Mary Angela's Blog, page 4

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree!

Christmas Tree 2017

This year we were smart; we bought our tree before the first snowfall. It’s short and fat, and my husband hardly broke a sweat stuffing it into the trunk. For a guy who’s used to suffering much in the tree lot, it all seemed too easy. But I reminded him of the big tree he picked out a few years ago, the one that fell down and broke half my ornaments. We’ve had bigger, he retorted. Remember the Emily Street house? I didn’t answer. That house had vaulted ceilings, and the sky was literally the limit when it came to picking a tree.

One of the “big” trees on Emily Street

Christmas trees have a long tradition in my family, one that starts with my mother. For as long as I can remember, the annual Christmas tree was an event, and a few years stand out. There was the year my dad splurged for a flocked tree, and my mom decorated it with all red bulbs (my brother said it looked like it was on fire). And there was the year we sold our house and had to move into an apartment temporarily. That year Dad said we wouldn’t be buying a tree; the apartment just didn’t have enough room.

Enter defiant mother and her youngest child, me. Since my birthday is in December, I cherished the childhood fantasy that this was my month and that most of the festivities were done out of love for me. So naturally I was her cohort of choice. (Plus, my brother and sisters were in that angry teenager phase; you didn’t want them in public with you.)

My mom with an early tree

My mother and I had just got in the car when she announced we would be going to Earl May’s. Earl May’s, I remember thinking. It was the most expensive landscaping store in town. We just didn’t go there—ever. Mom must really be mad. But I didn’t say a word as Mom picked out a tree that cost almost seventy dollars. I was stunned into silence, at least until we reached our apartment complex. Then my silence turned into laughter as we struggled to carry the tree up three flights of stairs, my mom plunking it with much emphasis in front of the window.

I don’t remember my dad’s reaction when he came home. If he was angry, I don’t recall. He could be incredibly accommodating when it came to the holidays. Maybe he even admired my mom’s sheer strength and perseverance in the face of resistance. Looking back, I realize it was quite a feat. I was eleven years old, and my mom was a busy professional. It would have been easier, in many ways, to go sans tree. But some traditions are worth fighting for. Mom taught me that, and I still believe it today. It’s a lesson that becomes more important with time. Sometimes you have to fight for what matters most.

Because you matter a lot, readers, I have a holiday giveaway just for you! Just share a holiday tradition in the comments below for a chance to win one of these cute South Dakota towels. I’ll be using random.org to select the winners on Dec.18. Good luck, and Happy Holidays!

 

Thankful for South Dakota

Driving west toward Rapid City

Recently, I was traveling when someone asked me a question that took me by surprise: have you thought about moving? I’ve had plenty of time to think about the question, and I’m ready to answer it. Never mind it’s been weeks.

I wish I could say I was one of those glib people who can respond to the unexpected with a funny one-liner or an instant shutdown. I am not. I’m more likely to stutter or, worse yet, say nothing at all. I can’t remember if or how I answered the question, but I do recall saying something about Minneapolis, as if proximity to a big city justified my location. (Actually, Omaha would have been a better answer; it’s just two hours away.)

What bothered me, besides my own inadequate reply, was the latent assumption that something is wrong with where I live. Of course assumptions abound about South Dakota. I’m far more likely to hear what it doesn’t have than what it does: it doesn’t have a sports team, it doesn’t have a metropolis, and it doesn’t have networking opportunities.

Garryowen, no longer on the map, is near Beresford.

It surprises people I meet that I’ve lived here my entire life, but it doesn’t surprise South Dakotans. For us, it’s not unusual to know people whose families have been here for generations. I can go back over a century in a thirty-minute drive to Garryowen, where my relatives, determined to bring an Irish-Catholic church to the community, are buried. My father is buried in the family plot near Centerville, an area I’ve heard stories about all my life. There’s the gravel pit where my uncle almost drowned, the farmhouse where my great-grandfather died, the bridge’s name I know not because of a sign but because of the old landowner: Willy Boom’s Bridge.

Near Yankton and Gavins Point Dam

The prairie is vast and, years ago, was difficult to traverse. It’s possible that my ancestors didn’t have much choice in their decision to stay. But certainly I have a choice, and to say I’ve never thought about leaving would be a lie. The trouble is place; it gets into your blood. Or maybe it gets passed down.

