hear her son put himself in a situation where he could have been falsely identified. Yes. But hey, it's better than for murder, right? Anywho, stay sexy and if you volunteer

to stand in a police lineup, don't forget to tell your mom, LBQ. LBQ. First of all, you're one of our best presidents. Secondly, what the fuck? Don't do, don't volunteer to be in a police, no. All I could think of. How easily it could go bad. I would have been turning to my coworkers and being like, okay, write this, take a picture, write this down. Like, what if I go and never fucking come back? I mean, that's, I think, yeah, only people with banana curls have the kind of freedom where they're like, I don't have to worry about that. That's true. I'm going to match your police story with another police story. Cool. The subject line of this one is I'm pretty sure that's illegal. Hide a literally everyone. Love it. I put on my TikTok profile, which I don't, I

literally follow four people and it's my sister and Nora and two other people. But on there I put, it's literally me. Instead of me, the real caring girl, get it. It's literally me. It's literally me. Okay. This starts, let's get into it. I work for an art museum that is federally funded, meaning we don't have shit and we are closed for two of the seven days of the week. Nice. I could tell you stories about how I have to tell people to stop licking the art that their mini poodle is not a service dog and that just because it's water doesn't mean you can drink inside. Man, they should do like YouTube classes for how to act in a museum because I absolutely would take it and need it. Yeah, for sure. I love being early to work.

So when my boss told me that my shift was canceled, I was already there. So I turned around again and began to drive home. There's a lot of the same information and different orders. We get it. Okay. So at two red lights in a row, a cop car next to me pulled up and I noticed it said canine unit. So I kept looking in and tried to see the dog. The officer thinking I was probably insane motioned to me to put down my window and me trying to seem normal. I yelled, I'm okay. I just wanted to see the dog. I rolled my window back up because the light turned green as Mr. 50 started merging into my lane and followed me for 15 minutes. Oh dear. I started crying because I was so scared as I pulled into a parking lot in a busy, well lit area because it's my mission to SSDGM.

And sure enough, the cop pulls in next to me and asked me to get out of my vehicle. Oh dear. I'm Hispanic and was fully expecting the worst as I got out of my vehicle as he opened his trunk and let the patrol dog run out with his tail wagging. Oh. I spoke to the officer as I was letting myself get licked to death by the sweet angel of a dog for 30 minutes before the officer hands me his number. Oh. I said thank you politely and booked it home. Very happy the next day. I told my coworker what happened and she looked at me with open mouthed horror before going off on how it was an abuse of power and asking if I was okay. I was just excited to see a dog, but after some Googling, yes, what he did was illegal. SSDGM. And if you ever get pulled over,

pull into somewhere brightly lit, busy and well known, Katie. Whoo. Good lesson. Good lesson. And it's like how easily we're still tricked by dogs. Yes. Like a little kid. Yes. Dogs. Oh. Yay. I want to be a friend to the dog. Yeah. And they must be safe. This person must be safe that they have a dog that's friendly. Exactly. You're attributing the qualities of the dog onto the driver of the car. Right. That's a good lesson for everybody. Just keep an eye peeled. Meet people in bars when they don't have outfits on. And then you can make your decisions freely and clearly. I hope they have outfits on, but not uniforms. Not uniforms. Sorry. I don't know what kind of bar you're going to not. There's no shame here. You don't know about the nudist bar down in Eagle Rock.

Can you imagine a nudist bar? No. Sticky. Everything's sticky. Okay. Hey there. It's Karen and Georgia. Picture this. It's a cold night in 2010. A boy is stopped by the police while walking home from a party in the Bronx. He's only 16. He's been stopped by the police before, but this time is different. In a special four-part series, the Generation Y podcast unravels the story of Khalif Browder, a young boy who was falsely accused of stealing a backpack and held without bail at Rikers Island for three years. He endured regular abuse by prison staff and inmates and was held in solitary confinement for more than 700 consecutive days.

