Deep Dive
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Due to the nature of this story, listener discretion is advised. This episode includes discussions of substance abuse, murder, harm against minors, sexual abuse of minors, and suicide. Consider this when deciding how and when you'll listen. Every October, the town of Circleville, Ohio hosts an annual pumpkin show. It's one of the biggest events of the year.
84-year-old Bob Liggett and his wife Jo recently placed first, setting a new state record with a pumpkin weighing over 2,300 pounds. Which is to say, Circleville, Ohio is exactly what you might expect: a bit of wholesome Midwestern Americana. But sometimes, even the quaintest towns can harbor dark secrets.
More than four decades ago, mysterious anonymous letters arrived in residents' mailboxes. One of the first was addressed to a local school bus driver named Mary Gillespie. It read: "I know where you live. I've been observing your house and know you have children. This is no joke. Please, take it serious." This is the story of the Circleville Letters.
I'm Carter Roy, and you're listening to Conspiracy Theories, a Spotify podcast. Episodes release Wednesdays. Be sure to check us out on Instagram at TheConspiracyPod. And we would love to hear from you. So if you're listening on the Spotify app, swipe up and give us your thoughts. Stay with us.
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- Hello there, I'm Mike Flanagan, and welcome to Spectre Vision Radio's production of "Director's Commentary." "Director's Commentary" is a deep dive into a film through the eyes of the filmmaker or filmmakers who made it. It combines an in-depth interview format with a classic "Director's Commentary" track, the likes of which used to be common on physical media releases, but sadly are becoming more and more rare these days. Filmmakers talking about film with filmmakers for people who love film.
and filmmakers. Before we get into the story, amongst the many sources we used, we found reporting on the case from Martin Yant, Robin Yoakum, Mary Mayhew, and Erin Moriarty extremely helpful to our research. I love getting handwritten letters in the mail. They demonstrate a sense of care and a willingness on the author's part to take time out of their day to sit down and put pen to paper.
For me, they feel intentional, special, personal. But I've never received threatening letters from a faceless stranger hellbent on destroying my family, my reputation, and my life. Mary Gillespie has. It's March 1977. Mary Gillespie works as a bus driver for the Westfall Local School District in Pickaway County, Ohio.
She's 33 years old, married with two kids, and lives in one of the county's 15 townships, Circleville. One evening after completing her bus route, Mary opens her mailbox and finds a small envelope with her name on it. It's postmarked in Columbus, Ohio, a short 30-minute drive to the north, but it doesn't include a return address. Its author went to great lengths to keep their identity hidden,
They carefully wrote the words in block print capital letters and signed it with a pseudonym. The Circleville Writer. The Circleville Writer tells Mary they know where she lives, that she has children, and that she's having an affair with her employer, the Westfall School District Superintendent, Gordon Massey. The letter ends with a warning.
Everyone concerned has been notified and everything will be over soon." But for Mary and so many others, the game of psychological warfare is just beginning. Other Circleville residents receive letters and postcards of their own with similar messages threatening to expose alleged secrets.
There are accusations of cheating, embezzlement, domestic violence, and even murder. They're sent to newspapers, elected officials, schools, and local businesses. Before long, the town is brimming with gossip and paranoia. The Circleville writer could be anywhere or anyone. The clerk at the supermarket, the teller at the bank, even a neighbor.
The one who, with a pair of binoculars, could see straight into their home if the blinds weren't drawn. More than anyone, the Circleville writer fixates on Mary Gillespie, Gordon Massey, and their alleged affair. Mary denies all allegations, but eight days after her first letter, she receives another one. I know where you live. I've been watching your house. Then a third,
I know you are a pig and will prove it and shame you out of Ohio. Checking the mail becomes a terrifying chore. At some point, Mary's husband, Ron, gets one of his own. We must inform you that your wife is having an affair with Mr. Massey. No one can help you. Think of your children and their future. Notify the school board immediately. Your life is in danger. And they don't stop.
