Today’s Pancaked Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

On Aug. 10, 1887, an eastbound Toledo, Peoria & Western Railroad train trundled out of Peoria and through Eureka and Chenoa. It was filled with about 700 vacationers taking advantage of a special offer to visit the scenic wonder of Niagara Falls. It took two steam engines to pull the long line of wooden coaches.  Tragedy struck several minutes before midnight near Chatsworth, a small community in southeast Livingston County. Unbeknownst to the TP&W, a fire earlier that day had damaged a small bridge that crossed a dry creek bed. Although the bridge remained standing, the wooden trestle was deeply charred and unable to support the weight of the oncoming train.

It had been a hot and dry summer. On the day of the wreck, the TP&W, fearing sparks from its steam engines could ignite brush fires, ordered a section crew to undertake controlled burns along its line. One such burn occurred near the doomed bridge, and in all likelihood, the crew failed to completely extinguish the fire.  Just east of Chatsworth, the train followed a sloping grade, and as it approached the bridge its speed reached some 40 mph. The first engine managed to cross safely as the bridge collapsed behind it. The second engine rolled onto its side, and as each wooden passenger car flew across the creek bed it piled or “telescoped” into the car ahead. The sleeper cars in the rear were tossed about, but came to a halt before reaching the bridge.

The smoldering mass of steel, splintered wood and mangled bodies beggared all description. “Instantly the air was filled with the cries of the wounded and the shrieks of those about to die,” reported the Chicago Times in the lurid prose of the day. “The groans of men and the screams of women united to make an appalling sound, and above all could be heard the agonizing cries of little children as in some instances they lay pinned alongside their dead parents.”  J.M. Tennery was on the first sleeper, which ended up balanced over the creek bed, its passengers shaken but alive. “I got out in safety,” he recalled, “and the scene presented to the eye and ear was one I wish I could forever efface from my memory.”

With more than 80 dead, the Chatsworth Train Wreck probably ranks as the second or third-deadliest U.S rail accident in the 19th century.  Many of the dead and dying were transported to Chatsworth. “Charnel houses and hospitals make up tonight what has been the peaceful village of Chatsworth,” noted one newspaper account.  The wreck was a national story, and The New York Times devoted almost half its front page to the tragedy. The Pantagraph was the first newspaper to break the story, thanks to the work of telegraph editor William McCambridge.  Much about that night remains shrouded in mystery, and some of the basic facts remain contested, such as the number of cars pulled by the two steam engines. Even the final death toll is unknown, with some accounts settling on 81 and others placing the tally at 85.

Four days later, a Sunday, the railroad had gathered most of the debris into an enormous funeral pyre. “A match was touched to the mass and in a few hours heaps of ashes hid whatever secrets the wreck still contained,” reported The Bulletin, another Bloomington daily newspaper. “A smell of burning flesh from time to time filled the air.”  The wreck is said to have spurred safety improvements in the railroad industry, most notably the increased use of steel in the construction of passenger cars.

Not long after the disaster, Thomas P. Westendorf wrote the ballad “The Bridge Was Burned at Chatsworth” (it’s also known as “The Chatsworth Wreck”).  The 50th anniversary memorial service on Aug. 11, 1937, in Chatsworth, included nine survivors from that terrible night. The service concluded with the singing of Westendorf’s song.

A mighty crash of timbers, a sound of hissing steam;
The groans and cries of anguish, a woman’s stifled scream.
The dead and dying mingled with the broken beams and bars;
An awful human carnage, a dreadful wreck of cars.

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Culled from: Pantagraph.Com

Today’s Prolonged Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

The Heretic’s Fork was a torture instrument consisting of two little forks, one set against the other, with the four prongs rammed into the flesh, under the chin and above the chest.  A small collar supported the instrument in such a manner that the victims were forced to hold their head erect, thus preventing any movement.  The forks did not penetrate any vital points, and thus suffering was prolonged and death avoided.  Obviously the victims’ hands were tied behind their back.

