My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 410

Episode Date: November 18, 2024

This week’s hometowns include picking up a hitchhiker and ordering the “Garbage Plate” in Rochester, New York.  Support this podcast by shopping our latest sponsor deals and promotions at this link: https://bit.ly/3UFCn1g. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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At New Balance, we believe if you run, you're a runner, however you choose to do it. Because when you're not worried about doing things the right way, you're free to discover your way. And that's what running's all about. Run your way at newbalance.com slash running. Hello! And welcome to my favorite murder. The mini-sode. We read you your stories. You love it so much.

We love it and we appreciate it. Oh. What? That seemed insincere. I meant it. We love it and we appreciate it. I truly, if I had truly to be honest. Truly, for real.

Do you want to go first? I have a great one to go with. I have a great one to go with. I have a great one to go with. I have a great one to go with. I have a great one to go with. I have a great one to go with. I have a great one to go with.

I have a great one to go with. I have a great one to go with. I have a great one to go with. I have a great one to go with. I have a great one to go with. I have it and we appreciate it. Truly, if I had truly, truly, truly. Do you want to go first? I have a great one to go first with because this might end up a classic hometown. It's about picking up a hitchhiker. I'm not going to read you the subject line. OK. You asked for hitchhiking stories and boy, do I have one. Here we go. And how have you not written this one in before? It's like, fucking... It makes you wonder

how many people haven't written in their insane hometowns. I mean, you know there's a million incredible stories out there just waiting to be sent to myfavoritemurderatgmail.com. We appreciate it. I commuted from Forks, Washington, to Port Angeles, Washington, to attend community college classes for years.

My naive 16 year old self did not have any sense of self preservation. You usually don't at that age. One cold and wet Pacific Northwest winter day, I saw a man roughly my age walking at the junction that branches off towards the road that leads to Nia Bay. N-E-A-H? Sounds good. I mean, I thought to myself, oh, poor guy. It's so miserable out there. I'll see where he's going. And if he wants a ride. No, dude. He wasn't even fucking hitchhiking. He was just walking.

Why do I do this? I don't know. I was very young, reckless, and apparently foolish. The man did indeed say he'd appreciate a ride to Port Angeles as he had missed the bus. I introduced myself and so did he. He said his name was Israel. We talked. I am very chatty. I found out we had a lot of mutual acquaintances and he worked with my then boyfriend, now husband's friend. We arrived in Port Angeles.

I dropped him off. And as he's leaving, he says to me, you really shouldn't pick up hitchhikers. If I wanted to, I could have hurt you. But since I know you, I wanted to warn you, you should never do this again. I laughed, his eyes turned black, and a cold chill went down me.

I linked eyes with him and said, okay, I won't. Years later, when the news broke about Israel Keys, my husband said, hey, you know that guy that worked with my friend in Neah Bay that you said you picked up hitchhiking years ago? He was arrested for murder. So it was corroborated. It wasn't like I saw him on TV and I was like, that's definitely that guy.

She was fucking definitely him. It was him. Oh my God. She says my stomach dropped. I heeded the advice and never picked up another hitchhiker in my life. It wasn't hitchhiking. It terrifies me to know how close I could have been to a very bad situation. Yeah.

You weren't close. You were in a very bad situation. He chose not to do anything in it. Totally. By the grace of fucking dog. Thank you for educating us naive people to the dangers of the world so we can SSDGM. Your podcast has seen me through some rough times

and I appreciate your candor and comedy. Keep fighting the good fight. L. I mean... L. Epic. Sorry, we're being mean to you, but goddamn, that's scary. I mean, you're 16, you just make the worst decisions and you just get by that fucking some dumb luck you survive it. Also, you just going, he was even attacking.

It's like you are going out of your way. Right. Oh, goddamn. Right, to not SSDGM. And also that guy, like, if you haven't listened to the podcast, True Crime Bullshit, and you are interested in Israel Keys and kind of the story, that guy has been doing that podcast for a while and it is the deepest dive of all time, fascinating. Okay, here's mine.

