Category Archives: Mirth

Today’s Dark Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

In the roaring twenties, the Royal Beach Hotel in Chicago had been a fashionable venue, home to young singles and married couples lured to the bright lights and bustle of Uptown. During the Jazz Age years, the densely-populated north side neighborhood was one of the largest retail and entertainment districts outside the Loop, boasting speakeasies, movie theaters, dance halls, and jazz joints. Among the better-known was the splendid Aragon Ballroom on Lawrence Avenue and, just around the corner on Broadway, the famed Green Mill nightclub that had once been run by mobster Machine Gun Jack McGurn. Nightlife aside, Uptown had also served briefly as the center of the fledgling moving picture industry. Prior to 1918, before filmmakers moved to California, many movies were shot at the Essanay film studio on Argyle Street, including pictures starring Charlie Chaplin, Gloria Swanson, and Wallace Beery.

But the Depression years delivered hard times to Uptown, and as its allure faded, the once glamorous neighborhood became a forsaken transient district. After World War II, southern blacks, Appalachian whites, and Native Americans moved into the area, drawn by the cheap rents of an abundant stock of rooming houses, residence hotels, and apartment buildings. By 1981, Uptown rivaled that of any urban tenderloin: taverns, currency exchanges, and cut-rate stores lined its streets while its alleys and dark corners were frequented by pimps, prostitutes, thieves and dope-pushers. Uptown was also one of Chicago’s most arson-plagued neighborhoods, many of the fires the result of insurance fraud schemes in which building owners hired professionals to burn down dilapidated structures and then collected large cash settlements. In 1979, six people lost their lives in one such apartment building fire.

The once stylish Royal Beach was not untouched by the downfall of Uptown. It had become just another apartment hotel. Though several elderly men and women on public aid lived there, it was also home to recovering alcoholics, drug addicts, prostitutes, the unemployed, and the mentally ill.

On March 14, 1981, residents were still asleep in the hotel at 5523 N. Kenmore when smoke began to fill the hallways at 3 A.M. Someone finally noticed it and starting screaming, alerting the residents. By the time they realized what was happening, flames and smoke were spreading rapidly throughout the four-story hotel. Panic caused by the fire was heightened when the electricity failed, plunging the building into darkness, leaving occupants to grope their way through the smoke in search of an exit.

When the closest firefighters pulled up in front of the Royal Beach they went right to work, throwing up ladders to panicky residents hanging out windows. But as they scrambled to save those trapped inside, flames and smoke thwarted their efforts by cutting off escape for many tenants and forcing some to jump. After stretching hoselines through the building and positioning a snorkel in the alley next to the hotel, firefighters gained the upper hand by extinguishing the main body of fire. But when they conducted a room-by-room search, instead of survivors they found unconscious and lifeless bodies. Most of the victims had been asphyxiated by dense smoke. Nineteen were dead and 14 injured.

The cause of the fire was attributed not to the actions of any resident but to faulty electrical wiring in a first-floor laundry room. Fire officials also suspected that a second point of origin might have been in the rear stairwell, though this was never officially determined due to the extent of the damage. Investigators did reveal that the hotel’s management had been in and out of housing court for numerous building code violations. The Royal Beach had no sprinkler system, and because smoke detectors in the building reportedly failed to operate, many occupants were unaware of the fire until it was too late. As in previous hotel fires, some of the Royal Beach victims were never identified because they lacked proper identification and had no known family.

Culled from: Great Chicago Fires: Historic Blazes That Shaped a City

The Royal Beach Hotel building is still there, interestingly enough.

Morbid Mirth Du Jour!

Whilst antiquing one day I stumbled across a copy of ‘Slovenly Peter’ (aka Der Struwwelpeter aka “Shock-headed Peter”), an 1845 German children’s book by Heinrich Hoffmann. Per Wikipedia: : “It comprises ten illustrated and rhymed stories, mostly about children. Each has a clear moral that demonstrates the disastrous consequences of misbehavior in an exaggerated way.  The title of the first story provides the title of the whole book. Der Struwwelpeter is one of the earliest books for children that combines visual and verbal narratives in a book format, and is considered a precursor to comic books.”

Here’s one of the jolly stories: The Story of Cruel Frederick!

And here are the words for our visually-impaired patrons:

The Story of Cruel Frederick

This Frederick! this Frederick!
A naughty, wicked boy was he;
He caught the flies, poor little things,
And then tore off their tiny wings;
He kill’d the birds, and broke the chairs,
And threw the kitten down the stairs;
And oh! far worse and worse,
He whipp’d his good and gentle nurse!

