The Glamour and the Suffering of Marisa Mell

It is said that beauty is a gift bestowed only upon the truly blessed. For Marisa Mell, this initial blessing eventually turned out to be a bitter curse. She was a dazzling sex symbol and a style icon in the swingin’ 1960s, but her career later dissolved into poverty and tragedy.

She was born on February 24, 1939 in Graz, Austria as Marlies Theres Moitzi; later changing her name to one that was easier for non-German speakers to pronounce. Marisa was stunningly statuesque at 5’8″ tall and had a perfect body to match. Her face was structured like some ethereal Roman goddess; with mesmerizing green eyes, prominent cheekbones and a defined square bone structure. There are many gorgeous women out there, but Marisa was special. She just naturally had that It quality and hypnotic screen presence. It was obvious that she would be a star, and the Queen of B- Movies.

Rise to Fame

Marisa’s father abandoned their family when she was young, and she was smothered by her mother’s attentions. They resided in a housing complex inside the school grounds where her mother worked. Marisa appeared in her first film in 1954, at the age of 15. She was educated at a nunnery, and briefly attended a school of commerce in Graz. From 1958 to 1963, she was married to an Italo-Swiss man named Henry Tucci, but there is zero information on what type of person he was or what their marriage was like.

As a child, Marisa idolized Greta Garbo. After seeing Garbo’s 1936 film Camille, Marisa decided she too wanted to become an actress. She admired Dorothy Dandridge and found her beautiful, and had a crush on German actor Curd Jürgens. Some of Marisa’s hobbies were painting and studying archaeology. Her childhood was described as lonely. She often wore black, and girls admired her beauty from afar. Marisa was never seen without a man on her arm because she hated being alone.

Soon enough, Marisa went to Vienna and attended the Max Reinhardt drama school for four years to learn how to become a stage actor. The first time her lifelong friend Erika Pluhar saw her, she thought “I’ve never seen such a beautiful girl. In the movies maybe, but never so close and real… I envied her haughty untouchability, this insurmountable aura of beauty. ” Eventually, Marisa was offered more film roles.

She played in a ton of mostly forgotten West German movies that no one has seen (including Edgar Wallace Krimi pictures), and was then cast in legendary British director Ken Russell’s trashy 1964 comedy flick French Dressing. Russell (a talented director when not harassed by penny-pinching producers) knew that his first feature film was garbage, and later described the production as “a very unhappy film as far as I was concerned.”

French Dressing (1964)

Regardless, the film got Marisa noticed outside of Austria. She was the new Germanic Brigitte Bardot. When she was invited to the 1963 Buenos Aires film festival, she tried to seduce Psycho star Anthony Perkins. Unfortunately for her, Anthony was gay and more attracted to Julian Mateos, her Spanish arm candy. She was living the good life. But due to a freak accident, her success was almost prematurely botched.

Calamities and Bad Luck

In 1963, Marisa suffered a horrible car accident while shooting in France. Comatose for six hours, she almost lost her right eye in the horrific collision, and required extensive surgery for two years to repair her damaged lip. Due to good surgical work, the effects were almost un-noticeable. She was said to have a curled upper lip after the accident, which somehow made her look even more beautiful. Marisa believed she survived because “God was on my side.”

Applying make-up on the set of Casanova ’70 (1965)

After recovering, she returned to acting, moved to Italy and became a well known B-movie starlet. While filming the 1964 western The Last Ride to Santa Cruz on Spain’s Gran Canaria island, an athletic Marisa fell off her horse and suffered an intense nosebleed. She was rescued by a male passerby who immediately fell for her.

Marisa enjoyed the sunny climate and chic jet-set lifestyle of Rome over the austerity and gray cold of Austria. Her highest profile production at the time was Mario Monicelli’s light-hearted 1965 comedy Casanova ’70. She starred alongside Marcello Mastroianni, Virna Lisi and Michèle Mercier. She also played in the 1966 thriller Secret Agent Super Dragon, a lame James Bond knockoff that has the dubious honor of being featured on Mystery Science Theater 3000, and having a 2.3 rating on IMDB.

From the flopped live performance of Mata Hari.

That year, Marisa was chosen to star as famed WWI spy Mata Hari in a lavish $800,000 Broadway musical adaptation, directed by Hollywood icon Vincente Minnelli. She was spotted by his wife Denise, through her photoshoots in magazines like Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar.

After a disastrously embarrassing 1967 preview in Washington, the entire production was sacked. Lady Bird Johnson was in attendance that evening, and had sponsored the performance. Only later did the Minnellis realize that Marisa could not sing, and neither could she speak English. She had spoken to Denise only in Italian, and she was said to have gotten the role after having a lesbian affair with her.

Critic Ken Mandelbaum wrote that “the show ran well past midnight, scenery collapsed and the virtually nude Mell was accidentally spotlighted during a costume change.” Theater programmer Max Woodward, who witnessed the performance, stated that “at the end, she’s tied to a pole. And then after they shoot her, she reaches up and scratches her nose.”

Yikes. The debacle effectively ended Marisa’s chances at a Hollywood career, and she fled back to Italy to escape the backlash. She claimed that she didn’t want to become the property of any Hollywood studio anyways, because their restrictive “contract was a whole book. I think that even to go to the toilet I would have needed a permission.” Previously, in 1964, she had refused a lucrative seven year Hollywood contract.

On the set of Danger, Diabolik (1968)

Regardless, the failure stayed in Marisa’s heart forever. Whenever Europeans asked her about her time on Broadway, Marisa would lie that Mata Hari was a great hit in order to save face.

Success in Italy

In 1968, Marisa starred in what is arguably her best known film: Mario Bava’s campy action-crime extravaganza, Danger, Diabolik. Based on the Italian comic book series (fumetti), the film was Italy’s flashy and psychedelic answer to Batman, and featured a hip soundtrack by Ennio Morricone.

Marisa and John in a promo shot.

Marisa was cast as Eva Kant, the sexy and stylish girlfriend of the Italian criminal mastermind Diabolik; played by handsome and chiseled American film star John Phillip Law. Together, the two made a formidably attractive onscreen couple, and had electric chemistry that kindled a brief love affair offscreen.

The Eva Kant character was supposed to be blonde, so Marisa donned a very high-quality wig to play the role. Unlike the Eva of the fumetti, who dressed more conservatively and wore her hair in an up do; Marisa’s adaptation of the character called for more slutty and revealing outfits and long, flowing, golden hair. The film was an instant hit and a cult classic, and so was Marisa.

Marisa Mell and John Phillip Law make out on a pile of cash in Danger, Diabolik (1968)

Initially, Catherine Deneuve was cast, but she was fired after a week of filming. Mario Bava lamented how she was too much of an “ice princess” and not sexy and uninhibited enough to play the role of Eva Kant. John Phillip Law said that she was nice, but they had no sexual chemistry.

Ironically, Catherine refused to perform the famous scene where she and Diabolik make love on ten million dollars of cash; but later starred in the explicit 1967 Luis Buñuel film Belle de Jour. It was of no matter, as Bava would find a new actress. His initial choice was Italian actress Marilù Tolo (fashion designer Valentino called her the love of his life), but producer Dino De Laurentiis liked Marisa much more. And so, the rest was history.

The lovers share a passionate onscreen kiss.

John Philip Law said that when he and Bava saw Marisa, “we knew everything was going to work out. We fell into each other’s arms on the first day, and had a really great relationship on — and off-screen, after a while.” The photogenic pair shacked up together, and even adopted a stray black kitten found on a beach in Anzio whom they named Diabolik.

The flame was fickle, and their affair ended after shooting wrapped. John was a notorious playboy, and Marisa wasn’t short of lovers herself. Fun fact: Diabolik the cat eventually became the property of Jane Fonda, and she took him back to Paris with her after she co-starred with John in the 1968 sci-fi cult classic Barbarella.

Virna, Ursula, Marisa and Claudine.

Marisa’s next film was 1968’s Anyone Can Play, a romantic comedy in which she co-starred with Virna Lisi, Ursula Andress and Claudine Auger (the latter two were famous Bond girls). Despite the cast of classic beauties, the film was a flop and faded into oblivion.

With 1969 came Marisa’s second most famous film; a giallo by infamous horror gore-exploitation director Lucio Fulci called Una Sull’altra (One on Top of the Other). While Fulci’s later films were mostly bloody and disturbing, this one was tame and restrained in comparison, and extremely well made. The film also has an outstanding jazz soundtrack by Riz Ortolani.

Marisa Mell gives Jean Sorel a bj in Una Sull’altra (1969)

In this giallo classic, Marisa stars in a suspenseful double role, and again dons a glam blonde wig to play her character. It is very reminiscent of the 1958 Hitchcock film Vertigo, and explores the nature of infidelity, lascivious sexuality, morality, fate and mistaken identity.

In some countries, the film was released under the skeevy title Perversion Story. Her co-star was dashing French actor Jean Sorel, and the pair had fantastic chemistry onscreen. While he does not appear on Marisa’s long list of lovers, I bet my life that they smashed irl.

Looking like a perfect 10 on set.

Dating a Bad Boy

In 1969, Marisa also suffered a miscarriage. The child had belonged to her boyfriend, an Italian nightclub owner, drug dealer, mobster and producer with aristocratic roots named Pier Luigi Torri. He was like the real life Diabolik, except uglier. Marisa and Pier Luigi dated on and off for six years from 1965 onwards, and he was her longest boyfriend.

Through Pier Luigi, Marisa accessed a world of wealth, parties, drugs, glamour, power, intrigue and excitement. He was a jet-set member of Roman high society, and an eligible bachelor whom many gold-diggers wanted to nab. He occasionally produced films; many of them being softcore pornos.

With her sugar daddy Pier Luigi Torri.

He could often be seen driving his Ferraris and Rolls-Royces around Monte Carlo casino, and gambled away millions of lira at a time. He owned several villas and beachfront properties, as well as one of the most luxurious yachts in the world. When Prince Rainier of Monaco propositioned Pier Luigi for his yacht, he turned the Prince down. From then onwards, Rainier had a flaming hatred of him.

It is presumed that Marisa met Pier Luigi through her friendship/fling with fellow Austrian actor Helmut Berger. Berger himself was having a gay love affair with director and nobleman Luchino Visconti, who was a permanent fixture in the Roman aristocracy. To be anybody in Italy, you had to navigate the complex social web of who’s who.

Pier Luigi, his producer friend Bino Cicogna and a man named Vassallo all co-owned Number One nightclub, the hottest place to be in Rome. Cocaine circulated freely among the clientele, some of whom came from the most prestigious families in Rome; as well as entertainment industry and political names.

In December of 1971, Bino was found dead in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. He had supposedly committed suicide by placing a plastic bag over his head and sticking it in a gas oven, due to his despair over pending criminal charges and an addictive cocaine habit. But Pier Luigi suspected foul play.

Soon after, Number One nightclub was raided by cops and busted for cocaine. There is no doubt that Marisa used coke as well, but who didn’t at the time? As the cops began to close in on Pier Luigi, Roman tabloids went wild trying to link Marisa to the scandal.

In 1971, he fled Italy on his yacht to avoid the criminal charges pending against him. He escaped to Monaco, but bitter Prince Rainier ratted him out. After an arraignment in Nice, France, he was allowed to leave. Pier Luigi then escaped further to London. It is thought that his and Marisa’s relationship cut off around this point.

Marisa in The Devil’s Ransom, a 1971 film that Pier Luigi Torri produced as a starring vehicle for her.

She stood by him however, until he was arrested once more in London for a $300 million dollar scam. Pier Luigi then ingeniously escaped Scotland Yard by crawling outside through a bathroom ventilation shaft, and then scaling the rooftops to safety.

He vanished for 18 months, but was re-arrested in New York 18 months later. Though he was extradited back to Italy and sentenced to seven years in prison, he never served any time. Pier Luigi went on to marry a different woman, had two children, and died in 2011 at the age of 85.

The troubled couple dine at a Roman restaurant.

Where does this wild crime drama leave Marisa? The relationship took a major toll on her. Pier Luigi had a violent and abusive temper and often beat her. That could possibly be why she had a miscarriage in 1969. Regardless, she wanted to marry him and settle down. But that never occurred because he was too busy being an international criminal. The fiasco also murdered her reputation.

Thotting Around Europe

Still, Marisa did not learn her lesson and continued to date or have one night stands with many sleazy fellow actors. Her list of lovers is long and varied, and includes Alain Delon, Warren Beatty, Helmut Berger, Stephen Boyd, Robert Evans, Michel Piccoli, John Phillip Law, Roman Polanski, and even the Shah of Iran, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi. And these are just the ones worth noting.

The two undoubtedly would’ve made a great couple, except I think Marisa has better bone structure than Alain.

Her love affair with Alain Delon seemed to have been mostly one-sided. In her 1990 autobiography Coverlove, Marisa discusses the hook-up in gratuitous detail. Delon, however, never even mentioned Marisa in his own book. The two met in 1962 on a plane to Yugoslavia. She was immediately attracted to Delon, and described him as “passionate and animalistic” in the sack.

Unfortunately, Delon was a massive lothario (read: manwhore), and Marisa turned out to be just another notch on his list. But hey, this was the guy who broke Romy Schneider’s heart. Hilariously, Marisa claims to have had sex with Delon leading up to the press conference announcing his engagement to Francine Canovas (later known as Nathalie Delon), and after it!

Poster art for Marta (1971)

Seduced and Abandoned

In 1971, Marisa met Stephen Boyd, the man who was perhaps the love of her life. Stephen was a handsome Irish rogue best know for his iconic role in the 1959 sword and sandal epic Ben-Hur. He was eight years older than Marisa, and had already broken a lot of women’s hearts.

She gave a detailed account of their passionate romance in her book, and described it as “so difficult, strange, beautiful and sad that I can hardly bear to think of it.” The pair first met on the set of the 1971 psychological thriller Marta. Marisa described the meeting as electric, and claimed upon first glance she realized that he was “the man of my life.”

Stephen Boyd treated me like a piece of prop! she complained.

Stephen, however, did not feel the same way and ignored all of Marisa’s advances, much to her chagrin. Even though the film had many sex scenes, she could not get Stephen to react. Marisa said the experience wastorture. I spent eight weeks showing him only my best side – sweet, cute, seductive, open, mysterious – everything! It was no use.

Stephen resisted Marisa all the way through the filming of Marta with a will of iron. She was pissed, and never wanted to see him ever again. After all, which man in his right mind could resist Marisa Mell? Six months later, the pair returned to Madrid to shoot another film called The Great Swindle.

Historia de una traición (1971)

Marisa gave up her attempts to seduce Stephen. This time, it was his turn to try and put the moves on her. He began courting Marisa, and sent her roses and asked her out. She couldn’t resist, and jumped at the chance to go on a date with Stephen at a flamenco bar.

His glances made her “weak in the knees,” and she said that helooked like a god.” After the date, they spent the night at Stephen’s place. It was clearly a satisfying lay, since Marisa described him as “just so awesome in his passion, his tenderness and his masculinity that I completely lost my head.”

Stephen admitted that he had initially rejected Marisa because he was scared of getting involved with a “dangerous woman” like her, and that he had just gotten out of difficult love affair. And yet, he snapped and proposed marriage that very same night. They decided to have a Gypsy wedding, probably for the shock value of it.

The couple went to a Gypsy camp in the morning, and rode in horse-drawn carriages. Marisa wore a silk dress and Stephen wore a linen shirt, and the observers sang and danced flamenco by a fire. During their wedding ceremony, the pair took a blood oath. A priest cut their wrists with a dagger, and mingled their blood together to bond them as husband and wife. 

The altar of Sarsina Cathedral, where they received an exorcism.

 Eventually, they realized that their relationship had become too obsessive, so the superstitious pair went for a ritual exorcism at the 10th century Cathedral of St. Vicinius in the Italian village of Sarsina. The couple apparently felt that they had been “possessed by an evil demon. Our demon was our passion. A Catholic priest blessed them and recited the exorcism rites.

Marisa didn’t care if people thought they were crazy, and remarked “sometimes love is like a deadly disease, sometimes it makes you feel that you are damned for all eternity. Trying to explain the reasons for this is impossible. There are things in our lives that are too high for our philosophy.

 Soon after the exorcism, Stephen fell ill and decided to end the relationship. He had a high fever, but doctors couldn’t tell what was wrong with him. They believed it was a psychosomatic disorder caused by their love affair. He told Marisa “I must leave you, for I know full well that one day you will go. I could not endure it. She cried and begged him to stay, but he left on a flight to Belfast and she never saw him again.

 After Stephen’s death in 1977, she claimed that his spirit often spoke to her from beyond the grave. She explained that “we both believe in reincarnation, and we realized we’ve already been lovers in three different lifetimes, and in each one I made him suffer terribly… But sometimes I have the feeling that he is speaking to me – from another world.

Marta (1971)

I like the supernatural/occult touch to their romance, but it most likely dissolved due to Stephen’s inability to commit to Marisa. He was a player who constantly bragged about being an individualistic bachelor, and was not yet ready to be tied down by marriage. Nevertheless, the year-long fling was quite intense while it lasted and Marisa never forgot him and the memory of their ephemeral love.

A Fading Star

It was obvious by now that Marisa had bad luck with men. Should she have just avoided these toxic romances and focused instead on building her career? She once proclaimed that “movies are my life, and my life is a movie.” But she was also dismissive of her profession, stating “I have a higher goal than making one stupid picture after another.” Whatever that goal was, it never materialized.

Sette orchidee macchiate di rosso (1972)

In 1972, she played a small role in Umberto Lenzi’s Seven Blood-Stained Orchids, a gory yet dull giallo that has since become a B-movie classic. While it was not exactly Lenzi’s finest work, the film has some gruesome death scenes that stand out. Marisa is murdered by a killer wielding an electric power drill in the movie’s bloodiest sequence.

By the late 1970s, Marisa’s career hit a steep decline. She continued to star in films until her death, but most of them were D-list movies that were way beneath her talent level. Although she was only in her 30s, she appeared ten years older than her actual age. This was most likely caused by excessive drug use and hard living.

La belva col mitra (1977). The bisexual Helmut once said that Marisa had a very pleasant androgynous face, and would’ve made a beautiful man.

In 1977, she starred in her last notable film: Beast with a Gun AKA Mad Dog Killer, a shockingly explosive crime thriller that bordered on exploitation due to its violent and sexual content. She starred alongside her former lover Helmut Berger; who gave a hilariously over the top yet masterful performance as a sick and depraved criminal on the loose. They were still close friends offscreen, and often partied together.

The film was based on the antics of Italian mafioso Renato Vallanzasca; a criminal so perverse he once decapitated an informer during a prison riot. The movie perfectly captures the maniacal spirit of its subject, and is fast-paced and action-packed with an awesome soundtrack by Umberto Smaila.

Helmut Berger literally deserved an Oscar for his performance.

Beast with a Gun was classified as a “Video Nasty” in the U.K., and declared an obscene film that could be confiscated by police if it were to be re-released in theaters. Quentin Tarantino later lifted the soundtrack and used some clips of Marisa and Helmut in his supremely unoriginal 1997 movie Jackie Brown.

Sadly, more tragedy struck that year in 1977. Marisa became a mother-to-be once again at 38 years old. She was photographed by paparazzi in Rome while heavily pregnant, and was accompanied by her Afghan Hound Rocco and actor Gianni Macchia. She looked to be in the late stages of pregnancy, yet she was still smoking cigarettes. Strangely, Marisa believed that Rocco was in the incarnation of somebody she once knew and had telepathic powers.

On November 26, 1977, Marisa gave birth to a premature baby girl she named Louisa Erika, after her mother. Sadly, her baby died the very same day. Marisa was heartbroken, and never attempted to have a child again. Neither did she ever reveal the identity of the father. Louisa Erika was buried in Rome’s Camposanto Teutonico cemetery; a graveyard reserved only for those of German descent.

A Dismal Downfall

Marisa’s life was on a steady downhill course. In the 1980s, she was almost a nobody. She was in her 40s, and producers now considered her too old to be a lead actress. She struggled to find work, and became mired in poverty and depression. Marisa drank and used drugs, and appeared in porno mags to churn out an income.

Marisa appeared in a 1983 edition of Men magazine, a hardcore publication.

She was never shy about showing her body for money, but these were not the glitzy and tasteful Angelo Frontoni Vogue photoshoots she had started off with early in her career. These pictures were more on the vulgar side, and she was ashamed that she had to resort to nudie mags to make an income. In 1986, a cynical Marisa reflected back on her life and looks, stating that “I was never proud of my beauty, I was rather bothered by it. It was a tragedy. Every man wanted me, but no man wanted to keep me.”

Despite all her attempts to do so, she never found true enduring love. The whole world had wanted her, but when she grew old she was cast aside. When she lost her looks, she lost everything. Yet she was confident in herself and refused to get plastic surgery; something which is very admirable and rare in this day and age.

She was forced to return back to Austria so she could receive some much-needed welfare money. Italian porn directors had offered her roles, but Marisa refused to take that dark road. Outside of nude modelling, she tried to make money in other ways but wasn’t too successful at it. She was still friends with Helmut Berger, and he would often ring her doorbell late at night which annoyed her.

Marisa did poetry readings, starred in low budget independent movies, sang (she was terrible at it), and made art. She painted and drew, but her exhibitions were not very popular. In Christmas of 1991, mere months before she died; Marisa was back in Vienna and so desperate for money that she took a job as the cook of Father Laun, a pastor from Kahlenbergerdorf. When she died penniless, this kind priest paid for Marisa’s grave.

The artist and her works.

At Death’s Door

A lifelong smoker, Marisa was diagnosed with thyroid cancer in 1991. She received many different treatments including chemotherapy, but none eased her symptoms. Some female friends took her a on a trip to India to cheer her up, since she was fascinated by eastern spirituality. Marisa enjoyed herself immensely, and began wearing saris back in Austria. She also started worshipping the Indian saint Sai Baba.

Marisa was a superstitious woman, and used alternative medicine to try and cure her cancer. She enjoyed parapsychology, tarot readings, necromancy and fortune telling. She was also a classic Pisces, stating that “I believe in astrology but I don’t need it…It ruins your nerves if you take it daily.” Marisa continued to have flings with younger men like a cougar until her health prevented it.

During a palm reading in the 1960s.

On May 16, 1992, Marisa finally succumbed to throat cancer at the age of 53 and died alone at the Viennese Wilhelminenspital. Her funeral was attended only by a few close friends. None of her former film colleagues showed up, or the many people she once knew in Italy. In the end, she had nobody who was truly there for her. It was a sad ending to a once illustrious life.

Actress and friend Christine Kaufmann remembered Marisa as “a strong woman with who you could eat spaghetti with at home, but could also appear with at high end cocktail parties where she would wear fragile golden shoes because she had very beautiful small ankles with a stunning face.” Sounds ideal.

Her gravestone at the Kahlenbergerdorfer Friedhof cemetery, courtesy of The Marisa Mell Blog.

Though most people only cared about her looks, Marisa was an intelligent woman on the inside. She enjoyed the works of Rainer Maria Rilke, Jean de La Fontaine and Honoré de Balzac, and her favourite novel was Dostoevsky’s The Idiot. She read poems by the medieval German lyricist Walther von der Vogelweide, philosophy by the Chinese Taoist Lao-Tze, and of course, she was into Friedrich Nietzsche.

Her favourite artist was Modigliani, and her most-loved classical piece was Beethoven’s Symphony No. 2. Marisa was also a great cook, had a sizeable record collection (she liked Edith Piaf and The Beatles), and loved vodka and Winston cigarettes. Her favourite films were Bergman’s The Silence and Truffaut’s Jules and Jim.

In an interview from the 1960s, Marisa dismissed her sexpot image and described herself as “a very good girl” who is “shy, sensitive, ambitious, intelligent and good-natured.” Her dream role was to play Anna Karenina. She had yearned to becoming a serious actress, but was more often chosen for “sexy” roles. In her school days, she had considered herself an existentialist and wanted to become a philosopher. And instead, she is now beloved by geeky cult and exploitation fans for her exciting and glamorous B-movie roles and knockout face and bod.

Marisa’s close pal Erika Pluhar gave a touching eulogy for her deceased friend:

“You died in poverty. But maybe a little richer, I think, than when you were paid large salaries. When your body was being exploited and you didn’t have the strength to resist and look for love instead of competing. Who is the most beautiful in the whole country, this eternally pernicious question ruined your life too.”

Beauty made Marisa into a pop culture icon, but it also destroyed her. The callous Roman film industry she had worked for and gave all her youth to had discarded her once they considered her to be too old. She was an attractive mature woman and still a fine actress, but she wasn’t given the chance to prove it in her later years.

