In February 1932, a twenty-year-old Bostonian named Elizabeth Barrett Cook was sailing in the steamer Chinese Prince from Naples to Gibraltar.  However, when she received a cablegram from a Helen James, announcing the death of Cook’s fiancé, St. George Arnold, the young woman naturally planned to head home as soon as possible, although the message, rather oddly, told her “on no account” to return to America.

She never made it.  Soon after she received the tragic news, she fell ill, and soon afterward was found dead in her cabin, with the cable lying beside her.

And here the story turns from mere tragedy to dizzying insanity.  It soon transpired that the cable was a hoax.  No one in the Cook family had ever heard of any “Helen James.”  And Mr. Arnold was alive and in perfect health.  It was also discovered that this was not the first time Miss Cook had been the target of such a cruel stunt.  Found among her papers was another cable she had received the previous June, alerting her to the serious illness of her mother.  That statement had been another ghoulish fiction.

How did this young woman die so suddenly, you may be wondering?  Good question.  Some reports said traces of a sleeping drug were found in her system, indicating either accidental or deliberate overdose.  Other reports discount this, saying she died of pneumonia.  An autopsy was performed, but it was unable to show the cause of Cook's death.  However, no sign of drugs were found in her organs.

Who sent the sadistic “joke” cablegrams?  You tell me.  A theory was floated at the time that, out of a peculiar sense for the dramatic, Miss Cook sent the messages to herself.  The Boston Post ran a story alleging that on a previous cruise, Cook had sent herself a fake telegram announcing the death of her mythical sweetheart, “Malcolm,” after which she staged a melodramatic scene threatening suicide.  

Many people are fond of hoaxing others, but hoaxing yourself would be something of a first.  

"Sheboygan Press," February 24, 1932, via Newspapers.com

The “Post” alluded to reports that sleeping pills had been found in her cabin, and hinted that Cook had used them to stage what she intended to be a fake suicide attempt that, unfortunately, proved to be more realistic than she had expected.  According to one story, it was discovered that the bogus messages were not cablegrams, but telegrams that had been sent from Italy, which suggested she had sent them from Naples just before boarding the “Chinese Prince.”  However, as far as I can tell this was never corroborated.  Having only the conflicting contemporary news stories to go by, it is hard to tell how much of what they printed was solid fact or fanciful fiction.

An intriguing detail was that it was well-known that Cook was an heiress.  The very next year, she was due to receive two legacies that would have made her an extremely wealthy young woman.  It was never made clear who would receive this money in the event of her death.  It is impossible to tell what, if any, connection this had to her strange demise.

If there was any solid resolution to this peculiar case, it evidently was never disclosed.

Via Newspapers.com

This is one of those odd news items that is difficult to place in any of the usual categories.  The “Lancaster (Pennsylvania) Examiner,” August 25, 1875:

The Reading Eagle, of Wednesday, contains the following queer and quaint details of a strange affair, to which, it says, Mr. Jacob S. Peters, of Millersville, was an eyewitness. We give the article entire, and let it go for what it is worth, viz : 

For the past eight or ten days, the cries of a child have been heard night after night, near the road leading from Morgantown to Waynesburg. A few nights since, a party crossing the mountain saw a child near the top of a large tree, in a basket.

They heard it cry, and then the basket, in which the supposed child was, disappeared. There is a great mystery connected with the affair. Quite a number of persons have visited the place.

An Eagle correspondent writing from Morgantown sends the following strange account of the affair, which reads like a weird story of legerdemain, or like a romance of hobgoblins or witches.

The letter reads as follows: Last evening I read in the Eagle an account of a singular noise at the Ringing Rocks, near Pottstown, but we have a something on the summit of the Welsh Mountain, midway between Morgantown and Waynesburg, and about one-fourth of a mile in from the main road connecting the above places. For the past two weeks, the cries of a child could be heard by persons passing along the road, and at first nothing was thought of it, but on Sunday night last, as Robert Gorman, residing north of Downingtown, in company with another gentleman and two ladies were passing the point, the cries became heartrending, and they thought someone was treating a child shamefully. Mr. Gorman proposed to his friend to walk into the woods and ascertain the cause, the ladies to remain in the carriage. As Mr. G. thought it only a short distance to the house the child was thought to be in, the ladies concluded to go with the gentlemen, and the horses were secured to a tree, and the party started, the cries still increasing. After walking a short distance, one of the ladies, a Miss Ellie Parker, who resides near Paoli, slopped suddenly, and told the party to look up near the top of a large tree just in front of them, and there was seen a baby seated in a small basket, swinging back and forth, with but faint cries. The ladies became frightened at the sight, and begged one of the gentlemen to try and get up in the tree and bring the child down. The distance up to the first limb was some twenty feet, and the gentlemen found it impossible to get up.

While the conversation was going on as to how the child could be brought down, the child gave one scream, and as if by magic, the basket fell half the distance to the ground, causing the ladies to scream, and the entire party to be more or less frightened. In less time than it takes to write this, the basket and its contents were back in its place again, the child crying all the time. This movement struck terror into the party. They watched the movements of the basket and saw the baby plainly for five minutes afterwards, and all at once, the basket with its contents disappeared. The party states that the whole affair is one of the greatest mysteries they have ever met with.

Mr. Gorman says it was child's play, but it was nevertheless a reality. The ladies state that the child was alive, for they saw it plainly move when it fell down toward them. On Monday evening a party numbering some twenty repaired to the place, and all saw the same thing. What it is is a grand mystery, as too many reliable persons saw it to be a hoax.

Mr. J. S. Peters, residing south of Lancaster city, was one of the party, on Monday night, and he says he saw the baby in the basket, saw it move, and saw the falling and the disappearance. How long this will continue I am unable to say.

A number from Churchtown are going over on Thursday night to witness the mystery. If the affair can be explained I will write you again.

It was later “explained” that the strange phenomenon was an elaborate prank executed by a “young lady in the neighborhood” who happened to be a ventriloquist, but, frankly, that reminds me of all the poltergeist cases that wind up being blamed on the nearest available adolescent or maidservant.

I suppose that, deep down, all of us fantasize about an unexpected fortune falling effortlessly into our laps.  Usually such thoughts stay harmless daydreams.  However, every now and then, someone is offered what appears to be the chance to make such dreams real.  Unfortunately, such an opportunity generally causes these people to take their common sense and throw it into an elevator shaft, with the result that what they most often get is not wealth, but mayhem.

On the bright side, these people tend to find their way into my blog.

Our story revolves around two Kentuckians, Phil Arnold and his cousin John Slack.  In the mid-19th century, the pair went to California to try their luck at prospecting.  They had some success, at one point selling a claim for $50,000.  One day in February 1872, the cousins entered the Bank of California in San Francisco.  Arnold asked a teller to deposit a small leather pouch, just for safekeeping.  The teller agreed, but said he would need to see the contents in order to write a receipt.  The man was stunned to learn that the pouch contained a small fortune in uncut diamonds, rubies, and garnets.

After Arnold and Slack left the bank, the teller told the bank’s president, William C. Ralston, about this unusual deposit.  Ralston assumed their clients had discovered a diamond mine, and, sensing an enticing business opportunity, sent bank employees to track down Arnold and Slack to discuss a possible collaboration.

When the Kentuckians were seated in Ralston’s office, the banker asked about the gems.  The prospectors told him they came from a mine they had discovered in Arizona.  The site held promise of spectacular wealth, but unfortunately, it was located in territory controlled by hostile Apaches.  Ralston informed them that he knew of a group of financiers who were willing to brave the risks and buy the mine from them.  Arnold and Slack expressed cautious interest.  They said they were willing to escort an expert of Ralston’s choosing to inspect the mine, but only if the man agreed to travel to and from the mine blindfolded.  After all, it would scarcely do to have the mine’s exact location become known too soon.  Ralston agreed.

