MFM Minisode 414

This is exactly right. Hello and welcome to My Favorite Murder, the mini-sode.
That's right. Stop arguing, because it's real.
We told you. We said we were going to do it.
Listen, please listen. Give us the benefit of the doubt.
Now go. Okay.
Now that we've just berated them. They like it.
This is called Family Drama Bloody Handprint. Hi.
Day seven listener here, a longtime dreamer of writing a hometown, but I never felt I had the right story. Wait, wait.
I don't know. Episode seven or day seven? Like seven days after we released the first episode? I don't know.
It sounds like literally I've been listening for seven days and I've dreamed of writing an email forever. Okay.
We were both on the other sides of the... Okay.
I don't think mine's right, though. I just think it's funny.
That would be very funny. Today, you asked for family drama and I come from two large Catholic families and started thinking through all the family lore and shenanigans.
Could I tell you the story about dangling my little cousin down the second floor laundry chute? Oh. Or about the island my family used to own in Pittsburgh until they squandered away all their money and it was seized by the government? Yeah.
Nope. It has to be the bloody handprint on my grandparents' basement wall.
Oh, shit. When I was growing up, my grandparents lived in a split-level home, read lots of stairs, and the lowest level was a cement basement.
I was down there one day, probably trying to find their grumpy cat Mo, when I noticed something on one of the cement walls. I looked a little closer and thought it faintly looked like a brownish-colored handprint, obviously faded with time.
Later that day in the car, I asked my dad, hey, is there a handprint on the basement wall at grandma's house? Oh yeah, that's from when your great-grandmother died. Uh, what? Yep, here's the story.
My dad and his family of eight moved from Pittsburgh to Ohio when he was a kid and his grandmother moved with them. It was a tight fit with everyone in the house

and my great-grandmother wasn't great with stairs

or fully understanding where she was in the new house.

She slept in the lower level.

One night she must have woken up

and needed to go upstairs to the kitchen

but got confused and went to the cement basement stairs instead.

She fell and hit her head.

At some point she touched her bloody head and then touched the wall, leaving the infamous bloody handprint. It is exactly, yes, it is exactly what you think and think it's going to be.
Jesus Christ. I know.
She did not die there on the floor, but she was not found until the morning and was taken to the hospital where she died later. That's just a straight up tragedy.
Why am I doing this story is a question I'm asking myself right now. Let's see if they have a point.
Let's see if we're going to get somewhere. I mean, the handprint remains to this day, I think, is the point that all our families are fucking morbid and weird and we just go along with it like everything's fine.
Right. What would have been the problem with going down and rinsing that handprint off? Rinsing, painting over it.
Thanks for all you do and share. This podcast has dramatically impacted the way I see the world of myself.
And though my husband is not a listener, he doesn't need to be because I literally retell him every single episode. Stay sexy and dig deep for those family stories because everyone's got them.
Yeah, that's true. Beth.
Beth, good point. I think that's the point is like,

everyone has a bloody handprint from their great grandmother in the basement wall.

Yeah. That for some reason, no one is taken care of.
Yeah. And that you have to ask about

before they'll tell you about it. They'll let you as a child wander down into a darkened

basement and discover it yourself. Right.
And not be like, we want to keep that there as a

remembrance or anything. It's just like, we want to keep that there as a remembrance.

Yeah.

Or anything.

It's just like.

Hey, go find it.

It's like write a passage.

Okay.

You know, I'm going to stick.

I am sticking with it.

I am.

What is it?

Sticking by my.

You're standing.

You're standing by it.

I'm standing by it.

Nice.

Stand by your email.

Yeah.

I mean, I like it.

Yeah.

It's very.

It's a very good point.

It is.

it's a little Brene Brown

of like

that

Thank you. Stand by your email.
Yeah. I mean, I like it.
Yeah. It's a very good point.
It is. It's a little Brene Brown of like that idea that we're all supposed to be ashamed because we're not perfect.
Right. When in fact.
We all have. We all have all these things.
Yeah. Yeah.
Okay. The subject line of this email is you fucking debunked my hometown legend? Question mark, exclamation point.

