MFM Minisode 453

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Goodbye.

Hello and welcome to my favorite murder.

We read you your

stories, emails and stories.

You want to go first?

Your own stories and emails and stories.

I'm not going to read you the time.

Yeah, well, no, I'm not.

Okay.

Hi, Georgia and Karen, first-time writer, long-time procrastinator.

Hey.

At seven years old, I randomly decided to sleep in my own room one night, rare, locked the door, even rarer, and had a lovely, uninterrupted sleep.

Meanwhile, my older brother was followed home from a 7-Eleven by a man who held him at gunpoint, forced his way into our home, threatened my parents, and demanded money.

Holy shit.

We're talking about fucking, what's it called?

Home invasion?

Robbery.

Yes, home invasion robbery.

One of my biggest fears.

Yeah.

While my dad distracted the man downstairs, my mom woke my sister, who then climbed down a wrought iron fence and ran to a neighbor's house to call the cops.

The guy was arrested.

The gun was fake, and I slept through the entire thing like a damn rock.

Hell yeah.

The guy even tried my door, but moved on when it was locked.

Oh my, like,

dude.

My mom explained it all the next morning on the way to school like it was a casual weather update.

A decade later, we got a letter that the guy had been released.

Anyway, stay sexy and sleep like the dead.

Thanks for creating such a hilarious, cathartic space to share stories like these.

You two are truly the highlight of my week every week.

Hey, oh my god.

SSDGM, Crystal Marie.

Crystal Marie.

Thank you.

Good job.

Sleeping through a fucking hospital.

Sleeping through trauma.

Yeah, I'll have none of this trauma.

You guys can have it.

Good night.

I'll have what she's having.

That's me on Ambien, basically.

Okay.

The subject line of this is a vintage murder.

Great.

It says, hello, beautiful ladies.

Lucille Hartman is my husband's great-grandfather's first cousin.

Lucille was a very attractive woman with red hair.

She was reportedly very pampered, spoiled, and had an ill temper.

That was in quotes.

Lucille's father owned Hartman Oil Works, where she later met her husband, William Witt, in 1930.

Lucille was 25, her husband 55 when they married.

The couple had a troubled marriage, oh, you think, and had been to court three times in a year.

William attempted to divorce her on the grounds of cruelty, but was denied.

After losing the petition for divorce, the couple walked out of the courthouse, apparently on friendly terms.

No.

A witness stated that Lucille left her husband saying, well, then I'll see you in a week.

William began to walk down the street and Lucille got into her car.

She drove to catch up to William, pulled over and stepped out of the car.

Lucille took a.32 caliber pistol that was concealed in her hat.

She fired at William point blank, once while he was standing and twice when he fell to the ground.

One bullet went through his heart and the other two bullets through his head.

Oh my God.

Right?

She immediately surrendered her gun to the sheriff and told him, I'm ready to go to jail.

Whoa.

She was promptly arrested and they're like, no problem.

There was a highly publicized trial before she was sent to prison.

Lucille refused to talk to anyone and displayed no regret in the killing of her husband.

It came out in the trial that Lucille had been married before to a man named Ralph, who she shot and wounded before their divorce in 1925.

I was going to be like, I bet he was this and that.

Yeah.

That's kind of, it's a pattern now.

That's right.

In 1934, Lucille had had a male visitor when she was in prison.

This visitor somehow changed clothes with Lucille during the visit.

What the fuck up?

The male wearing her clothes remained in the prison while she walked out of the door to freedom in disguise, wearing the man's clothing.

She was never seen or heard from again.

Stop it.

It was later learned that the man visiting her was employed by Hartman Oil Works, which was then being run by Lucille's brother George.

The whereabouts of Lucille Hartman Witt remain unknown to this day.

France, bet you anything.

That is fucking incredible.

How we, that should be a full episode story.

And that woman became Betty White.

What if it's some huge beloved character in American?

I started listening to your podcast in 2016, day one.

And since then, I've graduated high school, got my master's degree in social work, and am now working as a licensed mental health therapist in Arkansas.

Wow.

Thank you, ladies, for all you do, Laura.

Oh, my God.

Guess what, Laura?

Thank you for all you do.

Thank you.

And great job.

It's crazy that we can go, like, we've been through so many people's existences.

Yes.

I mean, like, someone got a master's on our dime.

Yeah.

And we're still fucking podcasting.

And we're still fucking degree

fucking thing.

College dropouts.

Over and over.

I want to go to Laura's college.

and get an honorary degree and be like, this is how easy it is.