And he was only 16 years old. We say innocent until proven guilty, but where do we draw the line between due process and cruelty? To hear this four-part series on Khalif's story, check out Generation Y wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on the Amazon music or Wondery app. Goodbye. This is called Swipe Right Feel Good Dad Story. Oh, another dad one. Okay. Hello, Georgia. Karen and Rockstar team. In the interest of keeping things short, I will just dive in. In high school at a job as a swim instructor, I got to tan all summer and teach little kids and sometimes adults, it says you would be surprised, how to swim. Because when you're in such high demand, there is usually a waiting list. And when we have availability, someone is

automatically assigned to you, meaning you don't get to choose your instructor. Side note to those wanting to make money in the summer, this is a great gig. One day I was teaching a new little boy how to do something, probably survive in the pool after I went and introduced myself to the parents first and last name to be polite. I was about to start my spiel of what the boy and I should work on throughout the summer when I noticed the shock on the parents faces. The dad of the boy asked if I was related to and proceeded to say my father's name. I giddily said, yeah, he's my dad. And then the man and woman started to cry and explain. 30 years ago, this man was near death for some condition I cannot remember. He had seen every specialist who all told him he would not

survive. In a final ditch effort to save his life, he went to see my father. My father was an internal medicine specialist and lung doctor from the 60s till his death in 2019. He served as a doctor in the Air Force, was an ICU doctor before settling down with his own practice. He sat on multiple boards fighting for the rights of women to choose, for the rights of black people, and so much more. He was also a collector of odd things. I promise this comes in handy. So on this day, when the man saw me in front of me went to see my father, explaining his condition, my father had an idea. In the 1950s and 60s, iron lungs were used to treat people with multiple types of conditions, but were not used anymore because of modern technology. Think big iron tank you basically

lay in. We've seen the pictures. With just your head sticking out. Yeah, it's so scary. It's so scary. However, my father, the hoarder and collector had said object in the basement. Oh no. Oh my god. He suggested they try it. And 30 years later, this man was watching the daughter of the physician who saved his life teaching his son to swim. Oh no. Oh, that got me. A son and family that would never have existed had my father not thought out of the box. We were all in tears by the end. See, he was a brilliant man who also battled bipolar disorder, but always said to me to never stop asking questions or you won't find the right answers and fight for your health. I have more stories like this and they fill me with joy when I miss him. 20 years later,

after I met that man, I now have a family and gave my son his name. Oh. Anyways, thanks for reading, H. I love that story. I know. What if they were like, anyway, your son is a terrible swimmer? Yeah, that's nice. But guess what? On to the business at hand here at the pool. The subject line of this is kids are dumb. And then in parentheses, it says, it's me. I'm the kid. Just starts. Hey, first time writer, long time listener, etc. You guys are the best and got me through the long days of quarantine with two little kids at home while also being pregnant and super nauseous all day every day with my third. Anyways, right? Let's get into it. So scary. Like so scary to be like, oh, I'm going to bring a new life into the world.

What the hell is going on? We're in quarantine. So scary. Anyways, let's get into it. Somewhere along the way, that's on the email. I didn't say that. Somewhere along the way, you guys asked for stories of kids being dumb in the 90s. I wish I had a good drunk kid story, but all kids were unfortunately sober in this one. I'm a middle child with an older brother and a younger brother who played every sport possible. So weekends growing up were spent in any and all gymnasiums either playing or watching someone else play basketball. These basketball tournaments lasted all day Saturday and all day Sunday. And my mom also volunteered to help with the concession stand if we weren't playing that day. So basically we lived at the gym for the winter. One of these

weekends I was bored and didn't want to watch my brother play what seemed like his 95th game of the day. So I was exploring with some other friends. I had to be around second grade at the time. And we were seeing what we could get into without our parents noticing we weren't on the bleachers anymore. We found some pay phones in the lobby. Maybe six of them in a row. And since we didn't have any money to call an actual person, we had the brilliant idea to dial different variations of 911 to see if any call would actually go through. I feel like children of today can't understand the feeling of growing up before the internet and before cell phones where you, when you were looking for fun, like this person is talking about, you're literally like

maybe there'll be a chair in the lobby. Maybe there'll be a ladder. Anybody will find like anything like office supplies that we can play with. Yes, like the filing cabinet we can get into and then lock ourselves into accidentally. That's it. That's literally it. Meanwhile, today kids are like, I'm going to watch frozen on this screen, this screen and this screen. Okay. So, so they find pay phones. Okay. My friends were dialing combinations of numbers like 912, 191 and 910, and then hanging up. But no one explained to me. But if you really dialed 911, the police would show up to where you were calling from and check it out. Since I didn't know this little detail, I thought to myself, why don't

