"...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

Friday, December 26, 2025

Weekend Link Dump

 



Welcome to this post-Christmas Link Dump!

The Strange Company staffers are busy Black Friday shopping.




What to do about radioactive reindeer?

What to do about phantom jellyfish?

Photos of what it was like to shop in Old London.

One of the earliest surviving decorated manuscripts.

The mystery of the woman with toxic blood.

W.B. Yeats' occult imagination.

When a Christmas party really is murder.

A pictorial history of Santa Claus.

Louisa May Alcott's version of "A Christmas Carol."

We bid farewell to 3I/Atlas, who stayed weird to the end.

An undertaker's Christmas Eve.

A scandalous murder.

A brief history of Christmas puddings.

An ancient "execution cemetery."

A whole lot of Victorian shoes have washed up on a beach, puzzling the hell out of everyone.

Mysterious ancient mass cremations in Scotland.

The Council of Nicaea.

An ancient stone labyrinth in India.

A now-obscure WWI tragedy at sea.

Madagascar's man-eating tree.

If anyone's craving authentic WWII-style mincemeat, here you go.

The disappearance of the Fort Worth Three.

The Not-Deer of Appalachia.

The man who revolutionized table tennis.

Some world leaders just should not throw Christmas parties.

When you're told "Good luck with the aliens," you know it's going to be a bumpy ride.

The squirrel who sold war bonds.

This is fun: 2025's nastiest book reviews.

The adopted cats of Snug Harbor.

The mystery of when, exactly, Vesuvius destroyed Pompeii.

The spiders of Jupiter.

The "lost rooms" of an Egyptian pyramid.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at the time an Anglican priest met some friendly extraterrestrials.  In the meantime, here's Maddy Prior:

Wednesday, December 24, 2025

Newspaper Clippings of the Christmas Day

"Illustrated Police News," January 8, 1887, via Newspapers.com



All right, kids, you get three guesses what Aunt Undine is recommending you not do this Christmas Eve.  Let’s start with this item from the “Los Angeles Times,” December 20, 1998:

A 24-year-old man holiday caroling with his church youth group was shot and killed and a second man seriously wounded in a drive-by attack near Compton. Heder Faamausili and about a dozen friends had dropped a holiday basket at the door of two elderly women Friday night, and had finished singing "Silent Night," when the crackle of at least seven shots sent the carolers diving for cover. Faamausili, however, had nowhere to escape on the grassy center median of South Castlegate Avenue, where he had left the group briefly to talk to a neighborhood friend, Ben Leilua, 25. An older gold Cadillac pulled alongside the pair. The driver, saying nothing, leveled a pistol and fired at least seven shots, witnesses said.

Faamausili died three hours later at St. Francis Medical Center in Lynwood. Leilua was recovering at the same hospital Saturday with three gunshot wounds.

The “Miami Herald,” December 26, 1978:

A guitar-strumming Christmas caroler was shot and killed early Monday by a man who crashed a holiday celebration. 

Jesús Gabriel Pagán, 22, was shot in the right temple at such close range that powder burns were left all over his face, police said.  

Pagán died at the scene.  His assailant is still at large.

A rather gruesome example of what happens when you mix Christmas carolers and World War II appeared in the “Buffalo Courier Express,” December 26, 1944:

Raiding Japanese planes interrupted Christmas eve carolers singing “Silent Night” at Gen. MacArthur's headquarters.

Three warning blasts of the air raid alert system failed to halt the singers but they were stilled when the heavy ack-ack batteries opened a torrent of fire.

A cross beam of searchlights caught one enemy plane and illuminated him as bright as tinsel.  Shortly thereafter the intruder burst into flames in mid-air and seemed to hang an instant in the moonlight like the Star of Bethlehem.  Then he dropped into the sea.

Hundreds of GIs watching the sky performance let out a roaring cheer.

Then the imperturbable Wac and GI choristers resumed their caroling, this time with “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.”

“You can’t beat people like that,” remarked one soldier.

