My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 375
Episode Date: March 18, 2024This week’s hometowns include a close encounter with a serial killer and a guide dog named Lola. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices...
Transcript
Discussion (0)
This is exactly right.
It's 1943 in the Kingdom of Bulgaria.
As the Second World War rages, King Boris dies suddenly and every nation is a suspect.
The Butterfly King premieres March 21 on exactly right.
It's a cruel tale of a doomed royal dynasty. Somewhere the truth
is out there. Listen to The Butterfly King on Apple podcasts, Spotify or
wherever you get your podcasts. My favorite murder.
Hello.
And welcome to my favorite murder.
That's correct.
The mini-sode.
We read you your stories right back at you.
These are your emails and we can prove it.
And we have the emails to prove it.
To prove it.
Receipts.
Okay, I want to go first.
Sure.
All right.
I'm not going to tell you the line, the name, the subject line.
Here it goes.
Hi everybody.
I have been doing some genealogy recently to try to learn more about my dad's mom and
her family history.
Her name is Ellen, but we call her Kiki
and she is our matriarch.
We knew that she was orphaned at a young age
and adopted by her uncle or so we thought.
It turned out that her mother died tragically in childbirth
along with her baby brother.
Her father, who was from a small island in Greece
called Semis, couldn't care for her
and had put her in her uncle's care.
She never saw her father again,
despite the fact that he was alive
until she was in her twenties.
Like the grief, can you imagine?
In the nineties, when Kiki was in her sixties,
she learned that it wasn't only her mother and brother
who died when she was young,
she had also had a twin sister.
Her twin died just before their second
birthday and never had a gravestone. Kiki dug through old records to find where her twin,
Eda, was buried. She had a gravestone made more than 60 years later that reads,
Eda, twin sister of Ellen. I'm still entangling her family history. She has at least eight
half-siblings, all of whom have passed away by now, but their children and grandchildren are out there. I traveled to Greece to see her father's
birthplace and found a huge extended family on Simei. The story of exactly how I found them is
another email, but it felt like a miracle to meet her relatives who were nearly lost to us forever.
Catherine. Wow. I know. Family secrets, man. That's so much grief and loss for one person
and kind of maybe displacement,
although maybe she was young enough
that she didn't really realize it,
but God, that's so heavy.
So much, so much stuff.
Sorry, starting out pressing, here we go.
I mean, I feel like this is what we do though, right?
It's like, there's so many families
that could tell a story
that is similar, parallel, this is the human condition.
Let's email about it and let's share it
so that the burden is lighter.
Yes, love it.
Seems to me that's our plan.
Yeah.
Okay, and so I was gonna say along that note,
but this is different and yet the same.
Hi ladies, every time I listen to hometowns,
I imagine writing in to tell my tale. So when you asked for dad lore or mom lore, I knew my time
had come. This story is the first I can remember over hearing my parents tell to their friends,
acquaintances, and really anyone who would listen because it's so terrifying. Unfortunately,
as I heard the story in great detail and frequency at such a young age,
it stuck with me and I was paranoid throughout childhood that I too would be chased, kidnapped,
or murdered by a serial killer. It's also likely the reason that I became a murderino at such a
young age and now in my old age require listening to the sounds of your voices echoing in my earbuds,
sweet bedtime tales of terror and murder to
put me to sleep every night. Here's the story. Enjoy.
It was the first week of January 1979 in Bellingham, Washington. My parents had just finished building
a house and had invited friends over after the holidays to see the house for the first
time. It was a Sunday afternoon and a typical chilly Pacific Northwest winter day. Our house
was near a pond that had a walking trail around it and next to the pond were
newly constructed vacation apartment rentals.
My mom and her girlfriend decided to go for an afternoon walk around the pond to take
a little break from baby caretaking and then in parentheses it says I was nine months old
at the time and have some girl time.
My dad and his friend stayed home with me to throw back some
Rainiers, the best Washington beer, it says in parentheses, and reminisce about their
college days. As my mom and her friends started down the trail around the pond, they noticed
a guy behind them about 200 feet back who had come onto the trail from the empty vacation
complex. That alone is bone chilling. My mom and her friend were both
in their early 20s, very cute and also fairly naive from growing up in a small town. Not
thinking anything of the guy behind them, they continued along the path next to the
pond, getting farther away from the neighborhood and nearing the more secluded back end of
the pond. As they were walking and talking, they started hearing the sound of footsteps
on the gravel path coming increasingly closer. My mom turned around and locked eyes with a tall man
who looked to be of similar age coming closer behind them. My mom grabbed her friend's arm
and told her that she had a really bad feeling and that they should run home. They locked arms,
picked up their pace and started sprinting around the pond and back towards the apartment complex and street leading to our house. As they ran, they could hear the man running
behind them trying to catch up to them. He never said a word, but they could hear him
breathing heavily and inching closer toward them. Oh my God. By the time they made it
off the trail and back to the road, their adrenaline had fully kicked in and they managed
to outrun the terrifying stranger. Getting back inside the house, they locked the front door and
frantically told their husbands what had just taken place while trying to catch their breath.
