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This is exactly right. Oh, and welcome to my favorite murder, the many so many told that story, Hearts Star, that's Karen Kilgariff and these are in and remorse laying all the way down flat in his area. And these are your letters that you've sent us that are where we appreciate so much. I got so many good ones this week that I just I just love them. I'll read them next week. They were so good. Everybody's good at it now.
Everybody knows how to tell a story, huh? I mean, that's just kind of a natural thing. Most people know how to tell a story. People are getting good at injecting their own personality to write a good.
I'm writing an email maybe aerosolizing. Yeah. Do you want to go first?
This week's instructions to get in there. You hit. What a great idea. OK, this just says hello. Hello. Hello. I'm writing to you from my in-laws house in southern Oregon. Since I'm working remotely due to covid, my husband and I decided to leave Los Angeles for a while and hunker down up here. It's been so great to have a change of scenery in this beautiful area. I can bet every time I come here to visit my husband's hometown near Ashland, Oregon, we always talk about the unsolved murder that happened almost ten years ago.
At the time, my husband was attending college at Southern Oregon University, which is located in Ashland, home of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Yes, I went there when I was twelve and it changed my life.
Yeah, yeah. It was amazing. Horrible.
It feels pretty magical in that town. Lots of trees, little squirrels, locals on bikes and cute shops to walk around. So the story goes. In November 2011, a young man named David Grub's was heading home from a shift at a local grocery store just a few blocks away from the outdoor theater where the Shakespeare actors perform, often in elaborate costumes and props. Swords for fighting on stage. As darkness fell that night, the 23 year old, who was walking home on the bike path was brutally attacked.
When someone came up upon his body, they discovered his head was nearly chopped off upon an official investigation. The autopsy revealed that David died of sharp force trauma from a finely honed blade longer than a typical knife, the popular theory being that he was decapitated with a sword smashed in. Police have worked on this case for years and still don't have the answer to who killed David. The connection between the Shakespeare Festival and the possible use of a sword as the weapon is not confirmed, but certainly has painted a haunting legend around his murder.
It's so sad. I really can't imagine such a brutal act of violence happening to anyone I love in case this ends up being read. Crime Stoppers of Southern Oregon would love to hear tips. Anyone may have. I have. Oh yeah, right. That's good to know. Shakespeare Festival. I have no affiliation except that my heart breaks every time we drive through Ashlynn. And I remember the story of David. I've read that police are still searching for any witnesses, details or knowledge that isn't that hasn't yet been reported.
Thanks for sharing the amazing stories of your listeners. I learned such interesting things each week and I'm grateful for this consistent source of joy and curiosity. Stay sexy and stay far away from Saud's and there's no name. Now, can you just read again what year that crime took place so that if anybody does have a memory or something, they can call to Crimestoppers of southern Oregon and give information? Yes, it was 2011 and it sounds like the Shakespeare Festival must have been going on.
If not, you mean summertime. Yeah. Summertime 2011. Yeah. Or that's not for sure. I don't write, but it was summer because we went there and didn't get out of school yet I'm pretty sure. And his name was David Grub's G.R., UBS, if you want to look it up.
David Grubbed. Yeah. Wow.
So that's and it's so true that town is very quaint and everything about it is very delightful and and almost whimsical.
So the idea that there was just a just a terribly violent murder is is horrible. OK, this year we're going to stay in Oregon for this. My first hometown here. Awesome. Oregon the.
Well, I'm not going to read you the subject line. It just says at the beginning, you know who you are.
Love it. Well done. Love it.
And then in the late 1970s, early 1980s, I lived and went to college in Portland, Oregon, with my bf. When we needed to cut loose, we would frequent one, if not more, of the many taverns in our area.
The one that we enjoyed was the Fosset, which is the name for a bar. What the fuck? How good is that? It it had large TVs tuned tuned to football, cheap beer and a good looking bartender came in. Right during that time, I shamelessly flirted with every bartender at every establishment we did in the hopes of getting either a free drink or service before everyone else at the bar. Oh, yeah. I never I have never flirted with a bartender.
I've always been like they get the top notch people at the bar. They don't want my fucking bullshit, you know, like a bartender doesn't want to date me, it's like, well, I always just figure whatever's going on with them personally. A bartender doesn't have the time to fuck around with me. Yeah.
So if I can include a witty rejoinder, is that the word Zygon in the order? That's fine, but nothing extra because they're just like, I need to make money if you those people over there. Yeah. Wait, staff and bartenders don't want your number and they'll give you yours if they want to fucking talk to you. Give you they'll give you theirs. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Don't hit on. Don't hit on. Wait staff and bartenders please.
