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Throwback Thursday: H.H. Holmes & the Chicago Murder Castle Pt. 1

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In today's first Throwback Thursday episode, Carter Roy takes you back to 1889, when Benjamin Pitezel befriended a man named H.H. Holmes in Chicago. The two of them became partners in crime, and cooked up a plan to defraud a life insurance company by faking Benjamin's death. But Benjamin had no idea that his friend Holmes had other ideas.

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Throwback Thursday: H.H. Holmes & the Chicago Murder Castle Pt. 1

Crime House 24/7

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Crime House 24/7Throwback Thursday: H.H. Holmes & the Chicago Murder Castle Pt. 1. Machine-transcribed; use the interactive transcript above to jump the player to any line.

Hi listeners, it's Vanessa. Are you the type to fall down an internet rabbit hole and not come up for hours? You'll love crimes of Reddit. A new crime house original with Sabrina, Diana, Roge, and Alexis Linklenter. Every week, one host brings real true crime stories from Reddit, while the other reacts completely blind. No prep, no spoilers, then they swab. It's the feeling of sending your group chat a Reddit 2am that starts with, you have to see this. But Sabrina and Alexis are in the chat with you. Follow crimes of Reddit on Apple podcasts and Spotify, or subscribe at crimes of Reddit pod on YouTube. This is Crime House. A man trusts his closest partner with everything, his secrets, his schemes, his family's future. And H.H. Holmes isn't a partner, he's a predator.

And before this story ends, nothing will be what it seemed. Welcome to Crime House 24-7, I'm Vanessa Richardson. Twice a day every day we bring you the best, most timely and gripping cases from across the entire Crime House network, all in one place, right here. And every Thursday is throwback Thursdays, where we reopen a chilling case from before the age of DNA. A crime that's haunted us for generations. Today we're opening the file on H.H. Holmes, one of America's most infamous serial killers. And this case still has a grip on the present. Holmes remains one of the most studied serial killers ever. With ongoing forensic and genealogical research, continuing to surface new questions about the full extent of his victims. Historians and investigators are still debating how many people he killed, and whether every death attributed to him has ever been properly accounted for. This community exists because of listeners like you. Want even more?

Join Crime House Plus for every episode of Crime House 24-7, Add Free. Not only that, but you'll get complete access to an exclusive limited series every month. And early, Add Free access to all Crime House shows and bonus episodes. Go to CrimeHousePlus.com or on Apple Podcasts, tap Try Free at the top of the Crime House 24-7 page. Now, Carter Roy takes us back to 1889 Chicago, where a chance encounter at an exhibition sets a deadly chain of events in motion. Some time around 1889, Benjamin Pitzel was in Chicago, trying to make ends meet. The 33-year-old worked mostly as a carpenter for hire, although he also had some sort of criminal past. That sort of moral flexibility came in handy during times of need. Benjamin was, after all, a married man with five children, and raising a big family

wasn't cheap. But at this point in time, Benjamin was trying to make an honest living. He had actually invented a new type of coal bin, and he was showing it off in an exhibition of sorts. And so the story goes, that was where he met a man who would change his life forever. A man named H.H. Holmes. But in order to understand the story of Benjamin Pitzel, we first have to understand who H.H. Holmes was. First off, H.H. Holmes was an alias. The infamously serial killer was actually born Herman Mugget, a far less sinister and much more unassuming name. He was born in 1861 and grew up on a farm in New Hampshire. Herman was a polite smart kid with lots of promise. He was also a bit of a loner and the frequent target of bullying.

One day when Herman was a kid, he had to go to the doctor's office. According to his later autobiography, older kids were constantly relaying stories about horrifying things hiding behind the doctor's closed doors. And sure enough, on this day, two other boys apparently forced Herman face to face with a human skeleton. They put the skeleton's hands on his face, trying to frighten him. It worked. But then something shifted for Herman. He became intrigued by the bones, not scared of them. If there was a moment that sent Herman down his eventual path, it might have been this one. From then on, the story goes, Herman no longer fear death. He was fascinated by it. For the next few years, Herman's preoccupation with death transformed into a desire to go

to medical school. And after graduating high school at the age of 16, he found a way to turn that dream into a reality. In 1878, a year after he graduated, 17-year-old Herman married a young woman named Clara Lovering. Clara came from a privileged family and she had the means to pay for Herman's tuition. So Herman went off to the University of Vermont, with Clara footing the bill. But he didn't exactly fit in there. Herman didn't get along with his roommates and he was a little too interested in dissecting bodies. After one term, Herman decided to head back home. But the call of the medical field was too strong to stay away. One year later, in 1881, Herman gave it another go. This time, he went to the University of Michigan, where he studied under a professor named William

