American Murder Houses

by Steve Lehto

  Local authorities had no trouble solving the crime. They asked his wife—who lived nearby—if she had any idea who might have harmed her husband. The day of the murder the three men had come by her place and asked her where her husband could be found. She had suggested they go to the house. She recognized Blymire as a previous employee of Nelson’s.

  The three hadn’t tried running away and were quickly arrested. The men also quickly admitted to their roles in the event. Fourteen-year-old Curry gave the police a full written confession in which he described the details of the killing. The earliest press reports did not mention the role witchcraft had played in the crime, but that soon changed.

  While the men sat in jail waiting for official charges to be lodged against them, the coroner and an official from the state department of health held a conference on combating the practice of witchcraft. According to the coroner, “several children” had died recently after being treated by “powwow doctors.” One source said the number of dead children was five. They hadn’t been murdered; they had simply died because their parents took them to someone like Rehmeyer rather than to a medical doctor. York County believed in witchcraft at that time.

  The officials appeared to be more than a little confused on how to combat the widespread belief. They passed a resolution asking the local medical society to do what it could to help stamp out the practice. Of course, the powwow “doctors” were not members of the society so it was unclear what the society could do but wring its hands and complain. In the end, it decided that the best way to stop the practice of witchcraft was through education. Local newspapers such as the Altoona Mirror reported that the society would sponsor meetings to “educate the people of the county against the witch doctors.”

  The random deaths of a few children would not be what brought national attention to the widespread practice of witchcraft in this part of Pennsylvania. It would be the trials of these three men. In court, Blymire, Curry, and Hess entered not-guilty pleas to the charge of murder. They never denied killing Rehmeyer; they said they honestly believed they had every right to take action against Rehmeyer in light of the hexes he had placed on them. In essence, it was self-defense. The men were held without bail.

  While awaiting trial, Blymire gave an interview to a reporter. Not realizing that his belief in witchcraft made him sound silly to most people outside the area, he told the reporter that killing Rehmeyer had its desired effect. It lifted the hex. “Rehmeyer is dead; I no longer feel bewitched. I now can eat and sleep.” The reporter noted that of the three killers, only Curry seemed to show any remorse for what the men had done. Other reporters wondered how the men would be treated by a jury chosen from the area: Many in the jury pool would undoubtedly be believers and practitioners of powwow as well.

  Blymire, Curry, and Hess faced their murder charges in three separate trials. The men each testified and admitted they had gone to Rehmeyer’s house in an attempt to counter hexes they believed he had placed on them. Blymire’s attorney argued to the jury that his client was insane and suggested that his belief in witchcraft was evidence of his insanity. “Blymire was suffering from a particular type of insanity from which there is no relief. He has an honest belief in the powers of witchcraft.” It was an interesting argument to make to a jury of Blymire’s peers; as the newspapers had predicted, some members of the jury had admitted they believed in powwow magic and found the defense argument insulting. The judge appeared to agree when he made headlines and ruled that believing in witchcraft did not make a person insane. It is unclear whether the jury considered a fact which was published in the papers: Before the murder, Blymire had spent time in the “Harrisburg state hospital for the insane.” He had been discharged after they had deemed him “cured.” No mention was made in the paper as to whether the stay at the hospital had anything to do with Blymire’s belief in witchcraft.

  In the trials of Blymire and Curry, the prosecution argued that the witchcraft angle was a canard and that the men had simply gone to Rehmeyer’s house to rob him. Admittedly, they had taken ten or eleven dollars in cash they found while looking for Rehmeyer’s copy of Long Lost Friend. In the trial of Wilbert Hess, the prosecution dropped the robbery motive and simply went with the witchcraft argument. Regardless of whether someone believed in witchcraft, no one is allowed to kill someone because of it. In the case against Hess, both of his parents testified in his defense. His mother swore on the stand that she had also been cursed by Rehmeyer, and that the hex was still upon her while she was testifying even though he was dead. She admitted she had given her son permission to go to Rehmeyer’s but only to get the lock of hair and the spell book. His father told the jury he had also been hexed. “I felt as though my flesh was being boiled continually. It was enough to drive a man crazy.”

  Extensive news coverage of the trial focused on the witchcraft theme, with reporters from around the country taking notes and firing off dispatches to the farthest corners of the nation. Even Time magazine gave it page space, with an article titled “Crime: Hex & Hoax.” The article did not paint the participants in a particularly flattering light. One witness was quoted, testifying, “Rehmeyer done it,” referring to the hex. Time ridiculed the backward ways and beliefs of the people from this little corner of America, simply by publishing quotes from actual testimony. Blymire’s mother, with the mellifluous name Babulla, told the court, “Yes, John was hexed. But who done it? You can’t tell that. There’s so many witches around.” Blymire’s father also testified. “Dere was de old time and now’s de new time. In de old time, nobody had no learnin’. Now in de new time, children get A.B.C.” Other news outlets covered the trials, detailing the practice of witchcraft in twentieth-century America. The consensus of reporters who covered the story and interviewed locals was that there were hundreds of powwow witch doctors in the area surrounding Rehmeyer’s hollow at the time of the trial.

