"...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, June 23, 2025

The Curious Mr. Jacob

A photo that may be of A.M. Jacob, although the attribution seems dubious.



On January 17, 1921, the normally staid pages of the “London Times” carried a surprisingly colorful obituary:

The wonderfully diversified stage of India has seen no more romantic and arresting figure in our time than that of Mr. A.M. Jacob, the “Lurgan Sahib” of Mr. Kipling's “Kim" and the hero of the late Marion Crawford's most successful novel “Isaacs.”  He won his way from slavery to fame and immense wealth. but has now died in obscurity and poverty at Bombay at the age of 71.

Mystery surrounds the origin, as well as many features of the career, of a man generally believed to be either a Polish or Armenian Jew. but who claimed to be a Turk, and was born near Constantinople. At any rate, he was of the humblest origin, and when 10 years old was sold as a slave to a rich pasha, who, discovering that the boy had uncommon abilities, made a student of him.

It was thus that he acquired the foundation of that wide knowledge of Eastern life, language, art, literature, philosophy, and occultism which made him in later years a great influence at Simla and a most valuable helper of the political secret service. Gaining manumission on the death of his master in early manhood, he made the pilgrimage to Mecca disguised as a Mahomedan, and from Jeddah worked a passage to Bombay, where he landed friendless and with scarcely enough in his pocket for the next meal. Through his intimate knowledge of Arabic he soon obtained a clerkship to a great nobleman in the Nizam Court in Hyderabad. A year or two later a successful deal with a precious stone led him to go to Delhi and to set up in business in this line.

He rapidly made money.  His ideas and interests were too expansive to find scope in the Chandi Chowk, and he removed his business to Simla, the social and administrative capital of India for the greater part of the year.

Mr. Jacob's unrivalled knowledge of precious stones gave him a remarkable clientele of the highest in the land. such as British satraps and Indian princes; but he was much more than a keen man of business. He was endowed by nature with a wonderfully handsome face and form, and there was about him a compelling magnetism, a power and mystery, which led to his being sought for conversation and advice by Viceroys and princes, as well as men only less exalted. Belvedere, his Simla home. furnished in the most lavish Oriental style and filled with priceless ornaments. was thronged by a succession of notable visitors. Yet his own habits of life were ascetic almost to the verge of sternness.

So far from using his immense wealth for the gratification of luxurious tastes, he was a vegetarian. a teetotaller, and a non-smoker, and with good horses in his stables he rode only a shaggy hill pony. A Viceroy is reported to have said of him that “he lived like a skeleton in a jewel room.” The fact was that his deepest interests were in philosophy, astrology, and the occult. At dinner parties he astonished his guests by his “miracles,” and even the late Mme. Blavatsky had to admit his superiority in providing at will supernormal phenomena.  

But the day came when this bright star suffered eclipse. Hearing that the "Imperial diamond” was for sale in this country, he went to the late Nizam of Hyderabad, Sir Mahbub Ali Khan, and obtained an offer of 46 lakhs, then the equivalent of over £300,000. He obtained Rs.20 lakhs on account, and finding by cable that he could obtain the stone for £150,000, he at once paid the amount.  Mr. Jacob always alleged that it was owing to a personal intrigue against him that a high dignitary in Hyderabad, acting for the Government of India, brought pressure to bear on the Nizam, whose finances were at that time in an unsatisfactory state, to renounce the transaction.  Mr. Jacob was sued for the return of the Rs.20 lakhs, and was criminally indicted on a charge of cheating. After a trial at the Calcutta High Court lasting 57 days he was acquitted, but he had incurred enormous legal expenses. He claimed that ultimately the Nizam agreed to pay Rs.17 lakhs for the diamond, but this, as well as some other large liabilities by Indian Durbars, could not be obtained by legal process in British Courts, since they have no jurisdiction over the ruling Princes.

This, in brief, is the version of the collapse of his fortune which Mr. Jacob gave. At the age of 55 he went to Bombay a ruined man, and earned a scanty living for some years as a dealer in old china. But he remained cheerful and alert, sustained by a philosophy of life which gave him unshaken faith in immortality.

During all his prosperous years, he kept a full diary day by day, and it is to be hoped that this record of a fascinating career, believed to be very frank, will one day be published.

