When you hear the name Gilda Radner, chances are you think of her on “Saturday Night Live” or on the Broadway show “Gilda Radner – Live from New York”. Most people remember her as being a talented actress who could make everyone laugh, and as the wife of Gene Wilder, who was also a comedian.
But the last few years of her life were anything but humorous. In 1985, while she and her husband were working on a movie together, she began to experience extreme fatigue and pain. For ten months, she received various diagnoses from a string of doctors before finding the true culprit – ovarian cancer. By this point, the cancer had reached stage 4. The last few years of Gilda’s life were filled with endless medical treatments to try to kill the cancer. Most of them made her quite sick. She also tried some alternative therapies, which didn’t seem to help.
As you might suspect, Gilda went through many emotional stages after finding out that she had cancer – disbelief, anger, sadness, and hopelessness. But eventually she decided that she was going to use humor to get through the awfulness of her situation. She also worked on writing this book. There is no one correct way to live with cancer, but what Gilda Radner shared in this book affirms that there can still be love and laughter and joy in life, even when you are dying.
Not long ago, our local historic committee made mention of a horrific crime that occurred in our area back in 1949. The story caught my attention, and I decided to find out a bit more. Our city library had a book about the murders in their “True Crime” section, and I took it home to read.
Back in the day before dating apps, people would join lonely hearts clubs, which gave them the names and addresses of individuals who were looking for love. Interested parties would begin by writing each other letters. If things looked promising, they could meet and and develop a romantic relationship.
Raymond Fernandez joined a lonely hearts club, despite the fact that he had a wife and children back in Spain. Instead of looking for love, he was actually looking for women to swindle. Along the way, he met Martha Beck, who actually was looking for love. She did indeed fall deeply in love with Raymond, and agreed to become his partner in crime, often pretending to be his sister.
There was a young woman in our town named Deliphene Downing whose husband had been killed when his truck was struck by a passenger train. She had a one-year-old daughter named Rainelle. Deliphene was lonely and far away from her relatives, who all lived in Nebraska. She turned to a correspondence club to try to find a good man who would love her, and be a father to her little one.
None of Deliphene’s hopes came to pass. She met Raymond and his “sister” Martha, who killed both her and her young daughter. Their bodies were buried in the basement of Deliphene’s home, and fresh cement poured over their graves. Neighbors thought there was something wrong, and summoned the Wyoming Township police, who found the still-wet cement and the graves. Raymond and Martha were arrested on murder charges.
After their arrest, Raymond was linked to the murder of a woman in New York that he had met through the lonely hearts club. She was also buried in the basement of a home. Both Raymond and Martha were extradited to the state of New York to stand trial for the murder of Janet Fay. They were found guilty, and put to death in the electric chair.
The book thoroughly covers the interrogations of Raymond and Martha, the evidence that was collected, their trial in New York , and the correspondence between Raymond and Martha while they were on death row. The two of them were unbelievable liars, at times saying how much they loved each other, and at other times blaming the murders on the other. Stories were often changed, differing completely from earlier testimonies. Psychologists found the pair interesting to study, and the general public was both fascinated and repulsed by them.
The story was horrific to read, especially since it happened so close to home. It is hard to fathom how anyone could commit such cold-blooded murder. They could have simply robbed Janet Fay and Deliphene Downing, then fled. Even more reprehensible was the killing on Rainelle, a young child. There was something deeply sick and disturbing about both Raymond and Martha.
The house where Deliphene and Rainelle were killed and buried is still standing. I drove by it one day. The house was set back from the road, in contrast to the houses on either side, and partially obscured by large shrubs in the front yard. To me, it looked like a dark, shabby little house that was ashamed of what had happened within its walls. If a house could weep, that little house would weep for the loss of a once-happy home with a father, mother, and child who loved each other.
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