Ouch!

Culled from: Torture – Inquisision – Death Penalty

Today’s Unfit Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Until the end of the 18th century, life for the mentally ill was extremely difficult.  In addition to the fact that diagnosis and professional treatment were virtually nonexistent, the mentally ill were viewed with considerable misunderstanding, suspicion, and superstition.  The vast majority of such people were considered “the lowest of the low” and were subjected to atrocious treatment: beatings, drownings, burnings, and isolation or banishment.  Those fortunate enough to have financial means were afforded some kind of care to alleviate their suffering, but it was not what we would call treatment today.  The financially endowed had the security of their own homes and could be attended to by their families.  And while “professional” care was extremely limited, it was better than the alternatives.  Those with no means were forced into the streets, into jails, or into medical institutions that were more like pens, and were rejected by society as unfit.  In hospitals and jails, the mentally ill were cared for by guards and keepers who delighted in tormenting them. In many cases, these guards or keepers sold tickets to the general public to come and view the “inmates” (as they were called at that time).

Culled from: America’s Care of the Mentally Ill: A Photographic History

Today’s Raiding Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Between February, 1864 and April, 1865 it is estimated that 45,000 Union prisoners were confined in the Confederate stockade, Camp Sumter, near Anderson Station, Georgia, forever to be remembered as Andersonville. Of that number, approximately 25,000 men survived their prison experience and returned home to tell their tale of suffering. It is unknown how many survivors, with their health and lives shattered, died as a direct result of their captivity after returning to civilian life. Close to 13,000 Union soldiers did “give up the ghost” at Andersonville, and it was the ghost of Andersonville that haunted the survivors for the rest of their lives.

The following is an excerpt from the account of Private George Weiser, who arrived in Andersonville on May 25, 1864.

At this time we were pested with a gang of our men who were called Mosby’s Raiders.  There seemed to be about one thousand of these men banded together, nearly all of them were known, and we could point them out wherever we would see them.  These men, or raiders, did not disturb many of the old prisoners but they would steal off the new ones when they first came in, which made a great deal of trouble in the prison.

One day three Rebs came in the prison.  One appeared to be a doctor who had a little pet dog with him.  I saw one of the raiders slip up behind them and steal the dog.  He took it to his shanty, killed it and made it into soup.  I saw that same raider that evening going through the prison selling soup.  He would sing out, “Here is your nice mutton soup, twenty-five cents a pint, with a piece of mutton in every pint.”  The doctor never knew what became of his dog.  One day these raiders stole  a watch.  Some said they stole from the Rebs and some said they stole it off one of the new prisoners.  I do not know which it was… any way there was quite a riot started on account of it.

The watch was never found but the raiders got themselves into trouble by it.  The excitement was so strong that the Rebs marched in a company of their men.  They then had it explained to them how we were tormented by the raiders.  The captain in charge of the prison now ordered the regulators to arrest all the raiders and send them outside to him.  The regulators in two days had arrested over three hundred and sent them out.  They were then tried by a court-martial composed of prisoners and rebels, six of them were found guilty of murder.  One of their shanties was dug out and one of the prisoners found murdered and buried therein.  Then all but the six were sent back into the prison again and they were kept out until the 11th of July.

The Captain that had charge over the prison came in and said, “We have arrested some of your men and have given them a fair trial; six of them have been found guilty of murder; we do not know what to do with those six men; they ought to be hung, but we dare not hang them for fear your government may retaliate, so we have made up our minds to send them back into the prison and let them go.  You men can take them, let them go free, hang them or do what you like with them.”  Every thing had been still and silent while the captain was speaking, but now a cry went up from five thousand me, to “hang them, hang them.”

