"...we should pass over all biographies of 'the good and the great,' while we search carefully the slight records of wretches who died in prison, in Bedlam, or upon the gallows."
~Edgar Allan Poe

Monday, December 23, 2024

A Christmas Eve Mystery: Where Are the Sodder Children?

A family named Sodder once lived in Fayetteville, West Virginia.  It was a large household:  The parents, Jenny and George, and nine of their ten children.  (Their eldest son was away serving in the military.)  Their life was, as far as is known, a perfectly ordinary one until Christmas Eve 1945, when their routine middle-class existence suddenly morphed into something out of the most chilling psychological horror story.

On that night, as the family prepared to go to bed, five of the younger Sodders--Maurice, Martha, Louis, Jennie, and Betty--asked to be allowed to remain downstairs to play with their presents.  Their parents indulgently agreed, and went upstairs to retire for the night.  It was the last time they would see these children again.

The Sodders did not notice anything amiss until around midnight, when Jenny Sodder was awakened by a phone call.  She noticed that lights were still on in the house, the shades were up, and the doors unlocked.  The house was quiet, and she assumed everyone was now asleep.  When she picked up the receiver, an unfamiliar female voice asked to speak to a name Jenny did not recognize.  In the background of the other end of the line, she could hear wild laughter and glasses clinking.  Before she could respond, the caller hung up.  Shrugging it off as a prank, she went back to sleep.  Some time later, she thought she heard a noise on their roof.  Not long after that--around 1:30 a.m.--she smelled smoke.  The house was on fire.

Jenny began screaming for everyone to get out of the house.  Once they were outside, Jenny and George saw that five of their children were still missing--the same five that had stayed downstairs past their bedtime.  Mr. Sodder went for a ladder he always kept by the house, so he could climb up to the bedrooms, but it was gone.  It was later found in an embankment some distance away.  He tried to drive off for help, but his trucks--which had worked perfectly the previous day--now refused to start.

By the time the fire department arrived--in this small town, with primitive communications and equipment, it took them seven hours--the house was a mass of smoldering ashes.  In less than an hour, it had completely burned to the ground.  Officials assumed bad wiring was to blame for the conflagration, but that seemed questionable, considering that lights in the home were still on after the fire started.  Besides, just a few months before, the local power company had inspected their wiring.  We simply do not know for sure why the home was destroyed.

Whatever the cause of the blaze may have been, the most important question was, where were the five Sodder children?  Some newspapers reported that some fragmentary bones and flesh were found in the ruins, but other accounts say that not a single trace of human remains were ever found on the site.

Despite the eerie events preceding the fire--not to mention the fact that telephone line had been cut just before or after the flames erupted--the authorities shrugged the incident off as a tragic accident and ignored the Sodders' pleas for an investigation.

The many peculiar circumstances surrounding the fire, coupled with the lack of remains, increasingly convinced the Sodders that their missing children had not died in the fire, but were kidnapped.  Searches of the site in the years after the fire eventually turned up a few stray pieces of bone, but a pathologist working with the Sodders noted that it was highly unusual not to find more of the children's bodies.  The fire simply did not burn long enough to completely incinerate bodies.  Another oddity is that these bones were not fire damaged, leading pathologists from the Smithsonian to theorize that the  fragments were in the dirt George Sodder used to bury the site of the fire.  And was it anything more than coincidence that the children who were allowed to stay up late were the only family members to disappear?  No one could say.  

"Calgary Albertan," October 6, 1953, via Newspapers.com


George Sodder--who was, like his wife, Italian-born--had been very vocal about his dislike of Mussolini.  This had made him very unpopular in their Italian-American community, leading the family to harbor the fear that the tragedy had been some horrendous payback for his political views.  This may well have been merely paranoia, but unless they found some definitive answers, it was a paranoia they could never shake.