We've earned a fucking honorary degree for sure.

At least from my alma mater, Los Los Angeles City College.

At least.

I feel like I'd love to take some classes there.

And by alma mater, I mean I didn't graduate from there.

Right.

They had great classes.

It was a great school.

So that was more of a like a part-time stop by hang.

Yeah.

It's like, I don't know what to do with myself and I need to stay on my mom's insurance.

Yeah.

So I guess I'll drive.

to this parking lot a couple days a week.

Find a kitten.

I did find a kitten.

Try to convince someone to go to a bar with me during the day.

Or the arcades across the street.

Okay.

Stop.

We could do this all together.

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Bye-bye.

This email is cursed or maybe it's just me.

Dear Karen and Georgia, I want to start off by letting you know that at the moment of writing this email, I am eating a cosmic brownie and ignoring work I have to do for my first week back at SFSU.

Hey, Wick Canada.

Sasso State University.

Is that you?

I wanted to go there and my mom was like, you won't like it.

It's too foggy.

Just like, are you out of your mind?

Cosmic brownies, those are the little daddies.

I bought a bunch of those at the beginning of COVID.

Oh, so good.

Now I can't look at them.

I ate boxes and boxes.

Just so good.

They're really great.

Okay.

I also want it known that I am the first grandchild, granddaughter, great-granddaughter, niece, nibbing, et cetera.

So overthinking is what I do.

So on to my curse.

So this is about her family.

Okay.

But so that's what she's saying.

Okay.

Great.

Every single time I start a new school, elementary, middle, high school, someone in my family dies.

Uh-oh.

When I started kindergarten, my mom's stepdad, Andy, died from a heart attack.

I remember this even though I was five.

That was because at the funeral, my aunt made me go up to the coffin and look at him.

All caps.

I cannot tell you how much I did not want to do that.

Yeah.

Yes, you can.

There's no need for that.

No, five.

I didn't want to go up because in my five-year-old brain, I thought all that would be left would be his skeleton.

Oh,

Jesus.

A skeleton.

She's just like in a little suit.

That's like a horror movie walking up to the coffin.

Yeah, she's like, it's a dead body.

This is a Halloween situation.

Here's what I can expect.

Oh, my God.

My first year of middle school.

I repressed as much as I could from that time.

My mom's mom, Darcy, died.

I can't tell you I felt any sadness, mostly because I was 11 and she was in late stages of dementia, but I still feel guilty that I felt relief.

This happened when my whole family was at home.

My brother was six at the time.

I took him into, this is going to make me sound so fucking rich, the library

and closed the door so he didn't have to see the EMTs wheel my grandmother out the door on a gurney.

Yeah, that was nice.

It's a nice sister.

That's the opposite of a trash sibling.

Totally.

Freshman year, my great-grandmother Isla died.

She was my dad's paternal grandmother.

We didn't have a memorial for her until almost two years later.

I started community college during the pandemic.

A week before online classes start, I am in Albuquerque, New Mexico with my grandma Anita, who has pancreatic cancer.

Just stop going to school if there's ever been a sign

that you should drop out.

Yeah.

Just stop educating yourself.

The day before she died, I had broken my elbow.

That was a shit week.

Fast forward to January 7th of 2024.

I had just finished moving into my on-campus housing for my first semester at SFSU.

My dad's dad, Ron, had been in the hospital for months.

I got the call.

Just expecting it every time you like sign up.

Yeah.

So I am no longer allowed to get any more of an education for the safety of the remaining members of my family.

Although, if I had my way, I would get the MFA I want.

Not worth it.

Not fucking worth it.

The MFA.

Oh, a master's.

The MFA I want, yeah.

Oh, for a second, I thought she meant, what do they call when you marry some guy and an MRS degree?

Yeah.

I thought she was saying that.

I'm like, why would you?

That's okay.

Sorry, it's so long.

MCMC.

MCMC?

Yeah, MCMC.

MCMC, is that the year they wrote it?

And they're just being Roman about it?

I just want to say this to you.

Don't feel guilty that you are relieved that your grandma with Alzheimer's died.

It's a relief and it goes on too long.

That's like you don't need a guilt on top of the sadness.

No, no.

It's hard enough.

And everyone feels relieved.

Yeah.

It's very normal.

It's a horrible part of it, approach.

Yeah.

That's nice of you.

All right.

The subject line of this email is internationally kidnapped by my grandparents.

Oh.

Hi, Karen in Georgia.