Marisa Mell was a gorgeous, smart and multi-talented actress who also partied hard and had a self-destructive streak. She loved with passion and gave all of herself to her relationships and performances. Sadly, her acting career fizzled out and she died of the terrible cancer that ravaged her body; alone and forgotten in a Viennese hospital.

Audiences now remember Marisa for her vibrant onscreen presence and striking one-in-a-million looks. But we should also remember who she was outside of her films, and the way she suffered and struggled with quiet strength and dignity. Marisa Mell is a tragic B-Movie Queen for the ages; the Austrian princess of sleaze, charisma, and style, and there will never be anyone like her again.

Tiffany Bresciani’s Twisted Romance

What happens when a heroin-addicted prostitute dating a washed up and lobotomized punk rock star crosses paths with a violent, mentally disturbed serial killer? Total, utter chaos and heartbreaking tragedy, which would lead to her terrible death at just 22 years old.

Tiffany Bresciani was born on March. 10, 1971 in Metairie, Louisiana; a boring southern city where nothing really happens. She was an only child who dreamed of escape and fame, and her mother Cheryl said that she “wanted to live in the big cities… She was very happy and beautiful and loved people.” Tiffany’s grandmother nicknamed her “little lamb.”

She was a dreamy and idealistic Pisces girl of Italian-American descent with striking green eyes and reddish-brown hair; described as small, waif-like and pretty. Tiffany had a tattoo of a purple rose encircling her left wrist, and an Egyptian ankh set against a floral pattern on her left hip. She had an interest in alternative rock culture and pagan spirituality, and she dressed like a cool goth girl.

Tiffany’s goal was to become an actress, and she initially went to Hollywood. Deterred for whatever reason, she then headed to New York and set her sights on Broadway. However, life does not always go as planned. She ended up as a stripper instead; dancing at a sex emporium called The Big Top Lounge.

She dated Rick Wilder (the skeleton-looking founder of punk band The Mau-Mau’s) in a turbulent on-and-off relationship. This seemed to be the first stage of Tiffany’s downfall: becoming a stripper and rock’n’roll groupie.

Initially, however, things started out great. Tiffany reached the pinnacle of luxury by staying with Rick at his luxurious West 45th St Whitby co-op; occasionally inhabited by stars like Sinatra and the Barrymores. The place had an amazing view of the city, and made her feel glamorous and safe. Unfortunately, her life unraveled at a blinding pace.

Tiffany and Rick made a bizarre couple.

Tiffany suffered from a debilitating heroin addiction which caused her to turn to prostitution. A neighbor at the Whitby said that “she was always stoned. I used to worry so much about her. Most of the time, she was on drugs.” Rick and Tiffany’s relationship disintegrated over her addiction and sex work, and soon she was selling herself on gritty Allen Street to fund her habit.

Love Will Tear Us Apart

Around this time, she met her new lover: Dave Insurgent, lead singer and co-founder of the hardcore punk band Reagan Youth. His birth name was David Rubinstein, and his parents were Jewish Holocaust survivors from Poland.

Surrounded by Nazi punks and skinheads, the Reagan Youth were one of the few anarcho-leftist bands in the punk scene at that time. Their band name was a satirical mashup of Ronald Reagan + the infamous Hitler youth of WWII.

A grand view from the expensive Whitby apartments, where Tiffany once stayed.

They were the creators of such wonderful songs as Jesus Was A Communist and I Hate Hate, and regularly performed at the iconic CBGB nightclub. Quite honestly, their music is patently mediocre and I recommend the Dead Kennedys, Black Flag and the Misfits instead.

By the time Tiffany met Dave, he was extremely busted. Due to his erratic behavior, the Reagan Youth had disbanded in 1990. Dave was addicted to heroin and dealt drugs to make income, but he wasn’t very good at it and often pushed his luck. He used his own products instead of selling them, and when asked to repay his debts; he brashly informed seasoned thugs “you’ll get your money when I say you get it.” Wrong move.

During a smack deal gone wrong, Dave got his shit rocked for not paying up. A rival dealer beat Dave into a coma with a baseball bat, and he was taken to a hospital in emergency condition and lobotomized. Bandmate Paul “Cripple” Bakija described the horrific aftermath:

Dave “Insurgent” Rubinstein

The next day I visit Dave in the hospital and boy is it tough, he looks like hell. Dave’s eyelid was swollen so much it reached all the way down to his upper lip. His parents were there and I find out that he needed a lobotomy to save his life. 

Eventually, he gets discharged from the hospital but Dave now has stitches going around his forehead from ear to ear. When Dave finally recovered, as best he could, I asked him what happened. Dave told me he couldn’t remember anything.

Ouch.

Suffering from brain damage and post-surgical pain, Dave used marijuana to medicate himself. Sadly, the lobotomized ex-punk singer soon turned to heroin once again. He moved out of his parents’ home in Queens to an apartment on the Lower East Side. This is where he met Tiffany.

Tiffany’s sense of fashion was very cute and resembles the modern E-Girl aesthetic.

Dave once had a girlfriend named Susan Cordon, and she would cry and become extremely upset whenever he used heroin. Bakija said that she was the only thing preventing Dave from full fledged addiction. Once Susan dumped him, Dave became a junkie. She said that “after I left, he called one day freaked out that he had woken up in a crack house. Part of him knew what he was doing was scary and could have consequences.”

His friends now avoided him, and he couldn’t have looked too great with stitches running across his face from ear to ear. Dave was a shadow of his former self, and he would never perform again.

Despite all this, he somehow managed to hook up with beautiful Tiffany Bresciani. She was into alternative and edgy men, and dodgy Dave fit the bill. The clout from being in a known punk band, as well as their common heroin addiction must have created a strong toxic bond of love between the two. Without anyone to dissuade them from their drug use, the couple fell deeper into heroin abuse and degeneracy.

For some reason, Tiffany began to support Dave financially through prostitution; even though he was seven years her senior. Through her self sacrifice, Tiffany kept the couple afloat. Dave claimed to love her and even pronounced her his fiancée, yet he did not lift a finger to help the two out of the situation.

Instead, he often accompanied Tiffany while she went to solicit clients, and waited for her on the street. When she was finished, the two would go buy heroin together. If that sounds cucked, that’s because it was. Dave told his parents that Tiffany was a dancer. In a way, she was.

While she stripped at sleazy nightclubs, she caught the eye of a 34-year old unemployed landscaper named Joel Rifkin. He had seen her and been mesmerized by her performance, and was said to have been a regular customer.

On June 24, 1993, Tiffany would meet with Rifkin for the last time. Unknown to her and the other girls who worked the streets of New York; Rifkin was the worst serial killer in the city’s history. And now, it was Tiffany’s turn to die.

Who was Joel Rifkin and why did he murder women?

Joel Rifkin was a killer without a conscience. Born in 1959 and abandoned by his birth parents, he was adopted by a loving upper middle class family; so loving that detectives later on suspected that Joel’s mother Jeanne and sister Jan stayed silent despite knowing of his crimes.

While most serial killers have a fucked-up childhood filled with abuse and beatings, Rifkin’s family life was perfectly normal. What was problematic, however, was the bullying he faced in school. While in the gym showers, students threw eggs at him. Bullies dunked his head in toilets, and stole his clothes. Once some boys waited outside a library to beat him up, so he had to call his father to come rescue him. He was nicknamed “turtle” and “lardass” for his stooped posture and slow gait.

Geeky Joel

As for women, they though Rifkin was creepy and ugly and he was rejected by all of them. The only time he had a relationship with a woman was when he was in college studying horticulture; and a heavyset dark-haired classmate briefly dated then dumped him. She said he was “sweet, but always depressed.” In 1987, Rifkin’s father committed suicide after a fatal prostate cancer diagnosis. 7 months later, Rifkin was arrested for soliciting prostitution.

On the outside, people thought Rifkin was a normal guy. He seemed a bit shy and awkward, and was 34- years old yet still living with his mother and struggling to remain employed. But there was nothing on the outside to suggest alarm, and he was tested at a high IQ of 128.

On the inside, however, he was a violent monster. In 1989, Rifkin began a 4 year killing spree in which he murdered 17 prostitutes (or possibly even more); and dismembered and mutilated their bodies. He strangled them to death, then strew their limbs all across New York state. He dumped the corpses in forests, rivers, canals, fields, and abandoned properties.

The murder scene from Frenzy (1972)

Rifkin had no mercy for his victims, and killed sex workers because he believed their lives were worthless and that nobody cared for them. At his trial, he would realize that wasn’t the case. But any how, he was addicted to murdering women and he couldn’t stop.

After his apprehension, police found in his room books about Jeffrey Dahmer, Gary “Green River Killer” Ridgway, and Arthur Shawcross; sick serial killers who also murdered prostitutes. They also found a bondage manual on tying ropes and knots, and Women and Love by the feminist sexologist Shere Hite. Rifkin was obsessed with Hitchcock’s 1972 thriller Frenzy, and watched the strangulation scene hundreds of times. He developed a fetish for choking women.

Joel Rifkin was basically an incel who had snapped. While working at the Planting Fields Arboretum in Oyster Bay, he was rejected by a pretty blonde intern he was crushing on. It was too much for him. He lost it, and took out his rage on helpless and vulnerable sex workers. And unfortunately, Tiffany would be his final victim.

Pickup on Allen Street

It was a warm summer night, and Tiffany Bresciani was back on the streets after briefly trying to get help at a methadone clinic. She wanted to stop using heroin, but it was impossible. Tiffany’s mother and grandmother still cared about her and often mailed her care packages. The most recent one contained pictures, summer dresses and a white teddy bear. They asked her to come back home, but by now heroin had taken over her life.

Tiffany and Dave were hanging around outside waiting for a potential client, when a blue 1986 Toyota sedan pulled up. Joel Rifkin was on the prowl- in his mother’s car. Tiffany might have recognized him from a previous meeting, and trusted Rifkin enough to get in the car with him.

Rifkin later noted that he could not stop staring at her flattering outfit; a sheer green blouse and a black skirt that highlighted her figure, and that he liked her wrist tattoo. He also claimed that her murder was not premeditated (she was his second prostitute that night, and he had not killed the first girl), and that he assumed she was high on either cocaine or methadone.

Rifkin negotiated an encounter with Tiffany for $40, but some sources give that number to be as low as $20. Tiffany bid farewell to Dave and told him she would only be 20 minutes. Instead, he would never see her again.

Tiffany got into the vehicle, and Rifkin drove her to the nearby Manhattan Bridge. As they prepared for sex, a passerby nearly peered into the car; causing Rifkin to suffer from erectile dysfunction. This was a common occurrence with him, and he had once murdered a prostitute after she cried over his inability to get it up.

During sex, Rifkin decided to murder Tiffany. He squeezed her throat with his hands until her eyes were wide with fear, just like scene he desired to emulate from Hitchcock’s Frenzy. After a minute of strangulation, Tiffany died at around 5:30 AM. She was only 22- years old, and her life had ended in the most sordid and tragic manner.

When quizzed on Tiffany’s killing afterwards, Rifkin coldly summed the situation up as “it was someone I met in the city, and things didn’t go well.”

A gruesome serial killer comes undone

Pleased with himself, Rifkin stared at Tiffany’s body and admired her beauty and her auburn hair. He thought to himself what a shame it was that she was dead when she had been so attractive. The psychopath then drove to a supply store to buy blue tarp and long cord, and wrapped up Tiffany’s naked body in a deserted parking lot.

By the time Rifkin arrived home, it was 9 AM and his mother wanted her sedan back to run errands. Amazingly, his mother never realized there was a dead body in the trunk. Had she opened it, she would’ve uncovered a shocking surprise. After she returned home in 30 minutes, Rifkin removed the corpse and left it on an orange wheelbarrow in his mother’s garage. He then went inside his home and slept.

Police later found a wheelbarrow full of blood at his home.

Tiffany was his 17th victim, and Rifkin was no longer phased by killing. When asked how he could do something as repulsive as dismember a body, he said that the act of murder in itself was the true point of no return. He killed mechanically, and took pleasure in all the acts that preceded and ensued from it.

During his interview for the A&E documentary on his life, Rifkin jokes about Tiffany’s decaying body being “nice and ripe,” and chuckles at how his mother never noticed it. The man clearly has a sick sense of humor, as there was a bumper sticker on the back of his vehicle which read “Sticks and stones may break my bones but whips and chains excite me.”

Almost four days later, Rifkin realized that the corpse was decaying in the summer heat. For whatever reason, he had lagged in disposing of the remains. At around 3 AM on June 28, he placed the body in in his white 1984 Mazda pickup truck, and drove around looking for a place to discard it.

The totaled pickup

A pair of cops spotted his pickup on Long Island’s Southern State Parkway, and observed that it had no license plates. Unfortunately for Rifkin, the plates fell off during that fateful ride. Gripped with fear and the knowledge that he would finally be apprehended, Rifkin hit the gas pedal.

A 20 minute-long high-speed chase ensued, in which Rifkin drove up to 90 mph trying to get away from the cops pursuing him. Tiffany’s corpse rattled around in the back of the trunk as he drove, and at one point the vehicle nearly tipped over. In his mind, Rifkin was hoping he could drive into a body of water, and swim away from the whole situation.

After a dangerous pursuit, Rifkin finally crashed the vehicle into a streetlight. As the officer walked up to Rifkin, he observed him sitting in the driver’s seat with his hands up and a calm expression on his face. The horrified officer then smelled the strong odor of a decaying body. He inspected the back of the pickup, and shone a flashlight onto its contents.

There he observed Tiffany Bresciani’s badly decomposed corpse; so rotten that he could not even tell her ethnicity or gender. Since the corpse smelled atrocious, Rifkin had put Noxzema skin cream under his nose to avoid inhaling the stench. He had learned this trick from the film The Silence of the Lambs.

Rifkin’s sick charade had finally come to an end. Yet officers at the scene noticed that he was oddly relaxed. It was as if he had wanted to be caught. He asked an officer to turn up the AC in the police vehicle, thanking him and stating “there won’t be any AC where I’m going.” Police captain Walter Heesch instructed fellow officers as such:

“This guy’s too calm. Here’s this body, it smells so awful, and he’s riding around with it. And he’s not excited; he’s not upset. It’s not like this is his first murder, where there were drugs and sex and he got excited and killed her. There have to be others. Start asking him if there are others.”

A bra found in Rifkin’s room. He collected trinkets from his victims, and Tiffany’s driver’s license was one of the many objects discovered there.

After two hours of interrogation, Rifkin cracked and confessed to 17 murders. After several well-publicized trials, he was sentenced to 203 years of life in prison. During his sentencing, the judge said he deserved to be in jail in his next life as well.

And what of Tiffany, who was was loved and missed?

Tiffany’s mother Cheryl became worried once her daughter stopped phoning her. They usually spoke three times a week, and when the calls stopped coming Cheryl said that she “had the most awful feeling.” The last time she saw Tiffany was 9 months ago. She had returned home to Louisiana to visit.

When she discovered her daughter was dead, Cheryl was heartbroken. She testified at Rifkin’s trial on behalf of the pain she felt as a mother. About him, Cheryl says “I don’t hate him, I don’t hate anybody. I just can’t understand that. It’s still a shock to me… I still have that heartache, you know, it never goes away. There’s that empty feeling without her.”

Tiffany’s mother points out her daughter’s crypt.

And what of Dave “Insurgent” Rubinstein? What became of him when his beloved fiancé disappeared? Let us go back to the night of June 24, 1993, when Tiffany vanished in a blue sedan, right before his very eyes.

The 20 minutes had passed, and turned into hours- yet Tiffany was still nowhere to be seen. A panicked Dave combed the city, going to familiar haunts hoping to spot his girlfriend. He went to the strip club she danced at, and searched through every local emergency room. Dave even phoned up police to report the vehicle Rifkin that had picked her up in, but it was to no avail.

Finally, he was informed that his girlfriend’s decomposed corpse had been found in the pickup truck of an infamous serial killer. Dave was devastated by the loss. They had shared their addiction and suffering with one another, and she had supported him financially and emotionally. Additionally, he may even have felt some guilt about the whole situation.

Dave sporting cringey white boy dreads

They had had a Panic in Needle Park and Sid and Nancy type of intense relationship. As if what had happened wasn’t bad enough, Dave was dealt another blow that would send him over the edge. On June 30, 1993, just two days after Tiffany’s body was discovered, a one in a million freak accident took place at the Rubinstein home.

His father, Ronald, had somehow run over Dave’s mother, Giza, with his vehicle and killed her. The cause of death was internal bleeding. How does that even happen? How does one accidentally run over their own wife in their home garage? It just seems absurd.

Giza Rubinstein had survived the Łódź ghetto of Nazi-occupied Poland, and was in the Auschwitz concentration camp when it was liberated in 1945. All of her family members were killed except for her sister. Dave’s poor mother had survived the worst circumstances, only to be accidentally killed by her own husband years later. The irony and cruelty of life is mystifying.

Giza Gitla Rubinstein

Unable to cope with the immensity of these two tragedies, Dave decided to kill himself. On July 3, 1993, three days after his mother’s death, Dave committed suicide by overdosing on heroin. His father Ronald buried his own wife and only son in the same week. Ronald himself had survived Stalin’s gulags, yet this truly was the worst time of his life.

The depression and loneliness of losing his girlfriend and mother at the exact same time understandably crushed poor Dave and obliterated his will to live. However, Dave’s ex-bandmate Paul Bakija had more insightful information into the situation:

“The last time we spoke was the night he died. He came over to my house. It all happened fast. I think his mom died a few days after his girlfriend, who was a prostitute. This wasn’t his main girl. His main girl is still alive. The one who ended up dying was some girl he picked up on the street. She was tricking, and she paid for his drugs. He put her in a car, and that was the last time he ever saw her. I think he committed suicide a week later.”

Yikes. According to the way he tells it, it sounds like Dave was literally acting as Tiffany’s pimp, and cheating on her as well. Though technically, Tiffany was unfaithful too. It is shocking though that Dave told his friends that Tiffany wasn’t even his “main girl,” and there was some other more prominent woman in his life.

Did Dave kill himself out of guilt? Did he somehow feel that he was responsible? Tiffany had tried to get clean a few times before her death, and despite failing to do so; it indicates she had the will to make a better life for herself. She was only 22, and her life was cut short so abruptly.

Ultimately, the toxic relationship that Dave Rubinstein and Tiffany Bresciani had going on between them contributed to their destruction. Running into Joel Rifkin was a shocking stroke of bad luck, as their lives had already been filled with so much misfortune.

The saddest part is, Tiffany Bresciani’s life is now defined by Joel Rifkin and Dave Rubinstein- it as if she has lost her own identity between these two. Information on the girl herself is rare and scarce to come by. Rifkin said about his victims, “I killed prostitutes because they had no one.  They had no lasting relationships.  No family who cared.  No one would ever come looking for them.” That is total bullshit, and he must be proven wrong.

Judging from the few photos and testimonies of her, Tiffany seemed like a sweet goth girl who was just lost in an awful addiction that ended up consuming her. She was an interesting, well-read, street smart, fashionable and fun individual, but she had lost herself in the end. Men had taken advantage of her when she was at her lowest and most helpless.

Some people hope that she and Dave are together in the afterlife. I just hope that wherever she is now, Tiffany is finally at peace.

How Rohinie Bisesar Lost Her Mind

Rohinie Bisesar is not an imposing woman. Standing at only 4’11” at 85 lbs, she appears utterly harmless and shy in her behavior and etiquette. She is pretty, and looks younger than the 40 years of age she was in the mugshot above. She is intelligent and highly educated, with an MBA and a Bachelor’s in Molecular Biology.

And yet; she stabbed a woman to death 2 weeks before Christmas in 2015, at a Toronto pharmacy while in the grip of a schizophrenic episode.

How did this attractive and well-schooled woman decompose psychologically? It is a complex tale of mental illness, child abuse, a strict Asian family, capitalism, careerism, delusion, abandonment, personal failure, and pure madness. This is the story of Rohinie Bisesar.

School portrait

A Strict Childhood

She was born in 1975 in Guyana, to Hindu Indian parents. Guyana is a beautiful South American tropical nation, but it suffers from extreme poverty and a culture of domestic violence and misogyny. It has the highest suicide rate in the world, and was home to the 1978 Jonestown Massacre; when crazed cult leader Jim Jones induced over 900 of his followers into “revolutionary suicide” via cyanide-laced Kool Aid.

Her parents moved to Canada in 1980, with their two oldest children. They left behind their youngest daughter, five-year old Rohinie, in the care of relatives. By all accounts, she was not their favorite child. After earning enough money to buy a house, her parents finally brought her to Toronto to live with them. They had another son shortly.

Rohinie occupied the lowest hierarchical position in the family: she was the second daughter. Her parents were more proud of their two boys, and they viewed her as the extra daughter they didn’t need.

The Bisesar Family Store

She was compared to her successful older sister Chandra; an ambitious investment banker and chartered accountant living in New York City.

Her parents ran a small clothing store called Sandra’s and Chico’s, and worked part time gigs as well. They were serial workaholics who expected Rohinie to have the same drive for labour that they did. Any time she was not at school, she was made to work at the family store.

She had no time for a social life or dating. Rohinie’s father was a super strict traditional Hindu, and she grew resentful at how her parents controlled every aspect of her life. Her father forbade her to wear makeup, well into her 20s.

Finally, she rebelled: Rohinie ran away from home as a teenager, but was discovered by a truck driver who took her to a police station.

The Bisesar Family Home

This was the last straw for her religious nut father. He took her to a Hindu faith healer, and they performed a bizarre and disturbing cleansing ceremony. They forced Rohinie to strip naked, and poured chicken blood onto her. With a father like that, who needs an enemy?

After this, Rohinie became skeptical of her religion; often ridiculing superstitious aspects of Hinduism. Her antipathy towards her abusive father may have driven her off dating Indian men. Later on, when asked out by men of her race, Rohinie would politely inform them that she only dated tall white men.

After graduating high school in 1993, Rohinie attained a Bachelor’s degree in Molecular Biology at the University of T Scarborough, and an Administrative Studies degree in General Management from York. She also had a certification from the Canadian Securities Institute, and a certificate in mining as well. She worked as a technical writer and computer technician at York’s math department, and attained her MBA in 2007. Her future looked promising.

Leaving the Nest

2003 was the year that Rohinie could not stand living with her parents any longer. She was 28 years old, yet still bound by a curfew and her parents had access to her bank account. Her life was one of mere work and study. It was no life at all.

Her traditional religious parents thought it was blasphemy for a woman to leave the home before marriage. But Rohinie defied them by moving out to live with a female roommate, prompting her parents to accuse her of being a lesbian.

She acquired a deadbeat boyfriend five years her junior. When interviewed later on about the murder by Toronto Life, he hides under an alias and basically just throws Rohinie under the bus and covers his own ass throughout the interview.

People who claimed to know Rohinie described the boyfriend as “a sloppy, ripped jeans and stained t-shirt type of guy who did not take care of himself.” This may just be slander, but the story gets even more eyebrow-raising.

They met when he and his male friend were driving down the street and whistling at Rohinie. She was initially annoyed, but Rohinie gave him her MSN messenger ID.

Their first date consisted of going to a restaurant for Thai food, then a dance club. Rohinie did not have many friends and was sheltered, so this must have been exciting for her. She appeared to be naïve about him as well: he was unemployed, living with his mother, and trying to launch a music career. Not exactly a prize catch.

At this point, Rohinie was in her 30s and wanted to make up for the years she lost living at her parents’ house. The boyfriend described her as “this outgoing, strong, assertive woman. She was a Type A personality. She helped to put me on a new path that benefitted me.”

Indeed she did. She became his mommy gf.

Dreaming of Success

Rohinie financially supported the boyfriend while he attended York University to attain a degree in commerce. She rented them an upscale apartment in heart of the city. This was a far shot from living with his mama and making mixtapes in the basement.

She struggled to stay afloat at harsh investment firms where 12 hour work days were the norm. She was overwhelmed and stopped showing up for weeks at a time. She was fired by her firm after 4 months.

For two years, Rohinie was unable to find a new job. She began taking out loans and huge lines of credit to support herself and her boyfriend, and amassed a crushing amount of financial debt.

In 2010, Rohinie finally managed to get a new job as a mining analyst associate. The couple moved into a better and more expensive apartment. The entirety of the couple’s financial responsibilities fell on her, and she tried her best.

At her brother’s wedding

Rohinie’s days were long and often lasted from 5 AM to 10 PM. Her work consumed her life, and she did not have money to indulge in luxuries. She had only a few outfits, and took her boyfriend out for dinner at swank restaurants whenever she could afford it.

And yet, she could not conform to the toxic codes of corporate culture. She was a small ethnic woman at a mostly male finance firm, but she still had the nerve to criticize her superiors in front of other people.