It appears that, if anything, the “Times” downplayed Jacob’s capacity for weirdness.  (A side note: His modern biographer, John Zubrzycki, believes "Jacob" was born in 1849 in what is now Turkey, and that his real name was "Iskandar Meliki bin Ya'qub al-Birri."  Perhaps he was, perhaps he wasn't.  Jacob was very good at creating a dense fog around his life.)  The Indian publication “The Pioneer,” gave a contemporary report about this remarkable enigma.  Jacob, we are told, could make himself invisible any time he chose.  At dinner parties, the other guests were entertained by the spectacle of Jacob seeming to vanish into ether, with only the movements of his knife and fork being visible.  At one gathering, a general asked Jacob to show some of his “tricks.”  Jacob, offended by this demeaning word, ordered a servant to bring him the general’s walking stick, made of thick grapevine, and a glass bowl full of water.  He then thrust the stick into the bowl.  “After a time,” the Pioneer’s correspondent wrote, “they saw numbers of shoots, like rootlets, begin issuing from the handle until they filled the bowl and held the stick steady, Jacob standing over it, muttering all the time.”  Then the stick began making crackling sounds, and twigs began sprouting from the stick, which soon turned into leaves and buds, the latter of which turned into bunches of black grapes.  All of this took place within some ten minutes.

Jacob was not through with his little show.  He told one of the guests to close his eyes and picture himself in the bedroom of his bungalow, which was about a mile away.  The guest obeyed.  “Now open your eyes,” Jacob said.  When the man did so, he was understandably flummoxed to find that he and Jacob were standing in the bungalow.  Jacob then told him to close his eyes again, so they could rejoin the dinner party.  However, the man, apparently having enough of being teleported here and there, refused.  “Oh, well,” said Jacob, “since you won’t come, I must go alone.  Goodbye.”  And then he vanished.  What the other dinner guests thought of this Fortean floor show is unfortunately not recorded.

In 1896, the Spiritualist publication “Borderland” carried a report about Jacob.  Their correspondent said he had spoken to Jacob about the “Pioneer” account.  Jacob essentially confirmed it all, except that he denied having performed the “miracle” of the grapes with a guest’s stick.  Rather, he had used a pre-prepared stick, which made his little stunt an easy one.  “In fact, he asserted that I or any one else could do the trick as soon as we were shown how.  Further, he admitted the truth of the fact that he had thrust your contributor through with a naked sword, but while he admitted it, he explained it away, for he said it was a mere trick, which was frequently performed by the natives.”

And what of the reports that Jacob could walk on water?  “Ah,” he replied, “I cannot do that now.”  Jacob explained, “I did not walk on the water, as the article says, although I appeared to do so, but I was supported in the air by my friend, who was invisible to the others.”  He added that this “friend” was someone who died 150 years previously, “and had been kind enough to act as his guardian through life.”  Alas, this “spirit guardian” had deserted him four months ago, leaving Jacob unable to repeat that particular stunt.  The “Borderland” correspondent also informed us that Jacob always wore a certain charm around his neck.  When he would wave it around, “a storm of butterflies, so dense, that no object in the room or its walls or ceiling could be seen through; and again with another word the storm disappeared.”  On another occasion, he showed his drawing-room “to be on fire, filled with large flames, but without warmth.”

As if Jacob’s life wasn’t peculiar enough, he also appears to have been some sort of intelligence asset.  Edward Buck, who had been a correspondent for Reuters in Simla for many years, and who knew Jacob well, wrote, “From papers which Mr. Jacob showed me there is no doubt in my mind that he was at one time treated as a secret agent of Government in certain matters.”  Buck did not say what these “certain matters” were, but he implied that the answers to many of the questions surrounding Jacob could be found in the files of “the mysterious Secret Department” of the Indian government.  

A.M. Jacob--or whoever and whatever he really was--died in Bombay on January 9, 1921.  He is buried in that city’s Sewri cemetery, but the exact location of his grave is now lost.  He would probably prefer it that way.

There is one rather charming footnote to our story.  The “Imperial Diamond” which led to Jacob’s financial ruin is now known as the “Jacob Diamond,” thus giving him a certain immortality.

[Note:  Many thanks to John Bellen for introducing me to this unusual character.]