There are those exceptions, the people who do leave, like my grandfather. Restless by nature, he moved west to ease his health problems. He died young and is buried in California with my grandmother, away from the entire family. I understand that, probably more than I like to admit. In fact, it might have been the thing that gave me pause when asked about moving. Some days, when I read about conferences, classes, and author talks, I wish I lived in a city where those events take place.

SD from the air

But most days, I’m content reliving history, raising my own little South Dakotans, hoping the movie Fargo will be less popular when they grow up. The accent, the assumptions, the isolation—they come with the territory. Everything else? That’s a different matter entirely, a matter of the heart.

 

Halloween

I love October, mainly because of Halloween. I’m sure lots of mystery buffs get excited about the holiday, and I’m no exception. Though I’m not buying a ticket to the movie It anytime soon, I will be watching It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown with my kids. Recently, we went to the pumpkin patch, and I got to repeat my favorite line from the show: “Nothing but sincerity for as far as the eye can see.” The kids rolled their eyes. They know mom geeks out this time of year.

I might be getting the looks now, but in a few weeks, I’ll be their Halloween hero. We’ll decorate the porch, invest in costumes, and do crafts. Skull notebooks? Bought. Orange and green slime? Made. Cut and paste jack-o-lanterns? Please. We’ve moved on to Mod Podge.

A few years ago, I decided to put my mom skills to the test. I threw a Halloween party. Now I’ve done my share of birthday parties, school parties, and milestone parties, but a party for a non-mandatory occasion? This was uncharted territory.

It ended up being one of my favorite events. Maybe it was the voluntary nature of the gathering, or maybe it was the time of the year. Either way, the kids and I had a lot of fun, so I thought I’d share my ideas.

To those of you who’ve stumbled onto this blog by accident, googling ideas for classroom or Halloween parties, take heed: more is always better. I’ve planned enough of these parties to know that kids can mow through activities in about half the time you plan. Also, food is never a bad idea—no matter if the party’s before lunch, after lunch, or somewhere in between. Kids are always hungry, and food forces them to sit down for ten minutes (okay, five).

Here are my sure-fire activities with pictures. Now who’s ready to party? One, two, three—throw!

Food

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To make an “ice hand,” fill a latex glove with water and freeze. To make the mummy cupcakes, use tube frosting to crisscross chocolate cupcakes and M&Ms for the eyes.

Craft

Make these lanterns out of Mason jars wrapped with mesh bandages. Use Mod Podge and wiggly eyes to get the mummy effect. I used white tea lights for a ghostly look. These jars look cool sitting in the window.

Games

Pumpkin Race: Have kids “race” with miniature pumpkins on their heads. This activity was cheap and fun. If you have a big dad to race against, it adds to the spectacle!

Pumpkin Volcano: Carve a miniature pumpkin. Add baking soda and a little dish soap (you can also add a little food coloring). Pour in vinegar until it fizzes. You can use the same pumpkin over and over so that all the kids at your party have a chance to do the experiment.

Mummy Race: Divide your group into two teams. Whichever team makes a mummy out of toilet paper first, wins!

Readers, what do you like to do for Halloween? Please share!

Book Launch–with Pictures!

Last Friday, Passport to Murder, the second book in my Prof. Prather Mystery series, launched. I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since book one was published. The time has flown by. Immersed in the world of Copper Bluff, I’ve been living the dream I’ve had since I was a young girl: to write.

The crazy thing is I didn’t feel as if I had permission to write until I had a writing contract. Someone says you can write, so now you do. If only writers didn’t need permission, I wonder how many others would come forward. How many, like the women of Tillie Olsen’s Silences, remain unheard? Olsen reminds us, “We must not speak of women writers in our century […] without speaking also of the invisible, the as-innately-capable; the born to wrong circumstances—diminished, excluded, foundered, silenced” (39).

Fortunately, I never quit writing. I toyed around with one piece of writing or another (novels, short stories, children’s books) but always in the wee hours of the morning or at night or around the kids’ schedule. It came dead last, if and when I had time. Still, I persisted (admission: I’ve been wanting to write that line for a long time). Some days, I wish I’d been as persistent about publication as writing, for publishing my work has given me a second education. It has taught me so much about writing, reading, and even friendship. It’s hard to imagine how my views on all three could change within a year, but they have and drastically.

