Vermont : The Bennington Triangle
The Bennington Triangle is a term used to describe a mysterious area in southwestern Vermont, where a series of unexplained disappearances and unusual incidents have occurred over the years. The triangle encompasses the towns of Bennington, Woodford, Shaftsbury, and Glastonbury, and it has gained notoriety due to the inexplicable nature of the events that have occurred within its boundaries.
One of the most well-known and notable disappearances associated with the Bennington Triangle is that of Paula Welden, a college student who went missing while hiking on the Long Trail in 1946. Her disappearance sparked a massive search effort, but she was never found, and the case remains unsolved. In addition to Paula Welden, several other disappearances and strange incidents were reported within the Bennington Triangle area. These include the case of James E. Tedford, who vanished from a bus during a trip in 1949, leaving behind his belongings; the vanishing of eight-year-old Paul Jepson in 1950, who disappeared while his mother was briefly distracted; and the disappearance of Frieda Langer in 1950, who vanished while hiking with her cousin.
The area has also been the site of other strange occurrences, such as unexplained animal mutilations, eerie lights in the sky, and a general sense of unease reported by some who visit or live in the vicinity. The term "Bennington Triangle" was popularized by author Joseph A. Citro in his book "Passing Strange: True Tales of New England Hauntings and Horrors," where he discussed the various mysterious events that have occurred in the region. While the Bennington Triangle has captured the imagination of those interested in the paranormal and unexplained disappearances. The mysteries of the Bennington Triangle remain a subject of fascination and speculation. So today, we are navigating advocacy in Vermont, specifically in the Bennington Triangle.
In the quiet town of Bennington, nestled in the heart of Vermont, the year was 1946, and the winds of winter were beginning to weave their frosty magic across the landscape.
Carl Herrick was the first person to go missing in November 1943; however, his case is the only one we will discuss that remains were actually found. Carl went hiking with his cousin. They were separated, and Carl vanished pretty much dead center of this Bennington triangle. The cousin contacted authorities right away, and a search started almost immediately. They ended up finding Carl’s body just three days after he vanished, but finding him led to even more questions. This is a complete left turn, but I found it so cute while researching. A full article was written in 1943, months before he went missing, about how Carl and his wife bought a new house and moved into it. This article also stated where the people that sold the house moved to, and I was just thinking what a simpler time it was back then. Yes, I love all the technology and modern-day amenities, but sometimes, looking back in time makes you think, but now, back to the autopsy of Carl and his official cause of death. Carl had a few scratches on his arms and face, and apparently, he was squeezed to death. He was squeezed so tight his ribs broke and punctured his lungs. One headline from the local newspaper actually stated MIssing Vermont Hunter was found in the woods, squeezed to death by a bearhug. Glad to see we had sensationalized reporting even back then, I guess. Carl was just 37 years old, father of five children, and an avid hunter. So the fact that they found bear tracks around the area where he was found pointed toward a bear attack. An empty cartridge shell was found, and his gun was set up against a tree. Here is what authorities believed happened that day after recreating the scene. They believed the cousin got separated from each other, and as Carl was making his way back toward the area they came from, he stumbled upon a bear where he fired his gun once, set it against a tree, and walked over to the bear to verify it was dead. The bear wasn't dead and attacked Carl, apparently squeezing him to death. Another strange aspect that was revealed in the autopsy was that Carl’s face was blackened, which news articles from back in the 40s stated was because the bear's huge paw snuffed out Carl’s life. I had to google what they even meant, but apparently, it meant to Extinguish or put a sudden end to, so they believed this bear’s paw was what killed this full-grown man. Now this could very well be what happened to this man. It just seems weird, to say the least.
The next victim of these woods was middie rivers, In the heart of the wilderness, where the secrets of the woods danced on the wind, lived a man who understood those woods better than most knew themselves. Middie Rivers, a seasoned 74-year-old hunter, embodied the essence of these untamed landscapes as a hunter guide. His connection to the wild ran deep; a bond forged through years of navigating the rugged trails, seeking elusive prey, and immersing himself in the untamed beauty of nature. It was 1945 when the fates wove a different story for Middie, casting him as a central figure in a mystery that would confound all who knew him.
Guiding a band of four people into the heart of the Bennington Triangle, Middie Rivers led the way with the wisdom of someone who had carved his mark into every tree and stream. But that day, shadows cast a chilling hue on the forest as only the four would return from those woods. Middie, a true woodsman, seemed an unlikely candidate to lose his way.
