The Daily Mirror

Los Angeles history

Pepe Arciga

1957_arciga_3 Aug. 26, 1957

In a recent issue of Variety, columnist Dave Kaufman sends off his piece with an opening paragraph sure to be an eye-catcher. It concerns racial prejudice and the way some writers are unsuccessfully trying to peddle their written wares on same -- to big business.

This is what Kaufman reports: "Racial prejudice is too strong a subject for television... Rod Serling, one of TV's top scripters, wrote a teleplay for U.S. Steel... He was ordered to dilute it.

"This year he wrote a similar story but changed it so that instead of Negroes, the yarn would revolve about Mexicans.

"It was designed for 'Playhouse 90' and producer Martin Manulis was enthusiastic about it... Not so the sponsors, all but one of them rejecting it."

Kaufman went on to explain Serling's holy displeasure because the story wasn't accepted. Reportedly, Serling is supposed to have remarked that it was a story of "prejudice as it exists," that "he was tired of fighting this" and -- bless his crusading soul -- "that he would let someone else do the fighting."

Personally, I'll go on record in saying that "Playhouse 90" is very admirable TV fare, certainly one of my top choices.

Of Serling, there can be no middle ground for discussion. He and Paddy Chayefsky lead the race a mile ahead.

But -- and this is where big business showed a big sense of values -- racial prejudice, whether "diluted" from Negroes to Mexicans or to Jews, or to Manchurians or what have you (if it is generally rampant at all), is not the kind of commodity one bandies around with a price tag. And hoping for the big slice.

If U.S. Steel declined to buy Serling's tale of prejudice for national showings in the quiet of, in the intimacy of, the American home, I, for one, cannot blame them. No, not in the least.

National television, in my way of thinking, cannot and should not be placed in the same category as hardcover book production, paperbacks or cheap pulps.

P.S. "Serling," concludes Kaufman, "did get paid for the story that won't be seen."

Here's a list of Serling's 10 scripts for "Playhouse 90," from the Serling archives at Ithaca College.

Continue reading »

Judith Mae Andersen


Photographs courtesy of the Chicago Tribune
Investigators examine the oil drum containing the remains of Judith Mae Andersen
that was found Aug. 22, 1957, in Lake Michigan.

Aug. 28, 1957

1957_0825_andersen_mug Seek and ye shall find, and so it is with the Judith Mae Andersen case. Delving into the archives of the Chicago Tribune revealed answers to some of my questions, but although the information brings certain details sharply into focus, others have been covered with a frustrating veil of shadows.

Judith, 15, disappeared about 11:15 p.m. on Aug. 16, 1957, after leaving the apartment of a girlfriend, Elena Abbatacola, 16, to walk home.  Boaters found a 55-gallon drum containing Judith's torso, minus the head, right arm and left hand, floating in the Montrose Harbor area of Lake Michigan on Aug. 22, 1957. A 5-gallon bucket containing the missing body parts was found in the harbor Aug. 24. The remains were in an advanced state of decomposition from being in the water and from being exposed to the hot sun as the metal containers floated in the lake.

Police failed to find anyone who definitely saw Judith after she left the Abbatacola home. Alleged sightings at other locations not on her route were eliminated by police.

The victim's family:

Judith lived in a house at 1520 N. Lotus Ave. with her parents, Ralph W. Andersen, 43, and Ruth A. Andersen, 44, and two of three brothers, Robert, 19; and James, 12. Her father, Ralph, was a foreman at a bookbinding firm, Robert O. Law Co., 2100 N. Natchez Ave., where her brother Robert was also employed. Her mother was a homemaker. Judith's oldest brother, Ralph C. Andersen, 21, was stationed in the Army in Virginia.

The victim:

The Tribune described Judith as 5 feet, 8 inches tall, weighing 150 pounds, with blond hair and blue eyes. She was active in athletics at Austin High School, according to her father. "She was helpful around the house, she was obedient and she was strong, much stronger than the average girl," Ralph C. Andersen said. She was "a swell gal," Robert Andersen said. She was confirmed on Palm Sunday 1954 at St. Peter Evangelical and Reformed Church, 5448 Diversey Ave.

Kenneth Blevins, who dated her, said Judith was "a girl with 'a good mind, serious, and with a pleasant personality and a sharp sense of humor.' "

Terry Johnson, one of Judith's close friends, said she and Judith often took rides with boys they met at the Dairy King Soft Freeze, a neighborhood snack bar (see below). Several times a week, they went riding with boys for an hour or so, Terry said.

She later defended Judith's reputation, saying that Judith "would never thumb rides with boys and she wouldn't get into cars with strangers. Neither of us would, nor ever did, those things." She added: "Only once can I remember Judy getting into a car with a boy she didn't know. I knew the boy and had to talk Judy into accepting the ride."

Although neighborhood boys were attracted to her, "Judy wasn't interested in them," Terry said. "The only time she wanted a boy was for a special occasion, like a dance." Terry said: "Judy was shy around boys."

1957_0831_trib_andersen_map The witness and her family:

Elena Abbatacola, 15, and Judith had been friends for some time and worked as telephone solicitors for a modeling company in downtown Chicago. Elena lived in the second-floor apartment of a two-story brick house at 1019 N. Central Ave.,  with her widowed mother, Mary, and six of her brothers: Leo, 30; Joseph, 27 or 28, a sheet metal worker; William, 23; Philip, 19 or 20; Nicholas/Nikolas/Nickolas/Nick, 18; and Robert, 14. John, 25, the owner of a neighborhood pizzeria, lived at 5427 Ohio St., with his wife.