Friday, June 20, 2025

Weekend Link Dump

 



Welcome to this week's Link Dump, where we've got the blues!



The eternal mystery of the Lost Colony of Roanoke.

An ultra-penal colony.

The Boston Bread Riot.

When the CIA tried to turn animals into assassins.  Because, CIA.

There's an "underwater staircase" in the Baltic Sea, and scientists are a bit freaked out.

A lot of strange things go on in Dulce, New Mexico.

It turns out that ChatGPT is a lousy therapist.  Golly, there's a shocker.

The Enlightenment's philosophical gravediggers.

A Kansas UFO incident.

Why "Jack" became a nickname for "John."

Convicts take a brutal journey to Australia.

The slow death of the semicolon.

Why Tokyo has "third-party toilet consultants."

We now have an idea of what Denisovans looked like.

A British MP's museum.

The tribe that doesn't dance, sing, or make fire.

A column wondering why birds haven't developed a complex culture.  I dunno, maybe it's because they have more sense than we do.

The "most coveted and desirable book in the world."

The magic of feathers.

"Jaws" turns 50.

The science behind near-death experiences.

A brief history of Americans being abducted by aliens.

The very weird murder of "God's banker."

Panic in Mattoon: A Mad Gasser or mass hysteria?

A famed rat-catcher.

A famed bookbinder.

The birth of "Mark Twain."

The Case of the Murdered Coachman.

The war dead of St. Paul's Cathedral.

The "General Slocum" disaster.

A "sea devil incarnate."

The Jumping Frenchmen of Maine.

A philosopher's "repugnant conclusion."

The theory that we're not the first advanced civilization.

Nothing to see here, just mysterious radio pulses coming from beneath Antarctica's ice. 

The "Holy Grail" of shipwrecks.

More Thundercrows!

Why Mars is currently confusing scientists.

A forgotten Founding Father.

Ancient treasure that's really out-of-this-world.

The discovery of an ancient underwater settlement.

A very weird ghost story from ancient Greece.

The cattiest countries in Europe.

A club for bores.

A brief history of pizza.

When you think you're getting a marriage proposal, and it turns out to be a book deal instead.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a strange figure from Indian history.  In the meantime, here's Stevie:

Wednesday, June 18, 2025

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com



This poltergeist case is sadly lacking in detail (I could not find any more informative reports,) but I thought the final line of the story made it worth sharing.  “Truth,” December 1, 1946:

The people of County Clare, Ireland, are agog with anxiety and perplexity at reports of the impish activities of a Poltergeist, which this week showed up in their midst! So strange is the situation which the poltergeist is stirring up, that profound interest is registered throughout the United Kingdom this week-end. A poltergeist is described as "a ghost which causes noises and gets up to all sorts of impish pranks." Many citizens of County Clare are inclined to believe that a Walt Disney creation has got loose and is causing all kinds of trouble.

A "Truth" correspondent in London got in touch with Ireland when the news was first received of the poltergeist. The correspondent says there appears to be some jealousy over Walt Disney visiting Dublin before County Clare. From the Ballymakea district of Mullagh there comes the story of a poltergeist which takes pride in throwing butter in the face of a farmer's wife and in scaring children out of their wits, in broad daylight. By way of repaying the hospitality, this poltergeist causes chairs to be smashed, windows and china broken, bread finger-printed and ash thrown in the stew. This, of course, does not include the unseemly behavior with the bedclothes.

A policeman at Quilty, in County Clare, told "Truth's" correspondent that the poltergeist disturbance was being investigated. They claim that the reports are true, believe in the occurrence, and are seriously investigating the "mischievous phenomena.” If the phenomena continues, there will be a "clerical investigation," the policeman added. 

People in Eire do not dismiss the affair as an "old wives' tale." 

It is pointed out that these poltergeists must not be confused with the benevolent little men called Leprechauns. Poltergeists are reputed "to be able to cause real damage and sometimes physical pain.” 

Spiritualists believe poltergeists to be the spirits of vicious monkeys.

Monday, June 16, 2025

Where Are James and Nancy Robinson?

The following is yet another case where a husband and wife disappear simultaneously, but in this instance the circumstances were particularly inexplicable, not to mention sinister.