I no longer put writing last. Next to raising my children, it’s the most important thing I do every day. Though I still preface

most of my interactions with my teaching experience, I’m getting better at saying I’m a writer. I’m learning new things about my craft and the mystery genre. And I’m becoming a better friend to those people who have supported me in ways I never expected. Without them, the hard days would be that much harder, and I’m so grateful to have them in my life.

Looking back on this time, I can’t wait to see what the next year brings. I hope it brings new readers, for they have taught me much also. They have taught me to see my work through a new lens, theirs, and brought to the writing desk one thing I’ve never had before: an audience. I hope they continue this journey with me, a road we travel uniquely together.

 

Goodbye, Pool! Back to School

Six days until my kids go back to school, but who’s counting. I love this back-to-school time—and not just because my daughters have been bickering for the last two weeks. I get geeked out about school supplies, planners, and generally anything with the word Crayola on it.

But it’s not just the supplies I adore. I love the season in general. For me, fall has always symbolized a fresh start. What happens to most people on January 1st happens to me in the fall. I think it goes back to own my college days and choosing my class schedule. The Fall Catalog! There was nothing as intriguing as the class listings: Jazz Appreciation, The History of Native Americans in Film, Women Writers. Selecting classes, planning my semester—it was like getting to decide all over again what I wanted to be when I grew up. That Greek Art and Archeology class? It could still pay off … if only I could think of a book series set in Greece.

Maybe that’s what I really liked: all the possibilities. By the time college arrives, it’s no longer about the blue or red binder. It’s about doing what you love for the rest of your life. Maybe I’m overstating it. Maybe that’s not what really happens (or only happens to a book lover who chooses English as her major).

I asked my humanities class about this subject last year. I’d read an article in the Washington Post (“Meet the Parents Who Won’t Let Their Children Study Literature”) that said parents are “encouraging” their children to pursue sensible degrees, such as business and health, and discouraging liberal arts degrees, such as English and History. Parents think graduates can get good jobs with pre-professional degrees, and I believe them. When my niece recently graduated with a nursing degree, she had no trouble finding a job on the neurology floor at the hospital. So I asked my students if they felt pressured to select one path over another, and overwhelmingly, they said no. Their parents supported their choices.

Even though I was teaching at a private university, and students at public universities might feel more pressure to choose practically, I was relieved to know my students felt empowered to make their own decisions. Of course college graduates want to obtain good jobs, and most will. It’s been proven that they will make more money in their lifetimes than non-graduates (unless they’re writers, and well, that’s another blog). But what hasn’t been measured, and perhaps can’t be measured, are the limitless possibilities.

And for me, the sense of possibility—that feeling I got when I looked at the Fall Catalog, that feeling I still get every fall? That’s priceless. Irreplaceable. And definitely worth the shiny new binder.

 

The Grand Canyon: A Majestic Mystery

I like to buy books when I travel—books and awkward-sized souvenirs that my husband has to figure out how to transport home. Try as I might, however, I couldn’t talk him into buying a siesta man statue when we went to Arizona last week. At twenty pounds, it was just too heavy. But I did purchase four new books.

I was at the Bright Angel Lodge, on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, with my daughters when I picked up a book I had glanced at many times: Over the Edge: Death in the Grand Canyon. I was thumbing the pages when a clerk surprised me by saying, “I don’t know why you guys buy that book. It gives you the number on the back.” By “you guys” I assumed he meant “tourists” and by “the number” I assumed he meant “deaths.” My youngest daughter answered, “Oh, my mom’s a mystery writer” as if that explained everything. But obviously lots of people who had bought the book weren’t mystery writers, and so the question remained: why was it “the most popular book in the Grand Canyon”?

The Grand Canyon has an awesome power that cannot be denied. It would be very easy to die here. I kept thinking that as I walked the trails. Maybe it was having my daughters with me. They couldn’t get as far as the security railing before I was tugging them back to a safer distance. Even other people’s children got stern looks from me when they wandered too close to the edge.

Or maybe it was my penchant for mysteries. Death is the ultimate mystery, and unlike villainous characters in books, nature can kill without reason. According to Over the Edge, approximately 700 people have died in the Grand Canyon. If this were a mystery conference and not a national park, we’d be discussing the “Jessica Fletcher effect,” (i.e. too many people dying in one place to be plausible). Yet 250 people are rescued from the Canyon each year. This is another ubiquitous number associated with the Canyon. On signs posted everywhere, a young, athletic hiker is pictured next to the warning. Consequences can be deadly.

