This is a studio both and production warning. Listening to this podcast may cause
unmitigating obsession and cognitive dissonance. All names have been changed to protect the innocent,
the insane, and everyone else in between. As more and more time
passed following my calls with Mark, I slowly returned to the fog of doubt.
Things just weren't adding up. None of it made sense, and even
though I couldn't come up with a single reason for him to lie to me,
I had nothing but his word in some very flimsy evidence. I couldn't
find Ellen or Rob, and I'd reached out to dozens of Karens with no
luck. I became certain that these letters that were so near and dear to
me were fake, that Mark had just written a story around actual events.
I was disappointed, and tried to mitigate that disappointment by telling myself that the
authenticity of the letters couldn't negate the experiences they created, that even though the
letters weren't real, all the laughter, all the wine nights, and all
my investigations were, and that those were what mattered the most. And then,
deep in the disappointment of doubt, I received an email January fourth,
twenty twelve, Dear Josh, a friend of mine helped me look up this
blog thing of yours, and I don't like it one bit. When I
emailed you before, I didn't know that some of the things on this blog
were some of the things you said were on this blog. It's not fair,
and you know it. I want you to erase the things I said
in there, especially the things I didn't say. You better email me back
and erase all this. A few weeks prior, I'd gone on a Facebook
rampage messaging anyone with Karen's name who I could find in the Portland metro area.
I had a static message that basically asked if she'd lived with someone by
Ellen's name in the Bay area in the late eighties, and then explained that
I may have some of her old correspondents. Stupidly, I also included a
link to the blog, but after about thirty unanswered messages, I gave up.
But sure enough, one of those thirty Karens was now emailing me,
and she was not happy. This was the first contact I'd received from Karen,
and I hastily poured through my junk mail on both Gmail and Facebook desperately
trying to find the previous message she'd mentioned in her email. I never did
find it, though, and this certainly wouldn't be my last contact with Karen.
And back in nineteen eighty nine, Mark still had not heard the last
of Karen or Ellen or Rob. January third, nineteen eighty nine, Dear
Mark, I've been studying the letters you sent Karen a few days ago,
and I've been thinking and thinking about it. If you won't send karen security
deposit back to her, why don't you just send it to me instead?
Then I can split the money with Karen when your check arrives. That way,
everybody is happy, you know, Mark, If you don't mind my
saying so, your letters to Karen lately have been sounding a little unfriendly.
This can give you bad karma. You should try meditating before you write letters.
It's very soothing, and meditating is very chic right now. And speaking
of bad karma, Karen says that she heard that they are building a doomed
baseball stadium in your hometown in Baltimore. Talk about bad karma, your tenant.
Ellen January third, nineteen eighty nine, Dear Mark, Well, you
sure we're right about one thing? In your last letter. I have no
idea what you were talking about. I don't want some stupa plant that makes
people vomit. I'm not dumb, you know. I just want back my
security deposit. Rob says that he thought your letter was insulting. Ellen isn't
sure. I think you may have been joking, but if you were,
I didn't get it. But let's get down to business. So now,
in addition to everything else you owe me, you also owe me the one
hundred and ninety seven dollars, which is almost two hundred dollars that Ellen paid
for the cat painting. And what about the mermaid clock we left. Ellen
thinks it's a real old valuable antique. Karen, January tenth, nineteen eighty
nine. Dear Karen, when you gave me the Mermaid clock, you said
it was a gift. Therefore, you have no right to expect me to
pay you for it. Now I cannot return the clock to you anyway,
as I, in turn, have given the clock to my decorator, mister
James of San Francisco, as a god gift. Your Mermaid clock is not
a real old valuable antique, ause you believe there are some subtle signs that
this clock is not in antiquity, signs that undoubtedly escaped your keen eye.