If a way if a waiter gives you your phone number that's actually a proposal of marriage, you're actually legally dead to them if they get your number and give it to you, but you have to marry them.
Common law, California law. It's it's the law.
OK, at the faucet, at the faucet, the bartender was Randy one.
This is such an eighties picture. It's delightful.
Are there Randy's anymore? Oh, I don't know what I was thinking about. Are there Robi's anymore. My bought the cool guy was always Robby the like skateboarder. Surfer guy was sure there's no Robi's. It might might still be a family name but the McKenzies are beating out the Robbie is at least ten to one finitely.
These are not real. These are not real statistics. Everybody one night. OK, now it turns ok. One night he asked me out and all caps. For some reason I said I don't go out with people I don't know, meaning someone with no references in my life, other friends or school or co-workers, etc.. This was a complete lie. I was in my early twenties. It was the eighties. I went out with everyone.
I I've grown up right to us. Yeah, they know I did it. And there's no shame because everybody does it. And they did it with our cell phones and Google. So they did it. They fucking had to learn how to do it.
That was the other piece too. If you did go to a bar where you may have had a crush or been deeply in love with the bartender separate from your alcoholism, you would have to make it happen in that environment. There was no Facebook for him or you to stalk the other totally. If only we could go back to the time of no Facebook anyway. I miss bars, OK? He kept pressing and I kept retreating. I do not know why he was good looking.
He was as nice as could be, but dot, dot, dot. One night the phone rang. Yep.
One that had a cord and was hanging on the wall and it was Randy.
He again asked me out and I again declined. When I asked my roommate how he got our number, she told me that she gave it to him because, quote, he seemed nice and he really wanted to go out with me.
A few weeks later, I was watching the news in time to hear that the authorities had captured the five killer. And when they showed him on film next to his gold VW, I yelled, Isn't that Randy from the Fosset? You guessed it. It was none other than Randy Woodfield, the I five killer.
That's latest fucking heavy hitter. That's a big one.
And he was she had been a professional football player. He was classic part hair parted down the middle eighties.
Dude, hot. He was.
Dude, this chick needs a fucking award. She I mean, for real. OK, needless to say, any time thereafter, my roommate would ask me for a favor, parentheses, driving to the airport, helping her move babysitting. I would remind her of the time she gave our phone number. She gave our phone number to a serial killer. I join the countless other people who have thanked you for your work. You too, Steven. During the pandemic, I especially enjoy the first parts of the podcast where the two of you are just so excited to be talking to each other.
It's so true that you were talking about anything and everything. It's as if I'm sitting right there on that couch with you, too, and not quite so lonely in the pandemic. I'm also Karen Love on the Spectrum and Cardinal are fantastic. And thanks so much for those recommendations. Remember, as bad as this gets, you are not alone. Stay sexy and flirt with only certain bartenders.
Cindy, I really your your big sister who like I lived it. Let me tell you what to do. That's also crazy. Cindy is an 80s name also in and along with Randy and the rest and Robbie.
Cindy is an eighties and. Oh my God Cindy. You nailed that. Thank you so much. And holy shit like you must feel like you have a superpower you do as. Yeah. Yeah. Because you do. Because that instinct I mean I hope it has served you well in every other way because that that was an unbelievable that's that's I'm just an OK be like Cindy.
Here's our new slogan. Be like Cindy and go with your gut and don't date bartenders and be from the eighties. OK, I'm sorry. OK, it just starts ok. I was listening to last week's Minnesota, and you asked for trying to kill your sibling stories, I shot coffee out of my nose and almost drove off the road. Finally, I have something to tell Karen and Georgia. I am five years older than my sister. And to say that I was furious when she was born is an understatement.
Having been an only child up until this point, I was less than thrilled to have to share the spotlight. Well, she came out kicking and screaming. I would not stop screaming for the first nine months of her life. And then in parentheses it says colic and then it says insert I roll here. She made up the call. She was faking it. But she's like, colic isn't real. Yeah.
Nine months of this was long enough to instill in me. I need to rid the earth and our family of this wretched child A.S.A.P.. My first attempt was when she was maybe two years old. I took her upstairs and convinced her to eat a ton of children's grape Tylenol.
That's like legit attempted murder.
And then it says, I'm too old. I'm too old to have been deterred by child proof packaging. Oh, my God. But needless to say, she got through about a quarter of the bottle before my dad walked in, rushed her to the bathroom, made her vomit, and then called poison control and then says, oh, well, a few years later, being inspired by Shel Silverstein. I decided if I couldn't kill her, then I would be home her.
