Okay, buy a show of hands. How many of you were a girl
or boy Scout. It's funny because I can't see you, but if you
did raise your hand, thank you for taking part in my survey. I
can tell you I did not raise my hand because I was not in the
Boy Scouts of America. I remember in first grade getting a pamphlet about it.
Though my school used to send home all kinds of flyers with students,
and while I was usually good about making sure my parents saw every single one,
I'm sure most kids littered them before getting home. I was sitting at
our kitchen table in the fall one evening, and probably a week or two
before, we had been given the all important notice that the Boy Scouts were
coming to our school to recruit fresh young men to join them, and it
seemed kind of cool, so I'd figured I'd go to this meeting with my
dad. In my mind, we were going to be building camp fires Wittenly
the way at Wood and doing other, you know, stereotypical boy things at
this meeting, and that seemed pretty fucking rad to me. As I sat
at the table, slurping my mom's spaghetti dinner, it suddenly hit me that
I have to go back to school to do this meeting, and well,
that wasn't going to fly with me. I pushed my dinner away, went
into the family room where my parents were watching World News Tonight with Peter Jennings,
and announced that I was renouncing my membership with the Boy Scouts before it
even began. This is probably for the better too, seeing us well their
belief on the gaze like me, was quote that homosexual conduct is inconsistent with
the obligations and the Scout Oath and Scout law to be morally straight and clean
and thought word and deed. But enough about the boys, Let's talk about
the girls. In all honesty, I care more about the Girl Scouts because
der they have cookies. Sure, Boy Scouts have popcorn. But I didn't
even know that existed until it popped up in a sketch I was in my
junior year of high school. I look back now and wonder if maybe I
did miss out on something wonderful by not going to that first meeting. And
then I read about Camp Scott Welcome to Deadtime stories. Come on, girls,
hustle ups and brad throat bag Let's get on these buses. It was
a sunny Sunday June twelfth, nineteen seventy seven, in Locust Grove, Oklahoma,
and roughly one hundred and forty young girls ran around a parking lot.
Since nineteen twenty eight, the Girl Scouts ran an annual two week getaway at
Camp Scott, and more often than not, the girls fell in love with
camping and returned year after year. Fifteen year old Michelle Hoffman recently aged out
of the camp, but was excited to aid the camp director this year.
It all went well, she'd start training to be a counselor, and then
one day, the camp director as she marked a few items off her checklist,
one little girl in particular caught her eye for two reasons. For starters,
this young lady was one of only a handful of African American girls going
to Camp Scott that summer, and for another, she was crying to her
mother, Oh baby, you're okay. I don't want to go, Mama,
I want to stay with you now, Baby girl, you've been begging
me to go on this trip for months. My team scary now, but
you'll make lots of friends, and before you know it, you'll be telling
me how much you can't wait to go back. Hey, there the long
phase. Denise is a little homesick already. Michelle looked down her list.
Ah, Denise Milner, and you must be her mother, Betty. I'm
Michelle, and you'll be in my section at Camp. I remember when I
first came to Camp Scott. You're so scared of the woods at first,
But once you unfurl that sleeping back and meet your tentmates, you'll be so
excited. Here we can sit together on the bus, so it's less scary.
Ten year old Denise timidly walked away as her mother gently tugged on Michelle's
elbow. Will you promise me you'll help call home if she doesn't feel better?
Well, miss Milner, that's not protocol. We find it makes their
homesickness even worse. Promise me you'll make an exception for Denise. Michelle thought
it over before giving Betty a gentle smile and boarding the bus herself. Michelle
took a seat next to Denise, who solemnly waved goodbye to her mother,
like a soldier going off to war. We usually sing camp songs to pass
the time. You know any cam songs? Oh, you will soon come
on just repeat after me. Michelle smiled down warmly at Denise, who,
with the parking lot behind her, was beginning to feel a little more excited.
