All Over the News

Well, I was all over the media this past week! That’s October in the ghost busting biz. It seemed like every day I was doing a phone interview, taking a meeting, talking with someone who was researching an article, or going to a radio studio for an interview. Here are some highlights:

Pretty Late with Patti Vasquez on WGN had me back to talk about my latest novel, Play Me Backwards, and some local ghost stories. I love this show! I come in at about the 37 minute mark. Patti had first hand accounts of the supposedly haunted Hooters at Erie and Wells (a location that always gives me a chance to talk about grave robbing – my favorite thing!)

WBEZ Curious City met up with me twice to record segments for their story on local ghost stories (The Iroqouis Theatre and Resurrection Mary). Ray Johnson, the Haunt Detective, is also featured. You might remember him from a few of our podcasts.

And RedEye did a whole spread:

Adam Selzer in the RedEye, Oct 2014
Adam Selzer in the RedEye, Oct 2014 page 2

The Chicago Frankenstein Experiment, 1882

I spoke with The RedEye this week about haunted Chicago spots, and an article on their webpage today speaks about about the site of the gallows. Here’s a classic story from the site: 

In the 20th Century, executioners in many parts of the world modernized the process by which convicts were hanged. Weights and measurements were taken, and much of the pomp and ritual was taken out of the proceedings. A really good hangman could get a prisoner from inside the cell to dead at the end of the rope in thirty seconds or less.

Chicago in the 19th century was not so scientific. Though state laws prohibiting public executions were enacted after only a few hangings had taken place locally, newspaper reporters were usually present (and, occasionally, hundreds of people managed to get a pass, as well). There was still a grim death march, and convicts were expected to make a speech. The executions were seldom quick and painless – it was fairly common for prisoners to take twenty minutes until they were completely dead. And even then, there were often doubts.
A tale from our book on hangings in Chicago:

And so, in 1882, an experiment was tried. When James Tracy was convicted of murder after shooting a man during a burglary, he was a remarkably good sport about the whole execution, even though he insisted that he was innocent. He stood on the scaffold and said “I thin it’ll hold me,” then shouted “Good-bye, kids!” to other prisoners, with whom he’d become quite popular. He spent the morning signing autograph cards with his birth day and death day added under the signature.  On the scaffold, before the reporters and officials, he said, “I have no statement to make further than the fact that I am innocent. In a few moments I shall stand before my Maker. Were any man under these circumstances guilty, he would acknowledge it. Innocent as I am, I have no fear to die. I die an innocent man. Truth is mighty and will prevail. I have done.”

It was when they took his body down after the hanging that things got weird.

There had been whisperings that maybe the convicts being hanged were not fully dead when taken down. If they weren’t, that would have led to some odd legal complications. And so, an experiment was tried. Three attending physicians, Drs. Danforth, Bowers, and Haines, took Tracy’s body into a nearby bathroom, rigged it up with electrical wires, and tried to see if they could bring him back to life!

Here are the results of the experiment, as published in a local paper:

“Tracy was pronounced dead by the county physician about twelve or fifteen minutes after the drop fell, but the body was allowed to hang five or eight minutes longer.  Immediately after the body was taken down, we commenced our experiments with electricity by applying one pole over the spinal cord and other over the heart, the latter by means of three needles, one over the apex and two over the (illegible) of the heart, the needles being inserted beneath the skin so as to bring the electrical current in direct commnication with the heart. 
Upon turning on the current the effect was very marked. Muscular contractions began wherever the electricity’s current was reached, but most especially in the face and neck. The heart began to contract feebly but regularly; with the ear over the heart we could distinctly hear or rather feel the heart’s contractions. 
By mining the electrode we would very easily produce a variety of facial expressions; the arms would contract, the legs moved with considerable force, and the muscles of the abdomen contracted strongly. The most significant fact, however, was the rhythmic action of the heart, notwithstanding the neck was unmistakably broken.
It is probable that a considerable proportion of the criminals who are executed in this country are either mechanically strangled – that is, “choked to death” – or killed by shock that is made on the nervous system. In other words, the neck is not broken, and the spinal cord is not lacerated. In such cases we are of the opinion that resuscitation would not be impossible, that electricity frictions, artificial respirations, the hot bath and other well known means of resuscitation might result in resuscitating the criminal. 
If such a case would occur would it not be the duty of the proper officers to repeat the execution? In the present case, resuscitation was impossible as the neck was broken and this leads us to (believe that the sheriff and physicians)  performed their unpleasant duty in a manner worthy of all praise; the arrangements were admirable and admirably carried out.”

