The Death of a Picture Hanger

Good evening. This is Crime Classics. I am Thomas Highland. I'm going to tell you another true crime story. Listen. The man is nailing a horse's picture to the wall. The horse is poring the western skies in the classic attitude of poring horses, and it is the top half of a calendar distributed by Isaac's livery.

It's a hot April day in St. Joseph, Missouri in the year 1882, and the man is hanging the picture in his living room because he has a fondness for the noble beast. Horses have got him out of many a critical situation, such as one holding up railroads, two robbing banks, three murdering fellows.

His name is Jesse James, and as soon as he finishes hanging that picture, a friend of his is going to shoot the back of his head off. BAM! So tonight, my transcribed report to you on the death of a picture hanger.

Crime Classics, a new series of true crime stories taken from the records and newspapers of every land from every time. Your host each week, Mr. Thomas Highland, Connoisseur of Crime, Student of Violence, and Teller of Murders.

Now once again, Thomas Highland. TONIGHT Tonight we take you to Jefferson City, Missouri, to the mansion of the governor of that state.

His name was Crittenden, but his cronies called him Critch. He liked living in the governor's mansion because he never had it so good. There were servants, crystal chandeliers, wine furnished by cronies, entertainments by cronies, and best of all, six small gilded cherubs, backs bent cheerfully to support a cast iron bathtub, and quite often the governor also.

So if you've never attended a governor taking a bath, here's your chance. Where's that salt? Where is it? Well, there it is, Critch. Right behind you. Yeah, sure. Uh-huh. When's the last time you had a bath?