Morbid Fact Du Jour for May 23, 2015

Today’s Dreadfully Scourged Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Let’s have another jolly story of  Christian Martyrdom from the classic of the genre, Fox’s Book of Martyrs (1848).  This allegedly occurred during the Third Persecution, under Trajan, in A.D. 108:

Trajan commanded the martyrdom of Ignatius, bishop of Antioch. This holy man was the person whom, when an infant, Christ took into his arms, and showed to his disciples, as one that would be a pattern of humility and innocence. He received the gospel afterward from St. John the Evangelist, and was exceedingly zealous in his mission. He boldly vindicated the faith of Christ before the emperor, for which he was cast into prison, and tormented in a most cruel manner. After being dreadfully scourged, he was compelled to hold fire in his hands, and, at the same time, papers clipped in oil were put to his sides, and set on fire. His flesh was then torn with red hot pincers, and at last he was dispatched by being torn to pieces by wild beasts.
Culled from: Fox’s Book of Martyrs
Generously suggested by: Louise

New band name: Dreadfully Scourged.


Restoring The Entombed

If you’re like me (and I suspect you are or you wouldn’t be receiving this newsletter), you love those fascinating plaster casts from Pompeii.  They’ve recently been working on restoring some of the beauties that were originally cast in the 19th century, many of which are displayed in this excellent article.

Restoration Work Begins On Bodies Of Those Who Died When Vesuvius Erupted

Morbid Fact Du Jour for May 22, 2015

A terribly hectic work week coupled with physical illness means I’ve been unable to keep the newsletter updated regularly but now we have a three-day weekend where I’ll have time to rest and recover and renew the morbidity!

Today’s Found Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Excerpt from the Badger State Banner newspaper, May 8, 1890:

“Mrs. John Sheehy of Manitowoc committed suicide recently by cutting her throat with a small case knife and was found dead in the woods by her house.”

Culled from: My favorite book, Wisconsin Death Trip by Michael Lesy

The good old days were grim!


Mortuary Photo Du Jour!

And here’s a sad photo from Wisconsin Death Trip.  This kid once lived in Black River Falls, Wisconsin.


Morbid Fact Du Jour for May 18, 2015

Today’s Subservient Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Clara Immerwahr (June 21, 1870 – May 2, 1915) was a German chemist. She was the first woman to be awarded a doctorate in chemistry in Germany. She was also an active women’s rights activist.

Immerwahr studied at the University of Breslau, in 1900 attaining her degree and a Ph.D in chemistry under Richard Abegg. Her dissertation was entitled Contributions to the Solubility of Slightly Soluble Salts of Mercury, Copper, Lead, Cadmium, and Zinc. She was the first woman Ph.D. at the University of Breslau and received the designation magna cum laude.

Immerwahr married Fritz Haber in 1901. She was from a Jewish family, and had converted to Christianity in 1897.  Due to societal expectations that a married woman’s place was in the home, her ability to conduct research was limited. She instead contributed to her husband’s work without recognition, translating his works into English. In 1902 she gave birth to Hermann Haber (1902–1946) the only child of that marriage.

Confiding in a friend, Immerwahr bemoaned her subservient role:

It has always been my attitude that a life has only been worth living if one has made full use of all one’s abilities and tried to live out every kind of experience human life has to offer. It was under that impulse, among other things, that I decided to get married at that time… The life I got from it was very brief…and the main reasons for that was Fritz’s oppressive way of putting himself first in our home and marriage, so that a less ruthlessly self-assertive personality was simply destroyed.

During World War I, Fritz Haber became a staunch supporter of the German military effort and played an important role in the development of chemical weapons (particularly poison gases). His efforts would culminate in his supervision of the first successful deployment of a weapon of mass destruction in military history, in Flanders, Belgium on April 22, 1915.

Clara, waiting at home, told a friend that she was in despair. The news from the front was all too horrible, chemicals being used as weapons. She had been shocked just a few months before when a friend working at Haber’s institute had been killed in a chemical explosion, a lab accident, and now her husband was masterminding the murder of thousands. She loved chemistry. This was a perversion.

After his limited success at Ypres, Fritz Haber returned to Berlin, where he was feted, honored, and ordered to the eastern front to prepare gas attacks against the Russians. Before he left, Haber threw a party at his home. It was said later that the guests included Charlotte Nathan, the vivacious young business manager of Haber’s Berlin club.

