Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump, where we're all full of brotherly love!

Watch out for the Fresno Nightcrawler!

The ghosts of Newcastle.

A pioneering architect.

A mysterious scandal.

A bloody poltergeist.

The great medieval famine.

The actress who was arrested for the way she rode a horse.

Extrajudicial witch hunts.

The Maya woman who was given a whole lot of teeth.

Medieval ways of keeping warm.

The 19th century Paris "season."

A tribute to "Gulliver's Travels."

Remembering an "ordinary" death from over 200 years ago.

UFOs over Melbourne.

UFOs over Wiltshire.

The final voyage of the "New Era."

In which we debate the smell of crape.

The social history of love.

Mars isn't dead, it's just taking a nice nap.

A historic Gilded Age party.

Flesh falls and blood rains.

The Pompeii of Greece.

The last woman to be hanged in Britain.

Old London fogs and smogs.

Real-life trick-or-treat horrors.

The mystery of the Kyshtym Dwarf.

The Mad Trapper of Red River.

When climbers and explorers suddenly feel they're not alone.

Some mysterious apparitions.

An affair's murderous end.

The "trick or treat" murder.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll meet a bookish ghost.  In the meantime, here's some Albinoni:

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This is for all of us who tend to think most small children are a bit demonic.  The “New York Herald,” December 2, 1888:

To the north and west of this city, about fifteen miles away, dividing this county from Cumberland and Franklin counties, is a ridge of mountains. In some of the mountain valleys the people are in a state of deep ignorance, seeing little of the outer world and scarcely touched by the civilization that is all around them. In one of these little corners of the mountain about two weeks ago was born a monstrosity that has filled the mountaineers with terror and dread. Among many of them superstition is religion, and they believe that the devil has appeared among them incarnate in the monster born in their midst.

During the past week rumors have reached this city of a fabulous creature, born in the mountain, and of the intense excitement prevailing in the neighborhood of its birthplace. The excitement spread to the lowlands, and those who had the courage to overcome their superstitious fears and visit the creature describe it as being somewhat larger than the average new born babe, and although the offspring of a white father and mother, dark in color and covered with short, black hair. From either side of its head grew short horns. A long tail hung to its feet, which strongly resembled the cloven hoof. In fact, to use the words of one who saw it, "It was the very picture of the devil."

There are many stories as to the incidents attending the birth of the monster, but the following story is the one which seems to have so fixed itself in the minds of the mountaineers that they cannot be convinced that the devil has not lived and been among them in the flesh. From what they say it appears that the father of the creature had some sort of a superstitious religious belief and tried to persuade his wife, who did not agree with him, to accept his opinions. Finally she declared that she would not do as he wished, and in blasphemous language declared that she would rather see the devil than to have a cross always before her eyes. Shortly after this declaration she gave birth to a horrible monster, as described above.

In terror the father summoned several neighbors, and one of them, more brave than the rest, offered to open a vein in the arm of the creature and bleed it to death. As he took his knife from his pocket the creature raised itself, got down from the bed, walked across the room, and returning addressed its would-be executioner in most terrible language, and threatened him with dire misfortune if he attempted to do it harm, and then declared it would live for seven days, and having revealed its object in coming into the world, would then die. It lived for seven days, and on last Monday, the eighth day, died, but without having spoken again. As strange as it may seem, this story has many believers, and there are few who do not shun the little cabin in the mountain in which lives the poor mother of the miserable creature whose birth and death have filled her neighbors with such uneasiness.

Arne Gandy's Final Phone Call

"Hackensack Record," May 24, 1934, via Newspapers.com

20-year-old Arne Gandy of Teaneck, New Jersey, was a restless, adventurous young man who, like so many restless, adventurous sorts throughout history, felt the call of the high seas.  After several voyages to South America, in December 1933 he signed on to serve as “messboy” on the “President Harrison.”  Gandy carried with him a letter of introduction to Stanley Dollar, president of the ship’s line.  After the “President Harrison” arrived in San Francisco, he planned to ask Dollar for a rating of cadet.  Gandy planned to make sailing his life’s work.

Unfortunately, when Gandy landed in San Francisco, he was unable to get a meeting with Dollar, and he agreed to continue his job on the “President Harrison.”  However, on January 5, 1934, he mysteriously left the ship, in such a hurry that he left all his belongings behind.  The “President Harrison,” on the assumption that he had deserted, sailed off without him.  We know nothing of Gandy’s subsequent actions.

At 2:45 a.m. on January 10, Arne’s mother back in Teaneck was awakened by the ringing of the telephone.  When she answered, she was confused, and a bit frightened, to hear it was an utterly bizarre call.  A man’s unfamiliar voice went into a rambling monologue.  “The kid is OK,” he told her.  “What I said about him in my letter is all true.  He is a fine kid.”  When Mrs. Gandy asked who was speaking, her question was ignored.  The man went on, “I told the truth and he’s coming home now.”  Mrs. Gandy said he must have the wrong number, as she knew nothing about any letter.  When she asked what number he was calling, he repeated the Gandy’s private, unlisted number--known only to family and their closest friends.