A the clock is made entirely of plastic, and B the clock is battery
operated. In any case, I am not going to pay you for this
clock, whose only value is in my humble opinion, as an object of
ridicule. Sincerely, Mark, January tenth, nineteen eighty nine. Dear Mark,
my typewriter is broken, so I'm sending you this letter I wrote myself
because my typewriter is broken. Anyway, I don't seem to be getting anywhere
on my security deposit refund. I just seem to be spinning a wheel.
I can't seem to get anyone to help me either. Rob's letters to you
don't seem to be getting anywhere. Allan says she isn't practical enough to figure
out how to make you pay us what you owe us. She's an artist,
you know. I told my father that I've been sending you letters demanding
my deposit back, and he says he feels sorry for you, not me.
It's unbelievable. I'm afraid I'm going to run out of ideas. So
although I don't want to spoil our friendship if I don't get my security deposit
back from you, plus interest at thirty four point four percent a year we
agreed upon in the next week, I'm going to have to file a complaint
against you with a Portland Better Business Bureau. I'm sorry to have to do
this, but you are not leaving me with much choice. Yours, Karen,
January sixteenth, nineteen eighty nine. Well, my typewriter is fixed now
so I can typewrite letters again. Rob broke the typewriter. It was an
accident that could have happened to anyone. You know. It's a funny thing.
It cost me almost exactly one hundred and ninety seven dollars, which is
almost two hundred dollars to have the type whipe writer repair shop clean out all
the honey, which is almost exactly the same amount that you owe us for
the cat painting. Isn't that something? Well? The reason I'm writing to
you is that I would like you to do me a little favor. Would
you send the enclosed letter from Rob to your uncle to your uncle, the
one who teaches law at a law school in Boston, along with a letter
of recommendation from you. Thanks, yours, Karen. January sixteenth, nineteen
eighty nine. Dear Professor Albert, I would like to go to law school.
Your nephew Mark told my wife Karen that you teach it a law school.
I would like to go to law school so I can become a lawyer
or maybe a judge. My wife Karen and I went to Berkeley for a
little bit last year. Recently, for a little while, my wife Karen
and I worked at a Christmas tree farm near my hometown Portland, Oregon.
We didn't see much of a future in that business. Recently. For a
while before that, I worked at a video Money is no problem for me
or my wife Karen. Both my wife Karen and I have big trust funds
that can pay for college. Also, my wife Karen's parents and my parents
have gobs of money. They say that they're willing to pay anything to send
me and my wife Karen to college. Can you help me get into your
law school? Sincerely, Raw, January twenty first, nineteen eighty nine.
Dear Karen, I give up. I thought I could get you to stop
writing letters to me demanding money by ridiculing your letters to me with sarcastic replies
I feel I owe you an apology. From a moral standpoint, it was
wrong of me to try to make you feel embarrassed, and from a practical
standpoint, it was also wrong, since I should have known that there was
no realistic possibility that you were going to catch the Sarca as a man.
However, I do have one final hope, so here it goes, Karen,
I suggest that you show the copies of all your letters to me and
my replies to you to your father. Although I have never met him,
your father strikes me as a very intelligent, rational and well educated man.
Perhaps after he reads all of our correspondents, he will be able to explain
things to you better than I have been able to do. Mark. Ps.
This does not mean that I'm going to send you any money. January
twenty eighth, nineteen eighty nine, Mark, I showed all of our letters
to my father, just like you said I should. He says, Rob
was right, your letters have been insulting me. I should have known Rob
was right. He's smart. He's going to be a lawyer or a judge,
somedays you and I should have known you were insulting me when you offered
to give me that stupid plant that makes people vomit. Instead of paying me
all the money you owe me, I would have to have had to have
been pretty stupid to have taken that deal. Well, just because you're being
so mean to me, I'm not going to bother to sue you in Portland
Small Claims Court or Oakland Small Claims Court or write to you ever again.
I hope that will teach you a lesson. Karen, January twenty ninth,
nineteen eighty nine. Dear Mark, I know I said I wouldn't write to
you ever again, and I'm not going to write to you ever again.
