My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 340

Episode Date: July 17, 2023

This week’s hometowns include a roller coaster PR stunt gone wrong and a love letter to Steve Zahn.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

I'm Candace DeLong and on my new podcast, Killer Psychy Daily, I share a quick 10-minute rundown every weekday on the motivations and behaviors of the cold-butter killers you read about in the news. Listen to the Amazon Music Exclusive Podcast Killer Psychy Daily in the Amazon Music app. Download the app today! I love you. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite love. My favorite murder of the mini-sode. That's right, it's mini for you. Are you ready to hear your emails? Oh, should I go first? Yeah, this time? Okay.

This is called Solo Trip Go Story, Sorda. Hi, all. I've been listening to the show since the episodes were named after the episode number. And I did not once feel I had a story worthy of retelling and tell you called for solo trip stories. Trigger warning, this does contain a mention of someone who died by suicide, so I won't call it lighthearted, but it is uplifting. In October 2018, I decided to take a solo road trip from L.A.

to Portland, Oregon. I planned every stop I made ahead of time, which included a night stay in Yorica. It's a pretty quaint little coastal town in Northern California where my aunt used to live. A little about my aunt Sam. She was sort of oddballed, black sheep of the family. Never married or had kids, but loved her dogs like her own children. Been there. Picture the long silver-haired chain-smoking

crystal-wearing hippy type, and that says an icon. She wasn't the kind of person that was easy to get along with, but don't get me wrong, she adored my sister and me and was nothing but loving towards us. The older I get, the more I feel I understand her. I, too, move to the West Coast, have no plans of marrying or having children and prefer the company of my cat to most people. Unfortunately, I can't ask for her side on a lot of things because about 16 or 17 years ago

she died by suicide. Back to my road trip in Eureka. The point of the trip was a sort of self-reflection walkabout. I had a lot of demons that I needed to face and my goal was to fall in love with myself by the end of the trip or at least pave the way to make that possible. This particular night, I went to a little restaurant on the water

and sat at a table by the window where I could watch the sunset on the bay. It was the first time in a long time that I felt true peace, not just happy in a moment, but actually feeling okay with being in my own company. It says weird concept, I know, which is totally not. If I can get that completely, I'm sure we've all been there. I think a lot of people feel that way. Yeah. At the end of my meal, I didn't want to leave.

The restaurant wasn't full, so I wasn't taking space away from more customers. I wanted to treat myself to a second glass of wine, but immediately did the math with the budget I had for the trip. It wasn't looking good. I asked myself, what would Aunt Sam do? That woman loved her some wine and never missed an opportunity for a small indulgence, so the answer was obvious,

but was I willing to sacrifice fast food lunch the next day for another glass? Before I could make up my mind, the waitress came by and told me that she had poured a glass of wine for someone but poured the wrong one and didn't want to throw it out. She offered it to me. What are the odds? And not only that, it happened to be my favorite kind of wine, a cab, sobs.

I graciously accepted it, and when she left, I looked at the empty seat across from me. Though the restaurant wasn't closed with no smoking, I suddenly caught a whiff of cigarette smoke and had the nagging feeling that I wasn't alone at the table. Though I can't say for sure, something told me that aunt Sam was there having a glass with me. In case you're curious, the road trip was a total success. Though one weekend, can't cure all the demons, it gave me a better sense of myself and the strength to later seek out a doctor and get on medication. Much of that, I have to think the MFM team and family because of the way you normalize mental health struggles and seeking out help for it. Thank you for filling the last seven years of my life with morbidity and humor. Stay sexy and get that second

glass. Even if it's non-agolic, JT Talley, she, her. Nice. Yes, as aunties, I think we appreciate that one. Also just that idea kind of going on like what they call a walk about, but kind of ending up where your aunt lived, you know, obviously, maybe there's something subconscious to that about like, what is it to be by yourself and actually analyze yourself and take kind of stock in your life to do something about it? I mean, yeah, I don't know, that's really beautiful. And also, it's weird to smell cigarette smoke in a like a modern restaurant.

Yeah, totally. It's simply not allowed. That maybe Sam used to go to for all you know. That'd be awesome. And also that is really, sometimes those stories are like, these are all the things that are happening and then later on I found a $20 bill or something like that.

