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Genevieve Manion (0:30)

Hello, and welcome to my Victorian Nightmare. I'm your host, Genevieve Manion, and I'm here to talk about mysterious deaths, morbid fascinations, disturbing stories, and otherwise spooky events from the Victorian era. Because to me, there's just something especially intriguing, creepy, and oddly comforting about horror and mayhem from the 19th century. So listener discretion is advised. Hello, friends, and welcome to this, my 19th episode. I was doing minisodes every other episode, but if I have the time, I think I'm just gonna bang out full ones like this, if that's okay with you. Mix things up a bit. I hope that you all had a delicious holiday. Mine was simply delightful. Thank you very much for asking. I have been blessed with a large, pasty Irish American family with a great sense of humor and a ravenous shrimp addiction. We are a big bowl of shrimp on the Thanksgiving appetizer table kind of family. And every year, though, and it happened again this year, no matter what I do, I always get there late because of stalled trains or some nonsense, and my family starts sending me pictures of dwindling plates of shrimp just to mess with me while I'm stuck wherever I am, which it does very much mess with me. I love shrimp. I'm a very shrimpy woman, and my anxiety disorder is highly triggered by scarcity. Shrimp scarcity is no exception. Luckily, my little sister always tries to squirrel away at least a few pieces for me from the rest of the Manions. But I've decided next year I'm just gonna pack a jar of shrimp with me to take on the train to alleviate the stress altogether. All of this notwithstanding, it was indeed just a lovely, lovely time. Wonderful to see my family. I am so full of gratitude. I really needed that big Irish shrimpy Family time. Okay, Thanksgiving shrimp jar anecdotes aside, I have some very disturbing articles from 1871, 1872, 1876 volumes of the Illustrated Police News, Law Courts and Record just for you. That should thoroughly brighten your day. They certainly did brighten mine and will give me nightmares. But first, some haunted housekeeping. All the usual bits and bobs, first and foremost, thank you for your comments. They delight me. Please keep leaving them. Leave more of them. Tell me anything. Reading your comments is how I prevent myself from looking at terrible things on the Internet. No thank you please. I would much rather connect with you guys. And thank you for rating the podcast on Spotify and Apple podcasts. It still really means so much to me that you guys do that. And thank you to those of you who have joined my Patreon, which you will find@myvictorianightmare.com who receive the show ad free. That's just so wonderful. You make me feel so cared about. And thank you to those of you who have grabbed yourself some of my merch. You'll find some great holiday gift ideas for the creepy people in your life or your creepy little self. But hey, do Catholics actually still leave that awesome bit on the end of the Lord's Prayer like I was talking about last week? I thought you guys cut that part off. The for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever part. Someone said in the comments on last week's episode that they still say it, but the last time I was in a Catholic Church for like a wedding, I got so excited that I still remembered the Lord's Prayer that when I got to the awesome end part, I put like a little sauce on the 4 thine and I was the only one still talking. It was very embarrassing. Maybe some of you still do and maybe some of you don't. Catholics, set me straight. I don't want to get embarrassed again at the next wedding. I am counting on you. Okay, before we get to the meat of today's episode, the brisket, if you will, I have a fairly unhelpful, very emotional, for all intents and purposes, unsatisfying, spooky movie review. Unsatisfying only because I want to talk about every single thing that happens in this movie. But I don't want to spoil any of it for you more than it is already spoiled just as a movie, but I will do my best. This movie. Oh, this movie, which is available on Amazon prime, is called House. Not the horror comedy from 1977 called House, nor the horror comedy series of films which started in 1985 called House. This is another movie called House from 2008 with Michael Madsen, who's a great actor. But oh, don't get too excited or get very excited because you're going to treat yourself to a film that I have now watched not only once but twice just to be sure I wasn't insane the first time that I watched it. It also does not take place in the Victorian era, but I'm pretty sure the titular house is a Victorian one. It is about a couple who while on their way to marriage counseling which happens to be in the deep sticks of like Alabama. Inexplicably, they get into a car accident and they roll over some spikes or something and end up having to traipse up to an old house in the rain where they find another couple similar situation as well as some podunk demonic weirdos, a judgmental dead girl with magical glowing stomach powers, and Michael Madsen, who for another demonic weirdo who was supposed to be made of pure evil has a terribly difficult time trying to kill people forces in the house. Or Michael Madsen as his demonic weirdo character called the Tin Man Hypnotize or something the unfortunate guests into reliving the worst times of their lives for a purpose that is not at all clear and I can't tell if the editing is terrible or if the poor editor was just desperately trying to save this thing. I want you to keep this question in your mind as you watch and give me your opinions on the matter. And I also want you to count the amount of times while watching this movie that you say to yourself the words wait but wait. I felt this statement arise in my heart anywhere between 20 to 30 times, and usually it takes only two to three times of wait but waits to make me just turn a movie off. But not this one. And the tenacity of that plea continues. Still wait but not wait. And I need to watch it again now. So please watch this, discuss your feelings in the comments. 