Before long, Ralston’s representative, a miner named David Colton, hit the road with the Kentuckians.  The trio soon arrived in Butte, Montana.  Arnold and Slack explained to Colton that the mine was really in Colorado--they just said it was in Arizona to guard against claim jumpers.  Their journey ended at a mesa in Jackson County, where Colton was finally allowed to remove his blindfold.  His companions invited the “expert” to dig around and see what he might find.

Colton began scooping out sand with his hands.  Imagine his delight when, before long, he uncovered a handful of uncut diamonds.  The Kentuckians suggested that he keep two of the diamonds to be examined.  After he selected two of the gems, he was again blindfolded and led back to San Francisco, no doubt with visions of dollar signs dancing in his head for the entire trip.

The two diamonds were examined by the leading jewelers Sloan’s and Tiffany’s.  Both companies confirmed they were authentic.

Ralston and his fellow financiers wanted to send a second “expert,” Henry Janin, to examine the mine.  They pointed out that while Colton was an experienced gold miner, Janin was a professional mining engineer with a reputation for never having made a mistake.  Arnold and Slack cheerfully agreed.

The expedition with Janin was identical to the one with Colton.  Blindfold.  Mesa.  Dig.  Jackpot!  Janin figured that the mesa could be worth $5 million dollars per acre, and if the land around it was as fruitful, the value could be in the millions.  Naturally, he did not mention these estimates to Arnold and Slack.

When Ralston and his associates heard Janin’s report, they secretly invested $10 million to create the “San Francisco and New York Mining and Commercial Company.”  It had 100,000 shares of stock, none of which was offered to the public.  (Among the investors were Horace Greeley, Charles Tiffany, Nathan Rothschild, and several leading Union Civil War Generals.)

Ralston offered the cousins $600,000 for the mine.  Arnold and Slack did some indignant grumbling about the ridiculously low price, but then, without waiting too long, accepted.  No sooner was the money in their hands that they fled back home to Kentucky.  They left no forwarding address.

Before Ralston’s company could start mining the land, another firm managed to deduce the location of the mesa and began digging.  The more they dug, the more appalled they got.  It soon became clear that the only diamonds in the area were the ones planted there by Arnold and Slack.  A government geologist, Clarence King, examined the area.  He found only a few stray diamonds, in places where they never could exist naturally.  He even found one in a hollow tree stump.  He also noted that the combination of minerals that the mesa supposedly yielded--four different types of diamonds, rubies, amethysts, etc.--was geologically impossible.  It was revealed that in 1871, Arnold and Slack visited Amsterdam and London, where they bought about $35,000 worth of uncut gems.  Some went into the leather pouch, and the rest were given a shallow burial in the mesa.

Ralston’s feelings can be imagined.  Few things are as distressing as thinking you have swindled someone, only to realize that the swindle was really on you.  The financial loss of paying back his investors and the Panic of 1873 combined to bankrupt him.  In 1875, Ralston escaped his troubles by drowning himself in San Francisco Bay.

William Lent, one of the investors in the bogus mine, was angry enough to sue Arnold, but Kentucky refused to extradite.  Lent went to Elizabethtown, Kentucky, where Arnold had settled, to file a civil suit, but his process servers were unable to find Arnold.  (Arnold enjoyed the protection of his townspeople, who took great pride in his ability to con some of the richest men in the land.)  After a good deal of dickering, Arnold finally agreed to pay Lent $150,000, in exchange for future legal immunity.

Arnold was an example of how, despite what we are told, crime can pay very, very well.  He used the rest of his ill-gotten gains to buy 500 acres of prime farmland, a store, and a lavish mansion on 34 acres.  He even became a banker, something that probably did not amuse the unhappy ghost of William Ralston.  In 1878, Arnold got into a business dispute with another banker, Harry Holdsworth.  On August 15, Arnold encountered Holdsworth in a saloon and beat him up.  Holdsworth returned the favor by getting a sawed-off shotgun and shooting his enemy.  The serious injuries Arnold sustained eventually led to his death from pneumonia in February 1879.  (A side note: Arnold’s mansion in Elizabethtown still stands.  It has a reputation for being haunted, but whether the ghosts are Arnold himself or the many people he gulled is unknown.)

As for John Slack, he moved to St. Louis, where he became a coffin maker.  After his company failed, Slack settled in White Oaks, New Mexico, where he continued in the coffin trade, a rich and well-respected man, until his death in 1896.  It is said that he seldom discussed his unorthodox adventures in diamond mining, but when he did, he made a point of how Ralston and his associates tried to cheat him and Arnold.  

“Now tell me,” he would say indignantly, “which group were the thieves?”

Via Newspapers.com

Imagine the rom-com this story would make.  The "Oregon Daily Journal," December 4, 1902:

Hillsboro, Ore. Nov. 29. Another ghost story, thrilling in the extreme, has come to light, this time the vicinity of Cedar Mill, this county, being the scene of the operations of this unwelcome guest. 

For two weeks past the home of William King, a farmer, has been besieged by what was supposed to be a ghost or other supernatural being. The home of Mr. King is situated about one hundred yards from a strip of timber, and during the quiet hours of the night something could be heard trying to gain an entrance to the house. Apples were thrown against the windows and pieces of wood against the doors. A systematic search failed to disclose who or what caused the disturbance. 

King one evening dressed himself in female attire and went out upon the porch, hoping to catch the wary ghost. He had no sooner approached a tub of water than a large piece of wood, which seemed to come from above, fell in the tub, completely drenching him. He returned to the house more mystified than ever, and on the following morning told his annoyances to his neighbors. 

Sheriff Sewell was appealed to, and in company with E. J. Lyons, of this city, went to the scene of the trouble late one evening last week and watched for developments. Nothing occurred while the Sheriff was on the ground, and that officer declared that it was his opinion the trouble rested with, some member of the family. The following day apples and clubs flew in abundance in broad daylight and the whole community was terrified. 

As the shades of evening began to fall the trouble increased, and a systematic search of the premises was made by an organized party of neighbors, and the longer the search was continued the more troublesome the ghost became. The cause of the disturbance, which had by this time become a nightmare to the whole community, was discovered by John King, a brother of William, about 22 years of age, the following day, when he visited the premises unknown to the family of William King. He caught Miss Jennie Seversal, a 14-year-old girl, who was staying at the home of William King, in the act of throwing apples at the house, and when he charged her with being the guilty party she broke down and made a clean confession. 

As far as can be ascertained, for the matter has been kept as quiet as possible since the discovery, Jennie had become infatuated with John King. She has been at the home of William King for about two months having come there from the Catholic school in or near Salem.  Charles King, father of William and John, recently lost his house by fire, all at this time living together.  A temporary home was provided a few miles away until a new structure could be erected. The new house was completed a short time before the supposed ghost put in an appearance and the elder King and his son, John, took up their abode therein, leaving William and his family and Jennie in the temporary home, thus separating Jennie from the object of her affection. 

The frivolous young girl conceived the idea that by terrorizing the King family and making them believe the house was haunted they would return to the home of the elder King as before, and she would once more be under the same roof with the one upon whom her affections were centered.

Paranormal outbreaks are often unfairly blamed on the nearest available adolescent, so who knows if Jennie was indeed responsible for the uproar.  If she was, I doubt if the young lady got her man in the end.  Few people want to date a poltergeist.

Con artists have forged any number of things as part of their swindles:  paintings, letters, historical documents, etc.  Pretty penny-ante stuff.  You don’t often see grifters with the imagination and think-big spirit to forge an entire country.  But at least one did.

Gregor MacGregor was born in Stirlingshire, Scotland on December 24, 1786.  If not for his subsequent career, the only notable thing one could say about him is that his great-uncle was the legendary Rob Roy.  McGregor joined the British Army when he was only 16, but he resigned in 1810 following a dispute with one of his superiors.  

