Secrets of the Congdon Mansion

by Joe Kimball

  The suicide notes, though, complicated the case. Prosecutors knew it would be difficult to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Marjorie had been involved in Wally's death. Three weeks after Wally's death, Arizona officials announced that they were temporarily dropping the murder charges.

  They explained that, under Arizona law, a grand jury must be convened or a preliminary hearing held soon after charges are filed. But many of the tests on Wally's body and other forensic evidence tests were not ready yet, so prosecutors could not present their case in time to satisfy the legal requirements. Because Marjorie was already in jail on the attempted arson case, there was no sense of urgency.

  Autopsy results in the case proved very interesting. Wally's body showed no signs of cancer, even though Marjorie had been claiming for years that he was dying of cancer. In fact, they first decided to move to Ajo after passing through on their way to Mexico to buy cancer drugs for Wally. They continued to make trips across the border to buy medication that is not available in the U.S., because it does not have FDA approval. And Marjorie often was seen injecting substances into Wally. Some of Wally's relatives said they suspected for years that Marjorie was exaggerating his illness and using drugs to keep him passive.

  The official cause of death was determined to be an overdose of prescription pain medicine. The prescription was in Wally's name.

  In May 1993, Marjorie was in prison when she pleaded no contest to another charge that she set two earlier fires at an Ajo repair shop, burning a car, a dump truck, a paint shed and two motor homes. One of the motor homes, valued at $35,000, belonged to the Hägens. Marjorie later admitted setting that fire in order to collect the insurance payment. She needed the money, she said, to pay Wally's medical bills.

  Finally, in June, nearly eight months after her conviction, Marjorie was sentenced for the kerosene rag fire and the Ajo repair shop case. The judge gave her the maximum — 15 years. Her earliest possible release would be in 10 years, in 2002. The sentence was decreed by Judge Frank Dawley, the same judge who's presided over the trial and released her for a day after the conviction so she could take care of Wally. He also ordered her to pay $39,000 in restitution to the damaged repair shop.

  The same day, officials said they would not charge Marjorie a second time for Wally's murder. They reasoned that Marjorie already had a hefty prison term ahead of her and they hoped to avoid the expense of a difficult trial. Marjorie was 59 at the time.

  Taylor, the cop who'd pursued Marjorie on the arson cases and found Wally's body, had mixed feelings.

  “I feel good that she got the maximum sentence on the arson charges, but I'm disappointed we couldn't make more progress on the murder charges,” he said. “I would have liked to have had a jury look at all the facts.”

  Wally Hagen's children were also upset. In a letter to Judge Dawley, two of the children wrote: “She's a career criminal and must be put away for the protection of society in general, and us specifically.”

  Even though her arson sentence actually extended until February 2007, Marjorie Hagen's first chance at parole in Arizona came up Nov. 15, 2001. In the weeks before the hearing, a flurry of letters arrived in Phoenix urging the parole board to keep her locked up.

  With Wally dead, Marjorie really had only one active supporter: her lawyer, Ed Bolding. He was a long-time friend and had represented her through all the troubles.

  Bolding called her a misunderstood grandmother who had been in prison far too long for attempted arson and said she should be released on parole.

  “She's done well in prison, she's not a danger to the community, and she's been an outstanding teacher in the prison system,” Bolding said. The 15-year sentence was way too harsh for attempted arson, he said. “I've had clients serve less time for murder,” he said.

  But Jennifer Johnson and Wally's children disagreed passionately. Their letters to the parole board were stamped “Opposed.”

  “We just don't want her out,” Jennifer said.

  Wrote Nancy Kaufmann, one of Wally's three children: “One of our concerns is that she'll get out and fleece some other poor soul. I'd hate to see some other gentleman get taken in like my dad.”

  Jennifer Johnson, too, said she's worried that her sister “could latch onto another family and ruin their lives” when released. “I just can't get beyond it, not after what she did to my mother. The hurt never goes away.” In her letter, Jennifer called Marjorie “the mastermind behind her husband, Roger Caldwell, in killing our mother.”

