The Castles on West 14th Street
Linda Hudson Hoagland, North Tazewell, VA
Tearing down the castle on West 14th Street and finding secrets was something I always thought would happen some day far in the distant future; at least, I thought so in my mind. I didn’t say my thoughts out loud so anyone could hear them. I didn’t really believe it would be true, not during my lifetime. I guess it seemed to me to be my writer’s imagination that was doing all of the conjuring up of possibilities.
I remember as a kid walking past that old wooden mansion with its round castle-like tower at each side. Whoever owned the place put forth a great deal of effort to keep it well maintained by painting the outside of the structure every couple of years. The window glasses were spit polish shined until the sunlight glinted off of them fiercely blinding all who looked at it at a certain angle and a specific point in time of a sunny afternoon.
I never did know who owned the house nor did I ever see anyone who might be considered an owner. The only people I ever saw around the outside of the place were workmen dressed in the navy blue uniform type work clothes like my dad used to wear.
“Karin, do you know who owns the castle on West 14th Street?” I asked my high school chum when my curiosity got the best of me.
“There isn’t a castle on West 14th Street.”
“Yeah there is. The big white house with the round towers on each side. That’s the castle.”
“I don’t know who owns or lives there now, but my dad said West 14th Street was the affluent section of the city during the forties and earlier. That’s when those big old wooden houses were built to look like castles. I wouldn’t want to live in one of those places, it would be really creepy, I think.”
“Why? I think it would be a fine thing to do. It would be glamorous to walk around in the footsteps of the rich and famous. It would be almost like a dream.”
“Oh, I don’t know. The way some of those people made their money back then wasn’t very nice, you know. Seems to me like I heard about some killings that took place on West 14th Street. I don’t know who it was or what it was about, but I surely wouldn’t want to live there.”
“How many of those big wooden mansions were built? Do you know?”
“I remember when I was a kid, there were about four or five of them. I know two of the old houses burned down all the way to the ground. Another one was torn down for the new road. That left the two that are still standing. One was always kept in really good condition while the other one always looked like it needed a lot of repairs and definitely a new paint job.”
“Who own the old house that needs all the work?”
“The same guy who keeps the one you call the castle in such good condition also owns the run down hovel of a house.”
“Why does he keep one of the house in good repair and performs only necessary work on the second house?”
“Don’t know.”
I dreaded the day the demolition would start on the house I called the castle. It was always so perfect looking but also so very empty of happy smiling faces.
The newspaper sent out reporters to cover the destruction of a monument to a time long since passed.
I took my lunch hour and stood watching the death of my dream topple to the ground.
It took a couple of days to haul way the debris from the demolition.
It took many months to clear the way for any new type of construction in the same area.
It seemed that a body had been discovered in the deepest area of the debris pile.
I was there when the stir of discovery was made. I watched as workers stopped performing their tasks and removed their hats in respect to the dead body that had been unearthed. I listened as the beehive of activity was replaced with the whispers of death. I could feel the presence of death at that moment.
“Whose body is it?” I asked the person that was standing next to me along the sidewalk.
“Don’t know.”
“Is it a man or a woman?”
“Don’t know.”
“How long has it been there?”
“Don’t know.”
Of course, he didn’t know. I was standing there right beside him and I didn’t know either.
I knew this would happen. I knew there would be hidden secrets in that house. I just didn’t know what those secrets were and how far back they traveled in time.
I scoured the newspaper daily looking for answers that didn’t seem to be forthcoming. I decided to check the obituaries each day to see if there was an insert about the funeral service that would be held for the body. I wanted to know if it had been identified and what the cause of death might be.
In my heart, I wanted that body to have a name and someone who cared about whether he or she lived or died.
“Karin, have you heard anything about that body that was found under the castle on West 14th Street?”
“No, just that it was found. Why are you so interested?”
“No reason, just curiosity. I didn’t know if it had been a man or woman. I thought you might have heard something?”
“No, not a word. You seem to be obsessing on that body and that house. Do you think it’s somebody you know or a long gone relative?”
“I’m not from around here, remember? It’s not likely to be anyone I know or that I am related to. It bothers me that no answers have been found. That’s all. I’m not obsessed – just curious,” I said as a weak defense to my questions of my friend.
The old man that had owned both houses, the well kept one and the run down one, had recently died. His heirs were the ones who allowed the demolition of the both of the structures that structures stood side by side.
Finally, when my curiosity could stand no more waiting, I wrote a letter to the editor of the newspaper that I hoped would be published expressing my interest in obtaining information about the death and the surrounding circumstances.
Dear Editor:
When I first arrived in this city, I was a lost, lonely, country girl who was overwhelmed by the size of this city and the multitude of people held within its boundaries.
I would walk the sidewalks gazing at the different types of houses that had been built over the years from the oldest clapboard structures that were still standing to the newest concrete and brick facades that caused me to puzzle out the reasoning and meaning behind the building plan.