"Mr. Gillespie, your wife is seeing Gordon Massey. You should catch them together and kill them both. He doesn't deserve to live." Soon, the Circleville writer threatens to broadcast the illicit affair on billboards in the radio. And eventually, the terror campaign does move beyond letters to phone calls and signs placed around Circleville.
Ron and Mary work with the local sheriff's department to try and end the harassment. Stakeouts are conducted, phones are tapped. Officials even try to work with the U.S. Postal Service to identify the culprit. But according to reports, they're not much help. For a while, the sheriff's department receives daily letters from concerned residents targeted by the Circleville writer. The volume is overwhelming.
But no matter how hard they try, authorities can't seem to identify the culprit. So, Mary and Ron formulate their own plan. They hold a meeting with two close relatives: Ron's sister, Karen Sue, and her husband, Paul Freshour. According to Paul, Mary had suspicions of who was behind the letters,
So, they write anonymous letters of their own to their suspect for five of them. Each one basically says, "We know who you are and what you're up to." Their hope is that if they're correct, it'll scare the person enough to stop. And for a while, it seems to work. Then, in the summer of 1977, Mary leaves for a trip to Florida with Ron's sister, Karen Sue.
Before they leave, Ron reportedly tells Mary that he figured out the true identity of the Circleville writer. He says he plans to handle everything while she's away. But before Mary arrives at her destination, disaster strikes. On August 19th, 1977, Ron Gillespie receives a phone call from an unknown individual. To this day, no one knows what the call is about.
But whatever words are exchanged clearly upset him. When the call ends, he slams the receiver down, tells his children he's leaving, and on his way out the door, grabs a pistol. Later, police find Ron's truck wrecked not far from his house on Five Points Pike. It had hit a tree 36 feet off the road and rebounded. Ron had clearly been the one driving,
His body was partially ejected from the cab. Officials pronounce him dead at the scene, but underneath his body and within reach, police find Ron's gun, a .22 caliber revolver. Before he died, someone pulled the trigger, firing just one singular shot. On August 19th, 1977, around 10.30 p.m.,
Ron Gillespie lost control of his pickup truck and crashed into a tree. The Pickaway County Coroner pronounces him dead at the scene, citing extensive internal injuries. The next day, the Circleville Herald runs a story with details of the crash. It claims Ron was speeding and failed to negotiate a curve in the road.
A toxology report later reveals that Ron's blood alcohol content at the time was almost double the legal limit. His death is officially ruled an accident. But not everyone in Pickaway County agrees. Some, like Ron's brother-in-law, Paul Freshour, suspect foul play. He puts pressure on the sheriff's department to investigate.
As we mentioned, Ron may have been pursuing the Circleville writer that night. Those that knew him apparently said that Ron rarely, if ever, drank in excess. And he reportedly didn't seem drunk when he left the house. Then, of course, there's Ron's gun. A bullet was missing. But as far as we know, officials found no holes in his truck and they never recovered the ammunition or its casing.
Which makes you wonder, who or what was Ron's intended target? Or was he even the one to pull the trigger? After the accident, the letters that once stopped start up again. Some comment on Ron's death. Turns out, the Circleville writer also doesn't believe the official story. They accuse Pickaway County Sheriff Radcliffe of a cover-up.
For the next six years or so, letters continue to rain down on Pickaway County, but a lot changes for those at the center of the Circleville writer's conspiracies. For starters, Mary Gillespie began seeing someone else, and not just anyone else. The man the Circleville writer accused her of having an illicit affair with, school superintendent Gordon Massey.
The couple swears their relationship only began after Ron's death. As two of the Circleville writers' primary targets, they bonded over their shared experience. But, as you might imagine, their romance causes friction. After their relationship goes public, the Circleville writers' threats continue to escalate. It's your daughter's turn to pay for what you've done.
I shall come out there and put a bullet in that little girl's head. On February 7th, 1983, around 3:30 p.m., Mary finishes her afternoon bus route. On her way home, she sees a familiar-looking sign on the side of London Road. It accuses Mary's daughter of outrageous obscenities. The words are difficult to stomach.
