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Carter Roy (6:05)

Growing up in the American south in the early 1900s wasn't easy, especially for a black child like Harold Swain. He was born on July 4, 1918, to a very large family. Harold had 18 brothers and sisters. His parents had a hard time supporting everyone, so when Harold was just a kid, he went to live with his grandparents on their farm in Waverly, Georgia. Though it had a name, Waverly wasn't technically a place. It was an unincorporated area in Camden county, about halfway between the towns of Brunswick and Woodbine. Like many unofficial communities that sprinkled the southern countryside, Waverly was predominantly black. And that wasn't a coincidence. Although slavery was abolished in 1865, black folks definitely weren't equal. In the wake of the thirteenth Amendment, Southern states like Georgia passed laws to keep black people out of white society. They were called Jim Crow laws, and they spanned everything from establishing separate schools all the way down to separate water fountains. Being excluded from white spaces led black people to form their own. Well, that's how places like Waverly were born. The people living there were connected for lots of reasons. But one of the biggest was the Rising Daughter Baptist Church. Formed in the year 1900, Rising Daughter started as a place for folks to connect over their love for God. But it quickly became so much more. It became a safe haven from the chaos of daily life. Like many of their neighbors, Harold Swain's grandparents attended Rising Daughter, which meant Harold did too. But unlike the other kids who were dragged to services by their families, Harold actually loved going to church. He especially resonated with the mission of community care. And as Harold got older, he got more involved with Rising Daughter. He became known as the sort of person who would do anything to help those in need. Even as a young man, Harold was establishing himself as a central figure in town. With that kind of reputation, Harold was probably a catch among the young women of Rising Daughter. But there was only one who caught his eye. Her name was Thelma lange. Born on December 25, 1921, Thelma was a Camden county native. Like Harold, she grew up attending Rising Daughter. So it's safe to say they met as kids and likely knew each other their whole lives. And she was just as involved at church as he was, attending Bible studies and singing in the choir. But their commitment to their church was just one of the things Harold and Thelma had in common. Thelma was also part of a large family and worked on their farm from a young age. And she was just as giving as he was. Prioritizing her family's comfort above her own. Over the years, Harold and Thelma grew closer and eventually fell in love. And on July 28, 1941, they decided to make it official. That day, 23 year old Harold Swain married 19 year old Thelma Lang at their home church of Rising Daughter Baptist. The pair easily settled into married life. They were the kind of people who spent all their time together, not out of obligation, but because they genuinely enjoyed one another's company. They ate breakfast together every morning made fresh by Thelma. Unlike a lot of women at the time, she probably dreamed of being a wife and homemaker. And Harold was ready to fill his role as the provider. A paper mill had just Opened in Camden County. Harold wasn't interested in working at the mill itself, but he saw an opportunity to profit by becoming a major supplier of fresh wood. So after thinking it over, he decided to start a logging business. Clearly, he was a shrewd businessman. And by 1953, the 35 year old Harold was doing so well. He purchased a brand new Ford model A. Very few people in the area could afford a car, let alone a new one. If he wasn't a role model before, Harold certainly was now. He was climbing a ladder not many black men had access to at the time. And he made sure to reach down and lift others up right behind him. By then, his logging company was more than a one man operation, and many of Harold's employees came from the congregation at Rising Daughter. His decision to hire folks from Waverly was generous and intentional, But Harold was determined to do even more for the community. The local chapter of