Cat Man’s Grave is one of Delaware’s most haunting urban legends. The tale is deeply intertwined with the history of Colonel Armwell Long Cemetery near Frankford. It’s a story of spectral protectors, forgotten caretakers, and the power of imagination, captivating locals and visitors alike. But where does the legend end and the truth begin? Let’s unravel the threads of history, myth, and mystery that keep this tale alive.
There’s a legend surrounding Whiskey Pete’s Hotel & Casino in Primm, Nevada that says the place is haunted by old Whiskey Pete himself. Patrons and staff alike have reported the unnerving feeling of being watched. As they look around they spot an elderly man wearing old fashioned western wear who then promptly vanishes before their eyes. The legend says that Pete still haunts his former property because his grave was disturbed during the construction of the resort, and he wants everyone to know that he’s still around keeping an eye on things.
I had heard of this legend before, and honestly, I chalked it all up to be a legend because there are never any details to the reports such as who saw the ghost and when. On top of that, I didn’t realize that Whiskey Pete was even a real person and it all just sounded too much like an urban legend to me. But, as it turns out, Whiskey Pete was a real person and his grave was actually disturbed.
Long before the hotels that straddle the freeway in Primm, Nevada sat a small service station called the State Line Station, which was run by a cantankerous moonshiner named Pete McIntyre. Most people in the area knew him as Whiskey Pete, and it seems like Pete was the type of guy who took no crap from anyone! Pete was very well known in Las Vegas and there were a few who did not care for him much and felt that he could get away with anything.
Pete is a difficult guy to trace through historical records. He does not show up in the 1900, 1910, or 1920 U.S. Census that I can find. He does show up in the Tulare County jail, however, in January 1918. He was arrested for running a “blind pig” otherwise known as a speakeasy. While he was eventually sentenced to 30 days in jail, he actually served a little over two months because he could not make bail initially. His place of birth listed is Arizona, which differs from where he would list his place of birth in the 1930 Census. The jail records state his occupation was a miner. In 1922 he was again arrested for bootlegging, this time in Nevada, and spent 6 months in jail.
He’s first listed on the 1930 U.S. Census living in Crescent, Nevada, a small mining town near the Nevada California line. He lists his occupation as the proprietor of a service station. He’s first mentioned in the Las Vegas newspapers in 1928 when the Las Vegas Chamber of Commerce read a letter from a woman who stopped at Whiskey Pete’s gas station. According to the woman it was about 11 p.m. and she stopped to have her oil and water checked and to get gas. Whiskey Pete came out to serve them and when he realized that the car only needed water he became “abusive and threatening and refused to let them have water.” He forced the woman to drive to the next service station with an empty radiator and an overheated engine. The Chamber of Commerce said that for months they had received similar complaints from tourists driving to and from Las Vegas to California. One of the complaints said that Whiskey Pete shot at them and another said he threatened to shoot them. They referred the information to the Las Vegas sheriff so that he could have a chat with Pete.
Pete’s attitude might have chilled out for a bit but by March 1931 Pete was facing a charge of assault with a deadly weapon for shooting the Elgin postmaster, Rube Bradshaw in the shoulder. Unsurprisingly the two men had different versions of what happened. According to Rube, he stopped at the gas station with his two sons and when he walked inside Pete was already “surly”. When he asked Pete for a cup of coffee he said Pete became enraged so he simply said he’d get his coffee elsewhere and started to leave. When he reached the door he said that Pete called him a “vile name” and when he turned around to face him, Pete shot him in the shoulder with a pistol.
A preliminary hearing was set for Pete at which he pleaded not guilty and was released on bail. Pete told the reporters that he resented the bad reputation he had and that his remote location makes it necessary for him to be armed at all times. He also made sure to let the reporters know that he was paying for all of Rube Bradshaw’s hospital and medical expenses. Eventually, the charges against Pete were dropped when Bradshaw failed to show at court three separate times.
At some point in early 1932, Pete married a woman named Lauretta Frances Enders. By October she had apparently had enough and took him to court on charges of insanity. According to physicians Pete was just fine mentally, but physically he was likely to die in a matter of days due to “miner’s consumption.” Mrs. McIntyre was the only witness against her husband and claimed that he would “fly into a rage every time he sees me and accuses me of all sorts of things.” Pete quickly admitted to flying into rages but added: “who wouldn’t when they find their wife running around naked in the hills with other men.”
He said that a few weeks prior, Lauretta took him to the Stillwell Sanitarium in Banning, Calfornia and remained there with him, helping to care for him. As soon as he showed signs of recovering she left him. Lauretta was supposed to be looking after the service station, but when he was well enough to go home he found she hadn’t paid attention to it at all and was “running around with other men.” The judge denied Laurett’s motion to have him committed and there is really no mention of her after this.
By December of 1932, Pete declared that he was too busy to die and that he was now four months past his funeral date. By September of 1933, Pete was living back at Stillwell where he told reporters he was doing okay. Whiskey Pete McIntyre died on the 11th of November, 1933. It was soon announced that his funeral was to be held in Las Vegas, and this is where things get weird.
At some point prior to his death, Pete told his friends that he wanted to be buried standing up near his service station. His exact words were “Bury me up on the hill, standing up facing the valley so I can see all those sons of bitches goin’ by.” His friends did as he asked and used dynamite to blast a 6′ hole in the limestone cliff overlooking Highway 91 from behind his service station. Over the years Pete’s grave became lost to time. People repeatedly stole his grave marker until it simply wasn’t replaced. His service station was sold a few times until the location was eventually developed into Whiskey Pete’s Casino in 1977.