Later that night, Clara, according to her biographer, spent hours writing several letters. Then she went to the villa’s garden, carrying her husband’s service revolver. Her son Hermann, then twelve years old, heard two shots. He ran to the garden and found her. She had aimed for her heart and was bleeding badly, but she was still alive. Hermann called his father, who had, it was said, taken sleeping pills. By the time Fritz got to her it was too late.

It was assumed that the first of the two shots was Clara testing the gun. None of her final letters survived.

Fritz Haber, a few days later, boarded a train for the eastern front.

Culled from: Wikipedia and The Alchemy of Air: A Jewish Genius, a Doomed Tycoon, and the Scientific Discovery That Fed the World but Fueled the Rise of Hitler

Stories like Clara’s break my heart; so many brilliant women who were made to suffer at the hands of patriarchy.  So many stifled dreams, frustrated desires, desperate lives.  :(


Clot Du Jour!

The human body can be a work of art.  For example, take this lovely clot that that was removed from an unfortunate old man.  Isn’t it something? (Thanks to Tracy for sharing.)

Morbid Fact Du Jour for May 16, 2015

Correction Du Jour:

Again, I am reminded that I shouldn’t throw together MFDJ’s when I am half-asleep. If I’d bothered to look at what I was doing I would have realized that the magnificent Tinplate Studios Etsy Store is based, not in England, but in Seattle! And I would have found the American shop link instead of the UK one. Thanks to everyone who pointed out my silly error. You keep a senile Comtesse honest!


Today’s Violently Tumbled Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Monty Atwater was a veteran of the 10th Mountain Division which utilized explosives to create strategic avalanches during World War II.  After the war he was immediately hired to research and control avalanches at Alta, a ski resort in the middle of one of the most notoriously dangerous mountain chains in North America, Utah’s Wasatch, just east of Salt Lake City.  Needless to say, working with avalanches is dangerous business, and Atwater did not manage to retire unscathed. In January 1951, after a two-day blizzard that dropped 38 inches of snow, Atwater was out with his partner, Hans Jungster, checking the slopes before turning skiers loose. In those days, he figured the only way to test the stability of slopes was to ski them. If they didn’t slide under the feet of the snow rangers, presumably they wouldn’t slide under anyone else. As the two experts crossed a series of fields, one would watch from a safe position while the other advanced; at one point, however, the new and inexperienced Jungster came onto a steep, concave chute called Lone Pine Gully, before Atwater was off it, and triggered an avalanche that released the entire slope at once. Atwater fell though the cascading snow until his skis hit the hard base of old snow underneath.

“I was knee deep in boiling snow, then waist deep, then neck deep,” he wrote. “Through ankles and knees I felt my skis drift onto the fall line. But I was still erect, still on top of them. The books tell you, ‘If you’re caught in an avalanche, try to ski out of it.’ With mine trapped under six feet of snow I wasn’t skiing out of anything.

“Very fast and very suddenly I made two forward somersaults, like a pair of pants in a dryer. At the end of each revolution the avalanche smashed me hard against the base. It was like a man swinging a sack full of ice against a rock to break it into smaller pieces.”

Years of training and countless hours spent observing avalanches meant that Atwater knew exactly what he was in for. Tumbled violently beneath the snow and in utter darkness, he suddenly popped to the surface again, spat out a chunk of snow stuck in his mouth, and sucked in a breath of air. “I thought, ‘So that’s why avalanche victims are always found with their mouths full of snow. You’re fighting like a demon, mouth wide open to get more air, and the avalanche stuffs it with snow.” The next time he surfaced, Atwater took two lungfuls of air, and the cycle continued. “On top, take a breath, swim for the shore; underneath, cover up, curl into a ball. This seemed to go on for a long time, and I was beginning to black out again. Then I felt the snow cataract begin to slow down and squeeze. The squeezing was the result of the slowdown, with snow still pressing from behind. Whether from instinct or a last flicker of reason, I gave a tremendous heave, and the avalanche spat me onto the surface like a seed out of a grapefruit.”

Culled from: The White Death: Tragedy and Heroism in an Avalanche Zone


Morbid Art Du Jour!

Do you like paintings of skulls?  Then you may very well love the exhibit entitled All the World’s Futures by Marlene Dumas that is currently on display at The Central Pavilion at the Venice Biennale.  Luckily, you can view the paintings online if you’re not going to be in Venice this year.   (Thanks to Michael Marano for the link.)