And it's like immediately the waitress is like, here. Yeah, here. Totally. You don't have to decide anymore. I decided for you. I love that. I love it. The subject line of this email is jury duty,

the mafia, and the 70s. Dear MFM friends, in the late 1970s, my mother-in-law Elaine was summoned for federal jury duty in Philadelphia. She was ultimately selected to serve as a juror for the trial of a man who was accused of smuggling cigarettes for the mafia. And the cigarettes were smuggled to avoid paying taxes. There was at least one witness on the inside, a mafia guy who would be testifying for the government. A few days into the inside, a Mafia guy who would be testifying for the government.

A few days into the trial, Elaine and her fellow jurors were suddenly whisked out of the courthouse by US marshals. They were each accompanied to their homes, instructed to pack suitcase and told to speak to no one. Oh my God. Yeah. The jury was brought to a hotel outside of Philadelphia. It was there that they learned that the guy who was to testify against the mafia had been

found dead in the trunk of his car. He had been murdered and due to the violent act and ongoing concern for safety, the jury would be secustered and guarded for the remainder of the trial. A couple of days later, the jurors were all able to call home. During her phone call, Elaine told my father-in-law, Herman, that the jurors would gather together in the evening to unwind after the long day of trial. Having a cocktail would be nice, but there

wasn't any alcohol available to them. Herman asked for a list of beverages the jurors would like, and because they lived the closest to the hotel, he was given permission to make a booze run. He dropped off the goods with the US marshals who were, quote, unquote, guarding the jury. LOL, I loved growing up in the 70s. It's true. It's like, it's basically like, we can all agree the federal government, these US, we can all agree that we need some brown liquor, right? In this situation. The end of a hard day. Come on. Yeah. It goes on to say,

despite the brutal murder of a witness, the government's case proceeded, and two weeks later, the jury found the defendant Yeltsy is charged. The jurors were thanked for their outstanding service and returned unharmed to their homes and lives. My mother-in-law is now 92 years old and remains active and sharp. My beloved father-in-law passed away in 2017. If called upon, Elaine would still make an excellent juror. And me and my husband, their son, would be delighted to take up the booze runs where Herman left off.

Stay sexy and fulfill your civic obligations, but keep Herman on speed dial. Liz, she, her. Oh, that's cute. Isn't that sweet? Yeah, I love that. How scary. What makes a person a murderer? Are they born to kill? Or are they made to kill? I'm Candace DeLong, and on my podcast Killer Psychie Daily, I share a quick 10-minute run down every weekday on the motivations and behaviors of criminal masterminds. Cycle paths and cold-blooded killers you hear about in the news. I have decades of experience as a psychiatric nurse, FBI agent and criminal profiler. On Killer Psychie Daily, I'll give you insight into things like the rise in teen fentanyl deaths. Hate crimes performed by an in-cell and what exactly is going on in the

mind of Sam Bankman-Freed. And I'll bring on expert guests to dive deeper into the details, share information on cold cases, and answer some killer trivia. Hey Prime members, listen to the Amazon Music exclusive podcast Killer Psychy Daily in the Amazon Music app. Download the app today. Okay, this is called Penis Park Korea. Oh, the word penis comes up a lot in the story and it feels weird, but I'm gonna, it's a funny story. So, so far. Hello, I know you didn't ask for this, but since you were talking about the penis museum in your last mini-sode, don't remember that. It's a different podcast.

I thought I would tell you about the time I stumbled across a park full of penises in Korea. Nearly 20 years ago when I was working in South Korea, I decided to go on a road trip. One of my co-workers ominously told me that there was a park I had to see and gave me directions. So I went to this park, I don't know its real name, but I will call it penis park as it was full of giant penises.

I'm pretty sure whatever size penis you are currently imagining isn't large enough. I think 20-foot penis fountain that squirts water and then pops up into the air like the world's biggest erection. Penis benches, penis chairs, all of the zodiac animals carved into 12-foot tall marble penises. Enormous penises as far as the eye can see. Now you might be wondering why there is a part full of giant penises in Korea. Well, the story behind that is equally amazing. There was a young woman who had to gather seaweed, so her fiance wrote her out to some rocks in the sea. She died tragically when a storm blew in because her fiance didn't come to get her off that rock. In one version of the story, he'd gone drinking and forgot she was out there. Anyhow, having died a virgin, her ghost was really mad and scared away all the fish.