When we left the Grand Canyon via the Grand Canyon Railway, the guide asked each of us to describe the Canyon in one word. As she read our words back to us, “Breath-taking” was the adjective used most. I was the only one who described it as “dangerous,” much to my youngest daughter’s chagrin. (She rolled her eyes and said, “Mom” as if I should be able to come up with something better than that.) But when you think about it, the descriptions could be synonymous, couldn’t they? To take one’s breath away, literally, is dangerous. But to arouse curiosity, that’s intrigue. And maybe that explains tourists’ fascination (and mine) with books like Over the Edge. They bring us to the brink without allowing us to fall in.

Readers, what trips have you taken this summer? Please share!

Mysteries in the Midwest: The Bullock Hotel

When I recently had an opportunity to sponsor a ghost tour at the Bullock Hotel in Deadwood, South Dakota, of course I said yes. It was for Wild Deadwood Reads, a writing conference in my home state. As a mystery author, I’m intrigued by ghost tours. Any event that might turn spooky always gets my attention. Besides, I like old hotels. My husband cringes when I say “bed” and “breakfast” in the same breath because I like eating with strangers in rickety old houses. Luckily for him, we stayed down the street at a chain hotel that had a continental breakfast. We would just be taking the one-hour tour.

Bully’s Bar at the Bullock Hotel

Seth Bullock, the hotel’s namesake, was the first sheriff of Lawrence County and, according to the guide, could break an opponent with nothing but a cold stare. (This look is slightly less effective when you try it on your children.) Although Bullock was the sheriff of Deadwood during a time of lawlessness, he neither died a violent death, nor died in the hotel, as one rumor suggests. In fact, he died of cancer at his home. So why is he haunting a hotel he built in 1895?

Stairwell at the Bullock Hotel

According to the guide, the town is rife with discontented spirits who lived in a time of murder and mayhem. Bullock still might be policing the town–or at least the hotel. Guests have seen his ghost in the basement, in the bar, and on the main stairwell. On the day we took the ghost tour, the staircase filled suddenly with the smell of flowers. The guide said it was Mrs. Bullock’s perfume; my husband dismissed it as potpourri. But the scent came and went, not at all like pungent dried flowers. Very eerie.

I had another eerie experience in the basement. Here, the guide told us about the hotel’s original history, showed us a video, and invited us to take pictures. She claimed many guests’ photos turned out foggy and sometimes pink. My husband announced it must have been a girl ghost living in the basement, and now it was my turn to cringe.

Original foundation

The tour continued, and we entered the passageway to the original stone foundation. Listening to the story of an early fire in the building, I snapped pictures, forgetting about the guide’s initial prediction. But when I reviewed my pictures, one of them showed up just as she said it might: pink and distorted.

Ghost or flash feedback? You decide!

It was odd, but my husband explained it away, saying it was a flash from someone’s phone. It’s possible. But it’s also possible that a ghost is haunting the basement of the Bullock Hotel, and I just happened to catch it on film. I bet you can guess which theory this mystery writer decided to believe.

Readers, have you ever had a ghostly experience? Please share!

Book Two, which is to say, A Year of Blogging

As I went to create a file for my May blog, I was stunned to find a May blog already existed. Nice. Had the writing fairy left me a surprise? Curious, I opened the file and realized it had been a year since I started blogging on a monthly basis. True, I’m not nearly as prolific as the bloggers who blog daily, but at least I know what a blog is now—even if I don’t follow all of the conventions.

It’s funny when I think about it. I’ve guest blogged on many other blogs, and I’ve had hosts say, “I really enjoyed your essay.” Essay. Hmm. Interesting word choice. As an English teacher, I have pretty high standards for that word. But it probably fits since I’ve been around the form most of my adult life. When I reflect, blogging has been the one time I’ve consistently followed my own advice about essay writing. I tell my students to “free write” (to write about whatever comes into their minds), and if they switch topics, it’s okay. Free writing is not a place for censorship; it’s a place for creativity. “Censor your internal critic,” I tell them. I’ve said that phrase at least fifty times in my teaching career.

If you could see the title at the top of my Word document, you would see Book Two. Yes. That’s what I wanted to write about today. The second book in the Professor Prather Mystery series is coming out Sept. 15, 2017, and I’m really excited. I just finished the edits, and for the next couple of weeks, I will question every word I think or write (that’s grocery aisle—not isle!). When you are editing, you catch errors you never thought you could make. It scares you.