My dad and his friend, feeling increased courage from their beers, decided to go try to track this
creep down and tell them to stay away from their women. They walked down the street and looked
around the empty newly constructed apartment complex next to the pond and walked around the pond but saw no one. They headed
back home and chalked it up to a creepy event in their new neighborhood and maybe my mom
shouldn't take walks by herself or with the baby alone. A week later, my mom almost passed
out as she glanced at the newspaper and recognized the face of the man plastered across the front page.
It was the man who had chased her the weekend before.
His name was Kenneth Bianchi.
And he had just been arrested for the brutal rape and murders of two young women found near a vacant home
where Bianchi was patrolling as a security guard.
He had gone back home to Washington, right? Oh my God. Okay.
As Bianchi's apartment was later searched and a myriad of incriminating items were found,
it was apparent that Bianchi was involved in the Hillside Strangler murders, which he admitted
to and named his sadistic cousin Angelo.
It was also revealed that Bianchi had been the patrolling security guard for the vacation
apartments down the road from my house.
Thanks for reading and being two of my favorite people that I don't know. Stay sexy and please be
mindful of the terrifying true stories you tell around your children. I think that should
have been put at the top. We should say that at the top of every single show we do.
Don't let your kid hear this.
Please. Amber. She Her.
Wow.
Amber Suntis her. Wow. Amber sent us that. Unbelievable.
Those like brushes with, you know, whatever it is, fate, I don't know, creep me out so
much. The fact that he was a security guard is just so unsettling. And then that thing
of like the confirmation that something's wrong when you start to run and without a
word, they start to run after you. It's like, yep, you were right.
You're right. And now you're in it. Like the thing that you feared that you hoped was just
like, Hey, let's get out of here. It's like, now you're in it. Yeah. Wow. That was a great
one. Thank you for sending that one in.
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All right, let's take a left turn or a U-turn.
Yeah.
90s kids.
Hi, Karen, Georgia and all the people and pets of MFM.
I have a long time listener, but also a busy mom.
So I'm catching up on old episodes.
On a recent mini-sode, you told a story
about kids playing in a running dryer
and it jogged a repressed childhood memory. As is well known, childhood in the 90s, especially summer,
was a lawless, parent-free existence where kids were left mostly to their own devices.
My story began one hot summer day when me, my brothers, and my cousins were in search of
something to do. It dawned on us that the construction site next door where a house was being built seemed like a great option for mischief.
We found a huge piece of black plastic pipe, five orange cones, and human bowling was born.
The objective was simple. Sit inside the piece of pipe, which was conveniently just large enough
to fit a crouched middle schooler. Position yourself at the top of the hill and then catapult yourself
towards certain death, ideally knocking some traffic cones over on your way. So they got
in the pipe and rolled in the pipe towards the cones.
Down the hill towards some cones.
There was one large caveat. My yard was a hill, then a plateau where the cones laid in weight, then another
hill directly into a thicket of thorn bushes. When it was your turn, the other five were
the stoppers and would tackle the pipe with all the strength of a sixth grader. So you
stopped before the second hill. So they just also became the bowling pins essentially.
Right. And then I'm imagining that second hill, they mean downhill. So it's like, if
the stoppers don't stop you, you are on your way.
Well guess what?
Oh shit.
When my turn came, I launched myself down the hill, hoping for a strike. When I reached
the plateau and took down some cones, it became very obvious that my brothers had hatched
a scheme not to catch me.
I continued downhill number two, finally coming to a stop when the pipe tipped me over in the thorns.
I stood up, legs covered in tiny dots of blood, and looked up to see the terrified looks on my brother's faces. The, we fucked up look. After threatening them with all sorts of older sister
violence, we all moved on and of course kept right on playing.
When our parents came home, they took one look at our setup
and said something along the lines of,
"'Looks fun, don't track mud into the house
when you're done.'"
