Quentin (0:00)

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Call 1-800-GAMBLER hello and welcome to My Victorian Nightmare. I'm your host, Genevieve Mannion, 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 37th episode. I hope that you had a lovely week. Mine was big. This was a very big week for me. It was a year ago this past week that I decided to do a number of lessons, life changing things. I decided to separate from my husband and two months later I decided to leave. And in that two month period, I decided to make this podcast. A year ago today, I was in the worst place I had ever been in my life. I felt like I didn't even recognize myself anymore. I was literally losing my voice. I found that I couldn't even speak to my closest friends. Myself was just like evaporating. And I didn't even know if I could ever get myself back again. A year ago I remember sitting on my bathroom floor sobbing. And I remembered that years and years ago I used to feel like I had this like a wise center, like a protective spirit. And that would tell me such wise things about how to move forward in my life. But I hadn't heard from her in so long. So I sat there and just pleaded for her to find me again. I just kept saying, I am right here. Come and find me. And maybe it was just Because I was so receptive. But I heard a voice, my voice, her voice, say, I'm right here. Come find me. And all of a sudden, I felt I can hear her. And I remembered what I would do when I wanted to deeply connect to this self. I would meditate and then I would write down whatever came into my mind, just listening closely and just taking dictation. I'd read it and I would then burn what I wrote, not to eliminate it or destroy it, but to activate it. The and when I sat down for the first time in a long time to try to take dictation, this is what I wrote. It said, you have everything that you need to find yourself again. I will help you, but you must be kind to yourself. And I said, it's a deal. And I rolled it up and I lit it up. And I promised that I was gonna follow the rule. Not being kind to myself, not listening to myself, doubting myself, numbing myself, staying in a relationship that was not healthy was hurting me. So I knew I had to stop all of that. And I actually had to let myself feel grief and comfort myself through it. So I ran to Pinterest and I started looking at all the most macabre, black, sad, weird, elegant, terrifying, disturbing Victorian imagery that I could find growing up. When life was really hard. I became a goth. I fell into it. I found it so beautiful and comforting, and I wasn't like a raver or Marilyn Manson type goth. I fell into new wave and a more Victorian aesthetic. I loved corsetry and lace. I loved the mourning attire. I loved the reverence for the dead. It just felt like me, for whatever reason. So I sat there, so destroyed, but feeling so comforted by all of this black. And that's when I decided to record myself talking about it. I knew that if there was anything I could talk about and sound like me, it was probably this. So I started researching and writing and doing my best to record myself and listen to myself, which, although it was not easy, I started to hear me coming back again. And when I had five episodes in the can, I just started posting. And it was last June that the first one was posted. And I thought this would be a solitary journey. I could not have imagined that I would have taken so many beautiful people like you with me on this twisted, creepy, dark little path back to me. It's just been a really reflective week. So thank you for hearing me. And I just want to say that if you find yourself in a similar place that I described, where I was last year, not only is there hope? Not only will you find your way back to you, but along the way I promise you will attract the most beautiful souls imaginable to you. Just be kind to yourself. A bowl of gummy bears also couldn't hurt. And therapy definitely. Thank you all for letting me bare my soul to you for the last six minutes. I promise it's only going to get way worse from here. And with that, a little Haunted Housekeeping. Thank you so much for all of the comments that you leave on Apple Podcasts and on Spotify. Thank you for rating the podcast which you know is so important to me. You can also find me on Instagram, my Victorian Nightmare and Blue sky as well where I post images from the show and other silly stuff. And if you would like to listen to the show ad free, please visit myvictorynightmare.com to find the link to my Patreon where you will find the link among other links for other things like my ever so tasteful merch Today for you, dear listener, I will have a number of devastating lovesick murderers, bad words that we're allowed to use. So many gunfights, so many brains, a corpse concealed in a Glen Rasputin's favorite sex cult, waxed mustaches, a dead robber baron at a seance, and much, much more. For today we are diving back into the Illustrated Police News, Law Courts and Record, everybody's favorite gross out tabloid