She pulled back her hair with a pink clip and started to sing with
Michelle. Just a short hour and a half later, the bus pulled onto
the narrow Cookie trails. An excited hush fell over the girls as the trees
began to shroud their view. Remember girls, hold your breath as we passed
this street, or the ghosts will get you boom. Don't worry, Denise,
there aren't any real ghosts. Soon the bus pulled in and the girls
were unloading their belongings. Michelle walked with Denise in their section of tents and
the Kiowa unit. Each unit was named after an indigenous tribe cultural appropriation in
its prime, which makes me cringe to think about. Here we are tent
number eight. This is by far the best one. I stayed here nearly
every year. Oh and look do you see that building? Yes, ma'am,
that's the latrine. Your tent is the closest one to it, so
you'll have to walk the least amount of distance if you need to releave yourself
at night. An eight year old girl with two long, blondish pigtails,
poked her head out of the tent flap. Michelle's just here, a brunette
with glasses and gapped front teeth, pushed by the pigtailed girl. Hi,
yeah, you're Denise, right, guys, this is gonna be a lot
of fun. I'm Michelle, and this is Lorie. Hi. Denise walked
into the tent and counselor Michelle H smiled and walked off. Bring anything cool,
Denise, Just a sleeping bag and some clothes. You got playing cards.
I brought playing cards and hair brushes and stuff. I wanted to bring
my plants with me, but mother said no, I wouldn't need em.
Golly, I hope she's watering my afrikin violets like I asked her. Oh.
I loved those, They're so pretty. The three girls had never met
until now, and although they were initially the quietest group, once the campfire
songs had been sung and the campers were settling into bed, they were just
as noisy as the others. Michelle H pulled back the flat. Your girls
settling into bed and staying dry, Yes, ma'am, j Michelle, you
think it don't rain every night we're here. That thunderstorm was the wildest.
Hopefully not, but even if it does, we have plenty of activities to
keep you busy. Now go to sleep or you'll miss the excitement. Oh
do we have to? Michelle H checked behind her to ensure the coast was
clear, and then leaned in with a grin. They always say yes,
but sometimes we turn a deaf ear if you stay up telling ghosts. Are
all right, girls, good night. Michelle H continued her rounds until one
by one the campers fell asleep. Around one thirty, Michelle H stirred in
her tent. Hey did any of you hear that? Probably a rabbit or
something. Michelle H wasn't satisfied with that answer, grabbed her flashlight and headed
out into the pitch darkness. They say Camp Scott was shrouded and complete black
at night. You could never tell the difference between having your eyes open or
closed. During the day, the area was friendly enough, with girls running
around giggling, but at night everything felt sinister. Michelle carefully shined her flashlight
beam across the area harshly, hoping to find the source of this strange moaning
and harshly, hoping that she wouldn't probably a prank. Not finding anything,
Michelle returned to her tent and fell back asleep. For the next hour,
everything went back to normal, and then in tent number seven, one spot
over from Denise Laurie and Michelle G's tent, another girl scout groaned as a
flashlight beam fell through the tent flap and into her eyes. Turn the light
off A quiet Amy, it's just the counselor's scene. If you're asleep.
Oh yeah. The girl scouts were soon asleep again, but this would only
last thirty minutes or so. Around three, Amy, did you hear that?
Yeah? She should we get Michelle h I don't want to go out
there. Me neither. Well maybe it's a prank. Yeah, that's it.
A can I sleep with you? I's going to come asleep with you.
The terrified girls zipped the sleeping bag over their heads and tried not to
cry. Around six, Counselor Carla will Height stretched and made her way to
the showers. She passed tent number one, two, three, and so
on until she arrived at Tent number eight. She rubbed her sleepy eyes and
swatted a fly from her arm girls, What are you doing out? Carla's
question was cut short. About one hundred yards from Tent number eight were three
colorful lumps. One was red with flowers, another was plaid, and the
third was Oh Lord, Denise. Carla was in shock. She took a
few more weak steps towards the lumps and immediately knew that something terrible had happened
in the night. Forgetting all about her shower, Carlos branted to the camp
director and camp nurse. As they waited for police. Carla and Michelle h
stared anywhere but at the bloody sleeping bags. We can't let these girls know
anything is wrong. We have to keep them occupied, sing songs and things.