5 stars Anything that can force me to so seriously question whether or not I have finally lost all of my marbles. That alone. Five stars and now let us return to the more elegantly awful Victorian era, more specifically, the years 1871, 1872, and 1876. Incidentally, when I was coming up with a name for this podcast, the first one that I landed on was Old and Awful. One of my friends replied only with no notes when I texted her that one. I sent her some other ones that I can't remember, but I eventually realized that that one in particular may not have as broad appeal as the title that I ultimately landed on. If you want to start your own podcast, Old and Awful is up for grabs, But I digress. Today I have for you, dear listener Bleaker street harpies punching cops in the face, some discomfit of an older gentleman who gets a parasol stuck in his mouth, a madhouse, axe murderer, a man on a smashing spree, a saloon slaying, a murderously jealous lover, and a man killed by a coffin with a fantastic illustration among a few others. If you're new here to the podcast and you say never heard of the Illustrated Police News, Law Courts and Record, this was a salacious, at times terrifying, at times grisly, at times simply charming publication full of everything terrible about society in the 1800s. And I simply delight in sifting through the articles for you to find the most out there articles from this already out there historical document. So let's begin with the man killed by a coffin, shall we? This article actually comes from the Illustrated Police News of London and it's from 1872 and you need to right now go to my Instagram, find today's Episodes post and scroll through to the illustration. The article reads Killed by a coffin Dr. Lancaster held an inquest Saturday evening at the University College Hospital, London on the body of Henry Taylor, aged 60. The evidence of EJ heading, Undertaker's foreman and others showed that on the 19th the deceased was engaged at a funeral at Kensal Green Cemetery. The church service having been finished, the coffin and mourners proceeded in coaches toward the place of burial. The day being damp, the foreman directed the coaches with the mourners to proceed to the grave by the footway and the hearse across the grass towards a grave digger who was motioning the nearest way. The coffin was moved from the hearse and being carried down a path only 3ft 6 wide by 6 bearers. When orders were given to turn so that the coff coffin, which was what is known in the trade as a four pound laden one, should head first while the men were changing. It is supposed that the deceased caught his foot against a side stone and stumbled. The other bearers, to save themselves let the coffin go and it fell with great force onto the deceased, fracturing his jaws and ribs. The greatest confusion was created among the mourners who witnessed the accident and the widow of the about to be buried nearly went into hysterics. Further assistance having been procured, the burial service was proceeded with while the deceased was conveyed to surgery and ultimately to the above mentioned hospital where he expired on the 24th, the jury recommended that straps should be placed round coffins which would tend to prevent such accidents. Verdict Accidental Death End quote. Ugh. This poor guy and everyone involved. Now this actually happens to be one of the most famous articles ever published in the paper and the illustration itself makes the rounds on social media year after year and when you see it, you will see why. And luckily I found an article@cemeteryclub.WordPress.com which gives a few more details about poor Henry Taylor. The writer of the article did a fabulous job hunting down details. For example, he found in the census of 1871 that Mr. Taylor's occupation was a virgh. This is someone who assists with the organization and conduct of religious services in a church. They manage keys to the church, care for the linens, replace candles, etc. So he was actually an employee of the very large All Saints Church. He was married and had eight children. He was not buried in the same cemetery where this happened. He was actually buried in Highgate Cemetery, not far from Karl Marx. As a matter of fact, this site also mentions an addendum that a fellow pallbearer made in another newspaper. He was actually outraged about the telling of this story and he sought to clear up some mistaken details. He told the Evening Standard, quote, henry was carrying the feet end of the coffin, but was asked to take the head. As he changed position, he tripped over his colleague's feet and this caused an imbalance which led to the coffins dropping. They did not simply leave the coffin and allow him to be crushed, not allowing it to go forth. That we were totally