It says, made up parent story. Hey, Karen and Georgia and everyone on the MFM team. You recently asked for stories about stuff our parents told us or did to us as kids. I think I have a banger story for you. I was 10 or 11 and it was the late 90s in Australia. My family went for our annual trip before Christmas from Sydney to the sunny Gold Coast in Queensland, Australia and stayed at an upmarket golf resort. My brother and I are born on the same day,

three years apart. That sucks. Wow. No one wants to share their fucking... That's an insane coincidence. Insane coincidence. It's worse than a Christmas birthday. Like, what the fuck?

Yeah. Yeah, that really sucks. You're just always sharing. I don't know if there's a phrase to refer to this kind of scenario, and then in question mark, then it says not quite twins. Anyway, he was either 13 or 14 at the time. At this stage in our lives, we fought a lot. And then it says we're very close now.

One morning, dad was playing a round of golf and mom was left with us in the room whilst getting ready for the day. She was putting on her makeup and my brother and I were wrestling in an empty bathtub and yelling at each other. Eventually, mom had had enough, so left us in the room to go and get coffee and go for a morning walk. Ten minutes pass and a phone call comes to the room phone, leaving my brother and I to fight over who answered the phone first. I was the unlucky and unwitting victim who picked up the receiver and heard, hello, we've had a complaint about excessive noise coming from your room. I think this was one of the first times in my life where I felt my heart fall out of my arse. I apologize

quickly. My brother was asking questions and flustered. I hung up the phone. We both began freaking out, thinking our holiday was ruined and that dad and mom would be so pissed at us for the noise complaint. Finally dad showed up after golf and was upset with us because he said, I've never been kicked out of a hotel before. You two are diabolical. I was in tears. My brother was very subdued and there was general unease in the room.

Cut to mom coming back from her walk and shopping, of course. A few hours later, brother and I beside ourselves and mom walks in and says, did you enjoy the noise complaint? Oh. The original trolls, how dare they? Long story short, mom caught up with dad on her walk and they came up with a plan

to make us shut the fuck up for five minutes. It was a great success and I will never forget the terror that rose in my body that day. A bonus story is that dad used to make up facts and tell them to me. We do that all the time on this show. Oh, yeah, that's true. He once convinced me that chipolata sausages, which are, I guess, what they call the mini sausages over there, were made out of chips. I told everyone at school and they were so confused. Anyway, I write this after a very long day of giving chemotherapy to patients battling cancer.

Love, Edwina, the nurse from Sydney. Wow. Edwina, you have the best name. Yeah, you do. You have the best name. Yeah, you do. You have the best name. That was a great story. Good one. Thanks for doing that hard work. This podcast is brought to you in part by Honey Love. This

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I'm currently listening to episode 450 and Karen was discussing how the Hell's Angels were hired to be security at the Altamont Free Concert. Being a native Southern Californian, I'm familiar with the Hells Angels. I truly don't know why, being born in 1997, but I remember hearing about them as a kid and knowing they were bad news. Yeah, it was like a total like urban legend, but true? Yeah, I mean, they were state famous.

Yeah. Fast forward, my dad was sharing stories about his late dad, my grandpa Gene. My grandpa lived in East County, San Diego, where a lot of biker gangs are based and hang out. My grandpa had his license and drove for almost his entire life. In his early seventies, he was driving home in his old ass minivan and accidentally cuts off a motorcyclist. I put accidentally in quotes because if he drives anything like my dad, then he's a maniac.

And then it says I can say that because I also drive like my dad. And then there's like a smiley face emoji that's melting from the bottom. Mm-hmm. I like that one. Yeah. So he accidentally cuts him off on the freeway. And as they're getting off the freeway, the motorcycle speeds ahead of him and shakes his head at him.

