Category Archives: Sightseer

Morbid Fact Du jour will be on hiatus for a few days while The Comtesse entertains family visiting from out of town. She begs you to stay morbid until her return next week!

Today’s Hopeless Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Accounts from Soviet prisoners of war in the Bergen-Belsen and Wietzendorf Nazi concentration camps, 1941-1942:

“We were taken to a place called Bergen, I think. But we knew nothing. We didn’t know where they were taking us. Some said they’d take us somewhere to be shot. Others said we’d be taken somewhere to work. But nobody knew anything, nobody explained anything to us. There was nobody to ask and nobody talked to you. I did speak a bit of German, mind you.”
Mikhail Levin, imprisoned in Bergen-Belsen

Blueprint for Bergen-Belsen

“We were taken to an open field. There was a wire fence there, but no huts, nothing. We used spoons and other things to dig earthwork dens. We lived in these dens.”
Semyon Zamyatin, imprisoned in Wietzendorf

“We dug… I had a broken soup spoon, and there were some stones there. That’s what we used to dig a hollow in which we could lie. There we lay on top of each other, covering each other, because there were no huts and it was cold.”
Mark Tilevich, imprisoned in Wietzendorf

“In the morning we heard the order: ‘Line up!’ If one of us had fallen ill or something else happened, they came running and tramped down our dens, filled them up. And the people were still in there.”
Semyon Zamyatin, imprisoned in Wietzendorf

“There was a field there, watchtowers, barbed wire and soldiers. And there were dogs, I remember it well, there were dogs. Maybe they wouldn’t have been able to properly guard the grounds without them. And then there were these masses of people just lying on the cold ground…”
Mark Tilevich, imprisoned in Wietzendorf

The hand-dug holes that served as shelter at Wietzendorf Prison Camp

“The first cases of disease in the camp occurred in autumn, when it got colder and the first frost came. The first cases of dysentery and typhoid fever had occurred a little earlier, and everyone was starving. People started to eat grass. It’s interesting that the bark of the few trees that were there was gnawed off and eaten. People ate belts, too. The belts that held up our trousers, you see? But there weren’t many belts around. They took them from the prisoners. You weren’t allowed to wear belts, I don’t know why.”
Mikhail Levin, imprisoned in Bergen-Belsen

“It was terrible! This terrible, overwhelming feeling of hunger. You have to understand, it’s worse than physical pain. Pain is terrible and you scream, you do something. But this was complete hopelessness. You couldn’t find anything anywhere, you see?”
Mark Tilevich, imprisoned in Wietzendorf

Starving prisoners at Bergen-Belsen

“The winter of 1941/1942 was very harsh. It was one of the coldest winters ever. That was when the mass deaths, the ‘great dying’ started. Typhoid fever and dysentery were raging through the camp and there was the hunger, the starvation. Your body couldn’t even cope with the slightest ailments, and people were dying. Every day, hundreds of them were taken away on the carts. In the morning after reveille, before we had to line-up for the roll-call, there’d already be bodies lying on the bunks. They’d be loaded onto a cart and taken to the cemetery.”
Mikhail Levin, imprisoned in Bergen-Belsen

The bodies of victims in Bergen-Belsen concentration camp.
BU 3760
Part of
WAR OFFICE SECOND WORLD WAR OFFICIAL COLLECTION
No 5 Army Film & Photographic Unit
Wilson, M H (Lt)

Victims of starvation and disease at Bergen-Belsen

“This cart was accompanied by German guards. But they didn’t accompany the prisoners all the way. There were some tree trunks lying around there. While the prisoners were unloading the cart, they’d sit there and smoke cigarettes.”
Semyon Zamyatin, imprisoned in Wietzendorf

“In the beginning,loading the bodies onto the cart would really scare me. How old was I in 1941? I was 19 and I’d never seen anything like it. Two or three of us would grab a body. We weren’t particularly strong. We’d hold them by their hands and feet and throw them onto the cart. They were practically naked. Some had dog tags, others didn’t. They were taken there on the cart, and then they weren’t laid into the grave, they were just tossed in.”
Mikhail Levin, imprisoned in Bergen-Belsen

Unloading corpses from the carts at Bergen-Belsen

“A ditch had been dug behind the camp. That’s where they were taken and then tossed in. This ditch would then gradually be filled in. Our comrades, the other POWs, were in charge of filling in the ditch. One day they would still be shoveling soil, and the next day it might be their turn to be buried.”
Semyon Zamyatin, imprisoned in Wietzendorf

