"...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, July 17, 2023

Death of a Salesman: The Edwin Dusek Mystery

"Orlando Sentinel," August 5, 1973, via Newspapers.com



By all accounts, Edwin Dusek was nearly irreproachable.  The 45-year-old resident of Orlando, Florida worked as a salesman for Niveco, Inc., a supplier for mobile homes and campers.  In 1956, he married a librarian named Mary Zink.  The couple had three daughters.  Dusek was an exemplary husband and father, and a remarkably meticulous and reliable man--“almost perfect,” in the words of one observer.

On Monday morning, July 2, 1973, Dusek left home on his usual sales route.  It was later verified that he visited clients in San Mateo, Palatka, and Lake City.  At 6 p.m., he checked into the Alamo Plaza Motel in High Springs, where he spent every Monday night.  The motel owners had no idea what he did after that.  As it turned out, they were the last known people to see Dusek alive.  When the salesman failed to make his regular 7 a.m. call to his supervisor the following morning, Dusek was reported missing.

Around 2 p.m. on July 3, a realtor was showing some undeveloped property off the Millhopper extension.  He probably failed to make the sale after he discovered a dead body about 100 yards back from the road.  It was soon identified as that of Edwin Dusek.  The body was naked, except for his shirt and one sock.  Dusek’s car was found the next night parked in southeast Gainesville, about 10 miles from where his body had been found.  Dusek’s wallet containing $11 was on the floor board.  The rest of his clothing and the other sock were also in the car.  Sand from the property where Dusek was found covered both the back and front seats of the car.

Investigators believed that Dusek was shot twice in the head with his own 9-millimeter gun.  Dusek always carried the gun in his glove compartment, but it was missing from the car.  The murder weapon was never found.  Strangest of all was the fact that Dusek’s back was covered with numerous shallow pinpricks.

It was thought that Dusek had been murdered at the site where his body had been found.  There were indications that a scuffle or some sort of disturbance had taken place six feet from the corpse.

This proved to be one of those particularly frustrating murder cases where the police had virtually nothing to work with.  Dusek had no enemies, and there was no discernible motive for anyone to want him dead.  Lacking any other ideas, detectives toyed with the theory that Dusek had been murdered by a hitchhiker he had picked up, but those who knew the victim quickly quashed that idea.  They explained that Dusek would sternly lecture his friends about the risks of giving rides to strangers.

One month after Dusek’s death, Alachua County Sheriff’s Captain Wes Schellenger essentially admitted defeat.  “There are plenty of questions and no answers,” he told a reporter.  “We are going to need a break.  Someone will have to say something.”

To date, that “someone” has remained silent.  Considering how weird and baffling Dusek’s murder was, it got remarkably little press attention, and the mystery was soon forgotten by everyone but the victim’s family.

Friday, July 14, 2023

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

It's time for this week's Link Dump.

Grab a beach chair. 



The fad of "ornamental hermits."

The restoration of a Chinese gunboat.

An investigation into undocumented prehistoric languages.

The recipe that inspired a whole lot of fish cookouts.

The murder that inspired America's first third political party.

A look at what is possibly the world's greatest collection of dog photographs.

Is your personality determined by where you live?

The tomb of a very successful medieval lawyer.

An Anglo-Indian family of public servants.

A skeptic looks at the Philadelphia Experiment.

The theory of advanced civilizations that predated humans.

Planning to do some bar-hopping?  Don't forget the poison-detecting guinea pigs!

Some vintage slang terms for sex.

The Wolf of Ansbach.

Specialized "widow's outfits."

Lawyers always have to stick their noses into everything.  Including contact with aliens.

The evolution of Barbie dolls.

A Victorian "calculating boy."

Murdering a murderer.

Some very old--and very freaking big--hand axes.

The Titanic rescuers.

The first Mardi Gras parade.

Discovering the wreck of a WWII carrier.