According to the Tribune, Nick Abbatacola was constantly supervised  by the family after being convicted at the age of 15 of molesting a young boy who was a family friend. The Juvenile Court committed Nick to the Chicago State Hospital on April 12, 1955. He was discharged May 28, 1956, but had to check in periodically before receiving his final discharge May 25, 1957, the Tribune said. Nick once called the Andersen home and asked Judith for a date, her father said. "Judy refused him and she said he told her: 'Oh, you're falling for that sailor.' We didn't know the sailor [presumably Kenneth Blevins--lrh]," Ralph testified at the inquest.

John Abbatacola told the Tribune that he had been arrested in 1955 on charges of assaulting a man who "had been bothering Nicholas."

Judith was also friends with Linnea/Leanna "Terry" Johnson, 15, 1743 N. Luna Ave. Sometime after July 27, 1957, Terry introduced Judith to Kenneth Blevins, 18, 4447 Carroll Ave., who was on leave from the Norman, Okla., Naval Air Station, where he was learning aviation mechanics.

On one date, Kenneth and Judith played cards at Terry's house and made another date for Aug. 10, a Saturday. On their date, Judith, Kenneth and Terry walked to the Abbatacolas' pizzeria, 4753 Madison St. Terry left about 9 p.m. and Kenneth and Judith walked to a home near Kostner Avenue and Fulton Street where Elena was babysitting. Elena, Judith and Kenneth went to a drugstore at Madison Street and Pulaski Road and took a bus because it was raining. Elena got off at Augusta Boulevard while Kenneth and Judith got off at North Avenue and walked to Judith's home.

Kenneth and Judith talked on the porch, then he left. On Aug. 11, she saw him off at the railroad station before he returned to Oklahoma. Nancy O'Brien, 222 N. Kenneth Ave., whom he apparently also dated, was there as well. Kenneth said he kissed Judith goodbye.

On Aug. 15, Kenneth said, he got a call from Nancy asking whether he was going to marry her or Judith. He said he was going to marry Nancy. "After I hung up I changed my mind. So I wrote Elena and told her to tell Judy I didn't mean what I said," he told the Tribune. This incident was later reported to have occurred on the night Judith disappeared, but that appears to be an error.


Undetermined, presumably blue-collar, middle class and white. The Andersens moved in about 1954. Ralph C. Andersen and Robert Andersen said they weren't aware of any teenage gang activity but didn't know much about the area.

Victim's last known movements:

On the night she disappeared, Judith was wearing tan toreador trousers, a white sleeveless blouse, black sweater and white, flat-heeled summer shoes with no socks, the Tribune said. She was wearing a sterling silver chain and crucifix, and carrying an opaque yellow cigarette case and small blue wallet.

Before her remains were found, there was speculation that she might have gone to Oklahoma to visit Kenneth, but she did not take the $25 she had in the bank and left $5 on the dresser in her room. According to Elena, Judith had 15 cents on the night she disappeared.



Judith's usual route home, according to Elena, was: Leave 1019 N. Central Ave., walk north and turn right on Le Moyne Avenue, walk east until reaching an alley behind the homes on North Lotus Avenue and walk up the alley to reach her home at 1520 N. Lotus Ave. Elena said that she usually walked partway home with Judith but did not do so on the night Judith vanished. Ralph said he often warned Judith not to use the alley.

On the day Judith vanished, Elena met her about noon after getting out of summer school classes at Austin High. Nick Abbatacola picked them up in his blue 1953 Dodge sedan and drove them to the home of an aunt who lived on Huron Street. They dropped Judith back at home about 3 p.m.

After eating dinner and getting dressed to go out, Judith left home about 6:55 p.m. and arrived at the Abbatacola home about 7:15 p.m. About 7:30 p.m. Judith and Elena visited the Dairy King Soft Freeze stand, 5756 North Ave., owned by the Blandi family. They had a soft drink and played records.

[According to Josephine Blandi and her grandmother Anna Alfano, 2314 W. 75th St., Elmwood Park, Elena and Judith were at the Dairy King about 7 p.m. with a group of teenagers. "They had a soft drink and went outside and sat on some refuse containers in the rear until Mrs. Alfano told them not to loiter there," the Tribune said.

[Josephine said Judith and Elena returned to the Dairy King about 9:30 p.m. with Nick Abbatacola, who was driving his 1953 Dodge. Josephine said Judith, Elena and Nick stayed until the Dairy King closed at 10:15 p.m., but didn't notice if they left together. Elena later disputed this story.]

Elena said she and Judith returned to the Abbatacola home about 8:30 p.m. or 8:45 p.m., according to the Tribune, after stopping at a grocery store to buy potato chips and ginger ale.

Except for Elena and Robert, the rest of the Abbatacolas were out of the home. Elena's mother, Mary, was at the pizzeria owned by Elena's brother John. John said Nick was also at the pizzeria that night until early the next morning. Nick said he was at the pizzeria from 4 p.m. on Aug. 16, to 4 a.m. on Aug. 17.