Culled from: Bergen-Belsen Wehrmacht POW Camp, 1940-1945

The Morbid Sightseer: Bergen-Belsen

I had the honor of visiting Bergen-Belsen in the summer of 2014. Although the barracks were burned down immediately after the camp’s liberation due to rampant disease, it is still a fascinating and unbearably sad place to visit.  Archaeological digs have recovered many relics from the time of the camp and they are displayed imaginatively in glass-topped cases in the floor of the museum. The museum also includes abundant photographs and information about the prisoners who suffered and died there – the most famous being Anne Frank and her sister Margot who died of typhoid shortly before liberation.

The museum is excellent, but my most vivid memory is walking by the dozens of enormous burial mounds, each marked with a month and year of interment.  I still need to write up a full travelogue on my visit, but for now, you can look at some of my photos at my Forlorn Photography Facebook page Bergen-Belsen album.

Today’s Snake-bitten Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Major Raymond “Rattlesnake James” Lisenba (March 6, 1894 – May 1, 1942) also known as Robert S. James, was the last man to be hanged in California. He was charged with murdering his fourth wife, Mary Busch, to collect her life insurance and was also suspected of causing the deaths of his third wife, Winona Wallace, and nephew, Cornelius Wright, to collect their life insurances.

A native of Hale County, Alabama, Lisenba spent his childhood at barber school. In 1921, he married Maud Duncan, but she soon filed for divorce, accusing him of “kinky” and “sadistic” sex. Lisebna moved to Kansas and remarried, but she divorced him after the father of a pregnant young woman ran him out of town. He moved to North Dakota and changed his surname to “James.”

When his mother died and left her life insurance to him, James got the idea of committing fraud. In 1932, he opened a barber shop in La Cañada Flintridge, California and married his third wife, Winona Wallace, and set a pair of $5,000 insurance policies for both from Prudential Insurance.

On September 21, the couple was driving on Pikes Peak Highway near Glen Cove, Colorado, with Wallace at the wheel when the car left the road and fell down a mountainside. James told investigators he managed to jump free, but Wallace remained trapped in the vehicle until it stopped against a large boulder about 150 feet below the road. When rescuers got to the scene, they found Wallace alive with relatively minor injuries despite the intensity of the crash. She also smelled of liquor and had a massive wound behind her ear. They later found shreds of a bullet in her head during the autopsy. Winona was released from the hospital on October 8 and recovering at a cottage in Manitou Springs when about a week later, James and a grocer found her lying on her back in a half-filled tub. At the coroner’s inquest, medical examiner George B. Gilmore testified that James told him his wife had ignored physician’s orders to avoid washing her hair because of the head wound and drowned as a result.

Prudential eventually paid off on Wallace’s policy. Following the death of Busch, an autopsy was made on Wallace and the medical examiner testified that she suffered two skull fractures caused by a hard, moving object projected against in it.

James took out insurance on his nephew Cornelius Wright, a young sailor, invited him to visit while on leave, and let him use his car. Wright later died when the car drove off a cliff. The mechanic who towed the wreck back to James told him that something was wrong with the steering wheel.

in March 1935, Ray James met Mary Emma James, who would become his second wife. In June 1935, Ray asked Charles Hope, one of his loyal customers struggling financially, to help him kill Mary for her $5000 life insurance, offering $100 plus expenses for rattlesnakes, which he planned to use to poison Mary.

Hope brought the snakes to the James’ house on August 4 to find Mary Emma, who was pregnant at the time, strapped to the kitchen table with her eyes and mouth taped shut. James that he managed to get his wife on the table by telling her a doctor was coming to “perform some kind of operation on her for pregnancy.” Hope watched as Ray put Mary Emma’s foot in the box with the two snakes, which bit her, then left the house to return and pick up his wife.

Returning to the house at 1:30 a.m. Hope found that Mary was still alive. Drunk and outraged, Ray took her to the bathtub, drowned her, and put her body by the fish pond in their backyard in an attempt to make it look like an accident. Hope left, having refused James’s order to burn down the house.

