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Deadly Hotels in Holidays

rappin — Sat, 18 Oct 2008 20:46:23 +0000

Rickety old haunted houses are for lightweights. Want to really feel the fear? (You sicko.) For seekers of creepy kicks, there’s nothing quite like a bona fide gruesome death site. Hotels are primo spots for dubious deeds—including big-time murders, overdoses, and suicides, as well as run-of-the-mill accidental biotoxin poisonings. So in the spirit of a forensics-leaning Halloween, here’s our list of 12 inns that hosted famous passings. They range from rock ‘n’ rollers’ expiration sites off L.A.’s Sunset Strip to a sumptuous boutique hotel on Paris’s Left Bank. Most have successfully scrubbed themselves of their dubious reputation, while a few happily trade on the notoriety. But one thing is shared by every place listed: You don’t need a ghost-busting team to get a genuine shudder from their bloodstained histories.

CHELSEA HOTEL, New York City

The Chelsea’s facade is like Tim Burton’s fantasy of a grand hotel: 12 stories of bloodred brick, broken up by black wrought-iron balconies. The hotel’s guest book reads like the history of 20th-century American culture—you could call it the birthplace of Beat poetry, American modern art, and the singer-songwriter movement—but it is still best known as the place where Dylan Thomas spent his last days and Sid Vicious killed his girlfriend, Nancy Spungen. Nicknamed the “exploding dimwit” by the music press, Vicious was the former bass player for English punk band the Sex Pistols. Vicious and Spungen were a volatile couple, and were regularly seen covered with bruises and cigarette burns. On October 12, 1978, after a pair of early-morning anonymous phone calls to the hotel’s front desk calling attention to room 100, Spungen was found dead on the bathroom floor with a single knife wound in her abdomen, while Vicious walked the halls, muttering. The actual stabbing is still a punk rock mystery: There are theories that Spungen was murdered by one of two drug dealers who visited the hotel room that night. Vicious died of a heroin overdose before he could go to trial, and rumors of a shared suicide pact continue to this day.

LIZZIE BORDEN BED & BREAKFAST, Fall River, Massachusetts

Death, New England–style: After a breakfast of bananas and johnnycakes and a stroll in town, return home to receive 40 whacks with an ax. This was the nature of Andrew Borden’s last day on earth, a day guests at the Lizzie Borden B&B can relive in most of its particulars, save the actual ax blows. Borden was murdered on August 4, 1892, along with his second wife (pictured). Suspicion has always fallen on their daughter Lizzie, though she was tried and found not guilty. Unlike the typical hotel-cum–murder site, however, the owners of Lizzie’s former digs play up the Borden deaths, and the ambiguity that still surrounds them, giving the Lizzie Borden House a dash of creepiness to go with the cheesy feeling of a 19th-century theme park. The Greek Revival house in the Massachusetts industrial town of Fall River contains six bedrooms; fans of gore can pay $200 a night to sleep in the bedroom where Abby Borden, Lizzie’s stepmother, was found hacked to death. Lizzie’s own bedroom is also available for the same price, if the idea of getting into a likely murderess’s head appeals. A prominent Lizzie-didn’t-do-it theory has Bridget Sullivan, the family maid, taking the hatchet to her masters after they asked her to wash the windows on a particularly hot day; her attic room, at $175, is one of the house’s cheaper pleasures.

L’HÔTEL, Paris

These days, the fab L’Hôtel (see slideshow), on Paris’s Left Bank, is as far from a stained-floral-bedspread overdose motel as you can get. Not so, however, when Oscar Wilde lay in his death throes, which ended on November 30, 1900. One of his last quips, “I am dying beyond my means,” referred not to the hotel’s elegance, but to his own total insolvency (there is an unpaid bill of 26,000 francs still outstanding). But Wilde’s last days in room 16 are shrouded in mystery. Did he die of syphilis, or cerebral meningitis resulting from an ear infection? Did he willingly join the Catholic faith, or was he dragooned into accepting last rites by pushy priests? One thing is clear: The hotel’s decor was not up to the aesthete’s standards. His last words are reputed to be, “My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One or other of us has got to go.” The hotel has transformed itself, meanwhile, into one of the most praised boutique hotels on the planet, full of rich brocades, wood paneling, and framed mementos of Wilde’s stay. Though it took them another 100 years to finally change that wallpaper.

