Mysteries at The Museum - Santa claus heist & more

The elixir behind a debilitating disorder... The scale of the event had to be staggering. ...an audacious plot of wartime escape... They notice 25 prisoners are missing. ...and a pair of handcuffs that bound a sinister Santa. This was the biggest manhunt in the state of Texas at the time. I'm Don Wildman. Join me on a journey across the United States as we go deep into the vaults of the nation's most revered institutions, unearthing wondrous treasures from the past, extraordinary artifacts, and bizarre relics, each with a shocking story to tell and a secret to be revealed. These are the mysteries at the museum. -- Captions by VITAC -- Closed Captions provided by Scripps Networks, LLC. The small west Texas city of Cisco made its name during the oil boom of the 1920s. And along the main drag is the Conrad Hilton Community Center Museum, a collection of galleries dedicated to Cisco's colorful past. Here, visitors will find period rooms from the roaring '20s, military uniforms, and the wedding dress worn by Eleanor Roosevelt's niece in 1924. But playwright Billy Smith has written about one of the museum's most notorious artifacts. SMITH: They are made out of hardened steel. They're cold to the touch. They lock and open with a key. WILDMAN: And they are forever linked to a sensational heist masterminded by one seemingly holly, jolly suspect. So, what role did these handcuffs play in the sensational tale of merry criminal misfits? December 23, 1927. Cisco, Texas. Dressed in red with a beard as white as snow, a familiar Christmas character is seen strolling through town -- Santa Claus. And then he turns and goes into the First National Bank. WILDMAN: The cashier immediately notices that Santa lacks his usual Christmas cheer. Someone said, "Hello, Santa," but he didn't respond. WILDMAN: The unsocial Santa fixes his gaze upon the teller. Then the bearded man's intentions become clear. SMITH: Suddenly, three men burst into the bank brandishing weapons. And then Santa pulled out a pistol. WILDMAN: St. Nick orders the teller to open the vault while his merry misfits keep the cowering customers and employees in check. As Santa's sack is being loaded with tens of thousands in cash and bonds... police officers and armed residents surround the bank. SMITH: This was a point in Texas history where there was a $5,000 reward to anyone in the state of Texas who shot a bank robber while in the act of robbing a bank. WILDMAN: The cornered robbers frantically plan their escape as the bloodthirsty crowd grows restless for their chance at the reward. [ Gunshot ] Suddenly, an anxious robber fires a warning shot into the air. Chaos breaks out. SMITH: The people in the town all opened fire on the bank. All of the windows blew out, and everyone was after that $5,000 reward. [ All screaming ] WILDMAN: Santa and his helpers decide to make a run for it. They seize two hostages and, using them as human shields, escape past the hostile crowd into their getaway car. One bandit and two police officers are killed in the shootout. Six civilians suffer bullet wounds. As the cops pursue the bandits, little do they know that Santa and his helpers are having troubles of their own. SMITH: They noticed that the gas gauge was on "empty" because they'd forgotten to put gasoline in the tank. WILDMAN: The men commandeer a passing car, ordering the teenage driver out at gunpoint. They transfer their loot and the frightened hostages to the backseat of the vehicle. As the bank robbers scramble to take off in the stolen car, they are stopped in their tracks. They realized that the young boy who had been driving had taken the keys out of the ignition. WILDMAN: With the posse fast approaching, the robbers grab the hostages, scamper back to their original getaway vehicle, and continue on with the little gas they have left. SMITH: They turned east for a short period of time and then headed south on a dirt road. And then the road turned into a two-track and then finally into nothing at all. So, they stopped there, left the two hostages in the car, and took off on foot. WILDMAN: Meanwhile, the authorities make a wild discovery when they come upon the car that Santa and his men failed to hijack. It seems that in their haste to evade capture, the robbers have left all their loot in the other vehicle. And not long after, they find the abandoned getaway car. The police found the car at the end of this road, and the two girls were still inside. WILDMAN: Although the bandits have fled into the woods, the chase continues. Over the Christmas holiday, police and hundreds of outraged residents join forces to hunt down Santa Claus and his men. SMITH: This was the biggest manhunt in the state of Texas at the time. This went on for almost a week. WILDMAN: Until the fugitives are spotted by police in a nearby town. [ Gunshots ] One of the criminals is shot down, but his two partners manage to escape. And based on his build and other physical features, police I.D. him as the Santa