But I'm writing to tell you that even though I'm not going to write to
you ever again, you still owe me ninety two hundred dollars, which I
could really use. You also owe me one hundred ninety seven dollars for the
cat painting, which I could also really use. Ninety two hundred dollars plus
one hundred and ninety seven dollars twenty seven dollars Karen. The second most unbelievable
item included in that file folder of correspondence was a second news clipping. However,
this article wasn't about Karen or Ellen. It was written by one of
them, and the only way I could rationalize its publication was that someone assumed
it was a satirical piece. Editor. The Berkeley Police Department is planning to
buy a dog trained to sniff drugs. Now, I feel that Berkeley already
has its fair share and more than its fair share, of people who sniff
drugs. We don't need dog sniffing drugs too, Don't we already have enough
trouble just from the people who sniff drugs. This inhumane plan to buy drug
sniffing dogs raises five questions in my mind. One would anyone want to buy
a dog, or, for that matter, any other pet which sniffs drugs?
Two? When and if the BPD gets this drug sniffing dog, Who's
going to buy the drugs for these dogs to sniff? Who's going to pay
for this poor dog's drug addiction? Will Berkeley taxpayers have to pay for these
drugs? Three? In a city where the animal rights movement is supposed to
be strong, how come the SPCA hasn't complained about the obvious cruelty involved in
buying a doggy drug addict? Four? How much police work will this dog
be able to do? When it's zonked out on drugs, probably not very
much. Now it seems that the only debate in the city council is whether
the police should buy a German Shepherd, which is what they want, or
a beagle, which is what the council wants. This debate overlooks the real
question, which is why should the Berkeley police buy a dog that uses drugs
at all? I think that the Berkeley Police Department should be trying to discourage
drug use. It sets a bad example to the public for the BPD to
buy a drug sniffing police dog. Right to the city council, tell them
to tell the BPD not to buy dogs that are hooked on drugs. The
police should have a sober dog or none at all. Ellen. I was
never able to find this article anywhere. I always assumed because it was pre
Internet and hadn't been digitally archived. But in the first run of the podcast,
several people brought something to my attention that I've never really noticed, and
it led to an interesting theory, a theory I briefly mentioned earlier this season,
A theory that simultaneously validated my perception of things and pulled the Persian rug
right out from under Me March seventeenth, nineteen eighty nine, Weir Albert and
Benja. Quote Karen says that allegations are being made against her, and she's
going to find the alligator. End quote Ellen, September eighth, nineteen eighty
eight letter. Although I never thought i'd say this, I miss Karen and
her friends. Of course, that doesn't mean I would take them back as
tenants of mine. Nevertheless, I do miss them up to a point.
Karen called me the other day on the phone. She said she was in
Berkeley for a few days visiting friends. She said that the reason she was
calling me was that she wanted to let me know that she still isn't speaking
to me. Karen said that she called me so I would know that she
was in town and therefore could have called me, but that she wasn't going
to call me. Is that clear? Then said to her, Well,
then I guess there's nothing more to be said. In an effort to end
the conversation, Karen replied, in a somewhat angry tone, knock when there's
nothing more to be said, you can be sure that I'll be the one
to say it. Good bye. Then she hung up. It looks like
she's still mad at me. I'm sorry about that. I don't like to
have former tenants think I've treated them unfairly. Right now, I'm reviewing some
of the notes I took of my telephone conversations with Ellen while she was still
a tenant of mine. Some of them are rather interesting. Karen says that
allegations are being made against her and she's going to find the alligator. I
used to be a Gemini, but now I think I'll be in aries for
a while and see how I like it. I wish I had a dollar
for every dollar I wish I had. You really should see the movie The
Untouchables. It's all about al Capone, who was a bootliquor back in the
nineteen twenties. Giant oafs from little acorns grow. What does he mean?
It was undeniable that Mark was real, and at the time I was in
a somewhat heated email battle with Karen. And if this wasn't the real Karen,
it was surely the most brilliant troll to ever descend upon the Internet.