Rohinie grew extremely paranoid that her co-workers were going through her computer. She wanted to place a spy camera on her desk to prove this. These appear to be the first exterior indications of her schizophrenia. She was fired 7 months into the job.

Rohinie retook exams to become a chartered analyst despite failing six times, and applied to dozens of jobs to no avail. Nobody would hire her.

Working Girl

She now felt that someone, or something, was conspiring against her through nanotechnological mind control; that her ex-employers were somehow preventing her from getting hired somewhere else.

The stress she felt about being in debt probably contributed to her decline. Why didn’t her boyfriend chip in at this point and help take the pressure off of her shoulders? Why didn’t her parents provide assistance to their struggling daughter?

Breaking Up

The boyfriend criticized Rohinie for not applying to lower-status jobs, yet did not help out himself. Despite the fact that she was over $60k in debt, she kept using credit to pay monthly rent. The boyfriend’s six year-long gravy train had come to a halt, and he wanted out.

Yonge and King, the busy district where Rohinie and her boyfriend lived.

He began to avoid interactions with her, admitting he “would wake up, shower and leave for work as soon as I could. I just wanted to leave and let Rohinie do her thing.” This was the time in which she needed help the most, but he abandoned her.

He dumped Rohinie, and said that she “became hysterical” and screamed at him. He left the apartment, and told her to move back in with her parents as well. This was her worst nightmare.

Rohinie dreaded going back, and stayed alone in the apartment for 6 months. Later that autumn, the boyfriend gave her the measly sum of $2,500 and helped her move back in with her parents. She was doomed; sent back to the very same horrible environment she feared and resented.

She and her parents butted heads immediately. Ever the strict Hindus, her parents placed a curfew on their daughter even though she was nearly 40 years old. She didn’t even have her own house keys, and if she returned home after 10 PM, she was effectively homeless for the night.

A depressing view over Yonge and King.

Even when she attended networking events to gain employment, her parents still refused to allow her inside after curfew. Rohinie would sleep at Tim Hortons for the night. Her life was a walking nightmare.

Her parents, on the other hand, claimed that they were afraid of her, begged her ex-boyfriend to help her get therapy, and locked their doors at night out of fear of their daughter.

The ex-boyfriend sometimes saw Rohinie walking down city streets, and said she looked like a bag lady and reminded him of the Russell Crowe character in A Beautiful Mind.

Downwards Spiral

Things all came to a head in March of 2014.

For whatever reason, Rohinie threatened to burn her parents’ house down and pushed her mother so hard that it damaged a door. Her parents called the police, and she was taken away to a mental ward and diagnosed with schizophrenia.

The ex-boyfriend came to visit her, and found that she had been administered a strong dose of antipsychotics. With the medicine in her system, she was able to talk to him like a rational human being and finally admitted to hearing voices in her head for several years. One of the voices was an old white male business executive.

They had a touching moment where they cuddled in the bed of the mental ward. However, Rohinie would not recover because she refused to take her meds.

Not many people realize how strong antipsychotic drugs truly are. Countless schizophrenics struggle to stay on medication that keeps them assimilated into society, yet destroys their mind and body in other ways.

One of the drugs Rohinie was prescribed was Olanzapine. Common side effects are weight gain, sleepiness, a rise in prolactin which weakens the bones, dizziness, high cholesterol, pancreas issues, erectile dysfunction, OCD, suicidal thoughts and hyperglycemia/diabetes. And these are a few of the side effects.

Following her release, Rohinie moved in with her aunt and landed a contract job at a business firm. She tried to go straight, but once she was off the meds it was over.

Her parents attempted to get her institutionalized, but they had no legal precedent to do so. The stage was set for a disaster. Rohinie left her aunt’s house in the autumn of 2015, resigning herself to a life of homelessness and drifting.

Lost on the Streets of Toronto

She was known to wander around the city all day, most often on Bay Street; which is the main part of Toronto’s Financial District and like a shitty Wall Street, and in the PATH System; a rat-like maze of underground tunnels which contains thousands of shops and offices.

An eyewitness who worked at Goodlife Fitness gym described Rohinie as polite, yet disturbed. She spent 5-8 hours a day in the gym bathrooms, showered and groomed there, and even washed her underwear in the sinks. She stared at her reflection in the mirror for hours, sometimes screaming at it. One day, she had a psychotic episode and destroyed a blow dryer.

While being thrown out by security, she apologized profusely and claimed that “it was all because of these voices in her head who ruin everything, they’ve deprived her of her house, fiancé, and a career.”

Toronto is a city with a New York, Paris, and London tier price tag; but it is bleak and frozen and without style or uplifting scenery. It is a depressing, cold, lonely city; where the weak and impoverished often get crushed within the walls of the harsh and unforgiving concrete jungle.

She visited the same Starbucks on Yonge and King each day, and would “come in and always get an ice water or a tall pike coffee and would sit at a laptop turned away from the wall.” When she had no money, she just ordered hot water with cinnamon in it.

Rohinie stayed there from morning until closing time, and had only a few outfits which she wore over and over: a smart black pantsuit and a lavender or white shirt. When Starbucks employees tried to converse with her, Rohinie appeared awkward and was slow to answer.

The Starbucks that she was obsessed with.

They described her as “very antisocial. We knew something was off because she would stand at the cash and give us a blank stare.”

She put up small signs at her table offering financial services, walked around trying to give people her business card, and dropped off her resume at offices and firms.

At this point, Rohinie was functionally homeless. She emailed people and begged them for money: “I am asking all my friends to contribute, if they can and wish to, denominations of $1, $2, $5, $10, $20, $50 or $100. My goal is simply to ensure I have basic necessities (food, water, shelter, clothing, and products for hygiene and beauty).”

The only people who helped were men who had a crush on her, or those who pitied her. Rohinie still had her looks, and she was a pretty and petite size 00 who attracted many admirers. A broker who hit on her in public said she rejected him, but he allowed her to crash on his couch regardless. This man claimed that she was $200k in debt.

Toronto’s depressing PATH Undeground

80-year old Trueman MacHenry, Rohinie’s former mathematics professor from York University, tried to help her out as well and took her out for meals. He said of her:

“She was very friendly, she was very good with people, she was bright. Everybody who knows about [the stabbing] at work feels very badly, and I almost had a nervous breakdown over it. I tried to keep her from starving to death…

Rohinie bought a gym membership downtown, using it as a place to bathe and sleep until staff asked her to stop. Then she tried sleeping on the subway, a dangerous situation that she disliked very much. She slept in corners of the underground city and couch-surfed. The idea of staying in a shelter never came up: She was kind of a patrician.”

Her LinkedIn Page

Rohinie would also go to classy hotels and restaurants with her makeup and hair done, and sit there for hours not ordering anything. When asked to; she would tell the servers to first create a better menu, and instead ate sliced apples from a little container and a granola bar.

A server on Wellington Street saw her with a succession of different men each time, noting that “they looked like lonely guys probably trying to pick her up. They were older men who obviously didn’t know her.”

Professor MacHenry said that Rohinie once did obtain a place to live through social assistance money, but it went downhill quickly. She moved in with a man she knew, and things went sour when “he came onto her, and I don’t know if she moved out or what she did. She was angry,”

Before Rohinie snapped, she sent a final disturbing email to all her colleagues and friends:

“I need to speak to the top professionals in artificial intelligence, military and government. I need to get to the bottom of something that has been quite disruptive. Something has been happening to me and this is not my normal self and I would like to know who and why this is happening. There is either a single person or more responsible and who and why would be nice to know…. I am sorry about the incidence…. I felt the need to be extreme to see if it would work. I would normally not do such a thing.”

She truly believed that the government or some kind of powerful entity had inserted a microchip into her body, and was using nanotechnology to control her brain and actions. Rohinie had stopped taking her medication, was under extreme stress from being homeless, and was estranged and alienated from her family and loved ones.

Something terrible was about to happen; something gruesome that would shock all of Toronto.

Murder on Bay Street

The scene of the crime, one week after it happened.

If you’re a Canadian, you’ll be familiar with Shoppers Drug Mart; an overpriced pharmacy/drugstore/convenience shop hybrid that is literally everywhere. Nobody expects to get knifed while they’re grabbing groceries, but that’s exactly what happened on Dec 11, 2015 at the 66 Wellington St W location of Shoppers.

Rosemarie Junor was a 28-year old ultrasound technician who was newly married and well liked among family, friends and colleagues for her cheerful and uplifting spirit. Like Rohinie, she was of Indo-Caribbean descent (a Guyanese mother and Trinidadian father).

At 2:35 PM, Rosemarie left work to walk to the Shoppers located in the dungeon-like underground PATH system. As she browsed the aisles for lotion, she spoke with a friend on her cellphone. Suddenly and without warning, Rohinie Bisesar walked up to Rosemarie and stabbed her once in the heart. Rosemarie’s horrified friend heard her scream through the phone line.

Rosemarie Junor

The stabbing proved to be fatal, as the knife had pierced through Rosemarie’s heart and vital organs. Rohinie left the kitchen knife she had purchased at a local Dollar Store on a cosmetics display, and calmly walked out.

A bleeding Rosemarie collapsed at the pharmacy in the back of the store and yelled out, “Help me, I’ve just been stabbed!” When an employee asked her if she knew her assailant, Rosemarie told her that she did not. Tragically, Rosemarie died after five comatose days in the hospital. She was in a vegetative state, and her family was forced to take her off life support.

Earlier that year, a hopeful Rosemarie had posted this on her Facebook: “Dear God, Thank you for another day of Life. Thanks for another day of waking up healthy and happy.” Young, in love and successful; her life had been cut short abruptly.

Rosemarie on her wedding day.

Rohinie remained on the run for four days, during which she was the most wanted woman in the country. She was finally captured and set to a maximum security prison. When Rohinie’s father was quizzed by reporters, he gave a cryptic and strange answer: “People need to know what happened. Because she was highly educated.”

In prison, investigators tried to uncover why Rohinie committed the crime when she didn’t even know Rosemarie personally. Some felt like there was a connection between the two women because they were both Indo-Caribbean, as it is not often that women of South Asian descent randomly kill one another.

Rohinie gave police a surprisingly cold answer. She told them that she chose to stab Rosemarie because they were both of the same height. However, she claimed that she was being controlled by the voices in her head, and that they instructed her to kill.

Rohinie leaves the scene of the crime.

She gave a disturbing firsthand account of the murder during her psychiatric assessment:

“The day started as usual…I showered and dressed…was reading business newspapers to keep up my knowledge…I don’t recall how I got downtown…I heard the voice downtown in late morning… It said what is the worst thing you can do…I was really agitated and upset…phased out, not thinking, like those river stones again…stepping one at a time.

I’m usually in the Starbucks at Adelaide St., East and Yonge Street…It’s easy to sit and do work, I had my laptop…I pretend to read but I’m zoned out…distracted by the voice and the movements and communication.

The voice said to get a knife…went to the Dollar store to buy the knife…I’m familiar with the place and it’s close to the subway.

I went back through King or St. Andrew subway entrance…went to the bathroom in First Canadian place…didn’t want to hurt someone…A lady asked if I was okay…I’m in the concourse, moving from one bench to another…

Then the voice, communication and movements made me sit up, turn, walk straight into the Shopper’s fast…I was not an agreeable participant…went right up to the person (victim) with no hesitation, barely took it (knife) out of the bag…My arm was in L-shaped.

The voice said, if you mean it do it…The voice and movements raised my hand, pushed forward…It was like the knife was sticking to my hand and couldn’t be dropped…I was spending all my energy fighting the voice and communications…fighting the invisible entity…As soon as it happened I wanted to get away…traveled back home…The voice said I should have kept the knife.”

In Custody

Following her apprehension, Rohinie was charged with first degree murder. The media was shocked at how such a small and harmless looking woman could lash out so violently. Her former colleagues were surprised as well, with a friend named Andrius Pone describing Rohinie as a “professional career woman and a sophisticated individual. Rohinie is a very gentle person, she speaks in a whisper. I don’t know what has happened with her but it’s just so incredibly out of character.”

Karl Gutowski, a friend of Rohinie’s for eight years, had this to say about her:

 “She seemed very sweet but odd. She’s been able to sustain herself from a large network of friends, but I speculate the list got shorter and shorter. She got that one job, but she didn’t get to keep it for too long. She couldn’t adjust to pretty normal office politics.”

In court, Rohinie was disheveled and confused. With no access to makeup and hair grooming products; her acne scars and dark undereye circles were visible, and her hair was wild and uncombed. Her lawyer Calvin Barry said she was “very upset and like a deer in headlights.”

Rohinie in court, with odd marks on her face.

During a 2016 appearance, she ranted and raved in court about being involved in some obscure terrorist plot that went all the way up to the prime minister and the military, and was then hospitalized and medicated before the trial was resumed.

She had also claimed that she was being “damaged” somehow by those in charge, requested a “body scan” and had strange bruises on her face which she attributed to a microchip being implanted inside her.

Rohinie told the court that the voices in her head were “a real time, progressive dialogue and conversation. Whoever it is will tell me something, I’ll tell them to go away. I have somebody [else] communicating with me. I have to listen to both of you at the same time”

In 2017, Rohinie was declared unfit to stand trial due to her severe schizophrenic symptoms. She even denied that Rosemarie was really dead. The judge sent her off to the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health in Toronto for psychiatric treatment.

In November of 2018, the court found Rohinie not criminally responsible for the murder of Rosemarie Junor, because she was in the throes of a psychotic episode during the homicide.

In early 2019, The Ontario Review Board decided to keep Rohinie in the CAMH mental hospital because she was still in denial about her own involvement in the murder. The board continued trying to rehabilitate her; keeping her on “a strict regime of medication, cognitive behavioural therapy and psychotherapy.”

In May of 2020, the board granted Rohinie more freedom and access to the community, due to the fact that she is now supposedly of sound mind. It is now up to her case officer to decide whether or not she can leave the facility unsupervised, and even live outside of it.

The only conditions are that she must report to her review officer on a weekly basis, as well as refrain from purchasing firearms and weapons.

Aftermath

Rohinie appears to have changed her tune about the killing, almost seeming to express remorse and awareness of her actions:

“I did not plan to go murder someone…It was just like time stopped with all the chaos in my mind…I feel sorry for the person (victim) caught in my illness.”

Rosemarie Junor’s family members and the broader public were not happy about the court’s recent decision. Less than five years after the unprovoked killing, Rohinie is being given lenient privileges that could perhaps go terribly wrong in regards to public safety.

Even weirder is the fact that Rohinie is still trying to apply to jobs, to this very day, deluded to the fact literally nobody will ever hire her again.

During her appearances, the courtrooms were usually packed; as Torontonians were fascinated with the macabre case and its odd defendant. The presence of so many spectators led clueless judge John Ritchie to remark, “What does Rohinie do? Is he a sports figure or something?”

A spectator tried to give Rohinie’s lawyer David Burke his contact info on a small folded note of paper as he left the courtroom; stating that he wanted to go on a date with Rohinie. Burke refused to be an intermediary.

Rohinie’s story is shocking and saddening, yet it is not surprising. Had she received proper medical treatment earlier, Rosemarie Junor would have still been alive.

Instead, the combination of parental abuse, abandonment from a man who she loved and devoted herself to for six years, schizophrenia, homelessness, debt, work-related pressures and unemployment all came together to create a volatile outburst of unpredictable violence. Being a South Asian woman in Canada is tough, and this may have contributed to her stress and frustration as well.

At the time of the stabbing, Rohinie was 40 years old and most likely in the grip of a midlife crisis, without a home or anyone to care for her, and Christmas was fast approaching. She snapped and did something awful that the world will never be able to forgive her of, due to things beyond her control.

The question remains- will they really release her from the institution? Should they? While she should not rot her life away in a traditional prison, the memory of her crime still seems too fresh and new. She needs help and long term care.

What will become of Rohinie Bisesar? Only time and her own sense of guilt and repentance will answer that.

The Baffling Case of Little Miss X

Halloween: a time of celebration and candy; of horror and ghouls and costumes and elaborate parties. There are phantoms and ghosts, but the scariness is all in good jest and one goes home at the end of the night with a sense of merriment.

But on October. 31, 1958 in Coconino County, Arizona, a young girl lay dead 10 miles southeast of the Grand Canyon. Something horrible had happened to her. And even now, over 60 years later, we still have no idea of who she was and how she met her demise.

Authorities gave her the fittingly haunting nickname of Little Miss X. Her body was found on a remote hillside dirt road off Skinner Ridge in totally skeletal condition, and therefore no cause of death could accurately be determined. They estimated that she had lain there undiscovered for at least 9 to 18 months.

With such a long postmortem interval, it would prove impossible to find any evidence or suspects in her case.

Little Miss X was anywhere from 5′ to 5’3″, approximately 105 lbs, and was white with Hispanic ancestry. She had reddish/dark brown hair that was dyed a lighter shade. Her hair was wavy, but possibly because she had gotten it permed. She was thought to have a brown skin tone.

She was determined to be anywhere from 11 to 17 years old. This is odd because anyone with even a basic knowledge of forensics knows that female skeletons show obvious signs of puberty in their pelvis and bone structure.

Remnants of the victim’s hair.

So how were police investigators so unspecific and clueless in their estimation of her age? An 11-year old’s skeleton is very different in appearance from a 17-year old’s, and the forensic pathologist performing the examination should have been easily able to differentiate. Something smells botched here…

Her teeth were well-cared for and in good condition, proving she was from some sort of middle class background. She had had seven fillings in four of her teeth during her lifetime.

Disturbingly, Little Miss X was found naked. But she did have a bunch of clothing and items lying next to her.

Necklace found at the scene.

There was a powder puff, a tiny jar of Pond’s cold cream, an 18″ 10-karat gold chain, a white nylon comb, and a blue plastic nail file with the letter P imprinted onto it, and R written by hand.

There was also a short sleeved white wool cardigan, a size 34C white cotton Maidenform Alloette bra, size small white rayon underwear, and GRAFF California Wear pedal pusher capris with a green, brown and red plaid pattern.

Weirdly, the clothes at the scene were too big for her. Investigators were unable to tell if the clothes even belonged to the girl. They probably didn’t.

Could the killer have left these items at the scene to throw off police and cause confusion? Could these items be from a different crime scene, from a different dead girl?

The comb, powder puff and Pond’s cream.

Or were these just random personal effects the killer had somehow accumulated? Some even wonder if the killer was a woman.

If Little Miss X really was an 11-year old, why would she have this type of clothing and these items anyways? This suggests something alarming, like the presence of child exploitation and a possible sex trafficking ring.

This was a case that was cold from the very beginning. Little Miss X’s identity eluded authorities, so they gave up and buried her. Four years later in 1962, she was exhumed and her body was re-examined.

The sweater found at the scene. Probably the worst possible way they could have photographed it.

Unfortunately, when the clueless authorities re-buried her; Little Miss X’s remains stayed lost for years because they had forgotten where exactly they had interred her. According to the Doe Network, her remains were finally re-discovered in the summer of 2018.

Little Miss X’s NamUs page once had an image of her skull, but it was taken down. This is important because this picture would have helped artists and amateur e-sleuths to create newer and more accurate reconstructions of her.

It is also possible that Little Miss X had shovel-shaped incisors, a common trait in those with indigenous DNA; which could be why police suspect she was of Hispanic descent. It would have been useful to concretely know this as well, as web sleuths could compare Little Miss X to missing people who also had this trait.

Sheriff Cecil Richardson and Deputy Johnny Ortiz look over the case file of Little Miss X in the 1950s.

There is a clue as well in the pants found at the scene. As previously stated, they were Graff California Wear brand capris.

Graff was founded in 1933, and became popular in the 1940s and 1950s among Californian women for their comfy and tacky two piece suits and slacks. It was modern clothing for modern women, who were constantly on the go and wanted to resemble Joan Crawford in Mildred Pierce.

These were not pants that an 11-17 year old would wear, and they didn’t seem to fit Little Miss X anyways. Were authorities ever able to trace back who purchased these capris? It doesn’t seem so. Was the killer then from California? God only knows.

A very swag Graff pinstripe pantsuit.

A case this mysterious causes all kinds of speculation, and in the past false theorizing led investigators down several dead ends.

It was suspected at one point that Little Miss X was Donnis “Pinky” Redman, a California girl who vanished without a trace on March. 1, 1958. 14-year old Pinky and her 18-year old boyfriend Mike Griffin (creepy age difference imo) eloped to Las Vegas, Nevada, but their journey was cut short before they could marry.

The couple disappeared along the way, and Mike’s abandoned 1950 Dodge Clipper turned up in Williams, Arizona. Their bodies were never found.

Donnis “Pinky” Redman

Williams is an approximately 1 hour and 20 minutes drive to Skinner Ridge, where Little Miss X was found. Naturally, people would connect these two cases together; as the body and car were found just 59 miles apart.

However, Little Miss X had lain there dead for at least 9 months minimum, whereas Pinky vanished just that March of 1958. The time frame is off.

Other clues that led people to suspect Little Miss X was Pinky Redman was the fact that the latter also had a petite frame, at 5’2″ tall and 105 lbs. The age bracket also fit, and Little Miss X was found with the nail file initialed “PR.” Did it belong to Pinky?

Michael “Mike” Lawrence Griffin

Pinky was last seen wearing a yellow sweater and brown capris, similar to the clothing found near Little Miss X.

What didn’t fit was the fact that Pinky was blonde, blue-eyed, and white; whereas Little Miss X was dark haired with swarthier skin and was most likely a Latina. Investigators eventually ruled out Pinky Redman as a possible match.

It is possible, however, that the person who killed Pinky and Mike + Little Miss X was one and the same. Was there a serial killer operating in the Arizona desert in 1958?

A more recent reconstruction of Little Miss X.

In Pinky and Mike’s case, anything could’ve happened along the dusty stretch of highways that connected California to Vegas. They could’ve picked up some unruly hitchhiker, who preyed upon the young, naïve couple and stole their car.

Mike was a small ginger boy who only stood 5’3″ tall and weighed 120 lbs. Any form of criminal could have taken advantage of the poor pair. Hopefully one day their bodies are recovered from the vast and giant Arizona desert, or wherever they may lie.

Another dead end that occurred in the Little Miss X investigation was was when she was suspected of being Connie Smith.

Constance Christine “Connie” Smith was a 10-year old girl from Wyoming, whose grandfather was a former Republican governor named Nels Hansen Smith. She ran away from Camp Sloane in Salisbury, Connecticut in the summer of 1952, after being bullied by fellow campers.

On July. 16, after being punched in the face by girls the day before, Connie nursed a bloodied nose with an ice pack. She left the camp and wandered down Indian Mountain Road. People witnessed Connie walking down the road with tears in her eyes, picking daisies and trying to hitchhike back home.

After this, she was never seen again. Despite attempts by her wealthy family to track her down, Connie had vanished into thin air somewhere down that highway.

Connie’s dental records.

Police once suspected that Little Miss X was Connie, and tested the former’s teeth against Connie’s dental charts. The results proved to inconclusive, and Connie was ruled out.

And anyways, Connie was a bit too young to be Little Miss X, and physically she was much smaller; standing at 5′ tall and weighing 85 lbs.

The only explanation would then be that Connie was held captive for at least 4- 5 years, and then murdered and dumped in Arizona. But that seems to be a stretch. Also, Connie had no Hispanic or Native American DNA. It is very unlikely that she is Little Miss X.

An amateur reconstruction of Little Miss X, done by a Redditor.

It is disheartening that Connie Smith’s killer was never found. Neither was Pinky Redman’s, or the person who murdered Little Miss X.

The 1950s were a troubling era for crime; where the lack of technology rendered the identification of murderers, and even victims, as a difficult and sometimes impossible task. In Little Miss X’s case, there is so much mystery and so few answers. Though her killer is perhaps dead and gone, it could still be possible to discern her identity.

If police have not yet located Little Miss X’s body, they should do so immediately. It is tragic that faulty police work caused them to lose the unknown girl’s remains and therefore botch her case.

Coconino County, Arizona

Little Miss X lay out there in that lonely desert for perhaps a year, decomposing until she became a skeleton. She was once forgotten, but then found again on Halloween of 1958. It is time we find out who Little Miss X was, and give her back her name and dignity.

The Enigma of Eklutna Annie

A creepy clay reconstruction of the victim.

What do you think of when you imagine Alaska? You conjure up a grand, snowy vision of unconquered terrain: vast, far and endless. It is as if the icy territory lasts forever in continuous isolation and secrecy.

Since the inception of Alaska, Americans who could be categorized as misfits and unconventional loners have taken advantage of the privacy and desolation of this state, and its sparsely populated lands.

In many areas of Alaska, you are completely alone: surrounded by wild, untouched nature. You are undisturbed by the burdens of being social and fitting in.

You are free and in your natural state…. if you can survive in such an intimidating environment, that is.

