MANIAC BOMBER'S WIFE AMONG HIS 43 VICTIMS

BODY OF SLAIN WOMAN FOUND

Village of Bath, Mich., Reels Under New Horror Of Dynamite Fiend

STATE PROMISES AID

Survivors Tell How Saddened Mothers Tore At Wreckage Of Schoolhouse

By United Press

BATH, Mich., May 19 - The story of Andrew Kehoe's mad attack on society was 
completed today when his murdered wife was found near the ruins of their 
farmhouse.  This brought to 43 the deaths he caused when he blew up the 
village school with dynamite, destroyed his own possessions and died at 
the scene of his greatest crime.  Thirty-seven of the dead were children.

The grief-stricken commnity, with 43 of its members in hospitals, many badly 
injured, left the scene of the school disaster and the work of completing the
search of the ruins when word was received of the finding of Mrs. Kehoe's body.
All else was temporarily forgotten as people trooped out to the Kehoe farm to 
stand appalled at the final evidence attesting to the completenss of Kehoe's insanity.

Head Beaten In

Mrs. Kehoe's head had been beaten in with a club.  Her body had been placed on 
a hand truck as a funeral pyre and the torch applied.  Beside the charred truck
and body were the Kehoe family silverware and a box of money, apparently indicating
that he intended to destroy with her all that he had left of value after 
financial reverses which sent him mad.

A statewide search had been under way to locate Mrs. Kehoe ever since the Kehoe
buildings were burned yesterday.  When found, her skull was discovered to have
been crushed by a blunt instrument and the body burned upon a farm hand truck. 
The Kehoe's were childless.

One cheering note came from the capital of the state at Lansing to the effect that
Governor Fred. W. Green had taken initial steps to see what could be done thru 
the Red Cross or other agencies to give Bath some financial assistance in her sorrow.

Extends Sympathy of State

"There is much justice in the suggestion that the state should aid the village 
in some material way", the governor's note said.  "This is a terrible blow to any
community and the sympathy of the state of Michigan goes out to the people of Bath".

RDB note: the following is also contained in the 5/19 Erie Daily Times article,
if you've already read that; if not, the Erie article actually has more information.

It was not certain whether the death list of 43 would be increased by further 
search of the ruins.

The community Thursday was in pathetic, stunned mourning.  The common grief was 
too great to allow room for resentment at the depressing financial burden piled 
on its already overburdened shoulders by the tragedy.

Schoolhouse in Ruins

The new school house, pride of the county, cost of which caused high taxes which
were alleged to have so crazed Andrew E. Kehoe, the treasurer, that he dynamited
the structure and killed himself as well, was virtually in ruins and the already
overburdened, heavily bonded community faced the necessity of rebuilding the 
costly structure.

With the swiftness and destructiveness of a war-time barrage, bushels full of 
dynamite secretly planted under the foundations of the school by the despondent
Kehoe turned the left wing of the structure into a scene of horror early Wednesday.

Overcome by the enormity of the tragedy and unable to explain the motives of 
any human being who would plot such an act, Bath's 700 citizens somewhat dumbly
united in the general opinion that "nothing like it ever happened before".  
They were incapable of adequate expression.

Need State Help

"This is too much for this village to stand", said Robert Gates, father of a 
16-year-old student, who was hurled bodily through a window by the explosion.
"The state should take a hand and help us get back on our feet.  We were just 
beginning to pay off the bonds on the school, now we have nothing but a double 
debt, and the loss of 43 members of the community."

News of the tragedy spread rapidly through the state of Michigan.  By the time 
frantic parents and friends had reclaimed the last of the broken forms of the 
victims, last Wednesday, a solid line of automobiles stretching literally for 
miles along every road leading into the town choked every highway.

Every home in the village, most of which were in mourning, was ablaze with light
far into the night, while hundreds of citizens and visitors crowded the streets 
and discussed the tragedy.  During the early evening scores of villagers 
appeared as if shell-shocked whenever news photographers snapped the ruins 
of the school.

Man, 72, Joins Rescuers

With the coming of the first dusk of tragedy, however, members of the diminutive
community haltingly told accounts of the explosion.  Martin G. Milliman, 
72-year-old resident of Bath, told of running to the school with the first 
blast, and of "pitching in to save as many as I could".

"But I couldn't stand it for long", he said.  "I had taken four bodies out of
the ruins when Kehoe, believed by every one to have planned the entire disaster,
drew up to the curb in front of the wrecked school and called out to Emory E. 
Huyck, superintendent, who was supervising the work of resuce.

"Both of the men stood talking at the curb for a few minutes when suddenly 
Kehoe's automobile was blown to bits.  He and Huyck were killed outright, 
Nelson McFarran, who was passing by, was also killed, and Glenn Smith, 
Bath's postmaster, was mortally wounded, with both legs severed at the knees.