I grew up in upstate New York in the 90s where my parents' idea of summer camp was dropping my sister and me off with our grandparents for weeks at a time.

We loved it, and there was often a rotating crew of cousins with us as my aunts and uncles took parenting sabbaticals.

Yeah, I think you'd have to.

My grandparents loved taking road trips, and we cousins usually obliged with minimal complaints as my grandpa was guaranteed to stop for ice cream at some point.

Yeah.

That's all it takes for a kid.

Most trips led us to unmemorable small towns, but occasionally we got lucky and our destination was the most exotic place for any upstate kid, Canada.

One particular trip was especially exciting because we were headed to Niagara Falls.

The trip did not start well.

My seven-year-old cousin Timmy spent the entire two-hour drive arguing with my grandparents that we, quote, could not drive to another country.

You had to cross an ocean.

Shut up.

Timmy.

Seven.

You're seven and you're arguing with me.

Timmy watched the National Geographic Channel one too many times.

My grandparents were not thrilled with his first grade level understanding of geography and things became tense.

Also, but like, okay, I'm going to argue for him now.

Stop arguing with a seven-year-old.

Yeah.

Okay, Timmy.

Okay, Timmy.

We'll stay here in America.

Whatever you need.

Timmy.

Timmy.

Worst name.

That's really your name.

Okay.

As we approached border control, while Timmy continued screaming about oceans and airplanes, when we pulled up to the border, a cheerful Canadian border agent looked in the backseat and asked, excited to go to Canada, kids?

Timmy screamed back, they can't drive me to another country.

My mom said so.

These are not my parents.

A formerly friendly border agent immediately yelled at my grandpa to exit the vehicle, and things went downhill from there.

Oh my God, you thought they were getting kidnapped.

As this was the early 90s, kids were not required to have passports or birth certificates to cross into Canada from the U.S.

My grandparents had no proof of who the three children under seven years old were in the backseat.

Oh my God.

The border agents immediately separated us from our grandparents, sat us in a small detention room, and gave us each a small box of raisins to snack on.

Gross, you're not getting anything out of me with fucking a box of raisins.

Get out of there.

The Canadians asked us detailed questions about our trip and who our grandparents were.

When asked if our parents knew where we were, we all dutifully replied no.

It's true.

Our answers only confirmed the border agent's suspicions.

My sister, Timmy, and I had clearly been kidnapped.

Meanwhile, my grandparents were in another room being interrogated.

Luckily, my grandpa happened to be a New York State Supreme Court justice at the time.

There you go.

We're fine.

Yeah.

Must be nice.

And somehow convinced the border agents to contact a fellow judge he knew who lived near the border.

This judge showed up a few hours later with a few American court police officers and U.S.

border patrol agents.

Damn.

They verified that my grandpa was in fact an upstanding citizen and not a kidnapper.

Although at that point, I'm sure he was considering abandoning us.

I don't remember much else about the trip except for the glitter wand my grandma bought me at a rest stop on the drive back home.

That's a good memory.

I'm so sorry, but that's so real for a kid where it's like we all got detained.

Grandparents almost got arrested.

But glitter.

Glitter wand.

My grandparents were notoriously cheap, so getting a souvenir was somehow more astonishing than being detained.

Stay sexy and don't bring the annoying cousin to Canada with you, Laura.

Little shit.

Timmy, I was right in the beginning.

Yes.

Send us your accidental kidnapping stories.

Yes.

You know what I mean?

I mean that in a really positive way, that like someone thought or accidentally did a thing that seemed like kidnapping, but it wasn't.

All actors in these stories must be like Timmy's grandparents of good faith, not people.

We're not kidnappers.

We don't.

I mean, or send what you want.

Send us on someone.

We'll fucking take it.

We'll listen to whatever you want to tell us.

My favorite murder at Gmail.

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Goodbye.

Okay, this one is great.

Public pool stories, you say, is the title.

Because we asked for that, but this one is amazing.

It just starts, love you both.

Thank you for encouraging me to get the help I needed.

Okay, story time.

I know, right?

My 15-year-old self had the best dog ever named Dylan.

He was famous in our neighborhood.

We lived across the street from an elementary school, and my mom, whose name was Romaine.

Like the lettuce?

Not spelled that way, but it looks that way.

Romaine with a Y.

Yeah, maybe.

My mom ran a daycare at home, so he was always around kids.

They all knew and loved him, and he appointed himself as their protector.

Perfect.

But his number one most favorite kid in the whole world was my little brother.