The Sodders lived through years of painful uncertainty about the fate of their children.  The events of that Christmas Eve seemed just too strange to be an ordinary accident, but, on the other hand, the idea of some maniacs singling them out and torching their house in order to spirit off their children was too weird to even contemplate.  George and Jenny did everything in their power to publicize the mystery--they even rented a billboard with photos of the missing children that stood for forty years--but no one came forward with any information.  The private detectives they hired to chase every possible lead, every "sighting" of the missing children, came up with nothing.  The remaining family members were left in a nightmarish limbo.

Life went on, with no concrete developments in the case until 1968, when the Sodders were anonymously mailed a photograph of a man who looked to be in his mid-twenties.  On the back of the photo someone had written, "Louis Sodder," "I love brother Frankie," "ilil Boys," and the cryptic "A90132 or 35."

The Sodders were convinced the young man in the photo was their son Louis, who was nine when he disappeared.  No one can say for sure if they were correct, or if the mailing was merely a sick prank by some unknown creep.

That unsettlingly enigmatic photo is the last word to date on the Sodder mystery.  George Sodder died in 1969 and his wife twenty years later.  Sylvia, the last living Sodder child, (that we know of, at any rate,) was only two when disaster struck.  She passed away in 2021, still haunted by what had befallen her family.  She believed her siblings did not die in the fire, but she had no more luck than her parents in finding evidence of that theory.  The story of what really happened that Christmas Eve remains as baffling as ever.

Friday, December 20, 2024

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

Welcome to this week's Link Dump, where it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!



A deadly box of chocolates.

A brief history of Devil's Island.

A suburban Messalina.

What may be the oldest story on Earth.

A bit of current events weirdness: a mysterious man who keeps showing up at car crashes.

A meeting with Napoleon on St. Helena.

Christmas and an ancient Roman god.

The famed Lincolnshire Ox.

Americans are using a lot of British words.

Rome sure got sacked a lot back in the day.

A failed faith healing.

Tiny photo jewelry from the 19th century.  Quite adorable.

In Sweden, it's illegal to have sex with fairies.  Wait, what?

A Christmas in Tibet.

How to be chic in Early Modern England.

Miss Marshall, mysterious bookbinder.

Dickens looks at Christmas in country places.

So, who doesn't want to spend Christmas in a morgue?

The confusion over the day Pompeii was destroyed.

A silver amulet that helps tell the history of Christianity in Europe.

A remembrance of Charles Fort.

The collapse of the Hyatt Regency skywalk.

A visit to the Holy Rude Kirkyard.

Disabled people in ancient Egypt.

A Christmas murder mystery.

Christmas at a stately home.

A disappearance in the Great Smoky Mountains.

An unfortunate wife.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a mysterious Christmas Eve tragedy.  In the meantime, here's Emmylou.  My taste in Christmas music tends to be traditional--hymns, Handel's "Messiah" and the like--but I delight in playing this song every Yuletide.  In fact, if you have a liking for country-folk, the whole album is terrific, but this one is my favorite.

Wednesday, December 18, 2024

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com



It’s time for another peep at that ever-popular Fortean category, Mystery Fires!  The “London Daily Mail,” February 5, 1921:

A remarkable series of fires, described in the official report as "of doubtful origin," caused the London Fire Brigade to pay four separate visits yesterday morning to Upper Frognal Lodge, Hampstead. A few minutes after 2 a.m. firemen were called to the lodge, where they extinguished with buckets of water a small fire in the front room on the second floor. At about 3.45 a.m. the brigade were again summoned and overcame a small outbreak in the back room on the second floor.

At about 5.30 a further alarm was given, and when the firemen arrived small fires were in progress in the front room on the first floor and the front room on the second floor. As in the two previous cases, buckets of water were used to extinguish the outbreak. Again, at 9.30, the brigade were called to Frognal Lodge, where three separate fires in the front and back rooms on the second floor had to be extinguished. 

The house is a large one occupied by Lieutenant-Colonel R.S. Webber. With the first call there were two separate fires, one causing damage to an armchair and the other to a sofa and four chairs. The second outbreak was in a cupboard in the bathroom on the second floor; in the third case a cupboard in the front room on the first floor and window curtains in the front room on the second floor were dealt with.