The trough was full, and faithful Tray
Came out to drink one sultry day;
He wagg’d his tail, and wet his lip,
When cruel Fred snatch’d up a whip,
And whipp’d poor Tray till he was sore,
And kick’d and whipp’d him more and more;
At  this, good Tray grew very red,
And growl’d and bit him till he bled;
Then you should only have been by,
To see how Fred did scream and cry!

So Frederick had to go to bed;
His leg was very sore and red!
The Doctor came and shook his head,
And made a very great to-do,
And give him bitter physic too.

But good dog Tray is happy now;
He has no time to say “bow-wow!”
He seats himself in Frederick’s chair,
And laughs to see the nice things there:
The soup he swallows, sup by sup,—
And eats the pies and puddings up.

Andersonville Prisoner Diary Entry Du Jour!

This is the continuation of the 1864 diary of Andersonville prisoner Private George A. Hitchcock (see the archived version for all entries up until now).

Here’s today’s entry:

August 22d. To-night finds me better able to write. I feel that I have been very near to death’s door. The weather has continued hot as ever, and my diarrhea, which took the form of dysentery, made me nearly helpless. Then my head ached till I thought I should become crazy. I thought of the regiment as the 19th of August came round, when I suppose they were to be mustered out. My spirits went down to zero as I thought of the prospect of my old comrades compared with my own. Oh, that the old pale horse would not stare me in the face so hard and so constantly. Yesterday I felt that my pluck had nearly vanished, and it seemed as if the only hold on life which I had was in the comfort derived from the previous words which I read, “My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of Him, for whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth.” Shep has been very kind, and I feel thankful that my prayers have been answered and I am really better. The mortality on these cold, wet nights is terrible. A large prayer-meeting was held on the flat in the evening. Rations of corn-bread, beans, and molasses.

Culled from: Andersonville: Giving Up the Ghost

Today’s Strict Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

On January 10, 1942, one month after the Japanese had taken Guam, Navyman Hugh Meyers and over four hundred other Americans loaded on a Japanese passenger-freighter, the Argentina Maru. Aboard, Meyers found himself in the hold of the ship, a bare room but with adequate space for him and his companions. Twice a day a guard at the top of the ladder leading down to the hold would lower buckets of fish and wormy rice to the men below. He also filled and lowered a water bucket, as needed. The men were allowed to climb the ladder and use a toilet nearby. Initially some men complained that the distribution of food from the buckets was unequal. Then three of the Navy chief boatswain’s mates took charge of rationing and this problem ceased. For Meyers and the other the days in the hold were monotonous but bearable. What concerned them most was where they were headed.

Six days later they had their answer when the ship anchored in the Inland Sea, off the northern coast of the island of Shikoku, the smallest of the Japanese main islands. After spending a very uncomfortable day in the hold—the Japanese had turned off the heat that morning—in the evening they finally were taken on barges to the shore, the first American POWs to reach the Japanese home islands.

After a short ride by streetcar, they arrived at Zentsuji, a large military installation which had been used in 1904-1905 to house Russian prisoners. Here, in a compound surrounded by high board walls topped by barbed wire, they were counted off, divided into groups, and assigned forty to a room in two-story barracks. Chilled and tired, Meyers entered the room assigned to his group and found rice straw neatly strewn on the floor and forty pillows filled with rice hulls (very hard), blankets (few and thin), an aluminum dish, and a spoon, all of the items aligned with military precision.

The Japanese sergeant in charge of the group spoke and understood English quite well and seemed to enjoy the opportunity to use this ability. After all of the men had been assigned to their places, he called for a detail which returned shortly thereafter with hot cabbage soup, enough for a fair-size portion for each man. The weary Americans were much impressed by the sergeant’s considerate act.

The Japanese in charge of moving the Wake Island captives were a much different sort. On the day before they were to leave the following notice was posted.