Resurrection Bay, a fjord where Robert Hansen buried three of his victims.

Robert Hansen was a serial killer who used the remoteness of Alaskan terrain to torture, rape and murder young women. Many of them were sex workers, as well as young girls struggling to survive the harshness of their environment.

Eklutna Annie is perhaps his most famous victim. She is a total mystery; unidentified for over 40 years without even a glimmer of clue to who she may have been.

Annie is one of Hansen’s earliest victims, and was killed anywhere from November 1979 to June 1980.

Electricians found her badly decomposed body in a shallow grave, buried alongside a set of power lines that stretched down South Eklutna Lake Road, approximately a year after her death. Her body had been eaten away at by wild animals (particularly bears), and was left unrecognizable and in mostly skeletal condition.

A less disturbing (?) reconstruction.

Investigators tried their best to create a profile of Eklutna Annie from the remnants of her body. She was a short girl with a small frame, between 4 ft 11″ and 5 ft 3″ tall. She was thought to be anywhere from 16 to 25 years old, and had auburn/strawberry blonde hair.

She was thought to be white, but with a degree of Native American DNA. She wore a light colored sleeveless knit sweater, a brown leather jacket, jeans, and red knee-high heeled boots with a nylon zipper on the side.

Judging from her apparel, Anchorage PD officer Maxine Farrell assumed that Eklutna Annie was either a topless dancer or a prostitute. Hansen himself claimed this, but he seemed to say this about all of his victims.

Farrell was mocked by other officers for her theories:

Eklutna Lake, the general area where the victim was found.

“Shortly after that I got a report of another one missing, she was a street prostitute and I thought this is a prostitute missing, so that would match up with Eklutna Annie. After that, almost every month I had two or three women missing. That’s when I started asking questions.

I got the missing persons reports and I began to get information about relatives and information about jewelry they wore. I was a psychology major, so I knew a lot of these serial killers kept souvenirs. I finally made a spreadsheet of it …

By the time I got finished, I had about 10 girls. I went to my superiors, advised them that there was a serial killer because of the number of girls I was collecting as missing persons and they laughed at me and said no, you’re wrong. They thought I was stupid. Stupid woman thinking there’s a serial killer. I wasn’t stupid.”

Just as Farrell had claimed, officers would eventually discover that Hansen actually did keep souvenirs of his victims.

A brand new composite, created in 2020.

Officers also pondered whether she was a runaway from California, Washington, or Canada- a hitchhiker who was not originally from Alaska. Hansen, however, said she was from Kodiak, and spoke to him about living there with her family.

No ID was found on the victim, and neither did she match any missing persons reports. Who was this mysterious woman? The secret died with Robert Hansen. But then again, even he claimed to be unaware of her identity.

According to his story, he had picked up Eklutna Annie from a bar and given her a lift. He told her that he lived in Muldoon, and that he would give her a ride home. As Hansen sped past Muldoon Road, she grew suspicious and afraid, and asked him to let her out of the vehicle.

Hansen relayed the story to cops while in custody:

”I just pointed the gun and I tell her, I says, ‘Now look, if you do exactly what I tell you and don’t give me any problem whatsoever, there’s going to be no — you won’t get hurt any way, shape or form.”

But that wasn’t how it went down.

During this ride of terror, Hansen’s car got stuck on a muddy road, and he told her to get out of the car to help him. She took this as her chance to escape.

As she tried to run away, Hansen pursued and overpowered her; grabbing her by her long hair. He claimed this was when she pulled out a knife from her purse, and attempted to stab him in self defense. To the very end, she fought for her life.

Twisted Bob Hansen was an experienced hunter.

Hansen managed to tear the knife away from her, and stabbed the unknown woman in the back until she was lifeless. During the struggle, as the terrified woman realized she was going to die, she screamed out “You’re going to kill me!” in hysterical fear.

For all her bravery, she could not survive the scourge of her deranged killer. When reflecting back on Eklutna Annie’s murder, Robert Hansen said it gave him a sense of sadistic pleasure.

There was nothing he hated more than a woman who fought back against him, and nothing gave him more satisfaction than subduing and killing a wily prey.

During his 1984 interrogation by police, Hansen claimed Annie was his very first victim. However, this seems unlikely as he is suspected of killing even more women before her.

Hansen and a dead goat

Who was this sick man?

Robert Hansen was born in 1939, and grew up a shy, skinny, nerdy kid in Iowa; suffering from a stutter and chronic acne. Like his Danish immigrant father, he grew up to be a baker. Later on the media would grant him the moniker “The Butcher Baker.” He killed anywhere from 17 to 21 women until his capture, maybe even more.

His humiliating high school years, filled with rejection and inceldom, would cause him to hate women with a passion as he grew into an adult. These misogynistic tendencies would eventually become violent.

At the age of 20, he lost his virginity to a prostitute while in the army.

In high school, he was bullied because he looked like Jerry Lewis in The Nutty Professor.

At the age of 21, Hansen attempted to burn a school bus to gain vengeance for being a loser in high school. A series of petty crimes followed, which then escalated to murder in the 1970s.

Although Hansen had a track record of kidnapping, raping and abusing women, police did not suspect him of murder for many years; which allowed him to easily kill dozens of women for a decade.

Hansen was a sadist and psychopath who took refuge in Alaska to torture and murder women in a more private setting. He drove women out to remote areas, forced them to strip naked, and shot them as they ran through the snowy wilderness.

Hansen’s aviation map of Anchorage. Noted are the spots where he buried his victims.

It thrilled him to hunt live victims, and he often tortured them for days before the final coup de grace. He even had a private plane which he used to fly out victims to distant cabins where they could never be found.

Hansen was finally captured and imprisoned in 1983, after one of his victims escaped alive and spilled the beans on his disgusting antics. Although he was finally caught and locked up like the animal he was, Eklutna Annie remained unidentified.

Usually, Hansen kept his victim’s possessions as souvenirs- especially their jewelry. Not in Eklutna Annie’s case: it was one of the rare crimes in which he left the jewelry alone, most likely because she was one of his earliest murders and he was then an inexperienced killer.

Her necklace.

She had on her a plethora of beautiful and unique handmade jewelry: a copper bracelet with three turquoise stones, a heart shaped pendant, gold hoop earrings, a white shell ring, and a gold plated Timex wristwatch. She also had a pack of Salem brand matches in her pocket.

Some believe that Eklutna Annie’s jewelry was of Native origin, but authorities were never able to trace any of it back to its source. It is also worth noting that most Native jewelry is made from silver, and not gold as she was wearing.

From her jewelry, you get the impression she was an interesting woman with exquisite taste in jewelry. That morning, she had dressed herself with care and attention, never knowing it would be her last day on earth.

Her turquoise bracelet.

So if Eklutna Annie was well dressed, wearing distinctive jewelry, and a possible topless dancer/sex worker in Alaska- why didn’t anyone ever come forward to identify her? Officer Maxine Farrell had some theories:

“The fact that a prime source of information in these cases was women who worked the streets was the first obstacle. These women have very little trust in the police, which is understandable given the fact that most of the time we’re adversaries. As a result, most were reluctant to talk.

Her Timex wristwatch

The second obstacle was the constant movement of these women. In a year’s time, one of these women might work in a club, then out on the street, then in a massage parlor. She might also work the circuit and move city to city… those circuits tracked from Seattle to Anchorage to Honolulu. And after all that upheaval, this same woman might get sick of the routine and quit without giving notice…

A third obstacle was the fact that many of these women used stage names. Investigators would talk to a woman on the street or in a club, who’d tell them she had worked with a woman named ‘Tania’ a few months before — and hadn’t seen her in a while. In checking out the lead, investigators would go to some of the other clubs in the Anchorage area. At ten different clubs, they’d find 15 different ‘Tania’s.’ So which Tania was that, anyway?”

One of her hoop earrings, and her ring

This is exactly what Hansen, and other serial killers of his ilk count on. They victimize sex workers and transient women, as it is often more difficult for authorities to identify and search for them.

Hansen believed his victims were not worthy of life because they dwelled in prostitution and vice. He used excuses to justify his cruel murders. Even during his confession in which he admitted to killing Eklutna Annie, he tried to blame her by claiming she had pulled a knife on him, therefore she deserved to die.

In his twisted mind, the women he killed were nothing but his pawns. But this is untrue. This woman he killed belonged somewhere, had a family, dreams, hopes and goals. And there are many of us out there who want to find out who she was in her lifetime.

Salem Matches found in her pocket

Although investigators possess Eklutna Annie’s DNA, and have tested it against other suspected murder victims, none have ever matched up so far. The case has gone cold, to the point where we can only pray that something substantial eventually turns up.

Although she was killed near the small village of Eklutna, which has only about 70 inhabitants; she was buried in Anchorage Memorial Park Cemetery, about a half an hour’s drive away. Her grave is simply marked “Jane Doe/Died 1980.”

Occasionally, visitors leave flowers on her gravestone. Sometimes, Alaskans even hold reenactments where actresses assume the role of Eklutna Annie and describe the limited details we have about her. But most importantly- she is still remembered and thought about, despite remaining nameless for over 40 years.

The Forgotten Woes of Varvara Rasputina

A post-revolution portrait, damaged by Soviet authorities.

Varvara Rasputina was the youngest surviving daughter of Grigori Rasputin (1869-1916), the infamous Russian mystic and holy man who used his supernatural abilities to wield political power over the Romanov royal family.

She lived in the shadow of her legendary father, and died quietly without any fanfare. Her more famous sister Maria Rasputina gained attention for her work as a lion tamer in Paris and then the USA.

But Varvara’s life ended early and in a depressing manner.

She was born in 1900, in Pokrovskoe, Tyumen Province- an isolated, cold, and distant village in the midst of the Siberian Urals. It lay on the Tura River, and its residents were simple farmers who lived a low-key existence.

Village of Pokrovskoe on the Tura River, photographed by Sergey Prokudin-Gorsky, 1912.

Except, that its, for her father.

Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin was not your typical turn-of-the-century Russian peasant. He claimed to receive sacred visions from God, and was said to have otherworldly powers which he used to lure believers into this thrall.

He had seven children with his wife Praskovya Dubrovina, but only three survived to adulthood: Dmitry, the oldest son; and two daughters, Maria and Varvara. It was a hard knock life for the rural family, but they were a mentally tough and spiritually enriched bunch. Maria wrote of her dad:

“My father would often take us on his knees, my brother Mitya, my sister Varvara, and myself. He would tell us wonderful stories with that tenderness he always showed and that absent look in which seemed to be mirrored the countries he had visited and the strange adventures he had met with on the road.”

Grigori and his 3 children: from L to R: Maria, Varvara, and Dmitry.

Rasputin left his boring village for St. Petersburg; abandoning his wife and children to pursue the existence of a Starets (which was, in the Orthodox religion, a spiritual pilgrim/monastic hermit).

In doing so, this supposedly simple and barely literate Siberian peasant quickly managed to ascend the ranks of Russian society; until Tsar Nicholas II and Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna became convinced that Rasputin was indeed the holy healer he claimed to be.

Their poor son Alexei suffered from hemophilia. This left him unable to clot blood, and simple falls and accidents left the boy near death and with horrible complications.

Enter Rasputin: somehow, with no medical or scientific knowledge, an uneducated peasant from the lower classes repeatedly and successfully prayed away the Tsarevich’s pains and sufferings. How did he do it?

Grigori and his hoes

Even today, scientists are unable to explain what exactly allowed Rasputin to heal the Romanov’s son, on a consistent basis.

Back in Pokrovskoe, Varvara and her siblings missed their absent father. Despite his absenteeism, Rasputin was a dependable and devoted dad. Once, a family friend in Pokrovskoe attempted to rape Maria. Rasputin attacked the rapist, and took an ax hit on the skull while trying to defend his daughter.

Thanks to the Tsarina’s help, Rasputin managed to bring Varvara and Maria to St. Petersburg in 1913, and enrolled them in the best school there. He hoped to turn the girls into “little ladies.” How cute.

Grigori and his sister Feodosia

The elitist Smolny Institute rejected the girls due to their low social status, so they attended the Steblin-Kamensky private preparatory school. The girls lived in walking distance of their father’s residence. Their brother Dmitry, on the other hand, did not enjoy city life; so he stayed in Pokrovksoe and lived as a farmer.

Maria was the most popular and bold of the three siblings, and high society ladies fawned over the charming little girl. Varvara, the youngest, was more quiet and reserved. While Maria preferred to take French lessons (this would come in handy for her later in life), Varvara spent time studying intently for her classes.

Their mother Praskovya only came to St. Petersburg once a year, and lived in their home in Pokrovskoe for the most part. The girls learned to become independent quickly. They lived down the hall from their older cousins Nyur and Katya, who looked after the sisters on a daily basis.

Maria Rasputina, right, with her father and a follower in March 1911

Rasputin was said to have been a constant playa. Rather suggestively, their mother once said of their philanderous father:

 “He can do what he wants. He has enough for everyone.”

Rasputin was very protective of his daughters. He wanted to keep them away from degenerate modern vices, such as candies, gramophones, perfumes, and boyfriends. Only once they were 15- years old did Rasputin allow Maria and Vavara to go to out the theater- and even then they had to be accompanied by an adult and arrive home by 10 PM.

The girls were nervous to meet then Tsar’s children, but it went exceedingly well. Maria and Varvara found the Royal Palace to be luxurious and grand, and the princesses gave them beautiful porcelain dolls as a gift.

The girls’ shared room in their father’s apartment, which they often visited during school holidays. Source.

The Romanov children were curious about the girls’ life back home in Siberia. They asked Maria and Varvara the names of their cows in Pokrovskoe.

Varvara got along especially well with Grand Duchess Anastasia, as they were close in age (Varvara was one year older). It was said the Anastasia was very caring towards her.

The good times did not last. The tide was turning against Rasputin, as haters despised the lowly peasant for so swiftly ascending the ranks of Russian society.

They called him a Khlyst (a bizarre occultist sect present in Russia at the time), and a sex maniac; spreading rumors that the monk was a madman who was having sex with the Tsarina and cucking the Tsar.

Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna, c. 1914. She was close with Varvara.

The tension all came to a head on Dec. 30, 1916, when a gang of jealous noblemen (led by infamous cross-dresser and spoiled rich boy supreme, Prince Felix Yusupov) brutally murdered Rasputin at the age of 47.

Rasputin was not an easy man to kill, as he was supposedly poisoned, beaten, shot three times, and then thrown in the freezing Malaya Nevka river.

It took a band of cowardly men to kill the wily and powerful holy man.

Rasputin’s murder was devastating for his poor family. They were barred from attending his funeral, which was organized specifically for the Romanovs to pay tribute to their deceased holy friend.

Empress Alexandra Feodorovna with her children, Rasputin and the nurse Maria Ivanova Vishnyakova, 1908.

The girls were, however, later invited to the royal palace to play with the Grand Duchesses. The Tsarina had also paid for Varvara and Maria’s black mourning dresses.

Maria would go on to say, “I love my father. As much as others hate him. I have not the strength to make others love him.” It is clear that the girls adored their dad, no matter the bizarre rumors that surrounded him, and they mourned his memory for life.

Following their father’s death, the two girls moved in with their French teacher and were granted 62,000 rubles by the Romanovs, as Tsar Nicholas told the girls’ mother:

 “I will become the second father for your beautiful daughters. Alix and I always loved them as our own daughters. May they continue to study in Petrograd, and I will make sure that they do not need anything.”

Colorized portrait of Rasputin

Unfortunately, that promise could not last long.

In 1917, their mother and brother returned back to Pokrovskoe, and the girls stayed in St. Petersburg to investigate their father’s murder. The siblings were arrested and interrogated the following day by government authorities. Although they were pressed to talk about the royal family, the girls did not acquiesce.

The Russian Revolution had begun, and things were getting ugly.

Luckily, the girls were freed by Boris Soloviev, an admirer of their late father. Boris and Maria would go on to marry, even though the two were not attracted to each other.

The Romanov Family was mass murdered by the Communists in July of 1918, bringing in a dark era of totalitarian rule in Russia.

Rasputin had eerie, penetrating eyes, and was alleged to have used them for hypnosis, mind control and mesmerism.

The Russian Revolution did not bode well for Rasputin’s family. Maria and Boris escaped Russia circa 1920 to reside in Berlin, Paris, then finally L.A; but Varvara and the others did not have that luxury.

At first, the Rasputin family sheltered together from the Russian Revolution in their Pokrovskoe home. But Varvara wanted something more out of her life.

She was 17 years old when the Revolution occurred, yet she managed to complete her high school education. Varvara then left Pokrovskoe to go to Tyumen, the largest city and capital of the Oblast (province) that she resided in.

Varvara was searching for career + education opportunities that would allow her to save money and leave grim Soviet Russia.

Varvara and Maria playing with dolls

In 1919, she obtained a position as stenographer/clerk for the justice department of Tyumen Oblast. Varvara earned 1,560 rubles a month. She was miserable working there, but she had to do it as she was desperate for income.

Men offered Varvara money in exchange for sex, but she adamantly refused. Life was the gloomiest it had ever been for her.

In February of 1924, Varvara wrote Maria the following letter:

“Dear, Dear Marochka. How have you been? I didn’t write to you in so long because I didn’t have money, and you can’t buy a stamp without money.  

In general, life becomes worse and worse everyday. You think and cherish the dream that you will one day live well, but again it’s only a mistake.

Maria, Varvara and Dmitry

 And all thanks to our friends: such as [my employer] Vitkun and similar people, they are all liars, and nothing more, they only promise… Such a distance to work is a horror, it takes an entire hour and a quarter to walk there, because I have no money for the tram...

 Lord, how hard it is, the soul is torn to pieces. Why was I born? But I am reassured by the fact that there are so many of us who are unemployed, and that we are all just honest people trying to preserve our dignity.

How is [your husband] Boris Nikolaevich doing? Yes, I really want to see you, my joy. How is the health of your lovely children? I sort of envy [our brother] Mitya, because he does not beg, like us. Although we eat our piece of bread, it is not sweet...

The Rasputin family home in Pokrovskoe: A two-story log house built in the 1890s.

You see how I started to blabber, it’s really good to type on a typewriter; your hands don’t get tired and you can write a lot. God bless you and your children, and say hi to Boris. You are my joy.

– Varvara

Varvara complained that her bosses, the Vitkuns, were too wealthy and decadent. While Varvara did not even have any money for transportation, Mara Vitkun bought several fancy hats and drove around the city in a cab as Varvara braved wretched weather to get to work.

“May they choke on their greed. God will help the orphans,” said Varvara in the letter.

Varvara lived with a friend named Anna Fyodorovna Davidova in a shared apartment. In 1925, she left Tyumen for Moscow. However, the move would prove fatal.

The big city: Moscow in the 1920s.

Through working at her office job, Varvara had contracted a bad case of tuberculosis, which was then succeeded by typhus. The work environment was unsafe, unhygienic, and located in a damp basement.

TB is a dangerous disease that wreaks havoc on the lungs and weakens the body. Typhus begins with flu-like symptoms and rashes, then causes brain inflammation and death if it is not treated.

Poor Varvara no doubt went through a horrid last year of life, plagued by poverty and disease. Typhus overtook her, and Varvara died alone in Moscow in 1925. No family member was there with her.

Maria and Varvara

Did she see her father in her last moments? Whose death was also so untimely and tragic?

Her friend Anna Fyodorovna traveled to Moscow to assist in her funeral and burial. Varvara was buried at the Novodevichiye Cemetery. Anna described her funeral as such:

“Varvara lay in her coffin completely shaved, no hair. Written on her gravestone were the words:

Our Varya.

Died in 1925.”

Varvara’s head was most likely shaved because she had contracted the airborne form of typhus; which spreads through fleas, mice and ticks on rats, and often hides in the hair and scalp.

Anna Fyodorovna Davidova, loyal friend until the end.

She had wanted to save money to leave Russia and move to Paris with her sister. But both of them were too broke and powerless to make the dream come true, and Maria was forever heartbroken by her sister’s death.

Unfortunately, the Soviet government renovated the cemetery in 1927 to make space for the burials of high status politicians. In doing so they uprooted thousands of bodies, and Varvara’s was one of them.

What happened to her remains is unknown. It is depressing that she was not even allowed to rest in peace after her early demise.

Novodevichiye Cemetery in 1930

In 1930, the remaining Rasputin family’s property was confiscated by the Soviet government. As Maria had safely escaped Russia; brother Dmitry, his wife and children, and mother Praskovya were deported to Salekhard, to work in forced labor camps in the frigid Arctic Circle.

Each died one by one as they were slowly worked to death, and the entire family, save Maria, was wiped out by 1933.

Maria Rasputina lived a fascinating life; working as a restaurateur in Prague, a dancer in Berlin, a performer at the Cirque d’hiver in Paris, and a lion tamer in Miami. She published a biography of her father in 1977, the year she died. Maria always suspected that the Soviet government had poisoned Varvara.

Maria, Varvara and Dmitry

Rasputin’s killers had escaped the ordeal unscathed. Ironically, it was Rasputin’s family that suffered the brunt of the aftermath.

Felix Yusupov, the prince who orchestrated and took credit for Rasputin’s murder, was from one of the wealthiest families in Russia. He was an aristocrat who looked down on the poor, and continued to live a life of splendor and glamour after killing Rasputin.

Following the Russian revolution, Felix escaped with his wife to live in the fanciest arrondissements of Paris in impeccable apartments, and even founded his own short-lived couture fashion line. He lived until 80, and died in 1967 after a long life of wealth and privilege.

Felix Yusupov with his wife Irina, a niece of Tsar Nicholas II, 1910.

When you think about Varvara working herself to death in some dank Soviet cellar, to scrounge for money to leave a country where she had no future, it makes one nauseous. History is no fairy tale. More often than not, the good guys lose and the bad guys die in a plush manor and get buried in a coffin of gold.

What happened to Varvara’s remains? Are they buried in some strange corner of Moscow, unknown and unmarked? We will never know.

It is also very difficult to find pictures and information on her, but hopefully one day a hidden Soviet archive will be uncovered and shed a brighter light on the forgotten woes of Varvara Rasputina.

An eerie illustration of Rasputin taking tea with the Tsarina and her children. Was he a sinner or a saint?

The Violent Rebellion of Sarah McLinn

Sarah Gonzales-McLinn is a girl who killed her 52-year old ex-boss and sugar daddy Harold Sasko, back in January of 2014, at the age of 19. She is now currently serving a 50-year minimum sentence for first-degree murder.

Following the homicide, Sarah was immediately slandered as a “gold-digger” and “psychopath” by the media and police; while Sasko was turned into a martyred saint. After killing her former manager, Sarah wrote “FREEDOM” on the wall in his blood. What did this signify?

Not many understand the truth of what really happened, and it is time that it be told.

Sarah was born on Jul. 9, 1994, and grew up in Topeka, Kansas. She was naive and sheltered due to being home-schooled for years. Following her parents’ divorce, she was molested by a neighbor.

Sarah at her first communion.

This traumatized her, and she began sneaking out of her home at odd hours to drink her sorrows away.

Despite all this, Sarah had a kind streak. She always looked out for her disabled younger brother, and once rescued an abused horse.

But fate was not kind to the struggling teen.

At 15, she was brutally assaulted by an older male friend: he pushed her into a coffee table, breaking it in the process; and proceeded to burn her with cigarettes and rape her.

Birthday girl

She suffered from PTSD flashbacks and nightmares, and was hospitalized at a mental institution after attempting suicide when she was 16.

Sarah’s parents’ divorce had caused her to feel unwanted and out of place. She no longer felt welcome or comfortable living with family, and desperately searched for a way out.

Escape would present itself in a terrible form. When she was 14, she got a job at CiCi’s Pizza parlor.

Her manager was a well-off yet sleazy individual named Harold Sasko. He was in his 50s, owned two locations of the restaurant chain, and had a creepy reputation.

Terry David managed one of Harold’s restaurants, and claimed that his boss told him “to only hire young, attractive girls.” When Terry warned female employees to watch out for Harold, he was incensed.

Harold presented himself as a devout Christian, but Terry said he was a “wolf in sheep’s clothing… he had ulterior motives, and I know that for a fact.”

Later on, when Terry heard of his boss’ death, he stated that “the first thing I said to my wife was, ‘I wonder which one of those girls’ dads went over there and killed him.”

And it gets even worse.

School portrait of Sarah.

Ann Tau’s young children worked at CiCi Pizza, under the employment of Harold. During their shifts, she waited for her kids in the parking lot; since they could only work a limited amount of hours due to their age.

In this time, Ann became a sort of confidante for the midlife crisis-having pizza boss. Harold would get into her car and openly rant about his problems.

Ann recounted the disturbing time she spent in Harold’s company:

“He wanted to die… He was Catholic, so he didn’t believe in suicide, but he asked me if I would kill him.

