WEBVTT

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What if a fire tore through your home on Christmas

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Eve, and when the smoke cleared, five of your

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children were simply gone? No bodies, no remains,

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just vanished. Would you believe the official

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story, or would you spend the rest of your life

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chasing answers? Welcome to Beyond the Silence,

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Whispers Across America. I'm Sammy, and tonight's

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episode is one that gets under my skin every

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single time. We're stepping back into Christmas

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Eve, 1945, Fayetteville, West Virginia. A small

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town, tight -knit, the kind of place where everybody

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knew the Sodder family. George and Jenny, Italian

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immigrants, hardworking, respected, and prosperous.

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Thanks to George's cold business, we're raising

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10 kids under one bustling, love -filled roof.

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So picture the holiday night, Christmas Eve.

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The trees lit, the younger kiddos, Betty, Jenny,

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Louis, Martha, and Maurice are playing with toys

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Marion bought with her paycheck from the dime

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store. It's festive, warm, the kind of moment

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families look back on and treasure. Honestly,

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when I think about my own family's holiday traditions,

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that feeling is exactly what comes to mind, you

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know? That glass of eggnog that someone inevitably

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knocks over, someone sneaking one too many cookies.

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It makes what happened next, it just hits you

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harder. In a split second, one ordinary Christmas

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turned into an unending nightmare, a mystery

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that's haunted generations. Here's how the night

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unfolds, and there are details here that, well,

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they drive you mad if you try to make sense of

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them. The little ones, their chores done, ask

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Jenny and George if they can stay up. The parents

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give in. It's Christmas, after all. As long as

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the older boys, Louis and Maurice, lock up the

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coop and feed the cows. Marion, the teenager,

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falls asleep on the couch, and Jenny, the mom,

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takes baby Sylvia upstairs. George and the oldest

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boys turn in early. George had been working all

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day. A little after midnight, the phone rings.

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Real late, right? Jenny picks up and there's

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some strange woman asking for somebody who doesn't

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live there. Laughter in the background, then

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a weird laugh from the caller before hanging

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up. Now, I don't know about you, but a late night

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wrong number is never just a funny one -off in

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stories like these. When Jenny puts the phone

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down, she notices the lights downstairs are still

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on, the doors unlocked. Odd for her disciplined

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children. She turns the lights off, locks up,

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but doesn't see the younger kids. Maybe she assumes

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they're up in the attic. About a half hour later,

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she hears this thud, like something hitting the

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roof and rolling off. She's tired, doesn't go

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check, just drifts back to sleep. By around 1

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a .m., though, she's up again, this time to the

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smell of smoke. She wakes George. Chaos erupts.

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Mary ends up and gets Sylvia out while George

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and the older boys, John and George Jr., come

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stumbling down, hair singed by the flames. They're

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yelling, trying to get to everyone. But five

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kids, Maurice, Martha, Jenny, Louis, and little

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Betty, aren't with them. Not in the living room,

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not on the stairs. Just missing. As the fire

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moves fast, swallowing the stairway to the attic.

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Can you imagine tucking your kids in on Christmas

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Eve, only to wake up and half of them are gone?

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At this point, we're talking minutes. Fire is

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blazing, everyone outside, but it's icy cold,

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panic everywhere. Jenny and George realize right

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away, five kids, gone. They try everything, shouting,

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breaking windows, but it's like the house just

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ate them up. That's what makes what follows so

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unsettling. By sunrise, when the fire department

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finally gets there, the place is just a charred,

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smoldering pile of ash and debris. Here's where

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the mystery starts digging in deep. Despite searching

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the ruins, there's, get this, no trace of the

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missing five. No bodies, no bones, not even personal

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items. Not even the smallest remains you'd expect

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after a house fire. I mean, I'm not an expert,

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but I've read enough about fire aftermath to

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know even in the worst blazes, you tend to find

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something. Experts at the time would later say

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a typical fire like this just couldn't fully

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destroy human bone. Appliances were left, bits

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of the tin roof, but not a single piece of these

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kids. This is when the solder family's certainty

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grows. Their children didn't die in that fire.

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Not unless something completely outside the realm

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of normal happened. And to be fair, even the

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cops and fire chiefs seem to shrug it off. Faulty

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wiring, they say, but five kids don't just evaporate.

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Faulty wiring or not. That official story never

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sat right with George or Jenny. How could it?