COMMANDER OF THE PRISONER ESCORT
Navy of the Great Japanese Empire

REGULATIONS FOR PRISONERS

1. The prisoners disobeying the following orders will be punished with immediate death:
   (a) Those disobeying orders and instructions.
   (b) Those showing a motion of antagonism and raising a sign of opposition.
   (c) Those disordering the regulations by individualism, egoism, thinking only about yourself, rushing for your own goods.
   (d) Those talking without permission and raising loud voices.
   (e) Those walking and moving without order.
   (f) Those carrying unnecessary baggage in embarking.
   (g) Those resisting mutually.
   (h) Those touching the boat’s materials, wires, electric lights, tools, switches, etc.
   (i) Those climbing ladder without order.
   (j) Those showing action of running away from the room or boat.
   (k) Those trying to take more meal than given to them.
   (l) Those using more than two blankets.

Following this list of major crimes were more detailed instructions on prisoner conduct aboard the ship.

Despite the outlandish nature of these regulations, Cunningham and other officers reading them had to take them seriously. The one that bothered them the most referred to “unnecessary baggage.” “What does this mean?” they asked. The prisoners then decided among themselves that to be on the safe side they would restrict themselves to one bag.

On the morning of January 12 the Americans began their trip to Japan aboard the Nitta Maru, a liner which had been converted into a prison ship. They left behind 400 civilian construction workers along with the seriously wounded. Over 300 of these civilians and the surviving wounded were later shipped to Japan. About 100 civilians remained on a work detail for the Japanese.

Aboard the Nitta Maru, the officers were confined in a crowded compartment directly over the engine room. The enlisted men and civilians were held in cargo spaces in the forward part of the ship. Generally the physical conditions for the prisoners on board the Nitta Maru were similar to those of their predecessors on the Argentina Maru.

Each evening Capt. Toshio Saito, the guard commander, required the officers to seat themselves in rows for inspection by one of the Japanese guards. Any delay in carrying out an order meant a resounding slap on the face, and since orders were not always understood, there was much slapping. The Japanese kept the lights burning all the time and a guard stood at the door to see that no one talked, even whispered, to anyone else. Once one officer was accused of whispering and a guard entered and beat him severely with a stick. None of the other officers interfered since they feared it might lead to some form of extreme punishment, possibly execution.

Six days later the Nitta Maru arrived in the harbor of Yokohama, Japan. Here a group of officers, including Cunningham and Devereux, were ordered to clean up and report to an upper deck room, which they found swarming with Japanese newspaperman and cameramen. Their captors seemed anxious to have the outside world believe that they treated their prisoners well. The pictures taken that day of the officers smiling turned up later in English-language magazines published in the world press. Possibly as compensation for the picture-taking, Cunningham and several others were allowed to send radiograms to their next of kin. After two days in port, the Nitta Maru sailed for Shanghai, China.

Smiling for the Japanese propaganda cameras some of the Wake island defenders, now POWs aboard the transport ship Nitta Maru. Commander Winfield Scott Cunningham, seated in the dark uniform would be awarded the Navy Cross for his leadership. (National Archives)

It was on this leg of the journey that Captain Saito carried out the threat of death expressed in the regulations for prisoners. Soon after leaving Yokohama, five Americans were taken from the hold under guard. When they returned, they told one of their companions that they had been accused of lying in answer to questions about their naval experience and had been warned that they would be punished. Later the guards returned and took the five men from the hold, blindfolded  with their hands tied behind their backs. On the upper deck members of the guard detail and the ship’s company were gathered in a semicircle around Captain Saito, who was standing on a box. When the five men were lined up in front of Saito, he drew his sword and read an order of execution in Japanese. Then one of the Americans was forced to kneel on a small mat in ritual fashion and a guard stepped forward and beheaded him with his sword. Other guards previously designated by Saito then stepped forward and in turn executed the remaining four Americans. After the ceremony was completed, the spectators dispersed and the bodies were thrown overboard. The POWs were not told of the executions, and though the victims were later recorded as missing, their comrades did not learn their fate until after the war.

After arrival at Shanghai the ship moved to the nearby port of Woosung. Here the Navy turned the POWs over to an army guard detail and they marched five miles to a former cavalry camp—seven old wooden, unheated barracks, now surrounded by two electrically charged fences. Settling into their bleak surroundings, within a week they were joined by the Marines from Peking and Tientsin. The total number of Americans at Woosung stood at about fourteen hundred.

Culled from: Surrender and Survival

Accident Du Jour!

