Defying Death in Hagerstown

by John Paul Carinci

  On August 2, Warren G. Harding, the twenty-ninth president of the United States, suddenly dropped dead. He was only fifty-seven. The next day, Calvin Coolidge was sworn in as the thirtieth president. Only fifty-seven, I thought, and here I am reading the diary of a 110-year-old woman. And on September 1 of 1923, a 7.9 earthquake hit Tokyo and Yokohama, killing 142,000 people. Imagine—142,000 dead! That’s three stadiums full at Yankee Stadium—a little hard to comprehend. Life is so precious. Some never live to age twenty-one, while others live, unscathed, to age 110. It all boggles the mind. Life, I feel, is like walking through a minefield; one never knows which step could end their life. And then you have the crazies, like madman Blaine, going around and blasting at people. No wonder I drink. Which reminded me, I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in two days, and I was still functioning. Not bad!

  Suddenly, I came across a quote that was underlined in the diary: “An old Cherokee Indian told his grandson, ‘My son, there is a battle between two wolves inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, inferiority, lies, and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, and truth.’ The boy thought about it and asked, ‘Grandfather, which wolf wins?’ The old man quietly replied, ‘The one you feed.’”

  It was a powerful statement that hit me hard. Two wolves inside us in constant battle: Good and Evil.

  Following the quote, Lolita had noted that her Uncle Walter Klug, the doctor, had told her the quote and that she was very impressed by it.

  I was astounded at how many times Lolita was sick in that one year. In one instance, she was laid up for ten days, and her uncle made house calls almost every day, as town doctors did in those days. Of course, the minor sicknesses of today were major sicknesses in 1923, and in some cases were even deadly. Then there were the flu viruses that killed many people of that time, including many children.

  Besides going to the movies and to dances, the drugstore was another hangout Lolita frequented, as well as a shop that sold fresh-made chocolates. I read that canoeing and swimming locally were a big outing for her friends and family, but the cars of the day frequently broke down. Someone in most homes played the piano, and nearly every house had one. The family members and friends would all gather around and listen to the songs being played. It all sounded so attractive to me, and I envisioned myself in 1923 through Lolita’s writings. It was a simpler time in life and a calmer time in our history, a time when family meant everything and people had time for one another.

  Lolita noted a number of additional profound quotes in the diary, some of which had been shared by her Uncle Walter, who was apparently a very strong influence on her. He was very spiritual, as was Lolita, even very early in her life, as demonstrated throughout the diary. I decided to bring up Lolita’s uncle to her when I spoke with her again later that day.

  One of the quotes really stood out to me: “When God leads you to the edge of a cliff, trust Him fully and let go. Only one of two things will happen—either He will catch you when you fall, or He will teach you how to fly!”

  Then there were others: “Be noble! And the nobleness that lies in other men, sleeping, but never dead, will rise in majesty to meet thine own.”

  “Every word of God is pure; He is a shield unto those that put their trust in Him.”

  “Boast not thyself of tomorrow, for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.”

  This last quote came from Lolita’s Bible, as shared with her by her uncle. Lolita stated in the diary, “Uncle Walter and I once again read the family Bible while on the swing seat in the yard under the shady tree.”

  It was clear that Uncle Walter was also a very wise man who passed a lot of knowledge on to Lolita, knowledge that stayed with her throughout her long life. Even at her young age in 1923, Lolita understood that life was unpredictable and that there were no guarantees of a tomorrow. That last quote etched itself in my mind. Before the Hagerstown trip, I had taken each day for granted, fully expecting a tomorrow as if it were due me in some secret contact I had with God. Not until I almost lost my life did I realize that today is a blessing that each of us is given by the big guy upstairs. We must capitalize on today, because tomorrow is not guaranteed. Lolita’s diary made great reading.

  I was shocked back to reality as Sergeant Pawler made a sharp turn going a little too fast. At first, I thought he was falling asleep at the wheel, but I quickly realized that he wanted to spook me away from my deep, thoughtful reading. He succeeded.

