The Unsolved Murder of Pearl Gilma Osten

(Photo of Pearl gifted to findagrave.com by Kent Gebhard)

Pearl Gilma Osten sat across from her parents in the living room of her family farm house, having the sort of conversation between parents and teens that seems to transcend time.

She was the 7th of 9 children born to Thea and Martin Andreas (Andrew) Osten, and she wanted her parents to trust her in her pursuit to make her music, which was her passion, her career. To do so meant she'd have to move 200 miles southeast from the small farming community in Otter Tail County she was raised in to Minneapolis.

Her parents, protective of their daughter and fully aware of what a big city can do to a naive young girl, were hesitant. Stay here, they persuaded. Their farm was a guarantee and her help was needed.

But Pearl was persistent, and it was her dedication to music that her parents knew they couldn't deny. They soon obliged and it wasn't long before Pearl found herself at the doorstep of her sister, who lived in Minneapolis with her husband.

She took a job as a server at a local tea room, supporting herself with her customer's tips as she chased her dreams in music.

On the night of October 1, 1927, mere weeks after her arrival and still dressed in her server's uniform, she boarded a street car after her shift ended late. The conductor reported he saw her at 12:30 a.m., smiling and laughing with a gentleman, and appeared reluctant to get off with him at one of the stops. The conductor later told police that the gentleman touched Pearl's arm in a gesture of reassurance, before she left the car with him at 5th Street.

She was never seen alive again.

The next afternoon, at 4:30 p.m., a group of young boys were playing in a field. An 11-year-old, hiding in an abandoned woodshed, found Pearl's mutilated body inside. She had been strangled. Worst of all, the woodshed was located only 60 feet from her sister and brother-in-law's house.

Unfortunately, in the 1920s, crime scene investigation wasn't the pristine process of evidence collection that is insisted upon today. Instead, it became a spectacle. Responding to the boy's screams, neighbors and passers-by crowded the scene, contaminating it with their foot and fingerprints. Police couldn't decipher which were made of a sinister nature, and which were out of curiosity.

This was before DNA, and at a time when solving crimes relied heavily on unreliable witness testimony, when no one reportedly saw or heard a thing.

Still, it seemed Pearl was trying to reach out from beyond. She had fought her attacker. She had many bruises on her body, a strip of cloth was tied to her right wrist and her pocketbook had been emptied.

The case went cold, and over 90 years has since passed without any closure.

Pearl's parents were distraught with grief upon hearing the news. A parents' worst nightmare had come true, and I'm sure they were haunted by the circumstances that surrounded it. If only they were more insistent that she remain. They weren't able to protect her, and with no one to run to her screams and cries for help, their little girl died a brutal, painful death alone and far from home.

Generations were added to the family, and Pearl's descendents remained in Minnesota. They carry with them a lingering despair that started with her parents almost a century ago. Of course they'd like an answer. Of course they want the case solved. Police only have hope of the remote chance that at some point, someone, somewhere will find a signed, handwritten confession in a forgotten box in the attic that ties to Pearl's murder.

THE PURSUED LEADS

Police conducted interviews as far away as Los Angeles, and though suspects were detained, no charges ever stuck. Neighbors from her hometown of Pelican Rapids pooled their money and offered a $2,000 reward ($28,000 today) for information.

In 1937, an inmate at North Dakota's Bismarck Peniteniary wrote an anonymous letter that implicated a fellow prisoner Gilbert Blais, stating he confessed to him he killed Pearl.

Blais was immediately taken to Minneapolis and questioned. Witnesses, including the conductor, identified Blais as the man seen with Pearl and his alibi (that he had been working at a factory) quickly fell apart.

However, Blais insisted the letter was written out of spite. He was never charged.

Two grand juries were called to look into Pearl's death, but nothing seemed to have come about.

MY REACTION

What struck me the most is how relatable this case is. I had a very similar conversation as I left to pursue my future (ironically, just outside of Minneapolis), as I'm sure I'm soon bound to have it with my own children when they come of age. As parents, it is our jobs to give our children the confidence to strike out on their own. The fear of monsters in the dark is never something we outgrow.

Unfortunately, I fear Pearl's death will forever carry this open ending. Who did it? Instead of being known for her music, Pearl's legacy is of her grisly death instead.

Review: Silent Witnesses by Nigel McCrery

Dear Diary,
When I was in college, I enrolled in a course titled “Dead Men Do Tell Tales.”

It was taught by a revolving cast of guest lecturers including the County Medical Examiner, anthropologists, toxicologists and forensic scientists, and after reading the brief course description I was immediately intrigued.