The “Jackson Citizen Patriot,” December 23, 1956:

Royal Oak police Saturday questioned several suspects in the shooting of a 14-year-old girl caroler who was walking with a friend when she was shot in the back.

Cindy Estes, a high school freshman, was described as in good condition at William Beaumont hospital after removal of the bullet. Police suspected a boy or young man may have been the assailant, although they said it was probably no one who knew the girl. A young man who had fired a pistol twice in an alley earlier was still sought.

The girl was walking home from a drugstore, singing Christmas carols with a friend, Virginia Wright, 15, when the shot was fired. The bullet missed Cindy's spine by an inch. 

"Oh, Ginny, I've been shot," she told her friend. Then the girls walked two blocks to Cindy's home before help was summoned.

The “Coshocton Tribune,” December 24, 1974:

CANTON, Ohio (UP) -Judy Lombardi, 10, Canton, was shot in the shoulder by an elderly woman Monday night while Christmas caroling on the city's southeast side. 

Police said the woman had had her purse snatched a couple of weeks ago and apparently mistook the group for vandals. 

The girl, who was on the woman's porch with other youngsters when the shooting occurred, was listed in guarded condition at Aultman Hospital.

Just to show that at least some people had some Christmas common sense (or sense of self-preservation,) I’ll end with this item from the “Illustrated Police News,” December 29, 1888:

Happy Evesham!  In the great city of Birmingham, householders, tormented before their time by hordes of so-called carol singers, have found no comfort but in grumbling and writing to the papers.  But the Mayor of Prince Henry’s little borough has a short way of dealing with such premature celebrations.  He has sharply issued an edict prohibiting out-door carol singing within his jurisdiction until Christmas Eve.  We believe that from time immemorial the Mayor of Evesham has been autocratic in these matters.  To blow a trumpet in any public thoroughfare as a preliminary to giving or receiving of alms, or to mercenarily conduct one’s family devotions at the corners of the streets in distorted versions of Sankey’s hymns, without the express permission of his worship, is an offence for which the offenders may be and are incontinently locked-up or seen over the borough boundary.  We do not know whether such a power resides in the head of a mushroom municipality like Birmingham.  We are afraid if every gutter tootler and proprietor--for so much a head per diem--of a family of squalling ragamuffins had to wait personally upon his worship before commencing operations the mayoralty itself would soon go a-begging.

Merry Christmas, gang!

Just let someone else sing.  And dodge bullets.

Monday, December 22, 2025

Carried Away By A Ghost; Or, Just Another Day in Wales



The thing I love most about Wales is that they keep trotting out some of the damndest ghost stories:  Ones that are both oddly matter-of-fact and uniquely bonkers.  A wonderfully quaint example played out in the otherwise fairly normal pages of the “South Wales Daily News” in 1893.  On October 28, the paper reported:

Great excitement has prevailed during the past few days at Llwynypia and the adjacent districts in consequence of startling allegations by Mr John Dunn and his wife, who reside at 9, Amelia-terrace, Llwynypia, and also by several neighbours. These persons state that for several nights past hideous apparitions have been witnessed, and unaccountable peculiar noises heard, in the bedrooms and other parts of the cottage. The premises have been visited by hundreds of persons during the past two or three days, and watched by Sergeant Hayle, P.C. Pearce, and the other constables for hours in the evening, but nothing unusual has been discovered by them. On Thursday evening a well-known quoiter and a number of footballers stood for some time in front of the cottage, eagerly waiting the appearance of the ghost, and it is stated that the bravest of the football men was suddenly startled by an alleged supernatural visitant.

Our representative, accompanied by Mr Tom John, schoolmaster, called upon Mrs Dunn yesterday afternoon to receive her own version of the affair. The house is a four-roomed one with a pantry adjoining one of the rooms near the back door. As we paced along the terrace (writes our representative), consisting of about 20 houses, situated on the mountain side, men and women were standing on the thresholds discussing the matter. We entered the cottage and found Mrs Dunn standing by a tub upon a chair washing some wearing apparel.