Soon after his resignation, the Venezuelan revolutionary General Francisco de Miranda came to London.  Thanks to his battles against the Spanish, the English took an “enemy of my enemy is my friend” approach, and received him warmly.  De Miranda’s hero’s welcome inspired MacGregor to restart his military career in Venezuela.  Who knows what adventure he might find in a romantic foreign land?

Upon MacGregor’s arrival in Venezuela in April 1812, de Miranda appointed him to the rank of colonel.  A more personal honor came when he married a cousin of Simon Bolivar, Dona Josefa Antonia Andrea Aristeguita y Lovera.

Despite this auspicious start, MacGregor’s fighting career had mixed success.  He also managed to get on the bad side of Simon Bolivar.  To put it bluntly, Bolivar threatened to hang his new relative-by-marriage if he ever got the chance.  When this vow reached MacGregor’s ears, he wisely concluded that Venezuela was a bit hot for him at the moment, and he relocated to Cape Gracias a Dios, on the Gulf of Honduras.

In April 1820, the leader of the Mosquito Coast, King George Frederic Augustus, granted MacGregor 12,500 square miles of territory in exchange for some rum and jewelry.  King George probably felt he had come out ahead in the deal: the land was ill-suited for farming of any kind, and was not called “Mosquito” for nothing.  To this day, the land, now part of modern Honduras, contains nothing but a small, abandoned old graveyard.  And, of course, mosquitoes.

So far, MacGregor’s life was an undistinguished one.  However, when he returned to London in 1821, he began to show the true Strange Company spirit.  He was now calling himself the “Cazique of Poyais.”  He explained that “Cazique” was equivalent to “Prince,” a title granted to him by Mosquito King George.  Daffy as all this sounded, Londoners accepted his claims without question, and treated him as visiting royalty.  He was even given a formal reception by the Lord Mayor of London.

MacGregor informed Londoners that he was there to attend the coronation of George IV as the official representative of the Poyer people.  He proudly displayed a printed proclamation which he claimed had been issued to the Poyers before he left, which read in part, “I now bid you farewell for a while…I trust that through the kindness of Almighty Providence, I shall be again enabled to return amongst you, and that then it will be my pleasing duty to hail you as affectionate friends, and yours to receive me as your faithful Cazique and Father.”

And MacGregor was just getting warmed up.  He invented a Poyais constitution, commercial and banking systems, and a whole rank of honors.  He opened offices in London, Glasgow, and Edinburgh which sold land certificates for Poyais and arranged transportation for anyone who wanted to relocate there.  He also wrote a 355 page guidebook, “Sketch of the Mosquito Shore, Including the Territory of Poyais,” describing his “kingdom” as a veritable paradise: mild climate, fertile soil, full of fish and game.  Poyais’ capital, “St. Joseph” was depicted as a prosperous, cultured city of 20,000 residents with a theater, opera house, and cathedral.  To Britishers who were having a hard time getting by in their native land, Poyais sounded like an enticing opportunity for better times.

MacGregor, using the revenues of the Government of Poyais as collateral, obtained a loan of 200,000 pounds from a London bank.  He used the Bank of Scotland’s official printer to create Bank of Poyais dollar notes, which he exchanged for pounds sterling or gold.

In 1821, about 250 eager settlers arrived on the Mosquito Coast.  Their reaction when they found out from the natives that no such land as Poyais even existed is better imagined than described.  Instead of the lush Eden promised to them by the “Cazique,” they were stranded in a harsh, disease-ridden dump.  The primitive living conditions caused yellow fever and malaria to decimate the camp.  One man killed himself.  Only about 50 of the settlers made it back to Britain alive.

MacGregor was brazen--or just stupid--enough to try the exact same scam in London a few years later, although, unsurprisingly, this time around he found few takers.  In 1826, a French court tried him and several of his associates for fraud, but remarkably enough, MacGregor was acquitted.  MacGregor continued trying to sell “Poyais” land certificates as late as 1837, but by then it was clear that this particular scheme was well and truly played out.  

After his wife died in 1838, MacGregor returned to Venezuela.  He was made a divisional general of the Venezuelan army, and given a pension.  He died in Caracas in 1845, a respected citizen lauded as a “valiant champion of independence.”  If he felt any twinge of conscience about all the destitution, misery and death he had caused, he showed no sign of it.  

Although one would expect that someone with MacGregor’s history would end his days facing the business end of a gun, he died peacefully in his bed, and was buried with full military honors in Caracas Cathedral, with the president and cabinet ministers attending the funeral.

It’s a funny old world.

Via Newspapers.com

If you have a taste for the odder side of life, you have probably heard of the still-unexplained “Max Headroom” hijacking.  A similar, but less-remembered incident occurred in southern England ten years earlier, and a good time was definitely not had by all.  The Arlington Heights “Daily Herald,” December 12, 1977:

The Voice of Asteron has not been identified, as of this writing, making him the first UFV (Unidentified Flying Voice) in space-age history. Breaking in on a Southern Television evening news program with a series of bleeps, UFV announced to the world, or at least to the people in that part of England: 

“This is the voice of Asteron. I am an authorized representative of the intergalactic mission, and I have a message for the planet earth. We are beginning to enter the period of Aquarius, and there are many corrections which have to be made by earth people. 

“All your weapons of evil must be destroyed. You only have a short time to learn to live together in peace--or leave the galaxy.” 

A Southern Television spokesman, sounding rather like a TV critic, said of the impromptu substitute programming: “This is a pretty sick hoax.” 

The police found the Voice of Asteron guilty of disturbing the peace. A police spokesman complained: “Most people took it quite seriously, and some were frightened. We had to send a patrol car around to calm one elderly woman.” 

An average viewer named Rex Monger was invited to give his opinion on UFV. 

“The man seemed to suggest that he was speaking from a spacecraft traveling within the vicinity of earth,” Monger concluded. “He sounded pretty fed up with the way we are running things down here.” 

American hoax-veterans recalled Orson Welles’ “War of the Worlds” broadcast, which convinced a lot of radio listeners that New Jersey was being invaded by Martians back in 1938. Younger students of put-on thought the whole business--including the TV and police spokesmen and the man-in-the-street--bore a certain resemblance to a Monty Python script.

In all the excitement over what other people thought, nobody got around to asking: Who is the Voice of Asteron and what was he thinking? Here are a couple of guesses:

The Voice of Asteron is that awful earth-bound fellow--the practical joker. (The trouble with this theory is that if UFV was just out to scare folks, wouldn’t he have invented a more frightening request than “live together in peace,” and a more chilling punishment than “leave the galaxy”?)

The Voice of Asteron is an engineer with a lot of sophisticated equipment and an irresistible urge to test it. As the ultimate Good Buddy of the CB world, all he wanted to prove was that he could jam a network. The rest was fancy plot. 

The Voice of Asteron is a media freak--a man who has steeped himself in science fiction, seen “Network” one too many times and been carried away into staging his own events. 

The Voice of Asteron is a pacifist who has, in all earnestness, dramatized his message to attract the most attention, little realizing that his audience would pay attention to everything except what he actually said.

The voice of Asteron is a combination of all four of the above. 

In his short story “The Enormous Radio,” John Cheever imagined what it would be like if, out of one’s speaker, suddenly emerged the private conversations of apartment neighbors. Cheever’s fable gave off the curiously haunted sense of a universe out of kilter, though nothing that exceptional was said. It was the sheer unexpectedness, plus the disturbing confusion between the boundaries of public and private. The same might be said of the Voice of Asteron. One can imagine a network television commentator advocating more and bigger weapons--and causing no particular disturbance at all. The television set in the corner is the familiar monster, out of whose mouth come the most bizarre advertisements, the least credible plots, the cruelest images. Yet, if all the sponsors and staff announcers are in place, nobody blinks a fixated eye--except, of course, any aliens from outer space, who might well require a visit from their nearest intergalactic policeman to calm them down.