He told me how to kill him, and I’m convinced he told Sarah the same thing. He was a very sick person. I’m an adult woman with five children, high functioning, and he weighed me down.”

This occurred a year before Harold’s death.

Before Sarah’s trial, Ann went to the district attorney and told him everything, but he declined to allow Ann to testify.

She said that “the jury should have heard how he was messed up, and that this was the environment Sarah was part of.”

Alas, it was not so. The saintly picture of Harold that was presented in court went against Ann’s own experiences with the man. The game was rigged.

Anyways, let us return to Sarah. Due to her unstable home situation, Harold asked her to move in with him. She was 16, and he was 50.

And so ring the alarm bells…

Harold Sasko, wannabe sugar daddy.

At this point, Sarah was not even working at CiCi’s Pizza anymore. Her ex-manager had somehow reconnected with his vulnerable former employee, and found the perfect opportunity to exploit her.

Harold tried to gain her confidence by picking her up from school and taking her to Taco Bell, and asking questions about her life. Once she turned 17 and graduated high school, Sarah finally took the plunge and moved in with Harold.

Sarah explained to her suspicious family how “he said he would show me a better life and pay for me to go to college.”

Sarah’s tattoo says “Only god can judge me.”

They didn’t buy it.

Sarah’s mother Michelle Gonzales said that the living arrangement upset her, and caused her and her daughter to have fights when Michelle advised against it.

According to Michelle, Sarah was delusional about Harold’s real intentions:

“She’d say, ‘He’s a Christian man!’ He preyed on that whole Christian thing with her, and wanted to rescue her from her broken home.”

To Sarah, Harold was just a harmless father figure. He initially requested that Sarah refer to him as “dad,” and told inquisitive friends that the girl living with him was his stepdaughter.

Things got weird real fast.

As she neared 18, Harold became more brash and sexual. He gave her weed and alcohol, and discussed the idea of them dating. Sarah tried to refuse, but the implication became clear: no sex, no home.

God had officially left the premises.

In addition, she claimed that Harold also gave her cocaine and ecstasy, and got her extremely drunk to make her more susceptible to his perverted advances.

Crime scene: Harold’s ugly ass LawrenceKansas home.

He wanted her to feel indebted to him. Harold began leaving out a copy of a printed running tab, which listed all the things he had bought for her since she moved in.

He told Sarah she could only leave once she paid him back for everything, and warned against legal retaliation if she did not. She was working at Bed, Bath & Beyond, but only made minimum wage.

Despite this, she was giving Harold most of her pittance of a salary. It was still not enough, and he demanded she pay him back rent. This was ironic coming from the man who once offered her a better life.

Does this look like a normal, equally matched couple to you?

Finally, Sarah got drunk, steeled her nerves, and gave in to the older man’s sexual advances. Why? Her mother has a theory: “She told me she thought she couldn’t come home, because he told her no one would want her there.”

Feeling displaced and hopeless, she began having sex with the man who once called himself her second dad. She most likely felt too guilty to return home after these disturbing experiences.

Dr. Marilyn Hutchinson, psychologist for the defense, said that after interviewing Sarah for 17 hours during her trial; she found that “her sense of captivity was pretty intense.”

Sarah said she could only stomach sex with Harold while she was completely inebriated or drugged, and most often she was barely conscious while he had his way with her.

She “would just lay there and check out’’ and was “disgusted” with the encounters and said no repeatedly, but he just held her arms down and ignored her.

The prosecution later argued that all this was consensual. But try and see it from her perspective: if you were a broke and homeless teenager who had to have sex with a man in his 50s in order to survive, would that really be a voluntary situation?

Rumors began to spread in Kansas that Harold and Sarah’s relationship had a sexual bent to it. An anonymous businessman from Lawrence had some inside dirt on the situation:

“He took the girl in and was supposed to be getting her back on track, but… a [CiCi’s] manager told me that they were having a big time affair… that it was pretty torrid… and (Sasko) had kicked her out five or six times and she had worked at CiCi’s and she’d been fired there a number of times.” 

Harold arrived late for work, often with hickeys on his neck.

Harold’s house of horrors

Co-workers at Bed, Bath & Beyond described Sarah as shy, quiet, and fashion-model good looking at a slim 5’8, 120 lbs stature. When they tried to pry into her relationship with Harold, she was quick to assert that he was her stepfather. But everyone suspected something sleazier.

Their living arrangement was basically an open secret, yet nobody intervened to help Sarah.

She later testified that:

 “I would leave the house sometimes when he was gone. I would have to sneek (sic) around because he would get mad … I think more than anything he made me feel he owned me. I was a toy to him like his personal barbie doll. That’s what he tried to make me.”

This manifested itself in Harold pressuring Sarah to get butt implants, because he wanted her to be a “curvier Barbie.” Cringe.

Due to pain resulting from the procedure, Sarah took hydrocodone all summer long. The drug is a powerful painkiller derived from codeine, and said to be nearly as addictive as morphine.

He also paid for her to undergo a nose job, and wanted her to get a boob job in the future, telling her that “no man would find her attractive because her breasts were not big enough and her butt was not big enough.”

Okay there, Harold.

The surgeries totaled $16,000, and Harold demanded that she pay him back- or he would sue her if she tried to leave him. She was in his debt, and he warned her that if he took legal action, “she would never be able to own a house or anything.”

She testified that:

“He was very nice at first and called me his daughter. After the relationship turned sexual he was very mean, he would always belittle me.

He owned me at that point, and the surgery just solidified it for him. I was so embarrassed and I hated myself because it had gotten that far. My sister and I used to make fun of girls who did that, and that was something we’d never do.”

Sarah was unraveling mentally. Her previous psychological issues had been exacerbated by living with a weird old guy in his 50s who kept trying to have sex with her.

She was too humiliated to return back to work and face her coworkers’ questions, so she spent her days lying on the sofa drunk and high, wondering how she would escape her financial quandary.

Cyle Ossiander, a CiCi’s Pizza’s manager, went to visit Harold at home and witnessed an incident that disturbed him.

He found that Sarah had killed, skinned, cleaned, and cooked a rabbit for dinner. But it wasn’t just any bunny, it was a domestic one she had bought from Pet World.

Cyle said “It was a household rabbit, not game. I don’t know of many people that would kill a rabbit and eat it.”

Actually people do eat rabbit, Cyle. But usually not pet ones. And this one wasn’t the first: Sarah butchered and ate several of them, and later used the exact same knife and method of execution on Harold.

She was on antidepressants for six months up until Harold’s death, switching from Zoloft to Pristiq a few days before shit hit the fan. She later told detectives that:

“I had violent thoughts for two years and they progressed, I guess. They just became really intense. I’ve not been in a good place. It’s like really hard to explain. Little things make me turn and see red almost.”

She had finally had enough of her perverse living situation.

By all accounts, Sarah was emotionally and psychologically exhausted, plagued by financial and mental issues. She said the period leading up to the killing was hazy and “felt like dreams.”

Five days before, Sarah cemented her plan to murder Harold. Police would go on to find that she had googled “neck vulnerable spots.”

On January 14, 2014, Sarah slit Harold’s throat. She drugged him first so he would not feel pain, but also so he would not be able to fight back.

That fateful day, Harold returned home and started working on a speaker system. He asked Sarah to bring him a beer, and she did.

She brought him three beers- but she laced the fourth one with crushed Ambien she had hidden on top of the microwave, so he would be drunk first and less likely to taste the pills.

After 5 Ambiens masked in a few more beers, Harold passed out cold on the floor. Next, she bound his wrists tightly with zip ties.

A gory crime scene photo depicts Harold sprawled on the floor, and blood smeared on the walls.

He mumbled a few words in his barely conscious state. Feeling guilty, Sarah had second thoughts about the murder. But she had already come too far…

She retrieved her hunting knife (the one she’d used on the bunnies), and touched Harold’s neck to feel for his pulse. Sarah stabbed into his carotid artery, then sliced into his neck horizontally, sawing in a side-to-side motion into his spine.

This nearly decapitated him. Sarah said it was difficult to penetrate his neck with the blade, so she held his head in place with her left hand the whole time.

She initially told detectives that as she killed Harold, she “just didn’t feel anything.” However, she then claimed that as she saw Harold die, “everything was screaming at me.”

Detective M.T. Brown, who interviewed Sarah after the murder, testified that “she said she wanted to see someone die… she wanted to see what it felt like to kill someone.”

She went to the sink to clean off the knife, then wrote the word “FREEDOM” on the wall in Harold’s blood. Sarah then showered and washed off the blood, listening to music while doing so. She called into work, saying she would not be in for a few days due to a relative’s death.

Sarah straightened her hair, packed up her bags (including a photo of her sister Ashley), grabbed her chocolate Labrador dog Oliver, and took off in Harold’s 2008 Nissan Altima. She vanished, leaving a trail of confused cops in her wake.

Harold’s hands were bound so tightly that they turned purple.

She left her cellphone and tablet behind, so authorities could not track her.

Police broke into Harold’s home on Jan. 17, three days after the murder, when he did not show up for work and was reported missing. A cop peered through a window after knocking on a door and receiving no answer, and saw Harold lying in a pool of his own blood.

What caused her to snap?

Two days before she killed Harold, Sarah sent the following telling text to her sister:

“I’m starting to realize I don’t want the dream everyone wants for me. I don’t want the American dream. I want real freedom, and I know how to get it and I have to give up a lot. I feel like a caged animal.”

While the media portrayed her as a bloodthirsty monster, the truth was much more complex.

This young and vulnerable Latina, made putty in the hands of an older, more powerful, and financially controlling man; longed for freedom that went beyond subservience to a former manager. She needed to escape the sexual constraints he had placed on her, to be more than just his “Barbie” and pawn.

It was perhaps misguided, and a deranged act of violence; but Sarah had killed out of pure desperation. She killed the authority figure who had sexually abused and confined her to a life of financial and mental slavery.

Sarah was on the lam, and managed to evade capture for 11 days. Police initially put Sarah down as a missing person, but soon realized that she was guilty of Harold’s murder.

Her post-homicide adventure reads like a bizarre crime novel. Knowing her capture was inevitable, Sarah fled boring Kansas for Texas.

Sarah often woke up in shaking cold after sleeping in the car all night, and wanted to go somewhere warm. She then drove on to Florida; because she thought the ocean view would be much nicer there, and she also wanted a certain tattoo from a specific artist. Gotta love her priorities.

En route, she slept in the car, at occasional rest stops, and once even shacked up with a kind pastor and his wife. They fed her dinner and housed her for the night. Other than that, she mainly ate fast food and takeout, paying for everything in cash.

She was tattooed by Florida artist James Baker, and he provided some interesting testimony into Sarah’s mind and personality. He said that the two had a mutual interest in serial killers, which they discussed as he worked on her tattoo.

Sarah was a fan of the 1992 murder mystery novel “I” Is For Innocent, by Sue Grafton. She paid James $200 for a rib cage tattoo that took two hours to complete. It was of her favorite quote from the book:

Her fave novel

“Beware the dark pool at the bottom of our hearts. In its icy, black depths dwell strange and twisted creatures it is best not to disturb.”

She also had roses tattooed onto her shoulder.

Sarah was finally captured at the Everglades National Park on Jan. 25 at 10:30 PM, after an officer found her sleeping in the stolen car. They rudely woke her up, and found she was lying right next to a loaded gun.

Inside the vehicle, police discovered $2,399 in cash, two knives (one of them was the blood-stained murder weapon, hidden in the map pocket of the driver’s door), two guns, an ax and hashish. 

This spelled the end for her short and violent burst of freedom.

The trial was an utter disaster for Sarah, and so was her initial interrogation. Sarah admitted to the police that she had “wanted to see someone die,” and the media and prosecution ran wild with this quote.

Suddenly, all the evidence proving that Harold had kept her as a virtual sex slave was brushed aside, and Sarah was depicted as a psychotic individual; a femme fatale who had lured Harold to his demise- despite the fact that she was a mere teenager suffering from years of mental issues, exploited by a man 33 years her senior.

The media kept pushing the narrative that Harold and Sarah were “roommates”– perhaps wishing to not disgrace the dead man, but willfully ignoring the truth and spreading outright lies by doing so.

Police even found a questionable text from Harold; in which he apologized to Sarah a few days before the murder, for trying to force her to have sex once again.

This too was ignored, among all the other enlightening testimony from people who knew the darker side of Harold.

Sarah also said that Harold was suicidal due to business and personal issues, and often talked to her about killing himself. This is backed up by Ann Tau’s testimony, with whom he also discussed such subject matter.

Sarah headlines a gossip rag.

The court instead chose to focus on the grim physical evidence against Sarah: which included a stick-figure target she had created at home to throw knives at; with major organs, blood vessels, and even the groin marked out especially.

The conservative Kansas elite gathered in droves to condemn Sarah yet were quick to defend Harold, as she was turned into a villain and a cold-blooded killer in the eyes of her community.

At her February 2014 hearing, Sarah was upset to see her family appear in court, gathering to support the once-abandoned teen. Her defense attorney Carl Cornwell said that “she was embarrassed. She didn’t want to see her family there. She was embarrassed.” 

In 2015, after only four hours of jury deliberation; Sarah received a Hard 50 Penalty- a life sentence, with a chance of parole only after 50 years.

The District Attorney Charles Branson ridiculed and doubted Sarah’s claims that she was raped as a child, despite the fact that Sarah cried while showing the court her cigarette burn scars.

Her mother Michelle was dismayed at her daughter’s harsh sentencing, and the court’s unwillingness to acknowledge that Harold kept Sarah in sexual slavery and financial bondage.

Michelle admitted her daughter would have to go to jail for the crime, “but not the rest of her life, because he had no business doing what he did to her.”

CiCi Pizza: where the nightmare began.

Despite the fact that Sarah’s family paid defense lawyer Carl Cornwell $40k in legal fees and they had a legitimate case, Carl used an extremely idiotic defense. He argued to the court that Sarah had Multiple Personality Disorder, informing her they could win if they used that defense.

And so, Carl preached to the court about how Sarah had many different, violent personalities named Alyssa, Vanessa, and Myla- is it any wondered the jury condemned her to life in prison?

Even the prosecution’s psychiatrist, Dr. William Logan, admitted that Sarah showed symptoms of PTSD, major depression, bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. Yet Carl did not use this evidence to his client’s advantage.

Sarah as a young girl, full of hope for the future…

The trial was totally botched, and her ship sank immediately.

Sarah currently resides in the women’s prison in Topeka, Kansas. Her mother Michelle tries to stay in contact with her, and has even set up a site in her daughter’s defense.

Michelle does not ask her daughter to contemplate her crime, as Sarah is not receiving any psychiatric therapy in jail. She says “I don’t encourage her, because if I open that box, who’s going to help her with what falls out?”

Her prison is infamous for rape and violence, yet Michelle says “what’s saddened me the most about her being there is she told me she’s safe now.”

Sarah and her mother.

Even the confines of jail seem less disturbing than her life outside- one in which Sarah had to be sexually subservient to an old man just to keep a roof over her head.

Such is the tragedy of Sarah’s life: she killed the man who sexually abused in her a pathetic bid for freedom, but only doomed herself to a lifetime of imprisonment.

As of 2020, Kansas Department of Corrections facility in Topeka lists her earliest possible release date as Feb. 1, 2064. The American prison system is harsh and unforgiving; merciless towards those who need justice the most.

How Marie Antoinette's BFF Lost her Head

The Princess of Lamballe, by JeanBaptiste Charpentier, c. 1760s.
"The queen wants me; I must live and die near her."

We’ve all heard of Queen Marie Antoinette, and her unlucky fate at the blade of the revolutionary guillotine. But not many know the tragic tale of her best friend, Marie Thérèse Louise of Savoy, Princesse de Lamballe.

De Lamballe was killed a month before her beloved queen, humiliated and beaten to death in a crowded street by enraged revolutionaries. This is her melodramatic story:

Marie Thérèse was was born to a German princess and a Sardinian prince on Sept. 8, 1749. She was, quite simply, a bourgeois bitch: a descendant of the prestigious House of Savoy.

She would have been your typical dispensable aristocrat, had her family not arranged a prodigious marriage on her part.

A Lovely Wedding

Louis Alexandre de Bourbon

Thanks to internal connections, de Lamballe was swiftly married off to Louis Alexandre, Prince of Lamballe – great grandson of Louis XIV a.k.a. The Sun King, and consummate French royalty.

The prince was also a spoiled brat and a notorious womanizer.

He was red-haired, with a tall, strong build and luminous eyes. The prince was said to be attractive to women, who he pursued readily. He was even rumored to have been friends with the perverted libertine Marquis de Sade.

This arranged marriage was his father’s bid to subdue the wily prince: he felt the shy and reserved de Lamballe would chastise his perverse son.

Most importantly: she was nonthreatening and not the sharpest pencil in the box. Madame du Barry, infamous mistress of Louis XV, called Marie Thérèse “destitute of wit.”

The Princess of Lamballe in 1779, by Marie Victoire Lemoine

Marie Thérèse was not conventionally attractive: she had a big nose, a giraffe neck, and sloped shoulders; plain in both mannerisms and appearance.

There were some positives about her, like her smooth skin that was described as “delicately fair,” as well as clear blue eyes and long golden hair that was compared to Raphael’s madonnas. Overall, she was considered a righteous, moral, kind woman with a good temperament.

In January of 1767, the couple was married off in a luxurious 10 day ceremony with celebrations and feasts taking place in both France and Italy. She was now officially a princess!

She was only 17 years old and the prince was 19. The pair were both Virgos with close birthdays: two hard-headed individuals meant to clash.

Anita Louise plays Princess de Lamballe in Marie Antoinette (1938)

Before the wedding, the prince went to go see his future bride to bring her a bouquet of flowers, disguising himself as his own servant. Upon discovering his gag, de Lamballe was charmed and intrigued.

She said of it:

“I hope[d] my prince will allow his page to attend me, for I like him much. What was my surprise when the Duc de Penthièvre presented me to the Prince and I found in him the page for whom I had already felt such an interest!

 We both laughed and wanted words to express our mutual sentiments.  This was really love at first sight.”

The couple spent their honeymoon at the Château de Nangis, a pleasant mini castle where Joan of Arc had once walked.

The lovely Château de Nangis.

At first, the couple was said to be enamored by one another as there was a strong physical attraction between them. The princess must have been getting some good dick, as she wrote to her mother “it is very pleasant to find thus in my duties my sweetest enjoyments.”

Soon enough, however, the prince fell back into his degenerate, polygamous ways.

Sins and Punishments

After a few months of marital bliss, the prince began affairs with numerous women, even impregnating an opera singer at one point.

The prince also used his wife’s diamonds to pay off his debts, as well as cruelly re-gifting them to his mistresses.

Portrait of the princess by Pierre Claude François Delorme (1783-1859) 

Princess de Lamballe was humiliated by her husband’s errant behaviour and infidelity. She found consolation in her social life at the royal court at the Palace of Versailles.

The princess also became close with her husband’s father, Louis Jean Marie de Bourbon, Duke of Penthièvre. The duke was one of the richest and most powerful men in France, and he was very fond of his daughter-in-law.

In May of 1767, the princess sent a lamentful letter to her mother:

Marie Thérèse in neutral wear, 1776

“Why is it that monsieur de Lamballe… warms my heart but all the fires of the love he has for me have suddenly changed?

In vain I seek in my conduct that which might have caused this change, but I cannot find any cause… Can it be because I’m not with child? Is that a crime? His indifference kills me.

But one thing that distresses me… is that I cannot doubt that the life he leads alters his health. A thousand forebodings overwhelm me. Oh my mother! Sympathize with my sorrows, and I will feel less bitter.”

Due to her husband’s neglect, she began to faint and have nervous fits. Doctors diagnosed the princess with hysteria and so-called “convulsive vapors” and melancholia, when she was really just an upset teenager who was dismayed at being cheated on.

The princess and her puppy, by Jean-Baptiste Charpentier,
1768.

Soon enough, the partying prince’s health began to deteriorate as well, but for different reasons. Louis Alexandre grew pale, tired, and ill, and was plagued with skin ulcers.

He also badly injured himself by falling off a horse, so he went home and had his cuckolded wife and sister care for him.

Karma was hitting him hard: the prince started wasting away, and was constantly feverish, exhausted and suffering from skin rashes. He had syphilis!

Louis Alexandre had contracted venereal disease from one of the orgies he had attended. Doctors prescribed seven pounds of mercury to treat the syphilis, but it was to no avail.

It completely was over for the pernicious prince. Louis Alexandre confessed his sins to a priest, and died on May 6, 1768, in the arms of his loyal wife. He was only 20, and their marriage had lasted a little over a year.

The death of the Prince of Lamballe, 1768.

Now a widow at only 18, the princess briefly considered joining a convent. But really, why would she? It would be such a waste, and so boring.

Marie Thérèse had just inherited a large fortune from her dead husband, and was ready for a new life. The Duc de Penthièvre took the young widow under his wing, and brought her to live with him in his gorgeous Château de Rambouillet.

The château was far removed from the hustle and filth of Paris; a lush green country castle where the super-rich spent their days in utmost leisure. The princess enjoyed her relaxing days at this fair château, taking long walks in beautiful country forests and sitting by the window-side writing letters and self-reflecting.

The princess and her father-in-law also spent time engaging in charitable projects to appease the jealous proles, and were called the “King of the Poor” and “The Angel of Penthiévre” respectively.

Château de Rambouillet, in northern France

And so began Princess de Lamballe’s grand courtly life: she was so well reputed that she was even considered for a time as a possible wife for King Louis XV.

However, nothing materialized of it, as he was already too enamored by his slutty mistress Madame du Barry.

A Beautiful Friendship

The princess was introduced to dauphine Marie Antoinette in 1770, at her wedding bash to future King Louis XVI. Despite being six years older than her, the princess became fast friends with the dauphine.

Marie Antoinette described her as “the only woman I know who never bears a grudge; neither hatred nor jealousy is to be found in her.”

Portrait of Marie Antoinette, circa 1767-1768. By Martin van Meytens.

The outgoing, fashionable, pretty, strawberry-blonde haired Marie Antoinette was, personality wise, quite the opposite of de Lamballe. But they enjoyed the stability and consistency of one another’s affections.

Marie Antoinette helped the princess grieve and heal from the recent death of her sleazy husband, for which she would be grateful for until the end. The princess said:

It was amid this gloom of human agony, these heart-rending scenes of real mourning, that the brilliant star shone to disperse the clouds, which hovered over our drooping heads…  

It was in this crisis that Marie Antoinette came, like a messenger sent down from Heaven, graciously to offer the balm of comfort in the sweetest language of human compassion…  

From that moment I became seriously attached to the Queen of France.”

Illustration by Michael Leonard for The Queen’s Confession, 1968.

In return, the princess gave her the utmost loyalty. Within the court of Versailles, Maire Antoinette was surrounded by bitchy haters who constantly criticized her for being unconventional and imprudent.

Many courtiers were incensed by her foreign heritage, and she earned the pejorative L’Autrichienne (the Austrian bitch).

Within this sea of bitterness, is it any wonder she needed a friend?

Marie Antoinette and the princess bonded by going on wintertime sleigh rides together, resplendent in fine ermine and sable furs. They were pulled through snowy Paris by horses that were decked in jingling bells and lux white head-plumes.

Portrait of the princess in wide panniers.

On May 10, 1774, King Louis XV died of smallpox. His grandson, the awkward and portly Louis XVI, succeeded him. Marie Antoinette went from despised dauphine to Queen of France in the abrupt blink of an eye.

Princess de Lamballe was now in a place of immense power and influence.

When the princess was away from the court for two months, Marie Antoinette missed her dearly, and had de Lamballe’s portrait painted in her looking-glass room. The two even started wearing matching coordinated outfits. They were, like, total BFFs forever.

The Queen was said to have remarked to Louis XVI that “the Princesse de Lamballe’s friendship is the charm of my life.”

In September of 1775, Marie Antoinette attracted controversy when she appointed de Lamballe the title of “Superintendent of the Queen’s Household.”

Marie Antoinette with the rose, 1783, by Élisabeth Vigée-Lebrun

This post was so contentious that it had been left vacant for 30 years, as it was a very highly-paid and influential position. And now, with this honor bestowed upon her, Princess de Lamballe was the highest-ranking Lady in Waiting in all the court.

Many were unhappy with this appointment, as they felt de Lamballe was too much of a fragile drama queen to handle such responsibility. She was once said to have fainted of shock when a lady-in-waiting unexpectedly and noisily yawned near her.

The princess’ brother Eugène was also promoted to regiment commander in the French military, thanks to his sister’s connections.

Marie Antoinette’s mother Empress Maria Theresa grew concerned with the amount of influence the Princess de Lamballe was accumulating.