The shapeshifting spirits of Yorkshire.

The giants of Shropshire.

The flying humanoids of Chicago.

The hidden horse steps of Whitby.

A note that may--or may not--be in Chaucer's handwriting.

Let me make this very clear:  I do not want my house to rotate.

The pilots who inspired "The Little Prince."

The housewife who invented the dishwasher.

The cyclist whose death inspired the start of drug testing before races.  (Warning: there are photos showing him dead.)

The history of a famous quote about American riflemen.

The history of the Women's Royal Navy Service.

The history of the Hollywood sign.

The history of pointy hats.

The "blood falls" of Antarctica.

The Jersey Devil has been kidnapped.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a particularly puzzling murder.  In the meantime, here's a cheery little tune from the SFO.

Wednesday, July 12, 2023

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com



This tale of what we would call a “poltergeist event” has enough unusual touches to make it worthy of notice.  The “Hagerstown Exponent,” July 28, 1880 (a reprint from the “Cincinnati Enquirer”):

Belle Center, Ohio, July 23. About three miles north-west of town there is a farm known as the Zahller Place, one of the oldest in the State, and owned by the heirs, one of whom occupies it. On last Friday afternoon the folks went blackberrying and two of the children went to a picnic nearby. About five o’clock the children returned, and they say as they came into the yard a man of small stature, bow-legged and very ragged, came out of the kitchen, walked past them, opened the garden gate and went in. He then jumped over the picket-fence into the barn-yard and disappeared in the barn. The children becoming frightened at his strange actions, went to a neighbor’s house about half a mile distant and returned home in the evening. When their parents returned, they related their story. Mr. Zahller tracked the man through the garden and barn-yard by noticing three large-headed nails in the impression of his boot-heel. At the barn all traces were lost.

Now comes the mystery: Mrs. Zahller went to the barn-yard to milk; corn-cobs commenced falling near like someone was throwing at her. Mr. Zahller was standing nearby but didn’t notice them. She asked him if he saw that. He answered no. Just then a large one hit near him, but he could not see where it came from. During Saturday the children were hit with corn-cobs, pieces of bark and small stones every time they attempted to go into the barn yard. Two of the family—one a boy of seven, and the other a young lady of eighteen—seemed to attract the most. When they came near the missiles were sure to fly. The boy, especially, was hurt about the face with small stones.

One of the neighbors, coming to witness the shower, was hit in the back by a wooden pin that had been used to fasten a large gate. A trace-chain that had been plowed up  and was hung on a corner of the corn-crib, near the barn, also went sailing in the air in search of something to light on. Hundreds of people have been to see this sight since Saturday and all came away satisfied that they saw chips, small stones, corn-cobs, &c., falling near them, but unable to explain where they came from. One man says he saw corn-cobs start from the ground and soar over his head and light on the ground without the least noise. Another one says he was standing near a chicken house, the door of which was open, when some half dozen cobs came flying out. The house was searched, but nothing found.  Some say the flying pieces are not noticed until they either strike them or fall on the ground nearby. The strangest thing is that they light as easy as a feather, no matter how large the article is. One man brought home a piece of an old walnut rail about a foot long and two by four inches thick. That, he says, he tried to aggravate the spirits, and said in a loud voice, “Don’t throw anymore corn-cobs; throw a club this time.” Just then this piece lit on his shoulder as easy as a feather and rolled to the ground. The whole neighborhood is excited, and watch the barn from morning until night, trying not to believe it, but at the same time convinced that they saw something, they know not what.

On September 16, the “Wilson World” carried a follow-up story, indicating that the strange manifestations were continuing to plague the farm.  They added one new detail:

This is not the only mystery that affects the good people of Belle Centre. They have been reveling in the luxury of a bona fide ghost, a ghost that walks in a lane, and rides sometimes, as the sequel will show; a ghost that appears in the form of a beautiful woman, and whom many people in this county say that they have seen.