They get to the same off-ramp and are stopped by a red light. The motorcyclist is now in front of my grandpa. The motorcyclist then proceeds to get off his bike and start walking towards my grandpa's car. My grandpa is now shitting his pants. What does he do? All caps. Floors it. The motorcyclist jumps out of the way

and my grandpa runs over the motorcycle. Holy no. He just like turned into the bad guy. Oh, my God. He then speeds home as fast as he can, runs inside to my grandma, Irene, and my dad and says, I almost just got murdered by a hell's angel. He goes outside to the backyard, to the shed, grabs spray paint and begins to spray paint his van a different color. My dad

and his mom are now inside the house laughing hysterically. Apparently my grandpa was known to overreact and this was just another example of it. My dad then went outside to the newly gold painted minivan, it was a hunter green before, and proceeded to tell my grandpa that he's overreacting and quote dad he was probably just going to come back and tell you to be more careful. Also I I don't even think that any hells angels were in San Diego back then. And my grandpa just automatically associated any biker with the group. Yeah. My grandpa passed away about 15 years ago, but he was exactly like my dad, who is goofy,

a hard worker, cares about his loved ones and just all around is pretty cool. Stay sexy and maybe brush up on your motorcycle gang patch knowledge, Autumn. Autumn, who paid for that motorcycle? Was that a hit and run? Ma'am. Grandpa was like, I was scared. Like you were the thing to be scared of. He was scared of you. Yeah. You drove at him. First you cut him off, then you drove at him, then you ran over his fucking motor. Like, you're the problem here, dude. You are. That is totally insane. All right. Subject line of this is hot dog hometown. And then in parentheses it says two minute 15 second read. Yes, I timed it. Hello, MFM

fam. I'm a longtime listener, multiple email author, and hopefully a first-time Minnesota feature. My hometown is Rochester, New York. You know her. She's featured in episode 19, Minnesota 202 and episode 386. Wow, I did your research. In addition to being the home of George Eastman and the alphabet killer, Rochester is the birthplace of the garbage plate. The garbage plate was originated by Alexander Tahu, I think T-A-H-O-U, Tahu? Tahu, yeah.

A Greek immigrant who founded the restaurant Nick Tahu's Hots in 1918. In its original form, the dish consisted of hots, either standard hot dogs or Rochester-style white hots, served with potatoes, cold beans, and Italian bread with butter. The dish evolved over time to become a modifiable dish of three elements. One, hot dogs or hamburgers, two, macaroni salad or potato salad, and three, French fries or fried potatoes. All three elements are piled together on one plate. If you want to take the express track to a heart attack, you can top it off with chili like hot meat

sauce. It is the greatest hangover food ever invented and everyone should try it. Oh my god. This is purely just information about you have to know this about Rochester. I've never heard of it so I fucking appreciate it Like, I feel like we're getting an education. A hot dog education. Please tell us, do you want to tell us about your hot dog from your hometown? Send us your hot dog. There's just a little bit more.

It says, thank you for the community you created, for the money you donated, for the voices you amplified. But the most important thing, you both do, is tell stories with the victims in mind. Now that true crime has become mainstream and famous killers get multiple shows or are mentioned as a dream dinner guest by out of touch celebrities, it is incredibly important that the victims are remembered. Of all of the true crime podcasts and shows out there, only few focus on the innocent victims which you too have consistently done. Thanks for all the laughs, inside jokes, and my favorite face mask. SSDGM, Christina, she, her.

Oh my god. I did not think an email about hot dogs was going to tear me up a little bit. Did it get you? It got me. Thank you for saying that. That was very, very sweet. And Christina, we appreciate your appreciation. We do. I'm like a little choked up. It means a lot. That estrogen is working. Let's get those tear ducts going. Yeah that estrogen patch baby. Hosting for the holidays is stressful.