CECIL HOTEL, Los Angeles

Take a deteriorating building, a skid row neighborhood, proximity to a clinic for sex offenders, and serial killers as long-term guests, and you come close to describing the magic of the Cecil Hotel in the 1980s. The hotel is now a boutique establishment that plays on its access to the nearby Staples Center, but in its glory years it hosted a ghoulish assortment of losers and killers, including “Night Stalker” Richard Ramirez (pictured) and Austrian journalist-cum-murderer Jack Unterweger. Ramirez, who was found guilty of 14 murders in the 1980s, stayed on the 14th floor for several months in 1985, paying (creepy coincidence alert) $14 a night. And Unterweger, a writer and prostitute-killer released by Austrian authorities for good behavior and then sent to America on a high-profile journalistic junket, also used the hotel as a base to pick up at least three prostitutes who were later found murdered. The two may have been feeling the vibes from Pauline Otten, who jumped out a window in 1962 and killed a pedestrian, as well as herself, in her fall; or from the still unsolved murder of Goldie Osgood, the “pigeon lady” of Pershing Square, who was found strangled in her Cecil room in 1964. But you have to give the new management some respect: At least they haven’t named a drink after Ramirez or done up Unterweger’s room in period decor.

BEAU RIVAGE, Geneva

Italian anarchist Luigi Lucheni could not have chosen a more pristine murder spot than Geneva’s white-wedding-cake Beau Rivage Hotel (see slideshow). On September 10, 1898, Empress Elizabeth of Austria was leaving the hotel to catch a boat on Lake Geneva when Lucheni repeatedly stabbed her with a file that penetrated her heart and lungs. When aid was administered, the empress did not allow her corset to be undone until she had reached the relative privacy of the boat; when the stays came off, she was revealed to be bleeding to death. The assassination gave Geneva’s reputation for pampering the rich and famous an extra frisson of danger. Today, most visitors to this ostentatious palace on Lake Geneva are ignorant of the more recent passing of prominent German politician Uwe Barschel, who was found dead, fully dressed in a bathtub full of water following an overdose of prescription drugs, on October 11, 1987. Barschel had recently been involved in a Watergate-style scandal and his career was over. The breezes off Lake Geneva seem to inspire the darkest deeds—there’s definitely something in the water.

LANDMARK MOTOR HOTEL, Los Angeles

The two-story 1950s cast-concrete building, the palm trees and bougainvillea surrounding the big pool, the empty bottles lying around, the unemployed actors hoping for a big break—the former Landmark Motor Hotel was the perfect stage for a celebrity’s last act. And on October 4, 1970, Janis Joplin provided just that, dying of an alcohol-and-heroin overdose in the wee hours of the morning. Joplin obtained some startlingly strong heroin, injected herself, went to the lobby to buy cigarettes, returned to her room, and keeled over from her bed into an end table. She was found the next day, dressed in a blouse and panties, by her road manager. Change from the lobby’s cigarette machine was still in her fist, and a bottle of Ripple wine left on the nightstand. Joplin was thus a founding member of the “27 club,” the dubiously honorable circle of musicians who expired at that tender age, along with Brian Jones, who died the previous year, and Jimi Hendrix, who preceded her by a mere two weeks. The Landmark Motor Hotel has been renamed the Highland Gardens Hotel, and is still home to up-and-coming actors attracted by its central location just off the Sunset Strip—though it is doubtful at this point if any of them know that the singer of Me and Bobby McGee (a posthumous #1) spent her last moments there.