So maybe writing this blog is a way of exorcizing (yep, just looked that up in Webster) my critic because if I allowed her to rule, I would get nothing done. I would be worried about word choices and word counts and, well, words. And I like making up stories, and book three is waiting. . . .

Writers I Have Loved

R.W. Emerson House in Concord, MA

When my husband asks me where I want to go on vacation, my first thought is my favorite writers. He doesn’t know this, mind you, but he learns it soon enough. Chances are, I will drag him and the kids to at least one writer’s house—if not his/her gravesite or family plot—on our family vacation. They put up with it good-naturedly, and at Ralph Waldo Emerson’s house, my daughters even asked questions. Sure it was about the dollhouse Thoreau built for Emerson’s children, but still, it was a question.

 

Authors’ Ridge Sleepy Hollow Cemetery

Ralph Waldo Emerson is one of my all-time favorite authors, and when I visited Concord, Massachusetts, a few years ago, it felt like a dream come true. I remember one of my professors asking me about a favorite author. When I answered Ralph Waldo Emerson, his face seemed to say, “Emerson is no one’s favorite author.” But he was mine. Sure his essays could be difficult, but once in a while, I would happen upon a line that I thought was meant just for me. “What your heart thinks is great, is great. The soul’s emphasis is always right” is one of my favorites.

 

Willa Cather Home

When I found out Willa Cather, a Nebraska writer much revered in the Midwest, was a fan of Emerson too, it felt as if we shared a secret. His words had set her heart aflame a time or two, and for a long time I was a Cather fanatic. I presented on her work for the South Dakota Humanities Council and even considered writing a dissertation on her. I loved her fiction and non-fiction as well, especially her essays about art. She once said, “The further the world advances, the more it becomes evident that an author’s safe course is to cling to the skirts of his art, forsaking all others, and keep unto her as long as they two shall live.” I find that quote grows truer every day.

Cave in Hannibal, MO, where Samuel Clemens wrote his name

Mark Twain is another midwestern writer with whom I became preoccupied for a time. He was honest in a way that some teachers and writers weren’t, and I always admired his quote, “I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.” After my husband and I listened to the audio version of Huckleberry Finn on a cross-country road trip, I knew my curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied until I visited Hannibal, Missouri, the author’s hometown. Except for the bats in the cave tour, the trip was a great success. It was in this cave Samuel Clemens etched his name before he became known as Mark Twain.

“Mark Twain” means entering safe waters. Maybe there’s safety in treading water with authors who inspire us, or maybe there’s security in books. When we are troubled, unreachable, we delve back into our favorites. Like a friend, they get us through the difficult times. Twain once wrote, “My works are like water. The works of the great masters are like wine. But everyone drinks water.” I would add that everyone gets thirsty, and when they do, there is nothing as quenching as drinking from the well of a favorite author.

 

 

 

 

Mysteries in the Midwest: Gitchie Girl

Several times a year, I hope to feature mysteries set in and around the Midwest on my blog. Today, I have a special treat for readers who have followed the true crime novel Gitchie Girl by Phil and Sandy Hamman. I have an interview from the authors!

Sandy and Phil, thank you for the interview. Could you tell readers about the background of the story?

On November 17, 1973, five teenagers, Roger Essem 17, Mike Hadrath 15, Stu Baade 18, Dana Baade 14, and Sandra Cheskey 13, from Sioux Falls, SD, went out to Gitchie Manitou State Park, which is located on the South Dakota and Iowa border. The teens arrived late evening and headed to the only camp shelter in the park, finding some warm embers in the fireplace of the stone block shelter. They moved next to the river, started a fire, and began a night of conversation and music as one of the boys had brought along his guitar. They soon began hearing rustling and movement in the bushes beyond the tree line. Although spooked, the kids chalked it up to over active imaginations on a dark and foggy night. They also assumed it might be some other park goers returning to their fire in the camp shelter.

Suddenly, three shadowy figures holding shotguns appeared on a low rock ledge near the teens. “Who are you? What do you want?” Roger, one of the boys, called out. One of the strangers lifted his weapon, and a blast rang out. Roger crumpled to the ground. The others ran and hid. Mike grabbed Sandra, his girlfriend, and pulled her behind a tree. Feeling the men wouldn’t hesitate to shoot again, he pleaded with her not to run. Soon, the men began demanding the teens come out of their hiding places saying, “We’re with the police. Come out with your hands up!” None of the kids had been in any trouble with the law before, and they obeyed. After marching the teens through the woods for an extended time, one of the men took Sandra with him in his pickup and left the park. He told her the boys had been shot with tranquilizer guns. The other two men stayed behind and executed the boys. All three men met up at an abandoned house in the country in the early hours of the morning, and Sandra was raped by one of the men. One of the captors eventually dropped her off at her house but first insisted on getting her phone number.