At 10 p.m., Elena and Judith began watching a movie on TV (either "Stallion Road" on WGN-TV Channel 9, which ended at 11:30 p.m.; or "Secret Agent of Japan" on WBKB-TV Channel 7, which ended at 11:45 p.m.). A month after the killing, the paper disclosed that three of Robert's friends had also been present that night: Eugene Todd, 14; Ralph Scumacci, 13; and Frank Sciliano, 14. The three boys said Judith made a somewhat clandestine phone call during a commercial about 10:15 p.m., but Elena said this wasn't true. The three boys left the Abbatacola home about 10:30 p.m.

[In some reports, Judith supposedly asked if she could make a long-distance call to Kenneth, but was told she couldn't.]

At 10:45 p.m., Leo Abbatacola arrived at the home and went to bed.

According to the Andersens, Terry Johnson called about 10:50 p.m. to talk to Judith, but she wasn't home.

Judith called her mother at 11 p.m. to see if she could stay until the movie ended but was told no. She left the Abbatacola home about 11:15 p.m. and was never seen again. Before she left, she made plans with Elena to accompany her and Nick to the dealership where Nick bought his car.

At 11:45p.m.-11:50 p.m., Judith's father, Ralph, began calling the Abbatacola home to check on Judith, but got no answer.

"I got my son's car and rushed over there then because we couldn't understand the silence," he said at the inquest. "I rang the bell. This is a two-story brick house. The Abbatacolas live on the top story. I could see lights on up there. I knew the bell rang up there in their hall because I could hear it.

"Nobody answered. I couldn't hear a sound or movement."

Ralph returned home about midnight. At 12:02 a.m., Ruth called the pizzeria and talked to Mary.

"Mrs. Abbatacola told us Elena was at home and sound asleep. We told her we had been to the house, had seen lights, rang the doorbell.

"Mrs. Abbatacola told us Elena was a heavy sleeper and couldn't be wakened by the phone. She said it was so late she wouldn't answer the doorbell either. We hung up and phoned another girl, a friend of Judy, [this would be Terry--lrh] in hopes that she might know where our daughter might be. By now it must have been 2 or 2:30 a.m.," Ralph testified.

Ralph continued calling the Abbatacola home, but go no answer at 12:15 a.m. or 12:30 a.m.

Mary Abbatacola arrived home about 1:30 a.m.

Ralph called the Abbatacola home at 2:30 a.m. and talked to Mary, who awakened Elena. Elena said Judith left about 11:15 p.m.

"We called back to the Abbatacola home. We asked for Elena and were told she was asleep. I demanded they get her up so I could talk to her," Ralph testified. Elena told him Judith left after calling her parents. Elena said she offered to walk partway home with Judith, but Judith said: "Oh, never mind. It's late. I'll jump on a bus. I'll call you tomorrow about noon." [Recall that she supposedly had 15 cents--lrh].

At 3:25 a.m., Ralph contacted the Austin police station to report Judith missing.


About 11:45 p.m. on Saturday, Aug. 17, 1957, Edwin Thomas, 53, and his wife were fishing on the east pier of the harbor. "A car drove down the gravel road from Montrose Avenue alongside the harbor," Thomas said. "It stopped about a block from us, across the harbor, made a U-turn and then stopped a few feet from the harbor edge, on the grass which borders the drive.

    "Someone wearing a light shirt got out of the car and flashed a flashlight back and forth along the seawall for four or five minutes. Then the car drove away."

    "About half an hour later, he said, another car or possibly the same car came back down the drive. The car stopped at the same place, then backed up toward the harbor. Thomas and his wife saw the rear lights blinking off and on as the driver applied the brakes.

    " 'We heard two big splashes and we thought some people from the car had dived into the lake,' said Thomas, 'but then the car door slammed and the car took off in a great burst of speed.'

    "As the auto passed near a streetlight, they observed that it was either a hard top or a convertible with a light colored canvas top."

1957_0827_drums Boaters discovered the oil drum Aug. 22, 1957. The remains were originally identified as belonging to a victim in her early 20s, perhaps younger. On Aug. 24, 1957, searchers saw a 5-gallon bucket about one foot from shore. It contained the head, right arm and left hand.

Judith was identified by matching a fingerprint from a religious picture in her room (described on the Internet as an image of Jesus) with the victim's left index finger. Her dentist, Dr. Mitchell Juliussen, compared Judith's dental X-rays with the victim's teeth and also made the identification. Hair from Judith's comb was matched to the body, and nail polish found in her room was matched to nail polish on the victim's toes.

The gunshots:

Judith was shot in the head four times with a .32-caliber revolver. Two bullets went into the brain while one entered the back of her neck and the other was in her left jaw. News accounts report powder burns around one of the bullet wounds. The Tribune says that one of the nonfatal bullets split into two pieces, leading investigators to think that there were five bullets. Only three entry wounds could be found for the four shots, but the paper said the body's condition might have obscured one of the entry wounds. According to the coroner's report, death was instantaneous.

Several news accounts say the killer used "old ammunition" and speculate that two of the bullets failed to penetrate Judith's skull because the gunpowder had degraded due to age.


Medical examiners looked for material under her fingernails but did not find anything useful, the Tribune said.

Stomach contents:

No solid food was found in Judith's stomach. Analysis of material in her lower digestive tract found traces of peach and plum skins, potato remnants, fish, peas and wheat--probably from a piece of chocolate cake, the Tribune said. Time of death was fixed at roughly 12 hours after her last meal, which was at 6 p.m.

Decomposition prevented any determination of whether she had been poisoned or drugged. There was no evidence of alcohol.