the naacp, the national association for the advancement of colored people, had held meetings at Rising Daughter since Harold was a boy. That meant he learned about the importance of political advocacy from an early age. And as an adult, Harold became the area representative for the Camden county chapter of the naacp. Harold's list of responsibilities included attending Camden county government meetings as an unofficial representative of Waverly. As a successful businessman, Harold was respected by the mostly white county commissioners in a way other black residents weren't. And he used his unique position to his advantage. At meetings, he made sure the community got its fair share of county resources, like funds for maintaining public infrastructure. But he didn't just focus on basic needs. He. He fought for the things that would improve the quality of life in Waverly. In 1955, Harold petitioned the county for a new park with a baseball diamond. He'd recently gone to the world series, where he saw Jackie Robinson make his major league debut. Harold came back wanting to encourage future Jackies by providing a nice place to play ball. A baseball diamond and paved streets might have seemed like small potatoes in the grand scheme of things, but grassroots efforts like herald's were a key part of the NAACP strategy to combat systemic inequality. Every local battle won was a step toward national victory. As it gained momentum, the NAACP's plan became a central part of the civil rights movement, Especially after their major supreme court victory, Brown v. Board of education in 1954, which ended racial segregation in schools. Over the next decade, thousands of citizens pushed for more change through boycotts and marches. Activists like Martin Luther King, Jr. Rose to prominence as they fought for laws that would finally guarantee the the equality promised by the 13th amendment. Dr. King inspired millions with his speeches and other work. But before he was A political player, Dr. King was a Baptist minister, something Harold Swain probably identified with. Even though Harold was busy with his own advocacy and logging business, he was still deeply committed to rising daughter Baptist. During the 50s, he accepted the role of deacon, which is sort of like an assistant pastor. And Thelma, now in her 30s, was right at his side as the deacon's wife and singer in the choir. It was a high honor. According to Baptist tradition, deacons must have exemplary character and strong relationships with members of the church. This described Harold to a tee among his new responsibilities. As deacon, Harold started leading the children's ministry, also known as Sunday school. Like always, Thelma supported her husband and she most likely helped him out with Sunday school. Since she had plenty of experience with kids, she spent years helping care for her younger siblings and later her nieces and nephews. It probably filled a void. Even though Thelma and Harold loved children, they never had any of their own. Then in 1968, one of Thelma's nieces fell on hard times. We don't have specifics, but in the end, 50 year old Harold and 46 year old Thelma took in the woman's 3 year old daughter, Lafayne. From then on, they raised the little girl as their own. And that wasn't the only big change that happened. In 1968, the Civil Rights movement had successfully pressured lawmakers to pass landmark legislation. Between the Civil Rights act of 1964 and the Voting Rights act of 1965, the era of Jim Crow was over. On paper anyway. In reality, there was still a long way to go to ensure the new laws were actually upheld. That's why Martin Luther King Jr. Traveled to Memphis, Tennessee in April of 1968. Black sanitation workers were on strike for better wages and Dr. King was there to support them. But the visit ended in tragedy when he was shot and killed on April 4. The assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. Sent shockwaves around the United States. Though in some ways, his death wasn't a surprise to the black community, many of their leaders were targets of violence. They But Dr. King was a man of God and a symbol of peace. His murder was a sharp reminder of the depth of some people's hatred. And it left many feeling standing up for equality would never truly be safe, no matter who you were.