In layman’s terms, they got Tracy’s heart to beat, and they managed to make him look like he was smiling, frowning, and perhaps smelling a fart, but his neck was broken, so full revival was impossible. Still, some convicts choked to death and never did have their necks broken. Could they have been brought back?
A few other attempts were made to revive hanged men over the years, though never in the same official capacity – I’ll repost a story or two here this week.
For more stories like this, see FATAL DROP: TRUE TALES OF THE CHICAGO GALLOWS (revised kindle edition) (Weird Chicago)

The Fool Killer Submarine: All We Know!

I tell the story of the Fool Killer, mysterious submarine wreck found in the river in 1915, on almost every one of my tours. “It might have been the first large submarine ever built, if it had worked,” I say. “But apparently it didn’t, because when they raised it up the next month, they found a dead guy and a dead dog onboard the thing.” There’s always an “awwwww” when I mention the dog. By this point in the tour, I’ve told about the gruesome deaths of over 700 people, but you mention a dead dog…..

Tomorrow night (9/5/14) I understand that the episode of Monumental Mysteries I filmed last winter will air on the Travel Channel. You can already see the clip here on

In the show, we say that the sub was found beneath the Madison Street bridge, though this is actually in question. One of the weirdest aspects of the story is that the newspapers just couldn’t seem to tell where the submarine was found consistently – at various times it was said to be found near the Madison Street bridge, the Rush Street bridge, and the Wells Street bridge.  Some believe that this is evidence that Deneau, the finder, built the thing himself and faked the whole thing. But the Eastland Disaster hearings were still going on; tampering with the river would have been a HUGE legal risk.

Below, under the “read more,” I’m gonna go ahead and republish the whole three part article I posted on it back in 2008.  Since then, we’ve found some new information, including a new “last known location;” I found some ads from June, 1916 saying that it was on display at Riverview, the amusement park that stood near Western and Addison, a month after its appearance at a fair in Iowa.

Here’s our original three part post; click the “read more” button to see the whole thing if you don’t see it all at once. This is just about everything we know about this ship!

THE FOOL KILLER (from the Weird Chicago book I co-wrote)

In the days following the Eastland Disaster, a diver named William “Frenchy” Deneau was responsible for recovering around 250 bodies from the murky water. Four months later, in November, he was back in the river, working to lay cables beneath the Rush Street bridge. While he worked, his shovel hit upon a large metallic object which turned out to be the wreck of a forty-foot long iron submarine. Deneau announced to the newspapers that he had found The Fool Killer, and “ancient, primitive submarine” that had been lost for at least eighteen years – and possibly much longer!

At the time, submarines were in the papers almost daily. While attempts at submarine warfare had been made in both the Civil War and the American Revolution, using submarines as weapons had only recently become practical. Half a world away, Europe was in the grip of the world’s first submarine warfare, one of the deadly new types of battle introduced to the world in the first world war. The discovery of the wreck of an old submarine in the Chicago River was an event noted by several regional papers throughout the country.

Initially, it was expected that the sub would be raised by the Chicago Historical Society, but Deneau obtained permission from the federal government to raise the ship for “exhibition purposes.” The next month, after boat traffic died down for the winter, he arranged to raise it up from the murky depths. Once it was ashore, a startling discovery was made: inside of the ship were several bones – including the skulls of a man and a dog!

While police combed their records to identity the body, Deneau made preparations to put the odd craft on display. He appears to have enlisted the Skee Ball company as investors – it seems that they planned to tour the submarine around the country along with their games as a special promotion (imagine the slogan: “Come for the the Fool Killer, Stay for the Skee Ball!”)
By the end of February, the ship was on display at 208 South State Street. For a dime, customers see the remains of the old ship — and the remains of the dead guy and the dead dog! Admission also included a lecture and question-and-answer session by Deneau, a presentation on the history of submarines, and a chance to examine the interior of the Fool Killer itself (at the attendees’ own risk). On Saturday mornings, groups of ten or more children could get in for half of the usual price.