Thanks to Strange Company I am now aware of the existence of a children’s book entitled “The Book of Accidents or Warnings to the Heedless” (1836).  This delightful creation is an example of 19th century small booklets that were often mass produced and sold on the streets. These “chapbooks” as they are called, were produced and sold cheap so as to make them more accessible to children of all socioeconomic statuses. Because of this, the quality of the paper is usually poor with nothing but thread holding the sheets together.  Ultimately the chapbooks of the 19th century evolved into the timeless and still popular comics of the early 20th century.   Also, look how tiny it is!

I found The Book of Accidents online and thought I’d share an accident a day.  You can see where Edward Gorey got his inspiration for The Gashlycrumb Tinies!  I didn’t realize how short it is – this is actually the third and final accident today.

MANGLED BY A DOG.

Thomas Brown and Samuel Hope were nearly of the same age, and had been play-fellows from their infancy. They both went to the same school, and shared all their little sports together. One pleasant Saturday afternoon, as they were taking a walk, they wandered into a field belonging to a gentleman who kept a large and ferocious dog chained to a kennel.

Though not generally disposed to be mischievous, yet as the little fellows went near the kennel and saw the dog was fastened by a chain, they began to tease him, both of them laughing to see him growl and snap at them. This they thought fine sport; but poor Tom incautiously ventured too near, when the dog sprang upon him, threw him down, and began biting and tearing his flesh most dreadfully.

Sam was terribly frightened, but he could not bear to see his friend killed, without making an effort to save him. So he took up a stick, and giving the dog some severe blows with it, beat him off till he could get Tom out of his reach. Poor fellow! he was shockingly mangled, and it was many weeks before he was able to walk out again.

Andersonville Prisoner Diary Entry Du Jour!

This is the continuation of the 1864 diary of Andersonville prisoner Private George A. Hitchcock (see the archived version for all entries up until now).

Here’s today’s entry:

July 9th. Very hot, with a shower in the afternoon. Another man of our squad died to-day. A large number of prisoners from Hunter’s West Virginia Army came in: they report a lot of prisoners from the 2d Corps on their way to this place. Washed shirt in creek.

Culled from: Andersonville: Giving Up the Ghost

Today’s Fiendish Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Nowhere does the irrationality of slavery appear as clearly as in the way that slaves were punished. While generally speaking a slaveholder had no desire to punish his slave so severely as to endanger his life, the master was only a man, subject, like most men, to miscalculations, to anger, to sadism, and to drink. When angry, masters frequently kicked, slapped, cuffed, or boxed the ears of domestic servants, sometimes flogged pregnant women, and often punished slaves so cruelly that it took them weeks to recover. Many slaves reported that they were flogged severely, had iron weights with bells on them placed on their necks, or were shackled. Recalcitrant slaves received more stripes and were treated more cruelly by exasperated planters than were any other blacks. Moses Roper, an incorrigible runaway, regularly received 100 to 200 lashes from his owner. Once his master poured tar on his head and set it afire. On another occasion, after Roper had escaped from leg irons, his master had the nails on his fingers and toes beaten off. Since every white man considered himself the slave’s policeman, the black also suffered at the hands of non-slaveholders. Josiah Henson, for example, accidentally pushed a white man who later broke his arm and shoulder blades.

Uncompromisingly harsh, the portrait which the slaves drew of cruel masters was filled with brutality and horror. On the plantations of these masters, strong black men suffered from overwork, abuse, and starvation; and the overseer’s horn usually sounded before sleep could chase the fatigue of the last day’s labor. Characteristically, stocks closed on hapless women and children, mothers cried for the infants torn cruelly from their arms, and whimpering black women fought vainly to preserve their virtue in the face of the lash or pleaded for mercy while blood flowed from their bare buttocks. A cacophony of horrendous sounds constantly reverberated throughout such plantations; nauseated black men vomited while strung up over slowly burning tobacco leaves, vicious dogs tore black flesh, black men moaned as they were hung up by the thumbs with the whip raising deep welts on their backs and as they were bent over barrels or tied down to stakes while paddles with holes in them broke blisters on their rumps. Frequently blacks called God’s name in vain as they fainted from their master’s hundredth stroke or as they had their brains blown out. The slaves described masters of this stripe as besotted, vicious, deceitful, coarse, licentious, bloodthirsty, heartless, and hypocritical Christians who were pitiless fiends.