Mary pulls over and finds the sign rigged to a roadside fence post. But as she begins to rip it down, she notices a string attached to the sign that leads to a box hidden by the tree line and rigged at face level. It's a booby trap. Mary opens the box to find a gun inside. The string attached to the sign was meant to pull the trigger if someone yanked it down.
Later, Mary takes the box to the sheriff's office. Authorities examine the gun and find that someone tried to remove its serial number by filing the metal down, but lab tests are able to raise it again. Officials trace the gun back to a local pawn shop and learn it was purchased by a man who claims he then sold it to a co-worker for $35. And that co-worker's name is Paul Freshour.
It's a name investigators have heard before. Paul was Mary and Ron's brother-in-law. He allegedly helped them write letters to their Circleville writer suspect. He was also one of the people most vocal about Ron's death. As far as we know, police never suspected Paul before this moment, but when they speak to his now ex-wife, Karen Sue, she has a lot to say.
She tells investigators she knows Paul is the Circleville writer. She claims she found a couple letters hidden around their house when they were together. But as she's saying all of this, it's worth noting that Paul and Karen Sue are not on good terms. Paul filed for a divorce a few months earlier, and during the proceedings, she reportedly lost her house and custody of their two daughters.
She moved into a trailer on Mary Gillespie's property. Police speak to Paul as well, who's reportedly forthcoming and cooperative. He doesn't ask for a lawyer and admits the gun used in the booby trap is his. But he says he has no idea how it ended up there. He claims the gun was stolen weeks earlier in a burglary. He even lets police search his house and agrees to give them samples of his handwriting.
But after he fails a polygraph test, officials arrest Paul and hold him in jail. 34 days later, he's released on a $50,000 cash bond. That fall, Paul stands trial for the attempted murder of his former sister-in-law. He's suspected of staging the booby trap intended to end Mary Gillespie's life.
Paul's not charged with actually writing any of the letters, but they become central to the trial anyway. The prosecution claims the letters help link Paul to the booby trap and showcase his state of mind at the time. But the defense pushes back. They argue that because the letters addressed to Mary never directly threatened her life, they're not relevant to the charges. In the end,
The judge sides with the prosecution. Of the hundreds of letters available, he allows 39 into evidence. And those 39 prove to be critical. Two handwriting experts testify that the letters and the booby trap share striking similarities. And they both could have been written by Paul. This includes an expert who was originally meant to testify for the defense
Which, for obvious reasons, doesn't look good. Especially after Mary Gillespie testifies about the violent and disgusting allegations aimed at her 13-year-old daughter. But it's more than handwriting connecting Paul to the booby trap. He admitted that he owned the gun, and he took off work the day Mary found it.
Plus, as the prosecution points out, the materials used to make the booby trap could have easily been procured from Paul's workplace. It's all pretty compelling, if circumstantial, evidence. But on the other hand, a number of Paul's friends add credibility and context to some of his claims. For example, the fact that he lost his gun. One friend testifies that he remembers when Paul found out his gun was missing.
He says he even helped Paul look for it. Others take the stand to provide character testimony and alibis. On the day in question, two different people saw Paul at his home for a significant portion of the day. According to Paul, he was having work done on his house, which was the real reason he took the day off. Over the course of the trial, Paul never takes the stand. After two and a half hours of deliberation,
The jury finds Paul guilty of attempted murder, and a judge hands him the maximum sentence: 7 to 25 years in prison. Paul's 40 years old. For his friends and family, the decision is heartbreaking. But for so many others, it's something they've been waiting years for. The Circleville writer has been put behind bars.
they'll finally be able to check the mail without fear of what's waiting for them. Or so they think. Because even with Paul Freshour in prison, the letters keep coming. In October 1983, Paul Freshour is convicted of the attempted murder of his former sister-in-law Mary Gillespie and sentenced to 7 to 25 years in prison. He's assumed guilty of being the Circleville writer,
the anonymous individual who's been harassing Pickaway County residents for the past seven years. With Paul now behind bars, the letters should stop, but they don't. In fact, Paul eventually becomes a recipient himself. "Shame how things work out, but better you than me. The sheriff says you did it, but we know better, don't we?"