But I was pretty sure it was her and Ellen well, she's mentioned in
the letters by both Mark and Karen so it's not like she never existed at
all? Right? Right? Could Ellen's letters be fake? Was the heart
and soul of the Karen and Ellen Letters entirely made up? I found myself
once again asking that same old question. To what end. I wasn't sure
if the pieces were all coming together or if the big picture was falling apart.
It was January of twenty twelve the Costa Concordia cruise ship ran aground in
Italy. Barack Obama became the Democratic frontrunner after winning the Iowa caucus. The
US government took a hard stance on Internet piracy, and in Seattle, Washington,
the Karen and Ellen Letters blog became meta, which sparked some polarizing ethical
debates. When you find newborn doubt diminic, it's easy to become overcome with
the excitement of evidence. And in that excitement I did something uncharacteristically stupid and
unkind. I copied Karen's email and posted it to the blog, much like
I'm doing now on this very podcast, Although in the ensuing thirteen years a
lot has changed. Of course, knowing what I know now doesn't excuse what
I so thoughtlessly did back then. I spent the better part of that day
writing and rewriting a response to Karen, only really thinking about how this new
development might impact the blog, and by the time I was ready to hit
send, I noticed that a new email from her had already arrived. I
read it a few times with absolute elation, before once again copying it and
posting it to the blog. January fourth, twenty twelve, Josh I spent
more time looking at me and Ellen's letters to Mark, and then I saw
that you put my email to you about me and Ellen's letters up with me
and Ellen's letters on the block. I don't know why you think that.
When I want you to erase these letters, I would want you to put
up my email. I'm not stupid, you know. I know what I'm
being made fun of. Take all those down, or I'm going to do
something. It's frightening how easy it can be to get caught up in something,
To get so caught up in an experience that you can't see beyond it
any more, that you stop behaving like yourself, you stop thinking rationally,
everything becomes about the experience. Hysteria is so dangerous because most of the time
you don't even realize you're in it. Until it's over and you can finally
see all the damage you've done. Regardless of what I know now or what
happened after. What I did next was low, it was gross, It
was so out of character. The blog had officially become bigger than me.
And the most dangerous thing about hysteria is how addictive it can be and how
quickly it can spread. January fourth, twenty twelve. Hi, Karen,
what your emails? All three of them. I'm sorry you're upset, rest
assured that there's no way any of this can be traced back to you.
And for what it's worth, you've become quite popular through your old correspondence.
I think this is a great opportunity for you to look back at some of
the good times you and Ellen had. Speaking of Ellen, do you still
have a relationship with her? As far as removing these emails and letters?
To be quite honest, at this point, I don't anticipate doing that.
I may remove a portion of them if you'd like, but I'd prefer to
keep some of the more remarkable letters on the blog. I hope you understand
my point of view and that you can take the time to appreciate having this
chapter of your life available to you to share with others. Thanks again,
Josh, and with one shitty email, the addiction would continue to spread.
January fourth, twenty twelve, Josh, what do you mean I've gotten popular?
He never had a relationship. We were just friends. We're not friends
anymore. We haven't been friends for a long time. The Karen and Ellen
Letters are found correspondents narrated by me Josh Hallmark and voiced by Sarah Stapleton,
Sarah Kitcher, Jeff Powell, and Matt Palin. This episode was made possible
by the following Patreon producers Adrian I Yello, Amelia Hancock, Amy Basel and
natt Elle, Benjamin Choppa, Fong, Casey Jensen, Richardson, Dana Keith,
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Linley, tuscoff Manolas Bulicus, Megan cap Sewell, Mike Sherman, Nicole and
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Zach mcnatowitz, Warren Beth McNally, John Comrie, Jordan Taylor, Carly
McNutt, Lana Sarah Sie, and Lydia Fiedler. If you'd like to support
the show, go topatreon dot com, slash Studio both and this episode featured
music by Lee Rosevir Everything Nightcrawlers, fifteen, Retro Chillwave, and Topaz White
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