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Carter Roy (19:02)

Even after the loss of such an influential leader like Martin Luther King Jr. Harold Swain continued fighting for his community in Waverly, Georgia. He spent decades providing jobs for the young men in town and he continued his political advocacy at the county level. But by 1985, the 66 year old was ready to slow down. At that point, Harold mostly retired from his logging business. That meant he had more time to spend with his wife, 63 year old Thelma, and their adopted daughter, 20 year old Lafaine. Which wasn't to say he didn't keep busy with his newfound free time. Harold helped out wherever he could, like at the local barbecue joint, Choo Choo Barbecue. He was a favorite with customers and did a little of everything from manning the smoker to bussing tables. And of course, Harold still had all of his duties as deacon at Rising daughter Baptist. After 30 years, he still ran the children's ministry and recently he'd taken over as spiritual advisor for the mission department. The group was made up of representatives from other local churches who came together to discuss community service and outreach opportunities. Harold sat in on their meetings and led a Bible study at each one. Thelma volunteered as the group's secretary. It was a win win for her since she got to spend more time with Harold and serve her beloved church. And it seemed the mission group was especially popular with other women who wanted to volunteer. 60 year old Marjorie Moore was the president. The other seven members were also female and in their 50s or 60s. But on the night of March 11, 1985, they had a new member join them. Gwen Owens was 34 years old and a nurse at the local hospital. She brought her seven year old daughter with her. They were members of another church in the area, so this was their first time at Rising Daughter. It seems like the original building had been updated as the congregation grew. Now there was a full kitchen in the back and the pastor had a private study nearby. Meanwhile, at the front of the church was a small waiting area called the vestibule, which had two sets of double doors that led to the sanctuary. Even with the improvements, the sanctuary was still the beating heart of Rising Daughter. It was a long room with a high ceiling. The walls were lined with modest rectangular stained glass windows. Rows of dark wood pews flanked the aisles that led straight to the altar and the pulpit. There was a table set up near the altar where Thelma sat taking notes. The other members were in the closest pews. After maybe two hours or so, at around 9pm, one member, a woman named Venzola Williams, raised her hand. She said she had to get going because she was giving her daughter a ride home from work. The others understood. Vanzola gave the money for her dues to Thelma, collected her things and headed up the aisle to the vestibule at the front of the church. As she exited the sanctuary doors, movement near the front of the building made her jump. A white man stood there, leaning against the doors like he was waiting for something. Van Zola guessed He was about 20 years old. He had stringy blonde hair that hung down to his shoulders and wore all black work clothes and scuffed cowboy boots. Based on his disheveled appearance, Vanzola guessed he was there to ask for help of some kind. Maybe gas money or food. But when Vanzola asked what he wanted, the man looked inside the sanctuary and pointed to Harold. He said he wanted to talk to him, and so Venzola went back inside and let Harold know. She led him back to the vestibule and the sanctuary doors closed behind them. Benzola continued out to her car, but she could hear Harold talking to the man. However, she wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying. Neither were the women inside the sanctuary. But after a few moments, the sounds of muffled conversation shifted into those of a struggle. Grunts and thuds made their way up to the altar where Thelma was sitting. She leapt up to go check on her husband, but before she reached the door to the vestibule, a gunshot rang out. The rest of the group ran away as three more shots went off, but Thelma didn't hesitate. She burst right into the vestibule. That's when another gunshot echoed through the halls of the church. Vanzola Williams had heard the shots from her car and jumped into action. She ran from the parking lot to the back of the building looking for a phone to call for help. She was able to access the kitchen from a back door, but when she got inside she realized the phone wasn't working for some reason. The only other one was in the pastor's study on the other side of the sanctuary. The whole building was silent, so Vanzola decided to make a run for it. When she made it to the study, she found the rest of the women as well as Gwen's 7 year old daughter huddled inside. They told her some bad news. The phone in this room also wasn't working. It was the worst case scenario. No one knew what had happened to Harold and Thelma if they were still in the vestibule, hurt or worse. They all waited in panic silence for a while, afraid the shooter was coming for them next. Until eventually the group's president, Marjorie Moore, worked up the nerve to go get help. She followed the path Benzola had taken, tiptoeing out of the study, through the sanctuary and into the kitchen. There she took the back exit that led out into the pitch dark graveyard. She peeked around the side of the building, scanning the front of the church and the parking lot. Everything was quiet. A slight breeze picked up loose debris on the ground. Crickets chirped their usual chorus. Marjorie knew the shooter might still be out there, even though the night was silent. She steeled herself with a deep breath, then made a run for it to her car. She slowed down just enough to wrench the driver side door open and throw herself behind the wheel. She hadn't even closed the door before she started the engine and sped off. She drove towards the closest place she could think of. The only store in Waverly Reed's package. The owner, Gregory Reed, watched as a car screeched to a halt just outside his shop. Marjorie jumped out, looking like she'd just seen a ghost. She tore open the front door and started screaming about a shooting at the church. That was all Reed needed to hear to spring into action. For some reason, Reed didn't call the police. Maybe he didn't have a phone in his store, or maybe he didn't trust the local officers. Either way, he decided to drive back to Rising Daughter with Marjorie in his car. This time, once they arrived, they hesitated. As much as they wanted to find Harold and Thelma, the shooter might have been waiting to take out anyone who came to help before they went charging back into the church. Reid wanted backup. He rushed over to pick up Harold's cousin who lived close by. Then the three of them returned to Rising Daughter. They walked up the front steps, watching for any signs of danger, and slowly opened the doors of the church. What waited for them inside was more horrible than anyone could have imagined.

Corinne Vian (28:16)

Power, Fame. Obsession. Betrayal. These are more than headlines. They are the forces behind some of the most unforgettable crimes in history.

Sabrina d' Anarroga (28:26)

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Corinne Vian (28:35)

Of is a weekly true crime anthology series that explores a new theme each season, from unsolved murders, mysterious disappearances, and more.