Mary’s death was ruled a drowning until a drunken Hope bragged at a bar about his involvement in her murder. The bartender reported this to police and Hope was arrested. Under intense questioning, Hope explained the plot thoroughly and James was arrested in 1936. A snake bite on Mary’s toe overlooked during the autopsy confirms this. Both were found guilty of their crimes with James receiving the death penalty and Hope life in prison.

On May 1, 1942, Rattlesnake James was executed by hanging at San Quentin State Prison in California. The rope was the wrong length and it took over ten minutes for Rattlesnake James to die.

Culled from: Wikipedia
Generously suggested by: Eleanor

I found this most excellent account of James’ death at Capital Punishment UK:

Clinton Duffy who was the warden [at San Quentin] from 1942 to 1954 described the execution of Major Raymond Lisemba as follows: “The man hit bottom and I observed that he was fighting by pulling on the straps, wheezing, whistling, trying to get air, that blood was oozing through the black cap. I observed also that he urinated, defecated, and droppings fell on the floor, and the stench was terrible”. (This is not abnormal in death by slow hanging as the person slowly strangles). “I also saw witnesses pass out and have to be carried from the witness room. Some of them threw up.”

It took ten minutes for the condemned man to die. When he was taken down and the cap removed, “big hunks of flesh were torn off” the side of his face where the noose had been, “his eyes were popped,” and his tongue was “swollen and hanging from his mouth.” His face had turned purple.

(Was it worth that money, Rattlesnake?)

The Shame of the South

One of the things that always irks me when I visit the South is the lack of acknowledgement of the culture of slavery that shaped it.  This is especially noticeable when you visit plantations in which the lives of the plantation owners and their families are discussed, but there is little mention made of the suffering of the slaves that built the plantations, were entrapped there, and died there.  Lisa sent me a very good article that examines this very topic. Highly recommended.

Why Aren’t Stories Like ’12 Years a Slave’ Told at Southern Plantation Museums?

Today’s Untrained Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

By World War II standards, the German Type VIIC submarine was an advanced hunter of the seas. But one unlucky vessel of its class, the U-1206, sank during its maiden combat voyage after its captain used its high-tech toilet improperly.

Yes, this really happened, and was an unexpected and tragic consequence of a real naval engineering problem.

For years. crafty German engineers had been busy developing what they thought was the next generation in undersea plumbing. While Allied subs piped their sewage into onboard septic tanks, German U-boats saved precious weight and space by discharging waste directly into the sea.

But pulling off this latter operation posed unique challenges. The system only worked when the submarine floated near the surface, where the water pressure was low. One can only imagine the unpleasant work-arounds forced upon the crew when boats had to stay submerged for prolonged periods.

As the war — and Allied anti-submarine technology — progressed, submarines were increasingly dead meat in shallow water or on the surface. But by 1945, Germany’s toilet technology had matured.

Germany’s top minds had produced a newfangled “deepwater high-pressure toilet” which allowed them to flush while submerged deep below the waves.

Advanced as it was, the toilet was extremely complicated. First, it directed human waste through a series of chambers to a pressurized airlock. The contraption then blasted it into the sea with compressed air, sort of like a poop torpedo.

A specialist on each submarine received training on proper toilet operating procedures. There was an exact order of opening and closing valves to ensure the system flowed in the correct direction.

Now meet U-1206 and its proud 27-year-old captain, Karl-Adolf Schlitt. On April 14, 1945, Schlitt and his submarine were eight days into their first combat patrol of the war. The submarine lurked 200 feet beneath the surface of the North Sea when Schlitt decided that he could figure the toilet out himself.

But Schlitt was not properly trained as a toilet specialist. After calling an engineer to help, the engineer turned a wrong valve and accidentally unleashed a torrent of sewage and seawater back into the sub.

The situation escalated quickly. The unpleasant liquid filled the toilet compartment and began to stream down onto the submarine’s giant internal batteries — located directly beneath the bathroom — which reacted chemically and began producing chlorine gas.

As the poisonous gas filled the submarine, Schlitt frantically ordered the boat to the surface. The crew blew the ballast tanks and fired their torpedoes in an effort to improve the flooded vessel’s buoyancy.

Somehow, it got worse when the submarine reached the surface. “At this point in time British planes and patrols discovered us,” Schlitt wrote in his official account.

After taking damage from an air attack, the only option was to scuttle the sub and order the sailors overboard.