Comte de Mercy-Argenteau, an Austrian diplomat that Marie Antoinette’s mother used to keep an eye on her, reported to the Empress that:

Miniature of the princess by Elisabeth Louise Vigee Le Brun, late 18th century.

“This lady joins to much sweetness a very sincere character, far from intrigue and all such worries… the choice is excellent…

All the same, I have taken the precaution to point out to the Queen that her favour and goodness to the Princesse de Lamballe are somewhat excessive, in order to prevent abuse of them from that quarter.”

Rivalry

In the spring of 1775, starving French peasants rioted due to extensive grain shortages. This was nicknamed the Flour War. Louis XVI was not doing a good job feeding his people. Consequences were to come…

But not yet. Marie Antoinette was still enjoying her sexy, exciting royal life. And she had made a new friend: Yolande Martine Gabrielle de Polastron, Duchess of Polignac.

The Duchess de Polignac by Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, 1782

The pretty, violet-eyed, charismatic duchess caught the Queen’s eye immediately. The duchess was more attractive and smooth than the neurotic and humble de Lamballe, but she was also more gossipy.

Marie Antoinette was turned on by the duchess’ cavalier devil-may-care attitude. The Queen paid off the duchess and her husband’s 400k franc gambling debts so they could permanently move into Versailles.

There was also a strange coincidence: Princess de Lamballe and the Duchesse de Polignac were born on the exact same day, of the exact same year! This bode well for a blooming friendship, right?

Wrong.

The two hated one another, and vied for Marie Antoinette’s affections. The Queen began to prefer the duchess’ company over the princess. She was, after all, way cooler than the dorky, fainting Princess de Lamballe.

La princesse de Lamballe by Antoine-François Callet, circa 1776.

At this time, the Queen’s advisers complained de Lamballe was getting paid way too much for her Superintendent position. She was already rich via her father-in-law, and owned many empty homes that she did not even live in.

De Lamballe refused to relinquish any privileges or her 50k crown salary, and rumors spread that she was a greedy bitch.

Princess de Lamballe began to get an inkling that the tides were turning against the monarchy.

Many peasants and courtiers alike began to make apparent their disdain for Marie Antoinette’s expensive and bimboish obsession with fashion and fancy living, which was seen as especially distasteful during periods of terrible famine and starvation for the lower class.

The Queen laughed off the princess’ advices against being too decadent, and joked with the Duchess de Polignac at what a bore the princess was.

Detail of Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, and their son in a 1782 portrait of The French Royal Family.

Comte Mercy-Argenteau witnessed their constant disagreements, noting:

“Constant quarrels, in which the Princesse seemed always to be in the wrong…

The Princesse de Lamballe loses much in favour. I believe she will always be well treated by the Queen, but she no longer possesses her entire confidence…

The Princesse is very little seen at court. The Queen, it is true, visited her on her father’s death, but it is the first mark of kindness she has received for long.

The cunty duchess also did her best to create a wedge in the princess and the Queen’s friendship.

When the Queen retreated to the colossal 1,500-room Château de Fontainebleau in autumn of 1776, she chose to bring the princess with her, instead of the duchess.

Marie Antoinette’s Boudoir at Fontainebleau by Jules-Marc-Antoine Frappaz, 1876.

At the end of 1776, de Lamballe was plagued by a bad attack of measles. The Queen sent her heartfelt, touching, worried letters inquiring about her health.

In 1778, when the princess’ mother died, the Queen and King both wrote sweet letters of consolation.

Marie Antoinette signed off with “I embrace you again with my whole heart, as I shall love you all my life.”

Louis XVI added “You know how much we love you. May God be with you.”

Despite the fact that both her parents had died that year, the princess was there for moral support when the Queen gave birth to her first child: Marie-Thérèse Charlotte, or Madame Royale.

It was a horrible 12-hour labour, in which Marie Antoinette almost died of suffocation. The delicate de Lamballe of course fainted after witnessing this.

Portrait of the princess by Louis-Édouard Rioult,
1843 (copy of a lost 18th-century portrait).

Extravagance and Depravity

There were rumours spreading around Paris that Marie Antoinette was cheating on her husband, as well as having lesbian relationships with the Princess de Lamballe and the Duchess de Polignac. Did the Queen really eat muff? Who knows?

One must note that Princess de Lamballe was not known to have taken any lovers after her husband died. She appeared to have a limited interest in love affairs and men. Could it be that she was into women? It is impossible to prove or disprove.

Marie Antoinette, on the other hand, really knew how to trigger people. She was a gambling addict, took the company of men who were not her husband, and loved the theatrical arts.

The Queen, herself, acted in plays, and was said to have been a terrible performer. The Duchess de Polignac ensured that the Princess de Lamballe was barred from attending any performances.

Interior of the magnificent Hôtel de Toulouse, home of Princess de Lamballe.

In 1790, when Marie Antoinette’s mother died, she withdrew to mourn with the princess and the duchess in private. Subsequently, the Queen increased de Lamballe’s salary to match her loyalty.

The princess was having a fun time giving tea parties and riding hot air balloons at the wonderful Hôtel de Toulouse, which was owned by her father-in-law, the Duke of Penthièvre. Her bedroom was an opulent salon gilded in gold and velvet.

In December of 1784, a bandit named Pierre Poulailler tried to burn down the Hôtel. The princess awoke the duke at 1 AM, and they escaped the inferno. Police extinguished the fire promptly.

As for Pierre, he was said to have killed 150 people in his life of crime. He once even sealed a man alive inside a building. When Pierre was captured, his bones were broken on a torture wheel and then he was burned alive.

Wasn’t 18th century France just lovely?

Illustration of a man being executed on a breaking wheel, 1721, Paris.

Downfall

Following the infamous 1785 Affair of the Diamond Necklace, Marie Antoinette’s already questionable reputation was irreparably tarnished. The peasants nicknamed her “Madame Deficit,” blaming the Queen for the country’s dire financial plight.

In 1787, the princess was in poor health and France was on the brink of bankruptcy. Political troubles were brewing steadily.

The princess set off to England for a health retreat. She viewed Herschel’s Forty-Foot Telescope, and had dinner with writer Horace Walpole.

Like the condescending gout-ridden Englishman he was, Walpole remarked “I have no particular penchant for sterling princes and princesses, much less for those of French plate.”

A portrait of Princess de Lamballe with her titty out. By Joseph Duplessis.

By 1788, most of Louis XVI’s parliament and a veritable array of aristocrats had turned against him for attempting to tax them. They simply refused to pay up, even though there was a poor harvest that year and French citizens were facing starvation.

This was the period when the Jacobins banded together, and republican Maximilien de Robespierre started his rise to glory and power.

The conflict between the King and his unruly subjects finally climaxed with the Storming of the Bastille prison in 1789.

The prison was supposed to symbolize all of the King’s tyrannies and evil. But when the approximately 1,000 partisans of the Third Estate broke in, there were only seven prisoners within!

99 citizens died during the action.

The Storming of the Bastille by Jean-Pierre Houël, 1789.

Bernard-René de Launay, governor of the Bastille, was captured and horribly beaten.

When he could no longer take the abuse, he cried out “Enough! Let me die!” and kicked a pastry cook in the nuts, as his final act of defiance. In return, he was stabbed, beaten, and shot to death by the angry mob. Afterwards, his head was sawed off then paraded around on a pike.

A British Doctor by the name of Edward Rigby described the scene:

“[We] perceived two bloody heads raised on pikes, which were said to be the heads of the Marquis de Launay, Governor of the Bastille, and of Monsieur Flesselles, Prévôt des Marchands.

It was a chilling and a horrid sight! … Shocked and disgusted at this scene, [we] retired immediately from the streets.”

A 1789 French hand tinted etching that depicts the storming of the Bastille during the French Revolution.

This was a disturbing omen of violent things to come.

The Unraveling of the Monarchy

Unable to control the angry mobs of rioters any longer, the King advised his supporters to flee the country for their own safety, as he could no longer protect them.

While this was all going down, Princess de Lamballe was in Switzerland on a leisure trip.

When the third estate demanded that the nobles cough up some of their baubles to help pay France’s national debt, the princess was very hesitant to contribute.

Marie Antoinette was the same: she unwisely chose to wear her most beautiful and expensive jewelry while attending a delegation in August.

Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette in the Gardens of Versailles with their Children, by Charles Louis Lucien Muller, 1857.

Three months later, another monumental event occurred: The Women’s March on Versailles.

On October. 5, following a large feast at the king’s palace; a mob of almost 10,000 starving, enraged women and revolutionary agitators set off from the Parisian marketplace to Versailles, armed with weapons.

Why were the starving peasants forced to pay taxes, while the comfy aristocrats were exempt? It was time for an answer.

When they arrived, the mob demanded the king provide grain for their hungry families. Louis XVI relented and promised to take care of the issue, then he and his family settled in to sleep for the night.

The Queen’s bedchamber at Versailles.

But the suspicious mob broke into the palace and attacked and murdered the guards. Again, they decapitated their victims and placed the guards’ heads onto pikes.

Marie Anoinette nearly escaped being bayoneted to death in her bedchambers by angry rioters.

By now, the mob had reached 60,000, and they forced the King and Queen to leave Versailles and return to Paris: to live in the dilapidated Tuileries Palace. Louis XVI was now at the mercy of his people.

Two days after this chaotic event, the ever-loyal princess went to Tuileries to provide emotional support to her Queen. Upon her arrival, Marie Antoinette collapsed into the princess’ arms and began sobbing.

Marie Antoinette faces the mob on her Versailles balcony. By Michael Leonard for The Queen’s Confession, 1968.

The princess resumed her superintendent position, and moved into the Pavillon de Flore to stay close to the Royal family. She referred to her apartment there as a “dungeon” compared to what she had had in Versailles.

Since the King and Queen were virtual prisoners at this point, they decided to try and escape Paris to go to the royalist stronghold of Montmédy; which bordered Marie Antoinette’s beloved Austria.

The Queen gave the princess a very affectionate farewell before her escape. The princess found out next morning, and set off to meet them in Montmédy.

The attempt failed disastrously, and the King and Queen were captured in Varennes on June 21, 1791, and forced to return back to Paris.

The Florist and the Pavillon de Flore (ca. 1900), by the painter Émile Baré.

De Lamballe was steadfast, and after waiting in Montmédy for a week, she sent Marie Antoinette this lamentful letter:

“I … wait [for] your Majesty’s command… When your Majesty wears fetters, can liberty be of any value to me? When your Majesty is bathed in tears, can any tranquility enter in to the bossom.”

The princess desperately wanted to help her Queen, but was advised to stay afar in Brussels. Marie Antoinette did not want the princess to return as she feared for her dear friend’s life.

The Queen wrote to de Lamballe:

Your friendship is my consolation and my only happiness… Do not return, do not throw yourself in the tiger’s jaws; the present is too terrible.”

Princess de Lamballe by Anton Hickel, 1788.

Marie Antoinette sent the princess a gold ring which was looped with strands of her own her that had been “turned white by misfortune.” Oh the drama.

Even the Duc de Penthièvre tried to halt his daughter-in-law’s return; entreating de Lamballe’s cousin, the King of Sardinia, to try and convince her to go hide it out with the Savoy family.

She wrote him an epic letter declining all help:

“I do not recollect that any of our illustrious ancestors of the house of Savoy… ever dishonored or tarnished their illustrious names with cowardice.

I cannot swerve from my determination of never quitting them, especially at a moment when they are abandoned by every one of their former attendants, except myself…

A 1791 ring encasing the entwined hair of Princess Lamballe and Marie Antoinette that Antoinette kept with her while she was imprisoned. 

During the most brilliant period of the reign of Marie Antoinette, I was distinguished by the royal favor and bounty.  To abandon her in adversity, Sire, would stain my character, and that of my illustrious family, for ages to come with infamy and cowardice, much more to be dreaded than the most cruel death.”

Princess de Lamballe would never betray her friend of more than 20 years. It was unthinkable.

Transcendent Loyalty

Against all safety and common sense, de Lamballe decided to return to Paris and go down with the sinking ship. She made out her last will and testament, then arrived back in France on Nov 4, 1791.

Princess de Lamballe brought the Queen a red and white spaniel as a gift to cheer her up, but a dog could not fix Marie Antoinette’s busted life. She was now aged and haggard, with her hair turned totally white.

On the other hand, the Queen’s old friend the, Duchesse de Polignac, was far away; not one to be found near any danger. The Queen wrote to the duchess that “the good Lamballe … seemed only waiting for danger to show what she was worth.”

A 1770 portrait of Marie Antoinette and Princess de Lamballe. Artist unknown.

Only five ladies-in-waiting remained at the court, and de Lamballe was one of them.

At this time, the Jacobins wanted the King’s young son Louis-Charles to have a tutor who was sympathetic to the revolution. For that purpose, the princess suggested future psychopath dictator Maximilien Robespierre as a candidate.

Marie Antoinette adamantly refused, and after that, Robespierre held a hateful grudge against the Princess de Lamballe.

By 1792, Paris was saturated by pamphlets accusing Marie Antoinette of being a whore. A particularly comedic one told a story where de Lamballe supposedly supplied the Queen with massive dildos, implying that the King was too small to satisfy her.

Marie-Antoinette feeding birds at the Trianon by Joseph Caraud (1821–1905). 

After Louis XVI vetoed a decree for a constitutional monarchy, partisans stormed into the Tuileries Palace on June 20. The violent mob threatened Marie Antoinette, who responded that her place was by the King’s side.

Fearing for the Queen’s life, the princess cried out “No, no, Madame, your place is with your children!”

The princess courageously stood by the Queen through the whole debacle, and was more protective of the Queen’s life than her own.

While revolutionaries declared war on Austria, Louis XVI went behind France’s back to make a deal with Prussian royals. The Brunswick Manifesto declared that if the French monarchy were harmed, then French civilians would be attacked in turn.

Marie Antoinette with her children and Madame Élisabeth, facing the mob that had broken into the Tuileries Palace, 1792.

Now that Louis XVI was viewed as a traitor, French revolutionary insurrectionists became bold and attacked Tuileries Palace on August 10.

When she saw the approaching army, Princess de Lamballe declared to the Queen: “My dear, my dear, nothing will save us. I think we are lost.” It was completely over.

The King and Queen, as well as their frightened children and entourage, were forced to take refuge in the Legislative Assembly.

Once the most dignified crop in Paris, they were now relegated to sleeping on the floors of dingy jail cells on flimsy mattresses.

Imprisonment

The Condemnation of the Princess de Lamballe. Engraving by Samuel Sartain, 1849.

On August 19, the Princess de Lamballe was forcibly separated from the Royal family. Marie Antoinette was devastated. Who would she get her nails done with now?

Like a movie, the princess fell to her knees to kiss the Queen’s hand. But before she could do so, the indignant guards dragged the princess off.

Marie Antoinette’s daughter Madame Royale claimed that “they tore her away, saying that such an act was enough for a slave toward tyrants.”

The princess was taken to the La Force Prison and interrogated by members of the Paris Commune.

The princess was imprisoned alongside the Royal governess Louise-Élisabeth de Croÿ de Tourzel, and her daughter Pauline.

Mme. de Tourzel said that “the Princess de Lamballe bore her sad lot perfectly. Sweet, good, and obliging, she showed us every little attention in her power.”

The princess in a bonnet, unknown date and artist.

But the princess had her haters too. The Duc d’Orléans’ (ex-brother in law and now enemy of the princess) salty mistress, the Comtesse de Buffon, took pleasure in kicking the princess when she was already down:

“The princesse de Lamballe is without a maid and has to look after herself. For a person who affects to feel ill before a lobster in a picture this must be a rude position.”

Not very nice, bitch!

The princess showed major toughness of character by having none of her usual fainting attacks while imprisoned.

Meanwhile, the princess’ loving father-in-law, the Duc de Penthièvre, was doing his best to try and free her; even offering the Commune half of his massive wealth as a bribe.

The principled fellows declined the cash.

Final sketch of Princess de Lamballe on the day of her trial. Attributed to R. Gabriel.

Princess de Lamballe was dead meat. The revolutionaries would have no mercy for the delicate and refined 42-year old widow with Savoyan blood. She was just another head soon to be impaled sky high.

A Savage and Vicious Murder

On Sept 3. 1792, the last day of her life; the princess was dressed in angelic white silk with her curls neatly arranged under a cap.

At 6 AM, jailers came into de Lamballe and Mme. de Tourzel’s cell, and asked the women their names. Immediately knowing something was wrong, they began to pray.

The princess gazed out the window of her tiny cell, frightened. She saw a rabid, screaming, bloodthirsty mob gathered outside. A man threw a rock at her face, which cut her cheek and drew blood.

Princess Marie Louise of Savoy is lead through the prison gates and greeted by a marauding mob. Wood engraving.

At 11 AM, a jailer led the two women out of their cell into the nightmarish courtyard. Drunk and belligerent, the men outside taunted and insulted the princess.

The princess bore her lot with dignity, according to de Tourzel:

“We clasped each other’s hand … and I can state positively that she displayed much courage and presence of mind, replying without hesitation to all the questions put by the monsters who joined us for the sole purpose of contemplating their victims before leading them to death.”

De Tourzel managed to escape the courtyard, due to the help of a mysterious man known as Monsieur Hardi.

The princess, however, was not so lucky. She waited with other doomed political prisoners, to be sent before an impromptu revolutionary tribunal.

Engraving of the Trial of de Lamballe.

The trials, of course, were a farce: they existed only to expedite the killings of political enemies. This was the period of the September Massacres, where thousands would be put to death under the guise of revolution.

And it was the princess’ turn.

Brought before the tribunal in a dank, grim room; the revolutionaries demanded that she “take an oath to love liberty and equality and to swear hatred to the King and the Queen and to the monarchy.” The dialogue went as follows:

Princess de Lamballe had become fearless in her indignation.

Unlike the other cowardly courtiers who once swarmed Louis XVI’s bustling court- and then fled like rats when trouble hit, the princess actually had values and ideals.

She would not beg for her life like a dog, or shit on the hand that once fed her.

The horrified princesse walks unwittingly into the bloodbath.

The princess simply responded: “‘I have nothing to answer. Whether I die sooner or later is a matter of indifference to me. I have made the sacrifice of my life.”

And with those words, she sealed her fate.

The tribunal called out “Let Madame be set at liberty,” which was actually code for “throw her to the wolves.” Without understanding what was happening, the princess was escorted into the street by two guards.

She was greeted by the scene of a horrific massacre. Piles of naked, bloody corpses were laid out in the open.

An angry mob of men, women, and even children were assigned to slaughtering those who the tribunal deemed as guilty; and they seemed more than happy to do so.

Death of the Princess de Lamballe by Gaetano Ferri, c. 19th century.

The frightened princess fell back on the guards and tried to escape, crying out “Fi horreur!” or “I am lost!But they clamped her mouth shut to prevent her screams, and pushed her further into the bloodthirsty mob.

A member of the mob described the princess years later as a mere “little lady dressed in white.”

That did not prevent them from murdering her in a terrible manner. A witness described the scene:

“A journeyman barber, staggering with intoxication and infuriated with carnage, endeavored, in a kind of brutal jesting, to strike her cap from her head with his long pike.

The blow fell upon her forehead, cutting a deep gash, and the blood gushed out over her face.”

Etching from 1838 depicting the murder of the princesse de Lamballe during the French Revolution.

The princess’ golden hair came undone, and from her cap fell a letter from her beloved Marie Antoinette.

As blood dripped onto her white silk dress, the mob became emboldened. A man came forth to deliver the final death blow; by bludgeoning her head.

The princess was piled upon and stabbed; then grabbed by the hair and decapitated by a random maniac with a sabre. They went full on slasher movie villain, it seems.

There is also this dramatic firsthand account from a bystander by the name of Jean Némery:

De Lamballe’s Murder by Pierre Méjanel and François Pannemaker, 1887.

A quick and horrific scene unfolded before my eyes. On seeing the bodies lying on the ground, the Princess made a gesture of horror and stepped back sharply.

The two men who stood beside her seized her by the arms and spoke to her; she replied, with gestures, but I could not hear her words.

Some of the executioners approached the small group and laughed, probably mocking the fear of the princesse. One of them threatened her with his pike.

She stepped back and raised her arms, as if to protect herself. The executioners had parted and I thought they were going to pass.

I breathed when, suddenly, two of those devils stood before her and beat her, one with a pike, the other with a sword.

She screamed, staggered, put a hand on her chest, then fell onto a pile of bodies … she tried to get up, but she received fresh blows, her arms fluttered a moment, then did not move again.

The Death of the Princess de Lamballe by Leon Maxime Faivre, 1908.

Wild rumours later circulated that the princess was raped, dismembered, and sexually mutilated. However, that is all unsubstantiated.

It is fairly likely that they stripped the princess’ corpse naked, and disemboweled her.

What indeed was factual was that the mob placed the princess’ severed head on a pike, and grotesquely paraded it around the streets of Paris.

The deranged procession screamed out the Princess de Lamballe’s name in a macabre trance of celebration and drunken dancing. And to be fair, can you imagine being an 18th century French peasant? This was the highlight of their week.

Execution was an art, a form of entertainment. And here was the Queen’s best friend: whose fortune had been enough to buy whatever she desired, a million times over. She was now headless; a dismembered body in the hands of those who despised what she stood for, of those barely able to even afford bread.

French revolutionaries dragging the naked, headless, body of the Princess along the streets with her head on a pike. Etching by T. Wallis after W.M. Craig, 1815.

The mob first stopped at a barber shop, and insisted he groom the decapitated head by applying makeup and curling her hair.

The mob then stopped to show the severed head off at a café, where spectators drank to de Lamballe’s death.

Finally, the mob attempted to break into the Temple: the fortress where Marie Antoinette was imprisoned.

  If they had succeeded, the mob would have forced her to kiss the decapitated de Lamballe’s lips, as many had assumed she and Marie Antoinette had once been lesbian lovers.

*Insert obligatory joke about giving head here.*

Fortunately, guards managed to prevent the mob from breaking into the Temple, and the King and Queen’s windows were kept closed to prevent them from seeing the princess’ severed head.

An 1889 illustration of Princess de Lamballe’s head on a pike. From the Daily Monitor newspaper.

When Louis XVI asked why their windows were being shuttered, a guard responded “they are trying to show you the head of Madame de Lamballe.”

A horrified Marie Antoinette nearly fainted away.

Their daughter, Madame Royale, described the scene as such:

“My mother was seized with horror; that was the sole moment when her firmness abandoned her.

The municipals scolded the officer, but my father, with his usual kindness, excused him, saying it was not the officer’s fault, but his own for having questioned him…

 My unhappy mother did not even try to sleep [that night]; we listened to her sobs.”

Jean-Baptiste Cléry, valet of Louis XVI, described in his journal the peasants’ attempts to try and show Marie Antoinette her BFF’s decapitated head:

Princess de Lamballe’s head on a pike paraded beneath the windows to show the Queen.

“They had raised the victim’s head so that it could not escape her sight; it was that of the Princesse de Lamballe. Though bloody, it was not disfigured; her blond hair, still curling, floated around the pike.”

It’s nice to know that the princess still looked pretty, even after they cut her head off.

Like a marauding circus, the celebrating mob next went to seek out the Duc d’Orléans and his mistress the Comtesse de Buffon (who as I mentioned before, were not fans of the princess.)

The pair were dining with English gentlemen at the Palais-Royal, when the mob started waving the princess’ severed head by an open window.

The irritated Duke brushed off the bizarre spectacle, commenting “‘Oh, it is Lamballe’s head: I know it by the long hair. Let us sit down to supper.”

The Comtesse, on the other hand, was duly alarmed and cried out “‘O God ! They will carry my head like that some day!”

A gory 1792 engraving features a mob running amuck with the princess’ body.

Luckily for her, that would not happen. However, the cavalier Duc d’Orléans was guillotined the very next year.

The mob couldn’t play with the princess’ detached head forever, could they? They had to be stopped.

Knowing she was in deep trouble, the Duc de Penthièvre had send emissaries to the princess’ trial. They had tried to help her, but they were no match against the thronging mob.

As she was being beaten to death, the emissaries cried out for mercy to try and halt the killing. But the mob disdainfully screamed “Death to the disguised lackeys of the Duc de Penthièvre!’

Now that the princess had been slaughtered, they were charged with obtaining her remains. It was not an easy task. They had to pretend to befriend the mob, so they took the exhausted marauders to an ale house to get them shitfaced.

A creepy wax tableau at the Musee Grevin depicting the royal family seeing the head of the Princesse de Lamballe.

While the drunks were distracted, an emissary named Jacques Pointel managed to steal the princess’ head off the pike it was impaled on. He wrapped the head in a napkin, and whisked it away; secretly burying it in a children’s cemetery.