A brief sequel appeared in the “Daily Telegraph” four days later:

More mysterious fires occurred yesterday morning at 67 Frognal, Hampstead, the residence of Lieut. Colonel R.S. Webber. 

On the arrival of the fire brigade outbreaks were discovered in a cupboard in the bath-room on the first floor, a cupboard in the bathroom on the second floor, a bedroom front of the first floor, and another front room on the first floor There were, according to the fire brigade report, four separate fires. No appliances were used, the flames being quickly subdued. The cause is given as “doubtful." On Friday last, the fire brigade was called four times to the same house where ten separate “seats” of fire were discovered. The cause then was ascribed as “doubtful.”

I did not find any more reports of fires, “doubtful” or otherwise, at the home, which must have come as a great relief to both Lt. Webber and the overworked Hampstead fire brigade.

Monday, December 16, 2024

Helen Hulick, Famous Slacker

In the fall of 1938, the Los Angeles home of 29-year-old schoolteacher Helen Hulick was burglarized.  A bad thing, to be sure, but this seemingly unimportant event was to catalyze a series of events which would turn Hulick into a nationwide newspaper sensation, provide a unique footnote in judicial history, and--last but certainly not least--earn our young teacher a place in the hallowed halls of Strange Company.

On November 9, Hulick appeared in Los Angeles Municipal Court to testify against the two men accused of the burglary.  (As a side note, tell modern-day Angelinos that there was a time when burglary suspects were not only routinely apprehended, but, if convicted, sent to serve long prison terms, you will receive stares of wide-eyed wonder.  But I digress.)  However, before Hulick could take the stand, the judge in her case, Arthur S. Guerin, announced that he had a problem with the young lady’s attire.

Hulick was wearing slacks.  Blue flannel slacks.  Judge Guerin was not about to allow any woman to wear “pants” in his courtroom.  A bailbondswoman offered to loan Hulick a skirt.

Our educator of young minds was having none of it.  “I like slacks,” she retorted.  “They’re comfortable.  It’s my constitutional right to wear them.”

Judge Guerin was not happy.  “I don’t set styles,” he told Hulick sternly.  “But costumes acceptable at the beach are not acceptable in formal courtroom procedure.  Slacks are not the proper attire in court.”  He added plaintively, “It’s tough sometimes to be a judge.”

Regarding that last statement, the judge would soon learn that he didn’t know the half of it.

Hulick’s lawyer--naturally anxious to pacify the judge--motioned to postpone the hearing.  Guerin rescheduled the hearing for November 14th, with the earnest hope that Hulick had learned her lesson about “maintaining the dignity in my courtroom.”

On the morning of the 14th, Hulick strolled into Guerin’s court wearing…slacks.  Orange and green, this time.  By her side was her attorney, William Katz, carrying a thick stack of law books containing various citations proving that Hulick had the right to wear whatever she damned well pleased.

Guerin was beginning to wish he had never laid eyes on Miss Hulick.  He fumed, “The last time you were in this court dressed as you are now and reclining on your neck on the back of your chair, you drew more attention from spectators, prisoners and court attaches than the legal business at hand. You were requested to return in garb acceptable to courtroom procedure.

“Today you come back dressed in pants and openly defying the court and its duties to conduct judicial proceedings in an orderly manner. It’s time a decision was reached on this matter and on the power the court has to maintain what it considers orderly conduct.

“The court hereby orders and directs you to return tomorrow in accepted dress. If you insist on wearing slacks again you will be prevented from testifying because that would hinder the administration of justice. But be prepared to be punished according to law for contempt of court.”

Outside the courtroom, Hulick told reporters (the affair was already becoming a local sensation,) “I’ve worn slacks since I was 15. I don’t own a dress except a formal. If he wants me to appear in a formal gown that’s okay with me.

“I’ll come back in slacks and if he puts me in jail I hope it will help to free women forever of anti-slackism.”  She added that she refused to wear silk stockings “because the silk comes from Japan and every pair means a dead Chinese.”