Claus who stole Christmas. They waste no time at all slapping handcuffs on him, the same ones on display at the Conrad Hilton Community Center Museum. SMITH: Santa Claus was Marshall Ratliff. He was a local Cisco boy. He'd already robbed one bank before. WILDMAN: His partners in crime are located and arrested a few days later. And when all three are found guilty at trial, it brings a measure of closure to a calamitous Christmas tale. And today these handcuffs remain on display at the Conrad Hilton Community Center Museum in Cisco, Texas, serving as a visceral reminder of the criminal who planned one of the most sensational heists in Texas history. From the beautiful beaches of the Hamptons to the mansions of the Gold Coast, Long Island is home to some of the most valuable real estate in the New York metropolitan area. And in the small town of Stony Brook, the Long Island Museum catalogs the region's glamorous history. Visitors are greeted by vintage paraphernalia, including a 1950s Harley-Davidson, and ornate carriages once owned by America's wealthy elite. But according to head curator Joshua Ruff, the most popular exhibit tells a scandalous story of the darker side of Long Island wealth. RUFF: It's a size 6, and it's very elegant. It's made of manmade materials and silk. WILDMAN: The owner of this dress was party to an extraordinary incident that shocked America's upper echelons. RUFF: This story had everything. It had power. It had glamour. It had this very attractive couple in New York society. WILDMAN: Who wore this dress? And what part did she play in a scandal that rocked New York society to its very foundation? It's the mid-1950s. Oyster Bay, Long Island. Billy Woodward and his wife, Ann, are high-ranking members of New York's social elite. Billy is heir to a vast banking fortune, while his wife, Ann, is an actress and fashion icon. The Woodwards were a family that could be considered American royalty. WILDMAN: It seems that the couple leads a life that is the envy of the world. But all of that is about to change. October 30, 1955. The Woodwards attend a dinner party where friends and neighbors discuss a disturbing series of events. One of the main topics of conversation that night at the party was over a rash of burglaries that had happened in the Oyster Bay Cove area. WILDMAN: Later that evening, the couple turns in for the night to their separate bedrooms. Frightened by tales of the burglar, Ann takes a shotgun to her room. Then at 2:00 a.m... she is jolted wide awake. Ann heard a rustling and a bit of a crash just above her bedroom. Her dog also started barking. WILDMAN: Fearing the burglar is in her midst, Ann reaches for her gun and points it down the hallway outside her room. She saw a shadow, and as the shadow moved, she fired her 12-gauge shotgun. [ Gunshot ] WILDMAN: Ann hits her mark, and the figure instantly falls to the ground. But all is not as it seems. Moments later, police receive a frantic call from Ann and rush to the Woodward residence. RUFF: The police were absolutely floored. They were not set up to deal with this situation. WILDMAN: Lying on the floor dead with a fatal gunshot wound is Ann's husband, Billy Woodward. Ann tells investigators that she heard what she thought was a burglar in the house and, in a panic, mistook her husband for the intruder. Investigators scour the crime scene, but after an intense search, they find no evidence of a break-in. When the news of Billy Woodward's death reaches the press, the public clamors for more details. Soon, rumors abound that before Billy's demise, all was not well in the Woodward household. RUFF: Billy had numerous affairs. Ann did, as well. Some of their fights became fairly violent, overheard by neighbors or people that attended parties with them. WILDMAN: In some circles, it is even suggested that Ann was only interested in one aspect of her husband's life -- his money. And soon, many begin to doubt Ann's account of that fateful evening and suggest that Billy's death was not an accident, but ***. October 1955. Long Island, New York. Billy Woodward, heir to a massive banking fortune, has been killed in what appears to be a tragic accident. According to his wife, Ann, she mistook him for a burglar and shot him in the head. But many in the community believe she is hiding the truth. Did Ann Woodward *** her husband? Three weeks after Billy's death, Ann is summoned to court, where she recounts her version of events and defiantly asserts her innocence. Then her defense team produces a surprise witness. Despite the police finding no evidence of a break-in, a vagrant named Paul Wirths claims he was the intruder that night. RUFF: Wirths was actually inside the house in a closet and heard Ann scream. He told the story that really corroborated what Ann had been saying. WILDMAN: It takes the court just 30 minutes to rule that Billy's death was indeed an accident. Ann is never charged with ***. But many in high society still don't believe Ann's story and suspect that Paul Wirths was paid