Now I admit, my interests sometimes take a morbid turn and criminal justice is a long held fascination of mine. I 've harbored such a curiosity for the process and pursuit of monsters, how law enforcement apprehends their suspects, and the ensuing legal processes. By then, I had already witnessed the drama of a courtroom proceeding (specifically, a sentencing in a murder trial), so I was eager to learn more about this side of the system.

The lecturers were not shy in their details, posting gruesome crime and death scene photographs as well as photos from an active dig at a Potter’s Field. There were autopsy reports, there were skeletons, and there was blood. I hold the proud distinction of being one of the few females to not barf during the 3-hour/week lecture.

I was often on the edge of my seat as the lecturers spoke.

I felt this same level of interest and intrigue as I started the book, Silent Witnesses.

I’ll Be Gone In The Dark was a tough title to follow, but this book provided insight into the role science plays in identifying killers. It made strong connections to the how of the lab work briefly discussed in IBGITD, backed by the historical evidence and chronology that turned forensic science into what it is today.

'Silent Witness' is a British TV crime drama, and also written by McCrery.

Overall, while this book was informative, I struggled to remain engaged. Though I'd set aside time to read (it's become my preferred "wind down" activity before bed, replacing my previous "wine down" time), long stretches would pass before I'd pick up this book again. In fact, I was inspired and reread IBGITD after authorities caught the serial killer.

Final verdict: I wish I had this title for supplemental reading when I was enrolled in the "Dead Men Do Tell Tales" course. It was a good book read at a bad time I suppose ...

This post contains Amazon affiliate links. If you purchase a book through the link, I will receive a small percentage of commission. You are under no obligation to use these links, but if you do, I will use the money to reinvest in more books.

The Legends and Stories of the Whaley House

Travel Channel’s ‘Most Haunted’ named The Whaley House the #1 Most Haunted House in the United States.

My photo tour of the Whaley House (posted here) is one of my most popular posts to date. 

It’s prompted some interesting correspondence I’ve had with readers.

One comment I’ve received via email has really stuck with me:

“Weren’t you scared? The Whaley House is said to be extremely haunted, and you were completely alone!”

I was very honest in my reply: walking through the home felt as though I was walking through my grandparents’ house. The dining room was much darker than the rest of the house (a windowless, central room) which made me a little uneasy, but I was never scared.

I would later learn seances were once conducted in that very room.

Furthermore, I was curious to learn why the home had such a reputation, and who was responsible for it.

I began by re-examining the home’s timeline, which I had summarized in my initial post.

But this time, I dove between the lines.

ANATOMY OF A HAUNTED HOUSE

Opening as a museum in 1960, the Whaley House was destined to be haunted before the home was even built. The land the house is on was once the site of a public gallows.

Yankee Jim Robinson was hanged there for grand larceny.

And Thomas Whaley couldn’t care less about this connection and he purchased the land in 1855 for his family home.

Thomas, his wife Anna, and their 3 children moved in in 1857.

Then, a fire raged from within and it destroyed the general store Whaley ran from inside the home. The family relocated to San Francisco for a period of time, returning to the home in 1868.

(The courthouse) 

 (The general store)

(The theater)

In addition to the general store, the home was also the site of the city courthouse, the city’s first theater troupe, and more.

In 1870, merchants moved out of Old Town and into New Town.

Armed men held Anna at gunpoint as courthouse records were seized in 1871.

ASSOCIATED DEATHS

•       Not long after the family initially moved in, their youngest son Thomas, Jr., died of scarlet fever in the house at age 18 months.
•       In 1885, daughter Violet shot herself in the chest following her failed marriage. She succumbed to her injuries and died.
•       Many descendants lived and died in the house including Thomas, Anna and four of their 5 children.

RESTORATIONS SPARK ACTIVITY

It was during the home’s numerous periods of restoration that strange sights, sounds occurrences and aromas were documented.

Most notorious is the sighting of Yankee Jim. It’s said his ghost makes eerie noises, loud footsteps and leaves disembodied footprints. The family was continually fearful.

Baby Thomas is also said to have stayed behind. People can hear “tiny” footsteps, and the sounds of him crying or giggling.

(The second floor landing, where the family slept and many of the documented sightings occur.)

Violet’s presence is felt on the second floor, where she spent most of her time after her divorce but before her suicide. It’s said the feel quite cold in these areas.

Thomas Whaley, Anna and others are felt within the house, on the staircases and around the property. Thomas especially, is noted to be seen at the top of his stairs, dressed in his frock, coat and top hat.

Visitors can smell Anna’s perfume.

Mists are seen.

Lights turn on and off.

(The music room, and the lamp's crystals that allegedly swing on their own.)