They went everywhere together.

As 70s kids, we were free range, and my brother and his friends were explorers.

They swam in the creek, rode their bikes for miles, and climbed anything and everything they could find.

It really was like that.

Also, guys, no sunblock.

There was, we didn't.

Oh, fuck, no.

No, it's sunburned all the way.

And also, like, a lot of corduroy in that situation.

In the summer.

Yeah.

Sorry, but I just saw a picture of me and my sister and my cousins, Eileen and Mary Kate.

And they had come to visit us.

So Patty O'Hara, who lives across the street, she brought her horse down so they could sit on the horse because they were from San Francisco, so they didn't do stuff like that.

Me and my cousin, Eileen, are both wearing leotards only.

And I'm like six, and and she's probably 12.

And it was, and we looked at the picture together and she goes, I think those were our bathing suits.

And I was like, oh yeah, I remember wearing it for ballet and also as a bathing suit.

Yeah.

I love it.

And we weren't, I don't think

I could have had a bathing suit and obviously my parents could afford ballet lessons.

And a fucking horse.

No, wait, that wasn't yours.

It was Patty's horse.

Right.

Okay.

One day my.

I'm going to stop interrupting you.

I swear to God.

Okay.

One day my brother had to go someplace where Dylan, the dog, could not go.

Can't remember where, but but whatever.

So my mom made sure he was inside as my brother was leaving.

That dog cried and whined and barked and cried some more for long enough that my mom assumed it was okay to let him out.

And the kids were free-range and so were dogs back then, by the way.

He bolted out the door without touching the porch steps and headed straight to the local park where they spent a lot of time.

While hunting for my brother, he eventually ended up at the park's pool.

My sister, who absolutely cannot deal with animals of any kind, there's always one, and her five kids were already at the pool.

So finding familiar faces, he decided to join them and rested a while in the grass poolside.

Couldn't find his favorite, so he found some family.

He's just like, Iraq.

This will do.

I'll sit here.

My sister was not happy about it and called my mom to come get him.

This was, of course, laughable, and my mom told her, he knows his way home.

You can't get a ride from your parents for yourself.

The dog's not getting a ride.

He wanted to leave, so he needs to suffer the consequences.

That's right.

It's the 70s.

After a good rest, he decided to join my nieces and nephews near the water, eventually getting in line for the diving board.

I'm picturing like a golden retriever, like a really sweet or a yellow lab, yellow lab, like a Mr.

Peanut Butter.

Everyone, everyone was quite sudden, known character, Bojack Horseman.

Oh, yeah.

It's um, what's his name?

Paul of Donkins character.

It's like the best.

Everyone was quite tickled, and nobody thought he would go through with it, but of course he did.

He got in line.

Like, he's a dog, and he got in line for a diving board.

He didn't even like bust his way to the front.

Dogs don't know.

Dogs don't know what lines are.

No, but they're like, I trust you guys.

I've hung out with you guys long enough to know that I'm either going to get like a piece of popcorn or some good times.

Totally.

If you're standing like this, I'm going to stand like this.

It was not the high dive, but the medium height board.

He successfully jumped and swam to the edge where he used the ladder to get out.

Dylan.

He managed to get three jumps in before the lifeguards were able to grab him by the collar.

Or were they even trying?

They knew knew him and were not afraid.

My sister was dying of embarrassment and told her kids to pretend they didn't know him.

Oh, shut up.

She's terrible, which they obviously didn't do.

Right.

You're the fucking star of the pool.

That's my brother's star.

Exactly.

He was my best friend for 15 years, and I have only one decent picture of him.

Oh.

I have that too, where it's like, I have like three pictures of my childhood cat.

Right.

Who I was with for 20 years.

I have it framed in several sizes all over my house to this day.

I would kill for for a picture of our dog, Pepsi.

Okay.

I bet you can find one.

How?

AI.

Stay sexy and always wait your turn.

Tree.

Tree, legendary email.

The dog got in line.

Do you know those dogs are like the only animals that understand what pointing is?

Like that you're trying to get them to look over there.

Not like look at my finger.

Makes sense.

Sickie does it all the time.

It's so great.

I used to say to George when we were at the dog park and Frank would run up into the hills.

I know.

You're chasing me.

I'd go get that dog and she would do it.

She fucking knew.

Subject line of this is trash kid or creepy kid?

You decide.

Hey ladies, love y'all, love the pod.

You want trash kids?

I was that with an extra dash of creepy.

So it's a self-reporting email.