Mrs. Gandy heard Arne’s voice in the background, and asked to talk to him.  The man chuckled and said, “That’s all right; he’s coming home now.”  She then heard a roaring sound, and the man sighed, “I am helpless.  Here I lie propped up on pillows, helpless.  I can’t move.”  His voice began fading out.  Then, she heard another voice saying, “When shall we operate, doctor?”  A third voice replied, “Right away.”  Then the line went dead.  Mrs. Gandy quickly awakened her husband Curtis.  Mr. Gandy, oddly enough, had been in the middle of a nightmare where either Arne or the boy’s twin, Curtis III--he couldn’t tell which--was in serious trouble.

The Gandys contacted the telephone operator, who told them that it had been a station to station call from San Francisco.  They were unable to find out who had placed the call.

At about the same time as this ominous communication, Arne’s twin brother Curtis, who was a cadet aboard the freighter “Scanstates,” which was then in the mid-Atlantic en route to Denmark, had an alarming dream where he heard Arne, clearly in great distress, calling, “Daddy! Daddy!”

Early on the morning of January 11, the naked body of a young man was found floating in San Francisco Bay.  At first, the corpse was known only as “John Doe No. 4,” but after the local police sent on the body’s fingerprints to the National Bureau of Identification in Washington D.C., a check of the fingerprint records of steamship lines identified the dead man as Arne Gandy.  This was corroborated by checking Arne’s dental records.  It was believed that Arne had been in the water since January 9--the day before Mrs. Gandy received the mysterious phone call where she heard her son’s voice.

The autopsy revealed that Arne had died by drowning.  The coroner added, “whether by accident or force could not be determined.”  There were no signs of external injury.  Arne’s parents insisted that their son was a cheerful, healthy young man who had no reason to commit suicide, but police saw no indications of foul play, either.

It is depressing to relate that this superlative bit of weirdness ended on a frustratingly inconclusive note.  Arne’s wealthy father hired private detectives to investigate his son’s mysterious death, but they were unable to make any more progress than the police had.  We will never know why Arne deserted his ship, or whether his death was due to suicide, accident, or murder.

And needless to say, we will never know who made that eerie phone call in the early hours of January 10…where the voice of a dead man could be heard.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Everyone here at Strange Company HQ wishes you a happy Halloween!

In which an 18th century priest meets a troll.

Gunnhild, Mother of Kings.

The strange case of the Crow Hill Bones.

So now we know what is the oldest pub in England.

The Abominable Snowman visits Massachusetts.

I thought you'd like to know that someone is cataloging public restrooms.  (And, yeah, I don't want to know what this person's other hobbies might be.)

All right, I know you're itching to read about coffin torpedoes.

Video killed the fairylore star.

A haunted Pennsylvania farm.

Rewritng Mesoamerican history.

Gef, everyone's favorite talking mongoose.

A UFO wave in Puerto Rico.

A terrifying wake.

The difference between Suffragettes and Suffragists.

More particularly disturbing deaths.

Mysteries of the pyramids.

A brief history of dangerous fairies.

AI is helping scientists recover a library from Pompeii.

When London had a railway for the dead.

A real-life Dr. Frankenstein.

An example of ancient Roman nanotech.

The Green Man of Pittsburgh.

How Bruce McCandless earned the Medal of Honor.

An 1888 electric vehicle.  (As an aside, "Flocken Elektrowagen" would be a great name for an electropunk band.)

Ivan the Terrible wanted to marry Elizabeth I, and wouldn't they have been a fun couple.

Three hangings in Pennsylvania.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a young man's eerie death.  In the meantime, here's Linda Thompson.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

One for the “mini mysteries” file: This unresolved poisoning case was reported in the “South Wales Argus,” February 8, 1934.

How did cyanide of potassium, used for electro-plating, find its way into a teacup from which a girl of 20 drank tea and died shortly afterwards? This was the mystery inquired into at Sheffield on Wednesday.

An inquest was held on the girl, Lilian Charlotte Corbridge, of Ripon-street, Sheffield, who drank the tea on January 30 at the electro-plating works of Messrs. Biggins Brothers, Ltd., Arundel-street, Sheffield.

A verdict of "Accidental death" was returned, and the jury expressed the opinion that the poison should be locked up.  The evidence, said the Coroner, suggested that different arrangements ought to be made as to where the girls had their meals. "It has not been definitely ascertained how the poison got into the cup of tea," added the Coroner.

Evidence was given that tea was brewed for a girl employee named Catherine Stringer in a teacup and for Corbridge in a teapot.  Stringer complained about the nasty taste of her tea, which she threw away, whereupon Corbridge gave her some from her teapot.

Having thus run short of tea, Corbridge took the kettle and teapot to get some water, and poured tea out of the teapot into a cup. After drinking she reeled, and another girl dashed to the telephone for assistance. Pointing to her teacup, Corbridge said: "It is the tea."

Mr. Mark Leslie Biggins, an electro-plater, said he gave Corbridge 12 plated teapots to weigh. They had been in vats containing cyanide of potassium in solution. Asked by the Coroner if he thought there could be any poisonous solution left in those teapots he replied "Very, very little."