The first impulse of the historian is to reject the slave’s portrait as too harsh. There is, however, a great deal of evidence in antebellum court records, newspapers, memoirs, and plantation diaries which suggests that this is not the case. However much it is denied by Southern romantics, there were many slaveholders who were moral degenerates and sadists. Quite frequently, even the most cultured of planters were so inured to brutality that they thought little about the punishment meted out to slaves. Floggings of 50 to 75 lashes were not uncommon. On numerous occasions, planters branded, stabbed, tarred and feathered, burned, shackled, tortured, maimed, crippled, mutilated, and castrated their slaves. Thousands of slaves were flogged so severely that they were permanently scarred. In Mississippi a fiendish planter once administered 1,000 lashes to a slave.

“Whipped Peter” photographed in 1863

Culled from: The Slave Community 

Accident Du Jour!

Thanks to Strange Company I am now aware of the existence of a children’s book entitled “The Book of Accidents or Warnings to the Heedless” (1836).  This delightful creation is an example of 19th century small booklets that were often mass produced and sold on the streets. These “chapbooks” as they are called, were produced and sold cheap so as to make them more accessible to children of all socioeconomic statuses. Because of this, the quality of the paper is usually poor with nothing but thread holding the sheets together.  Ultimately the chapbooks of the 19th century evolved into the timeless and still popular comics of the early 20th century.   Also, look how tiny it is!

I found The Book of Accidents online and thought I’d share an accident a day.  You can see where Edward Gorey got his inspiration for The Gashlycrumb Tinies!

CRUSHED BY A CART.

Caroline Jones was another heedless child. She had been told repeatedly, by her mamma, not to cross the street without looking one way and the other to see if there were horses coming. But Caroline paid little or no attention to the kind admonitions of her mother. One day she saw a young friend on the opposite side of the way, and so off she started to meet her, with out looking to see if the road was clear; a loaded cart was just then passing, and Caroline stumbled and fell; the wheel passed over her and crushed her to death instantly.

Andersonville Prisoner Diary Entry Du Jour!

This is the continuation of the 1864 diary of Andersonville prisoner Private George A. Hitchcock (see the archived version for all entries up until now).

Here’s today’s entry:

July 8th. Very warm. Several hundred prisoners from Grant’s army and James Island came in, which made unusual commotion outside. One poor fellow of our squad died of diarrhea during the night. A large prayer-meeting was held near us, to which many a poor fellow delighted to crawl: every moment of the time was taken up in prayer, which went up from earnest hearts.

Culled from: Andersonville: Giving Up the Ghost

Today’s Chancy Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Mine Inspector’s Report

for

HOUGHTON COUNTY, MICHIGAN

FOR THE
YEAR ENDING SEPTEMBER 30, 1902.

JOSIAH HALL, Mine Inspector.

ACCIDENT No. 46.—August 30. Gust Capanan and his partner employed as trammers at the 31st level of D shaft, Atlantic mine, brought a car of rock to the shaft. Capanan crossed the shaft in order to get to the bell line to signal for the skip. He put his head in the shaft to look down, when he was struck by the descending skip on the back of his head and knocked down the shaft, a distance of over two hundred feet. He was found in a few minutes lifeless. The deceased took great chances by looking down, knowing the skip was above him, and would soon be down to where he was. No inquest was held.

Culled from: Some Fatal Accidents in the Atlantic, Baltic, Champion, Trimountain and Winona Copper Mines

Accident Du Jour!

Thanks to Strange Company I am now aware of the existence of a children’s book entitled “The Book of Accidents or Warnings to the Heedless” (1836).  This delightful creation is an example of 19th century small booklets that were often mass produced and sold on the streets. These “chapbooks” as they are called, were produced and sold cheap so as to make them more accessible to children of all socioeconomic statuses. Because of this, the quality of the paper is usually poor with nothing but thread holding the sheets together.  Ultimately the chapbooks of the 19th century evolved into the timeless and still popular comics of the early 20th century.   Also, look how tiny it is!

I found The Book of Accidents online and thought I’d share an accident a day.  You can see where Edward Gorey got his inspiration for The Gashlycrumb Tinies!

THROWN BY A HORSE.

The father of little George Careless had a fine, high spirited horse. One day he left the horse standing at the door, and told George not to go near him, lest he should get hurt. But George was not afraid; not he. As soon as his father had gone into the house, what does he do, but unfasten the bridle from the post and mount the horse, thinking to have a short ride and return before his father came out. As soon as the horse felt his light weight, he began to kick and prance, and finally threw Master George off and broke his arm. So much for disobedience.

Andersonville Prisoner Diary Entry Du Jour!