I got out my little red wagon and made her sit in it and had and made a sign out of cardboard. That red one sister for sale. Twenty five cents. I sat on my lawn chair and waited. We lived in a quiet cul de sac with no real traffic, so I didn't have any takers. Our grandmother lived across the street from us at the time. She called my mom and then came out of her house, paid me a quarter and then took my sister with her.
At least I made a profit on that attempts.
Oh yeah. Finally I figured if my parents got mad enough at her, they would get rid of her for me. So after my mom's brand new expensive drapes got delivered and installed a home, I snuck into the living room.
I cut a big hole in the corner of the drapes and fucking we had to get drapes put in the house. That shit is not fucking cheap. It's ridiculous. A hell of expensive. It's a fucking scam. OK, yeah, they look beautiful. OK then. I then planted the scissors in her bedroom and waited. My mother was so livid I thought she would have a stroke. I simply replied Beth did it and then proceeded to find the evidence in her room.
For the first time in my life, my mom, believe me and my sister was in trouble. Not a huge deal. And she was only four, but it was a win in my book. I carried the secret with me for thirty five years until I finally admitted at a family dinner that it had been me that had cut those drapes all those years before and had never been more thrilled than to have gotten away with it.
Now I am an upstanding, for the most part, citizen, mother of two boys, true crime addict who has never felt the need to frame my sister or anyone else again. But my stories are legendary in our family, and whenever a friend of my sister meets me, they say, Oh, you're the one who tried to kill her. Yep. Needless to say, after all of my countless torturing of my sister, my parents never felt the need to have more children.
Yeah. Love you both so much. And you were the glue holding this epic show of a world together for me. Stay sexy and don't try to sell your sister in front of your grandparents house. Kate.
Kate. Oh, my. It makes me feel a little better about my sister. I don't think she tried to kill me, you know. Yeah, you'd remember. I bet. Or yeah. You would have buried it deep either way. Either way, that's so hilarious.
I also love that she I mean, each thing is more devious than the last. I think the sales one is the lightest. Yeah. I think straight up trying to poison her. Well is it really dark. But then the like the real Hitchcockian set up of the drapes unnerves me deeply.
Then the fact that she didn't go oh when we turned twenty one I'm going to cop. Did you read it.
Fucking thirty five years. I love it.
I'd like to hear from Beth. Yes. Wait is that her sister Beth. Let's hear about side of this. Let's hear Beth side of this for sure because she's like oh I was hospitalized long ago. I've been in a straitjacket. Actually wasn't funny actually there is no Beth. This was an only child.
OK, again, I don't want to read you the subject line, even though it's good hail. New York in the seventies was rough. The son of Sam was on a rampage. Vietnam was happening. And honestly, serial killers were really coming to the forefront everywhere. So shit was not OK. People also got into the habit of making phone calls to random numbers and breathing heavily into the receiver in order to get off sexually. I mean, I don't want to yuck someone else's.
Oh, my God. That is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard, don't you think?
Someone else's else's. I love that. Do you hate it? No, I love it. I love it. But consent translates even through phone lines.
Yes, but it's really what it's all about. OK. Anyway, anyways, my mom, her brother and her mom, Elaine, were living on Staten Island and my grandpa was serving in Vietnam as an Army chaplain. So she was feeling pretty vulnerable as she was all alone with two young kids in the same state that a lot of crazy stuff was happening in. These calls were coming in on a near daily basis, and it was pretty upsetting it as well.
Well, Elaine was fed up with these deviants, so she came up with an action plan. It was so simple and effective, she would answer the phone and immediately blow a regulation coach's whistle loudly as she could into the receiver.
That's genius. Genius.
And she would keep blowing the whistle until the genius. It's it's such a quick, easy solution. She would keep this whistle next to the phone. So it always was on standby. My mom said that she would be playing outside with her brother and they would just randomly hear the whistle blower and they knew Elaine was causing some hearing damage to some immature individual's ears and really killing some people's vibes. My grandma was such a strong woman and she went through so much in her lifetime.
She taught me the value of kindness and how to be a strong woman myself. She passed away in 2004 from cancer and she has been missed so dearly. On my wedding day this past March, right before covid hit, I was given her wedding ring to wear as my something old that got me back, got me good.
And knowing that she was there with me made the day even more memorable. It was even more meaningful as my grandpa, her husband married my husband and I. Oh, because he was the Army chaplain.
Yeah. Oh he made it through Vietnam.
