My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 376

Episode Date: March 25, 2024

This week’s hometowns include a diving survival story and a grandpa who was in the CIA. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This is Exactly Right. I'm Kate Winkler Dawson, a journalist, author, and podcast host. And I'm Paul Holes, a retired investigator with experience solving some of America's most notorious cold cases. Together, we host Buried Bones, a historical true crime podcast on the Exactly Right Network. Each week, we examine a different case from history and use our years of experience and 21st century forensics to bring new insights into these very old tragedies. Like the time the Sausage King of Chicago's wife went missing in 1897.

Don't miss new episodes every Wednesday. Follow Buried Bones wherever you get your podcasts. Hello. And welcome to my favorite murder. The mini-sode. Where we read you your stuff. Your emails. You send them to us. Thank you.

It's such a great setup. You go first. Yeah. Okay. This says crazy diving survival story and then in parentheses it says lighthearted. Oh my God. I already have, I'm already sweating diving Yeah scares the shit out of me. Okay. I don't understand it. I don't either. I okay. Hi MFM fam

I've basically been listening to your podcast non-stop since I found you last year and I'm almost caught up I was listening to a mini-sode where you guys got on the topic of riptides and water vortexes And I decided that this was the time to write in. And then in parentheses, it says, there have been so many times I've considered doing so before but didn't for one reason or another. When I was a teenager, our family went on vacation to Hawaii. For one of our activities, we scuba dived in those lava tubes underneath a volcano, which I'm like, what?

I didn't know that was a thing you could do. It says picture swimming into a cave, but having the cave then wrap all around you, which is like, that's called a nightmare. What do you, I don't wanna picture that. That is a horror movie. That is. Okay, so it says, so our group was swimming

through this one tube, we'll call it tube A, in an endeavor to see a ghost shrimp that lived at the back of the tube. Not worth it. No. Go to a fish market and like look around. Picture a shrimp with a sheet over it and two eyes cut out. And then their little antenna is coming out of the holes.

Yeah. It was all cool fun and games swimming down this tube, seeing all this wildlife. I ditched my mom and I went to find my dad and sister who were lazily floating along in the back. After deciding they were boring, I began to try to swim back toward the ghost shrimp when all of a sudden a wave on its way back out to sea caught me and pulled me into this connecting tube. I was scraping my hands along the walls trying to stop myself because I was certain that this was going to end badly. So the current thinks this is funny and does it a few more times until I'm literally balling into my mask, raking my hands along the wall, trying to get a grip, all while envisioning

the current forcing me back against the wall and my tank somehow exploding. And then in parentheses it says I was a dramatic teenager. Then it says finally, I was able to claw my way back to steady water and found my mom still crying about my near-death experience. My mom's trying to understand why I'm so upset while I watch the rest of our group swim into my death tube. Then to my embarrassing astonishment, our dive instructor simply stands up. What? My embarrassment will never be matched. I was simultaneously relieved and somewhat enraged at the fact that all I had to do during my dance with death was stand the fuck up.

I was so embarrassed, but luckily I could hide it with the ocean. My favorite line of all time, hide your embarrassment with the ocean. So this whole time, if I just relaxed, I probably would have realized that I could touch the sea floor and just stand up. So this whole time, if I just relaxed, I probably would have realized that I could touch the seafloor and just stand up. So that's my story warning about the dangers of panicking. I'm very grateful to both of you for the community you created and how you make it safe for me to feel any and every manner of feeling. Thank you for speaking out for those whose voices have been silenced. We need people like you with a platform like yours to speak the words that make the difference. Wow. Thank you. Fondly Olivia. I love Olivia's story so much. It's so classic. So dramatic. Yeah. It's the ocean and a cave. So it's

not illogical thing to be like, oh, this is it Like I'm done for. But then it's like, always remember, the ground is underneath you. The panicking will never help, never give you a clear answer as to what to do next, unfortunately, because it's like the easiest thing to do is panic. Right, it's automatic. Right? It's so annoying, like, no, calm down.