Up until the day their lives took a sudden dark turn, we know very little about 39-year-old James Robinson and his 25-year-old wife Nancy, other than that they had been married a relatively short time and were, as far as anyone can tell, happy with each other.  When our story opens, they had spent the last seven months as caretakers for the Winter’s Creek Equestrian Ranch in Washoe Valley, Nevada, with no apparent problems on or off the job.

Winters Creek Ranch


On Saturday, March 8, 1982, a Reno family came by the ranch to rent horses for the day.  Unfortunately, the weather took a sudden turn for the worse, forcing them to cut their ride short.  James and Nancy assured them that they could come by the next day to finish their excursion, at no extra charge.  However, when the family returned the following morning, they found the ranch locked up, and seemingly deserted.  The only signs of life were the horses roaming free in the yard.  The group apparently just shrugged and left.

On the morning of Monday, March 10th, a man who had been hired to do some construction work on the ranch became concerned when he saw that the Robinson’s living quarters had a broken window and blood on the front steps, and contacted police.

When the police entered the house, it was immediately obvious that something terrible had happened.  The place was in disarray, and pools of blood were found on the floor.  Several saddles and a few pieces of jewelry were gone, but many other items of at least equal value remained.  Several guns were found inside the house, but none of them had been recently used.  Later that day, the Robinson pickup truck was found on the side of the road on Highway 50, near Lake Tahoe, with a flat tire.  More blood was found inside the truck, along with the missing saddles and jewelry, and another gun which had also not been fired.  (Oddly, tests performed on all these blood stains were reported as being “inconclusive” about the blood types.  In 2000, it was reported that the blood samples would be resubmitted for DNA testing, but I’ve been unable to find what the results may have been.)  The last known person to talk to James and Nancy was the owner of the ranch, who phoned them on the evening of March 6th to talk about a horse show they had attended that afternoon.  He stated that everything seemed perfectly normal.

Although it’s assumed that some sort of foul play was involved, to date, we still have no idea what happened to the Robinsons.  The only possible clue to their disappearance was the fact that three months before the couple vanished, the main house on the ranch burned down in what was believed to be an act of arson.  The Robinsons had agreed to take a polygraph test as part of the investigation, but they went missing before this could be done.  It was never determined who set the fire, or if it had any connection to James and Nancy’s disquieting exit.  Eighteen years after the couple vanished, Larry Canfield, the lead detective in the mystery, could only say, “Everybody loves a mystery, and this is a good one.”

Not the sort of epitaph anyone wants to leave behind.

Friday, June 13, 2025

Weekend Link Dump

 


Before beginning this week's Link Dump, we have a first for this blog:  a public proposal!



Watch out for Thundercrows!

An alleged UFO abduction at a state park.

A glimpse of a young widow and her child.

Don't look now, but the timeline of civilization just blew up in everyone's faces.

The Roman woman of Spitalfields.

The wreck of the ship Squantum, 1860.

The sort of face you make after spending two and a half years in a Greenland hut.

The Red Cross Murders.

In which we learn that palaeoanthropologists are a bunch of psychos.

The controversial Marguerite of Anjou.

Lydia Sherman, poison fiend.

The world's oldest known synthetic pigment turns out to have some odd properties.

Some largely-forgotten pie flavors.  To be honest, I can fully understand why some of them are forgotten.  In particular, "water pie" needs to be tied to an anvil and thrown in the Mariana Trench.

Related: some vintage dessert salads.

From Romanov princess to fashion icon.

New England, land of hermit tourism.

If you don't have time to read this whole piece, I can sum it up in four words:  Patricia Highsmith was weird.

Edinburgh's South Bridge Vaults.

Newly discovered Byzantine tombs in Syria.

The link between Bovril and science fiction.

Ancient human remains with weird DNA.

Human language probably emerged much earlier than we thought.

The birth of the Brooklyn Museum.

Murder at Sugar Valley Narrows.

Meanwhile, scientists are harassing cicadas into performing classical music.  Even though everyone knows they favor blues-rock.

A balloon expedition ends tragically.

A restaurant owner's mysterious disappearance.

A Gilded Age house that defied the developers.

Some honest-to-goodness zombies.

The tragic end of America's first game warden.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a couple's unsolved disappearance.  In the meantime, here's a bit of vintage rock.