As was the case with the “Max Headroom” hoax, the identity of “Asteron” has never been discovered.

This Halloween ghost story with a twist appeared in the “Caledonian Mercury,” November 8, 1828.  (Via Newspapers.com)

A spiritual visitant, as was supposed, for some days lately afforded subject of wonderment to the natives of the port of Leith. In a house in the Kirkgate, there was heard the  most appalling and unearthly noises, succeeded by the tumbling-about of articles of furniture, after which a momentary, calm would ensue; but ere the inmates could set all to rights, the uproar would recommence with, increased vigour, yell following yell, and crash succeeding crash, till confusion was worse confounded in the devoted domicile. Friday se'en-night, being the high festival of spirits, witches, &c. (Halloween) the Leith ghost is said to have exceeded all former exploits. These cantrips, it is hardly necessary to add, occurred during the night; and when a neighbour, more venturous than wise, volunteered his service to assist in laying the goblin, he received a sound buffeting from an invisible but powerful arm. We have heard that ghostly advice was called in by the alarmed inmates, but without effect: for while two clergymen were engaged in devotions, they were assailed by a shower of missiles, one of which, a table knife, stuck into the floor close by them, but this of course, needs confirmation.  Certain it is, however, that crowds collected around the house where these doings were going on night after night  and the attention of the Police was at length directed to the subject. These guardians of the night were not to be frightened by deeds of darkness like ordinary daylight mortals; their presence soon laid the spirit, while their sagacity shortly discovered the mischievous goblin in the person of a female member of the house, who, in conjunction with a professor of the conjuring art, had been endeavouring to practice on the fears of her father, for a sinister purpose in which she and her assistant were mutually interested. She has, we are told, been sent to jail for 30 days.

Assuming this solution to the mystery is true, and this woman wasn’t being used as a scapegoat for a genuine poltergeist infestation, I'd like to know what that “sinister purpose” was.

Via Newspapers.com

Late in 1889, a frightfully mangled corpse was found buried in a shallow grave on the banks of Lake Johanna, near St. Paul, Minnesota.  It was buried so carelessly, one arm was sticking above ground.  The words “A traitor” were carved on it.  It seemed obvious that this unidentified person had been murdered in a particularly ghastly fashion, and the entire community was struck with horror at the thought of some fiend lurking in their midst.  The whole awful business remained a mystery until a report published in the November 12, 1889 issue of the “Saint Paul Globe” published the “story behind the story.”  And quite a story it was.

The secret is out at last. The "victim" of the Lake Johanna mystery may lay his weary bones to rest, secure in the conviction that there is no stern necessity for his wraith to perambulate the earth in a search for vengeance on the heads of foul murderers. It is only a poor, harmless cadaver, after all. 

The Globe is in possession of the story in its entirety. As a result those persons who have been wrongfully blaming Sheriff Bean, Coroner Quinnor, or County Attorney Euan will feel it their duty to humbly ask for pardon. No crime has been committed, and no law--not even the health law--violated. These officials, who have the whole story, were entirely right in all that they did, and simply displayed good judgment in sawing wood and doing nothing. The story is furnished by two reputable physicians of St. Paul and can be relied upon as strictly true. It is given in the language of one of them: 

THE STORY OF A STIFF. 

In the middle of the summer an unknown man was killed on one of the railroads, and the fact only chronicled in the Globe. It was the body of a tramp that was picked up, and it was conveyed to the keeping of a prominent surgeon of the city. No claim was ever made for it, and when a week later two medical students, well indorsed, applied for the body for the purposes of dissection, it was turned over to them, as the law provides. The first demonstration was made in their presence by a physician holding an official position. He dissected a portion of the thigh and groin, showing the femoral artery. That physician was myself. Afterward the body was further dissected, the brain being the especial study, and the top of the skull was removed in a not very scientific way. These students, who are the sons of reputable citizens, attend medical lectures in the fall and winter, and therefore they had completed the dissection of the body the time came for them to return East. They desired to preserve the body until spring, when they could pursue their investigations and finally mount the skeleton. Accordingly they embalmed the body in the approved style, by the advice of skilful physicians. They were directed to then enclose it in a tar barrel and bury it outside of the city limits; and this practice, bear in mind, obtains among all reputable physicians. They properly prepared the body, and then took into their confidence a young man who attended the high school, to assist in burying it. This they left to him, and he buried it safely on the banks of Lake Johanna and blazed a neighboring tree to mark the spot. The students returned to school, satisfied. Thus far all was well. But this young high school man had

A TOUCH OF OLD NICK 

in him, and is an inveterate practical joker. A short time ago, actuated by his ruling propensity, he went out to Johanna and dug up the body. He says he thought of boiling down the corpse to get the skeleton, but the probabilities are he went there solely to create a sensation. He uncovered the body, mutilated it, and,after carving the sensational words on the head of the barrel, placed the arm above ground and came away and left it. I have not the slightest doubt  he did it to create just the sensation that followed.  He once went up the river, got a bag full of snakes and turned them loose in a Jackson street restaurant just for a practical joke, which shows the character of the young man.

Now, there is the whole story in a nutshell. The proceeding, aside from the 'joke' of the young fellow, was strictly honorable and legitimate. Coroner Quinn will testify that the body was in good condition, as far as the muscles were concerned, and would have kept for ten years. The students were entirely blameless, and were simply pursuing a laudable

STUDY OF ANATOMY. 

I would have made this statement sooner but for one thing. When I first learned of the discovery I could not understand why the body was in that condition, so I hunted up the high school man and got his explanation, but it was only yesterday. He would not admit any intention of a joke or sensation, and told me he left the hatchet there because it got dark so quickly that he could not find it.

There is the whole story in a nutshell. You will see at once that there was nothing wrong in the actions and intentions of the medical men, and that this howl for justice is all bosh, growing out of a want of understanding of the situation. I do not defend the pranks of the would-be joker, but give the story just as it is.

Hey, these things happen to us all.

Via Newspapers.com

Most people, I suppose, want to be remembered after they die, but not, I’d wager, by being immortalized as the Lizard Lady of Akron.  This rather gruesome case was recalled by the “Akron Beacon Journal,” on December 8, 2003:

The strange case of Lovie Herman puzzled doctors for more than a decade.

Many physicians examined the Akron native during her short, troubled life, but each diagnosis seemed to conflict with the previous one, and the treatments did little to comfort her.

The 20-year-old woman weighed less than 90 pounds even though she stood 5 feet 6 and had a hearty appetite. She suffered stomach pains, hemorrhages and occasional blackouts, and had great difficulty breathing. Her skin grew splotchy and her lips turned purple.

At one time or another, health experts suggested that the mystery illness might be tuberculosis or typhoid fever or heart trouble or a respiratory problem.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

When Herman lost her struggle shortly after midnight on Dec. 9, 1910, the reported cause of death jolted the medical community and sent a shock wave through Northeast Ohio.

It was the stuff of nightmares.

Dr. Alex J. McIntosh, Herman's attending physician, certified that his patient had succumbed ``due to stomach trouble caused by lizards in the stomach poisoning the entire system.''

Newspaper reporters snapped to attention. Did he say lizards?

``There is absolutely no question about the lizards being found in the girl's stomach, for I have the two largest ones preserved in a bottle in my office,'' McIntosh said.

He also reported finding a batch of eggs in a tiny ball.

The green reptiles had been in her system a long time, he said. Herman's family told him that she had taken a dip in a ``cool, refreshing spring'' near Millersburg a dozen years earlier, and it must have been there that the girl accidentally swallowed tiny lizards or possibly their eggs, he said.