PARK SHERATON, New York City

The soaring brick Park Central Hotel (formerly the Park Sheraton), across the street from Carnegie Hall, once had one of New York’s more elegant barbershops. With a wall of mirrors, lined with rows of scissors, razors, and hair tonic, reflecting swiveling barber chairs and a tiled floor, this cleanest of rooms was also the stage for one of the city’s most famous mob murders. On October 25, 1957, Albert Anastasia, creator of the long-running Gambino crime family and former head of the prolific Murder, Inc., gang, had his eyes closed and neck exposed ready for a shave when three gunmen burst in the door from the street and shot him several times. Anastasia reportedly lunged at the mirror, mistaking his assassins’ reflections for the real thing, before collapsing on the floor and ending up in one of the great crime-scene photos of all time (pictured). And as if that were not enough bad karma for one hotel, the Park Sheraton had already seen a major league mob murder. In 1928, Arnold Rothstein, one of the key players in the fixing of the 1919 World Series and the model for the Jewish mobster Meyer Wolfsheim in The Great Gatsby, was found bleeding in the hotel’s service entrance. Rothstein was a gangster to the end: When the police asked him, on his deathbed two days later, to identify his killers, he said, “My mother did it.”

RAFFLES HOTEL, Singapore

What a party it was: On August 20, 1945, five days after Japan’s surrender in the Second World War, 300 Japanese officers relaxed in the lobby of Singapore’s Raffles Hotel (see slideshow), with its soaring ceilings and palm trees. They luxuriated in the August heat and made sake toasts before coming to the evening’s climax: Each pulled his ceremonial sword from its scabbard and literally fell on it. It was an odd choice of location for a mass suicide. The Raffles, named after Sir Stamford Raffles, the founder of Singapore, was built in 1887 as the ne plus ultra of colonial chic (Somerset Maugham was a regular guest). The hotel also served as an administration center for the Japanese occupation of Singapore during the war. Perhaps accustomed to their comfy conditions, the officers decided that death was better than dishonor when word came that their emperor had officially surrendered and British troops were on the way. The reluctance of the Japanese to leave the hotel compound may also have had something to do with the hatred their occupation had instilled in Singaporeans, as expressed by the revenge killings that were happening all over the country; no matter what, the officers endowed Singapore with a legend worthy of of the Romans, with a touch of Jonestown thrown in for good measure.

BELLEVUE-STRATFORD, Philadelphia

They don’t come much grander, or more lethal, than Philadelphia’s former Bellevue-Stratford. Built in 1904 with 1,090 rooms, Tiffany and Lalique fixtures, and a lighting system designed by Thomas Edison himself, the Bellevue was the toast of Philadelphia until 1976, when it took out 34 guests in a single sitting. Following an American Legion convention in celebration of the Bicentennial, several attending Legionnaires began suffering pneumonia-like symptoms. A total of 221 people were afflicted, of whom 34 eventually died; near-pandemonium spread as fears of an epidemic circulated through the press. The hotel closed its doors a few months after the convention, and the investigation that followed was a CSI-worthy spectacle of forensic scientists crawling around the building, closing their net on the perpetrator. Eventually, a brand-new strain of bacteria was traced to the hotel’s cooling tower; the toxic critters had taken a ride along the currents of the hotel’s air-conditioning to lodge in guests’ lungs. Legionnaires’ disease—Legionellosis—was born. The hotel was bought and resold throughout the 1970s, ’80s, and ’90s, and was eventually converted to a mall, then reconverted to a luxe 172-room establishment, now known as the Park Hyatt Philadelphia at the Bellevue (see slideshow). The new name reflects a more sterile era, without the thrill of a time when going to a banquet might mean acquiring a newly-discovered disease.

WESTIN ST. FRANCIS, San Francisco

Silent-film comedian Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle’s 1921 Labor Day bash in room 1220 of the Westin St. Francis provided newspapers with the scandal of the decade, complete with illicit booze, groupies, and the death of a young actress. The actual events are clouded in San Francisco fog: At some point in the proceedings, Virgina Rappe, a 30-year-old starlet with a few screen credits, went off to the bedroom by herself, quite drunk. Four days later she was dead, and Arbuckle (pictured in a still from the 1916 movie He Did And He Didn’t) was tried for first-degree murder, with the San Francisco D.A. claiming the star had raped Rappe and fatally injured her with his excessive body weight. There were three trials, as circuslike as the original party had been, with tampered witnesses (including one Zey Prevon and a Dr. Beardslee), faked evidence, the shredding of many reputations, two hung juries, and finally, a verdict of not guilty. Arbuckle was banned from several studios and went bankrupt; one little trip to the bedroom made him, in his own words, “the guy everyone loves to hate.”