All the World’s Futures

Morbid Fact Du Jour for May 15, 2015

Today’s Astrological Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Things were tense in the Covell household of Bandon, Oregon. Fred Covell was a successful chiropractor, but his first wife had died and left behind two children, Lucille and Alton, who were both mentally deficient, Alton more so than his sister. Alton had in fact been institutionalized for a time, but returned home after his father remarried. Dr. Covell and his new wife Ebba had three more children together.

Also living in the home was the doctor’s brother Arthur. Arthur had been working on a truck when it fell on him and crushed his spine, leaving him paralyzed and bedridden. He could barely sit up and was completely dependent on his brother and sister-in-law for care.

Despite his injury, Arthur managed to make himself useful after a fashion. He studied astrology and soon was running a profitable mail-order astrology business with many Hollywood clients.

Ebba and Arthur did not get along; 14-year-old Lucille later said that her stepmother never went upstairs to see Arthur and was always complaining about how much he ate. But Lucille and 16-year-old Alton were apparently very fond of him.

So when Arthur hatched a plan, aided by his astrological calculations, to murder his disliked sister-in-law, Alton was willing to carry it out. Not only did Arthur plan to kill Ebba, he also had designs on at least 27 other Bandon residents whom he wanted murdered for financial gain. He kept meticulous encrypted notes about his deadly plans, and had decided, with the help of the stars, that Ebba must die on September 3, 1923, at eleven A.M. He and Alton discussed the plans in detail, and even included Lucille in their discussions; Lucille later admitted that she had not warned Ebba or her father about the plans because she was afraid of what they might do to Uncle Arthur.

On the appointed day, after Fred Covell had left for work, Alton, following the plan concocted by Arthur, soaked a rag in ammonia and sneaked up behind Ebba, pressing the rag to her nose with one hand and pinning her arms with the other. After a desperate, three-minute struggle, Ebba was dead, and Alton carefully laid her on her bed and told his uncle that the deed was done.

There were no signs of injury on Ebba except a red rash on her cheek from the ammonia. The police were suspicious from the get-go and at first focused their attention on Fred Covell. However, Lucille quickly confessed her knowledge of what had happened, and confronted with his sister’s admissions, Alton cracked and gave a full confession.

Arthur Covell refused to admit anything beyond knowing that September would be a bad month for Ebba, but his journals, when deciphered, sealed his fate. Arthur and Alton Covell went on trial and were convicted. Alton received a life sentence, and Arthur, who’d attended the trail on a cot, was sentenced to hang. He was carried to the gallows by prison guards on May 28, 1925, and Alton was released after about eight years.

Culled From The Malefactors Register
Submitted by Aimee


Morbid Trinkets Du Jour!

Do you like Steampunk?

Do you like grotesque dead things in bottles?

What a silly question.  Who doesn’t?

Then you’ll love the Tinplate Studios Etsy Store.  (You may not love the prices or the fact that it’s set in England, but we can’t have everything, can we?)

Thanks to Kim for the link.

Tinplate Studio Etsy Store

Morbid Fact Du Jour for May 14, 2015

Today’s Momentous Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603), though she had lived a long and eventful life, was not ready to die.  On her deathbed she declared:

“All of my possessions for a moment of time.”

Culled from:Weird Wills & Eccentric Last Wishes


Instagram Du Jour!

Thanks to Anna for cluing me in about the world’s greatest Instagram account: the one run by a pathologist called mrs_angemi.  I must admit I seethe with jealousy reading her daily updates since her job is WAY more interesting than mine!  I only wish I could collect vintage IUD’s from uteruses (uteri?) or wonder what diseased body part is going to be in the next container I open.  Alas, I must live vicariously through mrs_angemi’s delightfully grotesque imagery.



More Hindenburg Ephemera

The ever-helpful Aimee sent me a fascinating missive after last night’s MFDJ which featured photographs of the Hindenburg and some Hindenburg memorabilia I photographed at the Air & Space Museum:

“Hi Comtesse, a little bird told me you got to see some Hindenburg artifacts recently. Lucky stiff.