Her skull was never found, despite attempts to unearth it in 1904. As for the rest of her body, that is also a mystery.

Poor, old, sickly Duc de Penthièvre was heartbroken when he found out what happened to his much-adored daughter-in-law. She was the light of his life, and he had took her to his bosom like she was his real daughter. He never forgot her, and said:

“I think I always hear her … I always think I see her sitting near the window, in the little study … with what assiduity she used to work there, from morning till night, at the labours of her sex, for the poor? … and this is the angel they have torn to pieces!”

If that doesn’t bring a tear to one’s eye, then what the hell will?

A morbid 1793 engraving entitled “The reception of Louis XVI in hell.” The Princesse de Lamballe is seen holding her own head on a pike.

Louis XVI was guillotined in January of 1793. His last words were, “I die innocent of all the crimes laid to my charge. I forgive the authors of my death, and I pray God that the blood which you are about to shed may never fall on France.”

Marie Antoinette was inconsolable after this, and her daughter said she became wholly indifferent to life and death.

She met her end via guillotine in October of the same year. Marie Antoinette accidentally stepped on her executioner’s foot, so her last words came to be, “Pardon me, Sir, I did not do it on purpose.”

Their daughter Marie-Thérèse Charlotte (aka Madame Royale) managed to survive until age 17, after which she escaped France to live in Vienna with relatives from her mother’s side.

Louis-Charles, their son and heir to the throne, was not so lucky. He was imprisoned, abused, and neglected- dying from tuberculosis at the age of 10.

The preserved heart of Louis-Charles inside a crystal urn.

Addendum

Who was this murderous mob of aristo-killers anyways, and why were they so violent?

They were the sans-culottes (without breeches), the lowest of the low; the poorest of the poor.

The sans-culottes were radical militant revolutionaries from the bottom class of French society. There were some career criminals among them, and many seemed to take delight in bloodshed and carnage. Years of destitution had made them monstrous.

There are stories of cannibalism, the murder of priests, and of boiling people alive; all said to have been perpetrated by the sans-culottes. It becomes hard to tell fact from fiction. Marxists brand them as misunderstood heroes, and conservatives as commie devils.

Yet another gratuitous sketch of the sans-culottes partying with the princess’ decapitated head.

Under Robespierre’s control, these frustrated poor became pawns to carry out acts of violence and mayhem.

Throughout the Reign of Terror, 17,000 French citizens were said to have died. Princess de Lamballe was just one of many victims.

Was it better to be a puppet of the psychopathic Robespierre and his hypocritical bourgeois Jacobins, or a puppet of the decadent and buffoonish King Louis XVI and other selfish monarchs of his ilk?

In the end, the French Revolution achieved everything and nothing. Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were deposed and executed, but what followed?

A Napoleonic dictatorship and wars that claimed millions of lives, and a Bourbon monarchy that was restored in 1814- only to be overthrown yet again.

Princesse de Lamballe Dancing with Death by Henry Chapront (1876-1965)

France went through several revolutions and republics, the way Marie Antoinette went through pastries.

And yet- would we claim that any of us are truly free men and women? Why celebrate Bastille Day when there is now a Bastille around every corner?

It also begs the question: did the Princess de Lamballe deserve her headless fate?

It depends on how you look at it. To some, she was just a dutiful member of the monarchy; wrongfully caught up in the zeitgeist of her time, inside something that was totally beyond her control.

Anita Louise as Princess de Lamballe in Marie Antoinette (1938)

The princess was not a particularly offensive royal, unlike vulgar thots such as the Duchess de Polignac, or Madame du Barry.

By all accounts, the princess was a restrained, dutiful individual- not one for excessive indulgences, starting feuds, or participating in racy love affairs. She was a surprisingly chaste and upright woman.

Not only this, but the princess showed remarkable strength of character and bravery towards the end of her life. She died with dignity, unlike Madame du Barry- who, in comparison, begged for her life like a dog before the executioner guillotined her.

The princess lived a life of wealth and privilege, and, grateful for all that fate had given her; she chose to give her life in return, as payment for the fabulous existence she was briefly granted.

An antique brooch with a portrait of the princesse de Lamballe, circa 19th century.

Her loyalty is inspiring, and even surprising. Not many would die for a friend the way she did.

A contrary argument could also be made: why should we pity a woman who had so much, in a time where others had so little?

She had two extremely wealthy benefactors: Marie Antoinette, the literal Queen of France + her father-in-law, the richest man in France, the Duc de Penthièvre. She refused to reduce her salary or riches, even though she knew those below her were suffering.

The princess received a massive dowry at her wedding: it was said that the amount of jewels that the Duke gifted her could fill up literal pages of text if recorded. When she made out her will, she left a comedic amount of monetary provisions to care for her dogs.

A 19th century illustration of the Princesse de Lamballe.

Meanwhile, the diet of the average Frenchman was limited to overpriced bread, and even that was difficult to obtain due to famine and shortages. The princess could arguably be described by her detractors as just another clueless rich bitch.

Marie Antoinette did not actually say the words “Let them eat cake.” However, her ignorant actions were sufficient to prove that she was not fit to govern. But then again, how many political leaders are today? There are many others who deserve the guillotine, yet she was just unlucky enough to actually receive it.

The Royalists (those that were for the monarchy) used the princess’ horrific death as propaganda to discredit the Revolution, and to depict the lower classes of France as senseless barbarians. In death, the princess became a politicized martyr, and many depict her as positively Christ-like

 Scarcity and privation in Paris during the 4th year of the French Revolution, 1795-96. Gouache by Pierre-Etienne Le Sueur.

On the other hand, corrupt and degenerate elected officials tell us that the French Revolution was necessary, as the flesh and blood of fallen monarchs paved the way for a more equal, democratic society. Ironically, we now need a revolution in our current time period more than ever.

There is no clear-cut conclusion to be reached in this story, no obvious moral lesson to be preached.

But! If a woman as mild-mannered as de Lamballe can be slaughtered in the name of liberty, we can surely guillotine a celebrity or politician or two…right?

To conclude, the internet is full of histrionic individuals worshiping the tragic bromance of Princess de Lamballe and Marie Antoinette. The princess perhaps may be the ultimate Ride or Die. She is the type of girl we all need by our side.

A cute 1900 illustration of Marie Antoinette, the Princesse de Lamballe and the Duchesse de Polignac at the Queen’s hamlet.

Images of the princess’ gory demise have consistently been painted and engraved, for hundreds of years after the fact. The world is obsessed and captivated by this woman’s death, as it came to symbolize everything that was deranged and scary about the French Revolution.

Regardless of everything; the princess and her decapitated head will definitely live on forever in infamy, tragedy and controversy. She embodies the darkest side of glitz and glamour; the highest high, and the lowest, bloodiest end.

And now, I will definitely have nightmares about levitating disembodied heads after writing this massive wall of text.

Psycho Elevator Lady: The Mental Decline of Laurie Dann

Laurie Wasserman Dann lived a charmed life. Money, men, educational + career opportunities, luxury cars and clothes, constant vacations, a polished and respectable suburban existence- and she threw it all away, to shoot up an elementary school.

Plagued by severe mental illness for years; Laurie lived in a state of perpetual psychological torment. No amount of expensive psychiatry and medication could help her. She would only be appeased by blood and chaos, eventually ending her own life after a final disturbing spree of violence.

Poor Little Rich Girl

She was born in Chicago on October 18, 1957 to Norman “Norm” Wasserman and housewife Edith Joy, the descendants of Russian-Jewish immigrants. Her father Norm was a wealthy accountant with a net worth of $4 million. Adjusted for inflation, that is equivalent to $11 million today.

Laurie grew up a sheltered child in the suburbs of Northern Chicago. Her parents were distant and emotionally cold, choosing instead to show their affection by taking her and brother Mark on impromptu trips to Disneyland, Florida and Hawaii, and buying costly gifts.

Laurie claimed that when she was hurt or ill as a child, her mother often ignored her. Edith did not work, and was completely dependent on her husband, afraid to even drive on her own.

Laurie would go on to imitate her mother’s helpless and clingy attachment to her husband in her own relationships.

Their home was kept immaculately clean. At the age of 5, Laurie already had obsessions with “good” and “bad” numbers, and displayed OCD symptoms. There was also a strong genetic predisposition for mental illness, as Norm’s grandma and Edith’s mother had suffered from clinical depression.

Around the age of 12, Laurie was placed in special help classes for the learning-disabled. Laurie was an unattractive and awkward child, and her peers said she had a “spaced out” look to her.

A classmate recounted how:

”She was very, very quiet, and she was very strange because you`d walk down the hall and say `Hi` and she wouldn`t say anything. It didn`t seem she had many friends in junior high.”

Laurie would not receive treatment until it was too late.

Promiscuous Youth

As a teen, her parents paid for an otoplasty procedure (a cosmetic surgery to reduce large ears), and a rhinoplasty for her big nose. These surgeries, combined with a growth spurt which increased her breast size, suddenly turned the shy and mousy Laurie Wasserman into a beautiful young woman.

Her introduction to the opposite sex was ruthless: the first boy who asked Laurie out went on to break up with her two months later because he was embarrassed to be seen with her.

Laurie was enraged but learned a valuable lesson: she switched to a new high school and began to wear tight-fitting designer clothes to emphasize her petite yet top-heavy 5’3, 100 lbs build.

While she was popular with boys, girls hated her, even though she bought popular girls gifts of jewelry and candy. One female classmate recalled how she ”perceived a paranoia when girls were around. She always had a boyfriend and was really clingy, draped around him. That really struck me, that she was somehow frightened and had a real unhealthy attachment to boys.”

Before her nose job.

Perhaps they were jealous?

In 1974, a football player named Rob Heidelberger began dating Laurie. During her shifts at K-Mart, Laurie would not scan Rob’s purchases, and instead passed him the items for free.

Rob described their high school romance as such:

”I had a LeMans convertible, and we would drive around after school, listening to Beach Boys tapes. We would go over to her house and listen to the radio. I can`t remember that she had any friends of her own.”

The couple broke up after only one month, following a mediocre prom date.

Ironically, Laurie was supposed to have been in a relationship with another boy at the time. She had developed a cruel streak. Laurie had one of her lovers call the boyfriend that she was now tired of, and he relayed this brutal message:

Post rhinoplasty, 1975.

“You should know that I’ve been going out with Laurie. We’ve been having a great time together, including sex. She really likes it from me. She thinks I’m great. And those times when you dropped her off for work or the country club? Well, she called me up and I came to get her and we went out.”

Ouch.

College Bimbo

After high school, Laurie began her never-ending odyssey of failed studies: she drifted between universities in Iowa, Arizona, and Wisconsin; changing majors constantly from teaching to home economics to psychology, etc.

Her grades were weak, but she told friends she was only at college to find a rich husband anyways. She joined and was ejected from a sorority, and dated dozens of men simultaneously.

In 1979, Laurie found love with a pre-med student named Stephen Witt, and planned to marry him. Unfortunately for her, he wanted to see other women. Stephen quickly grew fed up with Laurie’s clinginess, but kept her around to cook, clean and care for him while he focused on studying.

A disheveled Laurie, post-shoplifting arrest. It has proven impossible to find photos of her as a youth.

Once he was done his courses, Stephen dumped Laurie for being too possessive. Laurie constantly phoned him whilst crying and begging for another chance, but he refused. She was left heartbroken.

At Long Last Love

Since she had failed in her quest to find a husband, Laurie gave up on university and went back home to Chicago, finding work at a Jewish country club as a cocktail waitress.

There, she would meet 25-year old Russell Dann, a cocky sales exec who worked at his father’s insurance company. Like Laurie, he was riding on daddy’s gravy train of plentiful cash.

She fell for him immediately. He was short and boyish and resembled the Monkees lead singer Davy Jones, who she had a crush on.

Unlike shy, withdrawn Laurie; Russell was extroverted, charismatic, and enterprising.

Laurie lied to him that she was a graduate in hospital administration, feigning success in order to impress. Nine months after they began dating, the couple were engaged.

Once called a pretty “Barbie doll” by admirers, Laurie later went on to hack off her hair and gain a lot of weight.

Laurie told a friend that “Russ is the first person who gave me a lot of warmth and a lot of love. I don’t even know how to deal with it.”

Poor Russell had no idea what he was getting into.

The couple married in September of 1982, in a traditional Jewish ceremony. Laurie didn’t have many friends to invite to the wedding, so they kept the guest list short. Russell’s friends and family constantly criticized her for being “weird” and introverted.

After a tranquil honeymoon in the British Virgin Islands, Laurie regressed into certain ritualistic OCD behaviours.

She refused to step on sidewalk cracks, never put lids back onto items, hoarded large piles of dirty clothes, stopped driving to tap her feet on pavement, and did not let Russell go to work until she touched the sofa.

Russell “Rusty” Dann

When asked why, she simply said “something bad will happen if I don’t.” She would not step on certain rugs, tiptoeing around them instead, and rode bicycles with only one hand, almost causing her to fall off a bridge.

Russell realized Laurie was incapable of remaining employed. She was fired from dozens of jobs for incompetence, and often lied on her resume. Eventually, she gave up trying to work altogether.

She then spent her days in bed, watching TV until Russell came home. She was unable to handle even basic tasks. When Russell’s sister asked Laurie to help babysit her children, Laurie pretended she got into a car accident to avoid it.

When guests came over, Laurie was a ditz; serving them rotting potatoes and frozen vegetables, complimented by dying flowers.

After a year and a half of a troubled marriage, Russell insisted that Laurie see a psychiatrist. The shrink prescribed Thioridazine, a heavy-duty tranquilizer used to treat schizophrenia and psychosis. After 3 appointments, Laurie stopped showing up.

Laurie and Russell at their wedding. The ring he gave her was a family heirloom. She never returned it.

The psychiatrist was concerned, and wrote Laurie a letter telling her she desperately needed to continue receiving professional help.

An alarmed Russell asked Laurie’s dad to talk to her, but Norm told him “that there’s really not that much of a problem here. It’s a nonissue. I don’t believe in psychiatry. I don’t believe in that kind of stuff.” And that was that.

Madness

Two years into their relationship, Russell bought the couple a brand new suburban home. Laurie trashed it almost immediately, scattering her makeup in the microwave, putting food out to rot, leaving cabinet doors open, canned food in the dishwasher, money in the freezer.

When confronted, she would be flippant; surprised that anyone would even question her.

A depressed Russell lamented to his friends about how Laurie was “not happy. She’s not self-sufficient. She doesn’t do anything all day long. She has no life. Laurie is just somebody who needs to be taken care of, and I know I have to take care of her forever.”

OCD: she used towels to open door knobs.

She was becoming a burden to him.

By the time Russell would arrive home from work at 6 pm, Laurie was barely awake, still dressed in a sweatsuit or pajamas. The house was usually filthy, as Laurie never cleaned, and Russell would have to do it all himself. He felt like she was more of a lazy child than a wife.

She begged him not to divorce her:

“Don’t leave. You’re the only person who ever cared for me. Even after all the shit I put you through, you were still a pal. We have a great house in the suburbs and we belong to a country club. Where would I go if I lost you?”

Once Laurie realized that Russell was serious, she tried to make efforts to improve. She attempted to do laundry, but ended up putting soggy, wet clothes back in the drawers, causing mold to grow on them.

She also became hypersexual, wrongly believing that sex could cure their marital problems. Laurie had odd fetishes: she admitted to fantasizing about dogs giving her head, and confessed to getting off in public pools, in the presence of her family!

Sloppy: Laurie had “let herself go.”

Russell was just about done. He had encouraged Laurie to go back to therapy, but she wasn’t making any progress. He did, however, feel guilty, so he stayed with her on her 28th birthday, and bought her a flower bouquet and pink sweatsuit.

Laurie wore the sweatsuit for weeks, believing Russell wouldn’t leave her if she kept it on, and hauled the flowers around even after they died.

A Messy Divorce

In 1985, near their third anniversary, Russell told Laurie that they had to separate. She was an emotional wreck, sobbing because her parents were on vacation in Florida, unwilling to return home to console her.

Russell had to phone Norm and call him a “son of a bitch” to convince him to come back and care for his distraught daughter.

Laurie went home to live with her parents during the separation. She tried to convince Russell she was a functional human being, that she would change for the better.

The couple in happier days

Privately, she told friends that Russell would not get away with doing this to her, and that she would make him suffer.

Laurie went full psycho: threatening Russell that she would get pregnant to force her to stay with him. When he informed her that always pulled out, she told him she would just get a syringe and inject his semen.

They began having screaming fights, and police were often called to their residence.

Around this time, Laurie started an annoying and disturbing habit: she would phone Russell, his family, and friends repeatedly, often hundreds of times a day, only to hang up.

At one point, she was even arrested after the calls were traced back to her, but police released and never charged her.

A document noting Laurie’s arrest.

The divorce dragged on for months, turning ugly fast. Laurie, a habitual liar, was telling everyone that Russell was physically attacking and raping her.

Once, like a scene from a horror film, Russell found Laurie in his closet, sitting in a pile of birdseed, listening in on his phone conversations. She became a stalker, intercepting and reading his mail.

She filed a false police report, claiming Russell had burglarized her home. When he asked her why, she told him:

“I don’t have any reason to go on living. And if I go, you’re coming with me. If I can’t have you, nobody can. That’s true love.”

At this time, she bought a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum gun. Police asked Laurie’s parents to confiscate her gun, but they vehemently refused to do so. Norm blamed Russell for “ruining” his daughter.

Laurie called up her college ex Stephen Witt, now married and a doctor in New York.

Like Dirty Harry: Her .357 Magnum

She told him that she had his child, and had been raising it alone for years, nearly causing Stephen and his wife to break up.

When Stephen found out Laurie was lying, she phoned his office and told his coworkers that he raped her in an emergency room.

Stephen’s wife said that Laurie’s voice over the phone ”sounded like the Wicked Witch of the West.” She would soon receive several death threats from Laurie, directed towards her and their children.

In between bouts of psycho bitch behaviour, there were attempts at normalcy. Laurie dated a neighbour, and often baked cookies and pies for his mother.

The mother said Laurie seemed a lonely and sympathetic individual, who rarely laughed or smiled, but had a certain “modesty of the soul. She was naive, forlorn and lost, and wanted love and understanding and someone to talk to”

The Stabbing

Laurie’s gun licence

In the summer of 1986, Russell started dating a rich $100 million net worth blonde heiress. Laurie did not take this well. Somebody had to pay.

On Sept. 30, Russell was awoken in his bed by sharp pain in his chest. He had been stabbed with an ice pick!

The wound was an inch deep, and partially deflated his left lung. He was convinced Laurie was the perpetrator, but police claimed there was not enough evidence to prosecute her.

Bizarrely, Russell failed a lie detector test when questioned on the stabbing, and he said this was because police made him nervous. Indeed, the police on the case disliked Russell and thought him an entitled yuppie type.

Russell said of the incident:

“She actually told me she did it. I was talking to her on my car phone, and I said to her, I said: `Laurie, I mean, you know it`s one thing to hate me for the divorce, whatever. I mean, when you go to this extent, I mean, you need help.”

Laurie’s family and remaining friends were tired of her. Her parents still supported her financially, but were disappointed by the dissolution of her marriage and her ensuing bad behaviour. She felt unloved and unwanted, so she turned to the easiest vocation she could find: babysitting.

Technically, she didn’t even have to work. As a part of the divorce settlement, she received over $125k from Russell, as well as a $1250 monthly stipend for 36 months. But her life was empty, and she felt aimless.

Back to School

In 1987, Laurie moved into an apartment on the campus of Northwestern University in Illinois, despite the fact that she wasn’t even enrolled in any classes. It was a sort of regression into a better time, as if she were trying to relive her youth. But she was too far gone.

Laurie’s strange behaviour frightened her roommate. She refused to touch any doors or metal surfaces, using her sleeves or rubber gloves to open them instead.

She had extremely poor hygiene, and once followed one of the roommate’s friends into the bathroom to watch him pee, trying to shake his hand after he zipped up.

She left her dead goldfish in its bowl to rot.

An illustration depicting Laurie placing meat inside a couch.

Laurie spent her days riding elevators up and down, and watching TV static or shows without sound.

She stuffed public sofa cushions and carpets with fish bones and rotting raw meat that dripped red with blood, and threw spaghetti in the hallways.

She broke into the apartment of a man she was dating, in order to pee on his carpet.

When they went to a zoo together, the normally indifferent Laurie became sexually excited at the smell of elephant urine. What was happening to her brain?

The scared roommate began sleeping with a bat or knife at his bed.

Babysitter from Hell

After tenants complained about Laurie’s creepy behaviour, she was promptly evicted, much to the dismay of her exasperated father.

In November of 1987, Laurie bought a .32 caliber Smith & Wesson Terrier revolver. Despite the fact that their daughter was clearly deranged, her parents allowed her to possess guns.

Laurie’s .32 S&W

Laurie had returned home, only to cause more aggravation by wreaking havoc via babysitting.

She cut open a client’s furniture, causing $1700 worth of damages. When police questioned her, Laurie cried and accused Russell of doing it to frame her. They let her go.

It wouldn’t end there: she would steal food, shoes, pills, perfume- you name it. She wrote on walls with crayons, and wrecked furniture.

People who hired her said she wore thick coats even in the summer, and had awful B.O. A client said of Laurie:

“‘She had an almost childlike quality about her. But she had a great uneasiness with adults. She also had body odor like a longshoreman.”

She let dogs inside a client’s home, and stood by while they tore the place up. Laurie’s father paid the family off to thwart a police complaint.

Norm and Edith sent Laurie back to therapy, as her behaviour was getting too wild for them to handle.

The shrink prescribed Anaxfraxil/Clomipramine, an antidepressant drug used to treat OCD. One of the many side effects of this medication is increased suicidal ideation, as well as the symptoms listed below:

Her exhausted parents sent Laurie to live in student housing in the college town of Madison, Wisconsin. She lived by the University Hospital, to be close to her psychiatrist, Dr. William Greist.

When he administered an OCD questionnaire, Laurie responded “no” to questions asking whether she fantasized about homicide and hurting others.

Dr. Greist prescribed more Clomipramine, as well as Lithium, and gave her lists of tasks to complete which were supposed to assuage her OCD.

Just when she started to improve, Laurie overdosed on her medication. She vomited continuously for 12 hours until her parents took her to the hospital.

That Christmas, she bought her last gun: a .22 caliber semiautomatic Beretta.

Laurie was losing it. Her psychiatrist was alarmed when he discovered she had stuffed a cloth-covered pencil into her ear, and then lit it on fire, in order to remove earwax. She had to be prescribed antibiotics to treat the resulting infection.

Laurie’s .22 Beretta

Back to School Pt. 2

You would think that after the Northwestern debacle, Laurie’s parents would be more reticent about placing her in collegiate environments. Well, that wasn’t so!

Instead, she moved right into the heart of the University of Wisconsin, in one of the most expensive residences. Purchased courtesy of Norman, of course.

Her new roommate quickly began to notice Laurie’s eccentricities. She had no friends, she didn’t bathe, and her room smelled like urine.

On her shelves were dildoes and Penthouse magazines. Laurie was obsessed with sex: when she and Russell were together, they had invested money in softcore porn films.

Laurie continued her elevator riding obsession, which earned her the moniker “Psycho Elevator Lady.”

She would only touch metal if she wore gloves.

She hogged the lobby room TV, and told others it was hers when they tried to touch the remote, obsessively switching back and forth from channels 7 to 21 over and over again.

She entered the cafeteria in fuzzy pajamas, and ate only with gloves on, taking massive quantities that caused her weight to balloon to an extra 50 lbs. It was as if she were ravaged by an insatiable hunger.

Soon, Laurie was bulimic, vomiting loudly after eating, to the point where other students became concerned.

Creepily, a student adviser found Laurie in a stairwell, stark naked and slamming doors repeatedly. She also set fires on campus, and broke her roommate’s stereo and computer.

The only male relationship Laurie acquired in this period was a friends with benefits situation, with an attractive but odd sophomore who had managed to bang her after offering her a back massage.

He claimed that although she had bad hygiene, he didn’t really care, as his laycount that year was supposedly 20. Sounds legit.

At this time, Laurie was taking lithium, which may have caused her weight gain.

However, this guy had never been with a girl like Laurie before: She sliced up her FWB’s roommate’s clothing and textbooks when they were outside during a fire alarm drill, causing $650 worth of damages.

Laurie started plotting her final rampage as early as March of 1988.

It was here that her crank phone calls escalated into actual verbal death threats. She would call up Russell’s sister Susan and laughingly tell her “I’m a psychopath,” mocking her with chants like ”Susie, Susie, Susie, you are going to die. Your children are going to die. Goodbye.”