On February 2, 1994, construction workers were grading land for a railroad track that would connect Whiskey Pete’s to Buffalo Bill’s on the other side of the freeway. While working near the original site of State Line Station, they struck a crumbling wooden coffin. Inside they found the skeletal remains of Whiskey Pete himself. Even though some of the legends said he was buried with a 10-gallon hat on his head, his six-shooters strapped to his side and a jug of whiskey, all they found was his bones. He had a little bit of hair left on his skull, dentures in his mouth, and a couple of buttons left on his shirt.1Remains of Whiskey Pete found -Las Vegas Review-Journal – February 5, 1994
Pete’s coffin was said to be about 80% intact and buried at an angle to the highway. The project manager said they knew that Whiskey Pete was buried somewhere in the area, but they had no way of knowing exactly where. “The tractor caught the edge of the box and the skull popped out. There was Whiskey Pete staring at us.”
Although the resort said that Whiskey Pete would be reburied somewhere on the property with a memorial, it doesn’t appear that any memorial has been set up, and it’s unknown exactly where Pete has been buried. It’s rumored that his remains were reinterred in one of the caves he used to make his moonshine.
On July 15, 1919, an article was published in the Baltimore Evening Sun about a headless ghost that had been seen wandering near an area known as Stony Creek. It sounds like the perfect beginning to an urban legend, an urban legend that for some reason never really stuck. Maybe because the area is now highly industrialized and is home to a superfund site and a hazardous waste landfill.
Apparently, this ghost without a head was seen wandering around Stony Beach and the surrounding woods woefully moaning and asking where his head was. Who’s got my head? Young people in the area began flocking to the beach with the hopes of catching a glimpse of the headless phantom.
The appearance of the headless ghost was said to originate from one of the worst maritime disasters at that time that took place in the area on March 7th, 1913. At approximately 10:30 a.m. that morning a British tramp steamer named the Alum Chine was mid-stream in the Patapsco River between Sparrows and Hawkins Point where 350 tons of dynamite was being loaded.
Suddenly, smoke was seen pouring out of the ship and the men aboard began yelling that she was going to explode. Within minutes the ship exploded spewing a 50-foot tower of flame into the air followed by a large mushroom cloud that could be seen from miles around. The blast was so intense that windows in the surrounding towns were blown out, debris fell down as far as 2 miles from the scene, and a 6-foot tide poured into Hawkins Point.
The explosion not only instantly obliterated the Alum Chine, but also a loading scow that she was tied to along with a nearby tug named the Atlantic. Men weren’t just killed from the blast, many were killed or seriously injured from shrapnel, rivets, and chunks of iron and wood, and body parts that rained down upon them. By that evening it was determined that at least 20 men were killed and their bodies brought to morgues in Baltimore. The number of dead would eventually rise to 33, but there were most likely more.
Many of the victims were unable to be identified given the sheer trauma that was inflicted on the bodies. At least 12 of the unidentified dead were buried at the Davis Chemical Plant in Baltimore. In 1952 the remains were reinterred in the Old Marley Methodist Protestant Church Cemetery in Glen Burnie, Maryland.
Almost two months after the explosion, the body of a headless, unidentifiable man washed ashore near the mouth of Stony Creek, and this is when the legend of the headless ghost began. The body was buried in a field on the farm of a man named Arthur Riddlemore, near where it had been found. Within weeks of this body being found, stories began circulating about a wailing headless ghost in the area.
It’s unknown if the woman ever determined the headless body belonged to her husband. Who knows, maybe there’s a ghost out there today, wandering around a toxic dump still looking for his head.
https://www.baltimoresun.com/news/bs-xpm-1997-03-02-1997061122-story.html
https://aagensoc.org/cemeteryRecords.php?cid=77
http://www.gendisasters.com/maryland/2444/baltimore-md-harbor-explosion-mar-1913?page=0,3
The Salt Lake City Cemetery spans 120 acres in downtown Salt Lake, with over 9.5 miles of winding, narrow roads.The cemetery saw its first burial in September 1847, however it wasn’t until January of 1851 when an ordinance was passed incorporating Salt Lake City, that the cemetery was officially organized. Since that first burial, there have been more than 124,000 people buried here, including the infamous Lilly E. Gray, Victim of the Beast 666.
The Salt Lake City cemetery is also home to a few unusual legends such as Emo’s Grave, Jean Baptiste, and Lilly Gray. People aren’t drawn to Lilly’s grave because of who she was, but because of what’s written on her headstone. She must have had a really ornate eye-catching headstone, right? Not quite. Located on the far northeast edge of the cemetery in Plot X_1_169_4E, Lilly’s red, flat granite headstone blends in with the surrounding headstones and is fairly unnoticeable. That is until you get close enough to read what it says:
Lilly E. Gray
June 6 1881 – Nov 14 1958
Victim of The Beast 666
Whoa! Right?! This is not your average epitaph. Usually, epitaphs are a heartwarming tribute to the deceased. Lilly’s, on the other hand, only leaves people scratching their heads about what happened to this older lady who died almost 65 years ago, in 1958. In the years following her death, legends began to grow about the meaning behind the epitaph. The most popular legend was that she must have been murdered in some horrific fashion.
There were others that suggested she was a follower of The Great Beast himself, Aleister Crowley. He was denounced by mainstream media at the time for being “the wickedest man in the world” as well as a Satanist. Other versions of the legend along this same thread were that she was involved in Satan worship, or murdered by Satanists during a ritual. But none of those assumptions are true. Let’s explore what is known about the life of Lilly E Gray.
Lilly Edith Gray was born on June 4th, 1880 in Manvers, Ontario, Canada. Interestingly enough, her maiden name was also Gray, which tended to make tracing her life slightly more difficult. She had a twin sister, Ethel Sarah Gray, and Lilly and Ethel were the sixth and seventh of eight children. According to census records the Gray family immigrated to Benzie, Michigan in 1880, following the birth of Lilly and Ethel. In July 1898 Ethel was admitted to the Traverse City State Hospital (asylum) where she would stay until her death in 1917 at the age of 36. (A side note, Traverse City State Hospital is rumored to be one of the most haunted places in Michigan.) Lilly meanwhile was unmarried and still living at home.