"New York Daily News," November 19, 1938, via Newspapers.com


The following day, Hulick entered the court wearing a plaid coat, a red-and-white blouse, and…gray slacks.  At first, Guerin ignored the outrage, concentrating on what by now was the nearly forgotten business of the hearing--namely, the two men who had robbed Hulick’s home.  He ordered that the defendants be bound over for trial.

Then, Guerin got to the really important part.  In seven typewritten pages, the judge came down on the erring schoolteacher like a ton of judicial bricks.  He fumed that Hulick had, after all his warnings, appeared in “a tight-fitting sweater and tight-fitting pants, commonly known as slacks,” thus disrupting “the orderly procedure of the court.”  He snorted that according to Hulick’s logic, nudists might come into his court, simply because they felt more comfortable sans clothing.”  Guerin sentenced her to five days in jail.

Hulick--followed by a pack of reporters from newspapers across the nation--was taken to the county jail, booked, fingerprinted, and presented with a denim dress.  An hour later, Katz saw to it that she was released on a writ of habeas corpus.

On November 17, two judges from the Appellate Division held a hearing on the controversy.  Katz argued that Hulick had every right to wear slacks in Guerin’s court.  Judges, after all, were not the fashion police.  Prosecuting attorneys responded by saying that the real issue was not Hulick’s attire, but her attitude.  She not only repeatedly defied direct orders from the bench, she did so with a “leering and contemptuous expression on her face.”

The following day, the Appellate judges issued their decision.  They wrote, “While the court record indicates by way of recital that petitioner in a court room during proceedings indulged in a type of exhibitionism which may have tended to impede orderly procedure, and which she might have been required to discontinue on pain of disciplinary action, the commitment appears to be based solely on petitioner’s failure to obey the judge’s order to change her attire, which attire, so far as the record before us discloses, did not of itself interfere with orderly court procedure, but involved merely a question of taste, a matter not within the court’s control.”  They ordered that her sentence be absolved.

In short, the judges ruled that while Miss Hulick may have been an irritating exhibitionist, Judge Guerin should have just kept his mouth shut about it.  Guerin, wisely knowing when he was beaten, graciously announced, “I accept the decision as final and will be guided by it in the future.”

The coda to our little story took place on January 17, 1939, when Hulick finally testified against the two accused burglars.  Our heroine appeared in court wearing what one admiring reporter described as “a close-fitting, rust silk dress, sheer hose, high-heeled shoes and a pert up-tilting hat with flowing veil.”  Hulick explained to the press that she had come to believe that “Maybe there’s something to this dressing-up business after all.  Because I’ve been stepping out every night since I decided to dress like the rest of the girls.”

After hearing this, Judge Guerin could surely be forgiven if he had decided to end his day with a few stiff drinks.

"St. Louis Globe Democrat," January 19, 1939


[Note: In her later years, Hulick--who specialized in teaching deaf children--gained a more conventional fame by developing what is known as the “auditory/verbal” technique for working with the hearing-impaired.  By the time of her death in 1989, she was a renowned and respected educator.  However, she remains best known as The Girl Who Wore Slacks.]

Friday, December 13, 2024

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

This week's Link Dump is so big, it had to be hosted by a septet!



Yet another case of a spouse deciding to say it with arsenic.

Mr. Morgan's magnificent library.

The collapse of one of the world's first known governments.

The Ghoul of Gettysburg.

The healing power of music.

What we are learning about Neolithic architecture.

The pyramids at Giza are really eight-sided.

The link between a seal bag and Charlemagne's shroud.

Don't underestimate pigeons.

From Lord to cave-dweller.

The Vatican is opening up "sacred portals."

A solar system with three suns.

The journey of a state bed.

An exorcist tells all.

Somewhat related: Demonic possession and the Carolingian Dynasty.

A sailor who died at Pearl Harbor is finally identified.

Some tips for everyone on your macabre Christmas list.

The disappearance of King Coal and the Silver Queen.

If you're a professional psychic, it's probably best not to use the words, "unforeseen circumstances."