off to give false evidence. She was still seen as being guilty of something and having gotten away with it. WILDMAN: Ann is ostracized from the New York social scene and left to deal with her grief alone. Then, 20 years later, she is dealt one last blow. The celebrated author Truman Capote pens his final novel, "Answered Prayers," in which characters are closely based on real figures in New York society, including Ann Woodward. Capote made Ann, in his fictionalized telling, look like the worst kind of society climber and definitely guilty of ***. WILDMAN: With the past dug up once more, 51-year-old Ann Woodward dons her best dress, puts on makeup, and then takes a cyanide pill. Ann committed suicide almost 20 years to the day after shooting her husband in October of 1975. WILDMAN: The case of Ann and Billy Woodward has gone down as one of the most salacious high-society deaths in American crime history. And today one of the few remaining memories of this tragic couple is this black cocktail dress worn by Ann Woodward, on display at the Long Island Museum, a testament to the rise and fall that shook high society to its core. Phoenix, Arizona -- America's sunniest city and gateway to the Grand Canyon. Nestled within this serene metropolis and housed in what was formerly the state arsenal is the Arizona Military Museum. Its collection includes Spanish conquistador armor, Gatling guns, and a Huey helicopter. But one seemingly innocuous object appears misplaced among these relics of war. ABODEELY: It's made out of leather. It's about 24 inches by 6 inches. And it was used to carry provisions. WILDMAN: According to curator and former Army colonel Joe Abodeely, this item was handcrafted by an enemy of the state who triggered a legendary manhunt. If I didn't know what it was, I probably would have thrown it away. WILDMAN: So, what role did this crude leather bag play in one of the most daring prison breaks in American history? January 1944. U.S. and Allied forces are on the brink of victory in World War II. But as their armies advance, the Allies face a new problem -- what to do with captured POWs. To solve the problem, America creates 500 prisoner-of-war camps on U.S. soil. And one of their toughest, positioned in the harsh Arizona desert, is Papago Park. ABODEELY: It was one of the most well-secured prisoner-of-war compounds in the United States of America. It was thought to be a place where there could be no escape. WILDMAN: This fortress-like compound houses more than 1,700 POWs. Most are German sailors and merchant marines. But there is one prisoner who stands out from his peers. His name, Captain Jurgen Wattenberg. ABODEELY: Wattenberg was the captain of one of the submarines that was captured. He was a leader. He was very charismatic. WILDMAN: Captain Wattenberg remains loyal to his country and is determined to disrupt the American war effort even from behind bars. Wattenberg, as a professional military man, knew it was his duty to try to escape. WILDMAN: With the help of two companions, Wattenberg hatches a plan. ABODEELY: Wattenberg's plan was to dig a tunnel. They wanted to get out underneath the fence, and they were hoping to sail back to Germany. WILDMAN: Their first objective -- a drainage canal 178 feet away. From here, they hoped to make it 150 miles to the Mexican border. But what Wattenberg must first determine is where to start his subterranean excavations. After careful deliberation, he finds the perfect spot -- a small prisoner bathhouse behind a barracks. Men would walk into the bathhouse as though they were taking a bath, and there was a board that could be removed so they could exit. WILDMAN: Outside, hidden behind a coal box, Wattenberg's men can dig a tunnel under the noses of the camp guards. They took spoons and cans, and they dug and dug and dug. WILDMAN: With ruthless efficiency, the men work night after night in shifts to remove vast quantities of earth. And the clever Wattenberg has a cunning way to dispose of the evidence. ABODEELY: The way they did it, they put it in their pockets. And then they'd walk around and let the dirt fall out of their pockets, go down their pant legs. The guards were oblivious to what the Germans were doing. WILDMAN: On December 23, 1944, after months of meticulous planning and hard work, the 178-foot tunnel is complete. The day has come for the German POWs' great escape. But will their daring bid for freedom succeed? It's 1944. In Phoenix, Arizona, Nazi prisoners of war at Papago Park prison have completed digging a 178-foot escape tunnel right under the noses of the American guards. Now the mastermind of the plot, Captain Jurgen Wattenberg, is poised to lead his fellow prisoners to freedom. But will they make it out alive? Before he enters the tunnel, Wattenberg grabs an accessory, now on display at the Arizona Military Museum, that will be key to his survival. Captain Wattenberg had a leather bag that he made. It was to hold his provisions. WILDMAN: His bag contains food, water, and the basic tools he'll