"Is this the house where the ghost has been causing disturbance?" I asked.

"Yes, sir; take a chair, gentlemen, if you please."

Mr John, who is the Welsh representative on the executive committee of the National Union of Teachers, and myself seated ourselves immediately at her request, and then she unfolded her strange story.

"On Wednesday evening, about nine o' clock," she broke forth, in a somewhat low voice, "I was standing near the pantry door, and suddenly the back door opened, and a tall apparition robed in white appeared close by me right before my eyes. I shrieked, and instantly it stretched forth both arms and clutched me tightly. There was no one in the house beside myself at the time. I lost my sense, and found myself shortly afterwards in an outhouse. The ghost told me there that he was going to take me away with him. I was dumb, could not utter a word for some time. There he kept me, holding me upon the wooden seat, and telling me in Welsh to raise a brick for him. I could not do so. The scones and the few bricks moved, and a rattle was heard by me. Then I was lifted up bodily and taken out and raised up into the air, and I lost my senses again. Afterwards, when I came to myself I found myself by the brink of a pond lower down on the hill-side, and he threatened to chuck me into the water and drown me. In taking me there the ghost had to lift me over a fence seven feet high."

"Was the ghost still talking in Welsh?"

"Oh, yes; and he also talked to me in English, but I spoke to him in Welsh."

"What were the words in Welsh?"

"Mae rhaid i ti ddyfod gyda mi."  [“You have to come with me.”]

At this stage of our conversation, two or three of the neighbours entered the kitchen where we were seated, and they enlivened the proceedings by narrating what they had heard and seen in and about the premises. Mrs Dunn, resuming her tale, said, "This house has been troubled by the ghost for nearly seven months off and on, but it is during the past few days that we have been greatly disturbed."

"How was he attired?"

One of the neighbours standing close by Mr John and myself interjected excitedly "He had a pair of moleskin trousers on, I think, and a white sheet over his shoulders."

"It was not a man, was it?"

"No, because he vanished into air all at once, and then appeared before our very eyes and went off again. Here, this little girl has seen him many times" (pointing to a girl about 16 years of age standing near). "She can tell more than we can."

Mrs Dunn looked quite pale, but did not appear to be suffering from any sort of mental aberration. Proceeding with her account of the strange affair, she said, "Men living in this locality have been sleeping in turns upstairs for days past for the purpose of getting to the bottom of the matter. They hear the latch rattling and rapping on the doors and noises like the shuffling of feet and the clatter of crockery, and other noises, and they can't see anything."

Mr John put several questions to her, and in reply she stated that the ghost had told her she would have peace in future, and that he would not torment her again. She received that ghostly assurance, according to her statement to Mr John, on the preceding night. Another of the neighbours who had patiently listened to all this, observed that she had also seen a shadow of the ghost on the wall opposite her house, and she thought that the ghost was wearing corduroy breeches. She said that a "Christian young man," and very religious, was one of the men who were sitting up in turns all night in the house, and he had experienced the very same thing as they and Mrs Dunn had. "Jack," the husband, who was a native of Somersetshire, was also troubled be the spectre, and he sincerely believed it was a ghost. The pond has been visited by hundreds of people during the past day or two, and they all marvel at the strength of the "goblin" in lifting or conveying the landlady over the high fence.

"What's the cause of the appearance of the ghost, or why does he trouble you more than the neighbours?" asked our representative.

"Well, I don't know," replied Mrs Dunn.

"An old man was taken to the asylum from here many years ago," broke forth one of the neighbours, "and he wore ribbed trousers and moleskin trousers sometimes, and I think his spirit has returned to look for a bag of gold which, it is said, he left behind. A lot of people have been searching the place for money yesterday."