I just call 911? And if it goes through, I'll hang up if someone answers the phone and I'll be cool story to tell my friends. So I called 911. The operator picked up and asked what my emergency was. And since I was a dumb board kid, and it obviously wasn't an emergency, I hung up and told my friends about it. It was only then that they told me what would happen if you called 911 and my stomach dropped. I started internally freaking out that the police would come and arrest me. I also didn't know what you really needed to do to get arrested as an eight year old in the suburbs of Detroit. So I went back to the bleachers and sat by my mom as if nothing had happened, hoping that nothing else would happen. Oh my God. And that

sentence right there is little Karen's entire childhood. Just doing something. I just did something. I hope no one knows. I hope it doesn't get worse. Lend back in with the crowd and hold your breath. I bet you had the most obvious little kid face. I bet your mom knew immediately, like what did Karen do just now? I think she did, but I think it's because early on she told me she knew when I was lying, which whether or not that's true. If you tell a little kid that, then they're like, then they're like, well, I can't lie because she'll know. That's so smart. That's so smart. Very, very tricky waiting. Okay. Unfortunately, my friends were right. And the police did come to the gym to check it out and make sure everything was okay when they couldn't see anything actually

happening that they would need to be called for. And this is bolded. They proceeded to stop the basketball game, take the microphone to center court and ask everyone who called 911 from the table in the gym. Oh, I hope her friends aren't rats. Oh my God. This is like they are busting balls. That is like nightmare. Holy shit. Okay. The ultimate symbol of authority and you fucked with them. Yeah. And now everyone's going to know because you didn't have a dime. Okay. They looked around and waited for someone to confess while explaining that this was a huge inconvenience for them and a dangerous thing to do if there was no crime to report. I was probably a dark shade of red at that point, attempting to literally disappear from the bleachers and also

staring straight down, hoping that none of my little friends would tell on me. Luckily they didn't. Nice. Nice. Sweet. No rats. My mom never found out it was me and the 95th basketball game of the day resumed. Safe to say that I never called 911 from a pay phone, car phone or landline ever again after that day. And neither did any of my friends. Yeah. Thanks for all you both do and for creating this amazing community that we get to be a part of. It is literally the best. Stay sexy and only call the police from a pay phone if you actually want them to show up. Maureen. Maureen. Maureen, you nailed it. Isn't that the fucking greatest? I'm like kind of sweating a little bit from that story where I feel like I'm in trouble. This is just like when I got

screamed at at the science fair at my grammar school because it starts so innocently. And that's like the way that they're telling the story where you're like, I'm bored. I'm going to go from this room to that room and just see what happens. And I only have eight years of information. So I don't know how things fucking work yet or whatever. There's very little running scenarios and then going, not that one, not that one, not that one. And instead it's like, hey, let's all go into this bathroom and see. It's always that. I started running a girl's mouse trap like device at this science fair. I just walked up and dropped the ball and it went in this cool maze thing. And then three kids came over and were like, what is that? And I go, watch this.

And then I started doing it and I got this huge crowd came around. Oh, no. The girl who built it was not there. I think she was sick that day. And so I was running it like it was mine. And it was like this show where I was loving it. And then Mrs. Patterson came over and screamed like, how dare you touch someone else's thing. And I was just like, wow, lady. Wow. Lady. Very awful. It's meant to be touched. Yeah. Oh, my last one made me cry. Okay. It's called four year old murderino lighthearted with a twist. It just starts among the spooky, slightly haunted things my four year old has said to me this week. And then it says, quote, your grandma is an angel, but she isn't dying yet.

Or quote, I saw Bigfoot, but I can't see his eyes, etc. Today while driving, she told me matter of factly, that girl gave a goat a cookie. What girl? What goat? I'm a single mom. So there are very few things my daughter does in her little world that I am not aware of needing to know what exactly she was referring to. I followed up calmly. Is it something that happened on YouTube? No. Did this happen at the farm with Mimi and Papa? No. Maybe you dreamt this last night after we had cookies for dessert. No. Clearly, she had seen and offered a treat to the antichrist. And then she said, they was in your car. I then realized that just a moment before a mini soda been playing quietly in the background.