As the sun started to set, the search began—a search that spoke of the community's concern. Volunteers emerged from the woodwork, united by the shared determination to find Middie Rivers. Three days turned into nights of restless searching, Aircraft soared above, the roar of engines echoing the collective prayers of a community that refused to acknowledge Middie was lost forever.
A solitary rifle cartridge, a token of his presence, was the breadcrumb left behind. It whispered of his footsteps, now scattered and elusive. Days stretched into weeks without a trace of this man. Desperation gnawed at the edges, leading authorities to offer a reward—four dollars a day, an incentive for the devoted to leave behind their work and families in pursuit of a fellow man's salvation.
An army of searchers, a patchwork of compassion and courage, scoured the woods, but their efforts would prove fruitless.
As the years unfolded, the memory of Middie Rivers lingered like a ghost in the woods he once knew so well. The shadows may have claimed him, but the tale of the vanished woodsman would forever remain etched in the retelling of the Bennington Triangle, a reminder that even in the heart of familiarity, the unknown can still wield its power.
The next unsolved disappearance happened in the quiet town of Bennington, nestled in the heart of Vermont, the year was 1946, and the winds of winter were beginning to weave their frosty magic across the landscape. A young woman named Paula Jean Welden lived among the other student of the Bennington College campus. Just eighteen, Paula had a spirit as free as the wind itself. With a bright smile and dreams that stretched to the horizon, she split her time between being a diligent student and a friendly face at the college cafeteria, where she worked part-time.
One fateful December day, after her shift at the cafeteria had ended, Paula retreated to her dormitory to swap her work attire for a more adventurous ensemble. Her friend, who knew her love for exploration, caught a glimpse of Paula readying herself for an afternoon of adventure. She asked if they wanted to hike with her, but they all declined. She wore a vibrant red coat, And as she tied her shoelaces to embark on her journey, little did she know the path she tread would lead to a shroud of mystery.
At around 2 pm, the nearby gas station's bustling sounds mingled with the breeze's whispers as Paula passed by. A gas station worker, momentarily lifted from his routine, noticed the young adventurer with a nod of acknowledgment.
Stepping into the realm of chance, Paula hitched a ride with a local contractor. The man, wrapped in the familiarity of the town, offered her a lift that would take her a bit closer to her intended trail. The twists and turns of Route 9 unfolded before them, and he dropped her off, the dust settling around the crossroads of her fate. With a wave and a warm "thank you," she stepped onto the path where she continued her adventure.
The woods held secrets that Paula yearned to uncover, and her determination led her to Big Foot Hollow. As the sun descended toward the horizon, she crossed paths with a man who worked for the local newspaper and then a passerby who provided directions and exchanged casual words about the weather. The world around her seemed to be painted in the hues of anticipation, the edge between day and night.
Among the towering trees and the whispers of the wild, a group of hikers encountered Paula on her solitary journey. Conversations flowed about the trails and the landscape, becoming topics of shared interest. But little did they know that this meeting, this fleeting connection in the woods, would mark the final trace of Paula's presence.
Morning came, and still no Paula, her friends, and dormmates, accustomed to her late-night study sessions, initially assumed she was studying in the library. It wasn't until night lifted, revealing an empty bed where Paula would usually be, then the chilling truth set in: Paula was missing.
In the heart of their concern, the college's headmaster rallied the community. Classes were canceled, and students set aside their studies to search for their missing classmates. But Paula's disappearance had touched a chord that reached far beyond the college walls.
Paula's father, an architect known far and wide, took up the grueling task of searching for his daughter. The whispers of concern rippled beyond Vermont, drawing authorities from New York and Connecticut to join the quest. And as the days stretched on, a reward of substantial value emerged - $5000, a sum that held power in its promise of Paula’s safe return. Random potential sightings and years of searching led to dead end after dead end. One particular sighting was a hopeful lead. A waitress at a restaurant in the Fall River area, we did a case on this area months ago wild place, that is for sure. But anyways, this waitress swears it was Paula, and she was with a man about 25 years of age. When the man went up to pay the woman, possibly Paula waved this waitress over and asked a few questions. One was how far it was to Bennington. She then asked where she was while repeating that she had to return to Bennington. Paula’s father was made aware of this possible sighting, so he traveled to Fall River to search for himself. All police officers were put on duty to search for Paula—still no sign of the 18-year-old college student. The story of Paula Jean Welden, a young woman spirited away by the mysteries of the Bennington triangle, remains etched in the town's history because her story, like so many others, remains unsolved.
