Criminalia

Getting yourself a parasitic buddy will help you lose weight; the idea here is that the tapeworm lives in your intestines and eats whatever you’re eating, meaning you can go for seconds or thirds without feeling guilty about any of the calories. Doesn’t sound so bad, right? Until the tapeworm part, that is. Tapeworms shouldn’t be inside your body unless it’s by accident, but if you lived in Victorian England, you might have intentionally swallowed one for weight loss. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

“It’s the Hair – not the Hat That Makes a Woman Attractive,” read one ad for the Seven Sutherland Sisters’ scalp cleaner. Sisters Sarah, Victoria, Isabella, Grace, Naomi, Dora, and Mary Sutherland were performers who sang and played instruments, but what the crowds came to see was their hair; primarily because there was, collectively, 37 feet of it. By 1880, they were billed as the "Seven Wonders" – and just four years later, their patent hair tonic had made them a fortune. This is a Victorian rags-to-riches story. Well, it’s more of a rags-to-riches-to-rags story. As it goes. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Hi, Criminalia listeners! We are super excited about the return of Bridgerton: The Official Podcast and want you to share in the excitement with us. Alongside a new season of the TV show the companion podcast, which takes you behind the scenes through interviews with actors, writers, directors, and more. We think you'll want to tune in, but don't just take our word for it. Check out the trailer and decide for yourself! Ready for more? Tune in weekly to Bridgerton: The Official Podcast. Available on the iHeartRadio app or wherever you get your podcasts! See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

In 1946, R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company launched an ad campaign with the slogan, “More doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette.” Long before Camel cigarettes became the doctor-approved cigarette of choice, at least in advertising, people living with asthma were often instructed to inhale smoke to relieve their symptoms. And that advice was for asthmatic adults – and children. ‘Asthma cigarettes’, as they were called, and related products, weren’t packed full of tobacco, though many did include it; they were, essentially, psychotropic drugs from the nightshade family that people inhaled in hopes of finding respiratory relief. Let's take a look at what kinds of quack – and, to be honest, some not-so-quack – products for asthma before the invention of the modern inhaler. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

By the time he was in his 40s, Perry Davis was an entrepreneur who had tried, unsuccessfully, to start multiple businesses; and those failures had left him $4,500 in debt – roughly more than $160,000 today. In 1839, his bad luck continued when he then became ill with debilitating pain. Seeking even just any little bit of relief, he mixed up a concoction, containing mostly opiates and alcohol – a mix that would later become known around the world as, “Perry Davis’ Vegetable Pain Killer.” And Davis would become known as the guy who trademarked the word, ‘painkiller’. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

John Healy wasn’t a real doctor. Charles Bigelow was never a scout in the United States Army. And, the products they sold weren’t actually based on healing secrets of the Kickapoo people. Yet, the two men made a fortune from their Kickapoo Indian Medicine Company patent medicines – which, while named for them, not a single Kickapoo was involved with the company or its remedies. The story of Healy and Bigelow is one of quackery, lies, native cultural appropriation, and ... wait, did we call out the cultural appropriation? Yes? Well, then, let's talk about this. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Norman Baker was an entrepreneur, a pioneering radio personality, and a fake doctor. He was a masterful propagandist, and through his radio station and multiple tabloid publications, he manipulated American anxieties about everything from politics to alleged ills of vaccinations. But his biggest claim was that he could cure cancer, in just six weeks, with his own elixir -- and your money. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Though the Pink Pills couldn't stand up to the wild advertising claims that the product was a cure-all, the pills were actually potentially medically beneficial to some people with a certain -- common -- condition; in theory. Maybe. Hey, we're not doctors. Let's talk about, how despite that, why this potentially potent patent medicine was under fire from the U.S. government. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

William Bailey called himself a doctor, but his career was as a shady businessman, not a medical professional. In the early 20th century, he launched a series of start-up companies, capitalizing on the new discoveries of radioactive elements, and sold patent medicine products with lethal radioactive substances with unproven promises to cure everything from arthritis to impotence – it was said they could help you regain your youth. But instead, they were deadly. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Today, if you’re asked to think of a tractor, most of us probably imagine farm equipment. But in the late 18th century, a physician named Elisha Perkins made and sold a different kind of tractor – a device consisting of small metal rods that could cure what ails you simply through touch. And for several years, people were mad for the Perkins Patent Metallic Instruments, or Perkins Tractors as they became popularly known -- even though it all turned out to be what we now know as the placebo effect. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