  “Hey, Sarge, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee when we get back, at Millie’s Diner.”

  “You’re gonna buy lunch, you tightwad!”

  “Sergeant, I’ll buy anytime you want me to!” I laughed.

  He went back to driving normal again but kept studying me in the rearview mirror. I couldn’t put my finger on his personality. Either he was tough as nails and just all-around rude, or he had a slight mental problem, or maybe a learning disability. Or perhaps he had some of that PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder, that servicemen suffer from after the war. Some veterans come back all messed up, and their personalities are changed for life. Either way, he was weird in a scary way.

  Anyway, I kept skimming through the diary for tidbits of information, anything that would help me understand Lolita, her personality in her younger days, the times and customs of the day, and anything relating to the 1923 murders.

  It was heart wrenching to read her reflection of the girls’ murders one by one throughout the diary. First there was Lori Gellate, then Ingram Stuart, and then Amanda Harrison. Lolita didn’t get into all the gruesome details, just the tremendous heartache and pain that everyone in the town was enduring.

  What caught my eye in particular, toward the end of the diary, were her notes about the many dreams she’d had depicting the dead girls. Lolita had been friends with all of them. “But why so many realistic types of dreams?” she wondered. A couple of her dreams showed a large butcher’s knife and women’s clothing. Then, amazingly, she recounted that a couple of dreams showed chipped red bricks, a religious cross, and the face of a lion.

  How much of a coincidence was that? The damaged red brick, the cross, the lion’s head, the large butcher’s knife—I had seen them all in my dream, but I hadn’t read about these details in the diary until today.

  But when I had talked to Lolita, she had stated emphatically that she did not want to go back in her mind to speak about the 1923 murders.

  In the diary, Lolita commented on her very troubling and graphic dreams of the dead girls. She had tried to confide in the doctor, her Uncle Walter, about the meaning of the dreams. The uncle had a very special talent for seeing some future and past events himself. He told her to keep track of all her dreams, log them somewhere, and not try to over-analyze them. He said that one day, maybe years later, it might all make perfect sense.

  As Sergeant Pawler pulled into the parking lot of Millie’s Diner, I wondered whether Dr. Walter Klug had a way of sending dreams to Lolita and me. Or perhaps the three dead girls were trying to send messages from beyond the grave to solve their murders.

  My days in Hagerstown were now really numbered, and I was worried that I would leave with no new leads on the Hagerstown murders. Granted, I was not sent to solve the murders that had been unsolved since 1923, but something deep inside me, a force I hadn’t felt before, was pushing me to keep investigating. Maybe it was the faces of the dead girls I had seen in the newspapers, or maybe it was that when I dreamed about the girls, their faces had become etched in my brain.

  Maybe it was because I had gotten so pissed at how so many people seemed to get away with murder. I knew that the killer was dead. But someone was troubled by all the attention the case was getting.

  Very soon, I would have to return to the Washington newspaper where I prayed I would still have a job. Until then, I was consumed with the murders, and worried that my compulsion to solve them might affect my health.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

&n
bsp; It was 11:50 that morning when we sat down in Millie’s Diner. Maybe it was nerves or the lousy food I had been eating of late, but I was starving. And when I’m starving, I want one of everything on the menu. Kristen, the hazel-eyed, somewhat flippy waitress, came running over to our table. She was as excited as if she’d just found out that she’d hit the lottery.

  “Oh, Lou, I have been thinking all about you and your news story! I’ve been telling everyone who comes in all about you. You’re a big celebrity here in town!”

  “Who, him?” Pawler asked. “What, are you kidding?”

  “Hey, Sarge! Yes, he is so important, all the way from Washington where the president lives. I’ve told everyone all about your stories about the old lady and those nasty murders!”

  She took our orders and scooted away, rushing into the kitchen, yelling out to the owner, “Hey, Sy! He’s back, the reporter! Go look! Maybe he will put us in the Washington news. Hey, Sy, look!”

