Kentucky History & Haunts

In Part Two, John Reinhardt Pflanz Jr. finally sees his longtime campaign for a modern Louisville jail become a reality—but the new building brings plenty of new problems.After the jail opens in 1905, Pflanz contends with smuggling, faulty heating, a flooded tunnel, the lack of padded cells and one unfortunate matron who gets locked inside the abandoned jail for five hours. He also establishes a library for prisoners, advocates for Kentucky’s new juvenile court system and helps organize the County Jailers of Kentucky Association, which elects him as its first president.Pflanz loses his office in 1907 but returns two years later for a much rockier term marked by criticism of the jail’s management, an ugly battle over the appointment of female matrons and another bitter election defeat. We follow his repeated attempts to reclaim the office through his final years and death in 1927.Today, the jail Pflanz helped build still stands in downtown Louisville—and some believe a few former occupants may have never left.Hear the mysterious sounds recorded inside the Old Louisville Jail:https://www.wave3.com/story/36686729/ghost-hunters-reveal-spooky-sounds-in-old-louisville-jail/Follow Kentucky History & Haunts:Facebook: facebook.com/kyhistoryhauntsInstagram: instagram.com/kyhistoryhauntsEmail: [email protected] mail to Jessie:252 Whittington PkwyLouisville, KY 40222

After briefly encountering Jailer John Reinhardt Pflanz Jr. in our episodes about Rainey Bethea, I went looking for a little more information—and wound up with a 10,000-word story.Born to German immigrants in Louisville’s Portland neighborhood, Pflanz rose from city councilman and local inventor to Jefferson County sheriff and, in 1898, county jailer. He quickly gained a reputation for running a tighter ship while advocating for cleaner, safer and more humane conditions inside Louisville’s dangerously overcrowded jail.In Part One, we explore Pflanz’s early political career, the supposed discovery of gold beneath one of his Portland properties, his appointment of the jail’s first female matron and his persistent campaign for a modern jail with separate wards for women, children and first-time offenders.But life inside the jail was rarely dull. There were elaborate dinners for public officials, a wedding between two prisoners, feuding matrons, a smallpox outbreak, an audacious escape through the roof and the arrival of men accused of involvement in the assassination of Governor William Goebel. Pflanz also survived a brutal election-day assault and endured devastating losses within his family.Although widely praised as a reform-minded jailer, Pflanz was also a deeply contradictory figure whose public speeches revealed the racism underlying Louisville and Kentucky politics at the turn of the twentieth century.Follow Kentucky History & Haunts for historical photographs, newspaper illustrations and more from this episode:Facebook: facebook.com/kyhistoryhauntsInstagram: instagram.com/kyhistoryhauntsEmail: [email protected] mail to:Jessie252 Whittington PkwyLouisville, KY 40222

In Part One, we followed Rainey Bethea’s story through the murder of Lischia Rarick Edwards, his arrest, conflicting confessions and remarkably swift trial. After a proceeding lasting only a few hours, a jury deliberated for less than five minutes before sentencing him to be publicly hanged.Part Two begins with Black attorneys, journalists and civil-rights advocates attempting to secure Bethea a new trial. They questioned whether he understood his guilty plea, received adequate representation or had his constitutional rights protected. Although a federal judge temporarily stayed the execution, Bethea’s petition was dismissed. Governor Chandler set a new execution date of August 14, 1936.Meanwhile, Owensboro prepared for a spectacle. A gallows was erected near the Ohio River, hotels filled with visitors, and residents held “hanging parties.” Thousands gathered around the scaffold, with spectators climbing onto vehicles and nearby buildings for a better view.National attention focused on Daviess County Sheriff Florence Thompson, Kentucky’s only female sheriff at the time. Newspapers were fixated on whether she would personally spring the trap. Thompson instead selected Arthur L. Hash, a former Louisville police officer and World War I veteran who volunteered for the job. Witnesses said Hash appeared visibly intoxicated and unsteady on the scaffold.Shortly after 5:00 a.m., Bethea arrived from Louisville. He had been baptized while awaiting execution and reportedly said he had made peace with God. A priest accompanied him onto the scaffold, where he made his final confession but did not address the crowd.Hash released the trap as thousands watched. Afterward, spectators surged toward the scaffold, and souvenir hunters tore pieces from Bethea’s clothing while he was reportedly still breathing. Professional execution consultant George Philip Hanna later called it the worst display he had witnessed during approximately 70 hangings.The scene generated immediate outrage. Letters and editorials described it as barbaric and humiliating, arguing that public executions encouraged mob behavior rather than serving justice. Owensboro’s newspaper pushed back, accusing visiting journalists of exaggerating the disorder after they were denied the sensational story they expected: Florence Thompson personally pulling the lever.The backlash helped change Kentucky law. In 1938, Governor Chandler signed legislation repealing the provision that allowed people convicted of rape to be publicly hanged in the county where the crime occurred.Rainey Bethea’s hanging is generally recognized as the last public execution conducted in the United States. Its history raises difficult questions about race, justice, punishment, media sensationalism and the public’s willingness to turn death into entertainment.Content warning: This episode includes discussion of execution, mob violence and racism.Photos and newspaper clippings will be shared on the Kentucky History & Haunts social media pages.Questions, comments or episode suggestions? Email [email protected]: https://www.instagram.com/kyhistoryhauntsFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/kyhistoryhauntsIf you enjoy the show, please follow, share the episode and leave a rating or review on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.Additional reading:https://time.com/archive/6755762/crime-party/Mailing address:252 Whittington Pkwy, Louisville, KY 40222