The oldest named resident of a Roman city.

Maybe Venus isn't an Earth-gone-bad after all.

Judy, Grant Street Court cat.

The lost home of Doggerland.

The Hot Dog Santa Claus.

Some lost Christmas traditions.

Beatrix Potter was more than an author.

In 1394, one Eleanor Rykener was arrested, and things got very interesting for modern scholars.

The life of Margaret More Roper.

What's an ancient home without a Christmas ghost?

The big business of antiquities theft.

Out: "Prehistory."  In: "Deep history."

Do organ donations also transfer memories?

Oarfish as earthquake harbingers.

The first battle of the American Civil War.

They may have just dug up Santa Claus.

The Sisters' Rebellion of ancient Vietnam.

The shops of Old London.

Mysterious Neolithic chalk drums.

An 18th century miniaturist.

Can goats predict earthquakes?

A really bad Yelp review from 1925.

The king of the pirates.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a court battle over slacks.  In the meantime, here's a lovely Mexican Christmas song.

Wednesday, December 11, 2024

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com



It occurred to me that, through some unaccountable omission, this blog hasn’t covered too many unexplained “ghost lights.”  I hope this story from the “Raleigh News Observer,” December 17, 2006, will help balance out that deficit.


The mysterious Maco Light, also called the Ghost at Maco Station, is one of North Carolina’s most well-known and enduring supernatural phenomena. It dates to a fatal train wreck in 1867 at a small rural station then called Farmer’s Turnout, 14 miles west of Wilmington on the line serving Wilmington, Florence, S.C., and Augusta, Ga. Conductor Joe Baldwin, riding in the last car of a wood-burning train, discovered that his car had come uncoupled. He died waving a lantern from the rear of that car in a failed attempt to signal and stop a second train coming from behind. One witness saw Baldwin’s lantern fly clear of the train wreck, land and right itself in the adjacent swamp, and burn on.


Shortly afterward and for over a century since, a flickering light has appeared regularly along the railroad tracks in the vicinity of the 1867 collision. Legend attributes this light to the ghost of Joe Baldwin, who was decapitated in the wreck; the ghost is said to be looking for its head. From 1873 until after an 1886 earthquake, railroad workers reported a pair of Maco lights that would appear together. Over the years, the Maco light has been bright enough to fool many railroad workers into stopping their trains. To remedy the ghost’s schedule-thwarting attempts, signalmen at Maco used two lights, one red and one green.


While President Grover Cleveland’s train was wooding and watering up at Maco in 1889, the president saw the two signal lights, asked about them, and got the full story of Old Joe Baldwin. 


In the spring of 1964, the South Eastern North Carolina Beach Association contacted parapsychologist and ghost-hunter Hans Holzer to come to Maco and investigate the mysterious light. After his visit, Holzer gave an apparent certification of the phantom conductor, citing the consistency of his return appearances. Since the railroad tracks were removed around 1980, sightings of the Maco Light have “greatly diminished, if not completely disappeared,” according to Cape Fear Museum historian Harry Warren. In its time the Maco Light has been the object of many a dark vigil at Maco Station, where anywhere from a few to dozens of people would frequently gather at night.


It has also been the subject of numerous newspaper stories and at least one narrative ballad, “The Maco Light,” which sums up the tale: 


They found Joe’s body, 

They found Joe’s head! 

They buried ‘em both, 

But he’s not dead! 

On a dismal night in a dismal swamp, 

You can see his lantern shine!


Monday, December 9, 2024

The Trouble With Ouija Boards

On the day after Christmas 1919, eighteen-year-old Jennie Moro was fatally struck by a hit-and-run driver just outside her hometown of El Cerrito, California.  This tragic event would normally have soon been forgotten by everyone except the girl's grieving loved ones.  However, Jennie's death proved to be a catalyst that would give the Moros a memorable place in the annals of California Weird.