from the 1800s. And we'll begin with a very brutal murder suicide after the break. Okay, as stated, we are beginning with a really devastating one. It is called Matricide and self murder and it reads During a dispute with his mother Friday afternoon the 24th about his approaching marriage, Charles E. Vetz, a German milk peddler at Meriden, Connecticut, became so incensed at his maternal parent that he made a desperate assault upon her and finally succeeded in putting an end to her life by cutting her throat. Both Vets and his mother mother were found by his sister about 4 o'clock, they having been alone at the time of the tragedy. The room was covered with blood and its condition showed that the struggle was a terrible one. It is stated that opposition to Vet's marriage on the part of his mother was the cause of the quarrel. End quote. Oof. Okay, I found a few more interesting details about this horrifying story. In another article called A Man Maniac Murderer Matricide and Suicide at Meriden, Connecticut, A crazy lovesick son kills his mother. Strangely, they lived two doors down from where a man with the last name of Whitaker was brutally assaulted and almost killed just three weeks earlier. But there were no more details about that. I dug into the papers to see if I could find any more info. There didn't turn up any. But here's a strange detail about Charles, the man who killed his mother and himself. Two years prior, he contracted mumps and was told that he needed an operation. I checked what kind of operations could be required. If you contract mumps, apparently it can cause pancreatitis, meningitis or orchitis, and you may need drainage from abscesses. But he refused and just lived in excruciating pain for two years. Mumps also can cause inflammation of the brain, which can lead to symptoms similar to anxiety and depression. But I didn't find that it can cause like murderous rage per se. But up until a week before he killed his mother and himself, he was not doing great, but had just gotten back to work, having felt recovered enough to do so. It's also kind of strange that he had a fiance. I'm not sure how with all this money Mump's bedridden business that he found fiance. But from what's written in the article, his mother's dislike of this proposed marriage was related to his health condition. Maybe she didn't think this woman was up to caring for him or was concerned about him leaving the house where he apparently had to live in care during his illness. Who can say it was a butcher's knife that he used to cut her throat and his. The article states that that the doctor who was frantically called for by Charles's sister found his mother still breathing but unable to articulate, and she died within a few minutes after his arrival. An ugly gash upon her throat and one upon her son's told the whole story. Marks of blood upon the walls and up on the kitchen door leading to the room spoke of a fearful struggle between the mother and her maniac son. End quote. Another interesting detail here is the kind of attention this horrible situation attracted. The article says the excitement consequent upon the murder and suicide committed in the vet's family is at fever heat today, and the house in which the unfortunate people lived has been besieged by the curious cosmopolitan crowd of scandal mongers who inhabit even these regions, eager to obtain a glance of the room in which the maniac's son committed the fearful deed of murdering his mother. As in times of sensations everywhere, so here the feelings of the surviving friends have but little consideration from the vulgar crowds who, it would seem, must view the scene at any cost. This makes me think of how photographers were climbing trees to get a glimpse of Kurt cobain's body in his home. It's just so sickening. I'm glad that it seems there's been kind of like a shift in this behavior. I can't think of the last time that we've seen this. Kind of, like, clamoring to see crime scenes. I don't know. Am I wrong? I hope not. I just can't think of any recent examples of people, like breaking into homes where people have been killed or died. Just to get a glimpse again that I can think of. Of all the ways that we've regressed as a society. It's important to remind ourselves that we have evolved as a whole in many other ways. Again, I hope I'm not wrong about that. Okay, this next one sounds right out of a rootin tootin western with indiscriminate gunfire everywhere and a whole lot of people getting shot to death. So many that it's a little hard to keep track of. I'll do my best to keep it simple. When I add more detail after the article, which is called bad Tom smith, Eastern Kentucky breathes easier. He went to the gallows on June 29th. And it reads, quote, unquote, bad Tom Smith, the most famous of Kentucky's mountain outlaws, Was hanged at Jackson, the county seat of Breathitt, June 29. Smith was one of the most conspicuous fighters in the French eversole feud. Eight men having died with their boot fight on. That's good. I'm terrible. I'm sorry, but that's