Michelle h nodded as she waited for the inevitable. The thought of putting
on a bright face for these innocent girls terrified her, but she knew she
had to do it. This is terrible. Someone came in and killed three
of our kids. Sheriff Pete Weavers soon arrived and felt his stomach turn as
the voices of singing girl scouts carried over from some distance away. God,
they have no idea what happened. No, sir, we're waiting for the
buses to pick them off. Thank you, miss you better go watch them.
This isn't a place for a woman. I found the girls, sir.
This way Carla and the camp director led the sheriff's team to the bodies.
A coroner shook his head as he examined the trauma. These two,
he pointed to, Laurie and Michelle ge each have blunt forced trauma to the
head. And the African American girl, Denise, as we know her,
seems to have been strangled with a chord of some kind. And God,
the sickle raped the three of them. Can't be look at this scuff marks
in the dirt. Little girl put up a fight before he got her and
the others. They were already dead by the time he dropped them off.
Here which tent were the girls in eight? I didn't want to look inside.
Oh Jesus Christ. The tent was massacred with blood soaking everything. He
probably snuck in the back and beat their skulls in. I think there's a
reason he chose these three. H probably didn't know them. This tents the
furthest from the others, so it was easiest for the sick ba Askeda to
get in and out you okay, young lady, you've been awful quiet.
Oh yes, sir, it's just well. I can't help but feel that
this is my faults. I should have heard them last night. I should
have warned someone about what happened. Don't blame yourself, babe. You tried
to tell me last night, not last night, our training weekend. I
forgot about that. You see, we did a special kiddet training session a
few weeks before camp started. We had been out all morning, and I
say, came back to my tent. Something felt wrong. Oh come on,
Carla, did you raid my tent this morning? Because I'm new?
No, but that's a good idea. We'll have to remember that for next
Oh my goodness. There are boxes knocked over everywhere. Yeah, and the
worst part is someone eat my donuts. I was saving those. Hey,
what's that Is that a note? I don't know it fell out of the
box. There are like four or five pages here, and oh pros.
The first two or three just say kill over and over again. Oh jeepers,
greepers, what what what's to say? We're on a mission to kill
three girls. You'd better watch out this summer. I'm gonna sneak in the
middle of the night and snatch them up. Then I'll beat them up real
good. But oh, dream on what, don't worry about the pain they're
in. When the alien ship abducts them, they'll be cured. This is
so bog but we got to tell the director, you know. So like
when we took the note to the director, she was really serious about it,
you know. But a few girls confessed to writing the note, so
we totally forgot about it. But we don't know if they actually wrote it
or just said they did. So the director stopped dipping into everyone's cool aid.
Thank you, ladies. Well, it sounds like the buses are here.
Maybe you should go help your campers load up, preferably avoiding this area,
Yes, sir, any ideas who it might be? One guy comes
right into my mind and he's been escaping my clutches for four years now.
Who's that? Jean le Roy Hart? Mama, Mama, whoa slow down,
baby girl, wipe your feet before you trump inside my house? Sorry,
mama, but I got the coolest news. My troop's going to Camp
Scott this summer, are they now? These things cost money? You know?
I know, and I broke it down right here. See, if
I sell enough cookies this year, I'll have more than enough money to go.
Denise, Baby, you've always been herd to go places. How's a
girl like you going to balance cookie sales with gymnastics, tap classes and church
choir. That's a lot for anybody, let alone a fifth grader. Help
do it somehow, Mamma. Denise's mother, Betty, took a seat at
the kitchen table, shaking her head and chuckling as she wrote a check to
the electric company. I'm impressed, baby, you raised more than enough money.
I don't think I want to go anymore. Some friends that they ain't
going anymore, so I don't think I want to go either. Oh no,
ma'am, you've worked too hard to throw this opportunity away. Mmmmm,
but Mama, you've never let me steal. No butts about it. March
to your bedroom and pack your bag. Denise trudged away, then turned back
to her mother and said, missus Milner, please come to the principal's office.