My favorite homes were the wooden castles on West 14th Street. Now, progress has deemed that these wonderful old structures be torn down and replaced with freeways. During the destruction of one of those old homes, a body was discovered. Has the identity been ascertained for that body and a possible reason for the death of that person who has remained hidden for so many years?
I have no ties to the homes in any way but I do think the bones should have a name.
Signed: Interested in the Truth
The editor of the newspaper published my letter without my name being added. Anyone wishing to furnish the requested information was directed to send it to the attention of the editor.
I was pleased when I saw the published letter but I really expected no response. It was my thought that eventually the legal authorities should release information to the public about the identity of the bones. I had no idea how long that would take but I didn’t expect it to happen any time soon.
Well, I was wrong. Less than a week after my letter to the editor was published, someone tried to answer my questions in part via the editor.
Dear Interested in the Truth:
I was part of the work crew that discovered the body, or perhaps I should say bones. The bones had been buried in the basement of that house for many years so that left nothing for identification except possibly the DNA that could be garnered from within the bone itself. Sex was impossible to determine by those present at the discovery sight. But, based on the rotting fragment of cloth found near the bones, I would have to guess it was a woman. Age was not to be determined by us.
Just for clarification purposes, the bones were found in what used to be the basement of the house that had been kept in good condition, not the other way around as one might have suspected.
I hope this helps a little.
Signed: Digger of the Bones
I was all smiles when I read that letter. At least, someone else besides me, a stranger, was interested in finding the truth.
I was puzzled though. I would have thought the bones would have been discovered in the basement of the house that had not been kept up to the sparkling standards of its twin structure.
Ten days later another letter to the editor was published referencing the bones.
Dear Interested and Digger:
The man, who owned the houses since they were built, recently died. When he was a young man, in his teens I think, he had a twin sister who lived with him and his family. As I recall, his parents died through a wave of sickness that traveled through the city at that time leaving him and his sister to take care of each other. The dead parents had been well to do so that left the teenagers with no worries about money.
The tale that was told to me was that he took the money and built two identical new houses, one for his sister, and one for himself. Then, low and behold, his sister disappeared. He explained it away as a trip to Europe followed by a marriage and then an accidental death; thus, he no longer had a sister.
I believe that if there is evidence of his DNA somewhere, that bones can be matched back to him. I believe the bones are those of his sister.
How she died is anyone’s guess, but since her death was hidden, I would be inclined to think it was not one of natural causes.
I don’t think the truth of her death will ever be discovered. Her name was Mary Elizabeth Szklarzinski.
Signed: Carrier of Tales
Now, we were another step closer to the truth, maybe.
It was my hope that the police department was also reading the newspaper editorial page. It appeared that I had started the snowball rolling down the hill and it was rapidly picking up speed.
Maybe with all of the advances that have been made with forensic science nowadays, that an actual cause of death could be found; then again, maybe not. The bones would be able to show signs of a traumatic death if marks had been left by some kind of lethal weapon. A gun would leave a bullet hole, a knife might leave a grove or a gouge in the bone, an illness, in most cases, would leave no evidence at all.
I had resigned myself to having to accept what pieces of information I had already received as being the whole story or, at least, all that we were going to be able to get since the passing of Mary Elizabeth Szklarzinski’s brother, Edward Thaddeus Szklarzinski.
It had been several months since the Carrier of Tales letter and there had been no article written about the police releasing any information about the bones. So it came as a total surprise when another letter to the editor appeared that explained more of the story of Mary Elizabeth.
Dear Editor,
I am sending this letter to you anonymously because I don’t want anybody to know who I am or ask me how I should know all of this.
Mary Elizabeth Szklarzinski died of natural causes being that of pneumonia. Her tight fisted brother would not take her to see the doctor. So, Mary Elizabeth eventually drowned in her own fluids.
Edward Thaddeus was so overcome by her death that he drove himself deep into a depression that lasted until the day he died.
Edward told me that he buried his sister in the basement because he didn’t want anyone to discover that he was too cheap to take her to see a doctor. He was ashamed.
There was no murder involved. Edward Thaddeus loved his sister, but he also loved his money.
He vowed to take care of her house, her final resting place, as a lasting and permanent monument to his sister.
That is why her empty house is always sparkling clean and freshly painted while his was run down and unkempt.
I hope this explanation will allow the twins to rest in peace.
Signed: The Truth Revealed.
I read that letter with a heart filled with sadness for both Edward Thaddeus and Mary Elizabeth Szklarzinski. She had died at a very early age but he had paid for her untimely death all of his life.
I added this last letter to the copies of the previous letters. This was a story I wanted to remember.
“Karin, have you been following the story about the castles on West 14th Street?”
“No, what about them?”
“Let’s meet at The Lake Erie Restaurant tonight after work and I’ll tell you all about it. I think you’ll be interested in the story. We used to walk passed those two houses everyday on our way to school.”