Shortly after the death of her twin sister, Lilly would marry for the first time. She married a man named Richard C. Walsh in Chicago, Illinois on October 8, 1918. At the time of their marriage, he was 67, and she was 38. A 29-year age difference, and she would have been considered an “old maid” back then. A marriage of convenience perhaps? Their union was brief, as Richard passed away a few years later in December 1925.
Not long after, less than a year later to be precise, Lilly entered into marriage again. Her second marriage took place in November of 1926 when the widowed Lilly married Frank Zimmerman. This time, the age gap was much narrower, with Lilly being 46 and Frank 50. It’s likely that their paths crossed through work, as both were employed at a post office in Chicago, according to the 1930 census. The marriage between Lilly and Frank endured for 17 years until his death in August 1943. After the loss of her second husband, Lilly was left to ponder the direction of her life.
By 1950, Lilly Zimmerman left Chicago behind, though the reason for her move remains unknown. She headed for Salt Lake City, where she would soon meet her third husband — an eccentric man named Elmer Louis Gray.
Before we get to how Lilly and Elmer ended up together, let’s get to know Elmer Gray, considering he’s the person responsible for her bizarre epitaph. It was fairly difficult to trace Elmer’s life as he told many different stories and would use different versions of his name, along with aliases. Elmer was from Butler, Missouri and was born on March 12, 1881. From a fairly young age, Elmer got himself on the wrong side of the law, and he would stay there for pretty much his entire life.
By 1900, the Gray family was living in Nebraska. At some point prior to 1909, Elmer was sent to the Nebraska State Industrial School, similar to juvenile detention today. On May 21, 1909, Elmer was admitted to the Missouri State Penitentiary following a conviction for Grand Larceny. Although he was sentenced to two years, he was released a little early on November 13, 1910. From here, Elmer headed west and by 1915 he was living in Silver Cliff, Colorado. This is where Elmer’s adventures in crime start hitting the public record.On Elmer’s WWI draft registration, he lists his name as Elmer Louis De Gray. The date of birth matches exactly, however, he lists his place of birth as France. There’s one good clue though that shows this record belongs to the Elmer Gray we’re looking for; his unique signature.
From 1915 until 1932 it appears Elmer lived a trouble-free life in Denver; at least nothing bad enough to make the news. His brother lived nearby and Elmer made a living as a laborer. But for a period of time between 1932 and 1934, Elmer was serving time in the Colorado State Penitentiary for larceny. And this is when we get our first glimpse of Lilly’s future husband. After Elmer’s release from the Colorado State Penitentiary, we pick up his trail in Utah.
I suspect that Elmer had some connection to the railroad either by working for them, or catching rides as a hobo, probably a little bit of both. On the evening of August 9, 1937, Elmer was busy breaking into the Kamas Confectionary building. The store owner caught him in the act, and the police quickly escorted him off to jail.
When officers brought him before the judge and charged him with 2nd Degree Burglary, he gave the name Woodrow Lamb, an alias he had used multiple times. On September 11, 1937, Elmer, still using the name Woodrow, pleased guilty, and the court sentenced him to an “indeterminate term” in the Utah State Prison in Sugar House.
Elmer quickly applied for parole. Shortly after arriving at the prison, he filed his first application. he used the name Woodrow Lamb and told a bizarre story. “Woodrow” claimed he had no idea what crime he had committed. Insisted that no one had arrested him, and stated that he had never appeared in court.
He went on to say that he was vacationing in Utah before heading back to work in Iowa. He claimed Utah authorities held him hostage and prevented him from speaking to a lawyer because he was sick. For his next parole application in September 1938, Elmer’s story changed even more dramatically.
This time, he claimed that on August 6, 1937, he camped near the Heber River with his wife, Florence Potvin. He said robbers shot him twice, murdered his wife, and stole $1,600. These unidentified attackers also took their car and baggage. However, he never explained why authorities found him at the Kamas Confectionary or why he showed no signs of injury when they arrested him.
Elmer again claimed that the State of Utah had kidnapped him and held him without a trial or due process. By 1941, when he applied for parole, he finally used his real name. He still insisted that he had committed no crime and that the state had imprisoned him illegally. When his previous parole attempts failed, he decided to tell the entire truth in his January 1945 application. After serving 10 years and 6 months in prison, officials released Elmer Gray on July 11, 1948. He was 67 years old.
According to her obituary, Lilly moved to Salt Lake City at some point in 1950. I’ve been unable to find any records or mention of her living in Utah prior to her marriage to Elmer. In the 1950 census it shows that in March of that year Lilly was still living in Chicago with her nephew and running a restaurant. Elmer Gray and Lillie E. Zimmerman married at the courthouse in Elko, Nevada, on July 11, 1952. At the time of their marriage, Elmer was 71, and Lilly was 72. After their marriage, the couple rented a small house located at 1216 Pacific Avenue in Salt Lake City. They tore down the ramshackle house without indoor plumbing years ago, replacing it with an apartment building.
From all accounts, Lilly and Elmer seem to have lived a quiet life together, and Elmer had no more problems with the law. Lilly and Elmer spent six years together before she passed away on November 14, 1958 at Salt Lake General Hospital. Despite the rumors, she died of natural causes — pulmonary embolism and kidney failure. Lilly’s death certificate holds some very helpful clues to her past. Not only does it list her parent’s names, but it also lists all of her married names. One thing I’ve noticed is that depending on what record you’re looking at, the spelling of her first name changes. It appears that earlier in life she went by Lillian, however different records show Lily, Lilly, or Lillie. In writing this article I went with Lilly to keep it simple. Simply put, that’s how it’s spelled on her headstone.