That one hit you. Yeah, did it hit you? Yeah, let's all just exhale out the panic. Listen, as a panicker, as a known panicker, this one's called Go To Museum Jail. And it just starts, ad lib clever intro here. In Minnesota 268, you asked for stories about breaking obvious rules in a museum.

It just so happens that during my undergrad, I did a series of internships in small local museums. Have fun. The story takes place in a county historical center housed in a New England jail. The original jail was made of wood and was built in 1792, but because a wood cell block was problematic, think bugs, cold and easy escape, it was upgraded to granite in 1858. The original wooden cells remain

in the upstairs portion of the jail, but they have been repurposed into rooms that contain exhibits of non-jail related local history. The basement slash dungeon contained the modern iron and granite cells, so the ones built in 1858. The cell doors were fully functioning, but were a pain in the ass to unlock, so we kept the cell doors open and added signs that said, all caps, do not close the cell doors. Because the locking mechanism would engage as soon as the door was closed. Despite this warning, visitors would often try to close themselves in the cells for the locked up photo op. Of course.

Oh yeah. Museum staff would usually be able to stop amateur photographers before they incarcerated themselves but one afternoon I failed in my duty to protect visitors from their own stupidity. A family of three was visiting the museum and while I was answering questions from the mother, the father, and about eight-year-old son were walking around the cells. Suddenly the mother and I heard a distinct clank followed by an oh fuck coming from the father. The father told me that the son closed himself in the cell and

it's an absolute lie because those were heavy ass iron doors, but whatever. Flamed it on the son. And the son was freaking out. Remember that doors were a pain and they asked to open? Well, this time nobody working in the museum that day could get the door to open. So we had to call a locksmith. In a cruel twist of fate, the local locksmith was off duty that day and his shop was being managed by his apprentice who was inexperienced with 17th century locks. Like, yeah.

Everybody is. Everybody living today is inexperienced with them, I think. And this poor kid is losing his fucking mind. And he got blamed. We ended up calling the curator for another local historical society to come down and open the cell doors and eventually remove the locking mechanisms from all the cell doors. Smart. After all was said and done, the kid did about two hours of hard time. The father learned a valuable lesson about reading signs and following basic instructions.

And I learned how to remove a lock from a 17th century jail cell. Stay sexy and don't lock yourself in jail, Jacob. Thank you, Jacob. Because seriously, people don't read signs anymore and they don't give a shit about like why somebody would have the necessity to put up a sign indicates that there's a problem that you need to know about as opposed to like no no I just thought I'd do my thing where it's like but no because the thing you're gonna do you're gonna there's really a problem it doesn't relate to me these rules don't relate to me it's just me and my son we're cool and it's just like well I wish they were both in there no no they both were the dad and the son oh sorry I thought. And it just like, well, I wish they were both in there. No, no, they both were, the dad and the son.

Oh, sorry, I thought the kid was freaking out because he was by himself. Oh, no, I think they were both in there. Wait, do you remember, did you ever take a tour of Alcatraz and they put you into the- I have a photo of my dad from that time in one of the cells with a grim,

like doing a mean grimace scowl. But don't they also put you into solitary confinement for like one minute? I can't imagine they do that anymore. I don't they also put you into solitary confinement for like one minute? I can't imagine they do that anymore. I don't remember that part. I remember it, but maybe it was, yeah, because they just put you in and like, check this out, shut the door,

we'll put you in for one minute. And then it's like, there are people who spent three years in this or whatever, where it's like, oh my God. Oh my God. I have a quick question for you listener. Did you have a captain's bed growing up? My sister and I both had them. They were those awesome beds that basically were a twin bed on top and then drawers on the bottom. Well, fast forward to 2024, the good people at Articl