A few days before Herman's death, McIntosh said he had given the woman a strong dose of medicine under the assumption that she was suffering from a tapeworm. That's when, he said, she could feel the reptiles ``crawl up her throat.''

``They are each 3 ½ inches in length,'' he said. ``One lizard is as well formed as any I have ever seen. I also extracted several smaller lizards from Miss Herman's stomach, but I have kept only the two largest ones. The head, mouth and tail on both are to be plainly seen.''

The weird tale sent the local media into a feeding frenzy. Bold headlines screamed out from the front pages.

``Two Lizards In Stomach Cause Death,'' the Akron Beacon Journal reported.

``Live Lizards, For 13 Years In Girl's Stomach, Slowly Poison To Death,'' the Akron Press countered.

Lova J. Herman, known as ``Lovie'' to her family, had been sick since she was a child. She was treated at a Chicago sanitarium for suspected tuberculosis, but she wasn't cured. She then moved to Cleveland with her mother, Ellen, to be treated at Lakeside Hospital for suspected heart troubles.

McIntosh, a Cleveland physician, deduced that Herman was suffering from a parasite because of her abnormal appetite. After making the shocking discovery of the lizards, he said, he withheld food from his patient for a few days in an attempt to starve any remaining reptiles.

Then he gave her another dose of medicine.

``... Miss Herman was thought to be improving, but at midnight Thursday she died in her mother's arms just after remarking that she thought she was going to recover,'' the Akron Press reported.

Her body was transported to Akron for a funeral service at her brother Harvey Herman's home at 896 St. Clair St.

Seventeen doctors attended a postmortem exam at the house, including McIntosh, Summit County Coroner Harry S. Davidson, Dr. Clinton J. Hays of Akron, Dr. Edgar S. Menough of Cleveland and Dr. William S. Chase of Akron.

``The postmortem proved the previous diagnosis correct,'' McIntosh announced. ``The lizards had eaten almost through the walls of the stomach and a few small ones as thick as a broom straw remained.''

But he was quite alone in that professional assessment.

Other doctors harrumphed loudly at his assertions.

Davidson, who had grown up on a Jefferson County farm, had been skeptical from the start.

``We found nothing in the stomach,'' he said. ``The organ was in a congested condition, and the girl's heart was twice its normal size. The condition of her heart, I believe, was the cause of death.''

An air-breathing reptile would suffocate in the stomach and couldn't escape the gastric acids, Davidson told reporters.

``Dr. McIntosh at the postmortem failed to enlighten 16 other physicians present, except when we questioned him closely,'' he said. ``The only thing I could see was that the stomach was inflamed and congested. That could be caused by the action of the heart.''

Cuyahoga County Coroner Max A. Boesger agreed that lizards couldn't survive in a stomach for any length of time. ``Tapeworms live inside the human body because that is their natural habitat,'' he said. ``Lizards do not like being there.''

Cleveland Health Officer Clyde E. Ford flatly refused the death certificate that McIntosh had written.

``I will not accept such a certificate because I do not believe that her death was caused by poisoning produced by lizards in the stomach,'' Ford said. ``It is too absurd to discuss. It is simply impossible.''

Eli and Ellen Herman trusted their daughter's doctor, though, and voiced support for him.

``Dr. McIntosh was too interested in Lovie's recovery and showed too much kind attention during her illness to invent any mythical story,'' Ellen Herman said. ``We believe Dr. McIntosh in spite of Dr. Ford, Coroner Davidson or anyone else.''

The family may have been on the doctor's side, but medical science was not.

Confronted with allegations that his claims were false, McIntosh held a closed-door meeting at Ford's Cleveland office on Dec. 13, 1910, and completely retracted his lizard story.

The Beacon Journal buried the headline ``Lizard Story Fake'' deep inside the paper.

Today, the lizard story is regarded as an urban legend, along with similar folk tales about snakes, frogs and other frightful creatures invading the human body and wreaking havoc.

Lovie Herman's 1910 death certificate can be found on file at the Ohio Historical Society in Columbus.

The cause of death has been scribbled out.

via Newspapers.com

This odd little tale appeared in the (Hazleton, Pennsylvania) "Plain Speaker" on July 25, 1932:

Hornell, N.Y., July 25. --A bullet hole through a clergyman's hat today added another chapter to the story at the minister's old and isolated hill top home. Several other tenants have fled from the dwelling in terror of what state troopers call a "phantom rifleman."

Lieutenant Gerald Vine of the state police said the rifleman, who has never been seen, apparently wanted to keep the house unoccupied, for some reason highly important to himself.

Reverend Herman Lee Henderson took it a short time ago as a summer home. In a note he found upon the well outside the house, weighted down by a rifle bullet of large caliber, the clergyman was warned to keep away from "the well."

Troopers say the writer meant the house, too. As he read the message, which carried a threat of death, a bullet sang through the air and lifted his hat from his head.

The rifle report was faint, he said, and Lieutenant Vaine suggested that the weapon had been fired from a considerable distance and sighted by an expert marksman. Later Reverend Henderson learn ed that at least five other tenants had been frightened from the premises by the "phantom." Lieutenant Vaine said he would stay on the case until the "mystery" surrounding the house is cleared up.

Two days later, the "Princeton Clarion" carried further information:

A phantom rifleman whose whining bullets have struck terror into residents in the hills near here was sought Monday night after his latest attack on the hilltop home where a clergyman now resides.

Convinced that the solution to the mystery lies at the bottom of a well on the property occupied by the Rev. Herman Lee Henderson, county authorities prepared to siphon the hole dry while the state police searched the hill sides for the elusive gunman.

The hill country secret leaked out for the first time yesterday when the clergyman appealed to state police for protection after being fired upon last week. He occupied the isolated farm house a short time ago as a summer home, learning later that three other tenants had been driven out by the mysterious rifleman.

He received his first warning in a note he found upon the well outside the house. The message told him to keep away from "the well" and carried a threat of death. As the clergyman hurried across the fields to a neighbor two miles away, a bullet plowed through his hat. The rifle report was faint, indicating the gunman was at a considerable distance.

Lieutenant Gerald Vine of the state police, who has taken over the investigation, said the Rev. Henderson had no known enemies and was at a loss to account for the attack. One theory held by authorities is that a still may be located in the woods near the farmhouse and its operators fear detection if the place is occupied. Another theory is that a treasure may be buried at the bottom of the well.

The "Elmira Star Gazette, July 29:

Hornell Sheriff Stanley T. Hoagland's office and State Police, under Sergeant Charles G. Burnett will not say for publication that they believe the story of the Rev. Herman Lee Henderson to be a hoax. They will not admit that they suspect such to be the case for publication, as intimated as coming from them in some newspapers. Both branches of these authorities state emphatically that they have not given up the search. They still seek to determine who has been firing a gun at the minister and the motive.

Rev. Henderson resides in an almost inaccessible place on the border line between Windem Hill and Oak Hill. He lives alone and claims to have received a warning to get out. Then he was shot at.

County officials in searching the the well have come across "some junk," but also enough evidence to warn them that "something was wrong." Objects found in the-well are being analyzed by chemists, while others are being studied by criminologists.

"We can't be expected to make everything public before we determine what is what, and thereby give our hand away," one officer said. County officers assured them selves of one thing Thursday and that was, "they have been shooting at Rev. Henderson."

Former Sheriff W. B. Page, who resides about five miles from where Rev. Henderson lives, says that he has personal knowledge that not only has the minister been bothered, but other tenants as well.

"If anyone expresses the belief that Rev. Henderson does not fear for his life and does not have good reasons for it, then they have no knowledge of crime."

One of the best known women in the city, and prominent, furnished county officers with one clue they are working on. She observed a figure slink through the woods, acting in a furtive manner, and saw him enter a home nearby with a rifle in his hands.