and callously unmindful of the life of a fellow creature. End quote. The illustration does kind of paint a picture of folks just kind of backing away from a coffin that seems in the process of crushing this man. It could be confused for a situation where these guys were just like whoops and decided to drop the coffin and run. Apparently that did not happen in this manner. Oh, Henry. Okay, these next two articles are for the folks who demanded that I not speak about politics on my own podcast recently. I'm not singling anyone out in particular, and there were really only like three to five of these comments. This next article is called simply A Smashing Spree. It reads, a few days ago a drunken tramp created a sensation in St. Louis by smashing eight plate glass show windows in the Lindell House block. The glass was worth over $2,000. It has not yet been ascertained whether he is a Democrat or a Republican. It is thought by some that he is a disappointed Blaine man. However, the judge who interviewed him the next morning didn't care about his politics. End quote. The reference to his potentially being a disappointed Blaine man. That is in regard to the US Representative James G. Blaine losing the Republican primary at the national convention that year of 1876. He lost to Republican Rutherford B. Hayes who went on to win the presidency by a single electoral vote. He won 185 to Samuel J. Tilden's 184 being the narrowest presidential win in history. It also happens to be the election with the highest voter turnout in all of American history. 81.8% of those allowed to vote at that time voted. In some areas, it was as high as 90%. By comparison, only 64% of the eligible population voted in this year's election, down from 66 in the last election. Anytime anyone says Trump won 50%, half the country wanted him to win. No, only about 33% of the population eligible to vote in the United States and actually voted voted for him. The happy place that I go to in my mind to disassociate from all of this is actually my own living room. But with the Christmas tree that I am going to be decorating in a few days, I don't need to go anywhere exotic in my brain to successfully disassociate. I can just go to my own apartment. It's something I consider to be one of my greatest talents. On to the next. This one is called Slain in a Saloon, it reads. A party of four or five gentlemen were drinking Tuesday evening, the fifth in a saloon at the corner of 11th and Market Street, Louisville, Kentucky, when a man named Ed Connell entered and offered to bet $5 that he would be the next constable. A man named Hennessy accepted the bet and offered to bet $10 that he would not. Connell then said he had not the money and this led to a row in which Connell was shot by A1 Skelly, a friend of Hennessy, and died half an hour afterward. This is the way in which election disputes are settled sometimes. End quote. Okay, let's terrify ourselves in other ways. Oh, okay. This next one is a lot. It is called a madhouse murder. One insane woman, brains, another with an axe in an Ohio asylum. It reads. A horrible affair took place at the infirmary of Summit Count, Ohio, some days ago, but was not made public until quite recently at the infirmary. The apartment assigned to the insane occupies a wing of the building jutting out toward the south. On three sides of this room there runs a corridor, the central part being divided into cells for the confinement of unruly insane. In the cell nearest the southwest corner, there has been confined a miserable Irish woman, apparently about 50 years of age, though her real age is not over 40. What a weird way to say she's a 40 year old woman that just looks older. She's a 50 year old woman who is actually only 40 years old. Okay. Her name is Ellen Boyd. A life of abandoned dissipation, leading from bad to worse, had resulted in the overthrow of her reason, and she became a raving maniac. At times her convulsions would become so violent as to be almost uncontrollable, and it had been found necessary to keep her in confinement more or less close since her first incarnation many years ago. Of late, however, she had become more mild and tractable, being permitted every two weeks to release for the purpose of washing her clothing. In the cell adjoining hers was a confined woman, some 50 years of age, whose appearance was at once grotesque and pitiable. Eight years ago, she had been discharged by the authorities of the Newburgh Insane Asylum and sent to the infirmary as incurable. Her insanity was of a mild type, and the poor woman never seemed more contented than when drawn up in a sitting posture and apparently giving no heed to what was going on around her. Maintaining this cramped position for years her limbs had grown stiff and rigid, while she herself was an object upon whom no one could look without recoiling in horror. She was so perfectly harmless and inoffensive that a common wooden button alone was deemed sufficient for fastening her cell, and even this seemed superfluous, as the wretched creature would sit upon the floor year after year without offering to move. Her name was Laura Lyon. On Tuesday the 30th, Ellen Boyd's cell door was opened as customary, and she was allowed to go into the yard to do her washing. While busying herself in this manner, Superintendent Glines, who was sitting in his office chancing to look out at the window, saw Ellen give a sudden toss of her head and breaking into an insane laugh, started