Childless. Without Heirs or Will, 26,000 “Relatives” Claim Her Fortune

A guard at the grave at Laurel Hill Cemetery before exhumation

The death in1930 of Henrietta Schaefer Garrett set off the largest “Gold Rush” in Philadelphia history.  

Another way to describe what happened is “The Super Bowl of Greed.” 

The reclusive, childless, penny-pinching widow left no will but her estate was worth about $7 million when she kicked the bucket. This was a huge pot of cash. One newspaper said she was the third wealthiest woman in America.

Over the next 20 years 26,000 people – in practically every state and 50 foreign countries – claimed kinship to the dearly departed and therefore an heir to the fortune.

Even Hitler’s Germany sent a representative to Philadelphia to make a claim. And the state of Pennsylvania was hoping no heirs existed so it would get the entire estate.

Before it all ended, her estate had increased to about $20 million. 

It sparked a murder suicide in Germany, Garrett’s body was exhumed and fraudsters went to prison.

Henrietta, whose parents came from Germany, had married a very wealthy older gentleman. Walter Garrett owned America’s largest snuff company. The couple settled into a large brownstone house on 9th Street near Spruce.

In 1895 Walter died leaving everything to Henrietta. Although she had a few servants, she hated to spend an extra penny, but apparently listened to a good financial advisor.

When hundreds then thousands of people started claiming to be kinfolk, the court appointed a “special master” to investigate the claims. After 20 years that report may have set a world record for sheer size.

In 1951 the court-appointed master produced 390 thick volumes - millions of pages of testimony and a 900-page summary.

The investigation uncovered three first cousins – all three now dead, but their heirs got part of the $20-million pot. The lion’s share of the money went for court fees, expenditures and taxes.

Even after the settlement. the judge in the case had to hear a few new claims. The most ridiculous came from a West Virginia woman who said a young Henrietta showed up at the family remote cabin with a newborn baby girl. She gave away that baby and she was Henrietta’s daughter!

There were rumors that Henrietta did have a will that an angry servant hid in her casket when she was buried at Laurel Hill Cemetery. The court allowed her disinterment in 1937. There was no will in the casket.

And then there was the murder-suicide. The tale varies a bit, but a man who traveled from Germany to Philly to make a family claim and returned empty-handed got into an argument with his mother (or aunt) over travel expenses. He shot and killed his mother then turned the weapon on himself.

There were even cases of those who forged documents showing kinship to Henrietta, going to prison for forgery and fraud.

The entire mess was the result of greed and a women too cheap to buy new clothes or wire her house for electricity or pay a lawyer to write a will.

Crazy Gary Naturally Buys Stocks In Crazy Eddie

Talk About Crazy!!!

There’s nothing funny about the late and unlamented Gary M. Heidnik who kidnapped six women, chained them in his basement and killed two victims.

But there were unbelieving smiles in the courtroom on the day the prosecution called a representative of Merrill Lynch to the witness stand hoping to prove that “Bishop Heidnik” was not as nutty as he appeared.

In 1975 a man calling himself “Bishop Heidnik” opened an account over the phone for $1,500 in the name of a phony church, said broker Robert Kirkpatrick.

Eight years later that small nest egg had swollen to an amazing balance of $540,000.

Far from being insane, Kirkpatrick’s impression from phone conversations was that Heidnik was “a very astute, rational investor.” He was also proved very astute by starting a “church” in his North Philly “House of Horrors” to avoid taxes.

During his 1988 murder trial, Heidnik had sat stoned-faced until the testimony about his money. Suddenly, he became animated and alert.

Broker Kirkpatrick read a note from Heidnik: “I saw that Tastykake has hit 11 yesterday. I hope we got 2,000 shares.” He placed order for another stock and reminded the broker, “Don’t forget my 35 percent discount.”

In an earlier court case on unpaid alimony, Heidnik moaned and groaned about losing money on Crazy Eddie stock. The electronics chain store owner had been caught in fraud and fled the nation.

“I just couldn’t resist Crazy Eddie,” he told the judge in the alimony case.

By the time of his murder trial, the courts had taken control of his investments but Heidnik was still upset over his Crazy Eddie losses and showed it in court.

Later his defense lawyer Charles Peruto Jr. told reporters, “He’s obsessed with Crazy Eddie.”

Despite having a genius IQ of 148, Heidnik had been in and out of mental institutions, his entire life. Peruto Jr. used an insanity defense and the jury might have agreed that a genius could also be insane. But his action – disposing the two bodies, lying to a cop who came to his house – showed the defendant knew right from wrong.

Crazy, yes but not “legally insane.” The jury found him guilty of murder and other crimes and sentenced him to death. Heidnik was executed on July 6, 1999 after telling lawyers to cease filing appeals.