TALGARTH HOTEL, London

As if terrifying Southern California in August 1969 with the gory Tate/LaBianca murders wasn’t enough, the Manson Family allegedly extended its deadly influence across the ocean later that year. On December 2, Joel Dean Pugh was found with a slit throat in London’s Talgarth Hotel in West Kensington. Suicide was not ruled out, as two bloody razors were found near the body; but what complicated the case was a series of notes written in backward script, reportedly spelling out “Jack and Jill” in multiple iterations, as well as backward scribbles on the room’s mirror. Strangely, no evidence was recorded, including photographs of the crime scene or fingerprints. However, Pugh was the husband of Manson Family member Sandra Good, and had come to London to sell rare coins and raise money for the Family’s continuing activities. His traveling companion, Bruce Davis (pictured, after giving himself up to the authorities), is still in prison for his complicity in multiple Manson murders; some conspiracy theories have Davis doing in Pugh for threatening to leave the Family.

HACIENDA, Los Angeles

The best hotel managers are invisible, making their hotels run with the appearance of effortless ease. And then there are the managers who take a gun and shoot you between the ribs. This was Sam Cooke’s experience in L.A.’s rundown Hacienda Hotel, now repurposed as an airport layover spot. The truth about the night Cooke died remains as murky as any show business death story: Although he was enjoying a huge run of success—You Send Me was already a hit single—and was learning to like the high life, he checked into the Hacienda, a “$3 hotel” as his brother later called it, with a strange woman, and was shot there on December 11, 1964. The elderly hotel manager, Bertha Franklin, told a story that now comes off as utterly absurd: Cooke burst into her office wearing only one shoe and a sport coat, grabbed her, and threatened her with violence. In the struggle, Franklin said she picked up a gun as well as a broomstick, shooting Cooke and whopping him on the head with the broom for good measure. The L.A.P.D. never seriously investigated the case, ignoring evidence such as bloodstains and skin found on the sidewalk outside, as well as a serious welt on Cooke’s forehead that was unlikely to have been inflicted by a broom-wielding old woman. It just goes to show that you should always tip hotel staff.

Strangest Deaths in History.

rappin — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 22:00:11 +0000

Death by Embracing the Reflection of the Moon

Chinese poet Li Po (701-706) is regarded as one of the two greatest poets in China’s literary history.

He was well known for his love of liquor and often spouted his greatest poems while drunk.

One night, Li Po fell from his boat and drowned in the Yangtze River while trying to embrace the reflection of the moon in the water.

Death by Beard

Austrian Hans Steininger was famous for having the world’s longest beard (it was 4.5 feet or nearly 1.4 m long) and for dying because of it.

One day in 1567, there was a fire in town and in his haste Hans forgot to roll up his beard. He accidentally stepped on his beard, lost balance, stumbled, broke his neck and died!

Death From Holding a Pee In

Danish nobleman and astronomer Tycho Brahe [wiki] was one interesting fellow. He kept a dwarf as a court jester who sat under the table during dinner. He even had a tame pet moose.

Tycho also lost the tip of his nose in a duel with another Danish nobleman and had to wear a “dummy” nose made from silver and gold, but that’s another story.

It was said that Tycho had to hold his pee during one particularly long banquet in 1601 (getting up in the middle of a dinner was considered really rude) that his bladder, strained to its limits, developed an infection which later killed him!

Later analyses suggested that Tycho died because of mercury poisoning but that’s not nearly as interesting as the original story.