for the madhouse. Lying near the wood pile was a common dull axe. This, as she passed along, she picked up and carried with her. Suspecting that some mischief was brewing, Mr. Glines quickly left his desk and ran into the yard. In doing so, he was compelled to take a somewhat circuitous route. So when he reached the right side of the building, Ellen had returned to her washtub and was busily engaged in washing the axe of what in all appearance was blood. She was laughing, apparently in great glee. Hastening with all possible speed to the apartment, Mr. Glyndes beheld a most horrible and sickening sight. Prostrate upon the floor lay the unfortunate Laura Lyon. Her body lay as if it had apparently been dragged about half way out of the cell, and from two gashes, patches in the top of her head and one Directly back of the ear gushed perfect streams of blood. The former cuts had not penetrated the skull, but the latter had crushed the bone so as to expose the brain. She was apparently dead. Of course. The dangerous woman, whose fiendish madness had prompted the deed was quickly seized and closely secured in her cell. The wounded woman was at once conveyed to a different apartment and medical aid summoned. Within three quarters of an hour after the occurrence, Dr. H.C. howard was on the ground and applied the usual restoratives. These efforts were so far successful that the patient finally returned to a semi conscious state and was so far recovered. Recovered as to be able to faintly articulate the word Ellen. But her injuries were of such a nature as to do away with all possible hope of her recovery, so that after lingering along in great agony, death finally released her from her suffering just one week after the terrible transaction. End quote. My God. Oh God, this is so sad. This is Poor woman. These poor women. Even her killer. That poor woman. I'll try to work up the nerve to do a full episode on 1800s asylums. But in the meantime, here are a few details about what these women were no doubt facing at this time. Women's asylums in the 1800s were often overcrowded, very unsanitary, where quote, unquote, medical treatments were in most cases, nothing more than torture, like ice baths, solitary confinement, electric shock treatments. Food was often served rotten. Women were often committed because of mental health issues related to childbirth, like postpartum depression, anxiety and depression. But sometimes they were simply committed because they were poor and had no one to care for them. Them, female immigrants who couldn't communicate with law enforcement were often committed. And of all the profoundly traumatic experiences that women would face in these institutions, they were often subjected to the removal of parts of their reproductive systems as quote, unquote, treatments for their mental health issues. Despite the difficulties that our society currently faces, especially in regard to health care, I am, and we should all be so grateful to the people who worked tirelessly to change these systems. Like a woman named Dorothea Dix. She was a reformer who changed these mental asylums by lobbying for more compassionate quality care for the mentally ill. She lobbied Congress and state legislation, legislatures to pass laws to improve care. She helped move the mentally ill out of prisons. She helped establish the earliest laws governing asylums, and above all, she helped to redefine mental illness as something that can actually be treated like an illness. In many ways, asylums were created for the purpose of just simply locking people away. It took women like dark Dorothea Dix to Change that perception. I will talk more about her for sure in an episode on the topic to come. Okay, next article. This is a very short one. Literally one sentence that is simply called Crime in Iowa. It reads, in the Iowa Penitentiary there are at present 12 murderers, 11 second class man killers, six units successful attempters and seven rough and tumble homiciders. In quotes. Just keeping the public up to date with the roustabout man killing rough and tumble homicider statistics as they stood in 1873. Okay, onto the next one. This one is called Desperate Shooting Affray in Albany. It reads, Thursday afternoon the 14th, a young man giving the names of Charles Hollister and Sylvester Cook Vanderburgh arrived in Albany from Cocksackle bound for Kansas City with $200 in his possession. He concluded to see the sights of Albany and among other places, entered a gambling saloon on Broadway, where he lost all of his money. He then went out and doubtless reinforced himself with several drinks. Drinks and at 11 o'clock returned and while a party of six men were seated about the store, he suddenly jumped to his feet and pulling out a revolver, asked, which one of you wants to die? Following up the query with a rapid firing at the men seated, he discharged six shots in rapid succession and turning around, jumped through one of the large glass doors of the place and out into Broadway. When he ran down the street to the steamboat landing and jumped into the ice, intending no doubt to cross to the greenish side. The ice was not firm enough, however, and he went through into the water where he was captured by the officers. Two men only were shot and not seriously. Charles Kelsey in the arm and Rance Abelman in the head. The other four shots were intended for many men but did no damage. In conversation, Hollister said the deed was done in revenge