We played human bowling that whole summer
and I consider it well worth the brain cells
we undoubtedly lost in the process.
Stay sexy and never trust little brothers, Carl, she, her.
Wow. Did they say at the beginning it was like the era that that was in?
The 90s, the 90s, which I think we're still tracking in the 80s a little bit.
Yes, for sure. Well, because those kids got the full parental approval of this game.
Right. Parents are like, you're distracted and busy and outside? Great.
Do it. Tire yourselves out and then be quiet at dinner.
Yeah, there's no such thing as screen time,
it's just television, so get the fuck out of the house.
Yeah, that's right,
because we're gonna watch the news constantly.
Okay, another left turn.
The subject line of this email
is my superhero firefighter dad.
And then for some reason in parentheses
it says revised version,
which I guess is a personal note
for the person who wrote this.
Hello all, long time listener, first time writer, inner.
Let's skip the antics and get straight into it.
No problem.
So I grew up in Florida with the most bad-ass parents around, but don't get me
started on my governor who is completely ruining mine and so many queer people's
lives, but that's not what this email is about.
My dad is a firefighter here.
And just let me tell you, the world truly wouldn't be the
same without him in it.
The Orlando nightclub pulse shooting happened on June 12th, 2016.
The city was dim following the aftermath of that shooting.
However, something that often isn't talked about is the toll
it took on the first responders.
Many of the first responders
that night still struggle with PTSD. My dad watched as his peers tried to fight this internal battle
alone and decided that something needed to be done. He was already working on the peer support
team, however he kicked it into high gear after this tragedy. So let me tell you a little bit about
the peer support team and the work my dad has done.
The peer support team is a volunteer-based program
run by firefighters made to help firefighters.
He has dedicated the last 11 years of his life
to this program, and it's been the blueprint
for programs like this across the country.
His team has traveled to the Vegas shooting,
Parkland shooting, and the tragic apartment collapses
in Miami to make sure that the first responders
had people to talk to.
Not only does he help the first responders, but he also
makes sure that the 911 operators are taken care of as well.
They have a difficult and thankless job that doesn't
get enough recognition, but they are a key component
in making sure that this country is safe.
People like my dad don't get talked about enough.
Not only does he put his life on the line
to save people's lives, which is heroic in and of itself,
but he takes care of the people
that usually aren't the ones getting taken care of.
My parents have done so much for me.
I've been in and out of mental health facilities
my entire adult life.
I don't know where I would be
without their unconditional love and support
through some of the hardest battles of my life
My dad calls me every day and asks has anyone told you you're awesome today
I'm proud to call this man my dad and I brag about him every chance I get which is partially why I'm writing in today
Anywho, thank you
Thank you both so much. That's my favorite. Anywho, thank you so much. Thank you both so much for the amount of peace you've brought me in these
chaotic last few years. Thank you for making me feel not so crazy and taking the stigma out of
these hard conversations. It's brought me so much peace and comfort to hear your voices.
Keep being badasses and remember, stay sexy and always check in on your people even if they're the strongest people you know. And that was from Dylan, they them.
Wow.
Dylan, thank you. That was a really important and great email.
Yeah, thank you for writing that.
I'm so sorry. I needed to scroll up one. It says PS, my dad's name is Jeff.
Oh.
Dylan's dad, Jeff, thank you for everything you're doing.
Oh my God. Amazing.
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Okay, this one's called Antihero Assistance Dog Story. Photo included.
Dear Karen and Georgia, you asked for hero pet stories. I'm going to tell you about my guide dog
and all the times she's nearly killed me. I'm legally blind. I got my first guide dog Lola back
in 2013. She was a smaller than average black Labrador, so people often
assume she was a puppy in training, particularly because she was so badly behaved. Lola was
incredibly friendly. When she wagged her tail, her whole body wiggled and she had a fantastic
memory for people who had shown her attention in the past. There was a coffee shop near
my old workplace that I only went in once, but she tried to take me in every time we
walked past it,
just because the owner gave her a treat
the one time we'd been there.
And on more than one occasion,
she would try to cross straight over the road
without stopping because she spotted someone we knew
on the other side.
You're supposed to not do that, Lola.
No, you can't be doing that, Lola.
Like against the rules.
She was also an absolute diva and did exactly
what she pleased, regardless of what I told her to do.
She'd walk around puddles when it rained,
even if it meant I walked through them
or even into obstacles,
just so she didn't get her precious feet wet.
She's like a reverse guide dog.
I know.
She'd bark at me and my husband
if we dared to hug each other without involving her.