  All three men were found guilty. Surprisingly, eighteen-year-old Hess was only found guilty of second-degree murder, but Blymire and Curry, the younger accomplice, were found guilty of first-degree murder. It is possible the jury bought the story that Hess had been motivated by a desire to help his parents, who had claimed to be victims of Rehmeyer’s hexes. After the verdict in his case, Hess went to the jury box and shook hands with each member of the jury that had just found him guilty. As he was being led away his mother said, “Be a good boy, Wilbert.”

  Blymire would spend twenty-four years in prison; the other two would spend only ten each for their roles. While in prison, John Curry began to paint. Soon, his accomplishments with a paintbrush drew enough attention to his cause that people began advocating for his early release from prison so that his talent could be developed. In 1934, just a few years into his sentence, a former Philadelphia district attorney named Charles Fox even championed the cause of Curry. It made the local papers but was not enough to get him out of prison.

  After the murder, the Rehmeyer “hex” house remained vacant for some time. One of Rehmeyer’s daughters, Gertie Beatrice, married Kenneth Ebaugh and the two of them cleaned the place up a bit to see if they could rent it out. They tore down their grandparents’ cabin during the renovation. The house is currently owned by Rickie Ebaugh, great-grandson of Rehmeyer.

  Out of context, the house is not all that remarkable and looks like many other simple structures scattered throughout Pennsylvania Dutch country. It is a two-story home that has a noticeable lean to one side; in recent years it was in need of fresh paint. The carpet has been torn up to reveal the spot in the floor where Nelson’s killers had tried to burn his body; the floorboards are still scorched. The house is currently not open to the public but it can be seen from the road. It is 828 square feet and has two bedrooms and one bathroom. It sits on a rather large lot, which is 577,000 square feet. A tax assessment in 2011 placed the home’s value at $161,000.

  In 2013, the current owner—Rehmeyer’s great-grandson Rickie Ebaugh—began giving “Hex House” historic hayride tours of the a
rea and of the house in October. The hayrides did not run past Halloween. An event organizer told a reporter that the only complaint he had gotten about the tours was that they weren’t scary enough. He explained, “It’s a historic hayride tour, it’s not a haunted hayride.”

  A movie called Apprentice to Murder was released in 1988 based loosely upon the facts of the Rehmeyer murder. It stars Donald Sutherland and did not do too well at the box office. Experts suggest that it may have been inspired by the story but is in no way an accurate portrayal of what really happened in Rehmeyer’s Hollow. At least two books have been written on the murder, including The Trials of Hex by J. Ross McGinnis and Hex by Arthur H. Lewis. Meanwhile, there are still people in the area who keep copies of PowWows; or, Long Lost Friend handy. Just in case they need to cast a hex or remove one cast by a neighbor.

  *“Crime: Hex & Hoax,” Time, January 21, 1929.

  *“York County Will Halt Witchcraft,” Altoona (PA) Mirror, December 5, 1928.

  *John George Hohman, PowWows; or, Long Lost Friend (1820).

  *Julia Hatmaker, “‘Hex Hollow’ Murder House Opens to Tours,” Patriot News, October 26, 2013.

  The Murder House Immortalized by In Cold Blood

  THE CLUTTER FARMHOUSE

  1959

  Oak Avenue

  Holcomb, Kansas 67851

  Outside Holcomb, Kansas, Oak Avenue veers sharply to the south after taking travelers west out of town. Those who ignore the turn find themselves on the long tree-lined driveway to the River Valley Farm. In 1959, Herbert Wesley Clutter, forty-eight, lived there with his wife, Bonnie Mae, forty-five, and two teenaged children on a wheat farm on the outskirts of town. Two other adult children had moved out of the home. The setting was idyllic until two uninvited visitors shattered the peace in the early morning hours of November 15 of that year. Richard Hickock and Perry Smith, two recent prison inmates, broke into the home and told Clutter they were there to rob him. The men were wearing rubber gloves and carrying rope and tape they had bought earlier that day. Clutter informed them he did not keep cash in the house. The burglars did not believe him. They put the family members in separate rooms and tied them up. They then ransacked the house. The hardened criminals found less than $50 and realized Clutter had told them the truth: There was no safe in the house. Hickock and Smith also knew they would go back to prison for a long time if they were caught after this burglary and armed robbery. They decided to kill Herb Clutter and everyone else in the home. They slit the father’s throat and then shot him in the head with a shotgun. They then went from room to room and killed the other members of the Clutter family, each with a shotgun blast to the head. They left the house having been there only an hour.

  Although many people may not recognize the house at the end of the drive today, it was the epicenter of one of the most famous crime stories in twentieth-century America. It all started on November 16, 1959, when the New York Times ran a short piece on the horrific crime that had shaken the little community of Holcomb, Kansas, the day before. Apparently, a newswire service had picked up the story and distributed it to papers far and wide.