  Bolding read all the letters in advance of the hearing and noted that they were “dripping with vitriol.” But he said he understands the Hägen children's grief. “They believe Ms. Hagen was instrumental in the death of their father; she was charged with that, but it was rightly dismissed.”

  Research prior to the hearing showed that during her years in the Arizona prison system, Marjorie had been found guilty of 12 prison violations, including lying to officials, disobeying orders and refusing to work. In her 2001 prison profile, though, she was not considered a public or institutional risk. Her prison jobs over the years included law library clerk, education aide, yard worker and chaplain clerk.

  The day before the parole hearing, two of Wally's children, Nancy Kaufmann and Tom Hägen, flew to Phoenix. “I want her to know that I'm still watching her,” Nancy said.

  At the hearing, Marjorie wore a bright orange prison suit, with her gray hair pulled back in a bun. She sat in a plastic chair inside a cinder block classroom inside the San Pedro Unit of Arizona's Perryville Prison. Seeing the Hagens in the room, she launched into a complaint about how Wally's family wouldn't help pay for his medical care and had turned against their father in his time of need. She even implied that the children had neglected their mother. This really irked the Hägens, who have always suspected that Marjorie had a role in their mother's death, too, because Marjorie was the last one to visit her at a nursing home before Helen died unexpectedly.

  Parole members wondered why Marjorie had launched this personal attack in her bid for freedom. To get her back on track, they asked if she was guilty and remorseful.

  “I burned the RV to take the insurance money to pay medical bills for Wally,” she said. “I was frantic because the children wouldn't help pay.”

  But she wouldn't take responsibility for the kerosene rag at her neighbor's house. The deputy who lived there never liked her dog, she claimed. And all she'd done was put what she thought was an old jacket up on the window. And, she said, if she had tried to light it, why didn't the police find a match or a lighter at the scene?

  A board member asked what she planned to do when released. She said she planned to move into a mobile home park near Tucson and volunteer at churches. She said she'd been meeting with psychologists to deal with her anger. She even took a class in prison called “Women Who Love Too Much.”

  This was all too much for Tom Hägen. He told the board: “You've heard a lot of lies today.” He called Marjorie a habitual liar and said his parents were always well cared for.

  “If you let this woman out, it's only a matter of time before she'll start another fire,” he said. “Starting fires is her tool for anger management. She's not just a grandmother, she's an arsonist.”

  A parole board member asked Marjorie why none of her children were advocating for her release. (One daughter had even written to the board, asking for denial of parole.)

  Marjorie replied: “I attribute that to our fight over money.”

  In the end, the board said no. Not this time.

  But they couldn't keep her locked up forever, and on Jan. 5, 2004, Marjorie's time was up.

  She was 71 and had spent nearly 11 years in the Arizona prison system. (Her 15-year sentence was scheduled to run until 2007, but she earned the early release date under new Arizona state rules designed to ease prison overcrowding.)

  There was much worry about the release. Marjorie's sister, Jennifer Johnson, issued a warning: “I'm worried there'll be more trouble,”
she said. “I can't believe she'll stay quiet; it's not like her. I'm worried she'll do something awful, again.”

  The Hägen family, too, had concerns.

  “We're very frustrated that there's never been any satisfaction for us in the death of our dad, and probably our mother,” Nancy Kaufmann said. “People ask if I fear for my life now that Marjorie's getting out. In some respects, I wish she'd come after me and get caught. I feel so sorry for any unsuspecting men out there who she tries to get her hooks into.”

  But there was nothing they could do.

  About 10 a.m. on a sunny Arizona Monday, a rented car pulled up to the prison and Marjorie, carrying a box of her belongings, climbed inside. A television news crew tried to follow, but the car sped away.

  She is free to live anywhere she wants and is not subject to unannounced visits by parole officers. But Ajo residents said they hope she doesn't return to their quiet town.

