A Murder, A Mystery and a Little Spiritual Intervention

It's been a while since I've told ya'll a good story. I might be a little out of practice, but I have one to tell, so get comfy (because ya'll know I'm long winded as hell.)

Everything I'm about to tell you is true, but the names of places and the folks involved have been changed to protect their privacy and my butt from pitchfork wielding hill dwellers.

It began on a sunny Wednesday in early September. I was fixin' to go to therapy with yet another new noggin doc. I'd been seeing Willie for a few months, but he turned out to be a self-serving, insensitive prick not a good fit for me. I was thankful when Brandy became available, but I was nervous about meeting someone new.

I climbed in the truck and gave myself a pep talk, consulted the ancestors... as you do... then drove over to Walnut Gap for my appointment at the HeeHaw County Clinic for Nervous People and Drug Addicts.

My session went well, Brandy is awesome, but I didn't realize I'd have to start over from scratch. My clusterfucked childhood, Ma, adoption, losing my job and my grandson within a week... I wasn't prepared to wade through that all again. But I did. And I survived.

That night I got an email from a DNA match on 23andme. He was an older gentleman named Mitch who said he'd been looking for his birth family for several years and wondered if I could help.

I do love a good mystery.

I asked him what information he had to work with and learned he was born in late August 1950, to a woman named Lucy or Leanne Rodgers, and that she'd been seen running around town with a Pruitt man. He wasn't sure how accurate any of his information was, having gotten it from some older relatives who's memories were fading. I told him I'd see what I could find and get back to him.

I started to drag out the big ass box of all my family tree stuff, but I figured I'd do a web search first. I had no idea how I was related to this man, it would be helpful to at least know which side of the family to start on.

The second link I clicked took me to a blog post focusing on the juicier, more scandalous family history of the author. I scrolled FOREVER, past lists of this one marrying that one, getting divorced, remarried, it was like that book in the Bible that goes on and on with the begats and begottens. Finally, I came to a newspaper article titled, "Death of a Beauty Queen." Lucille Rodgers, the 1949 Big City Tobacco Queen, had been murdered in front of a drug store by the estranged wife of her boyfriend, Elwood Johnson.

Could this be his mother? I channeled my inner Nancy Drew and began digging through news articles about the murder. This is the story.

After church on an October afternoon, Lucille Rodgers and Elwood Johnson drove to Walnut Gap for some ice cream. Elwood had been separated from his wife, Rosanne, for 2 years, leaving her to raise their two sons on her own. He'd been seeing Lucille for a year, having taken her along to Michigan when he'd gone in search of work. It was rumored among the townsfolk that they'd shared a "one bed" apartment while there. They'd been back in town for a couple months when Rosanne caught wind of the finer details of their trip..

So Rosanne left church that day, dropped her two boys off at home then drove down to Walnut Gap. She approached Elwood, sitting alone in his car, outside the drug store where Lucille was buying ice cream and a soda. After giving him a verbal lashing (I can only imagine) she pulled a pistol out of her purse and shot him three times.

An off duty police officer, sitting in a patrol car in front of the courthouse, sprang to action, but wasn't fast enough to stop her from marching up to the drug store towards her next target. Rosanne spotted Lucille by the door, called her some names, then shot her through the screen door, IN THE FACE.

Lucille died instantly. Elwood Johnson survived.

Rosanne immediately dropped her gun and surrendered to the off duty police officer, my Great Grandfather Charlie.

. This shows the actual murder scene. That's the off duty police officer on the left, in the fabulous hat. He also happens to be my Great Grandfather. 

I was a little apprehensive about contacting Mitch with this information. I didn't know him and I didn't want to email him and be all, "Oh hey, I found your mom but she was brutally murdered by your philandering father's wife."

I figured, Lucille had given birth to Mitch and Rosanne had caught wind of it, pushing her over the edge. Elwood left her alone with their two boys and probably wasn't doing anything to support them. Mitch said he was placed for adoption at birth, but I'll bet he was given up after the death of his mother. I mean, it was 1950. His parents weren't married, at least to each other and the whole situation was too scandalous for Walnut Gap.

As for the rumored "Pruitt" man, Elwood and Rosanne had lived out by Pruitt Creek. It wasn't wrong, it simply referred to the section of town he lived in, not his name.

So I emailed Mitch. I tried to soften the blow as much as I could, then sent him a link to the blog post. When he emailed me the next day, he was over the moon. These were his parents. He was extremely grateful and continued to email me over the next few days. I learned that Mitch lives in High Point, NC, but was adopted in Hendersonville, way the hell out on the other side of  Big City. But his adoptive mom actually grew up here. I mean, in Frog Pond Holler. Like, a block over from me. She probably knew my family.

Weird.

After a couple of trips to Walnut Gap, I finally figured out where the drug store was. Lucille was killed directly across the street from the HeeHaw County Clinic for Nervous People and Drug Addicts. I can see it from the window in Brandy's office.

Also weird.

Anywho...

Rosanne was found not guilty using the temporary insanity defense. The reading of the verdict was followed by the cheers of a courtroom full of supportive housewives from the community. If Rosanne were tried today, I think the outcome would be much different. It sounds premeditated to me. Her testimony suggests that she either attended church services that morning with the gun stowed in her handbag, or at the very least, she picked it up from home when dropping the boys, about ten minutes away.

Lucille's story weighed heavily on me for a while. It still bothers me on occasion. I found where she's buried, I may pay her a visit one day.

Oh and by the way, I still have no friggin' clue how the hell I'm related to Mitch.

As for how this all fell in to place, I know Great Granddaddy Charlie was with me that day when I visited Brandy for the first time. I suspect Lucille was lurking around as well. I've entertained the thought that Lucille couldn't be at peace until her baby son new the truth and that Charlie stepped in to help.

I love a good ghost story. Or as I told Brandy, "That's some Scooby Doo shit right there."

Ya'll take care, we'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!