They buried Lilly in the Salt Lake City Cemetery on November 19, 1958. Her obituary was short and to the point. I don’t believe that Elmer wrote it; the funeral home probably chose the wording. According to her obituary, her only surviving family was Elmer and several nieces and nephews. A few of her siblings were still living at the time of her death, but from what I can tell all remaining family lived in Michigan and Washington.
For whatever reason, Lilly never had children. Shortly after her death, Elmer had the infamous headstone placed on her grave. There were a few mentions of Elmer in the years following Lilly’s death. Mostly him placing ads looking for a live-in caretaker. Paramedics brought Elmer to St. Mark’s Hospital on October 31, 1964, but he was dead on arrival. The cause of death was a stroke; Elmer was 83 years old. They buried him in the Salt Lake City Cemetery on November 4, 1964, far from Lilly’s grave.
I have not been able to find an obituary, and it appears a local nursing home provided what little information is listed on his death certificate. Like Lilly, Elmer had no children. And all of this brings us back to the question of why he put Lilly E. Gray Victim of The Beast 666 on Lilly’s headstone? The most common explanation is that he despised the Utah government and law officials, blaming them for her death. Seems like a really weird way to express such dislike for the government, right?
Elmer’s bizarre pardon applications and his unusual signature may hold a clue to the mystery. His handwriting remained shaky and erratic throughout his life, which I believe could be evidence of Parkinson’s Disease — a condition confirmed on his death certificate. While most people associate Parkinson’s with tremors, it can also cause cognitive symptoms, including paranoia, hallucinations, and delusions. Given Elmer’s history of fabricating elaborate stories and viewing himself as a victim of authority, it’s possible that his declining mental state led him to believe Lilly had fallen prey to something sinister.
Rather than referencing Satanism or cult activity, ‘Victim of the Beast 666’ may have been his way of expressing deep-seated paranoia — perhaps a final act of defiance against the forces he believed had wronged them. In the end, the truth behind Lilly’s headstone isn’t one of murder or the occult, but rather the result of an aging man whose troubled past and deteriorating mind shaped his final tribute to his wife.
Lilly’s grave has been my favorite in the Salt Lake City Cemetery for over a decade. I’ve spent years piecing together her life, and everything I’ve found points to an ordinary woman who never could have imagined the curiosity her headstone would spark.
Yet, here we are — still talking about her all these years later. If you ever find yourself wandering through the Salt Lake City Cemetery, stop by her grave, take a moment, and maybe even leave some flowers. After all, for someone who was labeled a ‘Victim of the Beast 666’, she deserves at least a little kindness.
The infamous Kay’s Cross (or what’s left of it) is located on private property in Kaysville, Utah. The site has historically been farmland for more than hundred years. A large stone cross that stood on the property for many years was mysteriously reduced to rubble in February of 1992. Despite the cross being almost entirely destroyed, the legends of its haunted nature still run rampant.
You might have seen it recently on an episode of Ghost Adventures where they immediately find a connection between the cross and some dark, satanic force. Of course they did. Kids, don’t believe everything you see on TV, k?
Since at least the late 1970’s, early 80’s people, (usually teenagers), have been sneaking onto the property to see the cross for themselves. Surrounded by trees, and back then probably considered to be out in the middle of nowhere, this would have been a creepy trek no doubt. The creep factor would have escalated even more if they cut through the Kaysville Cemetery to get to Kay’s Cross. Kay’s Cross was a beacon for bored kids who were drawn by various legends that seemed to grow and morph throughout the years.
If you want to read about the many versions of the legends of Kay’s Cross, just do a quick Google search. I’ll share the most well known story: A polygamist who owned the land the cross is on killed seven of his wives and buried six of them around the cross. One he buried standing upright in the base of the cross, and he encased her heart in the center of the cross. He then hung himself from the cross, as penance for his crimes.
And then, most likely due to the Satanic Panic of the 1980’s, there are the rumors that Satanists used the cross as an altar for their satanic rituals including sacrifices. It’s funny how these dang Satanists just keep popping up at all of the haunted locations in Utah. I didn’t realize they had so much free time on their hands!
Let’s be real for a moment though. Would a group of Satanists go to the trouble of trekking to Kay’s Cross, lugging whatever gear they need to perform their rituals and risk getting caught? Or, is it more likely that the kids sneaking out there in the middle of the night wanted to be edgy and tag up the area with satanic symbols?
Like with other legends, the truth is often stranger than fiction. The real history of Kay’s Cross involves polygamists and a religious cult with a random connection to Charles Manson.
Anyone who has done basic research on Kay’s Cross knows that the mystery of who built the cross hasn’t been that much of a mystery since 1992; shortly after the cross was blown to smithereens. On April 5, 1992, the Deseret News reported on an interview conducted by a local historical society with a man who claimed he helped build the cross in the summer of 1946. The man’s name was Merlin Kingston.
The parcel of land that the cross is on has been owned by the Kingston Family since at least the early 1900’s. For those of you outside of Utah, the Kingston Clan is a well known polygamist family in Utah. So, K for Kingston, mystery solved, right? Well, not really.
According to Merlin Kingston, the cross was built in honor of Krishna Venta according to plans Venta himself had drawn. The large K at the top of the cross stood for Kingdom, a word that played a prominent role in Venta’s speeches. The arms of the cross were to be covered in glass and hold scriptures.
However, Venta left the area before the cross was completed. So who was Krishna Venta, why was he honored with a stone cross, and how did he and Merlin Kingston meet in the first place?
Krishna Venta, born Francis Pencovic, was a religious cult leader who gained popularity in the 40’s and 50’s. He also just so happened to have lived in Utah for a few years. And he became acquainted with Merlin Kingston’s brother while serving in the Army.