“The crew reached the Scottish coast in rubber dinghies,” Schlitt added. “In the attempt to negotiate the steep coast in heavy seas, three crewmembers tragically died. Several men were taken onboard a British sloop. The dead were Hans Berkhauer, Karl Koren and Emil Kupper.”

Schlitt survived the war and died in 2009. U-1206 rests on the bottom of the North Sea to this day.

Culled from: War Is Boring
Generously submitted by: Marco McClean

Today’s Foul-Smelling Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

The Dover Torso Murder case began in the last week of July of 1984. Dover, Delaware resident William Shipley, 64, worked as the kitchen manager for a senior-citizens’ center called Modern Maturity (which is still going strong) and lived with his wife Christie, 46. Christie Shipley had been a police officer in Baltimore and now worked as a guard at the Women’s Correctional Institution in Claymont, Delaware. The couple had been married, unhappily, for 13 years.

When William Shipley failed to come to work, his colleagues asked his wife about him, and she said he had abandoned her, as he had eight times previously. She added that she was planning to move out of their home and into a trailer in the trailer park they owned, and asked a friend four some empty boxes to pack her things in.

In early August, two people jogging along a rural road near Dover found what they believed to be an animal carcass wrapped in plastic trash bags. Police were called and agreed that the foul-smelling object was a dead animal and transported it to the dump. A day or so later, a maintenance worker at a nearby apartment complex found a cardboard box near the dumpster. When he opened it, he was dismayed to find a human head, also wrapped in a trash bag. Police were called and, putting two and two together, hurriedly retrieved the “dead animal” from the dump, and this time ascertained that it was a human torso. The torso and head were determined to have come from the same middle-aged white male, who had died from a single gunshot wound to the back of his neck.

Eventually, the body was identified as William Shipley, and Christie was arrested and charged with first-degree murder after a blood-soaked mattress and other evidence was found at her home. Her husband’s .38 revolver and a meat saw given to him by his professional butcher son were never recovered. A few months later, human leg and foot bones were found along another roadside near Dover, and these were also found to be Shipley’s remains. His hands were never found.

Christie Shipley was found guilty of killing her husband in May 1987 and was sent to prison for life. She ended up at the same prison where she’d worked as a guard.

Culled from Legal.com
Submitted by: Aimee

I was only a little girl at the time of this case, but I vividly recall hearing the gory details on the local news. – Aimee

Beautiful Anatomical Theaters

Some of the most beautiful morbid spaces are the old dissection/operating theaters of times past. Here is an excellent collection of some of the best.  I’ve been to the Indiana Medical History Museum and it was awe-inducing in its simple Midwestern way.  I highly recommend that museum if you’re ever in Indianapolis.

The Indiana Medical History Museum theater.

The Most Beautiful Anatomical Theaters

Thanks to Mike Marano for the link.

Today’s Idyllic Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

The Northern Michigan Asylum (also known as Traverse State Hospital) opened its doors in 1885 and by the time it closed in 1989, it had affected 50,000 patients, approximately 20,000 employees, and more than 250,000 visitors. Throughout the century the asylum and its inhabitants witnessed hardships as well as tremendous societal and medical changes. The Northern Michigan Asylum withstood and even thrived during the Great Depression, World Wars I and II, and the Korean and Vietnam Wars. Overcrowded wards were exposed to deadly epidemics and diseases such as typhoid, smallpox, diphtheria, influenza, syphilis, tuberculosis, polio, and epilepsy. Between 1885 and 1989, approximately 14,000 patients died due to these and many other illnesses that are now treatable and even curable.

The gorgeous old asylum…

During the asylum’s one hundred years, doctors used many well-meaning but mostly ineffective and often cruel therapies for patients. Psychotropic drugs were not invented until the 1950s, which means that patients in the early years of the asylum were offered no curative drug treatments. Opium and morphine were the only drugs available, and they were used in small amounts primarily as sedatives for agitated patients. Between 1885 and 1920, “the moral treatments” of kindness, exposure to beauty, and voluntary work were considered the primary therapy for all patients. Restraints were strictly forbidden, and sincere attempts were made to incorporate every comfort and pleasantry into asylum life, with the purpose of inducing patients’ recovery. There were pianos or organs on every floor, nightly sing-alongs in the dayrooms, and well-used fireplaces in the cottages. Freshly cut flowers, provided by the asylum greenhouses, were supplied to the wards year-round. Therapeutic patient treatments included going to picnics, local fairs, and circuses, and playing shuffleboard or croquet on the asylum lawns. Though they may sound idealized, these kindnesses were carefully planned treatments based on the Kirkbride plan and the “moral treatments” dutifully implemented by Dr. James Decker Munson, the first superintendent of the Northern Michigan Asylum. Munson believed that voluntary work would benefit the patients by giving them a sense of purpose and accomplishment. Patients engaged in work ranging from building furniture and fruit canning to farming and flower-growing.