Wednesday, June 11, 2025

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com



This quirky little story appeared in the “Boston Globe,” June 19, 1883:


Mr. J. J. Bell of No. 32 South William street received a long, narrow box by express to-day. He had the box opened and there was disclosed an immense sword, which is supposed to have been used in ancient warfare. The sword was found embedded in the muddy soil at the side of the creek that passes through the farm of Mr. Daniel D. Bell, a brother of Mr. J. J. Bell, near the village of Accord, Ulster county, N. Y.  The weapon is five feet ten inches long, and the blade is from two to three inches broad. The hilt and a portion of the blade are covered with curious characters and hieroglyphics, the deciphering or which the owner has thus far been unable to have accomplished. The characters and hieroglyphics are composed of rows of little indentations evidently made with the point of some very sharp and hard instrument. 


Mr. J.J. Bell said to a Telegram reporter: "There are people in Ulster county who believe that this sword dropped down from the sky in a flaming ball of fire, but I do not credit any such theory. Other persons think that the weapon must have belonged to a prehistoric race of men. Still others are sceptical enough to affirm that the sword was made by a modern blacksmith for the purpose of hoaxing the public.


As far as I am concerned, I have no theory to advance. The sword was found on my brother's farm, as described. It was covered with a thick coating of rust, but has been scoured bright." 


Judging from the length and weight of the sword, a man who could use it successfully in battle would have to be 8 or 10 feet in height and strong in proportion. It is provided with a heavy hilt and guard, and was evidently intended to be wielded with both hands. Hundreds of downtown businessmen called at Mr. J. J. Bell's office today to see the wonderful weapon.

[Note:  Regarding the "flaming ball of fire," other newspaper reports state that what appeared to be a meteor crashed on the site where the sword was subsequently discovered.] 

Monday, June 9, 2025

Disaster At the Mill Hotel; Or, Why You Never Mess With Mummified Cats




Since I aim to make this blog not only light-hearted fun for the whole family, but educational as well, let me offer the following moral:  If you should ever happen to find a mummified cat in your building, it’s probably there for a good reason.

Allow me to explain.

Our story begins with an ancient mill which stood over the River Stour in Sudbury, England.  In 1971, the building was renovated into a hotel called “The Mill Hotel.”  (A lot of effort obviously went into coming up with that name.)  During the work, an unnerving find was made: the withered remains of a cat, who had evidently been trapped in the roof of the original building.  (In olden times, it was not uncommon to entomb small animals within new buildings as a grisly “good luck” charm for the structure.  We will never know if this cat was placed there for that reason, or if it was simply the victim of a tragic accident.)

In any case, the remains of this unfortunate feline were taken to a nearby shop.  Almost immediately, a large wooden beam in the hotel suddenly crashed down, causing severe damage to the building.  The subsequent repairs created a financial shortfall which temporarily postponed further restoration work.  Then, the shop hosting the cat mummy mysteriously caught fire.  After this, everyone came to the conclusion that the removal of the cat might have made someone very, very annoyed.  The mummy was brought back to the hotel, where it was given pride of place in a glass-enclosed tomb in the lobby’s floor.  (To date, it can still be seen there, for those of you with a taste for such things.)

In 1999, repair work necessitated the cat’s temporary removal.  And probably to no one’s real surprise, all hell instantly broke loose.  During the mummy’s two-week sabbatical, there was an explosion in the road outside the hotel, the manager’s office repeatedly flooded, and the workman who had removed the cat suffered a severe accident.

Very sensibly, the mummy was returned to the hotel as quickly as possible, and peace was instantly restored to the Mill Hotel.

Friday, June 6, 2025

Weekend Link Dump

 


Welcome to the first Link Dump of June 2025!

Wedding season!





A tourist says a ghost is trying to kill him, and then he dies.  So.

Dolphin drug parties.  So.

That time when Petrarch was nearly killed by a book.

An attempt to explain Spontaneous Human Combustion.

The probable story behind a bizarre 1337 murder.

A look at a troubled 17th century pregnancy.

A look at auditory hallucinations.

A look at colonial ducking stools.

A look at our fear of the undead.

The knight who stood up to the Nazis.

RMS Amazon's ordeal by fire.

Bloomsbury Square during the Gordon Riots.

People are changing their brainwaves to feel less pain.

So now we may have to rewrite the history of writing.