Feeling Blue? Have a Little Hug from New Brewery

Beer maven Don Russell starts a recent post on his “Joe Sixpack” blog with this question: ”Would you drink blue beer?

“Blue – as in the color of Windex. 
As in a color you wouldn’t put in your mouth unless you are the sort of idiot who participates in the "Tide Pod Challenge.”

Russell said about 100 “Uber Beer Geeks” were lined up for the opening of a new brewery in a Hatfield warehouse. Imprint Beer Co. had created the blue beer along with several other exotic brews.

Russell mentions a “black stout made with Double Stuf Oreos” and a "scarlet gose with passion fruit and hibiscus petals.”

We’ll try to define gose later but first the cringe-worthy blue beer called “Little Hugs.”

If you have small children you might know that Hugs is a drink which comes in eight-ounce barrel-shaped plastic bottles that Russell calls ‘kitty juice.”

The new brewery used 800 bottles of blue raspberry flavored Little Hugs which is made with the same sweetener as Splenda and tarylmethane food coloring. The beer is only three percent alcohol.

Having described it, the intrepid Russell had to drink a mug for his readers.
He wrote three short sentences:

“It’s sweet with a slightly tart finish. I did not spit it out. It did not turn my tongue blue.”

The owner of Imprint beer told Russell the blue beer was a gimmick to “build excitement.”

Apparently, any new and creative brewery will attract beer geeks from miles around just as foodies flock to the latest Albanian or Yemeni restaurant.

This summer the hot beer among the beer avant-garde is a salty, sour German brew called gose. A lot of coriander and salt goes into this brew.

Can liverwurst-rutabaga beer be next?

We’ll end this with a memory that does back eight or nine years...

Eating lunch in a bar on South Street that listed at least 50 bottled beers from many countries, we asked the bartender which was the biggest seller. He didn’t hesitate – Budweiser.

- more from Don's Philly Beer World Blog

An 18th Century Dessert: First Assemble a Half-Dozen Cooks

Clarissa Dillon on the great age of English puddings

OK, amateur cooks try this recipe – if you dare.

It’s called “hartshorn flummery” from a book of colonial American recipes collected by local historian Clarissa F. Dillon, an expert on 18th century cooking and gardening.

First, definitions: 
“hartshorn” is shavings of a deer antler used like bones to create a gelatin and “flummery” is a sweet jelly-like or custardy dessert.

Only wealthy colonists with slaves or servants would even think of making this dessert. In an era without electric mixers, consider this instruction: “beat it for an hour and a half.”

So here’s the recipe:

Boil half a pound of shavings of hartshorn in three pints of water, till it comes to a pint then strain it through a sieve into a basin, then set it by to cool. Then set it over the fire. Let it just melt. And put it to half a pint of of thick cream, scalded and grown cold again. (add) a quarter of a pint of of white wine and two spoonfuls of orange-flower water. Sweeten it with sugar, and beat it for an hour and a half or it will not mix well, nor look well. Dip your cups in water before you put in your flummery, or else it will not turn out well. It is best when it stands a day or two before you turn it out. When you serve it up turn it out of the cups and stick blanch’d almonds cut in long narrow bits on the top. You may eat them either with wine or cream.

The Nazis are Coming! To Philadelphia?

U-Boat Commander Outfit similar to what Toughill and Mellor wore

A stunt pulled by two Philadelphia newspaper reporters 75 years ago appeared in scores of American newspapers and still evokes smiles today.

It was February 1942, America had just entered World War II, when Philadelphia Record reporters Frank Toughill and William B. Mellor Jr. paraded through the city dressed as Nazi submarine commanders.

A costume company had designed their outfits and the pair spoke in broken German-accented English.  Not a single Philadelphian they encountered seemed suspicious.

“We walked through the streets in full Nazi regalia, complete with swastikas and nobody paid any attention,” according to their story. “We passed thousands of people, dined in a crowded restaurant, mingled with church throngs, asked questions and transacted business in broken English – and nobody said boo.”

They were most interested to find out what would happened along the Delaware waterfront where security should have been tight. They had informed the Navy of their experiment but not the police.
One cop politely directed the disguised reporters to a certain pier.

When they parked their car in a “no parking” area, an irate cop appeared. He looked at the pair and said, “Oh, Navy men, eh?”
That was it.

The “Nazi” reporters went into an automat and helpful citizens explained how it all worked.

They wore the heavy sweaters popular with German submariners and caps with Nazi insignias.

Their story was picked up by the wire services. Scores of American newspaper ran the story, mostly on page one.

Cantankerous Collector Barnes

 

You write a nice letter to Dr. Albert Barnes asking to visit his famed art collection and the answer was a sarcastic “No way” form-letter, sometimes “signed” by his dog.