This is the continuation of the 1864 diary of Andersonville prisoner Private George A. Hitchcock (see the archived version for all entries up until now).

Here’s today’s entry:

July 7th. Very hot. Several “wood riots” and knock-downs occurred. The quartermaster has issued axes to each detachment, thereby stopping the letting of axes at fifty and seventy-five cents an hour, which the blood-suckers have been practicing.

Culled from: Andersonville: Giving Up the Ghost

In 1945, headhunting enjoyed a temporary resurgence in the north central uplands of Borneo. This time, people’s heads were taken, not only in the cause of ancient tribal tradition, but in the name of a global and modern war.

Australian troops, preparing for a final assault on the Japanese, who had occupied Borneo since early 1942, were mystified when local tribesmen turned up at their headquarters with offerings of Japanese heads in June 1945. One Australian soldier wrote in his diary:

A Dyak [tribesman] who reached ‘C’ Company from the Tutong River area reported that some days ago a party of 18 Japs reached their village and asked for guides to Tutong. Result: 36 Dyaks, 18 Japs less bodies arrived at destination. The Dyaks offered to deliver the heads to the ‘C’ Company but said that they would prefer to keep them as they had a party on. Permission granted to keep heads.

Dyak Headhunters

Presumably, the Australians were rather glad to be rid of this particular gift of support from the locals, but they weren’t about to refuse Dyak assistance, however unsavory their methods. Headhunting had been outlawed by the colonial government for decades, and successfully eradicated for twenty years. Suddenly, the Dyaks had started taking heads again. what the Australian troops did not know was that many of these headhunters had been armed by British and Australian special operatives working secretly in the jungle.

In March and April, three Allied intelligence parties had parachuted into the jungles of north Central Borneo, unsure exactly what they would find. ‘Operation Semut’ had been tasked with gathering intelligence on Japanese positions in Borneo and winning the support of the indigenous people for Allied interventions. They need not have worried on this account. The locals had suffered three years of foot shortages and heavy-handed administration under the Japanese and were eager to exact their revenge – so eager, in fact, that Operation Semut quickly became a guerilla campaign, manned by indigenous fighters who were armed and coordinated – to a greater or lesser extent – but the Allied men, aimed at harassing and attacking the enemy.

Working in small groups, Semut operatives ambushed the Japanese while they went about their daily life doing such things as cooking in their camps, trekking through the forest or loading rations into boats on the river. One British soldier remembered that before the Japanese could take defensive positions in the jungle, the guerillas would rise out of the bushes and decapitate them. They were armed with their own parang (swords) and sumpit (blowpipes) because Allied weapons had been slow to arrive and ammunition was in short supply; and in any case, with only a few hours’ training, the Dyaks were not skilled gunmen. They did not all take heads, and some officers forbade headhunting, but in parts of the jungle headhunting became integral to the Allied operation against the Japanese.

Some of the Allied soldiers were little more than witnesses to the fervor of their local fighters. There are stories of tribesmen carrying out headhunting raids while their Allied commanders were still back at base camp planning the attack, such was their enthusiasm for the job. Captain Bill Sochon remembered the following scenario: ‘As we were trying to get some sense of the highly excitable natives, more Dyaks came out of the jungle. The less flamboyant of them had the delicacy to carry the gruesome spoil in their sacks – proof of battle prowess as they tipped up the sacks and a cascade of heads tumbled on the ground.’

In situations like these, commanders found it hard to persuade their men to refrain from taking heads, and in any case it did not always suit them to try. Many Allied soldiers were complicit in head-taking raids, even if they did not wield the parang themselves. They led raids when heads were taken and witnessed the decapitation of Japanese prisoners and wounded men by their Dyak men. Like the Australians from ‘C’ Company, they accepted heads as a declaration of allegiance. Some were guests of honor at traditional headhunting celebrations after a successful skirmish; others sealed alliances by giving Japanese heads as gifts to neighboring tribes or posed for photographs holding the smoked heads of their enemy. In parts of the jungle, heads became part of the currency of warfare, cementing alliances and boosting morale, and decades of colonial censure of such ‘primitive savagery’ were temporarily disregarded.

Culled from: Severed: A History of Heads Lost and Heads Found

Morbid Mirth Du Jour!

So many dumb ways to die!