One of the prisoners went up to the captain in charge of the prison and said that he would hang them if the captain would give him lumber to build a scaffold and rope to do the hanging with, for said he, “these raiders have killed my brother and I want to hang them for it.”  The captain said he would send everything in that was needed.  A wagon was sent in with the lumber and soon the men had a scaffold built with six ropes dangling on it.  Then about three o’clock in the afternoon the six men were brought in hand-cuffed.  The captain in charge of the prison then removed the hand-cuffs and turned the men over to the prisoners.  The Rebs then all went out except the Quartermaster and the Priest.  These two stayed inside the prison until after the hanging.  There were about five thousand prisoners at this time standing crowded together near the gate.

As soon as the six men were relieved of cuffs one of them, the leader of the gang, made a break for liberty.  He ran through this crowd of five thousand men, up and down the prison, across the low muddy ground, went up to his knees in mud, fell down, crawled out of the mud, got on the land and kept on running until some one run up to him and caught him.  Then they were taken to the scaffold, the ropes put around their necks, mealsacks pulled over their heads, and soon they were dangling in the air.  One man broke the rope but he was put up again and hung.  They were left hanging for about one hour when a wagon drove in and they were then cut down, loaded on the wagon and took out.  This stopped the raiding and there was no raiders now to be found.  Now if a man was caught stealing he was taken to the regulators and if found guilty, he was tied to a post, received from five to twenty lashes, and then let go.

Culled from: Andersonville Giving Up the Ghost: Diaries & Recollections of the Prisoners.

Today’s Clean-Shaven Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Alexander the Great forbade his men to have beards; the young general thought it gave enemy soldiers too convenient a handle for lopping off heads.

Culled from: An Underground Education

Hipsters beware!

Today’s Ill-Advised Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

On the night of July 23, 1982, at Indian Dunes in Valencia, California, filming was underway on “Twilight Zone: The Movie.” Vic Morrow was the star of this particular vignette, playing an angry, bigoted man named Bill who finds himself transported back in time to various historical settings where he experiences firsthand the horrors of prejudice and war. One of the places he’s transported to is Vietnam, where he tries to protect two village children from American forces. Starring with Morrow were two small children, Renee Shin-Yi Chen and Myca Dinh Le, hired by director John Landis, who had failed to secure the proper permits necessary for employing underage actors.  Additionally, Landis violated the rules by shooting the children’s scenes late at night.  The scene involved Morrow’s character crossing a river on foot with the two children in his arms while a helicopter hovered close overhead. Landis had been warned that the stunt was risky but is reported to have shrugged it off with “We may lose the helicopter.”

With the cameras rolling, pilot Dorcey Wingo positioned his Bell UH-1B Iroquois about 25 feet above Morrow and the two children. Then he turned his chopper 180 degrees, bringing his tail rotor close to a mortar effect, which exploded prematurely, blowing off the rotor and sending the helicopter into an uncontrolled spin. It fell from the sky directly onto the three actors, killing them all instantly.  Landis was the first movie director in the history of Hollywood to face charges relating to an on-set accident. The case dragged on for years, with Morrow’s family settling out of court and Landis being acquitted of all charges in 1987.  The Twilight Zone tragedy led directly to major changes in the way helicopters were used in filming and to a general tightening of safety regulations in the film industry.

Culled from: Wikipedia
Submitted by: Aimee

Sometimes making the movie is scarier than the movie itself. – Aimee

And here’s video of the accident:

Today’s Vengeance-Seeking Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

In olde England, it was common for the Church to deny an individual who committed suicide burial in consecrated ground, and the custom grew up of interment at night at a crossroads with a stake driven through the heart.  The last person to suffer such degradation was a man named Griffiths who was buried at the junction of Grosvenor Place and the King’s Road, Chelsea, in 1823.  Such bizarre practices are thought by some to have had their origins in primitive beliefs and taboos, and to have been aimed at pre-empting the vengeance of the suicide’s ghost – because it was assumed that, since society had driven a man to suicide, his ghost would return to seek retribution and punishment for those responsible for his death.   This need for society to protect itself explains many of the diverse indignities perpetrated upon the corpse: the complete annihilation of the body in order to render the ghost harmless; the amputation of a suicide’s hand, on the assumption that one-handed ghosts were less formidable; the stake driven through the heart to prevent the ghost from ‘walking’; and burial at a crossroads to confuse the ghost about direction.