Hirdman. He was what they called a demonstrator of anatomy, which was the polite term for someone who dissected human bodies for science. Herman seemed to spend all of his time in his professor's office, helping him prepare and dissect bodies, and maybe joining his mentor on night trips to the graveyard. During the late 19th century, medical schools often resorted to working under the table with resurrectionists, or grave robbers, to get enough cadavers for teaching. And then, Herman had an idea. He and a friend came up with a plan to defraud an insurance company. It would be simple. All they had to do was steal a body, create a fake identity for it, take out an insurance policy, stage an accidental death, and then voila, they could collect. Herman didn't actually go through with it, but even if it was just a daydream at this

point, the idea had taken root in his mind, and he wouldn't be able to shake it off. Meanwhile, things were not going well with Herman's wife, Clara. She had moved to Michigan with him, and by then they had a son, Robert. But Herman was said to be violent toward his wife, and Clara finally seemed to have had enough. Right before Herman's graduation, in 1884, Clara took their young son, with her, and fled back to her family in New Hampshire. While we can't pretend to know Herman's mind, he didn't seem phased by his wife, leaving him. They would never actually get divorced. He simply carried on with his life without her. Soon after Clara's departure, 23-year-old Herman graduated from the University of Michigan's Department of Medicine and Surgery. He was now officially a doctor.

But after graduation, things started going south for Herman. Within a year or two, he cropped up in Chicago, now going by the alias Dr. Henry H. Holmes. It's not exactly clear why he changed his name, but it may have been a way to evade the law. Before Holmes came to Chicago, he spent brief periods in New York and Philadelphia in both cities he ran a foul of the law. In New York, people had noticed Holmes coming into town with a young boy who then disappeared. When Holmes was questioned about it, he said the boy went back home. That story seemed to suffice, and there's some evidence to suggest that truly nothing nefarious went down. The young boy may have been Holmes' son, Robert. Either way, Holmes faced a mountain of overdue bills and angry debt collectors, so he soon

left town. Then he ended up in Philadelphia, where it was rumored that he got a job as a clerk at a drug store. There were whispers that a young boy came into the store and purchased some medicine. Right after taking it, he died. Of course, Holmes denied having anything to do with it, but again, he immediately left town. And that's how he moved on to Chicago in 1886. Shortly after arriving, he got another job at a drug store, Holtens Drugstore, to be specific. Some reports refer to a doctor Edward Holtens as the proprietor of Holtens Drugstore, a fellow University of Michigan alumnus who found Holmes to be an ideal, hardworking employee, and eventually sold the place to him. In reality, Dr. Elizabeth Holtens owned the pharmacy, and at least according to some

sources, she and Holmes were more than employer and employee. They were lovers. She promised to give the store to Holmes in exchange for getting married. Holmes agreed only for Elizabeth and her young daughter to mysteriously disappear soon after. As always, when the police asked Holmes about their disappearance, he said they simply moved away, and they seemed to take his word for it, or at least didn't pursue him as a suspect. Although the truth of the matter may be far less sensational, according to Adam Celser, author of H.H. Holmes, the true history of the White City Devil, Elizabeth simply sold the store to Holmes. Her daughter sadly passed away nearly a decade later, but from gastritis, not gruesome murder. Either way, once Holmes took ownership of the store, he purchased a plot of land across

the street and began construction on a two-story building. This building would eventually become what the tabloids deemed as Chicago's murder castle. The moniker came later, but it was based on the weird design of the building in addition to Holmes' eventual alleged crimes that took place inside. There were trap doors and shoots, stairways that went nowhere and doors that opened into the walls and a giant furnace in the basement, big enough to fit a person. In hindsight, these strange design choices were clear indications that something was seriously wrong with H.H. Holmes, but at the time of the construction, people simply found it odd. It also helped that Holmes never let anyone spend too much time working on his building. He wanted to keep the rest of the world in the dark about what he was up to.