And it says, hi there, KNG.

This is usually the part when someone says long-time listener, first-time writer.

However, I'm breaking the mold. I started listening to MFM in February 2024 and have been breezing through multiple episodes a day.

Shout out to my friend Maria for getting me hooked and to Karen for recommending I skip the first 100 episodes. Why did you do that? I don't remember that.
Because it was back when we were fucking just blabbing, saying all kinds of horrifying shit. There's so many episodes.
There's so many episodes. In the beginning, it was just two gals recording a hang.
Having no idea what was happening. But there was a fucking tidal wave.
But now we're doing rewind episodes. So you can listen to those.
Instead of going back to the first 100, you can listen to the rewind episodes. Sweet ass plug.
There you go. Thank you.
This was pre-rewind episodes. Sure.
And I was just giving people advice to skip stuff.

She wasn't wrong.

All right.

Then this person writes, I'll get there eventually.

Don't bother.

Now you don't have to.

Don't bother.

With the rewind episodes.

Okay.

In episode 843, Karen covers the Hammond, Indiana circus train crash.

843?

No, not even close.

In episode 463. I was like, I don don't there's no way i am that off though but like what's my brain telling my mouth that i said 843 this is our podcast and nothing has changed from the first 100 to go for it to now it's also the 100 it's actually not that different from what it was in the beginning you're just in the fourth fourth 100.
Right. Okay.
In episode 453, Karen covers the Hammond, Indiana circus train crash and mentions Showman's Rest at Woodlawn Cemetery, where the victims of the crash were buried. Woodlawn Cemetery is in my small hometown of Forest Park, Illinois.
I've been considering writing in this hometown ever since I started listening, but the story I grew up hearing is a bit different. The town legend originally stated that the crash happened in Forest Park and that the only victims were four circus elephants.
In Forest Home Cemetery in Forest Park, there are four large hills at each corner of the cemetery. The legend had it that the hills were actually the graves of those elephants.
Oh. You're saying legend.
I'm saying, was it your uncle who was just kind of like bored and telling you a story? Legendary uncle? So the most legendary uncle of Forest Park, Illinois. My new screenplay.
The story seemed so far-fetched that even hearing it as a first grader, it never really made sense. I was thrilled to hear the real facts of the story in the latest spooky Halloween episode and felt an immense sense of pride, knowing that there was at least some truth to our small towns legend.
Forest Park is a blue-collar village just outside of Chicago that is only two square miles and is the home of three cemeteries. Part of the legend is that Forest Park held the world's record for the highest ratio of dead people to alive people.
But I'll leave that to you, two experts, to debunk. Daily City.
Daily City or Colma, right? Which is the real stuff, you know, I mean, all cemeteries. What if we got really competitive with Illinois where we're like, I think that belongs to Colma.
Okay. Thank you both so much for being real as shit all the time.
We can't help it. It's a crutch for you.
You've inspired me to start therapy and become sober all in nine months of listening. Oh, my God.
It's taken me nine years, and I'm fucking only doing one of those things. Also, this is bullshit.
Like, this sounds like someone, it's like, write in this email to make them feel better. It's really changed my life.
Double thumbs up. Yep.
You are both very special to me, and I can't wait to see where the next year of listening takes me. And then it, parentheses, it says, more than likely to the first 100 episodes.
Stay sexy and check your hometown facts and dead to alive ratios. Raylin, she, her.
Raylin, I feel touched. I'm truly touched.
I feel, that was touching. I feel touched.
It's funny because we keep on making jokes right where we shouldn't when people are being touching with us. It's because we can't handle vulnerability.
It doesn't feel great. Humor.
Cover it all up with humor. As the weather starts to get warmer and we can finally go places again, it's time to face a hard truth.
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Goodbye. Spring is in the air and that means open windows, outdoor plans, and more time away from home.
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Or like, you know, walking at my driveway because I live up off the street and you shouldn't be there if you're not meant to be there. So like if I get the ping that someone's on my lawn and I'm like, I know something's up and I can check it before they even get to the door or break in in the window.
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Goodbye. Okay, this one's called The Balloon Priest.
Yep, you read that right. He would be friends with Lawn Chair Larry.
It's the whole subject thing. Hi, Karen, Georgia, and MFM team.
I have a hometown that will match Karen's story for Lawn Chair Larry, and it comes all the way from Brazil. The Balloon Priest.