Death by Conductor’s Cane

While conducting the hymnal Te Deum for French King Louis XIV in 1687, Jean-Baptiste Lully was so focused in keeping the rhythm by banging a staff against the floor (this was the method before conductor’s baton came into use), that he struck his toe hard but refused to stop.

The toe developed an abscess, which later turned gangrenous, but Lully refused to have it amputated. The gangrene spread and killed the stubborn musician.

Ironically, the hymn he was conducting was in celebration of the recovery of Louis XIV from an illness.

Death by Dessert

King Adolf Frederick [wiki] of Sweden loved to eat and died from it too!

The “King Who Ate Himself to Death” died in 1771 at the age of 61 from a digestive problem after eating a giant meal consisting of lobster,

caviar, saurkraut, cabbage soup, smoked herring, champagne and 14 servings of his favorite dessert:

semla [wiki], a bun filled with marzipan and milk.

Death by Jury Demonstration

After the Civil War, controversial Ohio politician Clement Vallandigham [wiki] became a highly successful lawyer who rarely lost a case.

In 1871, he defended Thomas McGehan who was accused of shooting one Tom Myers during a barroom brawl. Vallandigham’s defense was that Myers had accidentally shot himself while drawing his pistol from a kneeling position.

To convince the jury, Vallandigham decided to demonstrate his theory. Unfortunately, he grabbed a loaded gun by mistake and ended up shooting himself!

By dying, Vallandigham succeeded in demonstrating the plausibility of the accidental shooting and got his client acquitted.

Death from Biting One’s Tongue

Allan Pinkerton (1819-1884)[wiki],

famous for creating the Pinkerton detective agency and developing investigative techniques such as surveilling a suspect and doing undercover work, died of an infection after biting his tongue when he slipped on a sidewalk!

Death from Stubbing One’s Toe

Famous Tennessee whiskey distiller Jack Daniel [wiki] decided to come in to work early one morning in 1911. He wanted to open his safe but couldn’t remember the combination. In anger, Daniel kicked the safe and injured his toe, which later developed an infection that killed him!

Moral of the story? Don’t go to work early.

Death by Orange Peel

Bobby Leach wasn’t afraid to court death: in 1911, he was the second person in the world to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel. The daredevil went on to perform many other death-defying stunts, so his death is especially ironic.

One day while walking down a street in New Zealand, Leach slipped on a piece of orange peel. He broke his leg so badly it had to be amputated. Leach died due to complications that developed afterwards.

Death by Overcoat Parachute Failure

In 1911, French tailor Franz Reichelt decided to test his invention, a combination overcoat and parachute, by jumping off the Eiffel Tower. Actually, he told the authorities that he would use a dummy, but at the last minute decided to test it himself. It was no surprise that he fell to his death.

Death by 1) Poison, 2) Gunshot Wound (4x), 3) Beating by Clubs, 4) Drowning.

According to legends, Russian mystic Grigori Rasputin (1869-1916) was first poisoned with enough cyanide to kill ten men, but he wasn’t affected.

So his killers shot him in the back with a revolver. Rasputin fell but later revived. So, he was shot again three more times, but Rasputin still lived. He was then clubbed, and for good measure thrown into the icy Neva River.

Rasputin was finally dead for good.

Death by Baseball

Cleveland Indians shortstop Ray Chapman [wiki] was the only man ever killed by a baseball pitch.

At that time, baseball pitchers dirtied up a ball before it was thrown at the batter to make it harder to see. On August 6, 1920 in a game against the New York Yankees, Carl Mays pitched such a ball towards Chapman that fatally hit his skull.

Death by Scarf

“Mother of modern dance” Isadora Duncan [wiki] was killed in 1927 by her trademark scarf she loved to wear:

As the New York Times noted in its obituary of the dancer on 15 September 1927, “The automobile was going at full speed when the scarf of strong silk began winding around the wheel and with terrific force dragged Miss Duncan, around whom it was securely wrapped, bodily over the side of the car, precipitating her with violence against the cobblestone street. She was dragged for several yards before the chauffeur halted, attracted by her cries in the street. Medical aid was summoned, but it was stated that she had been strangled and killed instantly.”