Venta was your classic cult charlatan. He was born in San Francisco in 1911. By the time he was 30 he had a long record of arrests for petty crimes, including sending what was perceived as a threatening letter to the President of the United States.
By 1941 it seems as if he was well on his way to being a cult leader. He, his first wife, their two children, and his secretary took a trip to Alaska. On the passenger manifest his occupation was listed as “MD.” Another record lists his occupation as “writer”. I couldn’t find if Venta graduated high school, or if he attended college, but he definitely was no doctor. By 1944 he was divorced from his first wife, most likely because he had been caught having an affair with his secretary who he married almost immediately after his divorce was finalized.
He was living in Salt Lake City following his second marriage and enlisted in the Army at Fort Douglas as a conscientious objector in 1945. He was assigned to the Army Medical Corps. However, that didn’t last long as he was back in Salt Lake City by 1946. By now he was using the name Krishna Venta and was making money as a traveling lecture hall minister. Following his “lectures” which were free, he would offer “private classes” for $50 per person.
The Kingston’s and Venta had a lot in common, they were both about money, sex, and, to a lesser degree in Venta’s case, power.
According to Merlin Kingston’s 1992 interview, he and his brother invited Venta to hold outdoor lectures on their property in Kay’s Hollow in the Spring and Summer of 1946. It was during this time that Kay’s Cross was erected by Venta and the Kingston’s. Their association also appears to have been further cemented by Krishna Venta’s mention of the Aaronic and Melchizedek priesthoods in signage and materials. The Kingston’s, practicing sectarian Mormons, most likely had some part to play in this by “laying of hands” to imbue Venta with this designation and affiliation between their respective cult belief systems.
Turns out 1946 was a pivotal year for Venta. He became fascinated with Mormonism (especially the Melchizedek priesthood), and by 1947 had legally changed his name to Krishna Venta and left Utah.
Upon leaving Utah, Venta gained notoriety and followers (eventually around 100 give or take) and started the Wisdom Knowledge Faith Love (WKFL) Fountain of The World cult. They lived on 25 acres in Box Canyon in California where they built a monestary in 1948.
The Fountain members were known to mostly keep to themselves, always walked around barefoot, and wore long, flowing robes. Not only were they non-violent, but they would help people in the nearby community, including saving victims from a plane crash in the hills near their compound. The Fountain was open to visitors and they would perform plays in which the local community was invited.
All was not perfect at The Fountain, however. Venta was jailed for 10 days for refusing to comply with court ordered child support. His defense of non-payment was that The Fountain members shared all of their assets so none of the money was just his. He also had a penchant for gambling, and was known to make frequent trips to Reno and Vegas. There was also the world travel such as the time he went to London and Rome to try for an audience with the Pope. For a man with no money of his own, he sure seemed to live quite well!
Venta’s grand cult plans came to a shocking end in December, 1958. On the evening of December 10th, two ex Fountain members who had become tired of Venta’s hypocrisy regarding money, (and the fact that he was sleeping with their wives), confronted him to try and get him to confess to crimes while one of them taped the conversation with a hidden tape recorder. Plan A didn’t work, as they figured it wouldn’t, so they decided to go with Plan B and blow themselves and anyone else close enough to bits by detonating a bag full of dynamite.
Krishna Venta was killed, along with 7 other cult members, including women and children.
Despite Venta’s death, the Fountain of The World survived and by 1968 Charles Manson, along with a few of his followers would stay at the monastery off and on for a few months. After he began scaring the Fountain of The World members they were finally forced to leave. Even though Venta died a decade before Manson ever made it to the Fountain of The World, he seems to have had an impact on Manson. Manson adopted many of Venta’s prophesies and twisted them into his own, much more violent, Helter-Skelter.
If you want to read more about Krishna Venta and Fountain of The World, Shawn Sutherland’s blog does a great job of covering it.
Krishna’s wife and kids eventually left California for Alaska taking a few of the cult members with them. Some of the others decided to join The People’s Temple led by Jim Jones, and we all know how that ended.
In the years after Venta’s lectures at Kay’s Hollow, the large stone cross became a challenge and source of intrigue for local teenagers. It evolved into an urban legend with a haunted history. It’s difficult to determine whether the excitement of visiting Kay’s Cross came more from the eerie tales of spirits and ghouls said to guard it at night, or from the danger of being caught or even shot at by the property owners.
On the night of February 15, 1992, the cross was destroyed, but the reason behind its destruction remains a mystery. In my opinion I suspect that the Kingston family might have been involved, possibly due to frustration with trespassers on their land. After all, who else would have the motive to haul 80 pounds of dynamite to blow up Kay’s Cross.
Urban legends tend to be typically harmless rituals that people perform for a thrill or a challenge. Every now and then, however, there are legends that make a person’s life miserable, and sometimes even downright dangerous. Such was the case with the Witch of Parley’s Hollow also referred to as Crazy Mary or Bloody Mary.Kids from the 1930’s – 1950’s were warned to stay away from Crazy Mary’s house. So it naturally turned into a challenge to see if they could spot the Witch of Parley’s Hollow. She was a recluse, and from what stories I could find she had very eccentric behavior. One lady told a story of going to her house at midnight and watching her wildly playing her piano. It seems as if the goal of this legend was just simply to spot her.Because so little was known about who this woman was, the rumors of her being crazy, or a witch began to grow. So who was Crazy Mary? And how did this legend surrounding her grow?
Back in 1864 where the current Parley’s Historic Nature Park is today sat the Dudler Family homestead. The family included Joseph Dudler, his wife Elizabeth (who went by her middle name, Susan), and his 7 children. Joseph was a carpenter by trade with a talent for brewing beer.He built a two-story home with a stone foundation and framed upper floor. By 1870 Joseph had extended the house into the hillside behind it, which included a brewery. The lower floor contained a stone “wine cellar” that served to keep things cool. This cellar along with pieces of the original foundation can still be seen today. Mr. Dudler’s beer business quickly took off and by 1892 he owned one or two saloons in Salt Lake City as well as a The Philadelphia Brewery Saloon in Park City. The homestead was also used as an inn for travelers passing through Parley’s Canyon, and by the early 1900’s it too was used as a saloon.