A tale equal parts inspiring, bizarre, and undeniably tragic.

The year was 2008, and on April 20th,

Father Adelier Antonio de Carli,

or as he became known, the Balloon Priest,

took flight from a city in the south of Brazil

attached to 1,000 helium balloons. Father Adelier's mission wasn't just about grabbing attention.
He had a purpose in mind. His goal was to raise funds for a rest area and chapel for truck drivers where they could take a break from the road, recharge, and find spiritual comfort.
Sorry. That's so specific.
I know. Maybe it's a cultural thing.
I don't know. It could be.
And also, I know that truck drivers are exhausted all the time and actually probably really need that. But it's like usually orphans in a faraway.
Children are hungry. But how about, let's think about the truck drivers.
They're also hungry and tired. And they need a spiritual comfort.
But to accomplish this, he decided to break the record for cluster ballooning and make it all the way to the state where his brother lived.

It was both audacious and outrageous.

People couldn't look away.

Adelier even went through jungle survival courses, parachute training, and packed a GPS, parachute, and five days worth of food and water.

On what?

Are they about to tell us?

I don't know.

Packed on his back? I guess so. The only problem, he didn't know how to use the GPS.
After taking off and reaching a dizzying 19,000 feet, and it says way higher than planned, he was heard frantically saying, quote, I need to figure out this GPS or no one will know where I am, end quote. It was a detail only our priest could overlook, but to his credit, he tried valiantly to reach the Coast Guard before his phone battery died.
Unfortunately, by the time he called in his position, he was far off course, swept out over the ocean. Oh, no.
Despite efforts by the Navy, Air Force, and even a plane rented by his family, hope faded. Months later, in July 2008, the lower half of a body was found floating off the coast of Rio de Janeiro, 522 miles away from where he took flight.
DNA tests confirmed it was Father Adelier closing this chapter in his remarkable journey. God, that's sad.
And then it says, jump to 2013. A pop country duo drops a dancing track that skyrockets to the top of the Brazilian charts and has everybody dancing to it in nightclubs and social events.
I am going to leave you with some of the lyrics from that song. The sun is blazing.
It's past noon. I'm not leaving.
No one's moving me soon. I found my car in the pool outside and my phone's in the microwave fried.
DJ's crazier than the balloon riding priest. SSTGM, Sam, she, her.
So now he's like a pop culture legend. Yes.
Like my life's so crazy. It's crazier than the balloon riding priest.
God. I'm just staggered at it was 2008.
Yeah. So it's like this idea, there were people nearby and there was computers nearby and things that could have helped.
Yes. Like a GPS.
Just learn it. That was like me getting that fucking car and then getting into it and being like, I don't know how to drive this car.
Yeah, but a GPS isn't going to steer you. You know what I mean? Correct.
I don't think learning the GPS would have helped at all. I think maybe staying on the ground might have been a better decision.
Walking. How about a long walk to raise money? Yeah, exactly.
Let's keep it on the ground. And also, I think with Lawn Chair Larry's story, it's just like, do we all need to be told often that you can't control balloons?

Right.

And they just go, if you get a bunch.

How many times, like, how many decades apart do we need to learn this lesson?

It shouldn't be that close.

I don't know.

Like, 2008 seems like we're due.