Crystals in the music room’s lamp swing without prompt.

No one has lived in the house since 1953, but yet, it seems the house remained inhabited.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Whether you believe in ghosts and spirits or not, touring the Whaley House can pique the interest of anyone. The home is historic, and the beautiful restorations alone are worthy of a look. If you go, will you let me know if you experience anything?

Travel: An Overnight In Old Town

Dear Diary,

I’m perpetually hesitant to call posts of this nature “guides,” because I don’t want to sound like I’m telling you what to do, or that it must be done in same manner I did it.

Instead, my goal with this post is to spark your interest in a place and inspire you to see it for yourself. I will share with you what I experienced, but in the end, the choice and opinion is yours. 

With all of that said, exploring Old Town San Diego was like stepping into a time capsule. It is considered the birthplace of California, with the first settlement created in 1769 with merely a mission and a fort. After strolling along the modern downtown city and watching the seals, a visit to this historic site completes the picture.

When we traveled: mid-December (this Minnesota family was EAGER!)

Where we stayed: Hilton Garden Inn, Old Town (request a room with a renovated bathroom!)

(source)

Restaurants we ate at: Café Coyote and Casa Guadalajara (we ate at Casa multiple times!)

(Casa Guadalajara)

What we did:

We bought souvenirs at the Bazaar Del Mundo.

(Inside the Mormon Battalion)

Take in a free tour at the Mormon Battalion.

Purchase tickets for a walking tour through the Whaley House. It’s completely self-guided, and they allow photography. This was one of the most interesting homes to see! (Whaley House Web site)

Then, go to the nearby cemetery. The stories that come from this site stay with you.

We also walked around the State Historic Park and the Cosmopolitan Hotel, which is another option for your stay.

(*All photos by Brianne Sieberg unless a source is linked beneath the image. Links will take you to either my related blog posts, or the official site of the places mentioned here.)

For more information, visit the Old Town San Diego Guide.

A MN Urban Legend Inspired a Megadeth Song

Dear Diary,
I revisited a post I wrote in 2016 that discussed one of Minnesota's infamous urban legends.

Mary Jane Twilliger was a real human being, not a beheaded witch as the legend describes, who died young at age 17 from diphtheria.

I wish I could pinpoint why and how her memory was spun off in this story, which has spurned frequent online searches to uncover any reasoning behind it.

According to one result, the legend can potentially be traced to a man named James Sanford Peters, who had operated a mill. Anytime something went wrong at the mill, he’d blame the witches.

What kept it growing remains unsubstantiated.

Another result points to the proprietors of the Loon Lake Store. In the 1970s and 80s, alcohol was not sold in Iowa on Sundays. In order to boost sales and entice Iowans to cross state lines, they relied on the myth. “After all, it is best to confront a haunted area when fortified by spirits." I take issue with this assumption as well, since Minnesota also didn't sell alcohol on Sundays until just recently.

It is also undetermined if May Jane Twilliger’s name is spelled is one ‘l’ or two. I keep seeing both.

What I found most intriguing, and thus, inspiring today’s update, is the legend’s connection to the heavy metal band, Megadeth.

Turns out, their song “Mary Jane” is not about marijuana as notably assumed, but rather – Mary Jane Twilliger.

You see, founding member David Ellefson graduated from high school in Jackson, MN, and released the song in 1988 on the band’s ‘So Far, So Good … So What’ album. 

In fact, Twilliger’s epitaph inspired the song’s chorus:

Beware my friends, as you pass by
As you are now so once was I
As I’m now so you must be
Prepare my friends to follow me.

As I mentioned in my previous post, Twilliger’s tombstone is on display at a museum in Lakefield, MN to protect it from vandals.

It appears this story is much more far-reaching than I had thought.

(source)

DESTRUCTION OF THE CEMETERY

The Loon Lake Cemetery, where Twilliger’s family plots are, had its first recorded burial in 1821 and last in 1926. Unfortunately, as was the case with the Farmington Middle Creek Historic Cemetery, when the associated small country churches close, these cemeteries become abandoned, neglected and lost to time.

It is a felony to destroy the property. That’s why Highland remains at the intersection of a busy thoroughfare, and Middle Creek stands within a modern subdivision. However, as properties change hands and farm equipment got bigger, maneuvering around headstones became difficult. 

There are reports of farmers simply piling headstones in a ditch to plow the land atop the graves.

At one time, there were over 70 gravestones and markers standing in memorial. Today, there are less than 20.

Finally, as nature reclaims the land, the neglect and abandonment likely contributed to the spookiness that propels the urban legend into the present. It’s important for us to remember that every person matters – that they had a life, a family who loved them, and have earned the right to be respected in death.