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That example is the perfect example for me because that's what I eat off of every night. And I love its bold, sculptural, not overbearing energy around my food. Those are the kinds of pieces that you can find at Article. There's stuff that looks really expensive and it's really affordable. And Article is offering our listeners $50 off your first purchase of $100 or more to claim visit article.com Slash murder and the discount will be automatically applied to check out that's a R T I see le comm slash murder to get $50 off your first purchase of $100 or more. Goodbye Okay, here is Chloe. I need your finger. That's my last one. Hey ladies, I know we're writing in about anything now, so I have a funny cautionary

tale from Mardi Gras that I hope at least Alejandra or whoever else is reading these enjoys. My friends and I have a tradition that we meet in St. Louis every year for Mardi Gras. Yes, I know ladies, St. Louis, not New Orleans, but a little info, St. Louis hosts the country's second largest Mardi Gras celebration. I did not know that. I knew that. That's cool. It also tends to be much safer and more family friendly. I digress. One year we were enjoying our day drinking when my friend Taylor and I became separated from the larger group.

We decided to sit our butts on the parade route and wait for our friends to return. As we were waiting, a young woman literally falls on us. group. We decided to sit our butts on the parade route and wait for our friends to return. As we were waiting, a young woman literally falls on us. She's slurring, her eyes are unavailable, and she's definitely more than a little unsteady. Being friendly and also worried about her state, we began questioning her. We found out her name is Chloe, she's under 21, and she's lost. Clearly. We try to get her phone open to contact her adult or at the very least her sober person when our friends find us. This leads to at least 15 minutes of us repeatedly asking Chloe for her finger to open her iPhone

and contact her people. Try getting a drunk person's fucking finger. For real. For a second I thought you were going to say her finger to make her throw up so she would not be so drunk. I, in my also drunken state, realize Chloe is much farther gone than us and might, in fact, have alcohol poisoning. Picture me, drunk, flagging down one group of the ever-present cops who also walk the parade route. We explain, this is Chloe, she is lost, but more importantly, she needs medical services.

Rather than get us these without question, we get lectured by the cops on letting our friend get so drunk. Despite having explained that we don't know her, then they tell us to just leave her. What? Ladies, when I tell you the group of us adult, professional women looked at these all-male officers like they were the drunk ones. I'm not kidding. My friend Kelly, not her real name, is a prosecuting attorney for the state of Missouri, and she explained in no uncertain terms we would not be leaving this girl alone

until one, a female officer showed up, or two, her friends arrived to claim her. She fell on us rather than any of the thousands of other revelers, so we were responsible. Despite simultaneously being yelled at by the officers to leave her and that we were bad friends for letting her drink so much, we held our ground until both a female EMT and her friend showed up to claim her. I am grateful for Chloe falling on us because that could have gone so much worse for her.

To this day, we still yell, Chloe, I need your finger when opening someone else's iPhone. Make smart choices, guys. Stay sexy and fall on a group of girls who will have your back regardless of the situation, Cho, she, her. I mean.

We're all Chloe. We've all been Chloe. We've all been Chloe. We've all been Chloe and we've all been Cho. We've all been Chloe and we've all been Cho. Thank God for Cho. And thank God women are doing this for each other. Yeah. Like more and more now kind of connected in that way.

Yeah. Because Jesus Christ. Looking out for each other. I feel like you like don't have to mind your own business anymore because we're looking out for each other because guess who's going to do it? Fucking nobody else. Nobody else. It's up to you.

Also, but it's, it's kind of funny, like they're trying to get drunk and party themselves. And then suddenly it's like, here's you in four hours. Chloe's like, help me. Oh, God damn. Okay. It says my illegal very first job. Lighthearted question mark. Hey, all you cool cats and kittens. And then

in parentheses it says, are we still doing that? My answer, no. I recently listened to Minnesota 401, where you read a hometown of a 10-year-old who got to be a bartender for a day. I'm normally not a one-upper. And then in parentheses, yes, I am. But I knew I had to write in. Let's go, girls. And then in parentheses it says, said like the incomparable Miss Shania Twain. Oh, I heard it. I mean, how can you not? It's, yeah.