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is doing an amazing job of processing all these emails. Yeah. We get to them when we get to them. It's March, we're only three months behind. In the spirit of Christmas, I wanted to share a family story of holidays past. When I was a kid around age eight or so, we went to visit my grandparents in Ohio for the holidays as usual. One afternoon, my mom and I decided to bake some Christmas cookies. We preheated the oven, mixed up the dough,

and measured out spoonfuls onto the cookie sheets. Then we smelled smoke. Unbeknownst to us, my aunt had been proofing a loaf of bread in the empty oven, and the towel covering it had caught fire. My mom quickly instructed me to fetch my grandma from the den where she was watching football with an assortment of my aunts and uncles. I rushed in and shyly whispered in her ear, not wanting to make a scene, grandma the oven's on fire. She mistook my warning for a game of telephone and whispered into my uncle's ear, the oven's

on fire, pass it on. By the time the message made it down the line to the end of the couch, my mom must have come in and alerted them to the situation. I love that grandma so much. She's like, oh yeah, you want to have fun? I'll have grandma so much. She's like, oh yeah, you want to have fun? I'll have fun with you. Not listening to the actual message at all. Says, I don't remember how the situation was resolved, but I distinctly remember my aunt

being disgruntled about her erstwhile loaf of bread. Happy holidays and don't forget to check the oven for potential hazards before preheating Madeline. She, her. Man, this is the first house that we've ever lived in where we didn't have to store the baking trays in the oven because there was never room. So you'd preheat your oven and always have to take out a hot ass baking sheet. Or in my case, an old piece of pizza.

So many times in my life, I've opened the oven like because I cook every two months or something. I'm like, what the hell is that? It's just like a preserved, petrified piece of pizza that I reheated and forgot about. I love that. My granddad was in the CIA. Yes. Hello, everyone. I am in the middle of catching up with the pod. And I just listened to Minnesota 184, where. I am in the middle of catching up with the pod, and I just listened to Minnesota 184,

where you said to keep the CIA grandpa stories coming. I am sure you've moved on to different topics since July 2020, but please humor me my story. We have not. We haven't. We haven't moved. We don't go topic to topic. All topics are on the table.

That's right. Time is a flat circle. That's right. Growing up, my dad's family was always somewhat aloof. They lived abroad for most of my dad's childhood in various European countries. So it always brushed off the distant behavior thinking, I guess that's just how people in Europe are.

The story was that my granddad was in the state service. He was very gifted with languages and was hired by the state department after serving in the army in World state service. He was very gifted with languages and was hired by the state department after serving in the army in World War II. My dad's family lived in Finland, Italy, Belgium, and Brussels. Everywhere they went, my Grammy connected the culture through their traditional foods,

she was an amazing cook, and social traditions. And so they had some wild costume parties in Germany. And my dad and aunt alternated between international schools where their parents were living and boarding schools back in the States. At least this is the story I got. Until one day I was driving in the car with my mom. I want to say I was in 10th grade. Somehow we got on the topic of my grandpa and I made some comment about him being in the state service to which my mom said, you mean the CIA. She was honestly surprised that I didn't already know,

but I was a pretty self-absorbed teenager. So maybe it shouldn't have been that surprising. You got to admit it when it happens. A pretty self-absorbed teenager, also known as a teenager. That's right. Turns out being in the state department was his cover and he was in fact a member of the CIA. He was recruited straight out of the army

into what was then the OSS, Office of Strategic Services, was his cover and he was in fact a member of the CIA. He was recruited straight out of the army into what was then the OSS, Office of Strategic Services, and received his first international placement to Finland in 1955. It was an open secret in the family, but everyone knew better than to ask my granddad any direct questions about his service. This is my favorite of the few stories I did hear.

While living in Italy in the late 60s and early 70s, there was an Italian spy that was holed up in an apartment and my granddad was tasked with bringing him in. I don't know how the initial contact was made, but my granddad somehow befriended this man and even convinced the spy that he was from the same small Italian village by speaking their local dialect.

Oh, shit. I know. Once their familiar bond was established, my granddad convinced him to turn himself over, which he did, and the two of them remained friends. He says, how? Many of his spy stories went to the grave with him in 2018, but he did have other fun anecdotes, like the time LBJ visited Brussels while he was still vice president and my granddad had to translate for him while he haggled with street vendors. Not all of the stories had happy endings,

but somehow my grandpa kept his good humor through it all and was one of the silliest people I've ever known, oftentimes wearing fake noses as a joke. Then it says, maybe this collection of disguises should have been a tip off, question I like. Yes, it's like you look over your grandpa's wearing the glasses mustache nose thing. It's like, is he in the CIA? That's Stevie Cooper. What the fuck?