  “What did you tell that nitwit?” the sergeant asked. “What’d you fill her head with?”

  “Nothing much.”

  Just then, I saw Sy sneak a peek out through the kitchen doors. He looked me over, kind of inspecting me as if I had a contagious disease. Then he slowly made his way over to the table to say hello to Pawler. They shook hands and made some small talk for a minute before he acknowledged me. “And you’re that hotshot reporter everyone’s been blabbing about. You ask a lot of questions.” He narrowed his eyes as if trying to size me up. Sy was a big, imposing kind of man, the kind that sticks out in your mind.

  “Only trying to write an award-winning news story,” I said.

  “You know what they say, don’t you? Curiosity killed the cat.” He laughed loudly.

  “I’ve heard that before. But I’ve never taken to cats. Besides, I’m allergic . . . .”

  “Well, best of luck, young man. I’ve got some cooking to do.” Sy returned to the kitchen.

  Some people just don’t take to me. Maybe Sy is related to Sergeant Pawler. Sy was a big, imposing kind of man, the kind that sticks out in your mind.

  Kristen’s eyes were wide and bright as she brought our food. She smiled her big smile and said, “Do you think you could sign your placemat for me?”

  Pawler laughed loudly. “Give me a stinking break!”

  “You want my autograph?” I asked, shocked.

  “Yes. You’re going to be famous one day.”

  Pawler laughed even harder. “Him?”

  “Please, pretty please . . . .”

  “Fine!” I snapped, trying to end Pawler’s entertainment. I signed the placement to her as follows: “To Kristen, the happiest girl in Hagerstown. Don’t ever change! Louis J. Gerhani.”

  She ran into the kitchen like she had found gold, clutching the placemat and yelling, “Sy, look what I have!”

  I felt like a fool. Then I felt even dumber as Sergeant Pawler looked at me with a sarcastic grin.

  “Hey, Pawler, sit on a tack!”

  Kristen had been such a sweetheart, and had stored my containers of pistachio ice cream in the diner’s large freezer. I was only too happy to comply with her silly request for an autograph. She would make someone very happy someday. There is a childlike innocence in that girl, I thought. Just thinking of her brought a smile to my face. You know, innocence beats out over-educated haughtiness in a woman any day. There should be the right mix. That brought Felicia to mind, and I could swear that my heart skipped a beat.

  As we entered the nursing home, Jeremy Roberts, the administrator, was waiting for us. He greeted Pawler and me and was thrilled to learn that I had brought three containers of fresh-made ice cream for Lolita and her friends. He gladly asked someone to store them in the kitchen’s freezers for me.

  Residents, seated around the room, seemed to stare at people as they arrived. Smiling and waiting for you to smile at them, hoping you would say a kind word to them.

  Clearly, some of them were lonely, even though there were so many other residents to mingle with. It was quite sad to study their faces, observing the real sick ones, the lonely ones, and the ones not even sure where they were.

  Pawler said, “Hope someone puts a bullet in my head before they dump me in a glue factory like this.”

  “I’m sure someone will help you out with that wish one day!” I joked. I understood his thinking, and that scared me too, more than anything. Sometimes the ones with the hardest outer shell are the softest inside, and deep down they have a good heart, though it may go undetected for many years.

  “So, Sergeant,” Roberts said, “what brings you to our senior home?” He studied the sergeant.

  “Just a precaution; someone has escaped captivity. We should have him back in custody shortly. I’ll be guarding the front entrance, and as soon as Lou here is finished, I’ll be on my way.”

  The sergeant stood by the entranceway, observing everyone who came and went. I could tell he was bored out of his bird. But I never asked for his help. Still, it was comforting having a gun nearby for my defense.