need to endure a grueling journey to the Mexican border 150 miles away. ABODEELY: When the prisoners of war started their escape, it took them approximately 40 minutes to get through the 178-foot-long tunnel. The next day, when the guards were doing their routine roll call, they noticed, "Oops. 25 prisoners are missing." So now the manhunt is on. WILDMAN: The government launches one of the greatest manhunts in Arizona state history. The FBI was brought in. The border patrol was brought in. The sheriff's office was brought in. The military, of course, were looking for these guys. WILDMAN: Over the next month, authorities recapture 24 escapees. Some are found just 15 miles from the Mexican border. But one POW still remains at large -- the ringleader, Captain Jurgen Wattenberg. Wattenberg has been hiding out in caves, waiting for the manhunt to die down before making his move. ABODEELY: He hiked into Phoenix, and he made the fateful mistake of asking a street cleaner for directions. WILDMAN: The police are immediately alerted after Wattenberg's accent draws suspicion. On January 27, 1945, U-boat captain Jurgen Wattenberg is finally captured and returned to Papago Park, where his few possessions are confiscated. ABODEELY: This leather bag that Wattenberg constructed is a symbol of his desire to be free. WILDMAN: At the end of the war, Wattenberg returns to Germany a free man. He leaves behind this bag, now on display at the Arizona Military Museum, a silent witness to one of the most audacious prison escapes in American history. New Orleans, Louisiana. The Big Easy is a national mecca for high living and loud parties. And located along the city's Riverwalk, the Museum of the American Cocktail chronicles the nation's love affair with alcohol. Its staggering collection includes rare spirits, Prohibition Era literature, and vintage cocktail shakers. But according to museum spokesman Chris McMillian, one item here recalls a horrifying episode in America's drinking past. McMILLIAN: It's about 6 inches tall. It's glass and rectangular. It led to one of the greatest medical mysteries of the 20th century. WILDMAN: What role did this simple bottle play in one of the most bizarre and frightening epidemics in American history? February 27, 1930. Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. A 34-year-old neighborhood physician named Dr. Ephraim Goldfain is at work in his small medical clinic when a man lurches in off the street. McMILLIAN: His toes were numb. He had loose ankles. His calves were tingling and hurting. WILDMAN: The man seems to be suffering from acute paralysis of his lower extremities. But after thoroughly examining the patient, Goldfain rules out common causes like polio and lead poisoning. And it seems this man is not alone. McMILLIAN: Before the end of the day, he'd seen five other people who presented with the same symptoms. WILDMAN: As Goldfain struggles to diagnose the mysterious illness, he encounters dozens of new cases. One of the things he notices almost immediately was that it was restricted exclusively to men. These are working guys at the bottom end of the social rung. It's really a class affliction. WILDMAN: And within days, communities across the U.S. report outbreaks of the same debilitating illness. The scale of the event had to be staggering. In Topeka, they had 500 cases. In Wichita, they had 700. In Mississippi, they had 1,000. Imagine within a one-week period to have 1,000 men become paralyzed. It had to put people in a total panic. WILDMAN: As the cases multiply, doctors around the country discover something striking in the social habits of the sick men. They had all recently consumed a medical elixir called Jamaica Ginger. Sold as a cure for stomach illness, Jamaica Ginger, or "Jake," as it's known, is a simple compound of ginger steeped in alcohol. McMILLIAN: This was a widely accepted, common household drug that had been in use for generations. WILDMAN: But during the Prohibition Era, Jamaica Ginger became a popular means for poor people to get drunk. McMILLIAN: This was a way that working men could go out for 30 cents and get themselves a legal drink. WILDMAN: And as the mysterious cases top 35,000 in a matter of weeks, state authorities alert the public and pull bottles of Jake from store shelves. And yet public-health officials are perplexed. Why are so many men being struck down by a simple over-the-counter medicine? In the winter of 1930, a mysterious crippling disease is afflicting men across the United States. Investigators discover that every case is linked to the consumption of a medicinal alcoholic drink called Jamaica Ginger. So, why has this popular tonic suddenly become so dangerous? Prohibition Bureau chemists test batches of confiscated Jamaica Ginger and make a shocking discovery. Instead of ginger, some bottles of Jake contain a chemical agent known as triorthocresyl phosphate, or TOCP. McMILLIAN: TOCP was manufactured by the film industry to reduce the brittleness in celluloid or plastics. WILDMAN: Authorities