When Maude Mayberg was 38 years old, this was back in 1890, she 'discovered' an elixir that transformed her life. It was called Fruitcura, she said, and it cured her ailments when medical doctors could not. Two years later, she was a patent medicine entrepreneur and saleswoman going by the name, Madame Yale. Let’s talk about how that’s code for, snake oil peddler. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Clark Stanley was a silver-tongued Texas cowboy who called himself the ‘Rattlesnake King’. Back in the late 19th century, he wasn’t the first charlatan going from town to town in the American West, hawking quack products -- during this time when patent medicines were gaining popularity, American consumers could buy all sorts of fraudulent snake oil products like his. But Clark had a certain flair. A certain charisma and showmanship others didn't. And, for a few years, he really was the Rattlesnake King -- and king of the snake oil salesmen. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

From illicit love letters to political bribes, everyone has a secret, and it’s the threat of exposure that’s key to this crime -- and we discovered a whole lot of surprising examples along the way -- including a man who built his own submarine, hoping to escape with his payout under Lake Michigan; it sounds made up, but we speak the truth. We have enjoyed sharing these sometimes-almost-unbelievable stories of crime and criminals with you. Listen as Holly and Maria share their favorite shows and drinks from the season in our 'Blackmail' season finale. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Snake oil. Today the term describes any worthless remedy that's promoted as a cure-all. And, by extension, snake oil salesmen are considered a bunch of rip-off artists who peddle fraudulent goods. We’re rolling straight from the criminal world of blackmail and extortion into a new season -- we’ll see you there, not only with some very real stories about some very bogus things, but also with the cocktails and mocktails made to go with them. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is a story of a Texas oil tycoon, a congressman from Idaho, and a financial commodities broker in Oklahoma City. It’s a story of blackmail, yes. But it’s also a story of political corruption and ethics uncovered by that blackmail. There’s a lot going on here, and pretty much everyone’s guilty. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Mary Ann Clarke attempted to blackmail her ex-lover, the Duke of York — who led the British army — by threatening to publish his letters. Sounds similar to Wellington but it takes a turn: His political enemies took notice, and they discovered that Mary Ann was selling army commissions (meaning, men who wanted a military rank or promotion would pay off Clarke, who would then demand that the Duke give her clients what they wanted). See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Milwaukee Magazine once described Walter Minx as slender and fidgety, with, "the kind of sharp-featured handsomeness that the movies had taught people not to trust." He was German-born, and immigrated to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, with his parents, his brother, and his sister in 1925. He aspired to be a successful American businessman; he wanted to make a fortune -- and a name for himself. He did make a name for himself, but not quite the kind as he’d hoped for. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

When All-American footballer George Ratterman announced his candidacy for sheriff of Campbell County, Kentucky, in April of 1961, he said, “I am told that if I run for sheriff, I will be the victim of all sorts of personal slanderous attacks, but I say to our opponents, let the attacks start now, if they must.” And, well, the attacks did start – culminating in a high-profile set-up of Ratterman in a compromising position with a woman named April Flowers. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Joseph Jenkins Knapp, Jr. was expecting to receive a sizable inheritance upon the death of his 82-year-old great uncle, wealthy retired shipmaster and trader Captain Joseph White. But with debts piling up, Knapp decided he couldn’t wait for natural causes; in April of 1830, he and his brother, John Francis Knapp, hired a hitman to murder him, faked some blackmail letters, and, in the end, didn't get any inheritance at all. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

It started just after Labor Day, with an envelope postmarked September 13, 1935, sent special delivery, addressed to Miss Mae West of 570 N. Rossmore, Ravenswood Apartments, Hollywood, California. There was nothing unusual about the envelope, but its contents were a different matter. It was the first of what would become a series of extortion letters threatening disfigurement by acid if she didn't pay $1,000. This wasn’t about keeping secrets or giving favors; it was about taking money from Mae West. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.