An animal which was fossilized from the inside out.

How to build a 19th century dugout.

A famed doppelganger legend.

A betrayed woman's revenge.

A woman who disappeared 60 years ago is found alive and well.

A Victorian feminist.

The famously long-lived Thomas Parr.

A very weird ancient skull.

When Nazi U-boats prowled the Gulf Coast.

The Merry Mermaids of Margaret Morris.

The Vatican and the Monster of Ravenna.

A 17th century woman's sermon notes.

The origins of the term, "talking head."

The American colonists who picked the losing side of the Revolution.

The Dead Sea Scrolls may be even older than we thought.

The widow and her matchmaking cows.

The rat-filled origins of the Tooth Fairy.

The underwater forest that built Venice.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll learn what happens when you offend a mummified cat.  In the meantime, let's get folky.


Wednesday, June 4, 2025

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com



Crimes are often remarkably mundane and unimaginative, so when I come across a story where a lawbreaker thinks outside the box--such as, say, by enlisting a cicada as a robbery accomplice--you can bet I’ll take notice.  The “Cincinnati Post,” June 5, 1987:

A 17-year-old cicada may have been coerced into a life of crime.

Cincinnati Police are investigating whether a cicada was an accomplice in a heist Thursday afternoon at the Grand Slam restaurant, 4909 Whetsel Avenue, in Madisonville.

Two men walked into the restaurant at about 3 p.m. Thursday brandishing a cicada, police said.

The men thrust the cicada at a 22-year-old cashier, and the bug flew into the cashier’s hair, said cook Tom Johnson.  Screaming, the cashier abandoned her post and ran into the kitchen screaming, Johnson said.

In the ensuing melee, the two men fled the restaurant.  Johnson came to the aid of his co-worker.

As for the cicada:  “I stepped on it,” Johnson said.

Later, after the cashier had recovered and returned to her post, she found her cash register was missing $25.  Suspicion immediately fell on the two men and the cicada, although police said no one actually saw the trio take anything.

The identification of the cicada has not been released.

Alas, if a story seems too good to be true, it’s usually neither good nor true.  The “Loveland Herald,” June 23, 2021:

The story has haunted her for nearly 35 years. Robbery while threatened by a cicada. Marquisa Kellogg just can’t shake it. 

Kellogg’s name was in papers and magazines all over the country in 1987. A brief police account of her story spread just as quickly as Brood X did that year.

Dateline Cincinnati: Two men armed with a cicada are suspected of stealing $25 from a restaurant’s cash register after using the winged insect to briefly scare away the cashier, police say. The two men walked into the Grand Slam Restaurant brandishing a cicada. They thrust the bug at the cashier, Marquisa Kellogg, 22, who then fled from her post, police said. Later, after Kellogg had recovered and returned to the register, she found that it was missing $25. 

If it had happened today, we would say the story went viral.  At least 60 newspapers picked up the story. 

“One magazine had a cicada with a little gun saying, ‘Stick ‘em up!’” Kellogg said. 

She now works for a doctor. She was raised in Madisonville where the Grand Slam used to sit. She moved to California, then South Carolina, then back home.  She now lives in her childhood home. 

“Today, I’m the girl who gets the cicadas off people,” she said. 

She finds humor in the story now, at 56, but she didn’t always. 

“You want the truth? Or do you want the lie?” Kellogg told The Enquirer. “I remember the entire thing.” 

The problem, she said, is the story that everyone laughed about isn’t what it seemed.

Not long before the incident, Kellogg said, she was sitting outside the restaurant with a friend when she decided to play a prank on him. She grabbed a fist full of cicadas and put them on his back. He screamed. 

“He went crazy, like any ordinary human would,” Kellogg said. 

Still laughing, she went back inside the restaurant to wait on two customers, men she knew, friends (or so she thought) from the neighborhood.

She served them their cheese coneys and was cashing them out when her friend returned to exact his revenge. 

Boom. He throws a handful of cicadas straight into her face and runs off. 

“I took off running like OJ in the airport,” Kellogg said, referring to the 1978 rental car commercial. “I completely forgot the register was open.  I ran like a bat out of hell.” 

When she returned, she noticed the bills were not straight in her drawer. She asked the two men at the counter if they had taken anything, but they denied it. 