The surviving Moros consisted of Jennie's widowed mother Maria and a married sister, Josie Soldavini.  The family had, for some months, owned a Ouija board--a faddish novelty item of the era.  They had never taken the board very seriously, but after Jennie's death, the Moros began using it try communicating with the spirit world, in the hope of discovering the identity of the driver who had killed Jennie.  Shortly afterward, Josie had a dream where she pictured "a jumble of numbers."  She believed they were the car's registration numbers.  However, such a number could not be found in the automobile register.  Undaunted, Maria and Josie continued their seances, becoming increasingly convinced that they were indeed contacting the dead.  Two of Maria's nephews, Louis and Henry Ferrerio, a Mrs. Sangine Bena, and a neighboring family, the Bottinis, became drawn into these Ouija experiments.

Life became increasingly eerie for the Moros and their friends.  A grave-sized hole mysteriously appeared near the Moro home.  The family believed it was the work of spirits.  Maria Moro, who had been planning to remarry, became obsessed by a fear that her late husband's ghost would punish her for her decision.  The Bottini's fifteen-year-old daughter Adeline became convinced that she was possessed by the ghost of Jennie Moro, who "was completely in control of her body."  The climax to their spirit communications was to take place on March 3, 1920, when the circle believed a great "Passion Display" would take place.  Jennie's ghost, they declared, would cast out "the evil in all of them," and reveal the secret purpose of that hole.

As the great day grew near, the Moros, Mrs. Bena, and the Bottinis kept up a round of non-stop seances.  Twelve-year-old Rosa Bottini lost the ability to keep down food.  The others kept her alive with doses of holy water.  Adeline informed the others that the only way to save the child was to cut off her hair and burn it.  Adeline also destroyed most of her own clothes.  In a further attempt to cleanse the house of "evil spirits," the group burned $700 in cash, but they continued to feel persecuted by demons they had unwittingly unleashed.

Mrs. Bena's husband, Tony, became increasingly alarmed by what was going on in the Moro house. Not knowing what else to do, he went to the town marshal, A.W. MacKinnon, and informed him that the group had barricaded themselves in the Moro home and were "acting queerly."  Complaints were also made that neighborhood children had been lured into the house and were being held prisoner.  (It emerged that the group had shaved the children's heads and burned the hair, as part of their efforts to drive off the malevolent forces.)

When six police officers arrived at the Moro's door, they learned that this description was no exaggeration.  The residents refused to let the police inside, but they were persuaded to allow in J.J. Hennessy, a Catholic priest.  He found the group half-starved and near collapse from "nervous exhaustion."  They had not eaten or slept in days.  When the police finally forced their way in, Mrs. Moro screamed that her late husband's ghost would kill them.  Mrs. Bottini told them that "she had gone through the torment of the crucifixion, and then, being addressed by the Deity through her daughter, she had been brought back to Earth."  After a "lively tussle," the spiritualists were all hauled off to the county hospital.

"San Francisco Chronicle," March 5, 1920, via Newspapers.com

  

The next day, the County Lunacy Commission examined the group.  After hearing their story, the doctors ruled that Maria Moro, Adeline Bottini, Mrs. Bottini, and Josie Soldavini had gone insane, and the women were committed to local asylums.  (However, they were released within a few weeks.)  Their menfolk, who had "disavowed their belief in the alleged messages of the board," were set free.  Curiously, however, Mrs. Bottini's husband afterwards told reporters, "We believe in the Ouija board and our faith is unshaken.  The board will drive away evil spirits."  He rather unwisely added, "Do you think we look like maniacs?"

Ministers and psychiatrists used the incident as proof that Ouija boards were "an instrument of evil."  A mass meeting was held in El Cerrito's town hall addressing "the Ouija board craze."  It was proposed that all the town's citizens should be examined by mental health professionals, to make sure they had not been infected by the "craze."  There was also talk of barring the boards from the city limits, as a danger to public safety. 

Meanwhile, the would-be spiritualists, chastened by their frightening experience, reportedly burned their Ouija board, and life in what the newspapers called "The House of Mystery" slowly returned to a measure of sanity.  

The strange hole near the Moro home was never explained.  And the driver of the car that killed Jennie Moro was never found.