Since Sandra thought the murderers were police officers and didn’t immediately report the incident, how were the bodies discovered?

A couple test-driving a car discovered the bodies the next morning. Sandra reported what had happened to her brother but was hesitant to go to the police as the men had claimed to be police and warned her not to report them. She ended up hitchhiking into Sioux Falls with a girlfriend and eventually was brought to the police station by Roger Essem’s older brother. The detectives at the police station did not believe her story. She was read her rights, fingerprinted, and mug shots were taken. She was given two lie-detector tests. The detectives had a hard time swallowing a story that she was the only one allowed to live.

Who were the murderers, and why were they there?

The murderers were three brothers, Allen, David, and James Fryer, all in their 20s and all convicted felons. None of the men were supposed to be in possession of firearms, yet all of them were. Most of the firearms they possessed were stolen. The brothers had been hunting pheasants outside of Sioux Falls, SD, that day but had no luck. They met again out at Gitchie Manitou to poach deer.

James was on work release from the Sioux Falls jail at the time. He’d clocked out of work, but David called the jail claiming to be James’s employer, stating James was needed longer at work. This allowed James several hours to poach deer with his brothers. When he clocked back into the jail in the early morning, no one at the jail noticed that anything was amiss. When this came to light, the work-release system was furiously reworked.

Some readers might wonder why a younger girl was out with four older boys. Can you shed some light on this?

Sandra was dating Roger Essem, one of the boys murdered that night. Sandra had three older brothers and often hung out with them and their friends as her mom worked long shifts as a nurse. Sandra and her brother Bill (who planned to go to Gitchie Manitou that night but changed his plans last minute) had formed an inseparable bond during their childhood days when they relied on each other to battle challenges that included time in foster homes and a Native American boarding school. Additionally, Sandra lived outside the small town of Tea, SD. Her closest neighbors were two older girls, and a conversation about them unintentionally left Roger with the impression that she was the same age. The starry-eyed 13-year-old girl never corrected this misunderstanding.

A major question surrounding this case is why. What was the motive for the murders?

This is the most curious part of the crime. There have been several motives suggested, but none have been proved. After reading the facts, the readers will have to decide for themselves.

Are there rumors surrounding motives that are not true?

One rumor was that it was a drug deal gone bad. This story may have grown out of the fact that the kids did smoke one marijuana cigarette that night. Actually, the boys were very late picking up Sandra as they had no luck finding someone to sell them only $2 worth of marijuana, which was all the extra money they had.

Another rumor was that Sandra knew the killers. Actually, neither Sandra nor any of the boys had ever had any contact with any of the Fryer brothers.

If police doubted Sandra’s story, how was she released and the case solved?

You couldn’t make up a story as unbelievable as this! Sandra was actually a part of the team who went out looking for the murderers. She had not lived in the area for long. The night of the murders, Allen Fryer took off with Sandra in a pickup, and unknown to her, he was supposed to kill her. Instead, he drove around miles and miles of back roads (some gravel, some paved) and brought her to a working farm. From there, he made up a story about having to meet his brothers at an abandoned house for a drug raid. They drove down miles of endless roads again in the dark. From this limited information, the investigators developed a grid around Sioux Falls with a thirty-mile radius where the farm and abandoned house could possibly be located as Sandra knew she’d be able to identify both places if she saw them again. Sheriff Craig Vinson would pick up an available detective and Sandra each day. They drove around country roads for over two weeks with no luck, and each time they passed another white farmhouse, everyone’s hopes soared only to deflate when it wasn’t the right one. Then one fateful day, Sandra began screaming from the backseat, “THAT’S HIM! THAT’S ONE OF THEM!” Allen Fryer had just pulled out of the farmhouse they were looking for and was driving the same truck Sandra had described from the night of the murders. Because there was a gun hanging in a stock rack in the window, the sheriff pulled over by some bushes where Sandra and the detective scrambled from the car. Sheriff Vinson then arrested Allen without incident.