wonderful. Eight men having died with their boots on from bullets fired from the bushes by bad Tom Smith. Smith confessed to the crime for which he was hanged, but excused himself for the terrible deed by avowing that he was drunk when he assassinated Dr. J.E. raider in the house of his mistress, Catherine mcquinn, and avowing that Mrs. McQuinn asked him to kill raider, saying that Raider was going to kill her. With the hanging of Smith and the sending to the penitentiary for life of Joe Atkins and Jesse fields, two other french bushwhackers, the french eversoul feud will probably end. In his confession on the scaffold, bad Tom said, I killed Dr. Rader. We had been drunk several days, and that night he tried to get Mrs. McQuinn to go after Louise suthers, A girl he had been coming to see. She failed to find the girl, and Raider got mad at her. And I was told to kill him or he would kill me. I was too drunk to know any better, and I shot him twice. Now I'll tell you about the other men I killed. The first one was Joe Pert. He came to my house above Hazard and I shot him with a knife needle gun. And Joe Adkins and I then hid for jow. Eversole and Joe shot him and Nick Combs. I shot at them as they fell and then robbed eversole's body of $30. John McKnight was the next man I killed. I shot him in the fight at Hazard. Bob Brothers was also shooting at him at the time and he may have killed him. Jack Combs and I killed Robert Corbett next. He was cutting saw logs and we came upon him. I shot first. We killed him because he belonged to the Eversouls. I was at Jesse Fields place and heard Fult French Joe adkins, Boone Fraser, Mrs. Fields and Jesse Thorpe make the plot to kill Judge Josiah Coombs. And afterwards heard Adkins say he fired the shot that killed him. End quote. Okay, so I found a few more details here. The French Eversoul feud was a bloody, vengeful war between two powerful eastern Kentucky families and their allies. In 1887. Bad Tom Smith was on the French side, and he killed a lot more folks than just these in his lifetime. He started killing for the French family at 20, and he participated in his first gun battle on election day in Perry County. Smith had been arrested numerous times for murder, but before he'd get to court, every witness to his crimes was gone, either dead or disappeared. He literally just killed witnesses to prevent his trials from going forward, and they were dismissed. And as if eliminating every witness wasn't enough, he and his band of outlaws burned the courthouse down, including every indictment and court record. This event scared the hell out of anyone in town who ever spoke negatively about Tom's Smith. And folks who did ran for the hills. Still, despite Tom's assertion of power over the entire town, he likely expected the feds to make their way to the town at some point. So he left behind his wife and child and moved to Jackson. While there, he just kept killing people, including this Dr. Raider, who Tom was eventually tried and found guilty of murdering before he could kill off any witnesses. Smith's hanging was actually Eastern Kentucky's first legal hanging. Publicly, Smith remained cool as a cucumber while he was sentenced to be hanged until he was dead. He told reporters he wasn't afraid to die, but behind the scenes, he had his lawyer desperately trying to appeal the verdict. And Smith was caught with saw blades that were smuggled into the jail. He was trying to cut the bars in a cell. The sheriff and the police knew the odds that his gang would try to spring him were high. Detective George Drake said, nearly every man in the place capable of bearing arms is supplied with weapons and is ready at a moment's notice to march to the jail and protect it from a mob. And as a last resort, police had the entire jail packed with dynamite, so if the place got mobbed, they'd blow the whole place to pieces with Smith inside. Smith Smith agreed to be baptized by Protestant ministers before his death, and a huge, heavily armed police presence surrounded the lake where it occurred. Although Smith again played it cool to the press, he was terrified of dying. He personally wrote to the governor to beg for more time. He wrote to Governor John Brown would like a few days time as I am an orphan boy and have no friends. Tom Smith, the governor said, Nope. 5,000 people came to watch Tom Smith hanged at the gallows, and his last words before Sheriff Combs pulled the hanging lever and released the trap were Save me, God save me. End quote. Damn. Bad Tom Smith. Why'd you have to be so bad? Okay, speaking of bad, our next article is called it's no Use Trying to Be Good, and it reads the Reverend Collier, the liberal and eloquent Unitary Divine of Chicago, stated in a discourse lately that it is no use for men trying to be good, as there were little sins which had always existed and always would do so, and they were inherent in the human family. He then gave swearing as an instance, saying that men have always sworn and will always swear, and he thought someone should invent a