For that reason, he constantly hired and fired new construction crews. Plus, Holmes didn't want to pay for the work being done. Every time he fired another crew, he claimed shoddy workmanship and refused to pay for their services. He did this with everyone from carpenters to furniture vendors. Supposedly, that is how he crossed paths with 33-year-old Benjamin Petzel, the Chicago carpenter for hire. The details are a little murky, but Eric Larson's narrative nonfiction book The Devil in the White City suggests that Holmes hired Benjamin to work on his building in November 1889, about three years after Holmes settled in Chicago. Benjamin Cellsers, H.H. Holmes, the true history of the White City Devil, says the two also shared an office where Benjamin was selling a coal bin he had invented. The definitive truth of how they met has been lost to history, but once the two did cross

paths, their lives would never be the same. Four universities, four deaths, and four times the truth got buried under the institution that was supposed to protect it. I'm Vanessa Richardson, and this is Campus Crimes, a four-part bonus series on Crime House 24-7. It starts in 1905 when Stanford's own co-founder is fatally poisoned, and the school quietly recasts it as natural causes. A biology professor denied tenure opens fire in a faculty meeting. A graduate student stabbed to death in a crowded library and a killer who simply vanishes. And a college basketball player murdered by his own teammate, while his coach schemes to smear the victim to save himself. Every case asks the same question, what happens when an institution has more to protect than

the truth? Listen every Sunday in August on the Crime House 24-7 feed or join Crime House Plus to get all four episodes right now, add free. Join on Apple Podcasts or at CrimeHousePlus.com. We know even less about Benjamin Pytzel than we do about H.H. Holmes, which makes it hard to tell a completely full story about their partnership, but here's what we do know. Benjamin was married to his wife, Carrie, and they had five children. He was a carpenter by trade, which explains why Holmes hired him, and he had some sort of criminal past, which perhaps explains why he and Holmes hit it off. Who knows how the subject was first broached, but one way or another, Benjamin learned that Holmes had a pension for insurance fraud schemes. For someone like Benjamin, it must have felt fortuitous.

With a family of five, he no doubt needed all the extra money he could scrounge up, and because of his questionable past, he probably had no problem bending the rules, or even breaking the law. The only question Benjamin had was how could he get involved? After Benjamin and Holmes became acquainted, they quickly grew close. So close, in fact, that they lived together for a time. We don't know whether the two pulled off any fraudulent schemes together during that period, but it seems plausible if not probable. The historical archives refer to Benjamin as an associate of Holmes, constantly in his orbit. It sure seems like Holmes rubbed off on Benjamin. In 1892 or 93, after about three years of knowing each other, Benjamin landed himself

in jail for a fraudulent scheme that appeared to be right out of Holmes' playbook. Essentially, Benjamin used bad checks to steal expensive suits. He did it over and over again until finally the authorities caught on and arrested him. But Benjamin wasn't too worried about the charges. He had his friend H.H. Holmes looking out for him. Sure enough, after a few weeks, Holmes bailed him out. Holmes knew he too would need a friend if he ever got himself in trouble, or at least someone who owed him a favor down the line. For the time being, Holmes put aside thoughts of future schemes with Benjamin. He was too preoccupied with the possibility of a major event taking over Chicago and the opportunities it might provide. You see, various cities across the United States had put in bids for the next world's

fare, and Chicago seemed poised to win. Sure enough, Chicago got the bid. And in May of 1893, the world's fare came to the windy city. Roughly 27 million attendees flocked to its grounds over its six-month run. From local to tourists, every one of them taking in the fare's grandeur. So the story goes, Holmes took it upon himself to construct an addition to his own building at the time. He wanted a third floor so he could make it a hotel and rent out rooms to people attending the fare. At least that's what he told investors to get their money. In reality, it's unclear whether Holmes ever intended to finish the construction project. This is an example of where the truth is hard to decipher from all the fiction. While many sources say Holmes opened up his hotel during the fare, author Adam Celser

discovered that he never actually did. What we do know is that around this time, many young women rented rooms from Holmes, and many of them mysteriously disappeared without a trace. Where Holmes went, people seemed to fall off the map and rumors abounded. But there was no proof of anything seriously untoward, just a series of unfortunate circumstances. Another unfortunate so-called circumstance, the summer of the fare, the third floor of Holmes' building, the possibly unfinished one, caught fire. He had, of course, taken out insurance policies on the building to the tune of $60,000. That's worth just over $2 million today. The whole thing reaked of foul play. The insurance company sure thought so. They refused to pay out and instead began investigating Holmes' for fraud.