Today’s Excessively Tormented Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Like their surgical counterparts, the earliest tools for pulling teeth were derived from those found on the workbenches of medieval craftsmen. The ‘pelican’ – a vicious-looking hooked lever – originated as a device for pressing iron hoops onto barrel staves. Patients sat on a low stool, their head held between the tooth-puller’s knees, while he locked his pelican onto the offending tooth and sought to unseat it. The leading French Renaissance surgeon Ambroise Paré argued, nervously, that surgeons drawing teeth should take care not to inflict serious injuries:

The extraction of a tooth should not be carried out with too much violence, as one risks producing luxation of the jaw or concussion of the brain and the eyes, or even bringing away a portion of the jaw together with the tooth (the author himself has observed this in several cases), not to speak of other serious accidents which may supervene, as, for example, fever, apostema, abundant haemorrhage, and even death.

A particularly intricate Pelican tooth extractor

Tools like the pelican could be slung into a satchel and carried from town to town, and they were taken up by the largest single group of early European dental practitioners. Roman writers satirized the itinerant tooth-pullers called dentatores or edentari, and in medieval Europe they went by a variety of names: ‘toothers’ in England, arracheurs de dents in France, cavadenti in Italy. Tooth-pullers set up shop in town marketplaces and village greens, but they seem to have done most of their business at the great fairs and markets of early modern Europe. Like other quacks, they knew how to put on a show, and the tooth-pullers of the Pont Neuf in Paris became one of the sights of the city, accompanied by dancers, comedians and monkeys, and clad in outrageous costumes that frequently included festoons of extracted teeth.

A creepy tooth-puller!

But for many, even the lurid theatrics of the tooth-pullers could not overcome their fear of extraction, a fear that led them to endure toothaches that must have seemed interminable. In December 1578, when she was forty-five years old, Elizabeth I was ‘so excessively tormented’ by a toothache that for days she could not sleep. Still she refused treatment, until the aged John Aylmer, bishop of London, stepped in and:

Persuaded her that the pain was not so much, and not at all to be dreaded; and to convince her thereof told her, she should have a sensible experience of it in himself, though he were an old man, and had not many teeth to spare; and immediately had the surgeon come over and pull out one of his teeth, perhaps a decayed one, in her majestie’s presence, which accordingly was done: and she was hereby encouraged to submit to the operation herself.

Elizabeth, Excessively Tormented

Culled from: Smile Stealers: The Fine and Foul Art of Dentistry

Morbid Mirth Du Jour!

Sometimes, just when you’re standing on the edge of the precipice, preparing to jump, someone comes along to remind you that there are still good people in this world.  Like the mysterious Coffin Man of Lake Burley, Australia.  (Thanks to Michael Marano for the link.)

Mystery over man dressed as undertaker paddling coffin across lake

Today’s Badly Fed Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

During World War II, the management of the Concordia lignite mine at Nachterstedt in the Magdeburg district of Germany used a large number of Soviet POWs to replace the German members of its workforce who had been drafted into the Wehrmacht.  (Yeah, I had to look up “lignite” too: “Lignite, often referred to as brown coal, is a soft brown combustible sedimentary rock formed from naturally compressed peat.” – DeSpair)  The first 200 prisoners were assigned to the mine in September and October 1941 from Stalag XI C (311) at Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. At times, more than 300 Soviet POWs worked at the Concordia colliery and mostly performed physically strenuous excavation, construction and track-laying tasks.

Soviet prisoners pausing for rations in Poland, 1943.

The Soviet POWs were already in very poor physical condition when they arrived in Nachterstedt. Despite this, the rations they received were smaller than those given to POWs from other countries who also had to work in mining. They were so badly fed and in such poor health that at least 45 Soviet POWs died in January 1942 alone, most of them from malnutrition  and physical exhaustion.

In February 1942, the mine’s management asked the physician Dr. Mehl to compile a report on the health and work performance of the Soviet POWs working at Concordia. The doctor concluded that the many death at the Nachterstedt work detail were due to malnutrition and not a lack of hygiene at the camp or other wrongdoing on the part of the company.

Around 150 Soviet POWs died at the Nachterstedt work detail between 1941 and 1945.

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

Vintage Poem Du Jour!

Here’s a lovely poem by Mrs. Elizabeth Turner culled from One Thousand Poems for Children (1903).  I love a happy ending!

This image actually lacks the final verse, which is a bit anti-climactic:

Alas! had Tommy understood
That fruit in lanes is seldom good,
He might have walked with little Jane
Again along the shady lane.

(Well, at least the male was blamed for eating the fruit this time!)