I told you two years ago, when we set 'em up, they stay up. Don't you listen at all? No one wants you out. No one. The joke is on you. It doesn't make sense. The letters are postmarked in Columbus, Ohio. Paul's prison is located in Lima, Ohio, 100 miles away. The prison began inspecting all of Paul's incoming and outgoing mail.
They strip search him before and after each visitation. He's not allowed pens or paper. The prison even places him in solitary confinement as they conduct investigations. In a statement to the Columbus Dispatch, a representative from the correctional facility says, quote, "I don't see any way humanly possible for him to sneak out something." So the question becomes,
If Paul isn't writing the letters, who is? In the early 90s, a journalist named Martin Yant takes an interest in Paul's case. He digs through police reports and comes across a piece of information that never made it into the trial. One of Mary's co-workers had apparently seen something along the bus route that day. Police never followed up with the individual, but Yant does. And this is the story he's given.
Twenty minutes before Mary Gillespie arrived, the co-worker drove past the area where the booby trap was found. She saw a large man with sandy-colored hair on the side of the road. He drove a car that looked like a Chevy El Camino. It was yellow or orange. And he seemed like he was going to the bathroom. Or pretending to. Yant believes the details are significant because the description of the man doesn't resemble Paul Freshour.
Paul was younger and smaller with dark brown hair. He never owned a Chevy El Camino, but someone else apparently did. Paul's ex-wife, Karen Sue, had a brother who drove an El Camino, and her boyfriend at the time allegedly matched the description of the man on the side of the road.
Around the same time that Yant makes these discoveries, producers of the television show Unsolved Mysteries begin work on an episode about the Circleville letters. And their interest in the case doesn't go unnoticed. In December 1993, a note arrives at the show's California headquarters. Forget Circleville, Ohio.
Do nothing to hurt Sheriff Radcliffe. If you come to Ohio, you El Sickos will pay, the Circleville writer. A few months after that letter arrives in May 1994, Paul Freshour is released on parole after spending more than 10 years in prison. That October, Unsolved Mysteries airs their Circleville Letters episode for the first time. And by most accounts,
This is when the letters stop. Depending on how you look at it, it's the year of Paul's release or the year the story went national. Paul spends the rest of his life maintaining his innocence. He dies in 2012 at the age of 70 at a hospital in Columbus, Ohio. Altogether, it's a story that reads like fiction. Circleville even sounds like a made-up name stolen from a comic book.
There are anonymous threats, secret affairs, paranoia, mysterious death, conspiracies, an attempted murder conviction, and of course, lots and lots of uncertainty. Few of the central figures escape suspicion. There's Paul Freshour, the official suspect and the only person to serve any time. There's Mary and Gordon Massey,
The affair that supposedly only started after Ron's untimely death. There's Karen Sue, the ex-wife who claimed she had evidence against Paul, but only waged allegations after they were in the midst of a heated divorce. There's Sheriff Radcliffe, who the Circleville writer accused of a cover-up related to Ron Gillespie's death. And then there are the more peripheral figures, the names we haven't even mentioned yet.
like Ray Carroll, the coroner who pronounced Ron Gillespie dead at the scene. In the years that followed, he became a family physician and he was later charged with a slew of sex crimes by the state medical board. They included gross immorality, corruption of a minor, pornography, obscenity, and indecent exposure. Carroll had his medical license revoked.
Or David Longberry, one of the first people ever suspected of being the Circleville writer. He worked with Mary and allegedly made some unwanted passes at her in the past. He may have fallen off the radar for this case, but some secondary sources have alleged that years afterward, he sexually assaulted an 11-year-old girl, went on the run, and died by suicide before his body was found behind a truck stop.