And when she decided she'd had enough of working life, she'd just lie on the sofa and sigh
at me when I got her harness out.
Lola drove me crazy almost every day, but we also had some wonderful adventures together
and I can honestly say that getting her is the best thing that ever happened to me.
Before I had a guide dog, I had a lot of internalized ableism and self-hate.
I couldn't leave the house without help, and I felt so isolated and afraid.
Lola was always joyous and confident,
and having her by my side made me feel like
I could take on the world.
She was my constant partner for nearly eight years
and so important to my sense of self and identity
that I included her in the intro of my own podcast,
A La Elvis and His Cookies.
We were fortunate enough to keep her after she retired,
and she became besties with
my new guide dog Dora when she joined the family in 2021. Lola became ill just a few days after
her 12th birthday, even losing her own eyesight, and we had to make the heartbreaking decision to
say goodbye to her a week later. However, she did manage to hold on long enough to meet our son,
who arrived just eight days before she passed.
Oh.
I wanted to share this picture of Lola with you,
taken whilst on a walk with some non-guide dog friends.
Guess which one she is.
And we'll put it on the Instagram.
There's like four dogs, three are sitting nicely.
One is leaping towards the camera
with all its excited might and it's clearly Lola.
Oh, Hunter, just put it up in the chat.
Action shot.
It is so funny.
There's three perfectly behaved dogs
looking like a hallmark card
and then Lola's just like, what's up?
I love it.
Stay sexy and don't distract guide dogs.
They're easily distracted enough as it is.
Alice,
she her. Wow. That one got me. That one got me. I love that. Also, that's a very cool,
like I always imagine guide dogs being like these perfect, almost robotic, you know, like,
but it's like, no, they're animals with their own personalities. Right. It's like a real
challenge. Yeah. It's like, you know, you can pass a class by getting straight Cs.
I wonder if a dog can pass the training course with a C, you know?
Yeah. Not an A plus.
Maybe Lola was like, you know what, I'm not going to make this easy for you.
Like, I'm helping you, but I'm also definitely forcing you to stand on your own,
which is like, right. Right.
Great. In a way. OK.
So excited to read this email. It says the subject line of it is of great in a way. Okay, so excited to read this email.
It says, the subject line of it is house bar in Philly.
Ooh.
Hey kids, in episode 412, you asked if anyone knows
of any house bars where we live and I'll do you one better.
I used to rent a place in East Falls,
which is a neighborhood in Philly,
that was a house bar in the 80s.
My landlord bought the place from his aunt
and loved to tell the story of all the businesses
she ran out of it, and this woman sounds like a badass.
She and her wife, and then in parentheses it says,
it wasn't legal then, but they were married,
operated a speakeasy out of the kitchen
and had a pool table in the middle of the dining room
to entertain guests.
No place to sit and eat, just a pool table.
The second floor bathroom was a hair salon
with carpet covering most of the room.
The original pictures of this house are a trip,
it says in parentheses.
And they also babysat most of the neighborhood kids,
including my landlord, so it was kind of a daycare.
A real one-stop shop. That's incredible.
That's amazing.
It's just a normal three bedroom house now, but I always felt a real connection to it
and its rich queer history as a queer woman myself. Just as an added bonus, there were
beer caves at the end of the street where the local brewery kept its stock before fridges
were a thing. How fun.
That's all folks.
Thanks for being the soundtrack
to my long ass walks with my dog.
And then it just says Kay, she, her.
Wow.
That'd be so cool to live in a house
or like, you know, that has had so many people,
like you have experiences there.
You know what I mean?
Like-
Yeah, the like interior energy
would definitely probably reflect that of like, you're having some mean? Yeah, the interior energy would definitely probably
reflect that of like, you're having some nice cocktails
in the front room, maybe playing a couple games of pool,
then you go up and get your roots done.
And then you take your kid home from daycare.
And then you try to go find your kid among the other kids,
but you're a little drunk, so you can't recognize them.
Guys, thanks for writing in.
Please write your hometowns, whatever they may be,
to MyFavoriteMurder at Gmail.
We really appreciate it.
And we love your stories.
Thank you for sharing your personal family, everything
stories with us.
We love it.
Stay sexy.
And don't get murdered.
Goodbye.
Elvis, do you want a cookie?
Ah.
Elvis, do you want a cookie? Ah! to MyFavoriteMurder at gmail.com. And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at MyFavoriteMurder and on Twitter at MyFaveMurder.
Goodbye.