*Somebody clicked on this post from December 19,2011, the last time I reposted it. I used to repost each year from 2004 to whenever, for years. I re-read the posts here (I make sure they don't get counted by Google Stats, but I have re-read this post. Too emotional. It's just excruciating. So, here it is again after a lapse of, apparently six Christmases.
When I get one of these old files, I try to piece together the case. You only get what was introduced into evidence in the trial and that never includes full-story narratives like the lead detective's report. And so you open the file and examine each exhibit, each piece of evidence, and try to see the whole from a part.
When I opened this file there was a smaller manila envelope with some small hard objects inside. They were what looked like an audio tape, one of those old reel-to-reel ones, and some metal and glass squares, about 2"x 2". I held one up to the light. It was a photo still. This must have been what slides were in 1956 and the reel must have been the film from which the slides were made. It was hard to see but I could make out the face of a smiling man. Maybe an old home movie.
I opened a larger envelope correctly assuming it contained the crime scene photos. I love the pictures. Old black and white photos of long-ago parts of town long gone. The period pieces. The wonderful 1950's cars, first generation television sets, old wooden houses, so charming compared with the CBS construction of today but of course much more inviting to termites.
Several of the 8"x10"s were enlargements of the slides. Now I could see the smiling man, dressed in a Pendleton-type work shirt walking in front of a yard and house which were blurred as if in motion. Still could've been a home movie. Then I saw the policeman in the foreground, his features blurred so that initially I didn't recognize who or what he was. His lips were pursed slightly and he looked down at the ground as he held the smiling man by the arm, obviously taking him into custody.
So this was the murderer as he was being arrested. And the film was from a TV camera. I had looked through a hundred or more of these old incinerator-destined murder files and had never seen TV film before. TV was still in it's infancy in 1956, especially in this city, whose loss of innocence and insignificance was still three years away.
What to make of the smiling murderer? Of course the first thought is insanity. There are plenty of crazy murderers with all kinds of weird looks on their faces but this man didn't look that daft. He looked "normal."
The autopsy report was in the file. Three of them. The first page just had the name "O'Malley" on it. O'Malley, O'Malley, O'Malley. Three copies of the same report I thought. Then I saw another document from the Medical Examiner's file, with case numbers 601, 602, and 603. There were three victims.
The suspect had given a statement to the police, two now that I saw. The introductory case reference paragraph at the top said:
"Investigation into the fatal shooting of one
Barbara Ann O'Malley, wf, age 41, George
Howard O'Malley, wm, age 7 months, and
Carla Laura O'Malley wm, age 4 that occurred
at 1791 NW 60 St, December 25, 1956."
The killer was George Howard O'Malley, Sr., the husband and father of the victims.
O'Malley told the police that the family was about to be evicted from their house because of their financial problems and if that happened the State would take away his children. He had had a cancer operation and spent two weeks in the hospital in November. He couldn't pay those bills and hadn't worked in some time.
Additionally, his wife had had two operations recently and they owed money from those also. In all they owed $3000.
O'Malley and Barbara apparently loved kids, they ran a foster home out of the house, a big old rambling two-story clapboard with hardwood floors and plaster walls that would have carried sound so that Barbara could hear little George when he cried or Carla as she played when she was working in the kitchen or puttering about the house.
They had tried everything to raise money to pay off their bills including selling almost all of their furniture. That got them $163.
The most desperate fundraising attempt they saved till last. O'Malley's father was a well-off businessman in Cincinnati. At some time in the past however father and son had had a bitter falling out. On Christmas eve they called him and asked for help but he turned them down.
"He told me to put the children in an orphanage or
put them in the county home," George O'Malley told the police.
So they awoke Christmas morning at 7:30 and sat down and talked. As O'Malley wrote in his suicide note,
"We talked things over and weighed the the
results--since we find no other means of
staying together--the decision was this."
They wrote farewell letters to their families in Cincinnati. Barbara's handwriting is steady, the shape of the letters and words calmly written, the structure of her sentences coherent. She stressed the mutuality of the decision,
"Don't think it is his idea alone and blame him
because I'm the one that suggested it to him,"
she wrote to her "mom."
"Right now I am not sad because it isn't everyone
who can take their loved ones along with them
when they leave this world. They came into this
world through me and they will go out of it with
me. I'm also relieved to know George will be with
us. He has suffered enough and God alone knows
what he would go through left behind..."
"It will be all over within seconds. No more worries
--sickness--and wondering if the children will have
enough food and a roof over their heads...If we didn't
love them it would be easy to put them in a county
home as was suggested by Mr. O'Malley...George and
I could not do it and never would."
Barbara concluded with instructions for the children's burial,
"Dress Carla in blue, it is her party dress and she
loves it--baby George in his green suit--he never
has worn it."