Bruises, scrapes and other injuries:

No evidence of hemorrhages was found. Medical examiners found no signs of a struggle and no evidence that she had been sexually molested.


Examiners said the dismemberment was not done skillfully and was "the work of an amateur without any knowledge of anatomy." The killer apparently used a sharp knife, a saw and possibly an ax. Examiners said it would take one to two hours for a lone individual to cut up the body in this manner.

1957_0921_trib_andersen_can The metal containers:

According to the Tribune, the larger drum, containing the torso, originally "had been 36 inches high but the top one-third of the drum had been cut off with a torch and the rough edge folded over about 3/8 of an inch. The drum apparently had been used as a waste receptacle in some factory or office.

"The killer apparently had cut several vertical slits down from the top of the drum to a depth of six or seven inches, apparently by using a chisel and hammer. After the torso was placed in the drum, the cover was forced down on top of the torso and held in place by bending over the sides of the drum."

The Tribune later reported that the drum smelled of kerosene or fuel oil and showed traces of body tissue, rust, iron and sand. It had been "reconditioned," detectives said. It was cut down using heavy shears rather than a cold chisel, detectives said later.

Still later, the Tribune said the drum was cut down to a height of 28 inches and was 22 inches in diameter. It was marked "STC" in 2-inch letters and "SNP" and "188548" in letters and figures 1 inch high.

Junk dealers said that scrapyards packing metal for shipment overseas often used old drums and sealed them in the manner used by Judith's killer. "Not one person in a thousand would think of packing something like that," said a manager for one of Chicago's biggest refiners and smelters. Drums of scrap metal being shipped domestically were typically sealed with a piece of burlap secured with a wire. Only drums of scrap metal being sent overseas were sealed by pounding the sides over the top to secure the lid.

Police learned that railroad workers sometimes used such cut-down drums as tool containers. The method was also used by servicemen in the Pacific during World War II, one crime lab investigator said.

Investigators eventually revealed that the drum had contained lard oil, often used as a lubricant and coolant in machine shops--for example, in cutting stainless steel--as well as in making typewriter ribbons and carbon paper.

The drum had been used once for regular oil, then refilled with lard oil and sold between 1949 and 1951. Judging by residue on the interior of the drum, it had been stored on its side and drained of oil at regular intervals, about 5 to 10 gallons every six to 12 months, police said. It was probably emptied about 1956 and upended, but never cleaned out. Investigators speculated that because the oil was drained infrequently, the drum was used in a small machine shop.

Still later, the Tribune reconstructed the method used to cut down the drum:

"He set the drum on its side and took a hatchet with a curved blade,  like a Boy Scout hatchet. The drum had two reinforcing ribs circling it, a third of the way from each end. He held the hatchet along one of the ribs and struck it with a hammer to make a starting cut."

However, the killer swapped ends after noticing that cutting the drum in that spot would leave a drain hole in the remaining container, so he switched ends and began cutting again.

He "sliced into it, rapidly working his way around to sever the one-third section,"  the Tribune said. [He apparently cut away a ring of  metal about 10 to 12 inches high and 22 inches in diameter--lrh]. His next task was cut down the lid so that it would fit inside the rim of the drum. "He held a cold chisel with a 1-inch blade in his left hand along the top and struck it with the hammer. At the end of this cut he made another, and so on around the top of the drum until it fell down through its cylinder. He worked with great precision, the cuts occasionally overlapping by no more than an eighth of an inch. He knew how to use a chisel and he knew how to cut a drum. It probably took him only about 15 minutes.

"His final work on the drum was to start five slashes in the sides with a hacksaw. Then he hacked the slashes 6 to 9 1/2 inches  inches deep to make the side flaps." Steel dust from the hacksaw was found stuck to the inside of the drum, showing that the body had already been placed inside, the Tribune said.

The killer put the lid inside the drum, hammered down the sides and pounded them tight with the rounded end of a hammer. When he was finished, the drum was 23 1/2 inches high, 22 1/4 inches in diameter and weighed more than 150 pounds.

1957_0825_andersen_pix2 The metal bucket containing the head, hands and one arm was "16 inches high and a bit more than a foot in diameter," the paper said. "This also had been slit, apparently with a chisel, and the edges folded over to hold the cover in place."

According to the Tribune, the bucket contained "traces of calcium carbonate and calcium silicate phosphate."

The bucket was marked En-Ar-Co Motor Oil, National Refining Co., Cleveland, Ohio, and was of a type that had not been manufactured in about 10 years. Police said the bucket was so unusual that they could not find another one to show to potential witnesses.

The Tribune later said that the killer made four slashes in the side of the bucket, about 4 to 5 3/4 inches long without using the hacksaw. There was no lid, so he pounded down the flaps over the head, arm and hand, the Tribune said.

The investigation:

The neighborhood was searched and officers interviewed all residents along Judith's presumed route home. An address book was found in Judith's room and police interviewed everyone who was listed. Hundreds of officers were assigned to the search and skin divers minutely examined Montrose Harbor.

The Chicago police placed unwavering belief in polygraph tests and gave them to everyone involved in this case. According to the Tribune, Joseph Abbatacola "failed to clear the lie detector test on 'repeat questions' " regarding his movements on Aug. 16, 1957. Joseph said he was installing air-conditioning ductwork at the First National Bank, 35 S. Dearborn. When he got off work about 10 p.m. or 11 p.m., Joseph borrowed the 1957 Ford belonging to his brother Philip and "made a round of taverns, arriving at the family home at 2 p.m.," the Tribune said. Joseph was eventually cleared, the Tribune said, by a later polygraph exam.