Gathers Up Husband's Form

"When I saw Mrs. Smith rush over to her husband and gather his broken form into 
her arms, somehow I lost all the strength I had.  I was trying to saw off a 
plank that held a little girl captive in the wreckage, but I couldn't work the 
saw, and a man working beside me said 'you had better go home' and I did."

Robert Gates was one of the first to reach the school after the explosion, and 
told of heart-rending scenes with the breathless arrival of mothers and fathers.

"Mother after mother came running into the school yard, and demanded information
about her child and, on seeing the lifeless form lying on the lawn, broke into 
sobs and swooned", he said.

"In no time more than 100 men were at work tearing away the debris of the school,
and nearly as many women were frantically pawing over the timber and broken 
bricks for trace of their children.  I saw more than one woman lift clusters
of brick held together by mortar heavier than the average man would think of 
handling without a crowbar.

Cries For Daddy

"I found one dead girl, and was working beside Guy Richardson, when I heard 
a little girl buried a foot below the top level of the debris calling 
'Daddy, daddy, come and get me'.

"At that time I did not know that my own boy had escaped serious injury, when 
he was thrown through a first-story window by the explosion.  But I decided 
I would not say anything about it, and kept on working to get that little girl
free.

"There was a heavy board pinning her down, and I made up my mind the only thing
to do was to break it free, so I pulled on it with all the strength I had, 
at the same time calling to the girl, 'yes, your daddy will be there in a few 
minutes.'  The next moment I had broken the board and pulled out the girl.

"She was not injured.  She was the daughter of the man who was working right 
beside me.  Richardson gathered her into his arms and took her to Mrs. 
Richardson, who was working in another section of the school at the time."

Citizens See Blast

Two elderly citizens of the village saw the actual explosion, which occurred 
while they were holding a conversation rural-fashion over the fence adjoining 
their homes next to the school.

"The whole east wing seemed to lift up about four feet", one of them said.  
"The walls caved outward, the roof toppled into the interior and a heavy 
cloud of smoke spread out in all directions.  Then we heard the screams 
of the children, and saw the women folks come running from every direction.  
For a few minutes we could not understand what had happend."

Saved from death in the first blast, Superintendent Huyck met death 10 minutes 
later after seeing every one of the pupils of his class climb to safety.

"Mr. Huyck was giving us an examination", Anson McNatt, a pupil, said in 
describing the explosion.  "We were in the upstairs room in the east wing, the 
old part.  I was sitting near the door, Mr. Huyck was at the front of the room.

Finds Hallway Littered

"The explosion came at 9:45.  The door blew open and the windows blew out.  
There was a dull jar and I jumped to the door to look out.  The hallway was 
littered with plaster.  The plaster came down off the ceiling and the light 
shades dropped, too.

"I jumped to the door and tried to run out, but the hallway was full of smoke 
and plaster.  Then Mr. Huyck yelled for us to climb out the window.  We slid 
down a shed roof and jumped to the ground or climbed down the ladder."

Against the east side of the wing there was a low addition with a sloping roof,
which starts near the second story windows and slants within eight feet of the 
ground.

"Mr. Huyck saw that we were all out safe and then went to the front to see 
what he could do.  It was ten minutes later that Kehoe's automobile blew up.  
I understand that Kehoe called Mr. Huyck up to the car."

Brooded Over Financial Troubles

Pieced together, the varying stories seemed to indicate that Kehoe, a farmer, 
had been brooding constantly over his financial troubles.  They were increased
by the taxation which the building of the new school made necessary and he blamed
the school board for it.  A mortage on his property had recently been foreclosed.

Apparently his rage turned against the whole community and he decided to 
destroy himself, his property, and inflict the deepest wound he could devise 
on his neighbors.

Bath's blackest day began at about 8 a.m. Wednesday when Kehoe set fire to his 
own farm buildings, about a mile from the school.

Then he drove to the school, just after the morning session had started, 
and set off the dynamite planted in the basement.

RDB note: incorrect, the school was on a timer.

Made Thoro Preparations

The intention had been to destroy the entire structure and the 200 or more 
pupils in it.  Preparations had been thorough.  State troopers found five 
bushel baskets of dynamite in the right wing, which had not been wrecked.  
The whole place had been intricately wired through concealed conduits, 
as though by an expert electrician.

A half ton of dynamite in all had been placed under the building, the work of 
days, state troopers said.

The wiring connected with the dynamite under the other wing failed to function 
and a greater tragedy was averted.

When the explosion occurred and Kehoe had seen the culmination of his plans, 
he sat in his autombile near the school and calling the principal, Emory E. 
Huyck, to his car, set off another supply fo dynamite piled in the back seat.
Both were blown to destruction with the car.

Mails Dynamite To Broker

Kehoe's resentment against everybody he thought even remotely connected with 
his financial troubles was further indicated by the finding of a package of 
dynamite mailed to an insurance broker in Lansing, with whom he had dealings.
It was intercepted in the mails and turned over to the state authorities.