"No one had better make any effort to discredit me in the eyes of the public," Mr. Henderson said Thursday. It was learned that after first being shot at Rev. Henderson obtained counsel from an attorney, and at his direction visited Police Chief Clarence Bailey.

By the end of July, the police, unable to find any evidence leading them to the mysterious sniper--or even any evidence the sniper really existed--abandoned their investigation. The story subsequently disappeared from the newspapers, leaving the whole matter frustratingly unresolved. If, as some of the stories suggested, Rev. Henderson was pulling everyone's leg, he picked a damn strange way of doing so. It is hard to see what the Reverend--by all accounts a sober, respectable sort--would gain by inventing such a wild tale. On the other hand, who could have wanted the house vacated, and why?

Speculate away.

Some years ago, right after my family bought our current home, we were digging a hole in the back yard to plant a tree. We were dismayed when we unearthed the skeleton of a cat, presumably the previous owner's pet. For some time after this accidental exhumation, some mighty odd things went on in the house. Our cats would suddenly stop and glare at something...something we humans couldn't see. At night, one or other of us would feel and hear what we assumed was one of the cats jumping on the bed. However, we'd look to find...no one there. Objects would mysteriously disappear, only to reappear someplace else. On one occasion, I was in the house alone. I was sitting in the living room, minding my own business, when I saw, down the hallway, a book from my bedroom being hurled across the hall into another room.

I stared for a moment, wondering how one should react to such an occurrence. Then I saw another of my books being flung in the same manner.

Now I was getting annoyed. "Stop that!" I yelled. It stopped.

Things quieted down after that, although to this day the cats periodically react as if to some intruder, and every now and then small household items unaccountably get teleported about. We have always attributed it all to the "ghost cat"--perhaps that long-dead feline offended by having his eternal rest disturbed.

The point of my little autobiographical digression is that digging up unexpected objects often has unexpected results. One of the more contentious examples of this is that peculiar case of the "Hexham Heads."

Our story opens in the spring of 1971, at the council house of the Robson family in Hexham, England. One day, eleven-year-old Colin Robson was digging in the back yard, when he came across something very strange. It was a small, round stone head with a crude human face. Soon afterward, Colin's brother Leslie unearthed a second "head." Closer examination revealed that the objects were of a sandstone-like material, and clearly man-made. The two "heads" had distinctly different faces, but were both equally sinister in appearance.

If subsequent accounts can be believed, those heads were as malevolent as they looked. As soon as the objects had been excavated, the Robsons found themselves a target for some particularly nasty poltergeist activity. Paul Screeton, a local journalist who was one of the first chroniclers of the case, reported that "The heads would turn around spontaneously, objects were broken for no apparent reason--and when the mattress on the bed of one of the Robson daughters was showered with glass, both girls moved out of their room." The family would often see a mysterious light glowing over the spot where the heads had been unearthed. Later, a "strange flower" began to grow on that same place.

Curiously, their next-door neighbors, a family named Dodd, also experienced similar paranormal persecutions, with Mrs. Dodd undergoing the most frightening event yet: one night, she encountered a tall dark figure that she could only describe as half-animal, half-human. The experience so terrified her that the town council had to move the family to another home.

After a few months of this, the Robsons decided they had had enough of those damned--in every sense of the word--heads and donated them to the Newcastle Museum. After ridding themselves of the objects, peace returned to the family home, and the Robsons essentially drift out of our story.

This was not the end of the Hexham Heads saga, however. In fact, you might say the little guys were just getting warmed up.

Museum staffers, baffled by the strange objects, gave them to a Celtic scholar and archaeologist, Dr. Anne Ross, for examination. Dr. Ross was of the opinion that the stone balls dated from around the second century AD, and were examples of ancient Celtic "head worship."

Dr. Ross soon came to the conclusion that the heads were also outstanding examples of The Weird. In 1978, she gave an interview to paranormal researcher Peter Underwood where she described her frightening and uncanny experiences with the objects. She claimed that as soon as she saw the heads, she felt a strong instinctive aversion. When she brought them into her home, very disturbing things happened. Inexplicable crashes and other sounds were heard by the family. Doors opened and slammed shut by themselves. Early one morning, Dr. Ross awoke feeling an unnatural coldness in the room. When she opened her eyes, she was horrified to see a figure very like the one described by Mrs. Dodd--a large dark creature that appeared to be half-wolf, half-man. As she saw the eerie being creeping out of the room, she felt an irresistible urge to follow it.

When she came on to the landing, she saw the figure moving down the staircase. It vaulted over the balustrade--landing with a loud thud, indicating it was more than a mere apparition--then scurried out of sight. She and her husband searched the house, without finding the creature--which must have been rather a relief--and no sign of any forced entry or exit.

A few days later, Dr. Ross and her husband made a day trip to London, leaving their 15-year-old daughter to look after her younger brother. When they arrived back in Southampton, they found the poor girl practically in hysterics. When she returned from school about an hour earlier, she entered the house only to encounter the same bizarre man/wolf creature seen by her mother. The figure was crouched half-way up the stairs. When the girl came in, it leaped over the stair rail and trotted on all fours into a back room of the house. The teenager felt the same curious fascination Dr. Ross had experienced in the creature's presence. She was compelled to go search for it upstairs, but the being had vanished. It was only then that she began to feel increasing shock and fear. Soon afterward, the other two Ross children also saw the "werewolf-like" creature.

Oddly enough, it was only at this point that Dr. Ross began to link these strange events to the mysterious stone heads in her possession. Feeling that there must be something cursed about the objects, she returned them to the museum.

"Newcastle Journal," January 14, 1974

The next academic to make a study of the heads was G.V. Robins, an inorganic chemist from the Institute of Archeology. His book "The Secret Language of Stone" proposed that minerals are able to store information in the form of electrical energy. He suspected that the Hexham Heads, which contained a high proportion of quartz crystals, were acting as something of a paranormal tape recorder, "replaying" energies from the far distant past. Although Dr. Robins was spared seeing that sinister wolflike being who had stalked previous custodians of the heads, he noted his own share of peculiar events. He felt a "stifling, breathless" atmosphere in their presence, and when he first put the heads in his car to bring them home, the auto's electrical system suddenly and mysteriously died.

Around this time, a spoilsport named Desmond Craigie stepped forward to pour some cold water on everyone's Fortean fun. Craigie, the previous occupant of the Robson home, claimed that he had carved the stones in 1956 as toys for his young daughter. Eventually, they had lost them in the garden, never to be seen again until excavated by the Robson boys. He said cheerfully, "I have been laughing my head off about these heads and I cannot understand why all this attention is being paid to them."

As far as I can tell Craigie's story is neither proved nor disproved, although it must be said that primitive-looking stone heads seems like an odd toy for a small child. But if he was telling the truth and the now-infamous heads were merely innocuous playthings, how to explain the weird phenomena experienced by three different families--particularly that black, crouching wolfman?

Unfortunately, any discussion of the Haunted Heads of Hexham is now purely theoretical, not to mention futile. In 1978, Dr. Robins gave the stones to a dowser named Frank Hyde, who wished to do some experiments with them. The heads have never been seen again, and their current whereabouts are unknown. As a matter of fact, we can say the same about Frank Hyde.

Whether the heads were a harmless amusement or cursed Celtic idols, we're probably well rid of them.

Visiting the dentist's office is an unpleasant experience even at the most routine times. Going to the restroom and sitting on the toilet, only to have a disembodied voice beneath you shout, "Move your behind, I can't see a thing!" is really too much.

If you were a patient of Dr. Karl Bachseitz, your root canal came with a few surprises.

The sixty-year-old Bachseitz had a small dental surgery in Neutraubling, Germany. Assisting him was seventeen-year-old Claudia Judenmann. Life at the office was the height of respectable dullness until one day in the spring of 1981. One of his patients leaned over her dental chair to use the spittoon.