Hopefully this particular urban legend has been laid to rest.

Highland Cemetery, Dakota County, MN

Dear Diary,

You learn a lot about a culture (or in this case, an era of time here in my county) when you read about how they treated their dead.

Nestled on one of the busiest corners in a tri-city area stands the historic Highland Cemetery. In the 1800s, it was associated with a church that was located across the street, but was eventually destroyed  in a tornado.

The new church was rebuilt in a neighboring city, leaving this cemetery to get lost to time.

This spot feels out of place, as it's next to my grocery store, affluent subdivisions and a 6-lane, high-traffic road. It's not the calm and peaceful setting to lay people down for their eternal rest. But, because of the effort and expense required to relocate, the cemetery remains as is.

People were interred here through 1886. At the time, religion was a cornerstone of people's lives, and it imposed a rather strict set of "guidelines" to follow to ensure a place in heaven. People also didn't understand the complexities of mental illnesses, so suicide was considered a sin.

Behind the rows of well-maintained graves is a dirt path that cuts its way into the woods. Where the ornate headstones were bathed in sunlight, this section felt depressing and gloomy.

Then suddenly, in a small leaf-and-moss-covered patch, stood the headstones marking the burials of souls once considered to be "in limbo," and "morally problematic."

Y'all. I was deeply saddened to discover these were the graves of babies, who passed away before they could be baptized, and therefore, were deemed "unworthy" of a plot on the consecrated ground.

Those poor, sweet, innocent babies ... who failed to meet the "guidelines" set by men of the cloth, because of something beyond anyone's control, were therefore disrespected in this manner.

Among the babies' headstones was one belonging to a man believed to have committed suicide, and also deemed "unworthy."

PERCEPTIONS CHANGE

Over 130 years have passed since that time period, and thankfully, so too has that belief system. The church now recognizes the seriousness of mental illness, but I still feel continued improvements are necessary for the church to better serve as a place of comfort and sanctuary. The graves of those babies break my heart, their burials reflecting more so on the cruelty of a system aimed at control rather than acceptance.

The church once associated with this cemetery has tried to make amends with the people it disrespected. Knowing what they now know, church officials made a pilgrimage to Highland to conduct a healing prayer ceremony, where they asked the souls for forgiveness. While I appreciate the effort, it doesn't change the fact that this was a society that abandoned its most vulnerable members for their own conveniences, rather than offer any sort of assistance or alliance.

(The headstone of an infant, who was fortunate enough to have been baptized prior to her death, because she was buried among those "deserving" of the consecrated grounds.) 

(You can see the roof tops of the homes in the neighboring subdivisions.) 

(The busy intersection that disrupts the cemetery's peace.)

Today, Highland Cemetery is regarded as a historic landmark, offering a testament to the fact that as human beings, we can do better. What was once acceptable, is no longer.

Farmington Middle Creek Historic Cemetery - Farmington, MN

Dear Diary,
Today, an untold story will be told.

The forgotten, long departed souls will be remembered.

And I will document a cemetery classified by the State of Minnesota as "unrecorded."

In the middle of a public park located in the middle of a subdivision in the town we once lived in lies the Farmington Middle Creek Historic Cemetery.

A natural footpath winds its way up a small hill.

The combination of melting snow, fallen leaves from a season ago and mud created a very slippery walking surface. It's easy to navigate though, since the leaves have not yet grown back and I can clearly see where I'm going. However, plenty of large trees had been uprooted and fallen.

And then, the path leads here.

I pause at the decaying sign with the names of the two dozen people buried at this site. Many are children. Young, young children whose innocent lives were cut short due to disease. I wondered how long it had been since their names were last spoken.

The cemetery, once associated with a church, interred people from 1859-1906. Record-keeping from that time wasn't thorough so I wasn't able to pinpoint what happened to the church, or why the cemetery was left to be reclaimed by nature.

It's been abandoned for over 60 years. Nothing can be built here, as its hallowed ground. The site just sort of exists, in between the realms of time as modern families raise their children with this cemetery in their peripheral.

Without headstones, it was hard to determine where the graves were. As I walked, I repeated, "sorry, sorry everybody." I did find this one, topped over and bearing the names of two young children. One passed away at age 2, the other at the age of 28 days. I thought of the anguish felt by their parents, and what a struggle life must have been in the mid-1800s when Minnesota was still considered an untamed, wild frontier.

It is my hope that this post memorializes the souls of these people, as I believe the best way to honor the departed is to speak their name in remembrance. They were important to someone back then, and now over a century later, they have left their mark on me.