  Many suspected it wouldn't be long, though, before we'd hear from Marjorie again. And it wasn't. On March 30, 2007- at age 74- she was charged with fraud and forgery in Tucson.

  Prosecutors alleged that she befriended an elderly man with a heart problem in an assisted living facility and convinced him to sign a power of attorney agreement. When he died March 1, 2007, she told officials that he had no relatives and arranged for a hasty cremation. No autopsy was conducted.

  Bank officials became suspicious when Marjorie allegedly forged the dead man's name on a check and deposited the money in her own account.

  Welcome to Glensheen.

  The guides — they like to be called docents — escort 80,000 people through the mansion each year, proudly showing off this historic 39-room home on the shores of Lake Superior in Duluth.

  During the official tour, the guides, dressed in 1910-era clothing, will point out the architectural highlights of the mansion, the hand-carved woodwork, the gold leaf ceilings, the 15 bedrooms, 15 fireplaces and eight bathrooms

  They'll also describe, in great detail, the outstanding furnishings found throughout the house.

  “The light fixture in the reception room is carved alabaster. And the coffee table is made of in-laid marble.”

  “The silver lamps above the fireplace in the library came from the Egypt.”

  But when it comes to the murders, the guides are very circumspect. For more than 20 ears they were told not to even mention the homicides, and to ward off any questions about which bedroom was Miss Congdon's or where the killer washed up after the murders.

  The following pages will help you incorporate the story of the infamous Congdon Murder case into the official tour of Glensheen. You'll know exactly who, what, where, when and how.

  The University of Minnesota now owns the mansion; Miss Congdon transferred the title before her death. For years, the university abided by the Congdon family's wishes to downplay the murders. They worried that talk of the tragedy would diminish the family's legacy. As time passes and the questions continue, officials recognize that the murders have become part of the mansion's mystique.

  Although an interesting part of the tour, the bottom floor of Glensheen contains just a few items pertaining to the murders. (Unlike regular houses, the mansion doesn't seem to have a basement, for the guides always refer to it as the lower level or the ground floor.)

  As a child, Marjorie played in all the rooms down here, in the laundry room and the milk room and the boiler room. But, of course, the servants did all the work in those areas.

  But in the billiard room, take notice of the windows looking out toward the lake. Through those windows, and from the windows in the amusement room next door, you can see the patio area, or the subway, as the Congdon family called it.

  On the night of the murders, the exterior windows had been removed from this area so Caldwell was able to walk right into the subway. From there, he broke a window in the rear alcove of the billiard room. He said in his confession that he didn't remember what he used to break the window, but police believe it was a rock or tool he found nearby.

  Caldwell then reached through the broken window, unlocked it, pulled it open and climbed through. Broken glass was found on the floor. Then he made his way around the ancient billiard table and into the long hallway, where he began climbing the stairs towards Miss Congdon's bedroom.

  Roger Caldwell entered the mansion by breaking one of the windows in the billiard room - one of the middle windows in the room's rear alcove. He smashed a small hole in the window with a heavy object, scattering glass more than 16 feet across the room.

  During Roger's trial, there was much discussion about the size of the hole in the window compared to the size of Roger's biceps, and whether he could have reached into the hole and opened the latch.

  Police found a 6-by-4 inch hole in the double locked window. During the investigation, five Duluth policemen tried to reach through the hole to undo the locks and open the window. Only one officer, Barry Brooks, was successful.

  Police measured Roger's arms and found his biceps and forearms were less than half-an-inch larger than Brooks' biceps and forearms. Police and prosecutors were satisfied that Roger's arms would have fit.

  But defense attorney Doug Thomson was not satisfied. He created a cardboard replica of the window, with the middle cut out to represent the hole, complete with cardboard made to look like shards of glass. During Roger's trial, he faced Officer Brooks on the witness stand and asked Brooks to reach through the simulated hole.

  Halfway through, Brooks' arm caught on a cardboard shard. He wiggled his arm the rest of the way through the hole. “So your arm doesn't fit?” Thomson asked. “Well, I made it through,” Brooks replied.