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How about yourself? Would you accept that official

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explanation or demand the truth? Now, the rescue

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attempts? If you didn't already have chills,

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just wait. George tries to get back in. First,

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he goes for the ladder that's always leaned against

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the house. Can you guess? Gone. Poof. No ladder

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anywhere. And it's not like someone misplaced

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it. Later, they find it tossed down an embankment

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far from where it should have been. George, he's

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desperate. He smashes a window, cutting his arm.

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He tries to start his truck so he can back them

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up and climb in. because at this point the only

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hope is through those upstairs windows. But both

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trucks, both of them, won't start. These are

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vehicles he drove the previous day, no problems,

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suddenly dead. Out in the yard, the barrel for

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water, it's frozen solid. The neighbors, they

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try to help, too, running to use their phones.

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But the line's dead. Marion, the eldest daughter,

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tries from a neighbor's house, still nothing.

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Someone jumps in a car to find the fire chief

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directly, and even then, it takes hours to gather

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the crew and get them there. I mean, seven hours

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it took for the fire department to roll up, even

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though they're only a couple miles away. That's

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not just bad luck. That's incomprehensible. Then

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you've got conflicting accounts from some of

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the siblings about whether they tried to shake

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the kids awake or just yelled. But either way,

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those five were never seen after. all while the

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house is reduced to foundation in under an hour.

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It's tragedy piled on top of confusion, with

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a heavy dose of, were things stacked against

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this family from the get -go? Let's rewind a

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few weeks before the fire, because if you're

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me, this is where things start to really itch

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at your brain. October 45, some life insurance

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salesman tries to push a policy on George. He

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refuses. So what does the guy say? Your house

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is going up in smoke and your children are going

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to be destroyed. All thanks to your dirty remarks

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about Mussolini. That's... well, it doesn't get

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any more pointed than that, does it? Then there's

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the fuse box incident. A random visitor comes

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by asking for hauling work, pokes around back,

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and warns George that his fuse boxes are a fire

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hazard. Even though, mind you, the wiring had

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just been professionally checked. And the car?

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The one that gets seen a bunch of times, parked

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near the house, watching the younger kids walk

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home? All these incidents, alone, might just

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be weird, but in the stew of everything else,

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they make you wonder if this was a setup from

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the start. George wasn't quiet about his feelings

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toward Mussolini and fascists. He'd made enemies,

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especially in the Italian -American community

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that didn't all share his views. There's talk

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about organized crime, mafia involvement, retaliation.

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Suddenly the idea of a kidnapping or vengeance

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attack? That's not so wild a theory, at least

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to the Sodders. Was this just bad luck? Or were

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the Sodders marked for something sinister? Now,

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the investigation, or what you'd barely call

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one, gets messy. Fast. Fire officials quickly

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chalk it up to an accident. Faulty wiring and

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wrap things up. Never mind that a professional

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electrician had inspected the place just weeks

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before the fire and found it safe. Oh, and the

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Christmas lights? On. Well into the blaze. Which,

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if it had been electrical, makes no sense at

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all. The power should have gone out right away.

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Then there's the phone line. Local repairmen

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say it was physically cut, not burned, and cut

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in a way that someone would have had to scale

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a pole and reach out two feet to do it. Not exactly

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random. The missing ladder shows up down the

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embankment, like I mentioned. And here's a real

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head -scratcher. That same insurance salesman

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who made those threats, he sat on the coroner's

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jury that decided the fire was accidental. I

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mean, come on. Even in a small town, that's...

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Gosh. I stutter just trying to wrap my mind around

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it. Conflict of interest doesn't even begin to

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cover it. With no remains found, Jenny, she's

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relentless, starts her own mini forensics experiments.

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She burns chicken bones, beef joints, pork chops,

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whatever she can get her hands on. Guess what?

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After hours and all sorts of heat, bones are

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always left. People who specialize in this field

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tell her even at 2 ,000 degrees Fahrenheit for

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hours, you still get bones. The Sodder house

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fire, maybe 45 minutes, are not nearly hot or

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long enough by any scientific standard to destroy

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five skeletons. Fast forward to 1949, four years

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after the fire. The family brings in a D .C.

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pathologist, Oscar Hunter, to excavate the site.

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They find a couple coins, a burned book, and

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some shards of vertebrae. But when experts look

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at the bones, they determine it belonged to,

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well, basically an older teen or young adult,

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not any of the missing kids. And crucially, they

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hadn't even been exposed to fire. Turns out those

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bones most likely came from cemetery dirt that

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George had used to fill in the basement after

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bulldozing. Nothing to do with the kids at all.