What miss Milner to the principal's office place? Betty shook her head and
found herself staring up at a blackboard from the back of a classroom. The
summer school students all stared back at her. Missus Milner, did you hear
that Principal Jones wants you? But don't worry, I can handle these students.
Betty nodded and quietly excused herself. By the summer of nineteen seventy seven,
Betty was divorced from her husband, Walter and worked as a teacher's aide
so she could properly raise her two daughters. Please take a seat, miss
Milner's a It's about Denise. Lord, I knew she'd get homesick. I
never should have let her go to that camp. Is it all right if
I go to pick her up? Principal Jones exchanged looks with his assistant pile
and his eyebrows knit together. Actually, Miss Milner, Denise doesn't need to
be picked up. Denise's dead, she and two other girls. Betty's heart
dropped into her stomach as she registered the horrible news. It seems that she
was baiting and and riped. Oh Lord, no, not my baby girl.
Are you sure it was a murder. She didn't fall into the lake
or something. I could accept that, but not a murder. What about
my other daughter? Kathy, Will they go after her next? Now,
Miss Milner takes some deep breaths and drink this water. The police will take
you through everything, but please go home, rest and lock the doors.
There might be a sex killer. I'm release. While Betty and the other
parents were receiving news of the murders and the girl Scouts were loading the buses
blissfully unaware that three of their own were missing, Sheriff Weaver and his team,
along with five hundred volunteers, combed the surrounding area for the murderer,
who they were certain was Gene Leroy Hart. What makes you so sure it's
mister Hart, Sheriff. We've been hunting this guy down for years, and
I think he's been hiding right under our noses. Sixth son of a bitch
abducted two gals back in sixty six and raped one of them. He was
in jail right, yes, Sir, supposed to serve three concurrent ten years
sentences, but they've rolled him after twenty eight months. Then I got him
three hundred and five years for four counts of first degree burglary in sixty nine.
He escaped about four years ago. Sheriff Weaver wouldn't find Jeane during this
initial search, but they did come across a network of caves overlooking the camp.
I'll be look at this note scrawled on the wall. The killer was
here. Bye bye fools. We also have some groceries, bandages, cigarettes,
web, photographs, and a bunch of other stuff. Does it mean
anything? Sure? Does Jean developed photographs in jail. We can see if
these match the negatives he was given. I'll send the bandages and cigarettes to
the lab and see if we can get a match to him from the hairs
and saliva left on him. Sure. If Weaver wouldn't be alone in his
efforts to track Gene, Banks set up reward funds for anyone who could offer
information leading to his capture, and people from as far away as Florida donated
money. By August, Tulsa World newspaper published a letter to Gene asking him
to surrender, with Governor David Bouren's assurance that he'd receive a fair trial.
Nothing came of it, and after months and months of searching, the media
frenzy on the case fizzled out. Chief Inspector Wilkerson here fascinating, Thank you
sir, We'll take a look. When it seemed like the Girl Scout murders
were forgotten, a tip came through the wire at the Oklahoma State Bureau of
Investigation or OSBI. It was Thursday, April sixth, nineteen seventy eight,
ten months since the murders. Chief Dick Wilkerson led his team to a cabin
in the woods. No surprise there where, according to the tip, they'd
find Jean. The cabin belonged to his friend Sam Pigeon, a medicine man.
Go ahead and take him. Don't kill him unless you have to,
but he can't get away. If he's in there, he'll probably try to
run out the back, so make sure you're ready. Back there, Someone
handed Dick a megaphone. Jane, you're surrounded. Come out. As expected,
the Cherokee man ran out the back door of his friend's cabin, where
Dick's men were waiting to catch him. The five foot ten inch tall Jean
smirked at Dick, how'd you do with Jane? How'd you get away from
us for so long? Simple? Ma, man know these woods better than
anyone. Never had to leave my own backyard. It was true. Jean
stayed within a thirty five square mile radius, hiding within plain sight for ten
months. During that time, an air of mystery and excitement surrounded Jean.
Nobody heard much about him after he escaped prison, but every once in a
while someone in town would say, I think I saw Jeanne at the market
today. He was buying milk right next to me. A similar showmanship would
surround Jean's trial. Preliminary hearings opened in June nineteen seventy eight. Defending Jean
initially was a Creek Indian lawyer named Larry Oliver before Garvin Isaacs took over.