Hey, everybody, if you have some sort of plan to get a bunch of balloons. Well, there's Balloon Boy.
Remember? Balloon Boy was fake, though. Yeah.
Remember that? Yeah. That was tragic, actually, because that was weird stage parents putting their child at the center or something.
It was. I feel like the way America reacted to Balloon Boy, it was all like, oh, no, look away.
Yeah. Look away.
Like, oh, no, this isn't good. Yeah.
It's very sad. Oh, anyway, you interrupted my great announcement.
What? Hey, if you were thinking of raising money or just going on a trip with balloons, don't do it. You won't be able to control them.
This is our public service announcement. Talking don't do it.
Fucking the end. Listen.
Okay. We'll work on that public service announcement We'll do another one next year that's more effective.
Okay, this is Funny Sibling Story. Hey, ladies.
Love what you do. I'm the youngest of three daughters, and growing up, I always wanted to do whatever my sisters were doing.
It was hard for them because I was so much younger, and they really wanted nothing to do with me. My oldest sister, Kaylee, came up with a game for us to play.
For us to play together, that was a good compromise for everyone, called Servant and Princess. From the title, you can probably guess how it went.
Kaylee would be the princess and I would be the servant doing whatever she asked me to do. In return, I would get a quarter as a reward for all my work.
I loved this game, and I would ask her to play it with me as often as she would allow. If her friends came over, even better for me because I got to play with the big kids and would have more princesses to serve.
And that's so sweet. I look back and laugh at how funny and brilliant she was for coming up with this game where she got catered to all day.
Yeah. And I felt included and loved the time I got to spend with her.
Now that we're all grown up, we're very close. And I feel lucky to have her as a sister, even though we didn't really get along for the first 18 years of my life, which isn't that every sister story? Yeah.
You're best friends and then you fucking hate each other more than you've ever hated anyone. Yeah.
And then your best friends the next day. Yeah.
And then it just says, thanks for all that you do, Tori. That's cute.
Did you see that? When like, there's like a TikTok video of like the older sister, she's probably like 10, telling her your little sister exactly how to ask her for what she wants. Yeah.
And it's, you know it. And at the end, no, you may not.
And that little sister. I'm so triggered by that as a little sister.
I mean, and my big sister sent it to me. Yeah.
Like, this is my favorite. And I, the second, because I knew.
Rage. You know it's coming.
Say, please may I blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Please may I not.
No, you may not. No, you may not.
Fuck that girl. And she makes her do it a couple times and keeps adjusting it.
Do it perfectly. Fuck.
Okay. Little sisters.
It's so fucking hard. It's the funniest.
And also they just, they're always going to do that to you over and over. Right.
And then it's like, oh, the little, the youngest ones are always so wild. Right.
It's like we're being mentally tortured on a daily basis. All we want is attention.
And you've taught us that any kind of attention, whether it's good or bad, is positive. Right.
Because that's all we get. It's all we get.
And it has to be earned. So we're starting a podcast.
So here's this fucking podcast. And we will never again.
It's your fault, Laura and Leah. It's your fucking fault.
Okay. What if I told you the most important part of your spring cleaning routine takes place in your sock drawer? I still have socks from 1991.
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Goodbye. This is called an absolute child hero.
Yes. Hi, it's me, the child hero.
It's me. For the past 24 years, I've had a thin white box in the bottom of my jewelry box.
Inside is a bronze medal attached to a red, white, and blue ribbon fastened to a pin. You're welcome.
George Washington's bust is under the words, Good Citizenship Award. Wow.
In 2000, I was given this medal, interviewed by a local news station, and got my name in the paper. This is the story of how I helped to save my teacher's life.
Holy shit. I love this.
I remember watching a movie about penguins. All desks were pushed to the sides in my second grade classroom, and all the kids were sitting huddled together under the TV in the dark.
Picture it. Miss Hill was at her desk behind us.
I got up from the floor and asked her if I could go to the bathroom. She said there was another student out, but when they returned, I could go.
About two minutes later, I got up to ask again. This time when I approached Miss Hill's desk, she was not there.
As I got closer, I saw her sprawled out on the floor. Miss Hill was wearing glasses and the reflection of the movie was playing on them.
I could not see if she was conscious. I slowly and quietly got closer to her until I could see her eyes were closed.
My heart was beating so fast and my chest felt on fire. I decided I needed to tell the most in charge adult in the school, the principal, Mr.
Johnson. Yeah.
I remember running down the hallway to get there. I made it breathlessly to the front office.
The secretary asked, what do you need? I responded, Miss Hill is sleeping on the floor and she won't wake up. She stood up, opened Mr.
Johnson's office door behind her and repeated what I said. Like a superhero, he popped up and started running.
When he got there, he turned on all the lights, scared the shit out of my second grade class and immediately started performing CPR. The paramedics were called and all kids were ushered into another room for the rest of the day.
I went home and did my homework as usual, not sharing the events of the day with anyone. And those fucking, the principal and the secretary, they were just like, thanks so much, buddy.
It wasn't until Mr. Johnson called my mom that night and told her what I did that I realized it was important.
I remember my mom with her ear to the phone, tears streaming down her face, just staring at me. It turns out Miss Hill suffered cardiac arrest at the age of 50.
Oh, no. Due to the quick action of Mr.
Johnson and the paramedics, she made a full recovery. If she had gone without CPR for two minutes more, she would have had permanent brain damage.
Oh, my God. My God for this kid's little bladder, for Bailey's little bladder.
And also just for hauling ass, like understanding. Don't stand there in freeze mode.
Yeah, this is something's off. Yeah.
Miss Hill was in the hospital for the rest of the school year and retired that summer. She never taught, nor did I ever see her again.
I would, however, get called down to the attendance office every year on the anniversary of the event. Miss Hill sent me letters from when I was 8 to 18, thanking me for saving her life.
The last letter I received was when I was a senior in high school. Miss Hill.
Miss Hill writes her letters. She keeps up with her letters.
That's lovely. The best part of the story, I did some light stalking while composing this email.
Miss Hill is still alive, a beautiful woman in her mid-70s. Her social media is filled with pictures of her children and six grandchildren.
Come on. Well, that's how I peaked at seven years old.
Thank you both for creating the podcast that created this community. At the