“You’re of course familiar with the famous radio recording made by an announcer as the airship was coming in to land at Lakehurst. “Oh, the humanity!” The version you usually hear has him speaking very fast and shrill, to the point where the whole thing doesn’t sound quite authentic. Well, a little digging tells us that the original audio was recorded by Herbert Morrison and engineer Charlie Nelson of WLS in Chicago, intended for ‘delayed broadcast.’ It’s been theorized that Nelson’s equipment recorded about 3 percent slower than normal, so when played back at normal speed it sounds different from Morrison’s naturally deep voice. Here’s a clip where you can hear the usual version first and then the corrected one, adjusted for the slower speed of recording.”

Morbid Fact Du Jour for May 13, 2015

Today’s Innocent Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Personal tragedies can arise if unqualified people attempt to form their own Morals Squads, and this was emphasized in the tragic death of a retired shopkeeper in Flint, North Wales, in August, 1973. Two eight-year-old girls had been molested in the neighborhood and when the elderly shopkeeper was seen giving sweets to other little girls, a local vigilante squad made the grave error of thinking he was responsible for the sex attacks.

They beat him up, and the next day he was found dead in bed. Yet he was absolutely innocent of any sexual offense. The police were already interviewing another man in connection with the attacks on the little girls. “He was a kind but lonely man,” an observer said. “He was always glad to give sweets to the children.” That kindness cost him his life.

Culled from: Crimes and Punishment: The Illustrated Crime Encyclopedia, Volume 18


Lesser Known Photos From The Hindenburg Disaster

Teelo sent me a link to some lesser-known photos of the Hindenburg disaster – including photos of the pristine airship high above the New York skyline, photos of the wreckage, and Nazi-draped coffins of the German dead.

Lesser Known Photos of the Hindenburg Disaster 

Incidentally, I was recently at the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Air and Space Museum in Chantilly, Virginia and I was excited to see a few little pieces of the doomed dirigible.

Look!  A girder from the Hindenburg!

Look!  A piece of Hindenburg skin!

And also, a cup and saucer from the Hindenburg!

Those were exciting to see but there were even bigger morbid highlights at this museum.  I’ll share a full travelogue soon!

Morbid Fact Du Jour for May 10, 2015

Today’s Subatomic Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Irène Joliot-Curie was Marie Curie’s slender, sad-eyed daughter. A birlliant scientist herself, Irène and her husband, Frédéric Joliot-Curie, picked up on Marie’s work and soon one-upped her. Rather than just finding radioactive elements, Irene figured out a method for converting tame elements into artificially radioactive atoms by bombarding them with subatomic particles. This work led to her own Nobel Prize in 1935. Unfortunately, Joliot-Curie relied on polonium as her atomic bombardier. And one day in 1946, not long after Poland had been wrested from Nazi Germany, only to be taken over as a puppet of the Soviet Union, a capsule of polonium exploded in her laboratory, and she inhaled Marie’s beloved element. Joliot-Curie died of leukemia in 1956, just as her mother had twenty-two years before.

Culled from: The Disappearing Spoon: And Other True Tales of Madness, Love, and the History of the World from the Periodic Table of the Elements

Marie Curie and her daughter Irène  in the lab:


Weegee Photo Du Jour

Weegee was the pseudonym of Arthur Fellig (June 12, 1899 – December 26, 1968), a photographer and photojournalist, known for his stark black and white street photography. Weegee worked in Manhattan, New York City’s Lower East Side as a press photographer during the 1930s and ’40s, and he developed his signature style by following the city’s emergency services and documenting their activity. Much of his work depicted unflinchingly realistic scenes of urban life, crime, injury and death.

Here’s a photo from the book Weegee’s New York: Photographs, 1935-1960:

Firefighters carrying a body to the morgue.

Morbid Fact Du Jour for May 8, 2015

And here is the last morbid fact I’m going to share from my latest Everest read, Dark Summit.  I hope you enjoy…

Today’s Frozen Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

In May 1998 Sergei and Francys “Frankie” Arsentiev – a Russian climber and his American wife – both reached the summit of Everest without oxygen via the Northeast Ridge. Frankie was the second woman ever to accomplish such a feat, but she became ill during the descent and collapsed at around 28,000 feet. Sergei stowed her there as well as he could, clipping her to a fixed line. He then stumbled down to their high camp, where he collected oxygen and eventually proceeded back up the ridge to try to help his incapacitated wife. He was never seen again.

Frankie lived for two more days, itself an incredible feat of endurance and stamina. At least ten climbers passed her as she lay alive but incapacitated among the rocks. If anyone tried to help, the effort went unreported, until two days later, on May 24, when a South African named Cathy O’Dowd investigated what she thought was just another body. When she reached the figure, she bent down and brushed the woman’s hair away from her face. Frankie’s eyes flashed open and fixed on her would-be rescuer. “Please don’t leave me,” she wheezed.