Betty Milner arrived along with Bow and Sherry Farmer and Richard and George Anne Goose.
As Sherry stepped out of the car, she nervously clutched her husband's arm.
But look at these people. They'll never find him guilty, and they
certainly don't want us wise invading their territory. Don't get yourself into a tizzi
yetun the Lord will help us fund justice for Lourie. Bumber sticker to support
Jean. Oh, you're one of the families. Good luck friends. Sherry
clutched her husband even tighter as she looked down at the bumper sticker in the
indigenous man's hands. Welcome to the heart of Jean Country. And it seemed
the people of prior Oklahoma had already made up their minds about Jean's verdict.
He had been the star of Locust Grove highest football team in his day,
and several felt local law enforcement was using him as a scapegoat because of the
color of his skin. Some of his supporters went as far as bringing him
food and water for years after he escaped prison. The trial wouldn't officially get
underway until March fifth, after the longest preliminary hearing in the state's history.
The excitement of everything didn't calm down either. Every day, eager spectators would
line up two hours before the trial began in hopes of getting a seat to
the black Friday like madness was controlled by three state Highway patrolmen, so you
can imagine how hectic it was. There's that godless saying worshiper bow. Looks
like he hasn't missed any meals. Prison guards must be sneaking him extra pun
or something. They certainly tried to clean the fallen angel up. What angle
are they go and fall with that three piece suit? College Professor boh Sherry
may join you. Oh Betty, of course, thank you. I don't
know how much more of this I can take. A man chased me in
here, screaming how Jean didn't kill my Denise. It's terrible bow and I
don't eat in town anymore because every place we go has jars on the table
asking for donations for his defense. Will you be quiet? After ten days
and one hundred and ten individuals, the jury of six men and six women
was selected. District Attorney Buddy Fallis and Chief Prosecutor Ron Schaffer led the prosecution.
Buddy had chiseled his name into the lawyer wall of fame by representing big
name criminals in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and he had hoped this case would be
another slice of cake. As he shuffled papers from his briefcase, he shook
his head. What's wrong, Buddy. I hate to admit it, but
I wouldn't call any of our evidence a smoking gun. We don't have any
fingerprints, just some hair off a band aid and random paraphernalia from a few
campers we found in the trunk in his cabin. They'll rip us to shreds.
There's a lot of circumstantial evidence, though, how can he explain the
photos he developed in prison, being in the caves or matching footprints at the
crime scene. And the hair is found on the girls are very similar to
his. Like I said, not a smoking gun. I want to be
optimistic. The rape kid said the DNA was quite similar to Jeans. Both
men's hearts would sing as defense attorney Garvin Isaacs took the floor. You all
might remember the sperm and hair sample submitted yesterday. My expert says the hair
cannot be used to identify someone with certainty, and the sperm sample was not
handled properly. But he shot Roun an exhausted look. As Garvin continued furthermore,
I believe evidence was planted to frame my client. I have a jailer
here who will testify he saw the wedding photos Jeane developed in the sheriff's desk,
as well as camper items in his office they later claimed were found in
Jean's cabin. And who do you propose did it, Bill Stevens. Witnesses
have testified Jean was in Tulsa during the murders, but we can't account for
mister Stevens. I'd ask him today, but he's currently incarcerated on rape charges,
which sounds similar to what we're all here for today. That seems hard
to believe. Believe what you want. It really doesn't matter what happened,
since Jeanne will be serving over three hundred years for past crimes. Anyway,
strike that from the record at once. Yes, the defense accidentally let it
slide that whether the jury found jean guilty of this crime or not, the
state had him in their hands again and he'd be going back to finish his
previous sentence for the rape and murder of the two pregnant women. On March
twenty ninth, the jury heard closing arguments from both sides and deliberated for six
hours before going home for the evening. The next morning, Friday, March
thirtieth, they deliberated for another half hour before bringing their verdict to the judge.