As the insurance company started looking into arson, Holmes left Chicago and headed south. And so apparently did his good friend Benjamin Petzl, because the two of them had a plan to hit it rich in Texas. Earlier in 1893, Holmes had hired a young woman named Mini Williams as his personal secretary. They were also likely having an affair. Technically, Holmes was still married to his first wife Clara, and by that point, Holmes had bigamously married his second wife, a woman named Merta Belnep. But he was constantly unfaithful to her. In fact, despite still being married to two different women, Holmes rented another apartment in Chicago with Mini and they acted like man and wife. He might have had no idea about Holmes two wives, or maybe she did and she didn't care.

Either way, Mini grew incredibly close to Holmes. His interest in her, however, seemed to be more focused on her property. She had land in Fort Worth, Texas that he had his eye on. Eventually, he somehow ended up with the deed to her land. Then Holmes ended up transferring that deed to Benjamin. After that, Mini and her sister wrote a letter to their aunt saying that they were heading off to Europe for the summer with Holmes, who they referred to as Harry. Neither Mini nor her sister were ever seen alive again after July 5, 1893. Once again, we're left to come to our own conclusions on their fate. But if we are reading between the lines, Holmes got the property he wanted and then he had to get rid of anyone who might want it back.

By the latter part of the year, Benjamin and Holmes ended up in Fort Worth. They immediately began construction on a new hotel, situated of course on the property that they had taken from Mini Williams. They used aliases to throw anyone off their scent. Benjamin went by Benton, F. Lyman, and Holmes went by OC Pratt. But their business expedition didn't last long. As usual, the two were engaged in a healthy amount of fraud. They took out tens of thousands of dollars in mortgages and loans on the building, but then never paid up. Then that was an all. They were also accused of stealing horses. Benjamin and Holmes bought horses all over Texas, paid for them with worthless deeds and promissory notes, and then resold the horses for cash. In Texas, that kind of crime was tantamount to treason.

So the two turned right back around and ran out of town before they found themselves on the wrong end of the gallows. They regrouped in St. Louis. Well, they didn't have to go all the way back to the drawing board. Because for the better part of the year, Benjamin and Holmes had been quietly laying the groundwork for another scheme. They were planning to fake Benjamin's death in order to collect ten thousand dollars from a life insurance company. Holmes had been paying the premiums on Benjamin's policy for the last year. All they had to do was decide the time was right and they could spring into action. Unfortunately for Benjamin, when the time did come, his friend had slightly different plans, and Benjamin's death might not be so fake after all.

Some time in late 1893 or early 1894, Benjamin Petzel and H. Holmes were laying the groundwork for a massive insurance fraud scheme. A while they waited for the right time to strike, they had other, simpler schemes they could run. For example, Holmes had just purchased a new drug store in St. Louis, and he'd started to stock up on goods. Of course he promised to pay his suppliers later, but as always that was an empty promise. Eventually that caught up with Holmes. Suppliers started getting suspicious, and that led the authorities to come knocking. They arrested Holmes for fraud and selling those goods he hadn't paid for. Holmes didn't stay in prison for long. His lawyer managed to arrange for a bail bondsman to put up the money, but he was there long

enough to have one little conversation that would come back to haunt him. Supposedly, Holmes got a little too candid with his fellow inmate, the infamous Wild West Outlaw Marion Hedgepath, otherwise known as the handsome bandit or the debonair killer. Hedgepath was in prison serving a 25-year sentence. Perhaps in an attempt to impress the outlaw, Holmes told Hedgepath all about the plan to fake Benjamin's death. Holmes was also willing to cut Hedgepath into the deal. If Hedgepath could set Holmes up with a trustworthy lawyer, Holmes would pay him $500 for the connection. Hedgepath liked the sound of that, so he gave Holmes a name. Hedgepath the How, the younger brother of one of Hedgepath's own attorneys. When Holmes got out of prison, he met with How, who was immediately on board with a life-insurance

scheme. He gladly helped Holmes pull this off for a fee, of course. With all the pieces in place, Benjamin and Holmes decided it was time to put their plan into action. They decided to run the scheme in Philadelphia, so Benjamin moved to Philly and rented an office under the alias B.F. Perry. He pretended to be an inventor, which was an important part of the persona, because he and Holmes planned on staging an explosion. They'd make it look like an honest accident that happened while Benjamin was working. Holmes would supply a cadaver, and they would disfigure the corpse enough so it was unrecognizable. The insurance claim would go through, they'd collect the payout, and no one would be any the wiser. On September 4, 1894, a man named Eugene Smith stopped by the office.