national oath. We have always thought that by gum was a good English, expressive and an innocent sort of a swear, and we place it on the table. I'm glad he gave an example, because I couldn't understand a word of what his point of view was there. Last week's episode was on cults and I talked a lot about different beliefs that emerged in the 19th century. And although this pastor is implying that since we're all just going to sin, we might as well decide what the least offensive sins are and make those the official sins or something, it reminds me of the beliefs of Rasputin's cult, far more tame but similar. Rasputin was the spiritual advisor to the Emperor of Russia, arguably largely responsible for the fall of the Russian Empire, inasmuch as he very much encouraged the very worst decisions made by the Emperor Nicholas II that led to the Russian uprising against the monarchy that effectively destroyed it. But a little about his he was a member of the Kallistes, which operated under the notion that they were already sin free and as such couldn't be forgiven. Damn it. An essential thing if you want to get into heaven. So they just had to sin their butts off on purpose, specifically through wild orgies and crypts. They called this sinning to drive out sin. This cult was an offshoot of Russian Orthodox Christianity. Very offshot. It's actually illegal today in Russia. One of my favorite comfort series on Netflix is called the Last Czars. If you're interested in learning more about Rasputin and the fall of the Russian Empire, I will say this, it is very entertaining. It's got great costumes and oodles of noodles. It's packed with full frontal Just a warning. You're welcome. Okay, these next two short blurbs come from a little series in the Illustrated Police News, and they're like little mini horror movies. The series is called Criminal Capers and the first one reads shot in the head. Fate Weaver ambushed his cousin Jim Wheeler while plowing and shot him in the head, scattering his brains on the ground. This happened in Chattanooga County, Georgia. End quote. Jesus Christ. Okay, on to the next. This one has a little title, Murder and Arson, and it reads Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, June 28. A house in Allegheny City occupied by August Coleman and William Toppan, two young German butchers, was entered by thieves early this morning. Coleman was killed by blows on the head from a hatchet and Topman was badly cut about the head. The house was fired by the murderers. It is supposed that Topman cannot recover as he was badly burned. No clue to the perpetrators has been obtained. Okay, I found a few more details about this one. In an article called Most Horrible Murder in the Chicago Tribune of June 28, 1876, it says the men were found enveloped in the flames and almost hacked to pieces by a hatchet. Topman was staggering madly round the flames. Coleman was past all speech and this morning was removed to Mercy Hospital where He died about 6:00. His skull was crushed and he had received several terrible cuts about the face while he was also severely burned. End quote. Topman was actually able to give some information about what happened, and it appears that he did not die due to his injuries, but he said that he didn't know the perpetrators, who according to a witness said were three men that they saw running from the shop shortly before the fire like enveloped it. In another article that I found in the Pittsburgh commercial from July 1, I found a few more details. The detective on the case had a suspicion that Tupman actually knew more than he was willing to tell, but sadly didn't elaborate. A number of people were arrested, but sadly there were no more articles in that year about the case. So it's possible that the killers were never found and brought to trial. Okay, this next one is sad and pretty judgmental. You'll see what I mean. It also has some very beautifully written parts, but it is called A married man, after cohabitating with a young lady, kills her with poison. Her corpse is concealed in a glen, and it reads, Chillicothe, Ohio. November 21, 1871. The trial of John S. Blackburn for the murder of Mary Jane Lovell by poison commenced here today. Blackburn is nearly 50 years old with a wife and several children, some of whom are married. The murdered woman was 25 or 26 years old, attractive personally and quite intelligent. She was niece of Blackburn's sister in law, Mrs. Fanny Blackburn in Cincinnati, and had lived in criminal intimacy with him for a considerable time. And the affair was the common talk of Greenfield where he resided, and caused great unhappiness in the family. On the 20th of March last, Ms. Lovel met Blackburn at Greenfield on her way from Cincinnati, and late in the afternoon the two walked out to the farm of Hugh Milligan, six or seven miles from the place. Milligan is brother in law to Blackburn, and it was to him that the latter imparted the information which led to the discovery of the woman's death. Arrived at the farm, a saddle horse was procured, and the