We the jury find Jeane leroy Hart not guilty. Betty, the farmers
and the Gooses felt a hard punch to their guts that was made worse when
it was announced authorities wouldn't be searching for any other suspects, as pretty much
all their eggs had been placed in Jean's basket. It seemed the murders at
Camp Scott would stay unsolved. Jeanne was sent back to prison, with many
still fully believing that he didn't kill the girl scouts. He spent much of
his time exercising to try and stay in shape. Hart another reporter is here
to speak with you. You know the rules, man, Tell him no,
the record has been set straight. As far as I'm concerned. The
jury voted right when they voted not guilty, and my family and supporters knew
the entire process was a sham. It was June fifth, nineteen seventy nine,
roughly two months after being found not guilty, and jean was too busy
lifting weights to be bothered with reporters. That was how he had been throughout
most of the trial, keep a low profile. Shortly after this denial,
Gene died from a heart attack. Some speculated there was foul play a foot,
but even his lawyer recognized the Heart family had a history of heart problems.
If Gene was found innocent, then who could possibly be responsible? Well,
As long time listeners are well aware, DNA evidence wasn't the most reliable
back in the seventies, so as technology advances, evidence needs to get a
second look. In nineteen eighty nine, a series of tests were conducted on
crime scene DNA. What's the verdict? Doesn't match gene? Well, three
of them match samples from gene, but the other two don't. I'll say
this sample matches only one and seventy seven hundred Indigenous Americans. So take that
how you want. We have to say in conclusive results. In two thousand
and eight, another test was conducted using siemenstains from a pillowcase and swab's taken
off the victims. This time, I'll be damned. We have a partial
female match. Could it have been from one of the girls or someone else
entirely? Since not everyone involved with the crime scene was able to provide DNA
samples, we unfortunately might not ever know, and the case has grown murkier.
Not all hope has been lost, though, As Sherry Farmer said to
me, this would be the final piece to the puzzle. I would know
this is what happened to my daughter in her final hours, but that would
still only be a test result. Wouldn't bring back my daughter. Since the
trial, Betty had another daughter named Cristel. Cristel is now grown up and
has a daughter of her own, who she named after the sister she never
had the chance to meet. Denny's Michelle Hoffman may not have gotten the chance
to be camp director as Camp Scott closed after the murders, but today she
recognizes that she suffered from PTSD. At the time, it was frowned upon
to talk about mental health issues, but today she has a therapist who encourages
her to approach others involved with the murders and talk with them for a documentary.
Finally, Richard Goose, father of the slain girl Scout, Michelle Goose,
spearheaded the passage of the Oklahoma Victim's Bill of Rights, which essentially gives
a victim and their family the right to know where a defendant is at all
times or if they've escaped prison. Having felt left out in the cold during
the trial, Richard and his wife wanted to make a change so other families
wouldn't have to go through what they did. They wanted something good to come
from the death of their daughter. Cookie Time was written and narrated by me
Skyler fasten Out and executive produced by Daniel Jones. Voice talent was provided by
Sophia Sasone Tamra Perry, harrield Old, Taylor Shirty, Marissapa Stone, Rainy
Blake, Matt McNelly, Daniel Jones, Vince Perez, Jordan Catcher, Grant
naca Oka, Jeanette Zosh, and Jeremy Staple. Our theme music was performed
by Tracy Zals. I am very happy you joined us for another episode of
the Original Deadtime Stories. If you feel like you are the ultimate fan of
our podcast, Jordan our Patreon to enjoy benefits like early access to new episodes,
add free episodes, and a director's cut with me where you can learn
more about the crime or my writing process. Want to know why a priest
was questioned during the Camp Scott investigation, We'll join our patreon to find out.
You can also follow our Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube to
meet the cast and see what Camp Scott and the Girl Scouts looked like.
The links to all of those are in the episode description. As a reminder,
the Original Deadtime Stories is now a weekly podcast, so we will be
back in just one week with our final Halloween special for the year. We'll
be getting pretty spooky in this one. Until then, stay safe out there.
I don't want you to become the next chapter's topic on the original Deadtime stories,