Anyway, stay sexy. And maybe everyone should just ask their grandparents if they were in the CIA, you know, just in case. Kelly, so true, Kelly. Everyone just go ask. So crazy. Your grandparents and your great grandparents could be anything. Anything is possible. And they were definitely cooler than you and probably smarter. And also they didn't talk about stuff. That was the traumatized past where it's like, keep it to yourself. No one cares. Silent generation. But we do care.

Silent generation. We do. We want to hear it. Here's a great one. Subject line, hidden treasures in weddings. We're going to be talking about it in the next episode. We're going to be talking about it in the next episode. We're going to be talking about it in the next episode.

We're going to be talking about it in the next episode. We're going to be talking about it in the next episode. We're going to be talking about it in the next episode. We're going to be talking about it in the next episode. We're going to be talking about it in the next episode. We're going to be talking about it in the next episode. We're going to be talking about it in the next episode. We're going to be talking about it in the next episode. We're going to be talking about it in the next generation. We do. We want to hear it. Here's a great one. Subject line, hidden treasures and wedding gifts. Hello, ladies, gents, folks, and all things listening. Let's get right into it. I was listening to Minnesota 371, and there was a story about money that was hidden in a hat and thrown away. Remember that one? It was the, I think,

Navy hat. Yeah. This reminded me of It was the, I think Navy hat. This reminded me of when my husband and I received an unusual gift for our wedding, and we still laugh to this day about the mistake we made. A little backstory. My husband is a chef and has worked in kitchens for a very long time. He started helping with dishes and worked his way

to a position where he is now running a full kitchen. That's huge. You start as the dishwasher, the hardest work there is, and everybody right now in an oil rig is like, fuck you. Okay, a few years before we got married, maybe around 2016, he was working a desk job for the one and only time in his life. While doing so, he continued to help out some friends

who were cooking at a local bar and restaurant. He picked up shifts here and there to help with prep and dishes for a little extra cash and of course a little more time with his friends. He had these grimy work shoes that he kept tucked away in the basement of the restaurant so he always had them when he picked up shifts. After he was done working there, he left the shoes behind and simply forgot about their existence. Three years later and we're getting married and our friends from that restaurant oh-so-kindly packaged up my husband's

gross, abandoned basement, dishwashing shoes for our wedding gift. He completely forgot that they had existed and I hadn't seen them in years and wouldn't have even recognized them. We opened the gift, we laughed when we realized what they were, and quickly tossed them in the garbage that was taken to the curb that night. The next day we texted our friends to say thank you for the laugh. They were quick to ask if we appreciated the actual gift Actual gift? Oops, it turns out they hid a very generous amount of cash in one of the shoes as our wedding gift. Don't do that Put it on the card, put it on the card.

Those shoes were long gone as the trash had been picked up. And to this day, our friends don't know twice about us throwing away their money. Oh my God. They might now. We said a very gracious thank you, which not to be picky, but it's spelled gratuitous, which makes me laugh really hard.

I know they mean gracious. We said a very gracious thank you and hid our shame of throwing out the real gift along with the trash shoes. Stay sexy and don't hide money in things that are obviously trash. And in parentheses, it says, and don't throw away wedding gifts without thorough inspection. And that's from Carlisle She Her. Oh, I feel like I would have told them. I know, me too.

You know, just like blurted it out. Oh, you mean busted yourself for having thrown them away? Yes, I would have been that guy. But those people should have fucking, yeah, put it in the fucking card. Now I have to write the card. It's gonna say something like, here's a little remembrance of a time past,

but also something that'll help you in the future. Something like that. In the toe of the left shoe. Oh my God. As gross as these are, put your hands inside of them and feel around for money. I've done dishes at restaurants before your shoes just like don't stand a chance.