Sabrina d' Anarroga (28:43)

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Corinne Vian (28:56)

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Carter Roy (29:16)

Sometime around 9pm on March 11, 1985, an unexpected visitor stopped by the Rising Daughter Baptist church in Waverly, Georgia. The Deacon, 66 year old Harold Swayne, had just gone into the vestibule to speak with him. Moments later, several gunshots rang out. Harold's wife, 63 year old Thelma, rushed after Harold to see if he was okay. That's when another shot echoed through the halls. In the aftermath, the women who'd gathered at the church for a mission meeting hid in terror. It was a while before anyone felt safe enough to go for help, but eventually the group's president, Marjorie Moore, a local business owner named Gregory Reed, and Harold's cousin arrived at the front doors of the church. Inside, they found Harold and Thelma dead. After the grisly discovery, someone called the police. The parking lot was already packed with onlookers when Chief Sheriff's Deputy Butch Kennedy pulled up to the scene at 9:40pm Kennedy didn't know who the victims were when he first got to Rising Daughter, but as soon as he saw the bodies Lying on the cold gray tile, Kennedy recognized the swains instantly. Anyone who spent time around Waverly would have. In his 12 years as a deputy, Kennedy hadn't worked many homicides, let alone doubles. Camden county was mostly a peaceful place. If someone did get killed, it was usually for one of two drug disputes or domestic violence. This type of seemingly random attack just didn't happen in Waverly, especially not in a church. Almost right away, Kennedy knew he was out of his depth, so he called the Georgia Bureau of Investigation for backup. They sent Agent Joe Gregory, who pulled into the parking lot at 10:30pm he went straight to the vestibule and got to work preserving and documenting the crime scene. Harold was shot four times, three in the chest and once in the back of his head. Thelma had a single gunshot wound to her upper chest near the collarbone. In addition to taking pictures, Gregory measured the entire vestibule and produced a hand drawn sketch that detailed the exact positions of the bodies and evidence. The most immediate clothes clue was a pair of eyeglasses left on the floor near the bodies. Harold and Thelma both wore glasses, but hers were still on her face, and witnesses identified Harold's from photos. Presumably, no one recognized the third set. Kennedy and Gregory agreed they most likely belonged to the killer. On closer inspection, the glasses turned out to be pretty unique. For one thing, they look like they might have been handmade, possibly Frankensteined from several pairs. The temple pieces didn't match each other or the front, and the lenses were in rough shape, too. Tiny pockmarks and oily residue indicated the suspect might have done some sort of welding. Gregory also noticed a few strands of hair caught in the hinge. They were clearly from a white person and also taken into evidence. But there was no talk of testing them for DNA. In 1985, the technology to process DNA had just been invented, and it would be many more years before it was used regularly in investigations. Investigations. The only other information detectives were able to get from the scene had to do with the church's telephone wires. From the looks of it, they'd been deliberately cut before the attack, which was why no one could call for help. So though it was sloppy, Kennedy and Gregory were pretty confident the murders were pretty meditated. But they still weren't sure if Harold and Thelma were the intended targets. To figure that out, they needed to talk to witnesses. Luckily, there was one who'd spoken to the killer just moments before the crime. Vanzola Williams. She and the others were still gathered in the parking lot, surrounded by loved ones who came running as soon as they'd heard the news. With as much empathy as he could muster, Kennedy took Vanzola aside and asked her to tell him everything she could remember. She was happy to help however she could. Vanzola was very clear about the details she was and wasn't sure about. But her description of the killer, 20 something, male, white, shoulder length hair, didn't narrow down the pool of potential suspects. If the killer was someone local, there was a good chance they'd been arrested for smaller violent crimes before. But Vanzola's description didn't jog anything in Kennedy's memory. And memory was about all he had to go on, since databases weren't common until the late 80s. But Kennedy wasn't discouraged. Maybe there were other witnesses who could provide more details. On Thursday, March 14, three days after the murders, he called four women from the mission department, including Vanzola, down to the station. The other three were 34 year old Gwen Owens, 60 year old Marjorie Moore, and 52 year old Cora Fisher. Cora had actually fainted inside the sanctuary when the first shots rang out and had remained there until she came to a while later. Once everyone was sitting down, Kennedy explained how to use something called an identikit. Basically, it's a box full of paper, replicas of hundreds of possible facial features. It was sort of like arts and crafts, only with much higher stakes. The women sorted through the options and chose the ones that best matched their memories. They could take as long as they needed to. The idea was to