The strange part of the story is that this apparition was heard on one occasion to speak. No one ever got their hand on the spook, although many attempted it, as when they would approach and attempt to grasp it, their hands only felt space, and would go right through the form. Many reputable witnesses, among them an old, staid citizen of Bellefontaine, testified that this form has appeared to them, and even by their side in their vehicles, always in the form of a handsome female, clad in fleecy or cloudy white, with a halo around her head, but that on attempting to touch her they would only grasp space, and the ghostly visitant would vanish. This apparition invariably appears in the road leading from Belle Centre to Lisle's Mill, and has been dubbed the ghost of Lisle's lane.

It has appeared to certain persons so often that they have got used to it, at it has always been friendly, and they therefore pay no attention to it. The time it was heard to speak was when a party of eight or ten coon-hunters were returning down the lane for home. As they emerged from a cornfield they came upon a belated traveler in a buggy, and at the same time were aware of the approach of the well known appearance. It immediately seemed to float in the buggy, where it seated itself on the vacant seat, paused a moment, and, as they rushed up, ejaculated "Keno,” and instantly vanished. leaving the traveler half dead from terror.

These are strange facts, but are vouched for by unimpeachable witnesses.

Monday, July 10, 2023

The Stove-Goblin of Zaragoza

Home appliances can be a pain in the neck.  They break down, malfunction, and often cost a bundle to replace.  However, there is one thing to be said for them: they generally don’t start talking to you.

However, on at least one occasion, that is exactly what happened.

The Palazón family lived in a simple apartment building in Zaragoza, Spain.  Their lives were perfectly quiet and ordinary until September 27th, 1934.  On that day, all High Strangeness Hell broke loose.  The family began hearing mysterious screams, loud laughter, and a strange male voice, all seeming to emanate from the kitchen stove.  Since the stove’s chimney was linked to other apartments in the building, they initially assumed that the sounds were coming from another unit.  When neighbors came to visit, they too heard the sounds, and word quickly spread through the area that the Palazóns had a talking stove on their hands.

While some continued to believe that the family was being harassed by a human prankster, most observers became convinced that the stove was being haunted by a “duende.”  (What Western folklore would call a “goblin.”)

Inevitably, the Palazón apartment became a gathering place for those with a taste for supernatural entertainment.  The duende--or whatever it was--was always eager to chat.  It would answer questions and make any variety of smart remarks.  For whatever reason, The Voice seemed fixated on the family’s 16-year-old maid, Pascuala Alcocer.  It would often call her name, and then laugh in a demented fashion that must have been particularly unsettling for the girl.

By November, the family felt they couldn’t take any more of both the crowds and their loud-mouthed stove, and they did what so many households plagued by Fortean problems have done: they went yelling for the police.  This worked as well as you might expect.  The Voice showed no fear of the officers, chatting away to them with its usual glibness.

One of the policemen asked the stove, "Who are you? Why are you doing this? Do you want money?" 

"No," said the stove.

All the flummoxed police officer could think of to say was, "Are you looking for a job?"

"No."

"Then who are you, what is it that you want, man?"

"Nothing," the stove calmly replied.  "I am not a man."

The police had no idea what to do.  Just try arresting a talking stove.  They sent an architect and some of his workmen to inspect the apartment.  They found no place where any human hoaxer could possibly hide.  When one of the workmen suggested measuring the chimney, The Voice replied, “You need not trouble, the diameter is just six inches.”  It was.

In a move that reeked of “We Don’t Have Any Better Ideas,” the entire apartment building was evacuated, and police put a 24-hour guard around it.  Psychologists were brought in.  A priest sprinkled the stove with holy water.  None of it did a bit of good.  It was looking that there was no power, either human or divine, that could shut up that damned stove.