The exact location where Deneau found the wreck is a bit of a mystery – the newspapers first said it was near the Rush Street Bridge, then said it was at the Wells street bridge. A year or so later, while he was in World War I as a doughboy and speaking to reporters, Deneau said “remember that old submarine, the Foolkiller, I found? I found it over by the Madison Street bridge!” It also seems that in the process of raising it, workers had to drag it through the river a couple of miles to the Fullerton bridge.

And the location of the wreck is only one of the mysteries; the list of unanswered questions about the submarine is a long one. Who built it? How long had it been in the river? Who the heck was the dead guy inside of it, and what in the world possessed him to take his dog out on a submarine trip in the river? And whatever happened to the thing?

Research into these questions has proved frustrating – stories and theories abound, but none can really be verified, and the newspaper reports seem to be full of mistakes and contradictions.

Peter Nissen made three crafts called The
Fool Killer
, but this wasn’t one of them.
See him on film

Initially, the Tribune reported that the ship had been first launched in 1870 as a floating craft and sank to the bottom of the lake the first time it was submerged. According to their first article on the sub’s re-discovery, it was believed to have been bought and raised by Peter Nissen, the accountant-turned-daredevil, around 1890, who sank it the first time he tried to use it. The next month, when the skulls were found, the Tribune reported that the ship had been purchased and raised in the 1890s by a man named WILLIAM Nissen – since then, most people have assumed that the skeleton onboard was his that of William Nissen.

However, this is hard to verify – census records indicate that there WAS a William Nissen in Chicago in the 1890s, but he was still alive as of the 1920 census, five years after the bones were discovered! This William Nissen seems to be no relation to Peter Nissen, leaving one to speculate that the report had been a typo, and that the reporter meant to say “Peter,” not “William.”

The fact that they called it The Foolkiller at all may indicate that they – or Deneau – had simply mistaken it for one of Peter Nissen’s boats, which was an easy enough mistake to make. Nissen did build three experimental crafts, named the Fool Killer 1, Fool Killer 2, and Fool Killer 3 (see Peter Nissen: Chicago’s Forgotten Hero), and, though none of those were submarines, buying, raising and testing a dangerous homemade sub sure seemed like the kind of thing Nissen WOULD have done!

Further complicating the matter is the Tribune’s statement that the ship had first sunk in 1870, then raised again and sunk in either 1890 or 1897 (the date seems to change from report to report). One report in the Washington Post even said that it had claimed a number of victims around the time of the World’s Fair. However, if in fact the ship had sailed before, the paper saw no reason to mention it at the time, even though the launch of a submarine in the great lakes in 1870 would probably have been an event noticed by papers all over the world, as later submarine launches in the lake were. Furthermore, if the submarine had sunk in 1870 on the first time out and raised after twenty years, who would be crazy enough to go sailing in it?

Baker’s boat, from an 1892 Trib article. 

Most likely, all of the contemporary reports on the history of the craft were mistakes – no sources were ever given, and they seem to be the result of half-remembered stories of news items from decades before. Perhaps they were mistaking it for the submarine tested in Lake Michigan in 1892 by George C. Baker, which was about forty feet long – roughly the length of the Foolkiller – or the model Louis Gatham tested in the lake the next year. The Tribune also initially said that it was built to be floated, but pictures of the Fool Killer make it clear that it was never built to be a floating vessel.

But the Tribune also once reported that it was first owned by an “eastern man,” and some have speculated that this might refer to Lodner Darvantis Phillips, a shoemaker from Michigan City, Indiana, who also happened to be a submarine pioneer. There were only a very small handful of submarines ever known to be in the Great Lakes in the 19th century- and Phillips just happened to build a few of them, including perhaps the only successful submarine built in its time.

Phillips appears to have designed at least four submarines in his lifetime – according to his descendants, his third model, built in 1851 and known as the Marine Cigar, was stable enough that he was able to take his family on fantastic underwater picnics (this was probably the one he lost in 1853 while trying to salvage the wreck of The Atlantic in Lake Erie – it’s still lost in the lake today). A fourth model had torpedo mechanisms added. These third and fourth models were improvements of his earlier, less successful boats; the first, built in 1845, was a fish-shaped apparatus that sank in Trail Creek near Michigan City. The second just may have been the Fool Killer.

While actual details are scarce, family legend has it that Phillips’ second model was a forty-foot cigar-shaped submarine that was built in the late 1840s (in an 1853 letter to the Navy, Phillips did mention building a sub in 1847). According to these family stories, the machine lacked a decent mechanism for propulsion and sank on a test run in the Chicago River. Phillips’ family said, decades later, that the submarine found in the river was undoubtedly one of his.