Joseph Dudler died suddenly on the 21st of October, 1897. The responsibility of running the brewery and maintaining Dudler’s Inn fell on his wife and children. It seems they were a feisty bunch and were definitely up to the challenge. In 1898, the Salt Lake County Sheriff arrived at the property in the middle of the night in order to shut off access to a canal the Dudler’s had built to supply their brewery with water.Mrs. Dudler was not having it and along with her sons and Loretta, kept the canal open and the Sheriff left embarrassed. It turned into a major legal battle where Mrs. Dudler was sued by Salt Lake City for taking water, the suit described, to which she was not entitled. Mrs. Dudler repelled the suit successfully and was able to maintain her claim to water rights of the canal. Just a few years later on December 26th, 1904, Mrs. Dudler succumbed to pneumonia and died at the family homestead. Joseph and Susan Dudler had three daughters: Amelia, Louisa, and Loretta. Louisa was the only one who appears to have had a “normal” life. She got married, moved away from Parley’s Hollow and started a family of her own.
Amelia Dudler was a popular girl in her teenage years. She along with Loretta spent a lot of time in Park City, and both attended St. Mary’s Academy in Park City. Loretta was an accomplished musician and won awards for both her skill at playing the piano and organ and her beautiful singing voice.Amelia Dudler got married and eventually became addicted to morphine and cocaine. Most of her adult life was spent in and out of jail and prison. She was frequently mentioned in the newspaper for various fights to which she had been a party, as well as arrests for drug use and disturbing the peace. In 1906 she was even a suspect in a murder case. She died on October 30th, 1907. The death certificate lists her death as natural, and specifically states she “was morphine and cocaine fiend.”
And then, there was Loretta. Loretta also called Retta or Mary moved back to the homestead after she finished school. Starting when she was 16 she began suffering from anxiety and severe depressive episodes. She met her husband, Harold Schaer while living in Park City, and they married in July 1907. Harold was a miner by trade, but after marrying Loretta he began work at the family brewery. In May 1908 their first child, Harold was born. Life, at this point, seemed to be going pretty well for Loretta.A year later, Loretta lost another loved one, when her sister Louisa died at the age of 49. And three years after that, on July 26, 1912, her favorite brother Frank died from kidney disease. In a span of just a few years, she lost her mother and three siblings. This would have been hard for anyone, but in Loretta’s case, it was compounded by her depression and anxiety.
In March 1911 Loretta and Harold’s second son, Charles was born, but things were not going to stay relatively normal for Loretta for much longer. On October 18, 1912, Charles Schaer died at the age of 19 months from convulsions at the Dudler homestead. Loretta was devastated, and from all accounts, she was never the same after his death.By 1930, Loretta’s husband had moved to Los Angeles leaving Loretta and Harold Jr at Parley’s Hollow. By this point, Harold Jr. was 21 years old. He had inherited his mother’s musical abilities and his profession was listed as a musician. In February 1933 Harold Jr. was married and moved to California where he worked as a studio musician for Paramount Pictures for many years. Loretta was now living alone at Parley’s Hollow. This is when the legend of The Witch of Parley’s Hollow got its start. Loretta didn’t leave the house much, and no one really came to visit her. By 1940 the house was in severe disrepair which only helped the rumors that surrounded her to grow. I’m sure many of the local people remembered the stories of her drug-addicted sister and the mother’s fight with the city over water. Many of the local people at that time did not believe the Dudler’s had any right to the water they were taking. Parents would warn their children not to go near her house, and the talk amongst the kids was that this strange lady was a witch.
By the mid-1940’s Loretta was living in a nursing home near 2nd North and 5th West. Her house sat abandoned, and her son left all of the antique furniture, including Loretta’s beloved piano inside. On the evening of October 18th, 1952, the 40th anniversary of her son’s death, Loretta’s house went up in flames.The fire was determined to have been caused by vandals. In the years it sat empty the house of legend had turned into a party spot for local teens. The house wasn’t completely destroyed, but all of the antique furniture, including the piano was a loss. The house was now more derelict and creepy than ever.
Early in the morning of March 22nd, 1959 an elderly woman who had lived a long yet difficult life died at the nursing home in which she had been living for years. Her siblings and estranged husband had all died before her, and her only living son lived in Las Vegas. Loretta Dudler Schaer lived to be 88 years old. Her obituary was very simple, and she is buried in an unmarked grave in the Salt Lake City Cemetery. Was she estranged from her son as well? It seems so but has been impossible to fully determine given what little information is available so far.In 1963, Salt Lake County set the Dudler house on fire and demolished it. They needed the land for the new freeway (I-80) that was going in. If you ever get a chance to visit the Parley’s Historic Nature Park, walk over to the old Dudler wine cellar and pay your respects to a terribly misunderstood woman.
What does the beginning of WWI, anti-immigrant sentiment, and a vampire have in common? Oddly enough, a small dilapidated cemetery located in Park Hills, Missouri. Due to decades of neglect and vandalism, most of the headstones in the Gibson cemetery have been broken and tossed around. The trees and brush have taken over, and if it weren’t for a few headstones poking through the dead leaves you might not even realize that you were standing in a cemetery at all.What helps to make the story of this cemetery even more strange is that there’s an urban legend of a vampire being buried here. A vampire that would lure children to his home and then eat them. I received a research request asking me to see what I could find out about the Gibson cemetery and its legend. What I found was pretty intriguing, and harkens back to a time with some interesting history.