All the letters were unopened and stamped "Return to Sender."
George was to kill Barbara first ("she couldn't stand to see the kids hurt."), then the children. He was then to call their pastor and advise him of the circumstances before killing himself. The preacher talked him out of the suicide ("He kept me on the phone too long."). Bastard. Fucking-bastard-shaman-son-of-a-bitch-holy-man.
They went into the children's room where the kids were. Carla was playing in her big-girls bed. Little George was in his crib. Maybe Carla looked up and smiled when she saw them. Barbara sat on the floor and prayed.
"I shot Barbara first."
"how many times did
you shoot her?"
"Twice."
Little Carla must have screamed, perhaps "Mommy! Mommy! Daddy! Daddy!"
Baby George would have cried, startled at the boom-booms.
He shot Carla next. She would have seen the gun swinging toward her. Maybe she screamed "Daddy, No!" and held out her little hands.
"I shot her in the chest, then I got up,
leaned over and shot her again."
She was found face up. The tears could have been still on her cheeks when the police arrived.
"I shot the baby and I think the second
bullet creased him."
The bodies were all in one room allowing for a comprehensive death scene photo. Carla is in her bed, one chubby arm extended out apparently sleeping but on close examination her little eyes are open slightly. There is a large dark stain on her chest. A stuffed animal lies on the floor in front of her bed.
The baby is face down in the middle of the crib, his bottle in a corner. One of those abacus-like baby's toys with primary-colored balls strung on a string is attached to the crib. There's blood trailing from the top of his head down behind his right ear and much blood under his head.
Barbara lies barefoot in her pajamas face up on the floor. Her eyes are closed and dried blood is coming out of her nose. She is pregnant.
The scene was located at the corner of an intersection off the main highway in the city. To the left the road extended off into the distance, getting smaller and narrower until it just stopped. To the right it became a causeway over a body of water and ended at one of the barrier islands.
The house is painted what appears to be a battleship gray. It has an inviting wrap-around porch. A tricycle is outside next to a swing set.
The room has off-white walls and hardwood floors and is unfurnished except for the crib and Carla's bed.
Three big windows look out over the front yard and they would have provided a nice cross-breeze to cool the room when it got too warm.
The day was overcast, the gray of the sky and the black and white of the photos creating a monochrome, the distinction between light and dark muted.
*No real names used.
When I get one of these old files, I try to piece together the case. You only get what was introduced into evidence in the trial and that never includes full-story narratives like the lead detective's report. And so you open the file and examine each exhibit, each piece of evidence, and try to see the whole from a part.
When I opened this file there was a smaller manila envelope with some small hard objects inside. They were what looked like an audio tape, one of those old reel-to-reel ones, and some metal and glass squares, about 2"x 2". I held one up to the light. It was a photo still. This must have been what slides were in 1956 and the reel must have been the film from which the slides were made. It was hard to see but I could make out the face of a smiling man. Maybe an old home movie.
I opened a larger envelope correctly assuming it contained the crime scene photos. I love the pictures. Old black and white photos of long-ago parts of town long gone. The period pieces. The wonderful 1950's cars, first generation television sets, old wooden houses, so charming compared with the CBS construction of today but of course much more inviting to termites.
Several of the 8"x10"s were enlargements of the slides. Now I could see the smiling man, dressed in a Pendleton-type work shirt walking in front of a yard and house which were blurred as if in motion. Still could've been a home movie. Then I saw the policeman in the foreground, his features blurred so that initially I didn't recognize who or what he was. His lips were pursed slightly and he looked down at the ground as he held the smiling man by the arm, obviously taking him into custody.
So this was the murderer as he was being arrested. And the film was from a TV camera. I had looked through a hundred or more of these old incinerator-destined murder files and had never seen TV film before. TV was still in it's infancy in 1956, especially in this city, whose loss of innocence and insignificance was still three years away.
What to make of the smiling murderer? Of course the first thought is insanity. There are plenty of crazy murderers with all kinds of weird looks on their faces but this man didn't look that daft. He looked "normal."
The autopsy report was in the file. Three of them. The first page just had the name "O'Malley" on it. O'Malley, O'Malley, O'Malley. Three copies of the same report I thought. Then I saw another document from the Medical Examiner's file, with case numbers 601, 602, and 603. There were three victims.
The suspect had given a statement to the police, two now that I saw. The introductory case reference paragraph at the top said:
"Investigation into the fatal shooting of one
Barbara Ann O'Malley, wf, age 41, George
Howard O'Malley, wm, age 7 months, and
Carla Laura O'Malley wm, age 4 that occurred
at 1791 NW 60 St, December 25, 1956."
The killer was George Howard O'Malley, Sr., the husband and father of the victims.