That the Fool Killer was a Lodner Phillips creation seems to be backed up mainly by family legend, which is not always reliable; another Phillips family legend states than when Phillips refused to sell one of his boats to the British Navy, they sank it, a story that is almost certainly not true. And the letter Phillips wrote to the Navy in 1853 indicates that the submarine he built in 1847 was a success – no mention is made of it sinking (though the letter was an attempt to sell his latest boat to the Navy, and talking about failed models wouldn’t have been much of a selling point).

A rendering of one of Phillips’ later models. Submarine
designs did not commonly resemble this shape at the time;
most were rounder or more fish-like in appearance, so the
similarity may be a clue.  

But that the Fool Killer was one of Phillips’ subs is still the best explanation that has yet been offered for the origin of the mysterious submarine. No drawings or diagrams for his second submarine survive, but drawings of Philips’ subs from the 1850s do strongly resemble the pictures of the Fool Killer that eventually came to light.  (update: in articles discovered after this was written, it was mentioned by people “in the know” that a couple of military test subs had been sunk in the river at one point. No further details are yet known, though this would be a strong “alternate” theory). 

So, could the submarine have been beneath the river since the 1840s? It’s entirely possible, especially if the reports about the ship being from 1870 are incorrect, as has been suggested. Some recent articles have stated that Phillips sold the submarine in 1871 to a man who promptly sunk it, explaining the early newspaper reports of the sub being from that era, but Phillips was busy being dead by this time.

Who, then, was the poor man who died onboard? Since Peter Nissen died onboard a different ship, not a submarine, and William Nissen seems to have been alive when the sub was raised, the identity of the ship’s poor victim remains a mystery.

It’s possible that the bones were planted on the submarine when it was raised in 1915 as a publicity stunt to get more people to come see it on exhibition. After all, complete skeletons were not found – just skulls and a few other bones. What happened to the rest of them? The Phillips’ family legend about the sub sinking in the river don’t include anything about anyone being onboard at the time. Also, Phillips first and third sub models were known to have escape hatches – why wouldn’t the second one have had one?

William Deneau does seem to have been a bit of a showman – in 1958, on the anniversary of the Eastland Disaster, Deneau told reporters that he had just been onboard the repaired Eastland – which, he said, was still sailing under another name – for a cruise from California to Catalina the year before. In fact, the ship had been scrapped years before. Like most great showmen, Deneau may have been willing to fudge the facts a bit in the name of a great story.

While it’s likely that we’ll never know the truth about the bones, many of the questions about the submarine and its origins could surely be answered today if anyone knew where the submarine was now – but unfortunately, this is another mystery.

In May of 1916, the submarine was listed in newspapers among the attractions at Parker’s Greatest Shows, a traveling carnival run by Charles W. Parker, which had arrived for a weeklong engagement in Oelwein, Iowa. It was listed as “The Submarine or Fool Killer, the first submarine ever built,” being exhibited along with “skee ball, a new amusement device,” but it was merely listed among other top draws, including “The Electric Girl, The Vegetable King, Snooks, the smallest monkey in the world (the paper was especially enchanted with the monkey, who delighted crowds by sucking his thumb), the fat girl, and the Homeliest Woman in the World.” The Fool Killer was mentioned in the papers almost daily, though one can imagine that it didn’t take much to make the papers in the town of Oelwein in 1916. In any case, it does not seem to have been as big a draw as the monkey. No mention was made of the bones, which may not have traveled on with the submarine.

A June 27, 1916 ad from the Chicago Examiner showing
that  Riverview now had the Fool Killer AND
a Monkey Speedway! 

By 1917, Parker’s Greatest Shows had replaced the sub with a new submarine that could demonstrate manuevers in a giant glass tank (and replaced Snooks with a “monkey speedway”), leaving historians to speculate Parker sold the old submarine for scrap, but no one really knows what happened to it – it could still be out there someplace today, as far as anyone knows! (update: shortly after its Iowa appearance, it’s now known to have been on display at Riverview, so Chicago is once again its last known location). 

The Fool Killer Submarine – our first post on the subject!

The Fool Killer Ad our post featuring the Tribune ad (from back when this was the Weird Chicago blog)

The Fool Killer: More Evidence – a post comparing a drawing of one of Phillips’ subs to photos of the foolkiller

Fool Killer Clue? – speculating that newspaper reports dating the sub to the 1870s might have been mistaking it for OTHER experimental subs.