This story takes place in a fishing village and makes a lack of fish problematic. Drinking seemed to be the solution. A one day a fisherman who had gotten drunk because he couldn't go out and fish was on his way home and had to pee. He took out his penis and peed in the sea. The ghost of the woman, a band on the rock saw his penis and thought, well, that's real nice. I guess I'm good now. She stopped scaring away the fish, and they built a park on the spot where the fisherman peed in the sea to ensure her spirit remained at peace. So if you ever have a ghost problem,

there may be a phallic solution. The story of the creation of the park was told to me multiple times by a man who may or may not have been a tour guide. He just really wanted to make sure I understood the penises, so I cannot guarantee the story's accuracy. I bought a ceramic penis at the park gift shop and snuck it into my mother's China cabinet,

where it was on display for many years to the great amusement of me and my siblings. It has since disappeared. I have many fond memories of South Korea and all the wonderful people I met there and I'm planning to return on the near future and we'll revisit Pina's Park when I do. Thank you for your lovely podcast. It gets me through my long days at work, baby. Baby, how long were you in that park? Talking to strangers?

Yeah. Just hanging out. Yeah. You're just hanging out in that park. That's amazing. I feel like when you first started that story, I feel like I've seen or red mention of that somewhere before. Okay. Okay. This, okay. I'm not going to reach the subject line of this one. It just starts Hello Murdered Divas and then there's two

asterisks after that and then below it says pets included. One of the many ill-advised purchases my trash dad made on eBay in the 90s was an Army surplus parachute. I'm not sure what inspired this purchase. I think it was just a natural escalation of his obsession with kites. There were four of us kids at the time, and we lived on a little hill next to a retired farm in the Midwest, surrounded by a few trees, hill next to a retired farm in the Midwest, surrounded

by a few trees, and then corn fields as far as the I could see. At the bottom of our large backyard was a sturdy tree that already held a treehouse and a rope swing. Because our house was built on the highest point for several miles around, we would always get a lot of wind. On a particularly gusty day, my father decided it was time to take the day off work and fly his new parachute. This parachute was designed to be used when jumping out of a plane during World Board 2, but my father's idea was to anchor it to that large tree and try to fly it like a kite

using the steering ropes to keep it in the air with just the power of wind. Weird, maybe pointless, but so far harmless. Until he decided to fly my little brother. As my mother watched frantically from the window, probably deep in prayer, my dad tied one of those little red and yellow baby swings from our swing set below the giant parachute and upwent my seven year old little brother. At this point, the wind was gusting

from 25 to 30 miles an hour. I know this because my brother was clutching our home video recorder, recording a dizzying POV running commentary of the entire experience as he was lifted 10 to 20 feet in the air. Oh my god. I say 10 to 20 because as the wind gusted and died, this wing would shoot up with the gust and then plummet back towards the earth as my dad struggled to steer it to the next gust to keep it afloat. We all thought this was terrific fun. And the full danger of this activity didn't hit us until a few minutes after my sister, who was five years old, had been safely returned to earth after her turn to be flown like a kite.

As the parachute took off again from the ground, the empty baby swing bobbing and tossing below it, there was a loud crack like a gunshot and the thick branch that the parachute had been anchored to broke off of the trunk and the whole thing went flying out of control across our yard and into the neighbor's farm yard. We all stood and watched in horror as the little red baby swing smashed into the exposed rafters of an old barn and the parachute wrapped itself around a nearby tree. It was a very quiet group of us that looked to my dad for a cue on how to react to this turn of events. Good thing your sister wasn't still in there. He said cheerfully as he started to walk back to the house to retrieve the ladder.