Two detectives went to a mostly deserted part of the Chicago and North Western railway yards between Erie and Ohio streets near Kenton Avenue. One fired two pistol shots into a sandpit while the other reported that from 200 feet away, the shots were barely audible. However, someone heard the shots reported them to police.


While conducting this test, the detectives also noted a number of oil drums that had been cut down in a manner similar to the one containing the body and had officers investigate the railroad right of way.

Police investigated 109,000 homes, 200 boats and searched 40,000 to 50,0000 garages and basements. Police checked 900 businesses, including 225 machine shops, that bought lard oil.

And of course there were the all-too-predictable crank calls and hoax letters.

In 1958, after police questioned and eliminated many potential suspects, attention focused on a construction worker whose mother was employed by the modeling agency where Elena and Judith had worked as telephone solicitors. The Chicago police went to extraordinary lengths and placed incredible pressure on this individual and his parents to gain a confession but were never successful. He was convicted of sexual assault in another case and served prison time in Joliet.

Records of the inquest were sealed in 1961. By that time the Abbatacolas had moved to California, the Tribune said.

Judith Mae Andersen's remains were cremated. Her mother died in 2005 at the age of 91. Her father and oldest brother passed away some years earlier.

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Windy City

"The average Chicago night produces many apparent screams and shots, which turn out to be of the harmless variety."

Chicago Tribune, Sept. 2, 1957

Cold case

Aug. 28, 1957


To be continued....

Cold case



Aug. 25, 1957

1957_0825_andersen_portrait Chicago police recovered the torso from a battered, cut-down 55-gallon drum floating in Lake Michigan. A 5-gallon metal bucket containing the head, hands and one arm were found in the lake two days later. The victim had been shot in the head at least once, maybe four times. It's difficult to tell from news accounts.

Given the location--Chicago--and the advanced method of disposal--victim shot in the head (apparently with a .32-caliber pistol), dismembered, put into metal drums and dumped in Lake Michigan, you might assume that the subject was a low-level mobster. You would be wrong. She was 15-year-old Judith Mae Andersen, who disappeared late one Friday night, Aug. 16, 1957, while walking home from visiting a girlfriend.

This unsolved killing is what Sherlock Holmes would have called a three-pipe problem. Unfortunately, the news reports don't help and in fact hinder the dedicated and impartial inquirer. For at least the last 20 years, police and news reports have focused exclusively on an individual who has never been charged and may have no link to the killing.

The facts in the case are depressingly few and incredibly tragic.

1957_0825_map On the night of Aug. 16, 1957, Judith Mae Andersen, 15, was supposedly watching TV at the home of Elena Abbatacola, 1019 N. Central Avenue. Judith was the only daughter of Ralph W. and Ruth A. Andersen, who also had three sons, and lived at 1520 N. Lotus Ave. She was about to enter her junior year at Austin High School. Because she was identified through fingerprints recovered from a picture of Jesus in her room, we can infer that she had no police record and that she was at least somewhat religious.

About 11 p.m., Judith called her mother to say that she and her friend were watching a movie on TV and asked to stay until it was over.

Her mother said no, so Judith began walking home, a distance of 0.8 of a mile. She never arrived.


On Aug. 22, a cut-down 55-gallon drum containing a torso was found at Montrose Harbor. Two days later, the head, hands and an arm were found in a 5-gallon bucket recovered from the same area.

1957_0825_andersen_pix2 According to The Times, despite the fingerprint evidence, Judith's father, Ralph, refused to believe that the victim was his daughter because the body did not bear traces of a smallpox vaccination on her left arm.

The killing touched off a massive investigation involving large numbers of detectives. Many people called in tips (there were various reports of people hearing shots and screams) but nothing ever proved to be conclusive and the case went into hibernation for lack of leads. Attention eventually focused on a convicted sex criminal identified in 1987 and 1991 articles in the Chicago Tribune. However a recent story in the Tribune withholds the man's identity. He was never charged in the case.

In googling this killing, I discovered a website devoted to the case. It's prudent to be extremely skeptical of websites devoted to actual crimes, so I'm going to limit myself to what appear to be accounts from the original investigation.

According to a 1957 news account, on the night Judith disappeared, she visited the home of Nancy O'Brien, 222 N. Kenneth Ave. According to the Chicago Sun-Times, Nancy and Judith had been dating a sailor named  Kenneth Blevins stationed at the Norman, Okla., Naval Air Station while he was on leave in Chicago. Nancy said she and Kenneth were going to get married and called Kenneth in Oklahoma to prove it. Kenneth told them that he loved Nancy but told the Sun-Times that he loved Judith.

In attempting to reconstruct her last day, newspapers also found that Judith was at the Dairy Bar, 5156 W. North Ave, but accounts of her visits are conflicting and problematic.

Judith's father supposedly called the Abbatacolas to check on Judith when she failed to come home. When no one answered, he went to the house, but no one came to the door--at least according to an unverified account on the Internet. He supposedly searched the neighborhood without success and finally roused someone at the Abbatacola household at 2:30 a.m. He was allegedly told that Judith planned to take the bus home.