And then, The Voice suddenly went silent.  After two days had passed with the stove being as quiet as any decent kitchen appliance should be, everyone decided that the episode was over, and life could get back to normal.  The guard withdrew, the psychologists went home, and the priest put away his holy water.  But as soon as the Palazóns returned to their apartment, they were greeted by the stove shrieking, “Cowards, cowards, cowards, here I am!”  The Voice then amiably gave its listeners permission to smoke, if they were so inclined.

The family threw in the towel, and moved not just out of the building, but out of Zaragoza altogether.  The Palazóns disappear from our story at that point, but I’m guessing they gave their stoves the side-eye for the rest of their lives.

Even with the apartment now vacant, The Voice carried on, taunting visitors with the words “I am coming, I am coming!”  Music-hall comedians began impersonating The Voice.  The talking stove was a popular figure in local advertisements.  Businesses, smelling a possible publicity bonanza, offered The Voice large sums of money to visit their establishments.  That stove was causing such an uproar throughout Spain that there was talk about calling in Scotland Yard.

By the end of November, the Governor of Zaragoza had enough of what he obviously thought was a lot of pure nonsense, and decided to wrap things up.  On December 4th, he issued a statement claiming that The Voice was the unwitting handiwork of Pascuala Alcocer.  He declared that her subconscious had produced The Voice by means of “unconscious ventriloquism.”  He described this as “a combination of ventriloquism and auto-suggestion.”  This novel argument failed to explain why The Voice was often heard when Alcocer was nowhere near the apartment.  Alcocer was briefly arrested, but as nobody could decide what to charge her with--”unconsciously impersonating a goblin” seemed a little too weird--she was allowed to return to her hometown.



The apartment got new tenants, and life quieted down.  Sort of.  The apartment’s residents still heard some mighty odd sounds, but by then, everyone was tired of dealing with a goblin, so such disturbances were ignored.

However, The Voice has not been forgotten.  Although the apartment complex was demolished in 1977, the building now at that site is known as the “Edificio Duende”--the “Goblin Building.”

Friday, July 7, 2023

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

Enjoy this week's Link Dump.  Even though I still haven't been able to drag the Strange Company staffers away from the beach.


The "Titanic" of the Pacific.

The Green Scarf Bandit.

Itinerant immortals.

The myth of the "tapeworm diet."

Meet Penelope, the pregnancy-faking platypus.

In which the future King Edward VII begs to be adopted.

Archaeologists may have found the back door to Hell.  That's nice.

A mystery corpse in Pennsylvania.

The dreams of octopuses.

Some weird Stone Age holes.

A mystical mountain in Japan.

So, let's talk about boiled bodies.

The warmest place in the Arctic Circle.

The Spanish missionary who helped America gain its independence.

The troubled life of Alice Roosevelt.

Why the "Titan" was a tragedy waiting to happen.  I will restrict myself to saying only this: Stockton Rush was a very strange man.

A wind in Switzerland that can be really bad news.

The English aristocracy and the development of cricket.

Treachery and the Battle of Northampton.

Why professional cyclists shave.  A lot.

Pregnancy and childbirth in 19th century Britain.

An underground town in Australia.

An adrift ex-soldier.

An Iron Age "tree coffin."

The men who may have encountered a plesiosaur.

A young man's puzzling disappearance.

A boy's puzzling murder.

In which Louisa Adams throws a party for Andrew Jackson.

Food processing has been around a lot longer than we thought.

Feeding the U.S. Army in the 19th century.

The world's most expensive cow.  In other words, it costs a lot of moo-la.  I'm sorry, I couldn't stop myself there.

The days of switchboard operators.

The usefulness of ancient leftovers.

A 17th century feather cape returns home.

The weird magnetism of Mars.

A Civil War general vs. the press.

The Mütter Museum has a human remains problem.

If there was life on Mars, we may have accidentally killed it.  Typical humans.

Milwaukee loves typewriters.

Solving the mystery of the "Holocaust escape girls."

The Schoonmaker tragedy.