determine that all of the contaminated batches come from a single source -- a Boston Jake manufacturer run by two men named Harry Gross and Max Reisman. McMILLIAN: These two guys were kind of shady characters, brother-in-laws. They became, in 1929, involved in the Jamaica Ginger industry. WILDMAN: But why would they have added TOCP to their bottles of Jake? The answer seems to be found in the complex Prohibition regulations of the day. The Prohibition agents had attempted to squelch the use of these medicinal tonics. WILDMAN: To reduce the drink's intoxicating effects, authorities demand that the nonalcoholic flavoring ingredients be doubled. In the case of Jamaica Ginger, that means doubling the ginger content, which Prohibition authorities knew would also have a disastrous effect on the drink's taste. Where Jamaica Ginger had only been 2% ginger, it was doubled to 4%. That made it so bitter as to be almost undrinkable. WILDMAN: But Gross and Reisman think they have found a way around the punitive regulation. Instead of increasing the ginger extracts, they would boost the nonalcoholic ingredients by adding the tasteless chemical compound TOCP. Unfortunately, it's anything but a perfect solution. It was later revealed that it was indeed toxic and harmful to people. It affected the central nervous system. WILDMAN: By the time the first reports of the illness begin to surface, Gross and Reisman have already made a fortune off their poisonous concoction. McMILLIAN: They show their lack of ethics when, very quickly, these reports start coming in of all these thousands of people who are afflicted. And knowing that, they sent out the last two barrels that they had, which ended up causing another 1,000 cases of paralysis. WILDMAN: Gross and Reisman are soon indicted by a federal grand jury. In spite of having caused tens of thousands of cases of paralysis and at least 10 deaths, the slippery businessmen manage to arrange a plea bargain. Harry Gross eventually serves two years in prison. Max Reisman never serves a day. But sadly, the legacy of their wicked scheme would last for years to come. McMILLIAN: For most people, it was a totally life-changing event. They were never able to work. WILDMAN: And this bottle of Jamaica Ginger, preserved at the Museum of the American Cocktail, serves as a dark reminder of the hidden cost of greed and neglect in Prohibition Era America. New London, Connecticut. This former whaling town is now the training ground for America's oldest lifesaving service, the U.S. Coast Guard. And located along the city's historic waterfront stands the United States Coast Guard Museum, home to more than 220 years of this institution's seafaring history. Bow figureheads, cannons, and lifeboats highlight the collection's seaworthy artifacts. But there is one object here that was never utilized on the open seas. GAUDIO: It's about 46 inches long. It's made from larch wood. And it's bent and shaped and held together with elk or caribou gut and sinew. WILDMAN: As museum curator Jen Gaudio can attest, this piece of winter footwear blazed more than just prints in the snow. GAUDIO: This artifact was used in one of the most famous and dangerous rescue missions in Coast Guard history. WILDMAN: In what death-defying operation did this snowshoe take part? And how did it lead to the creation of a military service? Early November 1897. Washington, D.C. In the first year of his presidency, William McKinley receives harrowing news from a whale ship that has just returned from the Arctic Circle. Eight commercial whaling vessels are trapped off the coast of Point Barrow, Alaska, America's northernmost city. For the 265 men aboard the ships, the outlook is bleak. GAUDIO: They are trapped in ice, and if they are not able to get rescued, these 265 men are going to starve to death. WILDMAN: President McKinley springs into action and calls on the U.S. Revenue Cutter Service, an armed maritime law-enforcement agency, to lead a rescue expedition. The plan is to sail up to the northern reaches of Alaska until the advancing ice pack blocks the boat from going any further, at which point a small team will continue overland for several hundred miles to Point Barrow. Most Arctic veterans doubt the chance of success, as the interior route across the tundra is a no-man's-land. The rescue is deemed so dangerous by the Revenue Cutter Service that they ask for volunteers only. WILDMAN: Among the willing is a daring and determined lieutenant looking to make a name for himself -- Ellsworth Bertholf. He was definitely very adventurous. He didn't seem to fall back from any challenge. WILDMAN: On November 27, 1897, Captain Francis Tuttle and the 13 other volunteers shove off from Seattle, Washington, aboard the Bear, a dependable craft built for sealing operations in icy waters. GAUDIO: The Bear was racing against the clock because they knew if they didn't make it quickly they would get stuck in the ice. WILDMAN: But this Bear can't outrun winter, and after covering only a few hundred