Image culled from the fabulous Strange Company Facebook page.

Today’s Peculiar Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Englishman George Joseph Smith was known as the “Brides in the Bath” murderer for his habit of drowning his wives in the tub in order to collect on their life insurance. Smith vehemently proclaimed his innocence, leaping up during his trial and shouting, “I am not a murderer, though I may be a bit peculiar!” The jury didn’t buy it, at least the first part. He was hanged on Friday, August 13, 1915.

George Joseph Smith, acting with peculiarity!

Culled from: The A to Z Encyclopedia of Serial Killers

Okay, I need to make a shirt that says, “I am not a murderer, though I may be a bit peculiar!”

Dark Stock Photos!

Who knew stock photos could be so much fun?

Dark Stock Photos

Today’s Bankrobbing Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Today we begin a two-part series on the Suburban Bonnie and Clyde – bankrobbers from 1990’s Chicagoland.

In 1991 the the Chicago banking community was under siege. An unprecedented ninety-two stickups had occurred in the six-county metro area during the preceding twelve months, setting new standards, while the FBI and various suburban task forces doggedly pressed on.

Married couple Jeffrey and Jill Erickson were responsible for at least eight of these daring daylight bank heists beginning in January 1990 and continuing right up until the fateful moment on December 16, 1991, when Jeffrey was nabbed by FBI agents.

Erickson was seated in a stolen Mazda in a shopping plaza where Wise Road and Irving Park intersect at the south end of Schaumburg, that vast, unchecked suburban “mall sprawl” northwest of O’Hare Airport. The Erickson’s two-year crime spree, which would end in murder and suicide, brought to mind similar exploits of the famous southwestern “Dustbowl” desperadoes, Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow.

Jeff Erickson, an “all-American” boy from Morton Grove, Illinois, was an ex-marine who had served briefly as an auxiliary police officer in suburban Rosemont and Hoffman Estates from 1985 until 1987. Erickson was a uniform-and-gun nut, obsessed with motorcycles and firepower, but his departmental evaluations on his last job were substandard, forcing his resignation.

One shudders to think just how many other psychopaths with gun fetishes manage to slip through the testing safeguards and wind up out on the street in uniform. [I think we’re beginning to know! – DeSpair]

And yet, while it seemed completely out of character for this type of individual to open a used book store and capably represent himself before a cerebral clientele of bibliophiles and Book-of-the-Month aficionados, Erickson was warmly regarded by his customers as well versed in the classics and possessing a superior mind.

Erickson closed his store on Mondays – setting aside that one day of the week to rob banks. He disguised himself with a phony beard, drove stolen Japanese imports, carried an assault rifle into the poorly guarded suburban banks, and threatened to kill everyone in sight who failed to cooperate. His adoring wife, Jill, whom he affectionately referred to as “Gorgeous,” drove the backup getaway car.

The Suburban Bonnie and Clyde

The two of them were believed to have forged a “death pact.” They would not be taken alive to face the sting of incarceration, and they had vowed to end their own lives if they were cornered by police or placed in a tight situation where escape was not possible.

Dubbed the “suburban Bonnie and Clyde” by reporters, the thrill-seeking Ericksons undoubtedly reveled in all of the publicity and media attention until the long arm of the law literally reached out and grabbed Jeffery by the collar, just before he could carry out his next bank job. FBI and suburban law enforcement had been tracking the couple’s movements for weeks. A task force had been formed, and they had kept Erickson’s Hanover Park apartment under twenty-four-hour surveillance.

Observing the arrest of her husband while seated behind the wheel of a battered Ford Econoline van, Jill Erickson whirled the vehicle around, deciding to make a run for it. She led the cops on a wild ten-mile car chase through the Northwest and Western suburbs, firing over her shoulder as she plowed through dense traffic with the Feds and as many as forty patrol cars in hot pursuit. The Chase ended at Bear Flag Drive, a residential subdivision in Hanover Park.

Her tire shot out, and struck by police gunfire, Jill realized the hopelessness of her situation. Surrender was not an option. She turned the weapon on herself. It was lights out for the “Yuppie Bonnie Parker.” She died at Humana Hospital that night.

[To Be Continued]

Culled from: Return Again to the Scene of the Crime

Morbid Mirth Du Jour!

What a fantastic idea!

And, as Eleanor points out, with only a little modification…  hmmmm…

Culled from the February 1932 issue of Popular Science.