  I smiled a stupid grin at the sergeant and then followed Jeremy Roberts to the meeting room where Lolita would be waiting for us. It was around one, after her lunchtime and the physical therapy she did each day. Roberts explained that they exercised the leg and arm muscles to ward off atrophy, which could freeze up an older person’s joints and muscles. “Then they kind of waste away,” Roberts explained. “‘Use it or lose it,’ is what we say.”

  Miss Lolita was sitting in a comfortable reclining chair and had her eyes closed. There were a few other residents in the recreation room where family members came to gather with their loved ones.

  Roberts and I spoke for a few minutes about the kind of care that his home could provide. I didn’t want to disturb Miss Lolita. Along with other elderly residents I saw, she slept in the chair. It’s a wakeup call to someone like me. I couldn’t wait to leave and appreciate the freedom I have. I don’t think I could work in a nursing home. It would be heartbreaking when someone I had come to love passed away, as surely happens regularly. I was acting paranoid and I knew it, but the place really affected me.

  I was looking around for Lolita’s family members, but Roberts told me that they would be coming by that evening. We waited a few more minutes, and Roberts gave me a bottle of spring water to drink. Of course, I had to discuss the 1923 murders with him. But he shed no additional information on the investigation, just reinforcing all the previous facts I had come to learn from various sources about past suspects.

  In Roberts’s opinion, whoever committed the murders had some connection to the young women—either a jealous boyfriend, a jilted lover, or perhaps a loser of some sort—someone who always struck out with the girls. Some men can’t get a date and have been hurt many times in their efforts to get close to a woman and, thus, according to Roberts, who had some knowledge of psychology, might lash out at women due to their sense of inferiority.

  It made perfect sense to me, and I absorbed his theories and filed them away in my mind for later reference.

  Some ten minutes later, Lolita awoke. I didn’t rush in to speak with her right away, as I wanted to give her a chance to fully awaken. From a distance, I saw a beautiful Felicia, in her white uniform, go in and attend to Lolita. She adjusted Lolita’s position in her soft chair, fixing a pillow behind her and making sure she was comfortable. Miss Lolita’s hair was combed, and Felicia made sure her makeup and lipstick were touched up.

  I realized at that point that I had serious feelings for Felicia. She was the most stunning woman I had ever laid eyes on. And although her gray eyes were a knockout, her smile floored me every time I saw it. She was trim and fit, and her hair was long and dark, and was perfect for her gorgeous face. She was a ten out of ten for me. It is amazing how someone can fall pretty deeply for another person so soon after meeting him or her. I suppose that’s love at first sight, which I had never really believed in—not until I came eye to eye with Felicia that very first time.

>   My life would not be enjoyable without Felicia being a part of it, though I had no idea how we could or should move forward from this very early and intense infatuation we had for one another. Once I got my assignment finished and the 1923 murder investigation all sewed up, I would talk to Felicia about the possibility of a relationship going forward. I prayed that I would do nothing to risk losing my job or to screw up the Lolita story. After all, it was my only opportunity to keep a very good-paying job. And who wants to date a poor, unemployed, homeless guy, even if he is cute? Yes, I had to add cute to the list. I have to hold on to a shred of self-confidence, after all! Love begins within, or so I tell myself.

  Felicia and I made eye contact for two full seconds, then we said our hellos without showing any special interest outwardly. We knew that she could lose her job if she was discovered flirting with or dating anyone connected to the nursing home.

  Jeremy Roberts was right on the scene, and I made a special point not to stare at sweet Felicia. But it was killing me. When you are very attracted to a very beautiful woman, it is almost impossible not to look at her.

  Roberts whispered in Miss Lolita’s ear, “Lou, the reporter from the Washington newspaper, is here again, and he brought your favorite homemade ice cream!” Miss Lolita’s eyes lit right up when she finally realized I was there.

  “Show that young whippersnapper in! Don’t make anyone with pistachio ice cream wait. Time’s a-wasting!” She giggled.

  As I got close to her, she said, “Now you know the deal: get real close so that these old eyes can see your baby face in all its glory!”

  I got real close and kissed her gently on her cheek.