  Wealthy Farmer, 3 of Family Slain

  A wealthy wheat farmer, his wife, and their two young children were found shot to death today in their home. They had been killed by shotgun blasts at close range after being bound and gagged. The father, 48-year-old Herbert W. Clutter, was found in the basement with his son, Kenyon, 15. His wife, Bonnie, 45, and a daughter, Nancy, 16, were in their beds. There were no signs of a struggle and nothing had been stolen. The telephone lines had been cut. “This is apparently the case of a psychopathic killer,” Sheriff Earl Robinson said.

  The three-hundred-word piece was buried in the back of the New York Times, but it caught the eye of New York writer Truman Capote. Capote was thirty-five and had recently found success with short stories and novels, most notably by this time Breakfast at Tiffany’s. He found the New York Times article jarring. How could such a thing happen in small-town America? To answer that question, Capote would study the murders and eventually write a groundbreaking book. He persuaded his publisher to support him while he pursued what would end up being a six-year project, immersing himself in the community of Holcomb and getting to know everyone and everything there was to know about the murders. He would even befriend the killers and mourn their executions.

  Capote hoped the case would prove compelling enough for him to write a “nonfiction novel” based on the story of the murders. That is, a book that was a true story, but written in the story-telling style of a novel. He enlisted the help of a childhood friend, Harper Lee, who later found fame after writing To Kill a Mockingbird. The two traveled to Holcomb to study the case, and Capote’s book, In Cold Blood, would become a bestseller. Capote soon learned all the details of the Clutter family and how they came to such a gruesome end in small-town America.

  In 1959, Herb Clutter lived with his wife, Bonnie, and two teenaged children on the wheat farm on the outskirts of Holcomb. At the time, the town of Holcomb was home to fewer than three hundred people. Clutter had built the house in 1948 and ran a successful farming operation that encompassed a thousand acres around the home. His operation was so large, he often employed more than a dozen workers. One of his workers, Floyd Wells, would later spend time in prison. While there, he told a fellow inmate that Clutter kept a safe full of cash at his farm. It is unclear why Wells told him this: Clutter had never kept a safe at the farm and was actually known to conduct most of his business using checks because it was easier for his bookkeeping. It very well could be that Wells was just telling wild stories to pass the time behind bars. The inmate who heard the story, Richard Hickock, believed the story and decided it would be “the perfect score.”

  When Hickock got out of prison, he recruited a former cellmate named Perry Edward Smith to help him with the caper, and the two headed to Holcomb. The farm was easy to find and distinctive enough for them to know they had the right place. The men cut the telephone line going into the house. They then sneaked in while the family slept and bound and gagged the four occupants of the house. They had a shotgun and a knife and ordered Clutter to show them the safe. Clutter told them there was no safe and that all he had was a small amount of cash, which he offered to give to the men. Hickock and Smith now found themselves in a bad situation. Hickock was hoping to steal enough money to start a new life in Mexico. Instead, he was going to have to flee an armed robbery empty-handed. They also knew they would end up back in prison soon if they left any witnesses to their failed robbery. Smith panicked and slashed Herb Clutter’s throat. He then shot him in the head. The men went room to room and killed the three remaining members of the family by shooting them in the head once each with a shotgun. The men then fled. Their total haul from the robbery was $40 in cash, some binoculars and a radio.

  News of the horrific murders soon spread across the country. Still sitting in his prison cell, Wells heard the news and immediately remembered telling Hickock about the Clutter farm and the safe; he knew Hickock had to be one of the killers. He contacted the warden and told him to let the authorities know to be on the lookout for Hickock. Hickock and Smith were picked up in Las Vegas on December 30, 1959.

  The two were brought back to Kansas and were tried for the murders. The two claimed indigence and were given court-appointed attorneys. Counsel immediately sought determinations of whether the two might be able to plead insanity. Pursuant to Kansas law, the court had the two examined by independent medical experts, and each was deemed fit to stand trial.

  The trial did not go well for the men. Authorities told the court how the two men had been their own worst enemies when it came to keeping their actions secret. Once they had been arrested, the two told the police everything. They had disposed of their getaway car in Mexico City, along with the binoculars and the radio they had stolen from the Clutter house. Authorities managed to go to Mexico City and recover these items. The men had buried some of the evidence by the roadside
miles from the crime scene. Again, the men told the police where to dig to find the incriminating evidence. By the time the prosecution got halfway through with its case, it was apparent that the trial was little more than a formality. The evidence against Hickock and Smith was overwhelming. A psychiatrist called as an expert for the defendants even admitted that Hickock knew right from wrong at the time of the killings. The high point of the trial for the defense may have been when the same psychiatrist said he simply had no opinion as to Smith’s understanding of right and wrong.

  Capote had come to town to begin his investigation and sat through the trial, taking thousands of pages of notes. He also schmoozed many of the townspeople and became a fixture in the local community. The jury found the men guilty of the murders and sentenced them to death. The two filed appeals and spent five years on death row while their appeals wound through the system. While doing his research, Capote befriended the killers and much of his book would include portions of his jailhouse interviews, in which the convicted killers said the most remarkable things. Smith told Capote in one particularly striking passage, “I didn’t want to harm the man. I thought he was a very nice gentleman. Soft spoken. I thought so right up to the moment I cut his throat.”