P.C. Pearce, Llwynypia, stated that the pond to the brink of which the ghost carried Mrs Dunn is about 300 yards away from the cottage. He had been telling "Jack," the husband, that the noise he heard in the house at night was not produced by a ghost, but it was no use arguing with "Jack," because it only drove him out of temper. The delusion had stuck in "Jack's" mind, and also in his wife's and neighbours' brains. A very large number of people had visited the premises, and remained outside the house until a late hour in the evening. Dr. Jennings had also visited the premises, and described the whole affair, according to P.C. Pearce, as a pack of nonsense. But the matter is, nevertheless, the topic of the day in the district, and has caused a great sensation among the residents.

On November 7th, readers heard from Mrs. Dunn directly:

We have received a long letter from the woman who alleges that she was visited in her house at Llwynypia by a spectre, which carried her bodily away and deposited her a considerable distance from her dwelling. In the course of her somewhat discursive epistle, Mrs Downe [sic], of 8, Amelia-terrace, says: - "I am the woman who was carried away, and I am the woman who can tell you the truth about it. I have plenty of witnesses who have heard the noise, and I had plenty of company in the house when he (the ghost) took me away. They asked the constable who looks after the company's houses to stop here a night to hear and see, if he could, but he did not come.

I was sitting on a chair by the fire, with three other persons - Mrs Lewis, Mrs George, and John Samuel. The company was outside. It was at half-past eight in the evening, as near as I can say, when the ghost pulled me off the chair towards him to the passage. I was afraid, and I screamed, and jumped back to my chair. He was still there. Mrs Lewis told me to speak to him. I felt too nervous at first, but after a time I started to speak to him, when, before I could finish my words he pushed me out from the house and across the bailey and into the water closet. Here he lifted me on to the seat, standing, and he pointed to the top of the wall.

He told me in Welsh to raise the stone and take what was under it, and that I must go with him. That was all he said to me there. Then he took me down about 200 yards from the house. I cannot tell you how he took me from the closet because I lost all my control. I found myself by the brim of a pond. Here he took from he what I had in my hand, and threw it into the water. Then he told me he should never trouble me any more. So that's all the truth, and I hope you'll be so kind as to put the truth down in your paper.

I am not able to do the washing nor anything else; I am not the same woman that I was before, and I don't think I ever will be. I can give you these names and many others who can swear to what I have said - John Samuel, 9 Amelia Terrace; Mrs Lewis, 1 Amelia Terrace; and Mrs George, 11 Amelia Terrace."

So.

Friday, December 19, 2025

Weekend Link Dump

 


Welcome to this week’s Link Dump!


The Strange Company staffers are already feeling the Christmas spirit.  Or something.



A question of royal legitimacy.

The royal history of some stolen sapphires.

A particularly interesting feature of some near-death experiences.

A new timeline for ancient Egypt.

Solving a Dead Sea Scrolls riddle.

A mysterious "lady in white" with a surprise for everyone.

An ancient undersea wall.

John Dee goes to college.

The train wreck that birthed the American subway system.

The life of Suleyman the Magnificent.

Aggie Underwood, crime reporter.

A look at some Christmas legends.

Tolkien didn't think much of automobiles.

On the need for imaginative archaeologists.

Why oranges are put in Christmas stockings.

Midwinter at Christ Church, Spitalfields.

You know how shoes with human feet in them keep turning up in the Pacific Northwest?  Well...

That time when Andrew Jackson threw one hell of a cheese party.

A selection of gruesome Christmas gifts.

The origin of the Wars of the Roses.

Dr. Cream, the Lambeth Poisoner.

A very busy executioner.

The graffiti of Pompeii.

When Robert Louis Stevenson gave away his birthday.

The significance of a 3 million year old foot.

When you introduce a new calendar, things get complicated.

The letters of Jane Austen.

A haunted distillery.

Inca's "hair records."

When dating a twin means double trouble.

The mysterious Newport Tower.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll meet a particularly weird Welsh ghost.  In the meantime, here's a striking version of a lovely Christmas song.

Wednesday, December 17, 2025

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com



What’s the Christmas season without a ghost or two?  The “Bristol Mercury,” January 13, 1823:

To the Editor of the Bristol Mercury. 