same time, this little girl helped to save a life. Finding a dead body was on her bucket list and CSI was her favorite show.
Yeah, girl. I knew I wasn't the only weirdo.
No. Stay sexy and look for the helpers, even the tiny ones.
Bailey, she, her. Bailey.
First of all, gorgeous intro of that email like Like the structure of that story. Just to like, clearly you're way ahead of the other second graders.
Right. Like I'm opening with this thing I have.
Let me tell you why I have it. The declaration though of like, it's me, the child hero.
It's me. It's so good.
But also, you didn't peak at seven years old, Bailey. You just do the kind of work that goes unappreciated all the time, which is you are a logical, level-headed thinker that probably is like, oh, if you leave the dinner plans for your group of friends to that person, they'll go where they want to go, which doesn't have the right seating.
Right. You take over and you're like, here we go.
This is where we're going. It's all going to work.
Maybe that was the first fucking instance of your badassery. And for the rest of your life now, you've been on this trajectory.
You're just doing it. You're the day-to-day, level-headed, don't-panic second grader that's grown into, I'm assuming, a beautiful young woman.
Eye of the tiger, Bailey. Right? Congratulations.
I wish I had a little ribbon. I'll get you one.
A little ribbon medal? A little ribbon with George Washington's busts on it. Did I say busts? No.
Busts? George Washington bussing on it? Busts. Okay, I'm last.
I got a look just now from Karen. That means someone's going to cry? Someone.
Kid pastimes playing in the sand, a strange brother edition. Hello from the hellscape that is the end of 2024.
Hi. Hi.
No one's going to save us but ourselves. Create genuine community.
Find your support system. I'm reading an email right now, just so you know.
I'm reading from the first paragraph of this email. They're opening up fucking hard and strong.
They're coming in saying exactly what needs to be heard. Create genuine community.
Find your support system. Give what you can.
And as the ever fabulous divine said, be twice as gay, do twice as many crimes. Fuck yes.
I love it. What an opening.
Yeah. You asked us for stories of what we did growing up to pass the time.
My older brother is two and a half years older than me. He would have a toy gun and I'd have my water baby.
And then in parentheses, it says a plastic baby filled with water. What the fuck? Oh, because it was like heavy? You could squirt a baby.
No, No, I think it was like a... Well, he had a water gun.
Oh, a water gun.