So, it says, picture this. It's the early 90s. You walk into your local small town Wisconsin dive bar on a Saturday morning. It reeks of stale beer, neon signs lying on the wall, and Saturday morning cartoons play on the TV. Why? Because I'm your bartender every Saturday morning, and I am five years old. Let me explain. My parents never had a ton of money growing up, so they often had weekend jobs on top of their regular nine-to-fives.

My mom Bonnie picked up shifts at our local hospital, working the counter that sold candy and other small items in the lobby. So on Saturdays while she did that, she couldn't watch my sister and I, and that left my dad. My dad's name is Mark, but for as long as I can remember, everyone called him Sugar. He was born diabetic and he couldn't have sugar, so it seems like maybe his friends were just assholes. Who knows? I love that nickname for a man. Anywho, my dad would pick up night and weekend shifts as a bartender around town. And on Saturday mornings, my nine-year-old sister and I would pack into his blue Chevy station wagon and head to our Saturday morning shift at a bar called Shim Shacks, aka Shimmy's. When I say our shift, I mean it.

My sister and I would take orders, pour beers, and handle money while my dad smiled on in pride and then in parentheses it says he worked too. Imagine an irritated five-year-old walking up to you from behind the bar and using a bored tone as they ask, what are you having? Oh my God, like dream job for five year old Georgia. Like that sounds fucking incredible. So fun. So fun. I mean, how would you, I guess you'd have to be up on a higher, they'd have to build

you a little ramp behind the bar. I'm picturing cheers, but the casts are all five year olds. Like how great would that be? You know? Yes. Coach kind of was like a five-year-old. Right. It says, we got to know the regulars, ask them about their week and formed somewhat

of a community there. Looking back, I now know this was super illegal, right? I also realize now that the reason we had so many customers on a Saturday morning is because people were coming just to see if the rumors were true. A nine and five-year-old were tending bar. And they were alcoholics, but okay. I mean all of it combined. Despite how this might sound, I have nothing but fond memories of opening the bar with

my sister and dad, knowing what the usual was for the regulars, learning how to pour the perfect draft beer, and fighting with my sister over what TV shows we would have on the old dingy TV above the bar. I usually won, and we would watch dinosaurs. Oh, I remember that. My dad passed away in April after a very long and complicated health battle. During his services, I looked around the packed room of guests and there sitting in the corner was the shimmies crew. The ones who got to know us helped teach us life lessons and came to visit us every Saturday morning. Shit! Oh my god! I hadn't seen many of them in over 30 years, but I recognized them immediately. Most of them, well-known to their 60s and 70s, would sheepishly walk up to me and start with, you probably don't remember me.

But I absolutely did. It would only take a minute before we would be reminiscing about the good old days at the bar and telling ridiculous stories about sugar in his hayday. Love you both, proud of you both. Stay sexy and toast one up for sugar tonight. Sugar! Megan! God damn you, Megan! That is beautiful. They came.

They probably were a bunch of lonely, I'm sorry I called them alcoholics, they're probably lonely people who's like kids and grown up. And so Saturday mornings they could just have a fun little hangout and a drink. But also like, that's adorable. And also, I think in Wisconsin bar culture is pretty like neighborhood bars, right? Definitely. It's all, they're into it. So it's kind of like, yeah, they're repping their team.

Those are their people. That's beautiful. What a sweet story. Thank you. Oh my god. Thank you so much. Great one to end on. That ruled. Yeah. So good.

If you want to send us a story and see if you can make Karen cry. I mean, it's not that hard. See if you can make me fucking cry. Then like, you know, Gmail. What is it? My favorite murder at Gmail. 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 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 My Favorite Murder and on Twitter at MyFaveMurder. Goodbye!