Sir--In my present excursions in this country, 

Through land of leeks, with Welshmen sped, 

From Afon Gwy to Dewi's Head, 

I may be enabled to send you some occasional communications if you think proper to find a corner in your Demi Cambrian Paper. 

A most extraordinary sensation has been lately excited in the village of Llandoga, midway between Chepstow and Monmonth. 

"The windows shake, the drawers crack, 

Each thinks that Nick's behind his back,

And hitches to the fire.”

On the 31st Dec. last, the house of Wm. Edwards, formerly a local preacher in the Wesleyan connexion, but now estranged from that society, was beset by some (as it is said) invisible spirit, which so violently disturbed the man and his family, by demolishing his earthen-ware, and breaking his glasses, in such unfriendly and unneighbourly manner, that he was obliged to remove to another house, farther up the village, when lo! this crockery-destroying demon pursued his victim to the new residence, and as he had acted on the last day of 1822, so he commenced on the first day of 1823 by kicking the remainder of the perishable furniture down the stairs, and other strange whims, almost too comical for the old gentleman or his imps to enact. On my passing through this village on Tuesday last, I endeavoured to catch the floating opinions of men's minds, of which the following is an epitome.

1. Mr. Edwards is of the opinion that it is the buffeting of Satan, on his determination to become a new man, and to enter again into a state of warfare with that enemy of mankind. 

2. A native of the diocese of St. David's will have it, that the preacher has sometime or other promised a ghost or sprite to meet it, in order to the discovery of hidden treasure, and that he has omitted, or forgotten his appointment. 

3. But some respectable informants there, are convinced that this affair forms a fit sequel to, or a triad with that of Ann Moore, the Tetbury Fasting Impostor, and Scratching Fanny, the Cocklane Ghost. 

An inquiring and well-informed public expects that Mr. Edwards will illustrate, if he can, for it certainly is a scandalous imposition of someone, but I will not say who, for fear of mistakes.

Mr. Editor, you will please to observe these are not the crudities of Tom Coryate, but of real events occurring in the travels of your old correspondent. 

THOMAS TICKLE. Jan. 9, 1825.



Monday, December 15, 2025

The Body in the Mine Shaft and a Strange Miscarriage of Justice

This week, we look at the case of a murder victim who turned out to not be a murder victim.  Even though a murder had definitely been committed.  Throw in a murderer who turned out to not be a murderer, and about all you can say is that Life Gets Complicated.

In January 1925, a 31-year-old man named Condy Dabney left his home in Coal Creek, Tennessee to look for work.  His wife and two children stayed behind in Coal Creek until he was able to resettle.  Fortunately, he found employment in a mine near Coxton, Kentucky.  He impressed everyone as a quiet, amiable, law-abiding man.

Soon after Dabney arrived in Coxton, a 16-year-old girl named Roxy Baker disappeared, under circumstances considered mysterious enough for a Grand Jury to be called in.  Just before the jurors met, three Coxton men also inexplicably vanished.  The Grand Jury found nothing connecting the four disappearances, but they were unable to come to any conclusions about Coxton’s sudden depopulation.

In early July, Dabney gave up his mining job to start a taxi service.  A month later, Coxton was rocked by further disappearing acts:  Two married women and a 14-year-old girl named Mary Vickery.  Although no clue was ever found about the whereabouts of the adult women, two Coxton men--William Middleton and Condy Dabney--had been seen taking Mary for automobile rides, which made them the obvious--indeed, only--suspects in her disappearance.  However, the Grand Jury was unable to find any other incriminating evidence against the men, so they were released from custody.

In September, Dabney heard that one of his children was sick, so he left Coxton to find work closer to home.  The following month, United States Marshal Adrian Metcalf got a tip that an illegal still was operating in an abandoned mine shaft on Ivy Hill, just outside of Coxton, so he went to investigate.