guilty pair, in the gloom of a bleak March night, rode down into a lonely and frightful glen, miles of away from any human habitation, the haunt of the rabbit and solitary owl. Great frowning cliffs echoed a brawling brook, and the fretted pines sighed mournfully in the marrow searching wind. Isn't that lovely here? The passion torn. Wretches passed the night with no covering but the canopy of the heavens and no witness but the all seeing one turn. What transpired there? Blackburn returned to the farm next day and told them the woman offered him poison, which he refused. She then drank of it and died, her corpse being found in the thicket. Next morning after Blackburn's return, an inquest was held and he was arrested on the charge of murder. At the May term of the court he was indicted, and after an ineffectual effort to procure your release on the plea of insanity, Blackburn has laid in jail here since his arrest. He is completely broken down, mentally and physically and excited. Pity only in court today he is coarse featured with his hands clasped in Front and a stupid, preoccupied stare at nothing. A jury was impaneled today and witnesses called to the number of 23. The case will be ably defended by Mr. George E. Pugh of Ohio and half a dozen other lawyers of reputation and ability. Okay, I have to pat myself on the back. I'm getting better and better at digging for details around some of these stories. I dug through at least a dozen papers to get almost the full picture. You're gonna appreciate the language used in the Portland Daily Press from April 4, 1871, one that gives more details about how the girl's body was discovered. And it begins, the last Western tragedy involves suicide and insanity, and the end is not yet. And I'll give you an excerpt from this article. It reads, quote, shortly before midnight, Hugh Milligan was aroused, he was the owner of the farm nearby, by a violent knocking at the door. And on opening it, Blackburn, pale as a spectre, his hair all dishevelled, his eyes glaring with an unearthly light and trembling with excitement, rushed in and like a hunted down wolf, flung himself, panting, into a chair. What's the matter? Said Milligan. Blackburn advanced to him, placed one hand on his shoulder, glared into his face and hissed out. Hugh, Mary Jane is lying dead in Cliff. Run. She wanted me to take poison. I wouldn't. She took it herself. Hugh. I saw her fling the bottle away. She looked at me so and said, come with me, John. And then I saw her fall dead in the brushwood. I saw her fall dead, stark dead. Hugh. My God, I saw her fall dead. End quote. And it continues with an unearthly laugh. Blackburn fell prostrate on the floor. The sheriff and his men were sent to find her body, and the description of what they found was with open, glassy eyes, the fixed stare of death in them, distorted features, the parted lips covered with white froth, the white teeth being grated together like a vice, and the tiny white hands clenched together before her face as if to blot out the terrible vista of afterlife. The body of the unfortunate girl presented fearful spectacle. After digging and digging and digging, I found that he was ultimately found guilty of murdering her. In the sun newspaper from December 13, 1871. But what's so infuriating is that the article that I found, the only article that I found that said the verdict is virtually illegible, the text is so faded, I was just able to get out of the very end of the article that he was found guilty. From what I could make out, he made a number of conflicting statements about the events of the day and weeks prior, telling someone that he hadn't seen her for weeks when in fact he had seen her the day before. It was determined that it was strychnine that killed her and there was some belief that she may have been poisoned the night night before and taken to the glen. I found that he did get another trial, though based on the circumstantial nature of the evidence given, but was ultimately found guilty and sent to prison for life. Wild okay, this one is also pretty sad and horrifying. I'll have an indestructible baby story up next to Lift youh Spirits, don't worry. But first, this one is called A Father Taken at His Word. What Whiskey did for a Young man in Kansas. And it reads, a heart rending case of suicide which occurred at Lawrence, Kansas on the 4th, produced a profound sensation in that usually quiet city. The particulars are as George Fricker, proprietor of the omnibus line there, and his son Henry, a young man grown, were walking along Winthrop street on their way way home. The father was pleading with his son to relinquish his habits of intemperance and had just made the remark, henry, I would rather follow you to the grave than see you doing so. His son replied, all right, Father, and suiting the action to the word, he drew a pistol and while his father's hand was on his arm, fired the shot into the right side of his neck and fell, dying in a few minutes. He was but little under the influence of liquor at the time of the