Oh thank God. When he looked down at that ring he tearfully expressed how proud she would be of us and that he misses her every day. I hope this story gives you some hope that love does exist even in this crazy, unpredictable world. I love you all so much. Thank you for all you do as DGM. Heather from Colorado. P.S. Please say something nice or give some good news to a teacher if you know one. We could really use some encouragement right now.
D That's beautiful. Oh, Heather. Oh Heather. Oh, touching. That was great. So touching. The only thing that could have made that better, she looked down and she was given her regulation.
Coaches, whistle grandmothers, coaches what it's like you're like your now husband and wife and he puts the coach the whistle around her neck like a necklace, you know, even around both of their necks.
So they're trash their heads or trapped together. And then he whistles in both of their ears. This is what love it's like. It's exciting and painful. Deafening love is deafening. You know, it's real when you can't hear and your panic is beautiful.
That was great. In 2012, a 72 year old man named Samuel Little was charged with three Los Angeles murders dating back to the 1980s.
So we finally got to where we were going. The crowd at Liverpool roar after only one appeal.
But since then, it's become clear he is the most prolific serial killer in the United States has ever seen, 93 victims, 19 states. Samuel Little has become infamous, but his victims, some of whom remain unidentified, are stuck in the shadows. It's time for that to change.
My experience in working with some of the victims families is that he was dead wrong then we're were. They were very loved and their families were hurting.
The Fall Line presents a special limited series. The victims of Samuel Little will cover both solved and unsolved Southeastern cases and tell you how you can help the victims. Still waiting for justice, featuring rare interrogation tape, FBI interviews and in depth detail. This is a series you won't want to miss. Episodes begin on September 16th from Exactly Right Network. Find us on Stitcher Apple podcast or wherever you listen. All right, my last one is about treasure from action, and it's an action packed story to boot, a treasure action, part of the story.
I can't get enough of these action. Oh, and the photo of the woman from last week's action park story where she hid her face at the bottom of the pool and and her dad, like, took photos of it. Oh, yeah. Got the photo. So, Stephen, can we put that in the Instagram or Twitter of this week's episode? Just remind me. Oh, that's great. Yeah, it's fucking swollen. OK, treasure.
Hmm. Hi. I thought I missed my window to send you my action park story, but it seems that that window will never close for you till we broke that wall open. There's not even a window anymore.
Right. So here goes. In the mid 80s, two of my older cousins spent their summers lifeguarding at the wave pool at Action Park, a.k.a. the grave pool.
And it's true, three fucking people died in it. No, I still haven't watched the documentary, too. Sorry. No, no, that's OK. But I mean, fuck Jesus. Yeah, it's crazy. Wijffels terrify me. And this one is this will make you. It's terrifying. OK, yeah, it's horrible. The Christmas after their first summer action park, their family of six kids and my aunt and uncle came to visit my family in New Hampshire for Christmas.
At our house, there were three of us kids, plus my mom and grandmother. So and we were all together is pretty chaotic and festive. It was not tradition for us cousins to give anyone gifts. At Christmas, we left all the gifting to the adults. So ah, but that Christmas we all had mysterious packages under the tree that were signed from our cousins, the lifeguard's. Oh, when we opened the packages they all had watches in them wrapped in tissue paper.
Any guesses where the watches came from.
It turns out that every night after the guests left Action Park and they turned the waves off all 12 of the lifeguards who are on duty. And then it said, that's right. Twelve oh tells you how fucking dangerous it was. Yeah. What race down to the bottom of the pool where the giant sucking filters were and fish out all that treasure they got wallets, loose cash, jewelry, many, many wedding rings and watches upon watches.
I don't remember the details of every watch they gave out at Christmas that year, but I know that my brother and I each got a Casio calculator. Watch. Oh, shit. The bomb in my eighth grade algebra class and my grandmother got a brown swatch, which she wore well into the twins.
We loved the hell out of those watches. I don't think I need to tell you that the idea of a pool that is capable of knocking watches off of people's wrists is not cool. I have never and will never go in a fucking wave pool. And then it's SS, dgi, AGP. Stay sexy and don't go away. Pull gravity. Pull up goddamn pool. Yeah. Libbey from North Massachusetts. Wow.
Libby Oh cool. That is like Christmas shopping at the bottom of a wimple. That is like the scariest, worst story with this icing, this delicious cream cheese icing of free watches and cash.
Oh, and wedding rings. So good. Everything about that fucking theme park if you haven't seen is it called Action Park or Class Action Park? I think it's called Action Park. Let me look. And, you know, what's what's his name's in it. The comedian Chris Gethard. Chris Gothard is so funny in it. Yeah, it's class action part class action park. OK, on HBO. He says this thing at the end of it where it's like, you know, as adults, we all when we're drinking beers with our friends, we all laugh about it, but we also all cry about it.