keep working until they felt satisfied. A few days later, investigators were finally able to bring in a professional sketch artist from Jacksonville, Florida. At that point, Kennedy called the four women back. They gave the artist the identikit models they'd created, as well as their own descriptions of the suspect. Based on all of that, the artist created a composite image. The result was a rather generic looking picture. Still, the police released the image to the public, and within two weeks, Kennedy and Gregory's offices were flooded with tips. But of the 300 or so they received, none of them turned into credible leads. By the end of March, several weeks after the murders, the Waverly community was getting restless. Their once safe bubble had burst, and now everyone was left feeling vulnerable. Of course, residents wanted to know who the killer was, but the question that was really nagging them was why? Not knowing the motive made it feel like the killer might return at any moment and absolutely anyone could be on his list. In an attempt to move the investigation along, a coalition of local leaders held a press conference. They were Hoping to raise money for a reward, the goal was to come up with $10,000 for information that led to an arrest and conviction. The initiative brought together an impressive group. It included several pastors from local black churches, the presidents of the NAACP from Camden and Glynn counties, Camden County Sheriff Bill Smith, and a handful of prominent white businessmen. At the press conference, the question of race as a potential motive finally came up. Given that the killer was white and the victims were black, many private citizens had speculated as much. The black reverend at the mic downplayed the issue in his answer, saying no one could be sure until the killer was caught. But Sheriff Smith had no trouble denying it entirely. He'd only been sheriff of Camden county for two months at the time, but he was born and raised in the area. In his opinion, Harold and Thelma were too well liked by black and white people in the community for their murder to have been racially motivated. As far as he was concerned, this was a case of a robbery gone horribly wrong. Well, that was certainly one of the theories investigators were working on, but the evidence against it was pretty strong. Police found $300 in Harold's wallet, which would be over $900 in today's money. Then there was the collection plate full of dues left on the table, not to mention all the pocketbooks left behind when the other women fled. If this was a robbery, it was certainly a bad one. And yet investigators, including Kennedy and Gregory, who were both white, considered robbery a more probable motive than race. What they didn't consider was context. Because while a lot had changed in Camden county over the last 30 years, some things remained the same. And no amount of legislation could dismantle the hate that some people felt for their neighbors. This was just one of the flaws that marred the early investigation. The other was all the tips that had poured in. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. But it took a lot of time to look into each one. And in the end, none of them panned out. It wasn't until July, four months after the murders, that Kennedy caught his first break. That's when the Telfair County Sheriff's office, about 130 miles north of Camden called. They had an inmate with a story that Kennedy would want to hear. Something about an associate bragging that he killed two black people in a church. By the sound of it, this was the most promising tip they'd gotten. But it turned out the road to justice was more treacherous than anyone imagined. Thanks so much for listening. I'm Carter Roy, and this is true. Crime stories come back next time for part two on the murders of Harold and Thelma Swain and all the people it affected. True Crime Stories is a Crime House original Powered by Pave Studios. Here at Crime House, we want to thank each and every one of you for your support. If you like what you heard today, reach out on social media crime house on TikTok and Instagram. Don't forget to rate, review and follow True Crime Stories wherever you get your podcasts. Your feedback truly makes a difference and to enhance your Murder True Crime Stories listening experience, subscribe to Crime House plus on Apple Podcasts. You'll get every episode early and ad free. We'll be back on Thursday. True Crime Stories is hosted by me, Carter Roy and is a Crime House original powered by Pave Studios. This episode was brought to life by the Murder True Crime Stories team Max Cutler, Ron Shapiro, Alex Benedon, Natalie Pertofsky, Sarah Camp, Megan Hannam, Hania Said and Russell Nash. Thank you for listening.

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Sabrina d' Anarroga (42:55)

Hey there, we're Sabrina d' Anaroga and Corinne Vian, hosts of Crimes of.

Corinne Vian (43:00)

Crimes of is a weekly true crime series with each season diving into a different theme, from unsolved murders to mysterious disappearances and the cases that haunt us most. And since it's Valentine's season, we are unpacking Crimes of Passion. When love turns into obsession, passion twists into paranoia, and jealousy drives people beyond the edge of reason.

Sabrina d' Anarroga (43:21)

Crimes of is a Crime House original. Listen wherever you get your podcasts or watch on YouTube. New episodes every Tuesday.