for a loss of his money. He had been evidently crazed by drinking liquor and in a fit of desperation, finding all his money gone, fired at the men whom he claims were the authors of his misfortunes. End quote. I really like that term. Reinforced himself with several drinks. I gotta reinforce myself with a couple of drinks and a jar of shrimp for the train ride home. I saw a meme the other day that said only and lead us not into Penn Station. And I. I felt that in my soul. Okay, this one is cute. It's called Discomfiture of a fond Parent at the depot in Danbury. It reads, A few days since at Danbury, Connecticut, a man saw his daughter into the cars and passed round to her window for a parting look at her. While he was passing Out. The daughter left the seat to speak to a friend, and at the same time a prim looking lady who occupied the seat with her moved up to the window, unaware of the imported change inside. Our venerable friend easily put his face up to the window and hurriedly exclaimed, one more kiss, sweet pea. In another instant, the point of a blue cotton umbrella caught his seductive lips, followed by the passionate injection quote, Scat, you gray headed wretch. And he scattered. End quote. Okay, first of all, why were his lips seductively trying to kiss his daughter? That is disturbing. But you must, must, you must see the illustration that I put on the Instagram for this one. It'll just tickle you, I promise. Okay, this next one is a doozy. Like many of these articles, it kind of slowly ramps up and then blows itself to pieces. This came out of my oh my God folder, by the way, so brace yourself. It is called Crime of a Jealous Lover. Lewenberger, the murderer in Court with a Bullet in His Brain. That is just the title. The article reads, on the last St. Valentine's Day, a man named Jacob Lewenberger murdered a girl named Frederica Mayer in Sing Sing, New York. Lewenberger was arraigned before Justice Tappan in White Plains for the crime on the 6th. Ms. Mayer was a niece of Mrs. M. Darien and had lived with her aunt about 14 years. About the time that little Frederica took up her abode in her aunt's family, Jacob Lewenberger, then a young man of 28, went into the liquor business with Mr. Derrien and became a boarder in the family. As Frederica grew up, she became attached to Lewenberger for several months previous to the tragedy, Ms. Mayer had urged Lenberger to marry her, but as she was rather young, it was his desire to postpone the marriage until last fall. She did not like the delay and soon formed the acquaintance of George Lang. A flirtation ensued, and about a week before her death she told Lewenberger that she was engaged to marry lang. Lewenberger for four days looked for Lang to beat him. On St. Valentine Day, Lang sent a very insulting Valentine to Leenberger, who thereupon armed himself and searched the village, determined to kill Lang on sight, but could not find him. Leenberger went to his dinner at 1:00 as usual, and sat down with Mrs. Dearien and her sister, Ms. Caroline Smith. Frederika sat a little to the left of Lewenberger's sewing. Lewenberger finished his his dinner arose from the table, turning around, facing Frederica, pulled out a revolver and fired at her without a word of warning, killing her instantly. Lewenberger then put the muzzle of the revolver to his forehead and planted a ball in his brain. The ball is there yet. He fell, but arose and seized a butcher knife and attempted to stab himself three times. He was prevented by Mrs. Dearien. Ugh. Lewenberger pleaded not guilty, and Mrs. Dearien and Ms. Smith were placed on the stand. Their testimony went to prove that Lewenberger had committed the murder. Evidence proving the insanity of the prisoner was introduced, and the jury returned a verdict of not guilty. End quote. Now, before you get understandably, very upset that this man and wasn't found guilty, being found not guilty for reasons of insanity meant that he was to be sent to an insane asylum and likely for the rest of his life. You didn't just walk out of the court with that kind of verdict. So he probably met an even worse fate than if he went to prison. Ugh. Okay, here is one more to make you smile. It made me smile. Anyway, it is called Arrest of Female prowlers upon Bleecker Street, New York. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I usually cut those out, but I think I'm. I think I'm gonna leave that one in. Sorry. It reads, the portion of Bleeger street in New York in the vicinity of Broadway is rapidly rivaling Greene and Mercer streets. Quick note. Apartments on Mercer street right now average between 2 and $14 million today. Okay, I continue. The portion of Bleecker street in New York in the vicinity of Broadway is rapidly rivaling Greene and Mercer streets in the number and quality of the female harpies who make it their cruising ground. Not a night passes without the arrest of one or more drunken prostitutes. Prostitutes in this locality. They are of the lowest grade and almost always noisy and disorderly. If Sodom surpassed New York in wickedness, no wonder it was destroyed. And once again, you gotta see the illustration for this article. It will tickle you. It will simply warm your heart. If you enjoyed this podcast and you would like to hear more, please Rate Review Subscribe Leave me a comment on Spotify on Instagram. Email me@myvictorianightmaremail.com and most importantly, be kind to yourselves and I will see you in your nightmares.