miles, massive amounts of drift ice force them to make an early landfall. GAUDIO: They land at Cape Vancouver, which puts them at about 1,600 miles away from Point Barrow. So they know that it's going to be a serious trek across vast wilderness to get to these whalers. WILDMAN: Bertholf and several other determined sailors get to work preparing for the journey across the frozen tundra. They acquire dogs and sleds to pull their provisions along. Yet still, they face another dilemma. They knew they didn't have enough supplies to last them a winter, and so the decision was made to get a herd of domesticated reindeer. WILDMAN: More than 400 reindeer will serve as a food source for themselves and the trapped whalers, if there are any survivors. GAUDIO: When they bid farewell to the Bear, Bertholf says in his memoirs that he has no idea whether or not he's going to see any of his friends again. And they almost immediately wander into a snowstorm. WILDMAN: Navigation is nearly impossible. GAUDIO: You can't see a hand in front of your face at this point, and temperatures start dropping to almost negative-60 degrees below zero. WILDMAN: The crew battles frostbite and hypothermia. As the snows continue to pile up around them, the mission is in severe danger. The snow is so soft that the dogs and the sleds are not able to get through it. They actually start sinking into the snow. WILDMAN: As the caravan grinds to a halt, hundreds of lives hang in the balance. Will they make it in time? It's 1897. When eight whaling ships become trapped in ice in the northern reaches of Alaska, an intrepid crew of volunteer sailors embarks on a daring rescue. But deep into the mission, the treacherous conditions stop them dead in their tracks. Can the stranded and starving whalers be saved before it's too late? The Arctic snowfall is nearly burying the expedition alive. The sleds are so weighed down with supplies, and the dogs are sinking into the snow. They're not able to pull the sleds through the snow. WILDMAN: All hope seems lost until Lieutenant Ellsworth Bertholf realizes there is a way out. He straps on his snowshoes, now on display at the U.S. Coast Guard Museum, and with his courageous crew, tramps ahead of the dog teams to pack down the snow so they can pass. For 3 months and nearly 1,600 miles, they persevere like this. GAUDIO: They finally, on March 29th, catch sight of the whalers at Point Barrow. The captain is almost emaciated to the point of being a skeleton. There is rampant illness. They suffer from scurvy. A number of amputations that had to be done because of frostbite. WILDMAN: Despite the grueling conditions, every sailor, except for one, survives. For nearly six months, they subsist primarily on reindeer meat until the ice finally melts. On September 13, 1898, the Bear makes a triumphant return and the expedition is hailed as one of the most perilous rescue missions in maritime history. In honor of this unprecedented rescue attempt, President McKinley decided to create special medals for Bertholf and the other men of his expedition. Bertholf goes on to have an amazing career. He becomes Captain-Commandant of the Revenue Cutter Service. WILDMAN: Then, in 1914, he plays an instrumental role in establishing the U.S. Coast Guard. And today these snowshoes at the United States Coast Guard Museum remind visitors of the brave and determined men who once conquered the Arctic to save their fellow sailors. New York, New York. The over 8 million men, women, and children of this bustling metropolis are protected by the nation's largest and most storied police force, the NYPD. And housed in a 19th-century station house in downtown Manhattan, the New York City Police Museum celebrates the almost 170-year history of Gotham's finest. From the uniforms and saddles of the mounted police to more modern forms of transportation, law-enforcement artifacts spanning three centuries are on display. But according to author Peter Quinn, hidden deep in the archives is an item that speaks to one of the force's most mysterious cases. It's about 8 inches long, 6 inches wide. The police department of the city of New York printed up at least 100,000 of these. WILDMAN: This poster bearing the image of a well-groomed, middle-aged man was deployed during one of the most notable missing-person cases in NYPD history. It tells a haunting tale of intrigue, infidelity, and corruption. Who is the man that appears on this poster, and what was his fate? September 6, 1930. The NYPD fields a call from a frantic woman named Stella Crater. Her husband, the newly appointed New York State Supreme Court Justice Joseph Force Crater, is missing. She tells the police that the last time she saw him was on August 3rd at their summer home in Maine and that they were supposed to meet back in New York. QUINN: September 3rd, she finally comes back to New York, no Joe. So she becomes really worried. WILDMAN: The missing-persons squad immediately launches an investigation and begins the hunt for clues at the Crater apartment. QUINN: Nothing is out of place. All his clothes are there. No sign that he packed. There's no sign of any struggle. Everything is where it should be except the judge. WILDMAN: In their quest to find Crater, police print up thousands of these posters. And soon, the story of the missing political figure quickly grabs the public's attention. QUINN: This is the time when the tabloid newspapers have started. There are more reporters on the case than there are police. WILDMAN: While the apartment yields no clues, investigators soon gather enough information to piece together the judge's movements on the final day he was seen around town, August 6th. QUINN: The last day, he comes to the state Supreme Court in the morning. He calls his assistant, and he gives him two checks to cash for a total of about $5,000. WILDMAN: According to his assistant, Crater then placed the money in a satchel along with some papers and briskly left the office. That evening, he met friends for dinner at Billy Haas's Chophouse on West 45th Street near Times Square. QUINN: They don't notice anything unusual about him. He steps out into the street with them, he says, "Good night," and they are the last two people to ever see Joe Crater. WILDMAN: From there, the trail grows icy cold, and officials begin to worry that Crater could be the victim of foul play. But if so, who could be responsible for dispatching an esteemed judge? QUINN: There are two main theories, and they involve two of the oldest forces in human history, politics and sex. WILDMAN: Crater is a known member of the notoriously ruthless and corrupt New York political machine known as Tammany Hall. Police begin to wonder if Crater's unscrupulous political associates could be responsible for his disappearance. Maybe people were trying to get rid of him because he knew too much. WILDMAN: But no one in Tammany Hall is talking. And soon, investigators discover that politics may not be the main source of Crater's trouble. It's September 1930 in New York City. Respected State Supreme Court Justice Joseph Force Crater has vanished without a trace. Police begin to look into every aspect of his life, hoping to find an answer to the pressing question, what happened to Judge Crater? In the months following Crater's disappearance, his wife, Stella, begins to fear that he's been killed for political reasons. But then in January 1931, there's a break in the case when Stella Crater finds four envelopes in an old bureau drawer in the couple's apartment. QUINN: One with $6,000 cash, the other with insurance policies, a list of debts that people owe him, and then this note. WILDMAN: The note is a cryptic and hard-to-decipher message to Stella. QUINN: It says either, "I am very weary," or, "I am very sorry." It's hard to tell which one it says. WILDMAN: Stella confirms the writing as her husband's. The police are shocked by the discovery. When the bureau was searched immediately after his disappearance, the envelopes weren't there. And there's a further puzzling find. One envelope contains a check made out to Stella and dated three weeks after Crater was reported missing. The discoveries leave some wondering if the judge is still alive and has returned to the apartment. But why would Crater leave cash for his wife without making his presence known? QUINN: It throws this monkey wrench into the case. The case is already confusing enough, and now you have this new element in it that re-ignites the whole investigation. WILDMAN: All aspects of the judge's life receive added scrutiny. While to some he seemed happily married to his wife, Stella, Crater was known to lead a risque social life. QUINN: He was very involved with a number of women. He was calling women from his office. He was visiting showgirls at the theater. He was appearing in bars with them. He was a pretty infamous womanizer. WILDMAN: Could Crater have decided to run off with a showgirl only to return to his apartment to leave cash for his jilted wife? In the search for answers, investigators track down some of the judge's known paramours and social acquaintances, but none are able to provide insight as to where or with whom Crater may be. In the months that follow, people across the country report seeing the missing Justice. QUINN: People were seeing Crater here, there, Nashville, Alaska. He's like the Elvis of his time. WILDMAN: But none of the reports are ever substantiated. In 1939, Crater is declared legally dead, although his case, missing-person file number 13595, remains open for another 40 years. QUINN: Until they find the body, which I don't think they're ever gonna find, it's gonna remain a mystery. WILDMAN: And today the story of this controversial New Yorker is preserved at the New York City Police Museum where a small "missing" poster stands as a reminder of the bizarre and unexplained disappearance of Judge Joseph Force Crater. From a sinister Santa to a high-society killing, a toxic tonic to a daring Arctic rescue... I'm Don Wildman, and these are the mysteries at the museum.