The man certainly qualifies to be called the “most cantankerous, ornery, old coot of 20th century Philadelphia".  His enemies’ list was four-times longer than his list of friends.

He’d bristle at anyone who considered his Merion collection of modern masterpieces a museum. No! It’s an educational institute – a school!

The millionaire collector came from humble blue-collar roots and was at war constantly with Philadelphia’s upper crust establishment, but he had a soft spot for working people and African-Americans.

A prime example was a totally unknown Swarthmore college student who wrote three times asking permission to visit the collection and was ignored. But when the same student wrote a letter to Barnes from Pittsburgh falsely claiming to be an uneducated steel mill worker – permission was granted.

That student became best-selling author, James Michener.
The author wrote a short blurb for the 1987 Barnes’ biography: The Devil and Dr. Barnes.
Michener wrote, in part: “It was good renewing my acquaintance with a rascally old devil who added a sulphurous touch to my coming of age.”

In many ways the millionaire collector was a notorious cheapskate. Those wishing to visit had to include a self-addressed stamped envelope just to get the rejection form.

Barnes once chewed out a long-time trusted secretary for using a three-cent stamp when a two-cent stamp was sufficient.

A good example of Barnes nasty humor was a rejection letter signed by a fictitious aide saying he could not bother Barnes with the man’s request for a visit while the Doctor was trying to break “the world’s record for goldfish swallowing”

After Barnes death in an auto crash in 1951 Merion’s “Holy of Holies” became open to any visitors on Fridays and Saturdays. He left the priceless art collection in the hands of all-black Lincoln University.

There’s no doubt that Barnes would be angered beyond words if he knew the entire collection had been moved to a new building in Philadelphia and was now truly a museum – opened six days a week to anyone with $30

A Near-Sighted Approach To Football

The Near-Sighted Longstreth

The Princeton football player was in the clear. The pass to him was perfect – a sure touchdown.

Only one problem, 
W. Thacher Longstreth was practically blind without his glasses. 

“The pass not only hit me in the helmet, the ball bounced straight up in the air, so all I had to do was look up and catch it as it came down – which of course I didn’t do,” Longstreth writes in his enjoyable autobiography, Main Line Wasp.

The Princeton fans were booing and shaking their fists and the coach took Thacher out of the game. He recalls it as “perhaps the most horrible moment of my life up to that point.”

Another time the badly near-sighted Longstreth was sent into the game. He could make out two men, so he ran between them. They were the linesmen holding 10 yards of chain between them. Longstreth tripped on the chain, taking one of the hardest falls imaginable .

“I had to be carried off the field on a stretcher before I’d even been on the field.”

The likeable Republican,who would run for Philadelphia mayor twice, was actually an excellent football player in some respects. He was an end on the starting team and played both offense and defense when Princeton was in the national top 10 football colleges in the late 1930s.

He was fast and a good tackler. He was tall 6-foot-6, so if the ball was lobbed to him within a few feet of scrimmage, he could see it, reach up and catch it.

The coach discovered that Thacher had a great throwing arm. He could toss the football 80 yards. Of course, he couldn’t see that far down field

Princeton developed “a mystery play” but used it only once. Longstreth threw a “straight arrow pass” 80 yards. But the player who was supposed to be downfield to catch it had fallen at the line of scrimmage. “So there was no one within 50 yards of my beautiful pass.”

He writes that he was the first football player in America to wear contact lenses. He says they helped but he always had to remove them because a bubble would develop between has eyes and the lens.

Although married and expecting his first child, Longstreth was determined to service in World War II. The Army gave him an eye test and told him “forget it.”

He devised a devious plot and passed the Navy eye-test by secretly using the contact lens. He served with distinction, mostly aboard aircraft carriers.

James Logan And The Name Game

When American Indians wanted to give the ultimate honor to another person they suggested an exchange of names.

So, when a Chief Wingohocking suggested to James Logan an exchange of names, Logan had to think fast. He sure didn’t want to be known as “James Wingohocking.”

So, Logan pointed to a stream running through his property and suggested it be named for Chief Wingohocking. Logan said he would die, but the creek would flow forever.

Thus the Indian would become “Chief Logan” and the Wingohockingn Creek would eventually be channeled underground. So, we now have Wingohocking Street.

Of course, Logan’s name lives on in the neighborhood, Logan, and Logan Circle. His farm and home, Stenton, is a fascinating historic site worth a visit.

It’s a shame that Philadelphians don’t know more about this great man.

Logan (1674-1751) was a Quaker who came to Pennsylvania in 1699 as William Penn’s business manager. During his long life, he served as Philadelphia mayor and chief justice of the colony’s supreme court.