I was still in there. He said cheerfully as he started to walk back to the house to retrieve the ladder. Needless to say, my mother who watched the whole thing from the kitchen window put a stop to the quote, flying the kids like a kite game forever after that. My father has put my siblings and my life in danger many times, but I'm pleased to report that we have all reached adulthood with minimal injuries and maximum need for therapy. I wish I could send you the video of my little brother took, but I'm no longer in contact with my family of origin, because well, Christianity and queerness don't always mix. Thank you also much for providing me with hours of terror and laughter. Your commitment to silliness and learning publicly inspires me. Stay sexy and when your dad is also in the cult,

find somebody else to call Ilana, he, they, she. Ah, Ilana. I mean, you can still tell Trash Dad stories because it's your memory. So you get to do whatever you want with it. Yeah, now you get to build a new life. That's right. This one is about someone and an event

that comes up weirdly a lot in my house, so I had to read it. This is called Fabio, a goose in my dad. Oh, yeah. I don't know why Fabio gets as a joke brought up a lot when Vince will be like, I'm going out, don't invite Fabio over or something like that. And then I was thinking that maybe a lot of the young kids who listen to this podcast, those youngins don't know about this story. Don't maybe don't who Fabio is. He was this like, you know, quote unquote, honk, who was on the cover of like romance

novels all the time and in the 90s, right? And it's just a kind of ridiculous persona. Yeah, he kind of was like less talented Arnold Schwarzenegger with long hair. Yeah, totally. Totally. Yeah, yeah, supposed to be sexy for some people. I don't know. And then he was just like in commercials, right? Yeah, I can't believe it's not butter. He'd be, yeah, that's right. A parody of himself. Yeah. Yeah. All right. Yeah. That's right. So this one is a story. Hello, best friends. So it's March 30th, 1999. My dad worked at Bush Gardens, Williamsburg in Virginia, and he had been busy as fuck working 14-hour days

in preparation for the opening of the newest roller coaster, Apollo's chariot. My dad had the coolest job of director of maintenance, so he was in charge of everything when it came to the rides in the park. For the roller coasters, first public ride, Bush Gardens had gotten none other than Fabio to go on the coaster, dressed in Roman robes, surrounded by a train full of women wearing white robes. And then it says insert Karen and Georgia explaining who Fabio is to the younger listeners here.

Check, check. The train pulled out of the station and came back two minutes later, but something was wrong. Fabio was in the front row and was covered in blood. The woman next to him slattered with red. So what the fuck happened? Well, the first major drop of the coaster, which is a 210-foot drop with the train going about 70 miles per hour. And nearby Canadian goose had been nesting, and at the exact perfect moment, decided to set off and flew straight into the front of the coaster. This hit broke the bird's neck, killing it instantly,

but its body bounced up and hit Fabio directly in the face. He got a cut on the bridge of his nose that luckily only needed three stitches, but things could have been a lot worse. Now my dad worked at Bush for like 30 something years and something like this had never happened. And of course it happens to freaking Fabio. The only other story I remember him telling us

at the dinner table was that someone came back into the station from another coaster with a live fish. Apparently some bird had been flying with it and dropped it midair and some lucky writer caught it. The caught a fish. So the next day I'm in fifth grade. I tell everyone on the bus that Fabio got hit by a goose and my dad was there and of course,

no one believed me because what was that date? April 1st, 1999. That's right, April Fool's Day. It wasn't until the photo of Fabio re-entering the station, covered in blood. It was plastered all over the newspapers that my friends finally believed it. Go look at it, it's fucking epic. Anyway, this is long enough, so I won't go into much of the aftermath, except that apparently Fabio was a good sport of it all.

My dad and his team definitely had to play damage control, but at the end of the day, it was just a freak accident, and Fabio walked away just fine. Thanks for reading. I remember to stay sexy. And if you're on a roller coaster going 70 miles per hour, duck. Cheers, Kate. Duck. Duck.

That picture, I'm glad to hear that he took it well. Yeah. The picture when they pulled back into the station. He looks his. Lived. And my friend Sam Moan has a tattoo of that on his upper thigh. It's the funniest thing I've ever seen. Oh my God, that's epic.

It's great. It's really good. And he just kind of, it's that thing if he's wearing shorts, he can just pull it up a little and show you his face. Yes. Fabio with blood on his face. Oh, my God. How embarrassing face with a goose. It's so embarrassing. And he's also, I don't know, maybe, maybe that's when like, kitschy stuff like that peaked because it's like, he was, I didn't realize he was wearing like a toga wherever they said white robes. That's so goofy. So we're forever that either.