Culled from: Angels in the Architecture: A Photographic Elegy to an American Asylum

I tell ya, THOSE were the days!  Being insane sounds like a non-stop vacation.  I could definitely live out my days like that.  But if you sense that life at the ol’ asylum is going to take on a much darker tone in tomorrow’s MFDJ – you’re psychic!

Traverse Today

Unlike many old Kirkbride buildings which have been demolished, Traverse Hospital is one of the poster children for redevelopment.  Obviously, I wish I’d gotten to see it before it was redeveloped, but it’s great to know that it’s going to be around in the future.  There are historic tours too that take you into the creepy tunnels beneath the complex – maybe I’ll get up there to take one this summer?

The Village at Grand Traverse Commons

Today’s Electrocuted Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

President McKinley’s assassin, Leon Czolgosz, was sentenced to die in the electric chair at Auburn State Prison.  The nation’s first-ever execution by electricity, in 1890, had also taken place at Auburn – and had been overseen by Edward Charles Spitzka, the alienist who’d insisted that President Garfield’s executioner Charles Guiteau was crazy. Things had not gone well. The prisoner fried but refused to die, and his burning hair and flesh stunk up the tiny execution room. Spitzka screamed to flip the switch again, but the electricians had to wait two whole minutes for the generator to recharge (In their defense, earlier tests that involved electrocuting a horse had gone much smoother.)

By 1901 Auburn had worked out the kinks. Guards awoke Czolgosz around 5 a.m. on October 29 and gave him dark trousers slit up the side. Inside the death chamber, an electrician wired up a string of twenty two light bulbs to test the current; when they began beaming, he pronounced the chair ready. Czolgosz entered at 7:06 a.m. and took a seat on “old Sparky,” a rough-hewn wooden throne sitting on a rubber mat. He promptly condemned the government again. Meantime, guards plopped a sponge soaked with conducive salt water onto his head. Next came the metal helmet, then another electrode clamped onto his calf beneath the slit in his pants. Last came the leather mask which kept his face in place. It also muffled his final words: “I am awfully sorry because I did not see my father [again].” The electrician waited until Czolgosz exhaled – gases expand when heated, and the less air in the lungs, the less unsightly moaning during the death throes – and snapped the switch. Czolgosz jerked, cracking his restraints. After a few pulses at 1,700 volts a doctor could find no pulse in Czolgosz. Time of death, 7:15 a.m.

His hair still wet, his lips still curled form the shock of the shock, Czolgosz was laid out on a nearby table for the autopsy. One doctor dissected the body, while the all-important brain autopsy, including the determination of sanity, fell to a second doctor – or rather, a wannabe doctor, a twenty-five year old medical student at Columbia University.

Why entrust this job to someone with no medical license? Well, he’d already published scores of articles about the brain, including work on whether high doses of electricity damaged brain tissue or altered its appearance, an important consideration here. He also claimed phrenological expertise, including the ability to link mental deficiencies with unusual anatomical features. What clinched the selection was his pedigree – for this was Edward Anthony Spitzka, son of the Edward Charles Spitzka who’d defended Guiteau. No other father and son doctors can boast of involvement in two such historic cases.  And whereas Spitzka père had failed to convince the world of Guiteau’s insanity, Spitzka fils could still perhaps grant Czolgosz a posthumous scientific pardon.

He never got the chance. Spitzka removed the brain at 9:45 a.m., noting its warmth – the body can reach 130° F during electrical execution. He sketched it while it cooled , then began to investigate every fold and fissure. As with Guiteau, the brain looked normal, unnervingly normal, on a gross scale. But before Spitzka could examine it microscopically, the prison warden stepped in. The warden had already received offers of $5000 for Czolgosz’s skull, and rather than risk making Czolgosz a martyr, he was determined to destroy every last scrap of him. Cruelly, spitefully, he refused Spitzka’s plea for even a tiny slice of brain to examine later. Instead, the warden ordered the body sewn up at noon. He salted Czolgosz’s corpse with barrels of quicklime, then poured in gallons of sulfuric acid. Based on experiements he’d been conducting with shanks of meat, he figured Czolgosz would liquefy in twelve hours. By midnight Leon Czolgosz’s troubled brain was no more.