Dr. J. M. Webster, police surgeon, said he found poison in the girl's teacup, but none in the teapot. From the post-mortem examination he was of the opinion that the girl died from swallowing potassium cyanide.

And that seems to have been that.

The Plum Tree Hanging

I’ve noticed that in recent years, Halloween decorations have grown increasingly macabre.  In my neighborhood, at least, grinning Jack o’lanterns and innocuous ghosts are being replaced by ghoulish skeletons (both human and animal,) gravestones, knife-wielding devils, and various other ugly monstrosities.  Last year, a house near me put in their yard such a revolting handmade display of chopped-up doll parts covered in unsettlingly realistic-looking fake blood that some neighbors complained vigorously enough to get the DIY abattoir removed.  However, as ghastly as it all is, at least nobody around here has hung a genuine dead body outside anyone’s house.  To date, at least.  For an example of such real-life Halloween horror, you would have to look back to Evansville, Indiana in 1925.

While returning from a party on October 31, a couple named George and Helen Erhard saw something large dangling from a plum tree in their front yard.  At first, they assumed it was a mannequin someone had left as a holiday prank.  However, when they went closer to the object, they realized that hanging in their property was no dummy, but a very real, and very dead, man.

The man was wearing a fairly pricey serge suit, a cap, a sweater coat, and a shirt.  His necktie had been used as a noose attaching him to the tree branch.  The body carried no identification, money, or jewelry.  His most notable features were a missing finger on the right hand, and an anchor and heart tattoo on one arm.

Despite the way the body was found, it was soon determined that this was no simple suicide.  The dead man had suffered two skull fractures, a deep laceration to the head, as well and other cuts and bruises to the body.  He had evidently been badly beaten with a blunt object before being dragged to the tree.  He had died about an hour before the Erhards discovered him.  George’s mother, who lived with the Erhards, told police that at 10:30 pm--about an hour before George and Helen arrived home--she had been awakened by her dog barking.  She then heard a woman’s scream, and the sound of a car screeching swiftly away.

A man named John Zakrzewsky heard of the gruesome find.  He thought the body’s description matched that of his brother Seraphine, a punch press operator from Toledo, Ohio, who had disappeared from his home on October 25th.  On November 3, John was able to identify the corpse as that of Seraphine.  John told the police that he could not explain his brother’s disappearance or his subsequent murder.  According to John, Seraphine was a law-abiding sort with no enemies.  However, he did admit that Seraphine may have become “mixed up with bootleggers.”  (Although becoming “mixed-up” with such characters was an excellent way to get into serious trouble, this intriguing clue went nowhere.)

"Evansville Courier," November 4, 1925, via Newspapers.com

John also informed police that he did not believe Seraphine owned the clothes he was wearing when he died--they were too good a quality to belong to someone of his modest means.  (It was later learned that Seraphine had been given most of his clothing from a worker at an Evansville Salvation Army.)  Seraphine had spent a few days in Evansville before his death--he had been seen eating alone several times in a local restaurant--but it was never determined what he was doing in the city, where he had no known friends or other ties.

Witnesses claimed that between the hours of 10:30 and 11 on the night of the crime, а “dilapidated touring car” was parked near the Erhard farm.  Three men who looked like “underworld characters,” were seen on the road nearby.  These men were never identified, leaving it as anyone’s guess if they had anything to do with the tragedy.

And, with that, the murder investigation quickly came to a sputtering end.  Although the police duly interrogated all possible witnesses/suspects (including the Erhards,) no one had any information about who might have committed this odd, seemingly motiveless murder.  Sadly, the crime known as the “Plum Tree Hanging” soon disappeared from the newspapers, the police file was sent to the “cold case” bin, and life went on.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

The Strange Company HQ staffers wish you pleasant reading!

A handy reminder that bees are weird.

A look at medieval executioners.

The world's oldest dated printed book.

A stupid theory about the Salem Witch Trials that refuses to die.

The 11th century abbot and the recycled sarcophagus.

The duel between W.B. Yeats and Aleister Crowley.

The man who made a living from being a conjoined twin.

The death of Pretty Boy Floyd.

Remembering the Cat Lady of Spitalfields.

A pattern has been found in cases of alleged reincarnation.

The legend of "Mountain Charley."

The only prison with its own zoo.

In search of the Woman in Black.

A meeting with Bigfoot.

The oldest known dwelling in the Western Hemisphere.

The mystery of the Dancing Plague.

Remembering the Aberfan disaster.

Not to worry, just empty space sending out mysterious signals.

The War of Jenkins' Ear.

The cat who missed out on being the hero of Rikers Island.

If a ghost wants his widow to get the funeral money, you should probably oblige.

A notorious 19th century swindler.

New York's "house of many mysteries."

The woman who could sew with her tongue.  And no improper jokes, please.  I know what the internet is like.

When the Royal Society went ghost-hunting.

The mystery of the "Tully monster."

Some very disturbing deaths.

George III visits Oxford.

A really bad 18th century job.

A murderous medical student.

The real-life inspiration for Sherlock Holmes.

A cave of dragon bones.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at an unsolved Halloween murder.  In the meantime, here's something a bit different.