O'Malley told the police that the family was about to be evicted from their house because of their financial problems and if that happened the State would take away his children. He had had a cancer operation and spent two weeks in the hospital in November. He couldn't pay those bills and hadn't worked in some time.
Additionally, his wife had had two operations recently and they owed money from those also. In all they owed $3000.
O'Malley and Barbara apparently loved kids, they ran a foster home out of the house, a big old rambling two-story clapboard with hardwood floors and plaster walls that would have carried sound so that Barbara could hear little George when he cried or Carla as she played when she was working in the kitchen or puttering about the house.
They had tried everything to raise money to pay off their bills including selling almost all of their furniture. That got them $163.
The most desperate fundraising attempt they saved till last. O'Malley's father was a well-off businessman in Cincinnati. At some time in the past however father and son had had a bitter falling out. On Christmas eve they called him and asked for help but he turned them down.
"He told me to put the children in an orphanage or
put them in the county home," George O'Malley told the police.
So they awoke Christmas morning at 7:30 and sat down and talked. As O'Malley wrote in his suicide note,
"We talked things over and weighed the the
results--since we find no other means of
staying together--the decision was this."
They wrote farewell letters to their families in Cincinnati. Barbara's handwriting is steady, the shape of the letters and words calmly written, the structure of her sentences coherent. She stressed the mutuality of the decision,
"Don't think it is his idea alone and blame him
because I'm the one that suggested it to him,"
she wrote to her "mom."
"Right now I am not sad because it isn't everyone
who can take their loved ones along with them
when they leave this world. They came into this
world through me and they will go out of it with
me. I'm also relieved to know George will be with
us. He has suffered enough and God alone knows
what he would go through left behind..."
"It will be all over within seconds. No more worries
--sickness--and wondering if the children will have
enough food and a roof over their heads...If we didn't
love them it would be easy to put them in a county
home as was suggested by Mr. O'Malley...George and
I could not do it and never would."
Barbara concluded with instructions for the children's burial,
"Dress Carla in blue, it is her party dress and she
loves it--baby George in his green suit--he never
has worn it."
All the letters were unopened and stamped "Return to Sender."
George was to kill Barbara first ("she couldn't stand to see the kids hurt."), then the children. He was then to call their pastor and advise him of the circumstances before killing himself. The preacher talked him out of the suicide ("He kept me on the phone too long."). Bastard. Fucking-bastard-shaman-son-of-a-bitch-holy-man.
They went into the children's room where the kids were. Carla was playing in her big-girls bed. Little George was in his crib. Maybe Carla looked up and smiled when she saw them. Barbara sat on the floor and prayed.
"I shot Barbara first."
"how many times did
you shoot her?"
"Twice."
Little Carla must have screamed, perhaps "Mommy! Mommy! Daddy! Daddy!"
Baby George would have cried, startled at the boom-booms.
He shot Carla next. She would have seen the gun swinging toward her. Maybe she screamed "Daddy, No!" and held out her little hands.
"I shot her in the chest, then I got up,
leaned over and shot her again."
She was found face up. The tears could have been still on her cheeks when the police arrived.
"I shot the baby and I think the second
bullet creased him."
The bodies were all in one room allowing for a comprehensive death scene photo. Carla is in her bed, one chubby arm extended out apparently sleeping but on close examination her little eyes are open slightly. There is a large dark stain on her chest. A stuffed animal lies on the floor in front of her bed.
The baby is face down in the middle of the crib, his bottle in a corner. One of those abacus-like baby's toys with primary-colored balls strung on a string is attached to the crib. There's blood trailing from the top of his head down behind his right ear and much blood under his head.
Barbara lies barefoot in her pajamas face up on the floor. Her eyes are closed and dried blood is coming out of her nose. She is pregnant.
The scene was located at the corner of an intersection off the main highway in the city. To the left the road extended off into the distance, getting smaller and narrower until it just stopped. To the right it became a causeway over a body of water and ended at one of the barrier islands.
The house is painted what appears to be a battleship gray. It has an inviting wrap-around porch. A tricycle is outside next to a swing set.
The room has off-white walls and hardwood floors and is unfurnished except for the crib and Carla's bed.
Three big windows look out over the front yard and they would have provided a nice cross-breeze to cool the room when it got too warm.
The day was overcast, the gray of the sky and the black and white of the photos creating a monochrome, the distinction between light and dark muted.
*No real names used.
"A Christmas Story" was first posted here in 2004. Until 2009 it was reposted each year during the season. In a professional life spent with death and murder and tragedy and pathos I have never encountered anything like this. It is the saddest story I've ever heard. I have never been able to look at the file again or even reread this post.
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PUBLIC OCCURRENCES