deed. The father is distracted. The word distracted could be used for devastated in this time I sadly could not find more information about this particular story. It's just a very sad thing that father must have died of guilt. Could you imagine? But let's talk briefly about temperance in the 1800s. Prohibition, the banning of alcohol sales in America didn't come until the 1920s, but there was a long dry road that brought us there. The temperance movement started in the early 1800s for a number of reasons. Chief among them, there were little to no laws protecting women from their drunk wife beating husbands. And rather than push to make it illegal to beat your wife, women knew they were more likely to get somewhere when it came to banning alcohol than convincing any politician to make it illegal to abuse women. And they were likely correct. Apart from the very many women who started temperance chapters, Religious movements, which included men, were also in agreement that alcohol does cause a lot of problems. So many of the negative new Protestant religions that I mentioned on last week's episode adopted temperance as a strong tenet of their faiths. The temperance movement originally focused on moderation, but very quickly developed into total abstinence, known as teetotalism. And no, it had nothing to do with saying you only drink tea. The tea, which is spelled T E E represents that t as in total, as in we are capital T, total abstinent from drinking liquor. And although, like I said, not until the 1920s did alcohol get banned nationwide, there were plenty of towns and even states that banned alcohol altogether. First, Maine was the first state to ban alcohol in 1851. Kansas was the next in 1881. And even though Massachusetts as a state didn't ban alcohol until the 20s, with the passing of the 18th Amendment, many towns began banning banning the sale of alcohol as early as the 1830s. And this next article is all about how folks would get around those laws. And it's going to make you smile. It is called how the Liquor Law is Enforced in New Bedford, Massachusetts, and it reads, most ludicrous are the stories told of the manner of obtaining a nip. No liquor is stored in large quantities. Consequently, ale and lager cannot be had except in bottles which are labeled soda. Some of the dealers keep their front doors locked and admit customers through a back entrance, sometimes from an alley, sometimes from the backyard. Others have something else to sell in the front room and serve the drinkables in an adjoining apartment or maybe up the stairs or down the cellar. The habayatu passes quietly through the yard gate or alleyway way, knocks at the back door, and in answer to the question, who's there? Utters the countersign sotto voce, the door is partly opened. He slips through and the door is again securely fastened. There's no smile from wax moustached or diamond pinned barkeeper, no cheerful what he'll have. No glancing at one's fizz in the polished mirror, which a smash cock, cocktail or sling is in process of mixture. Such delicate touches of the artist are not allowed. Without asking questions, the host pulls a flask from under his coat, takes out the stopper, and places it beside a tumbler before the visitor. Sugar and lemons are not to be thought of. The visitor pours out his three fingers, tosses it off at a gulp, and with a wry face proceeds to settle. In other places, the style is more pretentious. A demijohn is hauled up out of the cellar by a rope through a trapdoor in the closet. Side note, a demijohn is just like a big jug. Back to it. In such cases it is not Hobson's choice as to name, but the quality is as villainous as the genius of adulterators can make it. At the druggist's, the thirsty soul who knows the ropes tips the proprietor, wink and walks straight into the back room where pressing one hand tightly upon his waistband and putting on a woe begone countenance, he asks what is good for pain, doctor, or my system is very much out of order. Can you do anything for me? And the doctor takes down a decanter or draws a tumbler full of liquid from a suspicious looking barrel labelled kerosene and hands it to the visitor whose ailments are all speedily cured. If the smile that plays upon his features is an indication of late the officials have been so watchful of the druggists that more precautions are necessary. The visitor never passes out by the door through which he enters and only those known to be OK are allowed to pass the barrier. But there is certainly a large class who would take a drink only once in a while if it were open to them. But when they enter a place now get so drunk before leaving that the police have to carry them home. So say some of the best temperance men in New Bedford. End quote. Wax moustached. You can still find plenty of waxed mustached bartenders in Brooklyn. Loathies 140 years later okay, strap in. Get ready for a heart stopping baby thriller. It doesn't have a name, it's just an unsuspecting blurb nestled between the murder suicides. And it reads, one day last week