A cursed village.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at the disadvantages of having a talking stove.  In the meantime, here's some Bach.  These days, you don't hear harpsichords nearly enough.

Wednesday, July 5, 2023

Newspaper Clipping of the Day


Via Newspapers.com



When you start to explore old newspapers, you quickly learn that back in the day, editors had a passionate love for stories involving live snakes or lizards emerging from people’s stomachs.  If these accounts are to be believed, our ancestors swallowed reptiles the way we swallow the morning coffee.  However, I dare anyone to top the story that appeared in the “Wayne County Herald,” August 18, 1864.  It is a reprint from the (St. John’s, New Brunswick) “Telegraph”:

A farmer in this county, James Mulock, of the flat lands has been some three years confined to his bed, through weakness produced from emaciation; the cause of his sickness was unknown, and the symptoms bore no resemblance to any other disease that has appeared in this community. All the doctors have prescribed for him, and all with the same result — complete failure. A few weeks ago, however, a gipsey woman, who has been telling fortunes for some time past, offered to cure him for $100, the sum to be placed in the hands of Mr. Ferguson, who was to be the judge of the cure; Mulock was to put himself completely in her hands, and leave his home for one week. He did so although his wife demurred to the arrangement, and tried to persuade him from it; he however persisted, and went with her, accompanied by his younger brother Charles, and now we may as well take the story of the latter:— 

“We went with her to her camp; immediately after entering we had some bread and ham; Jim and I both eating heartily. After dinner the gipsey said she wished to speak with me alone. I went into the woods back from the camp, when she at once asked me if I was willing that Jim should be hand-cuffed and his feet bound, and to submit altogether to her. I said I was not. Then, said she, it’s no use wasting words about the matter; if you don’t do so he’ll never be cured. I asked her to explain herself; she said she would not. I at last consented thinking to myself there can be nothing wrong while I am here. 

“At tea we had some salt pork fried, and some good bread. Next morning on waking, after a very watchful night, for I never closed my eyes, I found Jim completely tied up. He seemed rather put out, but the gipsey told him at once that she had done so, because he had to suffer a good deal of pain before being cured. I assented to this. He said he was willing to go through with it since he had begun. 

“We had breakfast, salt pork and bread. I fed Jim, and we laughed at the farce, as we considered it, not having faith in her. After breakfast I talked with the gipsey, and asked her what she meant; I told her I was no child, and must either know her plans or I would unloose Jim and go home again. She then told me she knew that Jim had some living reptile in him, and the only way to cure him was to feed him with salt food for a day or two, and then to stop him from drinking altogether, when the animal would come out to seek water. She said she had cured others, but I must expect to see him suffer awful pain and torture when his drink was completely stopped, but it would only be for 24 or 30 hours. 

“I went to Jim, told him all, and asked him if he was willing to undergo it. Says he, ‘Charley, that woman has it; I’ll stand it.’ 

“Well, that day passed, salt pork and bread, and to Jim a very limited supply of water; the next day the same, till after dinner, when the water was altogether stopped. Now commenced the work. He begged and prayed for water, he howled till he was hoarse; the woman then gave him a drink of what I considered water, but which she told me afterwards was salt pork fat, melted; he drank it in a few mouthfuls, and in a few minutes more he was worse than ever. He begged me to shoot him, to drown him, to do anything with him, only not leave him in that state. 

“Towards evening he became quite out of his mind; water and springs was all he raved about. He lay that way for some time, almost until morning, when he got into a high fever. I got alarmed, and told the gipsey I thought it had gone far enough, that Jim was too weak to stand it. She told me I could do as I liked, but if I would leave him two hours longer I would see whether she or the doctors were right. She likewise told him that if he was loosed, he would kill himself drinking at the first water he came to. 