Laurie then stole arsenic and lead from her psychiatrist’s hospital lab, as well as books on poison from the local library.

Stolen chemicals

That month, Laurie was arrested for shoplifting 4 wigs, 2 hairclips, white pants, and a ring from JC Penney. She ran from the police, and when caught, she tried to give them a fake name.

Following her release, she skipped town to avoid her community service sentence.

In April, her distraught roommate left, and Laurie had her own lonely dorm to herself.

Laurie also stopped attending therapy, and her alarmed parents tried hard to convince her to allow herself to be hospitalized. She refused, and the stage was set for a horrific incident.

Due to the fact that she was now phoning up her enemies and threatening to actually kill them, the FBI finally intervened. They sought to seek an indictment against Laurie, but were too late.

She had already gone home to visit her parents for summer break.

A scary depiction of Laurie wrapped in plastic during a psychotic episode.

Something incredibly disturbing had happened before Laurie left the campus. The janitor found her curled up on the floor of a garbage room, inside of a plastic bag, sweating profusely.

When he asked her what she was doing there, she said she was just looking for something and dashed away.

The frightened man called up his colleagues, who then went into her disgustingly horrific dorm room.

Her urine-stained bed

Her room was full of human waste, but an oblivious Laurie was sleeping nude on her mattress. She somehow managed to convince police she was alright, and then made her escape back home to Chicago via Greyhound bus.

Like the buffoons they were, police and FBI missed their last chances to stop Laurie’s killing spree.

When they searched her vacated room, they found hell on earth.

One of the many sinister notes found in Laurie’s dorm.

There was a news clipping about a man with OCD who shot himself in the head as a “cure.” There was an article about a mentally ill woman who pretended she was being stalked in order to gain sympathy. There were stolen items from Russell’s home.

Creepiest of all, there were illegible yet telltale rants scrawled by Laurie on scattered paper:

“ hate pain… get through to you… abuse , spit , hurt , spat… why gun . question of safety… bag lady , scum paraplegic… Threw away wedding tape terrified I was helpless . I’ll deny it . suffer forever . Harm children to pay a bill .”

“bag lady, scum, paraplegic, hurt me, break me”

Pandemonium

May 20, 1988: the day where all the threads unraveled.

Laurie awoke at 5 am, and prepared arsenic-filled rice krispie treats, popcorn and juice packets. She was ready to harm the people who she felt had made her suffer.

It was sunny outside, and she was wearing a U of Arizona Medical Dept. t-shirt with a skeleton on it, paired with white bermuda shorts.

Stage 1: Poison

She then drove across town to deliver the tainted snacks to the homes of her enemies.

Toxic juice, courtesy of Laurie Dann.

Ex-employers, babysitting clients. former in-laws, ex-friends, her psychiatrists, hated neighbours, college fraternities, ex-boyfriends, and Russell Dann- dozens of people received poisoned goods, as they were all on her kill list.

Few actually consumed the strange, foul-smelling packets of leaking food and juice, which were clumsily injected with poison via syringe. Her most potent victim was a dog, who vomited blood yet survived after consuming the tainted snacks.

Unbeknownst to Laurie, the arsenic was highly diluted and ineffective.

Stage 2: Explosives

After this, she arrived at the home of the Rushe family, to babysit their two sons and take them to a carnival as she had promised.

It is bizarre that despite all her sick behaviour, many of her babysitting clients remained unaware and still hired her! Some think the fact that the Rushe family was moving cross-country triggered Laurie, since she took it as a betrayal.

Instead of taking the kids to a carnival, she instead drove to Ravinia Elementary School, and left a homemade bomb (created with stolen flammable chemicals) by the entryway.

Failed fire bombs

Her intention was to kill Russell Dann’s nephews. She set fire to the bomb and ran away, but before it could detonate, a teacher and his students noticed the fire and called the cops.

Returning to the car, Laurie gave the boys poisoned milk in a Mickey Mouse cup. It tasted gross, so the children spit the liquid out and refused to drink more.

Laurie’s next target was a Jewish daycare center which Russell’s niece attended. She kept trying to enter the building with a gasoline can, but was escorted outside each time by puzzled teachers.

Laurie gave the Rushe boys poisoned milk in this cup.

Stage 3: Arson

After that failure, she took the Rushe children home. While they were in the basement with their mother, Laurie started a fire upstairs.

The flames quickly spread and trapped the family, but heroic mother Marian Rushe managed to smash the tiny basement windows open. She used her hands to clear the broken shards of glass, badly cutting herself in the process.

The small basement escape window

She saved her two boys first, then herself.

Bloody and confused, Marian wondered if Laurie was alright. She could not believe her shy babysitter was capable of something like this, and would only find out later that it was Laurie who started the fire.

Stage 4: Firearms

Though her actions up to this point were (thankfully) incompetent, she would finally manage to harm the victims at her next target: Hubbard Woods Elementary school.

School Shooter

She arrived at around 10:30 AM, armed with three guns, which were tucked into her shorts. There were around 200 kids attending school that day.

Laurie first went to the boys’ bathroom, and a teacher saw her exiting and said “hello.” Laurie ignored the greeting and walked on.

She entered classroom #7, where teacher Amy Moses was giving the children a bicycle safety test.

Teacher Amy Moses

Amy was a small woman, barely grazing 5 ft and weighing about 110 lbs. At this point, Laurie was very heavy, pushing 160 lbs. There was no way Amy would be able to fight Laurie off.

When Amy asked if she could assist Laurie in anything, she merely replied with a chilling “no.” Amy said that Laurie looked “so lifeless. Her face was so hard.”

Amy assumed that Laurie was a visiting student teacher, so she tried to engage her in conversation. Laurie stayed cold and blank, probably strategizing her next move, wondering what to do.

Laurie exits the bathroom, and notices two boys staring at her.

There was still time to call it off and go home, still time to save her conscience.

Suddenly, Laurie stood up from the desk she was seated at, and stormed into the hallway, like a woman possessed.

Laurie saw a 6- year old boy drinking at a water fountain, and pulled him into the bathroom. She fired a hesitant shot, but accidentally hit the tile wall. She shot again, this time hitting the boy in his chest.

Turning around to leave, she found that two boys had witnessed her crime. She aimed to shoot, but the gun jammed, and they ran away and informed a teacher.

Who draws this shit?

The poor wounded boy asked the teacher if he was going to die.

Galvanized, Laurie returned to classroom #7. She pointed her gun at Amy and ordered the teacher to round her students into a corner.

Amy attempted to wrestle the gun away, but Laurie overpowered her. As she pulled another gun out of her shorts, Amy noticed that Laurie wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Laurie then walked up to five scared children, and shot them wordlessly, one after the other. The scene was horrific. Wounded children lay crying on the floor, covered in blood.

Victim Nicky Corwin

Here, Laurie killed her only victim: 8- year old Nicholas Corwin. The rest were left with terrible injuries that took months to recover from, but with mental scars that would last forever.

Fugitive on the Run

After injuring 6 children and killing 1 of them, Laurie escaped to her car. She panicked at the sight of police and accidentally drove into a dead end suburban street. She removed her blood-stained shorts, covering herself with a flimsy blue garbage bag as replacement.

Armed with two guns (she had thrown the heavy Magnum away after it jammed), Laurie ran through random people’s backyards in hysterics.

After running through dense forest brush, she came to 2 Kent Road, an 8 bedroom mansion which belonged to the well-off Andrew family.

She burst into the unlocked kitchen, and found 50- year old Ruth Ann and her 20- year old son Philip, an athletic runner and swimmer. Laurie flashed her gun at them, and took the family hostage.

A panicked Laurie saw many cops outside that day, as they were attending a firefighter’s funeral.

When they asked her why, she lied that she had shot a man who had raped her, and had run away because she was scared of police.

A sympathetic Phil tried to offer a clearly upset Laurie some water and a pair of pants. She rejected the pants, but took the drink.

The concerned family encouraged Laurie to call her mother, which she did, explaining:

“Mom. I’ve done something terrible. People won’t understand. I’m going to have to kill myself. These are nice people here, I don’t want to hurt them.”

Phil leaned over to console Laurie, who pulled away and warned him not to touch her. She did, however, allow Phil to speak to her mother.

2 Kent Road

When he got Edith on the phone, Phil was shocked at how emotionless and unsurprised she was, asking him only to return her daughter home safely.

Edith claimed that she could not come pick Laurie up, as she didn’t have a car. Most likely, Edith was too afraid to handle the situation herself, without her husband present.

Laurie apologized to her mother, and told her goodbye and hung up.

Ruth Ann offered Laurie a pair of yellow sweatpants, which she finally accepted. As she put them on, Phil was surprised that Laurie exposed herself in full view of everyone, not even bothering to cover her nakedness.

As she changed, Laurie left her two guns on the counter top.

She entered the home wearing no pants, wrapped only in a blue plastic bag.

A sneaky Phil managed to grab the .22 Beretta, but Laurie reached for the .32 S&W (the one she shot the children with) and demanded he return it back. Phil kept but disarmed the gun to dissuade her wrath.

Laurie finally allowed mother Ruth Ann to leave. As soon as she was outside, she informed police of the hostage situation inside her home.

Inside, Phil tried to plot his escape, but Laurie shot him without warning, and then ran upstairs to the second floor. He was hit in the chest, and he sunk behind the pantry for cover.

The bullet was lodged inside Phil’s lungs, right beside his heart, but he escaped the house and survived the harrowing ordeal, eventually going on to become an FBI agent in the future.

Phil Andrew

Inside the home, Laurie had holed herself up inside the daughters’ rooms. She was at the end of her life. The room was filled with toys and girly objects, perhaps providing some comfort to her.

Suicide

The crime scene outside would rage on until 7 PM. At this point, the police had phoned Laurie’s parents and requested that they come assist in procuring their daughter from the house.

Ex-husband Russell Dann also showed up on the scene after going through a root canal at his dentist that morning. He claimed to have felt vindicated, as no one had believed him when he warned them that Laurie was violent and unstable.

An officer on the scene who had mishandled the stabbing case even sobbed and apologized to Russell.

Police put a dog leash on Laurie’s father.

When Norman arrived at the standoff, he was hysterical and in disbelief. He cried:

“She’s my little girl. And they’re treating her like a wild animal. Look at these people with army outfits and guns. All they want to do is kill her.

If this is true, if this is Laurie and she did these things, my life is over.”

Norman demanded that police allow him to go inside the house to get Laurie, but they refused, saying it was too dangerous.

Cops humiliatingly tied a dog leash around Norman’s waist to keep him under their control. Via speakerphone, Norm begged his daughter to come out of the house and talk to him, but there was no response.

While Norm lamented the situation, Edith told police that considering the severity of her crimes, Laurie would now be better off dead.

After nearly 7 hours of this awful spectacle, police finally stormed the house.

Laurie’s corpse is removed from the home.

They found Laurie in the girls’ bedroom, face down in a pool of blood. She had shot herself in the mouth, severing her brain stem. Her eyes were open, and her tongue stuck out from between clenched teeth.

Laurie Wasserman Dann was dead, committing suicide at age 30.

When police informed her parents, Norm was devastated, sobbing and apologizing for his daughter’s actions continuously. Edith seemed eerily… relieved.

The agonized couple went home, police in tow. When police tried to search Laurie’s room, Norm grew enraged, demanding they leave immediately.

Once the police left, the Wassermans threw away most of the evidence. Norm’s compulsion to protect his daughter followed him even after her death. He cried and cried, mourning the loss of his “baby,” wondering how she could do something so evil.

Aftermath

Suicide: She died by gunshot.

For the most part, Laurie’s rampage had failed. She had attempted to kill hundreds of people across the city by distributing poisoned food to “enemies,” planting homemade bombs at schools, committing arson, and shooting up an elementary school.

She had also intended to kill her ex-husband and those close to him.

In the end, Laurie killed only one child, and herself.

Mother Linda Corwin made a public statement on her son Nicky’s death, which highlighted a disturbing coincidence:

“Hubbard Woods School had returned all of Nicky’s classroom projects, including several storybooks he had written and drawn pictures for.

Two creations seemed chillingly prescient— the first was a lengthy talking-animal story he titled ‘Randolph’s Adventure,’ in which the villain, a dog named Dirty Dan, shoots his victims while at play, killing a character named Mickey.

The second was a drawing of his mother, standing alone, with a balloon caption coming from her mouth reading, ‘Where is my son?”

Following her crime spree, investigators wondered if Clomipramine had caused Laurie to become violent.

In the wake of her shooting spree, victims sued Laurie’s parents for allowing their unstable daughter to own firearms, and pushed for stricter gun laws.

Ironically, they forgot that she had attempted to utilize poison, fire and bombs as murder weapons as well.

Some even pushed for the involuntary institutionalization of mentally ill people suspected of being dangerous.

Police and FBI were criticized for their incompetence and for not taking Laurie seriously as a threat to society, despite the fact that Russell Dann had constantly warned authorities about his crazy ex-wife for years.

Laurie Wasserman Dann was buried in an unmarked grave at Shalom Memorial Park, in a small ceremony featuring her parents and a few relatives. Grave diggers were told not to disclose her burial location to anyone.

Tragedy: Nicky Corwin’s funeral

Addendum

If you actually read all this, you are probably wondering what the fuck was going on in mind of Laurie Dann.

Hers was a long, unending tale of mental suffering: what haunts me most were her obsessions with raw meat and riding elevators, which seem to evoke the similarly creepy case of Elisa Lam.

Laurie obviously suffered from untreated paranoid schizophrenia, yet her parents were in denial of this, choosing instead to treat the issue as just a mild embarrassment for their family. They vacationed in Florida while dumping their daughter onto psychiatrists in other states, hoping for a miracle cure in their absence.

Rather than lightly requesting Laurie to hospitalize herself, her parents should have done so against her will, instead of encouraging her to live alone when she was no longer even capable of performing the most basic daily tasks. Not only this, but allowing their unhinged daughter to own three guns? It was a recipe for disaster.

Infamous: A 1992 true crime trading card featuring her likeness.

Her ex-husband Russell was cold, more interested in building his own life than helping his mentally ill wife. Everybody Laurie knew deemed her a “weirdo” after awhile and abandoned her. Nobody wanted to be responsible for such a frighteningly troubled woman.

There was something terrible happening in her mind that nobody understood. And yet, how can one sympathize with a child killer? Her actions were sick beyond belief.

To her father, she remained his shy, misunderstood, tragic little girl. But to the rest of the world, Laurie Dann is a symbol of mental decay and absolute terror.

I leave you with the final heartbreaking letters Norm sent Laurie in April, a month before her rampage, begging her to get professional help and to heal from her mental illness:

The Ecstatic Rise and Bitter Fall of Barbara Bates

Hollywood: it chews you up, and then spits you out. This proverb was never more true than in the case of Barbara Bates; a psychologically fragile Old Hollywood actress who managed to withstand several career disappointments, until a final tragedy drove her to grim suicide.

Born in Denver, Colorado in 1925, Barbara always had a gift for glamour. She was a dark-haired, shy and demure enchantress, who modelled as a teen and studied ballet, eventually winning a beauty contest that changed her life. The prize? Round trip tickets to Hollywood, of course.

In 1944, Barbara and her mother went to L.A. in search of fame and glory. Two days before they were due to return home, they met a publicist for United Artists studio named Cecil Coan.

Barbara was only 19-years old, and Cecil was 45 and married with four children. None of this deterred the pair, who began a torrid affair that unexpectedly turned into a successful 22 year marriage. He divorced his wife as soon as possible to marry Barbara, 26 years his junior. Despite the initial creepiness of the pairing, they were deeply in love and would stay together until Cecil’s death.

Immediately, Cecil began working his magic and turned Barbara into a budding starlet. In September of 1944, Barbara signed a contract with Universal Pictures.

Cecil had introduced her to producer Walter Wanger, who was looking to cast “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World” for his upcoming picture Salome Where She Danced. Barbara received a role as one of the seven dancing girls, alongside Yvonne De Carlo. She seemed set for stardom, but her career would stall in the next few years.

In 1947, producer William T. Orr convinced Barbara to dye her hair blonde. After she did, however, he told her, “You are not the blonde type. Be yourself.” Asshole, much?

Blonde Barbie

At this time, she also began pin-up modelling on the side to make some extra cash. Shy and reserved Barbara resented doing sleazy cheesecake shoots, but they caused her to catch a thirsty Warner Bros. rep’s eye, and she received her first big role alongside Danny Kaye in the 1949 musical comedy The Inspector General.

Sadly, much of her part was lost on the cutting room floor. To add insult to injury, Warner Bros. tried to force Barbara to go to New York to promote the release of The Inspector General, but she was too proud to submit to the studio’s whims and they fired her. An exasperated Barbara then attempted suicide, but the studio managed to cover it up and hide this from the press. This was the beginning of a repeated series of suicide attempts by Barbara, prompted by either personal or career lows.

Barbara (middle) pretends to play chess with Julie London and Daun Kennedy in a 1945 pin-up

In 1949, she discussed the ins and out of being a star with a newspaper. She described how:

 “Every Hollywood newcomer goes through a sex school. They have regular exercises to bring out your…uh…fire. They told [drama coach] Sophie Rosenstein to ‘put some sex into me.’ She did. Sophie made me throw back my shoulders and stick out my chest.

Then I had to sit in front of a mirror and breathe deeply—for hours and hours… They want you to become conscious of your body and to…well…to throw your curves at the world. And all the while you’re supposed to be thinking sexy thoughts. They don’t tell you what. That’s one thing they leave up to you.” 

If that sounds grotesque to you, you’re not the only one! Barbara was already in a unstable state: she was known to suffer from depression and mood swings from the very start, clearly due to untreated mental illness. Instead of being honest with her about realistic career goals, various Hollywood studios treated Barbara like a cheap floozy, giving her only tiny insignificant bit parts as a meager reward for signing on with them.

Barbara had also developed a reputation of being difficult on set. Jeffrey Hunter, who co-starred with Barbara in 1952’s Belles on Their Toes, claimed that she was “very disturbed. I felt uncomfortable in her presence and felt she was a very troubled young woman.” However, Ray McDonald, who starred alongside her in the 1953 Mickey Rooney musical All-Ashore, claimed that “she was easy to work with but had moods of depression.”

In May of 1949, another sleazy yet typical Hollywood incident occurred: Notorious lech Harry Cohn (head of Columbia Pictures from 1919 to 1958) offered to sign a contract with Barbara on one condition: she divorce her husband. She refused. He called her two nights later, and drunkenly invited her to his yacht. She refused again.

In E.J. Fleming’s book The Fixers, he describes how Harry Cohn “was said to have verbally or physically raped every woman that ever worked for his studio.” Harry was a known pervert who was rumored to have forced the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth and Kim Novak to sleep with him in order to be cast in starring roles. His track record makes Harvey Weinstein seem chaste in comparison, and would be definite cause for a #MeToo hashtag in the 21st century.

However, it was the late 1940s, and since Barbara refused to play Hollywood’s licentious game of casting couch bingo, she would never gain the big-name stardom she had always dreamed of.

But alas, there finally came a small light at the end of the tunnel: Barbara managed to land a contract with 20th Century-Fox, who cast her in the biggest picture of 1950, the Bette Davis classic All About Eve.

Barbara in All About Eve

Barbara’s role was minor, but it was the one she would always be remembered for. The Hollywood Reporter described her memorable appearance in the final scene as “sum[ming] up the whole action and point of the story. It’s odd that a bit should count for so much, and in the hands of Miss Bates all the required points are fulfilled.”

With the money from her big role, she bought a 51-foot yacht named The Bayadère, which cost $45,000 (adjusted as $480k for modern inflation). Barbara spent 8 months learning how to sail and navigate the yacht at a Coast Guard School. Hollywood did have a few perks after all! The studio even installed a radio-telephone on the yacht to enslave contact her at all times.

Barbara had a few more notable roles left: the 1950 cheesefest Cheaper by the Dozen, and the brainless 1953 Jerry Lewis-Dean Martin comedy The Caddy. She was frustrated with these moronic films, lamenting to gossip columnist Erskine Johnson on how “I thought great things were going to happen [after All About Eve]. So far—nothing. They keep casting me as a 16-year-old; I can’t seem to get up to 20.”

Enjoying a sandwich and coke on her yacht

Then came her dream role: Barbara was screen tested for the suicidal ballerina character in Charlie Chaplin’s 1952 comedy-drama Limelight. As a former childhood ballerina, she would have been perfect for the part. Chaplin was delighted with her audition, and offered her the role himself.

Unfortunately, dictatorial Fox refused to loan Barbara out to United Artists to film the picture, due to the fact that they resented Chaplin for his supposed communist ties. Barbara was left heartbroken and destroyed after losing the role of a lifetime.

After this, Barbara’s career tanked. She was fired from the 1954 sitcom It’s a Great Life for “erratic behavior.” What set her off? Well, let us examine an interview Barbara gave columnist Lydia Lane on the set of the TV show, just months before she was canned:

 “I have had such trouble keeping thin. I dearly love anything sweet—especially chocolate—and to say no really takes discipline. But it isn’t healthy to be dieting all the time… The thing to do is find the weight at which you are comfortable and level off.

I keep a check by weighing in every morning, and if I’ve gained even a pound, I start cutting down. I have a calorie chart which I carry in my handbag and this helps me limit myself to 500 calories a day until I’m back to normal. I haven’t had to diet for quite a while, and it’s a wonderful feeling.”

On the set of Rhapsody (1954)

500 calories a day? Who wouldn’t feel like shit on this diet? Obviously, Hollywood has an obsession with thinness and actresses are required to stay in shape. But this was eating disorder territory, and it was no wonder poor Barbara was losing her mind from the pressures mounting all around her.

Out of work and desperate, Cecil arranged for Barbara to go to England and sign on with the Rank Organisation in 1956. The studio felt she was too old at the age of 31, and advertised her as being a 24-year old. She was cast in a few films, but suffered a nervous breakdown and health issues which caused her to abandon the sets while filming. Many suspected that Barbara attempted suicide once again. Nevertheless, she was fired by Rank in 1957, and was forced to return to the USA.

She played in several TV commercials to make some quick cash, as the couple had lost money due to bad land investments in Spain. Barbara’s old friend Rory Calhoun landed her a final movie part in his 1958 western Apache Territory. Her last TV appearance was in a 1962 episode of The Saint. An unceremonious end for a troubled career.

In 1960, the couple converted to Catholicism and moved to a modest Beverly Hills apartment. Throughout her chaotic life, Cecil had proven to be an unmoving rock of support for Barbara. He was her manager, agent, husband, lover, best friend and closest confidante for most of her adult life. Tragically, Cecil was diagnosed with cancer, and the last sane threads of Barbara’s life quickly unraveled.

She put aside her career to loyally care for the ailing Cecil, but the stress of being his constant nurse caused Barbara to snap. She attempted suicide by slitting her wrists, but survived yet again. These were very dark times for her, and the final straw was when Cecil died in January of 1967. She was at his bedside, romantic and steadfast until the very end. But when Cecil passed, something in Barbara died with him.

If she was already suicidal even in the presence of Cecil, now she was completely lost. Feeling aimless, Barbara left California for good and returned home to Denver. To her credit, she did attempt to rebuild a life: she attended a secretarial school by night, and worked as a nurse’s aide in the daytime. She was also a dental assistant at one point, and often volunteered at church.

What does this tell us? Barbara was dead broke. Cecil’s hospital bills must have drained her Hollywood fortune. Being relegated to the boring common life of a wageslave after starring alongside Elizabeth Taylor in films and purchasing half a million dollar yachts was disastrous.

At the end of 1968, she remarried: to a sportscaster named William Reed, who also happened to be a childhood friend. The marriage did not seem to be very romantic, and was most likely just an arrangement of convenience to prevent the onset of late-age loneliness.

So here was Barbara: back in her hometown, aging, married to a man from her youth, her Hollywood career totally faded; as she worked obscure random jobs to rake up pitiful sums of cash she would have laughed at in her days as a top actress.

It was all too much.

On March 18, 1969, Barbara’s mother returned to their suburban home, and found the garage was locked and sealed from the bottom. Upon unlocking the door, she found Barbara dead in the front seat of her Volkswagen. She had committed suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning at the age of 43.

This came after a mere four months of marriage, indicating Barbara’s unhappiness in her newfound relationship. There are also reports that she was pregnant at the time and that this may have set her off. She was quietly buried in Crown Hill Cemetery, Colorado.

Barbara once said “I have no illusions about being a star. Every time I did something really important, they ended up cutting it.” This was an accurate summation of her life and career: she lived a brief, painful and beautiful existence full of heartbreak and malady. Hollywood had drained her and then tossed her aside when they deemed her too old, mentally ill, and washed up. She was the victim of the monstrous machine of cinema, but she managed to free herself with death.