Where are the murderers now?

All three were sentenced to life in prison without possibility of parole at Fort Madison Prison in Iowa.

South Dakota has the death penalty. Why didn’t they get the death penalty?

Gitchie Manitou State Park is located partially in South Dakota, but most of the park is in Iowa. They boys’ bodies were found in Iowa, which has never had the death penalty.

Why was Sandra, the lone survivor, allowed to live that night? Was she ever told?

Sandra wondered this very thing for over forty years. In 2015, she was able to arrange a meeting at Fort Madison prison with Allen Fryer, the brother who was supposed to kill her but brought her home instead. The meeting didn’t go quite how Sandra expected as Allen took no responsibility for anything that happened that night. He did give her the reason for letting her go, which is just one of the incredible twists in the story.

It’s good to know Sandra is okay after all this time. Where does she live, and what is she doing?

Sandra lives in Sioux Falls with her husband of 30 years. She still has the memo on her “dream board” to open a no-kill animal shelter.

Gitchie Girl is an interesting title. Where does it come from?

After the murderers were caught, Sandra was called on to testify at trials for over 1 ½ years. She missed a lot of school during this time. When she did return to school, however, she was surprised to find out that the parents of many of her former friends no longer allowed their daughters to associate with her. It was a different time, especially for rape survivors. The typical attitude of the time was that if a female was raped, what had she done to deserve it? Was she wearing something revealing? Was she promiscuous? Sandra was a virgin the night of the rape. Nonetheless, she was ostracized. Kids at school and people in the community pointed and whispered, “That’s her, that Gitchie Girl who was with the boys who were murdered.” Sandra said, “I could have handled the stares and the whispers. It was being excluded, ignored, and being made to feel I didn’t exist that crushed me.” Sandra quickly dropped out of school, moved in with her brother who now lived in his own apartment, and basically became a 16-year-old adult.

It must have been a hard time for Sandra. Why did Sandra decide to share her story after all these years?

For over forty years, Sandra did not make a statement to the press or give any interviews. She turned down book offers. But she knew me, Phil Hamman, for decades. I wrote two memoirs about overcoming a dysfunctional childhood in an impoverished area and heading down a road of crime before a life-changing event one night in a dark parking lot. I went on to become a teacher, working with some of the most difficult students in the school district for thirty years. After reading about my difficult childhood, Sandra decided to share her story as well. In addition, there were many false rumors about the night of the murders that were cropping up on the internet that she wanted to dispel.

Will there be a second book about these brutal murders?

There is a second book forthcoming, Gitchie Girl II: The Untold Stories.

I heard a movie might be made of Gitchie Girl. Is this correct?

Yes, we are working with a production company to get a movie or documentary contract with a network. Things are moving along in the right direction.

Thank you, Phil and Sandy Hamman, for spending time on my blog. I appreciate it.

 

Gitchie Girl

The sound of snapping twigs closed in on the five teenagers enjoying an evening around a glowing campfire at Gitchie Manitou State Park. The night of music and laughter had taken a dark turn. Evil loomed just beyond the tree line, and before the night was over, one of the Midwest’s most horrific mass murders had left its bloodstains spewed across the campsite. One managed to survive and would come to be known as the “Gitchie Girl.” Harrowing memories of the terrifying crime sent her spiraling out of control, and she grasped at every avenue to rebuild her life. Can one man, a rescue dog, and a glimmer of faith salvage a broken soul? This true story will touch your heart and leave you cheering that good can prevail over the depravity of mankind.

 

About the authors

Phil Hamman is the author of three nationally published books: Under the Influence, disOrder, and Gitchie Girl (co-authored with his wife, Sandy.) These fast-paced, true stories have proven popular with teens and adults. As a high school teacher for 30 years, Phil has been committed to working with teenagers with difficult behaviors such as conduct disorders and oppositional defiance. He has spoken extensively on the topics of anti-bullying, positive peer choices, setting goals, and reaching out to others.

Sandy Hamman has been a teacher for over 20 years and specializes in teaching reading and writing. Sandy is a graduate of Augustana University in Sioux Falls, SD. She completed her graduate work at Morningside College in Sioux City, IA. She is the co-author of Gitchie Girl with her husband, Phil. They have been married since 1984.

Purchase the book on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Gitchie-Girl-Survivors-Murders-Heartland/dp/1632132001

Find out more about the authors: http://www.philhammanauthor.com

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