There's also Mark Freshour, Paul's son. Martin Yance says he has reason to believe that Paul suspected it was Mark who stole his gun. According to one family member, Mark never visited Paul in jail. He claimed he just couldn't. And eight years after Paul was released from prison, he died by suicide. And if all of that information isn't enough, during the peak of the Circleville Writer Letters,
There was a pretty major homicide investigation, and no, it wasn't related to Ron Gillespie's death. In August 1980, a 25-year-old teacher and resident of Circleville named Vicki Koch mysteriously disappeared. Her car was found abandoned five blocks from her home. About a month later, authorities found her remains in another county in Ohio, northwest of Pickaway.
While Paul Freshour was in prison, the Circleville writers sent officials letters attempting to tie her death to a larger conspiracy involving local officials. Her case remains unsolved to this day. When you put all the pieces next to each other, it's hard not to wonder what, if any, connections were missed in the Circleville letters case. But thanks to recent investigative efforts,
we may have some answers. In 2022, CBS's 48 Hours covered the mystery of the Circleville letters. Correspondent Erin Moriarty and podcaster Marie Mayhew investigated the case, speaking to family members involved and journalists like Martin Yant. They also consulted a forensic document expert named Beverly East,
They asked Beverly to examine 49 of the letters attributed to the Circleville writer, and she concluded in her expert opinion that they were all written by one person. And that person is Paul Freshour. When asked if she was confident, she said she was quote "100% sure." She even told 48 Hours that she would swear on a Bible in court.
Of course, even the best experts have been wrong before. But while researching the case, Marie Mayhew learned that actually, while Paul Freshour was in jail, investigators found his fingerprints on about a dozen letters. And during our research for this episode, we came across other details that we found were missing from many retellings.
Like how, after his arrest, Paul originally pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity and planned to defend himself in court. Paul checked himself into a mental health facility after being released on bond, then later dropped the insanity plea and pleaded not guilty, perhaps when lawyers got involved. And that's not all.
There may have only been 39 letters admitted into evidence at trial, but according to contemporaneous news coverage, prior to the trial, handwriting experts linked Paul to 103 postcards and 391 letters sent by the Circleville writer, including three that contained arsenic.
One 1983 article from the Telegraph Forum even mentioned that Paul actually confessed to officials that he wrote 40 to 50 of the letters. So it's reasonable to think Paul was behind the letters. Or at least some of them. Many theorists believe the Circleville writer wasn't one person, but many. How else would you explain the letters sent while Paul was in jail?
But more than who else might have been behind the letters, I want to know why? Why target Mary? Why target any of the other countless residents? Why fill an entire county with fear and paranoia and threaten innocent children? What could possibly make someone want to launch and sustain an 18-year terror campaign? There has to be a motive. But no matter how hard we try,
We can't seem to find one that's a perfect fit. If you have ideas, we'd love to hear from you. Thank you for listening to Conspiracy Theories, a Spotify podcast. We're here with a new episode every Wednesday. Be sure to check us out on Instagram at TheConspiracyPod. If you're listening on the Spotify app, swipe up and give us your thoughts or email us at conspiracystories at spotify.com.
Amongst the many sources we used, we found reporting on the case from Martin Yant, Robin Yochum, Marie Mayhew, and Aaron Moriarty extremely helpful to our research. Until next time, remember, the truth isn't always the best story.
And the official story is always the truth. Conspiracy Theories is a Spotify podcast. This episode was written and researched by Connor Sampson, edited by Mickey Taylor, fact-checked by Laurie Siegel, and sound designed by Alex Button. Our head of programming is Julian Boisreau. Our head of production is Nick Johnson, and Spencer Howard is our post-production supervisor. I'm your host,
Carter Roy. This episode is brought to you by Hills Pet Nutrition. When you feed your pet Hills, you help feed a shelter pet, providing dogs and cats in need with science-led nutrition that helps make them happy, healthy, and ready to be adopted. It's an initiative that Hills has supported since 2002. And since then, the Food, Shelter, and Love program has helped more than 14 million pets find new homes,
changing their life forever so they can change yours. Science did that. Learn more at hillspet.com slash podcast.