There's a bunch of women and they're like, what are you guys doing? About 1999, what's up? Okay, I'm not going to read you the subject line. It says, hello, dear hearts. I've noticed over the years that Karen and I have some random things in common. First and most important,

we both have dad's name Jim, who were and are firefighters. Second, we both drove and total our Honda Fits pretty much at the same time. Lastly, we both shared an appreciation of Steve's on. I actually sent him a love letter when I was a legend. It's so embarrassing. It's so embarrassing.

I never heard back, but I'm thinking it's because A, he was probably 30 something at the time and was like, what the fuck do I do with the love letter from a child? Or the mailing address I got from Ask Jeaves was no good. And he never got it either way. Steve, if you're listening, I still think you're great. So do I, Steve. We all do. I do too. We all do. It's hard to argue with Steve's on national treasure. Okay, so everyone knows that writing and library books is strictly verboten.

As a former librarian, I will say that there is one small exception to this. These large print, old Western novels are most popular with older grand paws as you might imagine. These guys are old enough that technology isn't really their thing, so they can't just look up what books they have and haven't read. I think a lot of them have that Lawdnor S.V.U. syndrome where they get 15 minutes in and think, I've read this one before. They figured out a clever way around this problem with a simple system. If you open the inner cover of any large print western in the Lake Agassi library system, you will find these guys started putting their marks inside the books. A lot of the time

it's just their initials, but some of them actually came up with their own cattle brands. This allows them to quickly flip open a book and look for their insignia to know if they've read the book or not. Oh my God, that is brilliant. I know, it's like a little subset subculture, like library thing that warmed my heart, the second I read it.

It says, I even witnessed two patrons in line discussing the books they planned to check out. One was pointing to the inner cover. CKB with a circle? That's me! I haven't been a librarian for a decade now, and I know some of the oldsters probably aren't Earthside anymore. I love the idea that they're small and relatively harmless graffiti is still living on in all of these books. If you'll allow me, and not so quick shout out to my mom, Kelly, sister, Katie, cousin, autumn, and best friend Courtney. Lastly, hello to my sweet girls, Jane 3, Louisa, age one, and the mystery bun I'm hauling around in my exhausted oven. They are all, of course,

too young to be murderinos, but someday they might listen to this. And I want them to know that their mom is always thinking of them and loves them. Take care, Kelsey. That's so sweet. It's not sweet. I'm like, normally we wouldn't let a person do a five-person extended shout-out, but Kelsey has served time in the library system and she gets to do whatever she wants because libraries are sacred. They're trying to take away libraries. This bizarre fascist regime that wants to shut down information and learning and knowledge. It can't happen and there's a bunch of other current day Kelsey's out there fighting it. So we get to we get to point that out anytime need be.

Yeah, you can even shout out your in utero, child. That's how much we appreciate librarians. For the future idea that someday her children are going to grow up and listen to this fucking podcast. Kelsey. Oh my god. You're high. No, when this podcast is over, we're deleting all of them. So they won't exist anymore. Goodbye. Get it now. Well, you can't force them to listen of them. So they won't exist anymore. Goodbye. Get it now, well, you can't force them to listen to it now while they can. Thanks for writing in everyone and keep writing in

or writing for the first time. I don't know what your situation is. Any story that you have will pretty much probably read it. It's just how it goes. Totally. Yeah. And thanks for being a part of this. Stay sexy. And don't it goes. Totally, yeah. And thanks for being a part of this, stay sexy.

And don't get murdered! Goodbye. Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie? Ah! Ah! [♪ OUTRO MUSIC PLAYING [♪ This has been an exactly right production.

Our producer is Alejandra Keck. And this episode was engineered and mixed by Stephen Ray Morris. Ta-da! Email your hometowns and fucking arrays to my favorite murder at gmail.com. Follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at my favorite murder and Twitter at my Fave Murder. Goodbye! Listen, follow, leave a serve of you on Amazon Music, Apple Podcast, or wherever you get your podcasts.

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