And while I wasn't paying attention, she was. She was talking about you, Georgia, and your pet, quote, goat Elvis. Oh, your goat. Oh, my little pet goat. What do you want to cook? A cookie when it ended. And then he makes that noise that does not sound like a cat. Oh, my God, I'm crying. Oh, sweet as that. I'm literally this, like, the first time I've cried in six months. Although my small daughter is now one of your biggest fans, I'm thinking it might be time for me to stop listening with her. Thank you for everything. Just everything. See. That is so delightful. The girl gave a go to cookie. Yeah, it's like that. That's kind of what it is. Yeah, it kind of sounds like that.

Okay, here's my last one. This is pretty awesome because we just talked on the main episode, I think a week or two ago, about the crazy weather in LA. It's been raining, pouring nonstop, but up in Crestline, like Arrowhead near Big Bear, they've had, like, record-breaking snow. So we got a story from there. Okay. The subject line is, I survived the 2023 Southern California Blizzard, and it just says, hello. I was out shoveling the 91 inches of snow that we received in Crestline over the past week while listening to your podcast where you mentioned getting some snow in Los Angeles. Crestline is a small community of about 3,000 people in the San Bernardino Mountains at 5,000 feet elevation. We typically get a couple snowstorms a year, and all of us are

prepared for one to three feet in a winter storm. This March 2023 was the first blizzard that ever occurred in Southern California, and it smacked right into our little town. We got 91 inches of snow, and a neighboring town got 120 inches, and the county did not plow our roads for almost a week. So by the time they got around to it, it was a full-blown crisis. There was six to eight feet of snow on all the roads and buildings. Our grocery store and eight other stores in town, a hardware store, tire store, et cetera, collapsed under the weight of the snow. A total of 13 people have been found dead in their homes so far. Oh my god. I had no idea. I knew about the snow, but I did not realize that that many people had been trapped and died in their homes.

So it goes on to say, however, as always, the helpers come out of the community. I'm definitely going to cry during this one. However, as always, the helpers come out of the community and make things happen, and there are lots of them up here. I am blown away by all the friends I have who are suffering with collapsing roofs and structural damage to their homes, but are still organizing within a day to get a helicopter drop of food after the CHP closed off all roads into our town and got that food out to the residents who are homebound, plus setting up coordinated online system to allow people to ask for wellness checks, which were conducted by other residents. So essentially, this community organized and

then just went in and tried to take care of their own or did take care of their own. They even coordinated to invite the world's central kitchen up here to feed people without power or natural gas and pass out produce. The people I wanted to write you about, though, are two badass heroes, Katie Curtis and Erica Griffith, both single moms who went out of their way to help through this. Erica brought her two young children to a remote ranch on an unplowed road on the outskirts of our town to live in a small caretaker's house and care for the ill homeowner and her horses through the storm. She shoveled snow, fed horses, and kept up the property by herself through the entire seven-day blizzard before walking home with two children

and digging eight feet of snow off of her own house. Holy shit. My friend, Katie, found out that a family on an unplowed road had a child who needed to be on oxygen. The family had no power, was running out of gas for their generator, and had no way to get help quick enough. Katie put on her snowshoes, found an old sled, and hiked a five-gallon gas can five miles in the snow to deliver the gas that the family needed, even though she didn't know them and had kids of her own to take care of. This is a single mother. Amazing. They have to put on snowshoes because you can't walk in that much snow. You're not just walking down the street to help your neighbor. I mean, this is insane. I can't imagine. It says, I know these are all small acts of bravery in the

overall scheme of things, but when Katie asked why she did it, she said, I'm fortunate to have a healthy body and I'm able to do hard things. It's an amazing quote. So that's my fucking hooray through all of this. I survived the only blizzard in Southern California and have awesome tough mountain friends. Here's to doing the hard things when needed from Sheila. Oh, that's incredible. People are amazing and people fucking care about each other and people will like risk their own asses for their neighbor when given the opportunity. The helpers. She got to look for the helpers. Yeah. I just love that. It's so lovely. And also the idea that that, I mean, we heard like kind of heard about it, but I didn't realize it was, I didn't realize 13 people died. That's

so horrible. Hey, write us your helper stories, like the stories that you've heard and like catastrophes and stuff of the helpers. We want to hear those. Great idea. Oh my God. And send them to my favorite murder at Gmail. Thank you for listening and being here and helping. And stay sexy and don't get murdered. Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie? This has been an exactly right production. Our producer is Alejandra Keck. And this episode was engineered and mixed by Stephen Ray Morris. Stephen, 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.

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