She counted out the money in front of them and came up $25 short. When they still wouldn’t own up to what happened, she called the police and reported a robbery. 

And here the story turned into what it became. At best it was a cicada-assisted robbery, but what came out in the police report and, later, in news coverage was an image of two masked bandits wielding red-eyed, buzzing, six-legged insects instead of six-shooters.

“That officer put two stories into one and the joke was on me,” Kellogg said. “He heard, but he wasn’t listening. It was a joke to him.” 

She said she thinks the officer was paid for the story and said if she could track him down she ought to sue him for half his pension “for putting me through all this embarrassment all these years.” 

She said her friend, who goes by Squeaky, even made shirts. The shirts have a picture of a cicada, but instead of the cicada’s face, it’s Squeaky’s face. 

“I’m the butt of the joke,” she said, but as time has passed her mood about the situation has lightened.  She says she even tells the story to her patients now to get them laughing. They’ll often look it up on their phones right then and they can’t believe it, she said. 

She’s been enjoying this summer seeing the grandchildren of the insects that once brought her national attention. 

But she wants everyone to know, she is not afraid of cicadas, especially just one of them. A face full of any bug is enough to freak someone out.

“The only thing I’m scared of is something with eight legs,” Kellogg said. “You can have the whole restaurant if you have eight legs.”

As a side note, one has to salute Ms. Kellogg.  I’m willing to bet she is the only person in human history to gain fame for allegedly being robbed by an insect.

Monday, June 2, 2025

James Kidd's Search For a Soul

James Kidd



It is an undeniable, if slightly depressing, fact that the vast majority of humans go through life in an anonymous, unremarkable way and exit this world without leaving more than the most temporary of footprints.  However, now and then one finds an individual who is completely forgotten for long after their death, only to make a mark on history in some thoroughly Strange Company-style fashion.

This post pays tribute to one of those innovative souls.

In September 1920, a man named James Kidd wandered into Miami, Arizona, where he found work at the Miami Copper Company, doing the dull, if necessary, work of keeping the wastewater pumps running.  All anyone ever learned of his past was that he was born in Ogdensburg, New York in 1878.  Although Kidd earned a decent enough salary, he chose to live as if he were penurious.  He lived on park benches, seemed to live on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and traveled by hopping freight trains, hobo-style.  He led an extremely solitary life, with no known spouse, relatives, or even real friends.  He never got a driver’s license or served in the military, all of which meant that he generated virtually no administrative records.  It was said that he liked to play the stock market and did some minor prospecting.  Despite his oddities, the very few people who knew Kidd found him to be an intelligent and likable man.

In 1941, Kidd was injured on the job by a defective pump.  Several days later, while back at work, he suffered a sudden loss of “strength or mental condition,” causing him to lose consciousness.  He asked for workers’ compensation, but since he failed to file a report immediately after his accident with the pump, the claim was denied.  Kidd then retired and moved to Phoenix, where he rented a modest $4 a week apartment.  His quiet existence became more anonymous than ever.

On November 8, 1949, Kidd borrowed a pickaxe from a neighbor, saying that he would be visiting a couple of claims he had made in the Miami area.  The next morning at 6 a.m., Kidd left his apartment and got into a waiting car.  The car drove off, and that is the last we know of James Kidd.  It remains a complete mystery who was driving the car, where it went, and how, when, and where Kidd eventually died.  This eccentric loner essentially drove into oblivion, which may have been a fate to his liking.

Thanks to Kidd’s reclusive ways, it was not until December 29th that his landlord felt compelled to inform the police of his tenant’s disappearance.  When police searched Kidd’s apartment, all seemed in order, with no clues as to what had become of him.  However, they did find something unexpected:  Despite his spartan existence, Kidd was a man of some means.  His checkbook indicated that he had over $3800 in a local bank, and had received a dividend check for nearly $400 that he had yet to deposit.  It seems that Kidd's minor forays into prospecting and the stock market made him a decent profit.

Kidd remained missing, and the sad truth is there was no one to really care what had happened to him.  The investigation into his disappearance was quickly abandoned, and he was declared dead in 1954.