On Thanksgiving Day, 1902, a southbound train neared Geneva, NY, approaching the Marsh Bridge. As it did, the engineer and fireman onboard heard a piercing scream. When they looked up, they saw a white figure standing to the east of the bridge, frantically waving its arms.
Alarmed, the engineer brought the train to a stop. Just as he did, another scream rang out, and the phantom figure vanished before their eyes. The two men climbed down and searched the tracks and surrounding area for any sign of the figure or the source of the cries. Nothing. The tracks were clear, and there was no trace of anyone nearby.
As they started across the bridge, they heard the scream once more—one final, chilling wail before silence fell.
When the train pulled into the station, the shaken men described their experience to fellow railroad workers. The workers then told them about a deadly accident that had occurred on the same bridge years earlier. A train had plunged off the bridge, killing the engineer and fireman. According to the story, the quicksand swallowed the fireman’s body, and no one ever recovered it. Since then, witnesses have reported seeing a shrieking phantom at the bridge every year around Thanksgiving. Unsurprisingly, people began calling it the Thanksgiving Ghost.
This eerie tale was more than just local folklore—it was reported in newspapers across the country, including the Salt Lake Telegram on December 4, 1902 . But was there any truth to the legend?
Tracking down the truth behind this story wasn’t easy. There was no clear record of an accident on Thanksgiving, nor one in the years leading up to 1902 that exactly matched the description.
However, I did find an event that closely aligns with the details of the story.
On March 29, 1873, a train left Syracuse at 7:45 p.m., heading toward Rochester on the Auburn Road. Within half a mile of Geneva, the train ran into a washed-out bridge over Marsh Creek, where floodwaters had destroyed the supports. The locomotive, tender, and baggage car plunged into the raging water below, vanishing beneath the surface .
Amazingly, the passenger cars remained on the tracks, preventing further catastrophe. But for the men in the engine, there was no escape. The violent current tore through the wreckage, making any immediate rescue efforts impossible.
The search for the missing crew was delayed due to the sheer force of the floodwaters and dangerous debris floating in the creek.1Democrat and Chronicle Apr 4 1873 Pg 4 It wasn’t until the following day, March 30, that the body of Engineer Ignatius Buelte was recovered near the wreck.
Fireman Augustus Sipple met an even more unsettling fate. Rescuers searched the crash site but found no trace of his body. The flood swept him far downstream, and searchers didn’t discover his remains until March 31, far from the wreck. They scoured the floodwaters for two days before finally locating him. The powerful currents had made immediate recovery impossible, and by the time they found both men, exposure had severely damaged their remains. Such a tragic and violent end easily fuels ghostly tales.
Buelte’s tragic death left a deep impact on his community. His funeral at St Joseph’s Church drew a large crowd, including members of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and the St. Alphonse’s Society, a testament to the respect he commanded.2Democrat and Chronicle Apr 4 1873 Pg 4 Some say his untimely death, along with that of Fireman Sipple’s, gave rise to the legend of the Thanksgiving Ghost of Marsh Bridge, a spectral warning of the dangers that once lurked along the tracks.
This wasn’t just a freak accident. In the aftermath, both families sued the railroad for negligence, arguing that the bridge had been in a dangerous state before the flood took it down.
The court found the railroad liable and awarded compensation to both families.
The wreck sent shockwaves through the Geneva community. As details emerged about the bridge’s weakened state before the flood, public outcry grew. The railroad was heavily criticized, reinforcing the idea that the ghost story may have been less about the supernatural and more about reminding railroad men of the dangers of poor track maintenance.3Democrat and Chronicle Mar 31 1873 Pg 4
For years to come, railroad workers crossing Marsh Bridge may have whispered about the two men who perished there, warning new hires to keep their eyes, and ears, open.
There are no reports linking the March 1873 accident directly to Thanksgiving. So why did the story evolve that way?
People may have misremembered the wreck’s anniversary over time. Since the disaster happened in late March, a transitional season, storytellers may have shifted it to another familiar marker: Thanksgiving. Folklore often changes this way, especially when people pass stories down orally instead of recording them in history.
Another theory suggests railroad workers kept the story alive as a cautionary tale during their long, grueling holiday shifts.
Thanksgiving marked a time of heavy travel when workers needed to stay especially vigilant on the tracks. Linking the ghost to Thanksgiving reinforced the idea that this was a dangerous season for train crews. This connection helped ensure the legend remained relevant across generations.
Or maybe, just maybe, the spirits of Engineer Buelte and Fireman Sipple never truly left—forever warning those who crossed Marsh Bridge to be careful where they tread.
The Thanksgiving Ghost of Marsh Bridge may not have happened as reported in 1902, but it’s rooted in real tragedy. Whether a spectral warning or a reminder of railroad dangers, the legend of Marsh Bridge continues to echo through history.
But perhaps there’s another reason why Buelte and Sipple’s spirits might linger. Even in death, Buelte’s journey was troubled. At his funeral, burial was delayed due to a rule limiting the number of carriages allowed in the cemetery. When the sexton refused to help, mourners had to lower the coffin and fill the grave without his assistance.[msn]Democrat and Chronicle Apr 4 1873 Pg 4[/mfn]
Some might say this kind of disrespect in death is exactly the kind of thing that keeps spirits from resting.
A mother took her two young children for a drive, believing they were possessed by the devil. She drove off the bridge into the river, killing everyone in the car. If you sit on the bridge, roll down your windows, and honk three times, you may hear children yelling, “Don’t do it, Mother!”
Cry Baby Bridges are a common urban legend across the United States, with each location adding its own twist. Most versions involve a grieving mother who, in desperation, kills her child by throwing them off a bridge or driving into the water. Some stories, like the Cry Baby Bridge Utah legend, blame an abusive husband, mental illness, or supernatural forces like demonic possession. Despite their differences, they all share one eerie claim. If you visit the bridge at night, you may hear a baby crying, see ghostly figures, or experience paranormal activity.