Our therapist's office.
Yeah, it's the neglect is is real.
It's the height of it was the eighties, right. The early mid eighties. Everybody cared about like it was like now we're into Wall Street and you kids can go fuck yourself.
Yes or no. You weren't you weren't precious yet.
We weren't precious. No, we weren't. We weren't precious in the eyes of God or our parents. OK, I'm going to end with a psychic and story fun. Hey, KMG. Growing up, my dad told me lots of stories about my great aunt May. I also had a great aunt May. She had she was a San Francisco native, but she had a weird accent that many San Francisco natives have that makes them sound like they're from New York.
So she she was big into making she's being into crafts and she would make a lot of pies. And she told my dad one time and he does it every time because my dad loves making apple pie. I am. I am. I told him the secret is to keep things in the middle.
Apparently, that's event the center of the pie.
Oh, yeah. So that thing in the middle has a place to escape and it doesn't get soggy. Oh, I love that. I am OK. But we're back to this Aunt McKay. She was well known for her son. Of humor, her outrageous fashion sense parentheses, we're talking multiple layers of diamond necklaces and rings, elías close parentheses and the fact that she had a knack for predicting the future in her childhood.
She had been a well-wisher. That's someone who holds a branch or some shit and can tell you where to dig for water. She made her fortune repeatedly winning at horse races. She won so much, in fact, that not her nor her four husbands. And then again, in parentheses, antima may seem to always pick well-off men that died young. Oh, OK. Well, she knew the future. Close parentheses never had to work to support the family.
On top of all that, whenever she was bored, she would read tea leaves for her friends and neighbors in exchange for cash or juicy gossip about the people she hated. Yes, as my father tells it, all these psychic charades came to a stop when she was in her mid 30s and her best friend Anna came over for a tea leaf reading antima, picked up Anna's cup to read it, and abruptly stopped insisting that she wasn't feeling well and sending Anna home without telling her what the leaves had said.
The second, her best friend was out the door. She called my grandmother and told her, and I quote, Jean, there was nothing but death in that goddamn cup, as it turns out, on her way home from Mama's house, Anna got into a terrible car accident. And less than 20 minutes after leaving, she died.
Atmeh had a lot of regret about not telling Anna her fortune and even more for sending her out of the house to her death. After that day, she quit reading tea leaves, although she still went to the racetrack every every week to, quote, keep up the lifestyle that she was accustomed to.
Got to have hobbies and then you're older. A freaky fact. Great Aunty May lived until the day I was born, May 13th, nineteen ninety four, and passed away within twenty minutes of my birth. My family likes to joke that some of her psychic spirit lives on in me. I don't know about that because I have yet to win a fucking thing in my life. But this sentiment is very nice to think about SSD, DGM, but also just tell me what the fucking tea leaves say, Lisa.
Oh, I was hoping her name would be meh. It's funny that she was born in May and then May died in May.
Yeah. Oh that's right. That's I know. Crazy. Isn't that good. I love the I think there's lots more stories like this of people who are psychic and they just don't tell other people you don't want to be bothered and they don't want to be burdened with that information, but they have it. And then I feel like everyone's waiting for you to be wrong, to like people want to prove you wrong. Once you once you say that you're psychic, you know.
Right. Yes, for sure. Right. Good batch. That's good. I know that was a good chunk of stories for everybody. That's a good characters in that one. There was Cindy and Robbie send us no matter what age you are.
Yeah. Send us your stories. No matter what age you are, there's no age limit on to ride this wave pool. That's right. Of hometowns. Yeah. You're tall enough. Get on this ride. Do you have other, like horror stories from from where they call action park, not action park, but like amusement parks and stuff? Oh, any amusement parks. Sure. Tell us the amusement park story. I know someone. When I was little, I found out they got killed on Space Mountain at Disneyland and I.
I refused to ride it until it's like a teenager. It's terrible. My God. Are they one of the people that stood up on Space Mountain? I think the bar just wasn't down all the way and they fucking flew out and it's pitch black in there. It's terrifying. It's horrible. You feel like you're going faster than you are. It's terrifying.
And I just burst into tears as I said that my my throat, my throat felt weird. And then I'm like, I don't like that. Right. I don't like that. Right. All right.
Well, yeah, right. To us and and, you know, be cool, stay and stay sexy and don't get murdered. Good bye, Elvis.
You want a cookie?