"Shut your mouth!" the receptacle barked at her.

Several days later, another patient was in the chair, only to have the washbasin order him to "Open your mouth wider, stupid." Soon after that came the episode of the Talking Toilet.

Dr. Bachseitz and Claudia Judenmann

Once started, this phantom assistant would not shut up. Worse, the Voice (which called itself "Chopper") had a remarkably unpleasant personality. Chopper--a male voice with a guttural Bavarian accent--would continually interrupt phone calls, hurl abuse at Bachseitz and his patients, shout strings of obscenities, and even threaten Bachseitz and his wife with physical violence. The voice emanated from plug-holes, washbasins, electrical sockets, virtually everywhere in the surgery. No one ever knew where The Voice would pop up next. The one person around the surgery to be spared Chopper's wrath was Claudia. Chopper would speak to her in the most friendly manner, chatting with the girl like they were old schoolmates holding a reunion.

Understandably, the citizens of Neutraubling soon decided they'd rather take their aching teeth elsewhere. Bachseitz's practice was threatened with utter ruin, thanks to this loud-mouthed mascot he had acquired. By February 1983 the distracted dentist was driven to file a harassment suit against...well, he didn't know. Against something. He had the phone disconnected. No good. Chopper continued to use it. He brought in the police, who were understandably disconcerted by Backseitz's demands that they arrest a talking ghost. He had the surgery swept for electrical devices that might have been used to create the voice, but nothing was found. He even called in Hans Bender, the most well-known spook hunter in Germany. "Release me! Release me!" Chopper moaned to Bender. The small surgery was soon flooded with spiritualists, reporters, and simple looky-loos. "Chopper" even inspired a hit pop song.

The local public prosecutor, Elmar Fischer, came to the conclusion that "releasing" Chopper would be a criminal, not a paranormal, matter. In short, he was convinced that Bachseitz and Claudia Judenmann were, for whatever demented reason, pulling what he called "a stupid practical joke" on everyone. In March, he announced that Judenmann had been using "voice projection" to fool the world into thinking the surgery was haunted. Under interrogation, Claudia admitted guilt, stating that she invented "Chopper" to "relieve monotony at work and to get publicity."

Bachseitz, his wife Margot, and Claudia all now faced charges of "filing a false charge of defamation of character" and "bodily harm." Jundenmann was fined $380, while Bachseitz and his wife--who protested their innocence to the end--were ordered to pay $4500.

Chopper proved to be a very expensive ghost.

After their trial, Bachseitz and his wife were so mentally and emotionally drained, they checked themselves into a mental institution. Claudia changed her name and fled into obscurity.

That would seem to be that, except one can't help but think of all the poltergeist cases that have been blamed on some teenaged boy or girl. Few seemed bothered by the fact that it was never satisfactorily explained why the dentist--previously considered to be an eminently sane and respectable sort--would nearly destroy his business and make a public fool of himself, just for the sake of allowing a pointless practical joke. If this was just a silly stunt, why did Bachseitz call in the lawyers and the policemen?

And, if this was indeed nothing but a hoax, young Claudia certainly missed out on a remarkable career as a ventriloquist.

Here lies what's left of liar Joe,
A truly gifted liar,
Who could outlie the liar below
In realms of flame fire.
He lied in life, in death he lies,
And if, his lies forgiven,
He made a landing in the skies,
He plays the lyre in heaven.
~mock obituary for Joseph Mulhattan that appeared in "The Cambrian" in 1901

Anyone who has spent even a brief amount of time looking through 19th century American newspapers quickly learns that they are full of highly entertaining, but utterly fictitious tales. The annoying truth is, the "better" the story is, the more likely that it was the work of a hoaxer.

If you yourself have read any of these tales, it may interest you to know that it was very likely the product of one man: Joseph Mulhattan, perhaps the most underrated practical joker in American history.

Mulhattan was born sometime around 1853 near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. In the late 1870s, he moved to Louisville, Kentucky, where he got a job as a traveling salesman for a hardware manufacturer. He spent much of his time on the road, which, as it happened, gave him the ideal opportunity to pursue his unusual hobby. Mulhattan had a gift for writing, a warped sense of humor, and a fondness for alcohol. Combine those three qualities, and you have the perfect formula for mischief. He would enliven his travels by composing phony news items, ones that were both so outrageous and so seemingly sincere that they readily fooled people into thinking they were genuine. Mulhattan would send them off to various newspapers (most often the "Pittsburgh Leader" and the "Philadelphia Public Ledger,") secure in the knowledge that most newspapers cared little if a story was accurate, as long as it boosted circulation. Have you ever encountered old news accounts of Texas planters using monkeys to pick cotton? The petrified corpse of George Washington? The amazing crystal cave containing ancient mummies in stone coffins? The little girl who was carried away in the wind because she was holding a bundle of toy balloons? The largest meteor known to man falling in Texas? The discovery of the Star of Bethlehem? You can thank Joe Mulhattan for all of them.

Although he used various pseudonyms in his work, (most often "Orange Blossom,") word of his singular talent eventually spread, causing this once-obscure salesman to be lionized as "the greatest liar in America." In 1891, the "New York Times" described Mulhattan as "known in every city in the United States and has probably caused more trouble in newspaper offices than any other man in the country. His wild stories, written in the most plausible style, have more than once caused the special correspondents of the progressive journals of the United States to hurry from coast to coast to investigate some wonderful occurrence which only existed in the imagination of the great liar."

He even merited a place in Thomas W. Herringshaw's 1888 biographical dictionary, "Prominent Men and Women of the Day," where our hero shared space with the likes of Mark Twain, Oscar Wilde, and Czar Alexander III:

In 1884, as a joke, Joseph Mulhattan was nominated for president of the United States, by the drummers' national convention, held in Louisville. Kentucky, on the ticket of the "business men's reform patty." 

Mr. Mulhattan professed not to regard his nomination as a joke, but spoke of it quite seriously. In an interview at the time he said: "There are two hundred and fifty thousand drummers in the United States, and though we do not expect a large vote this time, we shall make a good showing, and organize for the next campaign. This year we had to do everything inside of a week,and we did not have time to get properly organized. The drummers are good canvassers, and they will s t n m p the country from Maine to California; so, you will see, we shall have lots of stump speakers on the road. We may carry a state or two, and thus throw the election into the house, and in that case the present political parties will have to compromise with us. I have always been a democrat, but now I suppose I shall have to call myself the leader of the business men's reform party. In 1888 the drummers propose to down the bummers." 

...Mr. Mulhattan is a remarkably bright and clever business man, is genial and tender-hearted, sunny of disposition, truthful, excepting in joke, and a practical philanthropist. A year ago he organized the Kentucky humane society, and has worked hard since to promote the success of this benevolent enterprise. 

He is still a bachelor, having, as he says, refused all offers of marriage and never made one. In personal appearance tins ex-presidential candidate is very pleasing. He is a small, and shapely man, about five feet five inches in height, and weighing one hundred and thirty-five pounds. His hair and beard are dark, and heavy dark eye-brows reach across his nose. He speaks with astonishing rapidity, and is quick in all movements. His blue eyes give the impression of comprehensive observation. Slanderous attacks on Mulhattan would fail of their purpose; he is a good man, and is highly esteemed wherever he is known. 

The expression "the greatest liar in America," as applied to Mr. Mulhattan, must be understood with modification. It has been given him on account of the harmless weakness with which he beguiles the monotony of selling hardware all over the country east of the Rocky mountains. "Joe Mulhattan" is known everywhere in connection with the authorship of newspaper yarns as surprisingly clever and impossible as the creations of Baron Munchausen. They are as entirely harmless as brilliant in conception and treatment, such as only a pure-minded and educated gentleman of exceptional endowments can write As a rule they have been used without remuneration to the author, who has sometimes done graver work for the magazines and newspapers for pay, and with the conscientious regard for trustworthiness which characterizes ail Mr. Mulhattan's merely business operation. Apart from these his genius takes wing and indulges in flights which amaze by the sublime range of their unveracity. Hence the epithet applied to this American Munchausen, which he never resents, because his unassailable character as a business man and good citizens gives the proper limits to its application. 