Finding the Fool Killer – a newly-unearthed account of the submarine’s discovery, with an early guess as to its origin.

WGN Radio Interview

The other night I went out to Tribune Tower, the gothic skyscraper on Michigan Avenue, to do a radio interiew on Pretty Late with Patti Vasquez. WGN broadcasts out of that building. WGN! The station on which I listened to the 1989 Cubs! And the TV station that introduced me to Scooby Doo, which sent me down this wayward path to begin with!

It was cool just to have a reason to go into the Tribune building to begin with, but the radio show was a blast. We talked for a good hour about history, ghostlore, and all kinds of fun stuff.

You can hear the whole thing here!


Well, hot dog! I’m this week’s Chicagoan in the Chicago Reader. I’m a real Chicagoan now!

If you’re coming here from reading the article, you can hear the weird audio recording from the Murder Castle site here.  Next week on this blog, there’ll be a post entitled “HH Holmes vs The Lumber Men From Hell,” a look into one of the many, many times he was sued.

And, while I’ve got your attention, here’s a quick plug for my new GHOSTS OF CHICAGO book:

Available now from Llewellyn Worldwide,
order from:

Podcast: The Detective’s Grave

Time for a new podcast! You can download today’s episode from feedburner,,  or iTunes.

Today, we’re back at Graceland Cemetery, searching for the grave of a deranged Victorian private detective. My job is pretty sweet.

I’ve lately been back working on the HH Holmes case, trying to gather, evaluate, and catalog all of the best data available. Researchers into the case will often come across the name Robert Corbitt (or Corbett), author of The Holmes Castle, possibly the first book on Holmes. He pushed the odd theory that Holmes was actually innocent of murder.  One does notice a pattern in article on him: one day he’ll be saying he’s found the evidence that will convict Holmes, then something bad will happen to him, then he’ll be saying Holmes was innocent. The book is very rare now, but the text is collected in The Strange Case of Dr. H.H. Holmes.

Plenty of evidence suggests that he was a bit on the paranoid side, at the very least. He spoke to reporters often saying he knew that various Holmes victims had checked into various hotels under assumed names, or that he’d seen them on the street, but was never really able to back his claims up. Records and stories of him don’t paint much of a flattering picture.

Above: the nifty grave of Timothy Webster,
a Pinkerton detective who helped save Abraham
Lincoln from an 1861 assassination attempt. The
“Harve Birch” mentioned on the stone is a
character in a James Fennimore Cooper
novel. How often do you see a pop
culture reference on a tombstone?

However, whatever his shortcomings as a private detective may be, had was actually present at the “murder castle” investigation, may have known Holmes personally (they certainly exchanged letters), and wound up in possession of a LOT of Holmes data that modern researchers can only dream of (letters, account books…even Holmes’ own pistol and knife!) He is also the guy who discovered the “glass bending factory” that we’ve come to know as “The Body Dump.”

Anyway, Ray Johnson and I have been preparing an article on Corbitt, and found that he’d died in 1932 and the body was taken to Graceland cemetery. So on this cold December day, we headed up to the ol’ graveyard in search of his grave. Along the way, we say several graves of people related to the Holmes case, including detective Allan Pinkerton, and discussed the cool stuff we saw along the way.  Ray and I will be recording a couple of podcasts about how we do this sort of research, including trips the archives, cemeteries, and more.  We hope to have a few new episodes up very soon!  Get Ray’s book, Chicago’s Haunt Detective

Again, you can download today’s episode from,  or iTunes  (the episode may take a few hours to get to iTunes).
Or just listen right here:
 And if you’re not sick of me, I also recently did a podcast interview for Your Chicago that was a lot of fun:

Yahoo’s Ghost Ghirls on a Chicago Hauntings tour

A few weeks ago the Ghost Ghirls, who have a Jack Black-produced comedy series starting on Yahoo soon, came on Chicago Hauntings tour a few weeks ago. I always worry they’ll edit me to look stupid in these things, but this came out okay, I think. When I’m talking about the floating pant leg, the punch line there is “So, that means their BUTT would have been right in my face.” The Ghost Ghirls and their crew were really nice and fun to work with. I’m MUCH happier doing stuff like this in comedy bits than being in “real” ghost hunting shows.