While these legends are widespread, documented evidence to support them is rare. In many cases, the stories evolve from real tragedies—car accidents, drownings, or even suicides. But over time, the details shift, and fact becomes folklore. Some historians believe these stories come from older ghost tales or past cases of infanticide exaggerated into legend. Whether based on truth or fiction, Cry Baby Bridge stories, including the Cry Baby Bridge Utah legend, continue to fascinate ghost hunters and folklore enthusiasts.
I’ve heard stories of various Cry Baby Bridges across the United States but didn’t know Utah had one. I discovered it while reading an article about haunted spots across the state. Bear River City isn’t far from where I live. Since it was Halloween, I figured it was the perfect time to visit the infamous Cry Baby Bridge Utah.
We got to the bridge and saw it had been closed off some time ago. A new bridge stood beside the old one. Thankfully, they left the old bridge standing. After climbing through some brush, we saw the bridge stretched out before us.
It quickly became clear why the bridge had been abandoned. Made of steel, the bridge had holes every few feet, some large enough for a foot to slip through. Rust covered the bridge. We looked for any indication of a car going off the edge of the bridge. While it would’ve been easy enough to repair the bridge, there were no areas that we could see that showed any signs of previous damage.
When we got home, I figured a mother dying by suicide and murdering her children would have been a major story. Bear River City is tiny, so it would have made big news.
I searched the internet and newspapers for any mention of a major car accident, accidental deaths, murder, or suicide in Bear River. Finding nothing, I expanded my search to Corinne, Tremonton, and Brigham City. But still, nothing.
Then I found a May 16, 1931, article with the headline: “Driver Freed of Blame in Bridge Death.” While the story didn’t involve a mother killing her children, it was still incredibly tragic.
On the morning of Friday, May 16, 1931, a four-year-old-boy by the name of Ellis Anderson was playing near the bridge while his father was working in a nearby field. A mail carrier was crossing the bridge when a dog darted in front of his car. He swerved to avoid the dog but lost control, striking Ellis and throwing him off the bridge into the river below. His father pulled his body from the river. The medical examiner stated he was dead at the time of his arrival on the scene. The mail carrier later said he hadn’t seen the little boy chasing the dog. Another article says that the driver struck both Ellis and a 12-year-old companion by the name of Norman. The article didn’t mention Norman’s condition, but he apparently survived.
This wasn’t the tragedy I expected to uncover, but it makes me wonder. Could this be the real event behind Bear River City’s Cry Baby Bridge legend? Stories like these often evolve over time, blending fact with folklore. Have you ever visited a Cry Baby Bridge or heard a similar legend? I’d love to hear your thoughts—drop a comment below or share your own eerie experiences of Cry Baby Bridge Utah!
If you visit Emo’s Grave, circle the Moritz Columbarium three times while chanting “Emo, Emo, Emo” and then look into the columbarium you’ll see the red glowing eyes of “Emo” staring back at you.
One of the local legends I’ve had a lot of people ask me about is that of Emo’s Grave. Emo’s Grave is a columbarium located in the Jewish section of the Salt Lake City Cemetery. The tomb is visible from 4th Street just East of 990 East. The name ‘Emo’ appears nowhere on the monument because it actually belonged to Jacob Moritz.
Jacob Moritz was born in Ingenheim, Germany, in February 1849. At 16, he immigrated to the United States, arriving in September 1865. He spent a few years in New York City working at F.M. Schaefer Brewing Co. Then, he moved to St. Louis and worked for Anheuser-Busch.
Hoping to try his hand at mining, he eventually made his way to Helena, Montana. Whether he struggled with mining or simply missed brewing is unclear. In 1871, he moved to Salt Lake City and opened the Little Montana Brewery. Within a few years, it became immensely successful. He then built a much larger, state-of-the-art brewery at 10th East and 5th South, renaming it the Salt Lake City Brewing Co. Part of the original brewery still stands and is now the Anniversary Inn.
Over his 39 years in Salt Lake City, Jacob Moritz grew his brewery to be one of the largest outside of Milwaukee. His beer was sold throughout Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, Arizona, Colorado, and even parts of California. At the height of his success, he also owned over 36 saloons. In 1889 he married Lahela Louisson from Hawaii, and she joined him in Salt Lake. Both actively participated in the local Jewish community. He served as President of Temple B’nai Israel, while she led the Hebrew Ladies’ Relief Society. In addition to running a successful brewing business, he engaged in Utah politics as a member of the Liberal Party.
Despite making his fortune from alcohol and supporting liberal politics, Jacob Moritz was well-liked in Utah, even among Mormons. In October 1909, he received a passport. Soon after, he and Lahela left for Europe. He had been in poor health for months, and they hoped rest and mineral springs would help. By June 1910, they reached Germany. There, Moritz died of lung and stomach cancer at 61, surrounded by his wife and siblings. This is where the legend of Emo’s Grave begins.
A newspaper report on his death stated that Lahela had him cremated, intending to inter his remains in the Jewish section of the Salt Lake City Cemetery. Lahela returned to the United States from Europe on the 23rd of July. Lahela sent Jacob’s remains “in bond” and they arrived on the 25th. Sometime after July 31st, she interred them in the columbarium, though I found no record of a funeral or ceremony. Soon after, rumors about “Emo’s Grave” began to spread.
No one knows who started the rumors or how the name Emo originated. Not long after Jacob’s death, Lahela remarried and moved to California with her new husband. At some point, Jacob’s family retrieved his remains, but their final resting place remains unknown. I suspect they were taken to California and possibly buried with Lahela when she died in 1959. Nonetheless, the tale of Emo’s Grave lives on.