“In about an hour after, she asked me to drag him to the spring, a few rods away from the camp. We got him inside it. She laid his head with his lips almost touching the water; she took up a birth pannikin and commenced lifting up water and letting it fall just before his lips. He was all this time as quiet as if he was dead; sometimes he gave a slight shiver; his mouth was wide open, and his eyelids opened and shut, the white of the eyes only being seen. 

“After about ten minutes she said to me, ‘Now who’s right? but keep quiet.’ I leaned over, and saw a large green lizard peeping out of his mouth; it did not seem as if it wanted to come out, but drew itself in again. ‘It will come out again,’ says the gipsey. While she was speaking two lizards glided out of his mouth into the water; the gipsey quietly killed one with a small stick, and I killed the other. We waited again for five minutes, when three came out, but not together. These we killed, although one almost escaped from the water to his mouth ere it was completely dispatched. We then waited nearly an hour longer, but no more made their appearance. 

“The gipsey then said, ‘There is no more,’ and proceeded to pour water on Jim’s forehead. She did so twenty minutes; she then gave him about a teaspoonful of water to drink; it actually hissed in his mouth. She kept him confined that day and half the next before she let him free, gradually increasing his allowance of water.” 

Such is the story told by Mr. Charles Mulock, and although I am not personally acquainted with the gentleman, I am told that he is one of the last men in the country to tell a wilful untruth. One fact, however, is clear — his brother has completely recovered his health, and not only his health, but his flesh, and now weighs 160 lbs., his former weight being only 73 lbs. This difference has been added in less than nine weeks. 

The lizards are of a bottle-green colour, about 5 inches long, red eyes and forked tongues. 

There is a peculiarity about them different from the rest of the lizard tribe, their being only two feet, and sloping from thence in a wedge shape into a tail. Two of them have been preserved in spirits and forwarded to Prof. Agassiz, of Harvard University. One is preserved in spirits and kept in Mr. Ferguson’s office.

Monday, July 3, 2023

A Death at Harvey's Lake: A Fourth of July Mystery

In keeping with that grand old Strange Company tradition of holiday-themed disaster and mayhem, this week we will look at one Fourth of July that was made infamous by the mysterious death of a young woman.

17-year-old Alice Crispell was a native of Lake Township, Pennsylvania.  Newspapers of the time had little to say about her life or personality.  She seems to have been a pleasant, thoroughly ordinary girl who, in normal circumstances, would have attracted little public attention, for either good or bad.

On the evening of July 4, 1913, Crispell went to Harvey’s Lake, a popular local summer resort, to meet a young miner from Wilkes-Barre, Herbert Johns.  The pair had some beer at the Oneonta Hotel, and at about 11:30 (according to Johns’ later account) they parted.  

When Alice failed to return home, her family was not initially alarmed.  The week before, Alice had gone to visit a married sister who lived in Wilkes-Barre, and it was assumed she had merely extended her visit.  For her part, this sister, Mrs. Martha Holcomb, thought Alice had returned home.

On the morning of July 7, a baggageman named George Casterline was driving around the lake when he saw something floating near the shore.  When he looked more closely, he realized it was a woman’s body, and the sheriff and coroner were called in.  The mystery of Alice Crispell’s whereabouts had finally been solved.

"Philadelphia Inquirer," July 13, 1913, via Newspapers.com


The body was badly decomposed, and had most likely been in the water since soon after Alice was last seen alive.  Several marks were found on the body and left temple, which might have been caused by a fall.  There were scratches on one hand that the coroner thought might have been teeth marks.  That was the only sign of a possible struggle.  There was no indication of sexual assault.  Alice’s clothing was intact except for her hat, which was found on the shore only a few feet away from where her corpse was discovered.

The police had little to work with.  On the night of the 4th, a couple heard what they thought might have been a scream for help, but they were so accustomed to hearing cries and shouts around the lake that they paid little attention at the time.

Operating on the theory that “the boyfriend always does it,” Herbert Johns was arrested on the afternoon that Alice’s body was discovered.  He vigorously denied having any role in her death.