I'm nine years old and it's a warm summer evening at my local softball fields.

A wonderful place that smelled of burgers and hot dogs and a place where I always had a friend, coach, or distant family member throwing in the distance.

So my mom and I always always like to arrive extra early before my games, and then parentheses, it says, probably to get me out of the house and burn as much energy as possible.

We quickly run into my teammate, also nine years old, and her little sister, six, and dad, parentheses, probably with the same motive, and we ask our parents if we can go explore.

I'm sure they thought we meant to go to the playground when they said yes, but no, we didn't have time for the playground.

We wanted to find treasure.

And treasure we did find.

After getting a nod of approval, we march off into the woods that surrounded the field.

We walk for a bit along the railroad tracks that were just on the other side of the tree line.

And then a parentheses, it says, I know, so unsafe, but we thought we were so cool.

And then it says, until we see something in the distance.

A skull, leg bones, ribs.

What a discovery.

They must be dinosaur bones.

What?

Can you believe this?

They must be so old.

How much money do you think we could get?

Our questions and dreams filled the air.

Well, we must take these back with us.

People must know of our discovery.

Oh my God.

The three of us pick up as many bones as we can carry.

What?

Me proudly and carefully holding the skull.

Child with a skull is pretty fucking.

It's like...

Children of the corn.

Lean on.

What is it?

Stand by me.

Stand by me.

Not lean on me.

It's totally different.

That's for the middle-aged one.

I almost said goonies, and then I was like, that's stand on me.

Okay, stand by me.

Stand on me.

Stand on me.

What the fuck?

Okay, go.

Okay, so holding a skull.

We hurry back to our parents who are watching a game and blissfully ignorant to our whereabouts.

I shout to them, Mama, look what we found.

We found dinosaur bones.

My mother's jaw drops.

My friend's father basically knocks them out of our hands.

I'm sure he must have been terrified of what diseases his two beautiful daughters were holding.

And every other parent in the stand is just staring at these three children holding what turned out to be a deer skeleton.

Holy shit.

That's a big skull.

Yes, it is.

Big long, leg long.

It's kind of a small horse.

Our hopes were dashed.

Looking back, I'm not sure why we immediately assumed dinosaurs, especially being kids from the South who had seen their fair share of dead deer.

Anyway, my mom must have washed out my hands 10 times before the game started.

And I was not allowed to roam with friends for a long time.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for being you.

Stay sexy and don't automatically assume dinosaur bones.

Courtney.

Kids are so creepy so gross and also like let's bring these bones somewhere yeah let's bring them out of here and show the world it needs to be seen yes which is the find of a century we're archaeologists i do have to give a plug right now because this past two weeks frank has found a dead deer in the backyard somewhere because he keeps bringing bones and like another deer oh karen this is the start of a fucking one of our stories i know it sounds like a lie because i'm just going along with what just happened, but this mindset.

Oh, I believe you.

I have pictures.

But if it's a human.

No, no, because the first one he came up with had a little hoof and it still had a little fur on it.

Oh, my God.

And the other day I was walking through the front room and I looked down and there was just a spine.

Fuck.

It's wild and it keeps happening.

Stop.

No more bones.

I know.

It's a no thanks.

Like a dog.

What?

But good dog.

But good dog, Frank.

Send us your fucked up bone stories.

Ooh, fucked up bone stories.

Fucked up bone stories.

Any kind.

Yeah, we need to do it.

you break a bone and it stuck out?

Ooh.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Do you have like metal plates?

We want to know.

Bring it on.

Yeah.

And stay sexy.

Don't get murdered.

Goodbye.

Elvis, do you want a cookie?

This has been an exactly right production.

Our senior producers are Alejandra Keck and Molly Smith.

Our editor is Aristotle Aceveda.

This episode was mixed by Liana Squalachi.

Email your hometowns to myfavorite murder at gmail.com.

And follow the show on Instagram at myfavorite murder.

Listen to my favorite murder on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

And now you can watch us on Exactly Right's YouTube page.

And while you're there, please like and subscribe.

Goodbye.

Bye-bye.

Drew and Sue and Eminem's Minis.

And baking the surprise birthday cake for Lou.

And Sue forgetting that her oven doesn't really work.

And Drew Drew remembering that they don't have flour.

And Lou getting home early from work, which he never does.

And Drew and Sue using the rest of the tubes of MM's minis as party poppers instead.

I think this is one of those moments where people say, it's the thought that counts.

M ⁇ Ms, it's more fun together.

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