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So what you're left with is nothing but more

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questions. No official forensics ever link a

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single trace to a single solder child. Ask yourself,

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how does a fire destroy a house, but leave no

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trace of five small bodies? It's not like this

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story faded after the ashes cooled. Far from

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it. The years that followed were a whirlwind

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of rumors and alleged sightings. There's a woman

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who swears she saw the kids in the backseat of

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a car the night of the fire. Another says she

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served them breakfast at a roadside hotel. The

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most detailed was from a woman in Charleston

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running a motel. She claims a group fitting the

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children's description stayed there, with two

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women and two men, all of Italian extraction.

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She tries to talk to the kids, gets stonewalled.

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The group leaves at the crack of dawn. Some theories

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get dark quick. Kidnapping, mafia plots, maybe

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traffickers trying to get the kids out of state

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or even out of country. One of the wild notions,

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someone lured the children out, convinced them

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their home and family were doomed so they wouldn't

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resist leaving. The Sodders chase down every

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hint. Private detectives, front page stories,

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trips across the country. They put up that legendary

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billboard with photos of the children, and a

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hefty reward kept it up for decades. If hope

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and stubbornness could find lost loved ones,

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the Sodders would have cracked this case wide

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open. If strangers told you they'd seen your

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children alive, how far would you chase that

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hope? One of the strangest twists? The so -called

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heart in a box. Two years after the fire, Fire

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Chief Morris says, Oh, by the way, I buried a

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heart I found in the ashes. Leads the family,

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shows them where, so they dig it up. It's a dynamite

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box. Inside, turns out to be beef liver, untouched

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by flames. The fire chief eventually confesses,

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yeah, he faked it to try to give the solders

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closure, or maybe to cover some kind of blunder.

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Either way, it's a low point and a string of

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indignities. Then Sylvia, the youngest, finds

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a rubber object months after the fire when the

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snow melts. It's military green, hollow with

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a cap. Turns out it's likely an incendiary device.

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A so -called pineapple bomb. And witnesses, the

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bus driver, neighbors, recall people tossing

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balls of fire at the house that night. Arson

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starts looking more and more likely. At least

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to the folks with the most reason to believe.

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Nearly 25 years after the fire, Jenny Sauter

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receives a mysterious photograph in the mail.

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Postmarked Kentucky, but with no sender's name.

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It's a young man, dark eyes, the same strong

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brow as her son Luis. At least that's what the

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family believes. The back reads, Luis Sauter.

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I love Brother Frankie. Eh, little boys? A 9

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-0 -1 -3 -2 or 35. Nobody quite knows what any

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of that means, but the message is enough. The

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hope is enough. They add the photo to the billboard,

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hang an enlarged version over their fireplace,

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to keep the story alive in every possible way.

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Their pursuit of the truth turned their family

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into a national icon of cold case perseverance.

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Billboards, flyers, interviews. and memories,

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the kind that won't go away quietly. Even after

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George and Jenny passed, the surviving siblings

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kept pressing, chasing whispers and faint possibilities.

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That pattern of families pulling at every thread,

00:14:54.940 --> 00:14:58.299
refusing to let go, is why so many of these stories

00:14:58.299 --> 00:15:01.960
still demand attention, even generations later.

00:15:02.159 --> 00:15:05.899
It's hard to wrap this one up. No neat ending,

00:15:06.080 --> 00:15:08.639
no answers, just questions lingering over the

00:15:08.639 --> 00:15:11.820
years echoing from the ashes. But this story

00:15:11.820 --> 00:15:15.059
refuses to close, part of the American mythos

00:15:15.059 --> 00:15:18.000
now. What becomes of the lost and what lengths

00:15:18.000 --> 00:15:21.080
would you go to for the truth? Sometimes I get

00:15:21.080 --> 00:15:24.039
asked, why dig this stuff up? Why keep going?

00:15:24.299 --> 00:15:28.080
And to that I say, because silence isn't justice.

00:15:28.580 --> 00:15:32.049
Until next time, keep listening. Keep asking

00:15:32.049 --> 00:15:34.509
and never let those whispers fade to nothing.

00:15:34.789 --> 00:15:37.909
What do you believe happened? Share your voice

00:15:37.909 --> 00:15:40.809
because sometimes the smallest detail can spark

00:15:40.809 --> 00:15:44.690
the biggest breakthrough. I'm Sammy and this

00:15:44.690 --> 00:15:47.769
is Beyond the Silence, Whispers Across America.

00:15:48.330 --> 00:15:50.970
Thank you for listening. Stay safe and I'll see

00:15:50.970 --> 00:15:51.570
you next time.