Culled from:  The Tale of the Dueling Neurosurgeons: The History of the Human Brain as Revealed by True Stories of Trauma, Madness, and Recovery

What a bastard that warden was, huh?  Interfering with science!

Morbid Sightseeing Alert!

When I was dating the girl in DC earlier this year, I made a trip to the National Museum of Crime and Punishment.  Was it a rip-off at $21.95 compared to the great low cost (free!) of the Smithsonian museums?  Certainly it was.  But were there interesting things on display here?  Yes, there certainly are, including Gacy’s Pogo the Clown outfit.  So then isn’t it worth it?  Well, kind of, I suppose.

But the point is: It’s closing at the end of the month!  So, get out there now or wonder if it will ever open anywhere else for the rest of your life!

I’ll hurry up and put out my travelogue this week (if work allows) so that you can see what you’re missing if you choose not to make a trip.

Crime Museum Is Closing At The End of September

(Thanks to Ear for the heads up!)

Today’s Drunken Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Guinness, the Irish maker of the stout ale, tried to entice writer Brendan Behan to come up with a catchy slogan for their company by delivering a half-dozen kegs of their best brew to his home. After tapping the last barrel, he decided on what he believed its most important quality and offered what he thought a winner: “Guinness Makes You Drunk.” They didn’t use it, and instead got Christian writer Dorothy L. Sayers to pen the trademark, “Guinness Is Good For You.” How good it was for Behan in the end was obvious. As Ireland’s most popular playwright, Behan made no secret, nor could he, of his fondness for the frothy brew, describing himself as “a drinker with a writing problem.” His persona as the jolly alcoholic, as he regularly showed up drunk on stage and on television, endeared him to the public.

He started on a path not as jovial, as a member of the Irish Republican Army, and was sent to prison for four years, convicted for involvement in a plot to murder two police officers. Once out he left his previous employment working alongside his father as a house painter, and made his first earnings by writing pornography. His brilliant ad-libbing and lubricated wit earned him a spot giving readings on radio and writing newspaper articles on a variety of subjects. He noticed his talent slipping and decided to rise early and not drink until the pubs opened at noon. This modified regime allowed him to write plays, focusing on his prison experiences, that became international hits. When he published an autobiographical novel, Borstal Boy, in 1958, he was considered a leading Irish writer of his generation, and dubbed by the New York Times as a “real writer.” (The theater adaptation of Borstal Boy received the New York Drama Critics Circle Award for the best play of the 1969-1970 season.) At the height of his career, Behan was heralded as a genius for capturing the quintessence of old Gaelic’s lyricism and spirit.

23rd June 1956: Irish playwright Brendan Behan (1923 – 1964) having a pint. (Photo by Keystone/Getty Images)

However, Behan’s public deterioration became hard to watch, though he persisted at drinking, believing the public wanted to see his staggering and witty, drunken view of things. Much of the press he received at the end embarrassed his family and friends, though he lifted his mug and exclaimed, with his still-genius ability for coining a line (which later became a maxim): “There’s no bad publicity except an obituary.” He got his at age forty-one in 1964, after suffering diabetic blackouts, renal and liver failure, and being locked down in a mental hospital in Dublin. Crowds lined the boulevards to watch his casket pass, dripping the first sip of their opened bottles into the street in his honor, recalling Behan’s motto for the resigned alcoholic: “I only drink on two occasions – when I’m thirsty and when I’m not.”

Culled from: Genius and Heroin: The Illustrated Catalogue of Creativity, Obsession, and Reckless Abandon Through the Ages

Fascinating Flickr Feed!

Did you know that Morbid Anatomy has a fascinating Flickr feed?  I didn’t either until C.M. Adams sent me a note to tell me about it.  They have folders for various delightfully morbid museums.   A morbid must-browse!

Morbid Anatomy Flickr Page

And here’s the delightful collection of Museum photographs. Time to update The Morbid Sightseer and plan some road trips!

Museums!