Moonshine and Murder in Red Oak

Albert Girardi and his family

Albert Girardi was dead. George Austin checked the pulse, pressed his ear to the lifeless chest. There were no signs of life. None. So, you can imagine his surprise when Girardi sat up as they headed out to dispose of the body.

“For God’s sake, hit him again!” John Stewart screamed. “He is raising up.”

Austin hit Girardi with the king bolt. “This blow finished him,” he said. “I didn’t notice any more life to him.”

Austin rifled through Girardi’s billfold. He counted $82 in cash, pocketed the money, and tucked the wallet back in Girardi’s jacket. No sense taking evidence with him.

That was the second time they killed Girardi. But let’s start at the beginning.

Albert Girardi was a produce salesman from the Little Italy district of Omaha, Nebraska. He had a wife, two small children, Arto, 4, and Lucrezia, 9 months—and a booming business.

Monkey Island at Fejervary Park in Davenport

Visitors at Monkey Island

Fejervary Park has an island inhabited by seventy monkeys, running around the rocks like they’ve got somewhere urgent to be, splashing in the water, screaming at each other. Acting like the place is one wrong look away from turning into a full-blown riot.

From a distance, it looks cute. Up close, you realize it’s a setup.

There’s a concrete wall around the lagoon, and the water’s kept low on purpose so the monkeys can’t use it like a springboard and launch themselves out of there. No grand escape. No heroic leap. Just a shallow moat and a reminder that the island is more stage than wilderness.

Still, they’ve made a life in it. A whole little kingdom.

Muscatine Business District Lit Up At Night

The Muscatine Journal published this image of the city's buisness district all lit up under the new illumination system. The lights were turned on at 8 p.m. on February 1, 1928, by the Queen of Light (unidentified). (colorized version of black and white newspaper image)

Samuel J. Kirkwood: He Mobilized Iowa For The Civil War

When Samuel J. Kirkwood became governor of Iowa in 1860, the country was already sliding toward civil war. He acted fast, calling for volunteers, forming new regiments, and getting those men ready to serve the Union.

On April 16, 1861, Washington ordered Iowa to send a regiment for immediate service. Kirkwood didn’t have time to ease into the war; he began organizing at once.

The United States didn’t have a large army. That meant the states had to do much of the work. Iowa had willing men, but supplies were scarce. Guns and ammunition were the biggest problem. Even when volunteers poured in, the state couldn’t outfit them properly.

Kirkwood’s job became a constant scramble for equipment. At first, he wasn’t sure he could raise a full regiment. When volunteers flooded in by the thousands, the number of men ready to serve was larger than the state could quickly arm and outfit.

That created a fresh crisis. Kirkwood and other leading Iowans took unusual steps to get the state moving. They pledged personal property to borrow money for supplies, because waiting meant wasting time the Union didn’t have.

The Bat, The Bite, And The Midwestern Freak Show

January 1982. The Blizzard of Ozz plays Veterans Memorial Auditorium, and for a few chaotic seconds, Des Moines became the center of the American freak show.

Ozzy Osbourne is onstage. Lights slicing through smoke; guitars loud enough to rearrange your organs. The crowd is packed in tight. Denim and teenage adrenaline fill the auditorium.

Then something comes flying onto the stage. Small. Dark. Flopping wings.

A bat.

Depending on who you ask, it was a rubber toy or the real deal—a dead bat someone had brought like a twisted party favor. Either way, it lands near Ozzy’s boots, and that’s when reality shifted.

Ozzy picks it up. And bites it. The crowd watches, unsure how to react. They aren’t horrified. Just stunned. Like their brains need a second to catch up and decide—is it part of the show or some new-fangled Ozzy Voodoo ritual?

Then it hits. Screams. Cheers. Confused people, unsure how to react.

Afterward, Ozzy said he thought it was rubber. Maybe, but— There’s something unsettling about it. Grabbing something off the ground and biting it.

 The moment lives on, one of those stories that’s too ridiculous to die. Forty years later, the legend persists. And the question—reality or sideshow.

Skyjack Hill Motorcycle Climb - Carlisle, Iowa

Riders came from across the country for a motorcycle hill climb at Skyjack Hill, located five miles southeast of Carlisle, Iowa. The event was held on June 1, 1930.

The contest drew twelve professional riders from different parts of the country, along with over 30 riders from Iowa and neighboring states.

Several well-known hill climb riders entered the contest. Petrali of Chicago was listed as a national hill climb champion. Reiber of Milwaukee entered as the runner-up from the previous year’s championship climb. Art Erlenbaugh of Milwaukee also competed. He was reported to hold a hill climb record of 6.25 seconds.

 

Pioneer Club Pushmobile Race 1929 - Des Moines

The Des Moines Tribune-Capital printed this picture of the Pioneer Club Pushmobile Race which took place on Saturday, May 4, 1929. The winners were John Dowd and Earl Myers.