It's fucking disgusting. The end of the night, you're like socks are wet. It's so gross. Also, are you like sweaty and hot with all the hot water? Yeah. And I was the waitress too. So I went upstairs to the restaurant. I'm like, can I take your order and wash your dishes? Can I do it all for you?

Yeah. It was a rough time. Well, way better now, Georgia. Real quick, real quick news slash. You a rough time. Well, way better now, Georgia. Real quick, real quick newsflash. You're here now. Oh, thank God. And I've never done a dish again. Everything's fine. Sorry, Vince. No, he doesn't do anything. We just throw them away. Paper plates for you guys. That's right. Okay. I thought they were staring because I was hot. Oh, I have a lot to say,

but I'm afraid of you making fun of me for sending a long email. So I love you, blah, blah, blah. Let's get into it. Oh, now I absolutely have to make fun of this person. You recently asked for, quote, I thought everyone was looking at me and they were stories and I gasped with joy.

Smiley face. Yay. I'm from Southern California where I went to UC Irvine and worked at the little dingy discount Woodbridge movie theater, where I fucking literally grew up watching movies and my brother and sister worked there in high school. That's your home, it's Georgia's home movie theater.

It's my home movie theater. And they wrote Georgia insert potential personal anecdote. So thank you. It's like, you know me. They know how to write for this show. That's right. I moved to Chicago two years ago to pursue my passion for theater. One day I was living my mid-20s city girl fantasy with my big over-the-ear headphones, listening to YouTube probably, with a cute little outfit and an over-the-top eye makeup look. I stepped onto the L train feeling

good. I noticed that there was a strange faint alarm sound going off and I figured it was some flu capping another train. The train still pulled out of the station, so it must have been fine. As soon as I sat down, I noticed that there were a few people staring at me, but naturally I assumed they were looking because of how absolutely gorgeous I looked.

That's right. A minute or so passes and I realize now that the whole train car is staring at me and they do not look happy. Well, obviously the only reasonable explanation for this was that they were a bunch of traditionalists who were judging how I looked because they wish that they could look as hot and confident as I do. God, I fucking know that feeling, that 20s feeling of like, fucking, you wish you were

me. White knuckling confidence. That's right. Confidence revenge. I was shaken, but I wasn't going to let these jealous strangers ruin my day. As I looked back down into my lap, I noticed a light coming from my bag.

With headphones still over my ears, I rummaged through my bag, and then I hear it. The loudest alarm known to man coming from my bag. My security chain had somehow become detached from itself, triggering the alarm. You know those motherfuckers? They're so loud. Like insane sounding. I'm talking loud like reverberating within the train car. Cover your ears loud. I quickly put the pieces back together to turn off the alarm and flashing light and rode the rest of the way in shame,

avoiding eye contact with the other passengers. I guess it just goes to show that sometimes your shit does stink. Stay sexy and maybe don't always assume that people are looking at you to admire your beauty or do, probably do. It's a much more fun way to live. Audrey, she, her. Audrey, congratulations. Cause I think you handled that beautifully. If I was on that train,

I would have walked up and gotten the brand name of those headphones because she couldn't hear that. Where'd you get those headphones? Girl humility. You had to have it in your 20s or you just end up being a fucking asshole your whole life. I mean, that's how you get it is going through your 20s. You're there pretending to be an adult and it's like, no, wrong, incorrect. You fucked it up again. And it's like, by the time you're 30, you're just like, I have no idea what's going on. Well, we've done it again. That's it? Oh, wow. OK. Well, wow. Thanks, guys, for writing in. Please write in if you want to.

My favorite murderer Gmail. And we appreciate your participation, whether it is by actively writing something or just listening, passively listening and relating. Sure. That's part of it. You know, it's kind of part of the podcast. Just keep listening. So listening is a huge part of the podcast. So we appreciate it. Stay sexy and don't get murdered. Elvis. Do you want a cookie?

This has been an exactly right production. Our senior producer is Alejandra Keck. Our editor is Aristotle Acevedo. This episode was mixed by Liana Scolacci. Email your hometowns to MyFavoriteMurder at gmail.com. And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at MyFavoriteMurder and on Twitter at MyFaveMurder. Goodbye!