In the course of his search, he found something far worse than moonshine.  In yet another abandoned shaft, he found some women’s clothing and an ominous-looking pile of stones.  He brought in some backup, and the men began digging.  Before long, they unearthed a body.  The corpse was too decomposed to allow identification to be possible, but they believed it was of a girl in her early teens.  This led to the obvious presumption that these were the remains of the still-missing Mary Vickery.  Townspeople--particularly a young woman named Marie Jackson--immediately began gossiping that Condy Dabney was responsible for the girl’s murder.  The stories told about Dabney were considered damming enough for authorities to visit his home in Coal Creek to question him, but apparently he was able to convince them of his innocence.  Unfortunately for him, the Grand Jury felt otherwise.  On March 18, 1926, they returned an indictment charging Dabney with Mary Vickery’s murder.

At Dabney’s trial, Mary’s father testified that he was certain the body found in the old shaft was that of his daughter, largely on the basis of a ring he found in the shaft after the corpse was discovered.  He also claimed that a stocking found at the scene was identical to one Mary owned, and that the “sandy like and bobbed” hair on the corpse matched that of his daughter.  On cross-examination, Vickery stated that Mary had never run away from home before, and denied rumors that she had a bad relationship with her stepmother.  Defense lawyers got Vickery to admit that he had not attended the corpse’s funeral, and allowed the county to take charge of the burial.  When asked about this seeming neglect, he hesitated, which caused Dabney’s attorney, G.G. Rawlings, to declare, “You did not know that was your girl, that is what you started to say, wasn’t it?”

“At the present time I wasn’t perfectly sure,” Vickery admitted.

It turned out that there was a great deal of confusion about the body’s identity.  Witnesses were produced who testified to Vickery’s uncertainty about whether the corpse was Mary’s or not.  Nobody could agree on the color of the corpse’s hair--some described it as brown and fine, others said it was black and coarse.

The chief witness against Dabney was Marie Jackson.  She testified that on the morning that Mary disappeared, she and Mary hailed a ride from Dabney’s taxi.  He drove them to a Coxton restaurant, where Marie got out.  Dabney drove off with Mary still in his car.  Dabney and Mary came back at about 1 p.m., after which the trio drove out to Ivy Hill.  They got out of the car and sat in a clearing, where they talked for a while.  Then Dabney asked Marie to go off behind the hill for a while, so he could talk to Mary alone.  Marie claimed that she obeyed, although she could still see the two of them.  According to Marie, she saw Dabney embrace Mary.  When the girl objected, Dabney repeatedly beat her with a stick.  After the attack, Dabney walked over to Marie, warning her that if she ever told a soul about what she had seen, he would “burn her at the stake.”  As she fled, she saw Dabney carrying Mary’s body into the mine shaft.  Curiously, she willingly got another ride from Dabney the following day.  The topic of Mary’s murder, she said, never came up.

Three young women--two sisters named Stewart and a “Miss Smith”--testified that on the afternoon of Mary’s disappearance, the Stewart sisters and Mary were walking along a road, when Dabney drove by, offering them a lift. They declined, but after they were joined by William Middleton and one Otis King, the three girls rode with them for a short time, after which the Stewarts left, leaving Mary in the car with Middleton and King.  These two men substantiated this story.  All this took place between two and four p.m., which contradicted Marie Jackson’s claim that she had been with Mary and Dabney on Ivy Hill from one p.m. until dusk.

The state brought out a “jailhouse witness”--one Claude Scott, who had been imprisoned with Dabney for a short time before the trial.  He was an old friend of Marie Jackson.  He claimed that he had given Marie a letter from Dabney, and that Dabney had offered him fifteen dollars to testify in his favor.  Claude said that Dabney “tried to make me remember stuff that Marie Jackson should have said through that window to me; while he was sitting there he tried to make me remember stuff I never heard her say and she never said to me.”

When Dabney himself took the stand, he stated that he did not remember ever having Mary Vickery in his taxi, although he admitted that it might have happened, as he often gave rides to people he did not know.  He did, however, occasionally taxi Marie Jackson.  He declared that he had never been on Ivy Hill, and had no idea in the world what had happened to Mary Vickery.