The story Johns told the police was simple and consistent.  On the afternoon of July 4th, Alice came to his house for dinner.  Afterwards, they went to Harvey’s Lake, accompanied by Mrs. Holcomb, Johns’ sister Clara, and two friends of his, Henry Williams and a baker named Elcher.  They were all at the Oneonta until 10 p.m., when everyone left for home except Johns and Alice.  At 11:30, the pair walked down the road from the Oneonta, pausing near a boat house to chat.  Several people they knew, including Alice’s close friend and neighbor Stella Oney, walked by and spoke to them.  Ten minutes later, Johns left for home, assuming that Alice would catch up with Oney.

Oney told police that she had indeed talked to Alice and Johns near the boat house.  Both seemed to her to be in very good spirits.  She had asked Alice if she was heading home, and when Alice replied “not right away,” Oney went on her way.

1915 postcard showing the boat house where Crispell was last seen alive


The case against Johns was remarkably weak.  Literally all the prosecution had was the fact that he was the last known person to see Alice alive.  Herbert, who had been “keeping company” with Alice for about a year, had no known motive to harm her.  As far as anyone could tell, their relationship was a perfectly happy one.  Johns was a well-liked young man with an excellent reputation.  It was said that Alice was subject to fainting spells and “fits,” plus there was no question that she had been drinking a good deal of beer on the night of her death, to the point where she was visibly intoxicated.  To many, it seemed highly likely that her drowning was nothing more than a tragic, fatal accident.

During the investigation, much was made of a letter that Johns wrote to Alice on the morning of July 5th.  It was, as a reporter commented, “either the handiwork of an innocent man or of the most accomplished of criminals.”  The letter had a natural, casual tone, showing no indication that he knew Alice, whom he addressed as “darling,” was anything other than alive and well.

Despite her seeming cheerfulness on the night she died, some theorized that Alice had committed suicide.  Letters to friends indicated that she was often melancholy, and that she occasionally feared that Johns was reluctant to marry her.  She had a difficult relationship with her father, William Crispell, who sternly disapproved of her fondness for clubs and parties.  (During one quarrel over Alice’s lifestyle, Mr. Crispell had pointed a gun at her!)  Her father had seen her drinking at the Oneonta, and he later admitted that the sight had “disgusted” him.  Might her unease at being “caught” by Mr. Crispell increased whatever inner depression she may have felt?

Or could someone other than Johns have killed her?  There were rumors suggesting that William Crispell, angered with what he saw as his daughter’s “wayward” habits, may have, in a sudden fit of rage, pushed Alice into the lake.  Letters between Alice and Johns indicated that William Crispell occasionally beat her, and that Johns was afraid to go near her house “for fear the old man will shoot me.”  

Given the vague and inconclusive nature of the evidence presented to the Coroner’s Jury, it is small wonder that the jurors gave a verdict that was vague and inconclusive.  They stated that Johns had no part in Alice’s death, and it was highly unlikely that she had killed herself, but “a crime has been committed.”

Several weeks after Alice died, the Crispells received a postcard which had been sent from New Rochelle, New York.  It read, “Bert is innocent.  I killed Alice because of her love for Johns. A.N.”  “A.N.” was never identified.  Was this written by a murderer with a bad conscience, or--as seems much more likely--one of those depraved practical jokers who always seem to turn up in highly-publicized crime cases?

That enigmatic postcard proved to be the last word on the Crispell Mystery.  Although Alice’s death is still a well-remembered part of local history, all anyone can say is that late on the night of July 4th, the unfortunate girl drowned in Harvey’s Lake.  What we’ll never know is why she drowned.

[Note: I have no idea why the inquest jury downplayed the "accident" theory, as that seems to me the most obvious explanation for the tragedy.  It was a dark night, and Alice had been drinking.  I imagine it would have been very easy for her to take a bad step and...*splash*]