It was not until two years later, when Arizona passed the Uniform Disposition of Unclaimed Property Act, that Kidd’s story took an unexpectedly lively turn.  The Act required that all property that had been unclaimed for seven years be turned over to the state within ninety days.  Arizona’s Estate Tax Commissioner, Geraldine Swift, suddenly had to sort through a backlog of unclaimed estates…including that of James Kidd.

Initially, it seemed that there was little to document about Kidd’s affairs.  Then, Swift was given the contents of a safe deposit box Kidd had rented.  At first, the items seemed of little interest--a few old photographs, the transcript of his workers' compensation hearing, and several stock sell orders.  However, when Swift opened a thick envelope marked “Buying slips from E.F. Hutton Company,” she found that the missing man had actually owned thousands of shares of stocks, many of which were still issuing dividends.  In short, Kidd had left a considerable sum of money behind him.

Swift did her conscientious best to locate any relatives who might have a claim on this unexpectedly handsome estate, even going so far as to hire private detectives to search for heirs.  None were ever found.

Swift kept Kidd’s ever-growing assets in limbo until February 1963, when it was decided to finally turn it over to the state of Arizona.  Before doing so, she wanted to make one final check of Kidd’s safe deposit box, just in case something had been overlooked.  During the inventory, Swift--for the first time--began sorting through Kidd’s many buying slips.  Hidden within them was a piece of notebook paper which turned out to be James Kidd’s will.  

He had written, “This is my first and only will and is dated the second of January, 1946.  I have no heirs and have not been married in my life and after all my funeral expenses have been paid and one hundred dollars to some preacher of the gospel to say farewell at my grave sell all my property which is all in cash and stocks with E.F. Hutton Co. Phoenix, some in safety deposit box, and have this balance money to go in a research or some scientific proof of a soul of the human body which leaves at death I think in time there can be a Photograph of soul leaving the human at death.  James Kidd.”

Well.  Geraldine Swift’s job suddenly got a lot more interesting.  Not quite knowing what to do with this unusual testament, she consulted the Attorney General’s office.  Most of the staff were of the opinion that the will was probably invalid and was best ignored, but Swift seems to have developed a sort of protective fondness for her absent client.  She insisted that his last wishes, however unusual they may have been, should be honored.

The whole question of how best to proceed was tossed in the lap of Arizona Superior Court Judge Robert Myers.  Myers eventually ruled that the will was valid, and, in June 1967, held formal hearings on the issue of how Kidd’s wealth--which had by then grown to over $174,000--should be distributed.  Not surprisingly, Myers’ court was deluged with letters from people all over the world declaring that they were the ones best qualified to carry out experiments in soul-searching.  The claimants were a wild mix of sincere paranormal researchers, cranks, and grifters who saw the chance for making a quick buck.  It seemed like everybody and their grandfather wanted to prove the existence of a soul.  The long-gone recluse James Kidd was suddenly making international newspaper headlines.

After weeks of some of the most curious testimony ever offered in a probate hearing, Judge Myers finally issued a decision on October 20, 1967.  

He wrote, “Considering the language of the last will and testament of the deceased as a whole, it was the intention and desire of the deceased that the residue and remainder of his estate be used for the purpose of research which may lead to some scientific proof of a soul of the individual human which leaves the body at death…It is incumbent on the Court to ensure that the residue and remainder of the estate of the deceased be used in such a manner as to benefit mankind as a whole to the greatest degree possible.

“This can be best accomplished by the distribution of the said funds for the purpose of research which may lead to some scientific proof of a soul of the individual human which leaves the body at death…Such research can be best done in the combined field of medical science, psychiatry, and psychology, and can best be performed and carried on by the Barrow Neurological Institute, Phoenix, Arizona.”

Inevitably, all the losing petitioners appealed the decision, with the result that on January 19, 1971, the Arizona Supreme Court ruled against the Barrow Neurological Institute.  The case was sent back to Judge Myers, with the instructions that he must choose one of four other claimants.  On July 17, Judge Myers decided that the lucky winner would be New York’s American Society for Psychical Research.

In the end, no one really profited from Kidd’s estate other than the lawyers involved, who received about one-third of the money.  The rest of the cash went into a number of different experiments and studies of deathbed experiences, all of which left the question of “Is there a human soul?” unresolved.

As far as I know, the researchers weren’t even able to contact the spirit of James Kidd to ask what the hell happened to him.