Sorry, my assumption was that she would use that baby to squirt water. But I think now that I reread it, you're right.
It's just a toy gun. It's not a water gun toy gun.
Let's keep going and I'll help you out. Okay.
And sometimes the Terminator would hang out with the Barbies in Rainbow Valley.

And then that says the stairs when a crystal in the window cascaded rainbows all over the carpet.

But my favorite thing we did was play in the sand patio out back. My dad was supposed to make my mom a flagstone patio and he finally hired someone to do it only 40 some years after he promised.

Consequently, we had a huge sand pit.

We really appreciate it. patio and he finally hired someone to do it only 40 some years after he promised.
Consequently, we had a huge sand pit. We would dig a complex riverbed.
We stacked wooden logs for the spout of the water hose as our water fell. Once the stream was ready, my brother would run to the side of the house to turn on the water.
He'd run back as fast as he could so we could watch our creation come to life. Once we even brought crawdads, we got at a real stream to put in ours, only for them to burrow deep in the sand and never be found.
Oh my god. Oh my god.
My toes hurt thinking about playing stream with me as I can't do it with him.

Be gay, do crimes. Anonymous.
She, her. Anonymous.
Come on. That's a sweet one.
Here's the thing. Because seriously, the beginning of that email is so smart and good and strong.
Yeah. And it's like, and this is, I think, those kinds of memories and things are truly like the glue.
I feel like those kinds of reminding, even when there's loss. Yeah.
There is beauty. That's why you miss him.
And there's still good memories, even though, like, they're tainted by this thing. It sucks.
By loss. You can still like share them with people and feel them and feel good about them instead of just feeling sad that's really sweet yeah and it's the idea like it's a great email anyway yeah but the idea of that they get to understand yeah that that's what their brother did for them is so beautiful i wanted her to see see it.
It makes me think of my brother because he would never have done that. Asher.
My sister would have been like, get out of the sand pit. This is our sand pit.
Oh, what a sweetheart. I know.
All right. Well, thank you guys for listening to The Hometowns.
Please send us in, whatever it is, at myfavoritemurder at Gmail. Try to make us cry.

That'll be the new request.

Dare you.

Make us cry.

Make us,

well,

you know what it is?

Make Georgia cry.

It's easy to make me cry.

Yeah.

Make Georgia cry.

Yeah, do it.

I dare you.

Good luck.

Nothing,

nothing sad about animals.

No, no, no.

I feel like we have to make rules now.

No, everyone knows that.

Don't,

we mean poignant crying.

Poignant crying. Not like,

oh my God. Don't call me names.
Oh my God. Please don't bully Georgia through email.
I will cry. That's easy, though.
That's the way to get her. Don't do it.
Don't do that. Also stay sexy.
And don't get murdered. Goodbye.
Elvis, do you want a cookie? This has been an Exactly Right production.

Our senior producer is Alejandra Keck.

Our editor is Aristotle Acevedo.

This episode was mixed by Liana Squalachi.

Email your hometowns to myfavoritemurder at gmail.com.

And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at My Favorite Murder.