The door was unlocked, and when Smith wandered in, he felt like something was wrong. He called out, and nobody answered. So Smith ran to get the police. When the authorities arrived, he rancid smell hit their nostrils. The inventor must have been experimenting with something god-awful. But then they saw the real cause of the smell. It was a body. And disfigured and practically unrecognizable. The authorities first thought was that this was an accidental death from an explosion. Near the body, they found a pipe, several matches, and a broken bottle that contained a flammable fluid. It was all plausible. The coroner's physician concluded the body had been dead for about three days before it was discovered. The man who discovered him, Eugene Smith, identified the body as the inventor B.F. Perry.

But there were some irregularities to the scene. For one, none of the man's neighbors had heard any sort of explosion in past few days. And this would have been a big one. The second, detectives found letters in the dead man's pockets that seemed to be from his wife. She was back in St. Louis, but wrote about joining the inventor in Philadelphia. But the weird thing was, all the bottom portions of the letters, where the signatures would be, were torn off. As if someone didn't want investigators to know the name of the person who had written them. So they had no way of contacting the wife, and no other leads. The coroner's jury ruled that the man had died in an explosion. His body went unclaimed in the morgue for ten days, and then they buried him in a popper's grave.

Unless someone came along later, B.F. Perry would remain buried with no one looking for him. And then, the insurance company Fidelity Mutual Life Association in Philadelphia received a letter. It was from St. Louis, and it claimed that B.F. Perry was actually Benjamin F. Pytsel. And wouldn't you know it? He had a life insurance policy taken out with the company. In order to process the payout, the company needed to confirm the body's identification. But instead of Benjamin's wife, Kerry, coming out to Philadelphia, H.H. Holmes and his lawyer, Jeptha Howe, went instead. However, they did bring one of Benjamin's daughters, 14-year-old Alice. Holmes told the insurance man that Benjamin had a few distinguishing marks. They included a mole on the back of the neck, a broken nose, peculiarly spaced teeth,

and a twisted fingernail from being crushed by a child's rocking chair. They were very specific marks. If the body was, in fact, Benjamin, everyone should immediately be able to tell. So they exhumed the body. Holmes identified it as Benjamin. Alice Benjamin's daughter concurred. After that, they moved the body to another cemetery and the insurance company paid out the $10,000 policy to Holmes, who was apparently acting on Kerry Pytsel's behalf. At the time, it all seemed above board. Kerry even supposedly wrote a letter to Fidelity, praising them for paying the policy so promptly. Fidelity ended up using that letter for promotional purposes to advertise their services. But once everything was done and dusted, Holmes went to Kerry and told her the truth.

Benjamin was actually alive. This was all part of the plan he and Benjamin had hatched. The body back in the Philadelphia office, he planted it and pretended it was Benjamin. But really, they just managed to swindle the insurance company of $10,000, which today would be about $360,000. Holmes paid Kerry $500 of the $10,000 insurance payout. Then he told her that Benjamin was simply hiding out. They just had to go meet him. Kerry was more than happy to follow Holmes' lead. He wanted nothing more than to reunite with her husband. But Holmes was about to lead her on a wild goose chase. And eventually, Kerry would start to wonder if Benjamin's business partner might not be telling her everything.

Thanks for listening to this episode of Crime House 24-7. Be sure to check out our second episode on HH Holmes dropping later today. And to enhance your listening experience, join Crime House Plus and get every episode of Crime House 24-7 completely ad-free. Along with early ad-free access to all Crime House shows, plus monthly bonus episodes, to join go to CrimeHousePlus.com. Or if you listen on Apple podcasts, tap Try Free at the top of the Crime House 24-7 page. Some mysteries have haunted us for centuries. Others are unfolding right now. How does a modern airliner with 239 people on board disappear from the sky without a trace? This is History's greatest mysteries, a history channel original podcast brought to you by Rewind Studios. Adapted from the hit TV show, every episode dives into one of the world's greatest enigmas,

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