According to testimony at the inquest, Elena Abbatacola contacted three boys after Judith's disappearance and told them not to reveal that they spent the evening together.

1957_0825_andersen_detective All right, armchair sleuths (especially those of you living in Chicago--you know who you are), I expect some help. Let me preface this by emphasizing that superficially, at least, this seems to be an extremely elaborate disposal.

(At right, Detective James Hennigan, who is assigned to the case, with some of the files on the investigation).

Here's what the killer has to do:

He (and I'm going to assume this was a man--maybe two) must get control of a 15-year-old girl, shoot her in the head several times, find a location where he can safely cut up the body, dispose of the blood, put the remains in two metal drums, seal or close the drums, load them into a vehicle, drive to Lake Michigan and dump them in Montrose Harbor. All without getting caught. And I would say that the killer must have had a good reason for going to all of that trouble instead of simply driving out to rural DuPage County and throwing the victim in a culvert.

Here's a few of the things we don't know. (Keep in mind that the remains had been in the water for about a week, so presumably some questions can't be answered, for example, whether she was sexually assaulted or had suffered any injuries other than being shot).

For starters:

  • What kind of firearm was used in the killing? Forensics should be able to tell us not only the caliber but identify the brand of handgun used in the slaying. One news account says the gun was a .32-caliber revolver.
  • Where was she shot? News accounts say she was hit one to four times in the head, once in the temple. Why shoot someone four times in the head when once should do the job?
  • What kind of implement was used to dismember her?
  • How skillfully was she dismembered? Was it amateurish and clumsy or well-executed?
  • We know the original investigators tried to determine the origin of the two metal drums. Where did they come from?  How was the 55-gallon drum cut down? With a welding torch? How were they sealed to keep the remains from escaping?

We may not know the killer's identity, but we can be certain he had a gun and a vehicle, and because of the elaborate disposal we can probably rule out somebody acting on the spur of the moment who suddenly finds himself with a dead teenager on his hands. It is also reasonable to assume that the killer was familiar with Montrose Harbor and knew he could dump two drums in the water without being caught. I would also imagine he's either fairly strong to be able to lift the drums in and out of a car with a big trunk (or maybe he had a truck)--or perhaps he had help.

Frankly, this killing seems quite professional and if the victim were a 30-year-old man instead of a 15-year-old girl, I would suspect an execution by someone in organized crime. The fact that nobody has ever come forward with information might again argue for a link to organized crime. But it's absurd and irresponsible to speculate with so little information.

The tragedy, of course, is that there is no resolution to what became of Judith Mae Andersen. Maybe at this late date, someone will come forward and provide some answers.

Photographs courtesy of the Chicago Tribune

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Paul V. Coates--Confidential File

Paul_coates Aug. 24, 1957

There are two basic rules for pretty girls who wish to set Hollywood on its pink, shell-like ear.

The first is to meet the right people.

This one has nothing to do with me, so I'll dismiss it.

The second is to get their names in the columns.

And here, I'm directly concerned. Because I -- like certain other people in town -- am a columnist. I, in a manner of speaking, write.

Adjectives, verbs, nouns --I've got a basket of 'em.

Struggling young starlets (or their struggling young press agents) begin lining the hallway in front of my office door every morning at dawn -- each with some fantastic personal experience which happened to them, personally, which is really true and which they made up on the way over from Schwab's.

They come in bath towels, bikinis, serapes and/or motorcycle boots. Anything to stand out from the mob.

As they're ushered in, one by one they tell me of their fights with octopi, their subjugation into white slavery, their secret uranium mines.

1960_0113_ghost I listen, intensity written all over my kindly face.

I agree 100% that theirs are stories that should be known.

"But," I add sorrowfully, "it's just not quite my type of story.

"Now the man who'd really appreciate a scoop like yours is Matt Weinstock."

Dutifully, they thank me.

And move along toward Weinstock's office.

With the exception, that is, of the 50% whom he referred to me.

They insert, I've been told, a Mexico angle and go see Pepe Arciga.

Except for the 50% whom HE referred to me.

It's a nice, time-devouring game.

But every now and then you run into an aspiring starlet who throws the whole operation out of kilter.

Like yesterday.

When Sanita Pelkey walked in.

She was a tall, healthy-looking girl -- dressed modestly in boxer's trunks and a sweatshirt labeled, if memory serves me, "Property of the Beverly-Wilshire Health Club."

She smiled, graciously, and I smiled. Graciously. "Your story?" I asked. "What happened to you?"

She looked at me blankly. "Me? Nothing. Yet."


"Yet! I'm here," she said, "to break into Hollywood."

I nodded. "Break, then."

She laughed, stiltedly, like she wished it had been a funny remark so she could have laughed naturally.

"I've been told," she said, "that it helps to get your name in the columns. That's why I'm here."

"The man you should see..."

"I was Miss New York in the Mrs.--excuse me--Miss Universe contest. Semifinalist. I went home afterward, but decided to come back and..."

"is a chap named..." I interrupted.

But she interrupted right back. "I like dancing, swimming, ice skating, acting. Maybe I should put acting first. More diplomatic."

"Weinstock," I said. "Matt Wein..."

"I've also worked the Town and Country -- that's the largest nightclub in Brooklyn -- the Ice Review, Guy Lombardo's Arabian Nights at Jones Beach..."

"Weinstock is a personal friend..."