He was a great scholar, botanist and had a library of 3,000 books, perhaps the largest in America at that time.

Chief Logan’s name lives on in a Central Pennsylvania school district. At one time there was a Chief Logan Inn in New Hope, Pa. The Chief Logan’s name also lives on in Ohio and West Virginia. But these states may be naming parks and schools for the son of our Chief Logan.

Angelo Lutz's New Family Business

Crook Turned Cook Angelo

One was a jolly, short, fat guy - about 5-foot-5 and 400 pounds.
His pal was a good-looking (women might say cute) skinny chap with a hot temper.
 
Name that pair. 

It’s not Laural and Hardy.
Yes, this odd couple was Angelo “Fat Ange” Lutz and “Skinny” Joey Merlino.

When last reported Merlino was in New York copping a plea for running an illegal gambling operation and getting into hot water for parole violations.

But the fat guy took a different path after serving a seven year term in federal prison for gambling and extortion. Fat Ange has parleyed his Mafia notoriety into a successful restaurant in Collingswood, N.J.

The Kitchen Consigliere might be the only “Mafia themed” restaurant anywhere. 

Lutz always insisted he was “a cook not a crook.” Unlike his skinny pal, Lutz was not a made member of the local Cosa Nostra. But the FBI had plenty of tapes of Ange running a gambling operation for the mob.

Before his incarceration in 2002, rotund Angelo sought media publicity by sharing his recipes, such as a Merlino favorite, Lutz called “pork chops Joey.” Another original recipe was Chicken Angelo.

Lutz once entered Philadelphia’s infamous Wing Bowl eating contest. He gobbled down a mere 75 chicken wings in 30 minutes while the winner consumed 150 wings.

Lutz portrayed a jolly Saint Nick at Merlino’s Christmas parties for homeless families.

He was memorable in a Mummers parade where his bare upper body was painted a gold color making him a perfect “Golden Buddha.”

Lutz opened his Collingswood restaurant in 2008 and it was an instant success – packed every night. Who doesn’t want to rub elbows with a “real” Mafia gangster? Especially, if the gangster is a talkative roly-poly guy who jokes with customers, hugs the ladies and sits down at your table for a glass of wine.

His restaurant has a big wall mural showing Ange with a bunch of fictitious Mafioso such as Don Corleone and Tony Soprano. Light scones in Lutz’ restaurant look like pistols.

Fat Ange provides a lesson for any notorious gangsters who want to go straight:
Start a business such as tavern or restaurant. Be available to meet and greet customers. They will jam the place for the “thrill” of being with a once- dangerous wise guy.

As Fat Ange explained in an interview: “They (customers) come for me.”

Rufus Harley Brought The Highlands To Philly

The Lovingly Eccentric Rufus

When one considers Philadelphia eccentrics there is a rich field to choose from, but let us start here with the late Rufus Harley, the world’s first (and we believe only) jazz bagpipe player.

In fact, Rufus might have been the first and only African-American bagpiper in any musical genre. This unique job-description – black, jazz bagpiper –got Rufus on a bunch of TV shows from “What’s My Line” to Johnny Carson’s “Tonight Show.”

However, the man was uniquely, weird in many other ways, too. Get him talking (which wasn’t difficult) and soon your head was swimming.

The man had his own odd philosophy of life – bits and piece of world religions, numerology, cosmic vibration.

He liked to deliver babies (within his extended family) and present miniature replicas of the Liberty Bell to scores of people, ranging from the Pope and U.S. Presidents, to Nelson Mandela and Bozo the Clown.

The contents of his modest Germantown rowhouse might provide some feel for this unique oddball: burning candles, cattle horns, voodoo statues, Zodiac signs, a Russian icon, a statue of Buddha, pictures of Jesus, the Virgin Mary and Frank Rizzo and much, much more.

Painted on the walls were various numbers and symbols . Several simply read “ME.” Ask about “ME” and you would learn that ME is the third note in the scale – do, re, me. Earth is the third planet from the sun. You can hear that word three in freedom.

Rufus wrote something called the Consti-three-ion, which he gave out with his miniature Liberty Bells.

As wacky as all this sounds, Rufus was also a very likeable and pleasant guy. And he was a really good musician on many instruments, particularly sax.

He showed musical talent and a unique personality as a child.. “I was always an eccentric, difficult kid,” he told a reporter in a 1990 interview. “When I was nine years old my mother took me to a psychiatrist at Children’s Hospital. He tested me all day. He said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with your kid.’”

He was an optimist, a vegetarian, a life-long Philadelphia booster who played bagpipes at weddings, bar mitzvahs and many jazz festivals. He died in 2006 - a loss to all those who love genuine eccentricity.