a smiling infant toddled away from its home near Viola, Iowa on the Dubiqui Southwestern Railroad and lay down between the rails to sleep. A few moments later a train came along and the engineer C he could not stop in time, pulled her wide open and banged the whole train over the sleeping cherub before it awoke and never touched a hair of it. Had the little one attempted to rise, it would have been killed instantly. Sadly, there just weren't enough details here to find more information about this one. No names, no exact dates. I wish there were. I can only imagine that if it's true, that baby probably grew up to tell that story about himself a billion times sitting in the trenches during World War I to anyone that would listen. And I bet that his kids told that story to their kids. You might laugh at your grandpa for falling asleep at the dinner table today, but when that man was a baby, he would have been decimated by a train if it wasn't for his sleepiness. And none of you would be sitting here today. Okay, one more horrible one. And then a spooky one. The title of this one is Pretty over the Top. It's called, A Lovesick Sunday School Superintendent Blows his Brains Out. And it reads, on Sunday the 12th at 2pm Mr. Noah Talbot committed suicide near Merritt Station on the Roqueford, rock Island and St. Louis Railroad in Scott County, Illinois. But an hour before the tragic deed was committed, Young Talbot, while in the town of Merritt, received in The House of Mr. Henry Hitt A letter from Ms. Lizzie Gilliam, an accomplished young lady of Scott county, whom he passionately loved, in which she peremptorily discarded him. He left the house immediately afterwards, and when, but for a short distance from Merritt, blew his brain out with a revolver. He was a young man of good standing, a member of the church and Sunday school superintendent. But the darts of love and the chilling refusal of the cruel, fair one were too much for him. End quote. That wasn't her fault, Guy. The cruel, fair one. It's a very sad story, but let's get a grip on blaming the woman for this. Men were equally probably not taught how to accept rejection just as thoroughly then as they are today. But that doesn't mean it's a woman's fault when they hurt themselves because of it. The poor guy likely also had more going on with his mental health than just this, let's be honest. But I wasn't able to find any more about this story. I found the situation mentioned in a number of other papers. Some ranging in blame they gave to the poor girl. Some, luckily, did not whatsoever. But there wasn't more clarity given on the man's life in those articles, sadly. Or what became of poor Lizzie Gilliam, who must have had a similar experience as the poor boy's father from a few articles ago, whose son shot himself in front of him after he asked him to get sober. Goodness, this is tough stuff. So, luckily for you, I have the spirit of a Gilded age stockbroker making a appearance at a New York City seance In this article called Mysteries of James Fisk, Jr. Makes his appearance at a seance in New York City. And it reads, those who are most skeptical as to the truth of spiritualism are compelled to acknowledge that there is something wonderful and mysterious in its manifestations. It may be that disembodied soul return to earth and commune with those who are gifted with the power of seeing what is invisible to other eyes. Or the whole thing may be an ingenious humbug. Nevertheless, we have heard upon what should be considered excellent authority that at a seance held in New York recently, the spirit of James Fiske Jr. As he was in the flesh, appeared and was recognized by all present, some of whom were absolute disbelievers in all such manifestations. We do not comment upon the story, we simply publish it as a matter of news. This James Fisk Jr. Was a gentleman, otherwise known as Big Jim, Diamond Jim, or Jubilee Jim. In life, he was also referred to as one of the robber barons of the Gilded Age, known for bribing legislatures, buying judges, and scheming to corner the gold market. New York he was shot and killed in the Grand Central Hotel by a man named Edward Stiles Stokes. He was shot and killed in the Grand Central Hotel by a man named Edward Stiles Stokes. This man tried to blackmail Fisk into giving him money, threatening to expose illegal financial schemes Fisk had been involved in. It didn't work. Fisk refused to pay him, and so he shot him. Stokes was tried three times for the murder because his first trial ended with a suspiciously hung jury, surrounded by rumors that jurors were paid off. Eventually he was found guilty only of manslaughter and given four years in Sing Sing. I wonder if Fisk said anything at the seance. There are so many times that I almost wish some of these articles didn't give so much detail, but with this I am just left begging for more. If you enjoyed this podcast and would like to hear more, please rate, review, subscribe, join my Patreon and leave me comments. Be kind to yourselves and I will see you in your nightmares.