Frankie was bent violently at the waist, torso and legs pointing down the slope, the safety leash taut between her harness and the fixed line above. Her face was ashen, wind-burnished, encased in a mask of frostbite. A spent oxygen tank lay nearby. Two of O’Dowd’s teammates, Ian Woodall and Jangbu Sherpa, arrived and helped more Frankie so that her back was propped against a rock. The footing was precarious, if not downright dangerous – loose shale covering a steep slope – and the effort left them gasping.

The trio worked on Frankie for nearly an hour. Their oxygen system was incompatible with hers, so they poured fluids into her mouth and yelled at her to do anything she could to help them, to try to stand and walk. But she sat completely limp, murmuring comments that seemed only marginally coherent: “Why are you doing this to me?” and “I’m an American. I’m an American.” Three climbers from Uzbekistan passed by on the route above but refused to get involved. “We tried to help yesterday,” one said. “We left her with oxygen. She is too far gone to help.”

They were in the shadow of the First Step, no sun, the wind howling. Finally, O’Dowd realized the inevitable. “Perched on the steep slope, I could not even stamp my feet for warmth,” she wrote in her memoir Just for the Love of It. “My fingers were almost totally numb. Orders from my brain to wiggle them met with a lackluster response, a minuscule, slow-motion movement. I had full body shivers and my teeth were chattering behind my oxygen mask.”

“What do you want to do?” Woodall finally asked her, though the question was not in reference to Frankie, who had by now fallen unconscious.

“I want to go down,” O’Dowd said. “Will you go down with me?”

The Climb was over, although O’Dowd would return the next year and make it to the top, Frankie’s body still lying where they’d left it.

Culled from: Dark Summit: The True Story of Everest’s Most Controversial Season

This would be one of those situations where having a strong, fit body that had incredible endurance and a peerless will to survive would really, really suck. I’d want my heart to say, after a few minutes of suffering, “Okay, there’s no hope of survival, let’s be real. Let’s just fall into the Big Sleep right now and spare us all any further suffering.”

Also, it was eventually discovered that Frankie’s husband Sergei had fallen to his death while trying to descend the steep cliff to assist her.  A few years later, O’Dowd and Woodall would return to Frankie’s body and place a makeshift memorial, including a note from her family, on her:

Here is Francys as she remained frozen in death:

And here she is after the makeshift memorial was placed over her:


The Bodies On Everest

And here’s a great article from Listverse detailing a few of the many tragedies that have occurred on Everest.  I’m distressed to read that do-gooders have started burying or tossing the bodies over the side of the cliffs to remove them from sight along the trail. There go my Everest aspirations!  Photographing the bodies would be the only reason I’d ever want to go there!  People are always taking all the morbid away.  :(

10 Harrowing Stories of Life and Death on Mount Everest

Morbid Fact Du Jour for May 7, 2015

Today’s Riotous Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

In the closing years of the 18th century, New York was home to only one medical school: Columbia College. Anatomical dissections were a central component of these classes, and medical training in general, but they were offensive, even seen as sacrilegious, to early New Yorkers. In the winter of 1788, the city was abuzz with newspaper stories about medical students robbing graves to get bodies for dissection, mostly from the potter’s field and the cemetery reserved for the city’s blacks, known as the Negroes Burial Ground. While some of those reports may have been based on rumor, they pointed to an underlying truth: with no regulated source of bodies for dissection, the medical students had taken matters into their hands and begun plundering the local graveyards.

In February, a group of the city’s free and enslaved blacks submitted a petition to the Common Council complaining of “young gentlemen in this city who call themselves students of the physic,” and who “under cover of the night, in the most wanton sallies of excess … dig up bodies of our deceased friends and relatives of your petitioners, carrying them away without respect for age or sex.” The petitioners didn’t ask for a stop to the grave-robbing, only that it be “conducted with the decency and propriety which the solemnity of such occasion requires.” But the petition was ignored; many in the city were willing to turn a blind eye to grave-robbing as long as those bodies were poor and black. However, on February 21, 1788, the Advertiser printed an announcement saying that a body of a white woman had been stolen from Trinity Churchyard. With that, popular resentment began to boil over.