Culled from: Death: A History of Man’s Obsessions and Fears

Today’s Dishonorable Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Boiling was a commonly used method of execution in 15th century Europe that drew large crowds.  Not every boiling went well, as the records of the French town of Tours show:

On Monday 11 February 1488, a coiner of bad money, named Loys Secretain, was condemned by the Bailif of Touraine to be boiled, drawn and hanged in the Place-le-Roy.  The executioner, one Denis, took the said Loys on a scaffold to the cauldron and bound his legs and his body with cords, made him say his “in manus,” pushed him along and threw him head first into the cauldron to be boiled; as soon as he was thrown in, the cords became so loose that he twice rose to the surface of the water, crying for mercy.  Which seeing, the provost and some of the inhabitants began to attack the executioner, saying, “Ah, you wretch, you are making that poor sinner suffer and bringing great dishonor on the town of Tours!”

The executioner, seeing the anger of the people, tried two or three times to sink the malefactor with a great iron hook; and forthwith several person, believing that the cords had been broken by a miracle, became excited and cried out loudly, and seeing that the said false coiner was suffering no harm, they approached the executioner as he lay with his face upon the ground, and gave him so many blows that he died where he lay.

Charles VIII pardoned the inhabitants who were accused of killing the executioner.  As for the coiner of false money, he was taken to the church of the Jacobins, where he hid himself so completely that he never dared to show his face again.

Culled from: The Book Of Execution

Today’s Calculated Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Duane Earl Pope was born in Roxbury, Kansas in 1943, and was a well-behaved, athletic and hard-working youth. He attended McPherson College in Kansas and graduated in 1965 with a degree in industrial education; however, he had not taken the teaching courses he would have needed to be able to obtain employment in that field. He thought he would like to start an excavation business and had purchased several tractors and bulldozers, but needed money for a trailer.

Sometime in May of 1965, Pope began making plans to rob the bank in Big Springs, Nebraska. He fashioned a protective breastplate out of a bulldozer blade and made silencers for his pistols. Just a few days after graduating from college, Pope drove to the bank, waited till there were no customers and then entered. He spoke first with Andreas Kjeldgaard, 77, the bank’s president, posing as a landowner wanting a land-development loan. Kjeldgaard told him his bank didn’t make those kinds of loans and went to find a phone book and the number of a bank that might. Pope then walked around the end of a counter into the employees’ area of the bank and drew his silencer-equipped Ruger, ordering Kjeldgaard to fill a briefcase with money.

Kjeldgaard, assisted by his nephew Franklin, 25, complied. Pope then ordered the bookkeeper, Lois Holthan, to bring more money from the vault. She too complied. Afterwards, Pope ordered the Kjeldgaards, Holthan and teller Glenn Hendrickson to lie facedown on the floor, which they did. He then shot all of them execution-style in the back and head. Franklin Kjeldgaard was left permanently paralyzed; his uncle, Hendrickson and Holthan were killed instantly.

Pope had netted about $1600, and he fled first to Tijuana and then to Las Vegas, where he saw an appeal in the newspaper from the president of McPherson College, asking that he turn himself in. One week after the robbery and quadruple homicide, Duane Pope traveled to Kansas City, Missouri and surrendered to police and the FBI. He had spent one day on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.

Pope was tried twice and sentenced to death both times. His federal death sentence was commuted to life in prison after capital punishment was abolished in 1972. In the unlikely event he is ever granted a federal parole, he will immediately begin serving three life sentences on state charges.

Culled From: Murderpedia
Submitted by: Aimee

So much for healthy Midwestern values. – Aimee