"And I don't believe all those rumors about a career and marriage not working out. It depends on the individual. If I find the right man I wouldn't hesitate..."

"of mine," I continued doggedly.

"Besides which, I've won 13 other titles. Miss Potato Salad, Miss Jet Age, Miss Stetson Hat, Miss Smiles, Miss Fluidless Contact Lens..."

She took a deep breath and went on.

"I was once Miss Salami..."

"Were you the one?" I asked.

"Sanita nodded. "They gave me a Kosher salami as a prize. About three feet long.

"That," she added, "ought to make a good story for you. Write it up."

[Note: "Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow," one of Sanita Pelkey's few screen appearances.]

Kiss and Tell



Aug. 24, 1957
Los Angeles

And where does our favorite scandal magazine get such high-quality dirt?  (Oh, I know, people only read it at the beauty parlor and the barbershop). It turns out that in Hollywood, money will unseal lips that are locked tightly--at least when it comes to the printed word if nothing else.

The reasons: Payback (mostly) and publicity (occasionally). The canceled checks tell the tale.

Let's turn to one of my favorite issues, March 1957. That was the saucy little number with the story about Maureen O'Hara's tryst at Grauman's --except she was out of the country at the time.

Confidential_1957_03_turner01_2 The March 1957 issue also has the jaunty tale of the night a humble bartender pitched a double-header to Lana Turner and Ava Gardner. Turns out that the gals weren't keeping score as the game went into extra innings--but Donald L. Bledsoe certainly was.

Canceled checks written by Hollywood Research Inc. and introduced as evidence in the Confidential magazine trial showed that Bledsoe was paid $1,000 ($7,165.28 USD 2006) to report his earned run average from the encounter.

The checks also showed:

  • Robert Tuton, the maitre d' at a Hollywood cafe, received $750, plus a loan of $100, to confirm information "about his affair with Joan Crawford." Tuton also recruited Stella Shouel, an ex-prostitute who was a prolific source of information, including stories on Dan Dailey, Walter Pidgeon, Fredric March and Dane Clark, the Mirror said.
  • Jane Cameron was paid $500 for information she learned as a nanny at the home of Dean Martin's ex-wife.
  • 1950_shouel
  • Allan Nixon received $300 for material on ex-wife Marie Wilson and several other people.
  • Vera Frances was paid $250 for a story about her affair with John Jacob Astor and another $250 for an article about Edward G. Robinson.
  • In addition to being paid for information on Donald O'Connor and Mickey Rooney, former jockey William Chaney received a capper's fee for introducing two more informants, one of whom was Gloria Wellman. The estranged daughter of Hollywood director William Wellman was paid $300 for information on a nude pool party at the home of John Carroll.
  • Interior decorator Paul Corday received $300 for information on Denice Darcel, a  now forgotten actress who appeared in  "Dangerous When Wet" and  "Flame of Calcutta."
  • Press agent Bruce Jones got $500 for information on a story about Lex Barker. Jones said he represented a starlet who needed the publicity. Apparently this was Jeanne Carmen, who appeared with Barker in "War Drums"  and was featured in the July 1957 article: "The Gal Who Had Lex Barker Up a Tree."

Bonus facts:

In 1950-51, Shouel appeared in a series of stories about her legal fight to regain custody of a daughter, Nancy Ann, whom she put up for adoption. Identified as a TV singer and model, Shouel attempted suicide during the litigation against adoptive parents Harry and Beverly Jo Levy, who eventually conceded to return the girl. Shouel died Dec. 22, 1962. She was 33.

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The plight of the 'manless woman'


A light in the window


Aug. 23, 1957
Los Angeles

Sandra O'Hara, 11, was sent to live with her mother when her parents divorced and apparently preferred to live with her father, Martin.

So they devised a plan. The next time Sandra's mother, Veda, 30, had a male visitor, Sandra would put a light in the window so Martin would know to come barging in and prove that Veda was an unfit mother.

On a recent evening, Sandra put the light in the window and Martin discovered Veda entertaining William Griffith, 30. Inquiries revealed that Griffith was married and the father of four children, The Times said.

Martin accused his wife of being an alcoholic and punishing Sandra for no reason. Superior Court Commissioner C. Clinton Clad continued the case because Veda was too upset to testify, but The Times never followed up on the matter so we don't know how it was resolved.

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Grace Paley--review and interview

Here is an interview with the late Grace Paley by Elizabeth Mehren and Carolyn See's review of Paley's "Later the Same Day." Paley died Wednesday at the age of 84.

Interview, May 22, 1985, Part 1


Review, May 19, 1985, Part 1


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Fuzzy Pink Nightgown



Aug. 23, 1957
Los Angeles

Bad things happen when two men (Ralph Meeker and Keenan Wynn) abduct a movie star (Jane Russell). It turns out that her upcoming film is "The Kidnapped Bride" and everyone--including the studio and the alleged victim--assume that the kidnapping is a publicity stunt.

Well, it must have sounded great as a 30-second pitch. Although the film was released with high hopes and a publicity campaign that included a young woman roaming Los Angeles wearing nothing but a--you guessed it--"The Fuzzy Pink NIghtgown" languishes in obscurity today--in fact it was Russell's last movie appearance of the 1950s.

More to the point, however, is that a copy of Sylvia Tate's novel--on which the movie was based--was found in the Encino home of actress Marie "The Body" McDonald after she reported that she had been kidnapped by two men. Police Chief William H. Parker, in fact, was so intrigued by the similarities between the novel and McDonald's story that he read the entire book.