Death by Garbage

Homer and Langley Collyer [wiki] were compulsive hoarders. The two brothers had a fear of throwing anything away and obsessively collected newspapers and other junk in their house. They even set up booby-traps in corridors and doorways to protect against intruders.

In 1947, an anonymous tip called that there was a dead body in the Collyer house, and after much initial difficulty getting in, the police found Homer Collyer dead and Langley no where to be found. About two weeks later, after removing nearly 100 tons of garbage from the house, workers found Langley Collyer’s partialy decomposed (and rat-chewed) body just 10 feet away from where they had found his brother.
Apparently, Langley had been crawling through tunnels of newspapers to bring food to his paralyzed brother when he set off one of his own booby-traps. Homer died several days later from starvation.

Death at a Talk Show

Jerome Irving Rodale [wiki] was a proponent of healthy eating. He was an early advocate for organic farming and sustainable agriculture, founder of Organic Farming and Gardening magazine and Rodale Press.

After bragging that he would “live to 100, unless I’m run down by a a sugar-crazy taxi driver”, Rodale died of a heart attack while being interviewed on the Dick Cavett Show in 1971. Appearing fast asleep, Dick Cavett joked “Are we boring you, Mr. Rodale?” before discovering that his 72-year-old guest had indeed died. The show was never aired.

Death by Suicide During a Live TV News Broadcast

Christine Chubbuck [wiki] was the first and only TV news reporter to commit suicide during a live television broadcast.

On July 15, 1974, eight minutes into the broadcast, the depressed reporter said “In keeping with Channel 40’s policy of bringing you the latest in blood and guts,

and in living color,you are going to see another first: an attempted suicide.” With that, Chubbuck drew up a revolver and shot herself in the head.

Death on the Toilet

There are several examples of death on the toilet, but that of Elvis Presley (1935 – 1977) was the most famous.

The King of Rock ‘n Roll was found lying on the floor of his Graceland mansion’s bathroom after throwing up while being seated on the toilet, taking care of business.

Doctors attributed his death to a heart attack from weight gain and taking too many prescription drugs.

Death by Robot

Robert Williams [wiki] was the first man ever killed by a robot. On January 25, 1979, Williams climbed into a storage rack at the Ford Motor’s Flat Rock casting plant to retrieve a part because the parts-retrieval robot malfunctioned. Suddenly, the robot reactivated and slammed its arm into Williams’ head, killing him instantly.

The second death by robot happened just a couple of years afterwards in 1981. Kenji Urada [wiki], a 37-year-old Japanese maintenance engineer was working on a broken robot at a Kawasaki plant when he failed to turn it off. The robot’s mechanical arm accidentally pushed him into a grinding machine.

Death by Decapitation by Helicopter Rotor Blades

Actor Vic Morrow [wiki] died on the set of Twilight Zone: The Movie when a helicopter spun out of control due to special effect explosions, crashed, and decapitated him with its rotor blades.

Two other child actors also died at the event, which triggered a massive reform in US child labor laws and safety regulations on movie sets.

Death by Cactus

In 1982, 27-year-old David Grundman and a roommate decided to do a little “cactus plugging,” by shooting the desert plant with a shotgun.

The first one, a small cactus, went off without a hitch and Grundman was encouraged to try a larger prey: a 26-foot-tall Saguaro cactus, probably a 100-year-old plant. Unfortunately, Grundman blasted off a large chuck of the cactus that fell on him and crushed him to death!

Death by Bottle Cap

American playwright Tennessee Williams [wiki] died in 1983 after he choked on a bottle cap in his hotel room. Yes, he had been drinking.

Death by Drowning at a Lifeguards’ Party.

In 1985, to celebrate their first drowning-free season ever, the lifeguards of the New Orleans recreation department decided to throw themselves a party.

When the party ended, a 31-year-old guest named Jerome Moody was found dead on the bottom of the recreation department’s pool.