There are conflicting accounts of how the riot began, but most place the start outside New York Hospital, where a group of boys playing in the grass saw something that upset them—and then incensed the city. In some tellings, the boys saw a severed arm hanging out of one of the hospital windows to dry. In other versions, one of the boys climbed a ladder and peered into the dissecting room, where a surgeon waved the severed arm at him. In yet other versions, the boy’s mother had recently died, and the surgeon told the boy the arm had belonged to his mother. In this version of the tale, recounted in Joel Tyler Headley’s 1873 The Great Riots of New York, the boy ran off to tell the news to his father, a mason, who went to the cemetery and exhumed his wife’s coffin. After finding it empty, he marched on the hospital with a group of angry worker friends still carrying their picks and shovels.

Colonel William Heth, writing in a letter to Governor of Virginia Edmund Randolph, described what happened when the men got to the hospital:

“The cry of barbarity and etc. was soon spread—the young sons of Galen [a poetic allusion to a physician in Ancient Greece] fled in every direction—one took refuge in a chimney—the mob raised—and the Hospital apartments were ransacked. In the Anatomy room, were found three fresh bodies—one, boiling in a kettle, and two others cutting up—with certain parts of the two sex’s hanging up in a most brutal position. The circumstances, together with the wanton and apparent inhuman complexion of the room, exasperated the Mob beyond all bounds, to the total destruction of every anatomy in the hospital.”

Although most of the doctors and medical students fled when the workmen appeared, a handful remained to try and guard the valuable collection of anatomical and pathological specimens, many imported. Their efforts were in vain, and the specimens were dragged out in the street and set ablaze. Bayley and his protégé, Wright Post, might have been added to the fire too if it hadn’t been for the arrival of Mayor James Duane and the sheriff, who ordered the doctors and medical students escorted to jail for their own protection.

Things quieted down after that, but the next morning, a mob ran around the city searching for doctors, medical students, and bodies. Hundreds descended on Columbia, despite the efforts of alumnus Alexander Hamilton, who pleaded with the crowd from the school’s front steps. He was shouted down and pushed past, and the crowed ran into the school, where they searched the anatomical theatre, museum, chapel, library, and even student’s bedrooms for signs of dissection. Finding no bodies (students had removed them all the previous night), the men searched several other doctors’ homes—including Bayley’s—in vain, then marched down Broadway to the jail. Governor George Clinton, Mayor Duane, and other prominent politicians urged them to disperse, but the crowd refused and swelled into an estimated 5,000. Armed with rocks, bricks, and timber torn from the nearby gallows, they finally attacked the jail, yelling “bring out your doctors!”

Inside, the medical students clambered over the broken glass and used the rocks and bricks thrown at them to fend off their attackers. One of the rioters climbed inside the jail through a ground floor window, only to be killed by a guard, which further incensed the rioters outside. Governor Clinton called out several rounds of militiamen, who attempted to calm the scene, although they had strict orders not to fire their muskets. That is, until  Secretary of Foreign Affairs John Jay (who would become the first Chief Justice of the Supreme Court the following year) “got his scull almost crackd” with a rock, and the Revolutionary War hero General Baron von Steuben was hit with a brick. The militiamen could no longer be restrained, and they opened fire. In the tumult, at least three rioters and three members of the militia were killed, with the final death toll estimated as high as 20.

In the days that followed, local newspapers stopped running their ads for doctors and medical classes. People regularly went to the cemeteries to inspect the graves of their loved ones, and formed armed groups known as “Dead Guard Men” to protect the cemeteries. Several of the city’s most prominent physicians, including Bayley, published notices saying they had never robbed any cemetery in the city, nor asked anyone else to do so. The key there was “in the city”—the Negroes Burial Ground and potter’s field had been established outside the city. A grand jury investigated the riot, but there is no record of anyone being convicted. Nevertheless, the reputation of the medical profession in New York was tainted for years.

Culled from: Smithsonian

“Bring Out Your Doctors!”  Can you imagine?  That’s almost as good as “Bring Out Your Dead!”


Morbid Sightseeing: Autopsy Edition

If you should happen to find yourself in the Cooperstown, New York area this year, you might want to pay the Fenimore Art Museum a visit.  If you do, you’ll get to view the hand-written original autopsy notes detailing the death of Abraham Lincoln.  That’s worth a drive!  (Thanks to Howard for the link.)

Autopsy For A Nation: The Death Of Abraham Lincoln