For example, the movie star in "The Fuzzy Pink Nightgown" is kidnapped when she is sent to a delicatessen to get some turkey sandwiches--the same story McDonald told police, The Times said.

Parked noted that the similarities "don't prove anything," but he wanted McDonald to explain the discrepancies between her various versions of the kidnapping. The LAPD even wanted to give her a polygraph test, but her attorney, Jerry Giesler, said the request was insulting and advised her not to take it.

On Jan. 4, 1957, McDonald was found in Indio wearing pajamas and a housecoat and claimed that she had been kidnapped by "two swarthy men" who broke into her home at 17031 Magnolia Blvd.*  Police were immediately suspicious of her story. In the first 15 hours that she was supposedly kidnapped, she placed three calls to friends and none to the police, The Times said. Some words of her alleged abduction note were clipped from newspapers found in her fireplace, the crime lab discovered.

Her ex-husband Harry Karl, better known as "Karl the Shoe Man," doubted the story and told The Times that McDonald "was not a well woman" and had behaved eccentrically. Karl also said McDonald was a "ready fighter" and insisted that anyone who tried to carry her off against her will would have "a lively struggle," The Times said. 

In fact, McDonald at one point accused Karl of arranging the abduction but later admitted she made up that part of the story. After an inconclusive grand jury investigation, the matter was dropped. She died of what was apparently an accidental drug overdose Oct. 21, 1965, at the age of 42.

Read my post on McDonald from the 1947project.

Perhaps the biggest mystery of all is what became of Sylvia Tate. Aside from writing the story for the 1950 film "Woman on the Run," she seems to have vanished without a trace.

*(You're wondering about her being sent out to get turkey sandwiches. So am I).

Bonus fact: According to The Times, shortly before she was kidnapped, McDonald was reading Meyer Levin's "Compulsion," a fictionalized account of the Loeb-Leopold case.

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Paul V. Coates--Confidential File

Paul_coates_2 Aug. 22, 1957

Desmond Slattery--actor, naturalist, man-about Googies--paid his annual visit to my plush offices yesterday.

And, of course, I'm glad he did. Because it means that he won't be around for another 11 months or so.

But don't get me wrong.

Personally, I have nothing against this fast-talking, nerve-racking gentleman. He's really quite charming.

It's just his weird involvement with animals that frightens me.

He first came to my attention by conning me into writing a story that he owned the only Irish wolfhound in Los Angeles.

The day the column appeared, dozens of irate Irish wolfhound owners phoned in their protests.

Another time he sold me on an utterly ridiculous story about his car being attacked by a Jersey cow.

And a year ago, Desmond came by to inform me that he had gone into the firefly business. He claimed to have 15,000 fireflies at Knott's Berry Farm, in crates.

That, of course, was just too much. I tossed him out of the office and dismissed him from my mind as a hopeless liar.

1956_0707 But curiosity gnawed at me. Finally, I couldn't resist calling Knott's Berry Farm.

"Did a man named Desmond Slattery leave 15,000 fireflies with you?" I asked, half-apologetically.

"Yes," an exasperated voice replied, "and we wish he'd come and get them. We don't know what to do with them."

So when he came in yesterday, I treated him with a new respect.

Immediately, without speaking, he plucked a black object from his necktie and placed it on my desk. He chuckled, hoarsely. "Looks like a tie-pin, doesn't it?"

I backed away in terror as the tie-pin began to walk toward me. "It's alive!" I cried.

"Certainly," he replied.

Then he added, "It's a cricket. One month old today. And in my bathroom are 2,000 more."

"Wonderful, Slattery. Hadn't you ought to get back..."

"My goal," he interrupted, "is to take the cricket off the street and put him in the home where he belongs."

I remained a safe distance from my desk. And picked up a bookend.

But Slattery only smiled. "Bad luck to kill them. For centuries they've been good-luck symbols. And I'm the only licensed cricket-raiser in the country."

His insect began a slow crawl toward tomorrow's Mash Notes [Coates' name for his columns of readers' letters].

Again, he smiled. "How about that? And only a month old. I think--before you become a skeptic--I should tell you that I've already sold 10,000 of them in California alone. Wonderful pets. Anyone who wants luck wants a cricket."

"People don't actually buy them" I challenged.

"Complete with imported cages--small, medium and large. In three weeks I'm leaving for the Orient to build up a pattern of production to supply a national market."'

He was grinning. "Already they're calling me 'Slattery, the Cricket King.'

"Anything a man can get a monopoly on, he can make a fortune on. I control the crickets and so far I control the cages. If somebody else tries to import cages, he'll need crickets. He'll have to come to me.

"And," he added on a note of triumph, "I won't sell them to him!"

The flaw was obvious. "And what," I asked, "if he goes off into the fields and collects his own crickets?"

"Wild ones? Sell wild crickets?"

He had me there.

"It's foolproof," he persisted. "I have taken--you should excuse me--the bugs out of it."

As the man stepped forward to recover his crawling pet, my mind was idly plotting devices by which I might drop "my old Cricket King friend Des Slattery" into future Hollywood party conversations.

But then it happened.

The insect leapt happily toward its master. It misjudged the distance.

And a pleasant crackle sounded from under Slattery's left shoe.

I smiled, sympathetically.

"Bad luck, eh Slattery?" I purred.