"The champion liar of America,'' a variation in phraseology which some affect in speaking of this ex-presidential candidate, is credited with the enormous feat of "laying out" Tom Ochiltree, who, with characteristic chivalry, acknowledged his defeat. Threats were made of sending him to congress in Tom's place on this account, and he had to leave the district in order to avoid what was, at that time, an undesirable consummation. The story which produced such momentous results is briefly outlined as follows: A huge meteor fell from the heavens, crushing houses, people, cattle and trees by its stupendous weight. So enormous was its ponderosity that its fall imbedded it two hundred feet in the earth, and left seventy feet in height still exposed to the light of day. This meteor was red hot, blasting everything about it, and from huge fissures in its substance proceeded sulphurous gases of baneful strength. The Fort Worth Gazette published this incredible fabrication in collusion with its author. An associated press agent read the account, in his hunger for news swallowed it, and telegraphed it to the main office in New York, from whence it was distributed the length of the United States. The morning after its universal publication, the Gazette received one hundred and fourteen telegrams of inquiry respecting the alleged phenomenon, of which several were from Europe; and letters asking for further information poured into the office for months. Even more horrifying was the alleged discovery of five skeletons found in a carriage in a lonely place on the wild prairie of Texas. This little story had the distinction of being illustrated in several weekly publications, and is most devoutly believed by a great multitude which no man can number. 

When the readers meet with a circumstantial account of hidden rivers being found here or there, of vast bodies of water deep under ground, the haunts of eyeless sharks and whales and other monsters who swim in its waters of untold depth, upon which icebergs float, he is exhorted to think of Mulhattan; and the ethnologist and geologist are warned against believing all they see in newspapers about newly discovered works by prehistoric man. 

How many persuasively written and circumstantial fabrics of lies Mr. Mulhattan has written probably only their author knows. Recent oft-repeated accounts of John Wilkes Booth having been seen in many places, which have caused great excitement,had their origin "on the road;" and that biggest of all "sells," his "great national joke," as Mulhattan calls it, was characterized with his usual felicity of expression. Everybody remembers it, and the time of its origin, 1876. A proposal was published all over the country to remove the bodies of Washington and Lincoln to the centennial exhibition, and charge fifty cents a head to view them.

Modern-day aficionados of Mulhattan's work have made a parlor game of guessing which colorful old newspaper stories are really creations of The Master. The most intriguing theory is that Mulhattan invented the disappearance of "David Lang." Lang was purportedly a resident of Gallatin, Tennessee who vanished into thin air while crossing a field. The story became a staple of various popular Fortean books (most notably Frank Edwards' "Stranger Than Science.") It is only in recent years that the tale has conclusively been established as fiction, probably inspired by Ambrose Bierce's short story, "The Difficulty of Crossing a Field." No one knows for sure who first morphed Bierce's fiction into the supposedly factual "David Lang," but for many years a rumor has persisted in Tennessee that Mulhattan was behind the hoax. If so, it's probably his most influential achievement.

It is pleasant to note that on at least one occasion, this menace to the public prints was actually a force for good. In March 1888, Mulhattan read a small news item in the "Richmond Climax." It stated that a local plasterer named Patrick Cunningham was bitten by a snake. Fortunately, he was given an antidote to rub on his wound, with the result that Cunningham "limps a little yet, but will not die, although he was scared badly enough."

A nice little human-interest story. It appealed to Mulhattan. He thought that the tale just needed that little something extra. And he was more than willing to provide it.

A few days later, the "Lexington Transcript" printed the new and improved account of Cunningham and the snakes:

Lexington, KY., March 23.--The Transcript has received the following special dispatch from Richmond, Ky.: 

"Patrick Cunningham, of this place, is death to snakes and venomous reptiles of all kinds. The snake that bites him dies in great agony, frothing at the mouth and swelling to almost double its former proportions. Cunningham has discovered a poison more deadly than that of the reptile, but harmles as a lotion for the human body, and the moment the fangs of the snake come in contact with it a powerful electrical current is generated that drives the snake's own poison through every blood vessel in its body. Blood-poisoning is the result which, with the terrible electrical shock causes almost instant death. 

Cunningham killed during last summer over 17,000 snakes in Madison county, and realized quite a handsome sum by his wonderful skill in driving these offensive reptiles from the premises of our citizens."

The article described how Cunningham had discovered the "deadly lotion." He was born near Calcutta, India, while his parents were doing department work there for the English government. "It was in the jungles of India that Cunningham discovered from the natives the formula for making the deadly lotion, so fatal to poisonous reptiles...Cunningham says he will keep on killing and driving the snakes until there is not one in the state of Kentucky, if the people will pay him for it."

The report concluded, "I have stated in this article nothing but actual facts, without the slightest attempt at exaggeration. If any of your readers doubt in the least they can address Col. Shackleford, or Shackleford & Gentry; E.W. Wiggins, of Wiggins & Best; P.M. Pope, Mr. Willis, the postmaster, or any other reputable citizen of Richmond, or Mr. Cunningham himself, and they will find the statements herein made are nothing but wonderful facts, and they will find that in the matter of exterminating snakes from the soil of old Kentucky Mr. Patrick Cunningham is indeed the modern St. Patrick."

Mulhattan at work, "The Tennessean," March 23, 1888

The story was picked up by the wire services, and soon appeared in newspapers across the country. In Iowa, it was read by the administrator of the estate of a John Cunningham, a recently-deceased relation of Patrick. As it happened, this administrator was very anxious to find the now-famed snake-slayer, but until reading this article, had no idea how to get in touch. As John's nearest living relative, Patrick stood to inherit 3,000 acres of Iowa farmland. And this felicitous twist was all thanks to Joe Mulhattan.

Unless, of course, this sequel was yet another of the old fraud's taradiddles.

It is sad to say that Mulhattan could not invent any happy ending for his own personal story. His drinking gradually got out of control, to the point where, in 1901, he spent time in an Inebriate Asylum. Two months after his release, he was arrested for stealing money from a man in a saloon. The following year, he was found drunk and unconscious outside a Louisville hotel. In 1904, he was again arrested for stealing a coat. A reporter who saw him at this time wrote with what one can only hope was gross exaggeration, "This outcast, ragged, stuttering, downcast man is the same Joseph Mulhattan who ten years ago was the richest, most popular, and best commercial traveler in the United States... The purple and fine linen of his heyday are changed to noisome rags. He sits on a rickety bench, his smeared face in his dirty hands, his bleary eyes staring at the mud daubed shoes in which he has been tramping the streets and alleys of San Francisco. His nose is red and shriveled, his face and body bloated, his limbs dwindled and shaky, his hands like talons."

We know little about Mulhattan's final years, which is possibly just as well. The man who was once America's most famous prankster moved to Arizona, where he took up prospecting, with mixed success. On December 14, 1913, the "Bisbee Review" announced Mulhattan's appropriately outlandish death:

“The waters of the Gila river brought to a close Friday afternoon the career of Joe Mulhatton [sic], commonly regarded as the biggest liar in the world. Mulhatton, who has been mining a number of years in the vicinity of Kelvin, started to cross the Gila at that place late in the afternoon. The stream was swollen and Mulhatton was swept off his feet. Several persons on the ground saw him drown, powerless to give aid. His body was recovered a short distance below and buried a few hours later.”

Was this news report true? Or was Mulhattan hoaxing everyone right to the end?

I prefer to think the latter was the case.