Rainey Bethea is remembered as the last person publicly executed in Kentucky—and, depending on the source, the last person publicly executed in the United States. But his story did not begin at the gallows, and the familiar version of what happened in Owensboro leaves out some of its most important and troubling details.In Part One of this two-part series, we trace what is known about Bethea’s early life in Roanoke, Virginia, before following him to Owensboro during the Great Depression. As a young Black man arriving in a segregated western Kentucky river town with few resources or connections, Bethea faced severely limited opportunities. His early encounters with Owensboro police also placed him on the radar of a small local law-enforcement system long before the case that would make his name known across the country.In 1936, 70-year-old Lischia Rarick Edwards was found dead inside her Owensboro residence. Within days, authorities identified Bethea as their primary suspect and found him hiding near the banks of the Ohio River.This episode examines the evidence collected against him, his arrest, the threat of mob violence and the decision to move him to Louisville for protection. The case moved with extraordinary speed. A special grand jury was assembled, and prosecutors deliberately pursued a charge that made Bethea eligible for a public hanging under Kentucky law. The jury returned its guilty verdict in less than five minutes.Bethea later claimed that he had not understood the charge to which he pleaded guilty. He said the proceedings had been rushed and that he believed he was entering a plea to robbery rather than assault. By then, however, he had already been sentenced to hang.As Owensboro began preparing for an execution expected to attract thousands of spectators, a group of Black attorneys, journalists and civil-rights advocates stepped forward to investigate whether Bethea’s constitutional rights had been violated. Their questions remain central to understanding this case: Did Bethea receive meaningful legal representation? Did he understand his plea? Could a fair trial have taken place in Owensboro at that moment? Would more time, a change of venue or a defense that called witnesses have made any difference?Part Two will follow the legal effort to stop the execution, the intense national attention focused on Daviess County Sheriff Florence Thompson, the growing spectacle surrounding the hanging and what actually happened on the morning of August 14, 1936. Content warning: This episode contains discussion of sexual assault, murder, racism, police violence and threatened mob violence. A warning is also provided within the episode before the description of the crime.If you enjoy Kentucky History & Haunts, please follow the show, share the episode with a fellow history lover, and leave a rating or review wherever you listen. Those small actions make a tremendous difference in helping new listeners discover the podcast.Have a Kentucky history story, mystery or haunting you think should be featured? Send your suggestions, questions or feedback to [email protected] Kentucky History & Haunts:Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kyhistoryhauntsFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/kyhistoryhauntsMailing address: 252 Whittington Pkwy, Louisville, KY 40222

Public executions once drew crowds by the thousands in Kentucky. Families traveled by wagon, vendors did business, newspapers covered every detail, and many people believed these spectacles served as a warning to would-be criminals. Others saw them for what they were: state-sanctioned violence disguised as public entertainment.In this episode, we trace the history of Kentucky's public hangings long before the infamous execution of Rainey Bethea. Through newspaper accounts, court records, and firsthand descriptions, we examine how public opinion shifted over time, why legislators repeatedly debated whether executions should be public or private, and how these events reflected the social and political climate of nineteenth and early twentieth-century Kentucky.Along the way, we'll explore the executions of John Ryan in Graves County, the notorious Boyd County murders involving Ellis Craft, William Neal, and George Ellis, the execution of Jordan Taylor in Christian County, Henry Hall in the mountains of eastern Kentucky, and the later cases of William Deboe and John Montjoy as Kentucky struggled to reconcile changing attitudes toward capital punishment.We'll also look at the surprising role of jail reform advocate Jailer Pflanz, the introduction of the electric chair at Eddyville, and the legislation that briefly revived public hangings for certain crimes during the 1920s and 1930s.This episode contains discussions of murder, sexual violence, executions, child victims, and graphic historical material. Listener discretion is strongly advised.Why Kentucky continued public hangings long after many other states abandoned themThe arguments for and against public executions in nineteenth-century newspapersHow executions became public spectacles that attracted thousands of spectatorsThe murders that led to some of Kentucky's most infamous executionsThe transition from hanging to electrocution at EddyvilleThe controversial laws that briefly revived public hangings during the 1920s and 1930sWhy John Montjoy's private execution set the stage for Rainey Bethea's place in historyNext time, we'll examine the case of Rainey Bethea, whose 1936 execution in Owensboro became the last public hanging in Kentucky and the last public execution in the United States. We'll explore the crime, the trial, Sheriff Florence Thompson's unexpected role, the enormous crowds that descended on Owensboro, and how Bethea's execution ultimately ended the era of public hangings forever.Follow Kentucky History & Haunts on Instagram and Facebook to see photographs, newspaper clippings, and other historical images that accompany each episode.If you enjoy the show, please consider leaving a rating or review wherever you listen to podcasts. It helps more history lovers discover the stories of Kentucky's fascinating past.Questions, comments, or episode suggestions? Email [email protected].*Transcripts are auto-generated and may contain errorsMailing address:252 Whittington Pkwy, Louisville, KY 40222___https://time.com/archive/6755762/crime-party/https://www.nytimes.com/1936/08/23/archives/kentucky-aroused-by-public-hanging-press-and-public-take-up-battle.html