  In his confession, Roger said simply that he “reached all the way through” the window and unlocked it.

  “I remember walking past a pool table and getting to the stairs and my intention was to get up to Miss Congdon's bedroom,” he said.

  The billiard table, by the way, has been in that room since 1909.

  As you move upstairs on the tour, from the ground floor to the first floor, you will follow Roger's footsteps.

  He carried no flashlight that night, so imagine him inching his way upward, feeling his way along the wall in the dark. When he reached the main floor, he continued up the stairs.

  The official tour, though, branches off to examine the rest of the main floor, before continuing upstairs.

  The library, with its large marble fireplace and Angora goat's wool wallcovering, is where Roger met with Miss Elisabeth on his visit to the mansion, one month before the murders.

  The two, the family matriarch and her new son-in-law, chatted for about half an hour in the library. He brought her a tiny Chinese carved horse, a gift from Marjorie. He also told her about Colorado.

  Roger had come to Duluth, without Marjorie, to ask the trustees of the Congdon estate for money, claiming that he and his wife needed to buy a Colorado ranch because Ricky - Marjorie's youngest son and Elisabeth's grandson - had asthma and needed to live in the mountains. But on that day Roger did not discuss finances with his mother-in-law. He'd been well prepared and knew that she no longer held the purse strings and that to discuss money might create problems, giving Marjorie's history of overspending.

  In a meeting later that day with the trustees, Roger's request was denied.

  Except for the front door and hallway, Roger never saw the rest of the mansion's main floor that day. But on the night of the murders, Roger raced down the stairway after killing the two women. He was quite drunk and probably didn't even notice the ornamental glass or the floor-to-ceiling oak paneling or the Oriental rugs in the hallway.

  As Roger Caldwell inched his way up the stairway that night in the darkness, passing from the main floor to the second floor, he was startled by a sound from above. A door opened at the top of the stairs and the night nurse, Velma Pietila, appeared with a flashlight.

  As she started down the steps, Roger rushed toward her. They struggled for a moment near the top o
f the stairs, but Roger was stronger and had the element of surprise. He knocked the 65-year-old woman to the mid-level landing below. Roger took a brass candlestick holder—the left one from a set of two on a table at the stairtop— and went down to the nurse. He hit her repeatedly.

  They struggled again. With her last reserves of strength she clawed at his head, pulling out pieces of hair. Blood spattered on the wall, halfway between the top and the landing. Pools of blood collected on the landing.

  Pietila's flashlight, now broken, lay near the top of the steps. Her shoes were off; one lay partway up the stairs, the other on the landing. Her glasses were found on the stairs, not far from her body.

  When the relief nurse arrived at 7 a.m. the next morning, she found Pietila's body on the landing, lying on the window seat overlooking the mansion grounds and Lake Superior.

  The relief nurse's first thought— seeing her friend lying there— was, Why is Velma taking a nap? It took a moment before the terrifying truth sunk in.

  As you continue the tour on the second floor, you'll find an impressive array of bedrooms, with their distinctive fireplaces and unique furnishings.

  But for years, no one would tell you which bedroom was Elisabeth Congdon's.

  Well, here's where it is.

  When you climb the main stairway up to the second floor, it's the first bedroom around to the right, with windows looking out on the lake.

  For a time after the murders, Miss Congdon's bedroom was used as a meeting room, lined with dozens of chairs. In 1983, though, it once again was restored as a bedroom.

  Just across the hall from Miss Congdon's room is a small bathroom where the killer washed up after the murders. Blood was found spattered in the bathroom and police found a mysterious fingerprint on the sink. It was definitely not Roger's fingerprint, the experts agreed. For a while the print was known as the “mystery print” and the defense attorneys were salivating of using it to convince the jury that the real killer was still on the loose. But further investigation showed that the print belonged to Police Sgt. Gary Waller, chief investigator on the case who went on to a fine career as the St. Louis County Sheriff.