Unfortunately for Dabney, the jurors obviously found Marie Jackson’s lurid tale more convincing than his protestations of innocence.  On March 31, 1926, they delivered a guilty verdict, with a recommendation for life imprisonment.  Dabney faced the prospect of spending the rest of his days doing hard labor at the state penitentiary in Frankfort.

Dabney’s lawyer immediately appealed the verdict.  While the appeal was still pending, a policeman named George Davis checked into a hotel in Williamsburg, Kentucky.  He happened to notice the name “Mary Vickery” on the register.  The name rang a bell with him, although he could not remember why.  When he asked hotel workers about it, he learned that someone by that name had once lived in the hotel, but she went across the Cumberland River to visit friends.  Davis--who had, by then, remembered that Mary Vickery was supposed to be dead--managed to track her down.

Marie Jackson



Mary told him that she had left Coxton on August 23, 1925, because she couldn’t get on with her stepmother.  She took a taxi to the train station.  The driver was a stranger, but the description she gave of him matched that of Dabney.  She said she didn’t even know Marie Jackson.  Mary went to various cities, finally settling in Cincinnati, where she worked in a woolen mill.  She admitted that while there, she heard that a man had been convicted of her murder.  When asked why she hadn’t let anyone know that she was very much alive, Mary replied, “I just never thought about that.”




After Mary was persuaded to return to Coxton, embarrassed officials immediately pardoned Dabney, and appointed a special prosecutor, G.J. Jarvis, to investigate Marie Jackson.  The young woman obviously had some explaining to do.  Despite this official inquiry, it remains uncertain why Marie was so eager to ruin an innocent man’s life.  Jarvis was of the opinion that she concocted her testimony to get the $500 reward that had been offered for information about Mary’s disappearance.  However, Dabney himself said that Marie had accused him of murder out of revenge because “I refused to desert my family for her.”  In any case, Marie was convicted of perjury on March 27, 1927.  Coincidentally enough, on that very same day Mary Vickery was married to a C.E. Dempsey.




After this coda, everyone involved went on with their lives, leaving behind one rather obvious question:  Who was the body in the mine shaft, and who killed her?   It was speculated that the corpse was that of a young woman named Leslie (or Letitia) Cole, who vanished around the same time as Mary Vickery.  Interestingly, Mrs. Cole’s estranged husband Carlo was said to have been romantically involved with none other than Marie Jackson.

It is possible that Marie knew much more about this unsolved murder than she ever let on.

Friday, December 12, 2025

Weekend Link Dump

 


Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

Let the show begin!



The notorious disappearance of Flight 19.

A case of lethal self-defense.

Public bathing in ancient Rome.

The 1915 sinking of HMS Goliath.

That time when someone translated "Dracula" into Icelandic, and things got weird.

The volcanic eruption that may have triggered the Black Death.

Some "lost" Bach pieces have been performed for the first time in over 300 years.

When "Pride and Prejudice" was rejected by a publisher.  (Confession time: I love "P&P," but oddly enough, I've never been able to get through any of Austen's other novels.  I found them all boring.)

A man's bizarre disappearance and death.

Prehistoric "3D storytelling."

The Bayeux Tapestry is hitting the road.

King John and the lost Crown Jewels.

Confirmation of how ancient Romans made concrete.

It seems that humans can sense buried objects without touching them.

The West Point Eggnog Riot.

Why we have two nostrils.

No doubt you'll be gratified to learn that we now know what happens when you send a menstrual cup into space.

Victorian poetry killed off Santa Claus.

The ghost of Paines Hollow.

The Battle of May Island.

The female gladiators of ancient Rome.

Photos of the streets of Old London.

A heroic last stand during WWI.

The ghost of the victim of an unsolved murder.

The unsolved murder of a telegraph operator.

The near-shipwreck which inspired "The Poseidon Adventure."

The oldest known evidence for humans making fire.

A "misunderstood distaste for bathing."

Cousin Molly's Christmas fund.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at an unusually complicated murder case.  In the meantime, here's a Christmas season remembrance of the late, much-missed Rev. Robert Willis.