We suppose when it’s your time to go, then it’s your time to go: there were four lifeguards on duty and more than half of the 200 party-goers were themselves lifeguards!

Death on Stage, While Telling a Joke

Dick Shawn (1924-1987) was a comedian who had a heart attack and died during a joke that seemed strangely appropriate:

He was making fun of politicians by saying campaign cliches ending with “I will not lay down on the job!” Shawn then laid down on the floor face down. At first, the audience thought that it was all part of the show, until some time later a theater employee checked him for a pulse and began administering CPR.

The paramedics then arrived, and the audience were told to go home – Dick Shawn was dead.

Death by Belly Slam.

British pro wrestler Mal “King Kong” Kirk died underneath the big belly of Shirley “Big Daddy” Crabtree.

In August 1987, during the final moments of the match, Crabtree delivered his signature “Belly-Splash” move (basically jumping up and down, slamming his belly onto a guy) on Kirk, who then had a heart attack and died.

Crabtree was cleared after it was revealed that Kirk had a serious heart condition prior to the match. However, Crabtree blamed himself for Kirk’s death and retired from pro wrestling.

Before the match, Kirk had told his friends: “If I have to go, I hope it is in the ring.”

Death by Giant Umbrellas

In 1991, artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude put up an environmental installation art of thousands of giant yellow and blue umbrellas in California and Japan.

The giant umbrellas, which measured about 20 foot (6 m) in height, 28 foot (8.7 m) in diameter and weighed about 500 lb, became a huge tourist attraction.

Less than two months after the installation opened, Lori Rae Keevil-Mathews, a 33-year-old woman drove out to see the umbrellas in California. A wind gust uprooted one of the umbrellas and blew it straight at her, crushing her against a boulder and killing her.

Christo immediately ordered all of the umbrellas taken down. The umbrellas, however, took another life – this time in Japan. Crane operator Masaaki Nakamura was electrocuted when the machine’s arm touched a 65,000-volt high-tension line when removing the umbrellas.

Death by Re-creation

In 1991, a 57-year-old Thai woman Yooket Paen was walking in her farm when she accidentally slipped on a cow dung, grabbed a naked live wire and got electrocuted to death.

Soon after Paen’s funeral, her 52-year-old-sister Yooket Pan was showing her neighbors how the accident happened when she herself slipped, grabbed the same live wire and also got electrocuted to death!

Death by Sheep

In 1999, Betty Stobbs, 67, of Durham, England, took a bale of hay to feed her flock of sheep on the back of her motorcycle.

Apparently, the sheep were very hungry. About forty of them rushed the hay and knocked her off a cliff into a 100-feet deep quarry. Stobbs survived the fall only to be killed when the motorcycle, which was also knocked off the cliff, tumbled down after her.

Death by Necklace Bomb

On the afternoon of August 28, 2003, pizza deliveryman Brian Wells [wiki] tried to rob a bank with a home-made shotgun disguised as a cane.

When he was caught by the police, Wells revealed that he had been forced by some people he delivered pizza to earlier to rob the bank. A necklace with an explosive device was attached to his neck.

The necklace bomb blew up before the bomb squad could deactivate it (indeed, there was controversy whether the police took his story seriously and delayed calling the bomb squad). Until today, it’s unclear whether Wells was a victim, a co-conspirator or the lone perpetrator of the robbery and subsequent death.

Death by Stingray

In 2006, Australian wildlife expert and TV personality Steve “The Crocodile Hunter” Irwin

died when he was stabbed in the heart by a stingray spine while filming a documentary Ocean’s Deadliest.

Death by Bookcase

Mariesa Weber was reported missing by her family for nearly two weeks before they found her in her bedroom, wedged behind a bookcase.

“I’m sleeping in the same house as her for 11 days, looking for her,” her mother, Connie Weber, told the St. Petersburg Times. “And she’s right in the bedroom.”

Both Weber and her sister had previously adjusted the television plug by standing on a bureau next to the shelf and leaning over the top. Her family believes Weber, who was 5-foot-3 and barely 100 pounds, may have fallen headfirst into the space.