How One Colorado Town Honors a Corpse It Keeps on Ice

Corpses can be famous for a variety of reasons: their remarkable preservation, scientific value, tourist potential, legal drama, and/or communist kitsch quotient, for example. But only one individual corpse in the United States, as far as we know, gets its own annual festival: “Grandpa” Bredo Morstoel, who died in Norway in 1989 but has been cooling his heels in a Nederland, Colorado, Tuff Shed for the last two decades.

Bredo Morstoel is the victim, or lucky recipient—depending on your point of view—of a kind of DIY cryonic preservation that involves keeping his body encased in blocks of dry ice. While Morstoel never set foot in Nederland himself (and his views on cryonics aren’t immediately clear), both his daughter and grandson were passionate about a future in which Grandpa could be revived from his frozen state of “suspended animation.” (The science behind cryonics is still far from proven.)

While some towns might recoil in horror at the prospect of a corpse chilling in one of the local freezers, Nederland has embraced Grandpa with gusto. The Frozen Dead Guy Days festival, now in its 16th year, sees about 15,000 revelers descend on the tiny, beautiful Colorado town each spring for several days of live music, coffin racing, a hearse parade, ice turkey bowling, a “frozen t-shirt contest,” and other icy delights. In the new video from Atlas Obscura above, Dylan Thuras explains a little more about the story behind Grandpa’s strange fate and the origin of the festival, and goes along with the corpse’s current caretaker, Brad Wickham, to peek inside the Tuff Shed.

Header images via Kent Kanouse, Flickr // CC BY-NC 2.0

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Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain
Exhumation Confirms Gravesite of World's Fair Killer H.H. Holmes
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Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain

It’s a sordid true crime tale that has few peers. By 1893, the year of the Chicago World’s Fair, a man named H.H. Holmes had converted a sprawling property into an amusement house of murder, filled with secret passages, gas chambers, ovens, and the bodies of young women who made the mistake of booking a room.

Holmes eventually confessed to over two dozen murders and was sentenced to death by hanging in 1896. His body was tossed into a plot at Holy Cross Cemetery near Philadelphia. But ever since then, there has been speculation that Holmes somehow cheated death and may not have been buried there at all. Those rumors can now officially be laid to rest as researchers have confirmed that the remains buried at Holmes's gravesite do in fact belong to the serial killer, according to the AP.

In May, NBC Chicago 5 reported that two of Holmes’s great-grandchildren had persuaded a Pennsylvania court to allow the inspection of their relative’s body in the hope that DNA testing would settle the issue of whether Holmes faked his own death once and for all.

According to newspaper accounts of the era, Holmes requested that his coffin be laid over cement, then topped off with more of the same. That led to a belief that Holmes had somehow eluded his appointment with the noose by offering bribes to law enforcement and had his tomb sealed to prevent any investigation into the matter. Other accounts, including one from the Chicago Tribune on May 8, 1896, appeared certain it was Holmes (real name: Herman Webster Mudgett) who was hung by his neck.

The definitive answer came with assistance from the University of Pennsylvania's Anthropology Department, which agreed to assist Holmes's descendants. The results of that testing were confirmed earlier this week on the series finale of American Ripper, a History Channel series that documented the exhumation and the scientists' search for the truth.

University of Pennsylvania anthropologist Samantha Cox, who was part of the team, said it was a difficult job. Even though his body had decomposed, because of Holmes's very specific burial requests, his clothes were almost perfectly intact, as was his ever-present mustache.

“It stank,” Cox said. “Once it gets to that point we can’t do anything with it. We can’t test it, can’t get any DNA out of it.” Instead, Cox and her colleagues had to use Holmes's teeth to identify him.

[h/t AP]

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Terry Pratchett's Unfinished Works Were Just Crushed By a Steam Roller
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Oli Scarff/Getty Images

Say so long to dreams of posthumous Terry Pratchett novels. According to the late author’s wishes, his computer’s hard drive has been destroyed by steamroller, taking any unfinished work with it. According to the BBC, it may have held up to 10 incomplete novels.

The destruction, which no doubt crushed the hearts of many a historian in addition to the megabytes of data, took place at the Great Dorset Steam Fair, a five-day cultural event dedicated to steam-powered machinery.

Pratchett’s longtime assistant Rob Wilkins, who has been managing Pratchett’s estate since the author died in 2015, was the one who found a steamroller to complete the author’s mandate. Pratchett wanted to prevent his unfinished projects from being completed by anyone else. Considering Pratchett’s status as a literary hero, it probably wasn’t a crazy fear. His last novel, published five months after his death, sold almost 53,000 copies in its first three days on the shelves.

Apparently, though, not only are steamrollers hard to find, they’re not as effective for destroying computer hardware as you’d think. “The steamroller totally annihilated the stone blocks underneath but the hard drive survived better than expected so we put it in a stone crusher afterwards which I think probably finally did it in,” Richard Henry, curator of the upcoming Salisbury Museum exhibition Terry Pratchett: His World, told the BBC.

The pieces of the crushed drive will be on display at the museum when the exhibition opens on September 16. And that’s not the only upcoming display of love for Pratchett in Salisbury, his hometown. The city will also be getting a 7-foot-tall bronze statue of the author soon.

[h/t BBC]


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