RDB note: another report has it that this was just a box of the school board 
records.

Bath was too grief stricken to talk much of funeral plans, although some said 
they thought a common funeral should be held and that [] "the Red Cross should 
bear the expense".   Plans were expected to be formulated and announced today.

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School Picnic Day In Bath One Of Tragedy And Sorrow

Forsted Cakes And Other good Things Forgotten While Parents Mourn For Dead Youngsters

By Charles E. Ahrens
United Press Staff Correspondent

Bath, Mich., May 19. - This was the day of the school picnic.

For days, Bath mothers had been cooking and baking for the great children's day
of the year.  Big frosted cakes, mounds of home-baked bread, baskets of 
sandwiches and tubs of pickles were being made ready.

Dresses of the little girls were starched and ironed.  Sunday suits were waiting
for the boys.  "Dates" were made among the older members.  It was a community 
affair at which everyone was going to turn out.

Examinations at the school were scheduled to end Wednesday and the atmosphere 
there was full of the suppressed excitement that precedes such a holiday.

Today dawned and the village of Bath was preparing, not for a joyful picnic,
but the mass burial of its dead.  The pitiful little bodies which had been taken
from the dynamited school lay in sorrowing homes.

There was little sleep in the village Wednesday night.  Thursday the community 
had not yet recovered sufficiently to make plans even for the funerals.

Mothers sat in their homes, disconsolate.  Fathers gathered at the ruins of the 
school, where state troopers were still supervising the work of the searchers.
Other distracted parents waited at the hospitals in Lansing where the injured 
had been taken, suffering with their suffering children.

It was the tragic aftermath of a community taxation dispute, similar to the 
disputes which have occurred in school communities the country over, but never 
before with such an outcome.  The financial burden which the taxpayers carried 
Thursday was hardly noted in the general grief, but it was that burden which 
sent Andrew Kehoe mad and caused his twisted mind to conceive the punishment 
he visited upon his neighbors.

Those who were on the scene of the explosion Wednesday shortly after 
it occurred will never forget the cruel consequences of Kehoe's act.

The sound of the terrific, rending explosion was heard for miles.  Mothers and 
fathers came on the run from every home in the village and its nearby farms.  
For hours, others were coming from outlying sections as the news spread.  
The school drew its membership from a large surrounding district.

A conception of the scene as the mothers and fathers, frantic for their 
children, scrambled into the ruins, was given graphically in two sentences of 
one of the villagers who aided in the work.  His words picked out a detail of 
the whole, like a searchlight bringing out in relief one section of a jumbled
picture.

"Women were frantically pawing over the timber and broken bricks held together 
by mortar heavier than the average man could think of handling without a crowbar."

One by one, the small bodies were carried out by men and women, some of whom
were dry-eyed and fixed of expression, while tears which they did not know 
were flowing coursed down the cheeks of others.

The bodies were laid in long rows under blankets and parents passed down the 
line, looking for their own.  A husband, in his farm working clothes, would 
support his wife, called from her duties in the kitchen and trembling so she 
could scarcely walk.  With agony, they peered beneath each blanket as the 
corner was thrown back and pass on to the next.  Occasionally came a scream as 
a woman collapsed at the sight of her son or daughter, dead, and was led away.

Events in the school when the explosion came, as described by those who escaped,
were confused and terrible.  The effects of the explosion were so sudden that 
there was little conscious effort to escape.  Those on the two floors of the 
wrecked wing were trapped, and it was only fate, or luck, that decided who 
would die and who emerge alive.

On the first floor of the wrecked wing were the third and fourth grade pupils.
The second floor housed the fifth and sixth grades.  

The three outer walls were blown away and the roof came down upon those on the
second floor.  A few against the inner wall escaped, but those on the outside 
were crushed under the beams and plaster.  Part of the whole mass slid down 
among the children on the two lower floors.

Miss Hazel Weatherbee, 22, was the only teacher who died with her pupils.  
The other three in the wrecked wing were injured.

Miss Leona Gudekust, who taught the little first grade pupiles in the other 
wing, told how she herded her charge to saftey when the explosion came and 
rocked that part of the building.

"They had begged for one more story before starting their work at the 
blackboard", she said.  "It was the day before the picnic so I let them stay 
in their seats and told it to them.  Just then the explosion came.  If I had 
refused to tell that story, they would have been gathered at the inner end 
of the room, against the west wing, which took the brunt of the explosion.  
That story saved many of their lives."

She and Miss Bernice Sterling, the teacher in the next room, got their charges 
together in the confusion of the choking dust which arose and got them out 
in fair order.  Those on the top floor of the same wing, which held up under 
the force of the explosion, escaped through windows and down the partly wrecked
stairway.  Some were injured.