The next few years were quiet, maybe too quiet. No one else was reported missing, but no one was found either until December of 1949 when James Tedford vanished. James was on a bus headed home to Bennington from St. Albans, where he was visiting his wife and in-laws. This was an older gentleman who was 68 years old and a world war one veteran. He had been living at a Vermont Solider Home, an institution the federal or state government maintains to care for and relieve military veterans. After conducting an investigation and speaking with people on the bus, they find some interesting information. The bus driver stated that a man matching James’ description got off the bus in a town called Brandon. There were also reports of a man that looked like James hitchhiking around this area. A report came into the Brandon police department from a taxi driver that stated a man that again matched James’ description was acting weirdly; however, when they went to find this man again, they could not. Now, James’ story was the most difficult to write for the sheer fact that according to the newspaper articles released back when he disappeared said one thing, essentially everything I just told you all is vastly different from what has been written about his vanishing over the last decade. I went down rabbit hole after rabbit how but could not find where the information changed. But this was frustrating, to say the least. Today’s time reports that James vanished off the bus sometime between the stop before the very last one, where he was seen by the other passengers in his seat on the bus, and then the last stop, which happened to be James’ stop at Bennington, he vanished.. Like literally vanished, which is very different from the many sighting of him when the authorities searched for him. These new resorts state that all of his luggage was still in the luggage rack and his empty seat was occupied by an open bus schedule. I am going to keep digging on this one, and once I find something substantial that proves one way or the other what happened with these discrepancies, I will make an update on this case.
Less than a year's passage since the haunting disappearance preceded it, fate cast its shadow again. This time, the heart-wrenching story of a young boy named Paul Jepson unfolded against the backdrop of an unassuming town. Just eight years old, his innocence was snatched away. On a crisp October 12th morning, Paul accompanied his mother on a mundane errand to the dump, a simple task to feed the pigs in their enclosure. With motherly caution, she instructed Paul to stay in the truck, promising to return shortly. Time ticked away, yet as his mother approached the truck, an inexplicable void awaited her—Paul was gone.
With the weight of desperation, she called out his name, her voice etching the air in fear, but only silence answered her pleas. Panic-stricken, she reached out to Paul's father, recently elected as the area's tax collector. Their anguish spilled into the community, a ripple of concern mingling with hope that soon began to disappear. Days turned into a relentless week, and Paul remained simply gone. Despite the town's best efforts, searches yielded no trace, leaving a young boy's fate surrounded in uncertainty.
And then, as the town's collective heart held its breath, another name joined the ranks of the vanished. A woman named Frieda Langer, 53 years old, ventured into the embrace of the wilderness near Somerset Reservoir. The day's promise turned treacherous when she stumbled into a stream, her clothes drenched. A decision led her to part ways with her cousin, a choice that would haunt him forever. Frieda ventured towards the campsite, intending to change and rejoin the hike swiftly. But time's cruel hand intervened, and she never emerged from the woods.
The search started with aircraft, searchers, and determined souls weaving through forests and streams, all in pursuit of Frieda. Days melded into nights as the world held its breath for a miracle that seemed ever elusive. In the tapestry of nature, three and a half miles from her initial steps, fate laid Frieda's remains bare. Cloaked by the stream's gentle murmur, two fishermen stumbled upon her resting place—fully clothed, face down. The mystery deepened as her cause of death was unable to be determined based on the condition of her remains. A final chapter closed with an unsettling note—an accident, they said, a verdict made of necessity rather than certainty.
In the span of these tragic stories, the town bore witness to these mysteries, lives lost, and questions left unanswered.
The fact that so many lives vanished and the shadows of death fell, all within a short span, has draped this area in a cloud of mystery. While there may be conceivable explanations for each individual's fate, a thought lingers—an intuition that something remains unsettled in these tales. Within the tight embrace of time, the stage is set with too many coincidences and too many unanswered questions to simply dismiss them all as mere chance. The 1940s and 50s were an era where secrets found their hiding places more easily. It's hard to fathom that each of these lives quietly surrendered to the elements. A sense of underlying darkness hovers over the landscape, like an untold story waiting to be unveiled.
In the midst of this unfolding puzzle,—a self-proclaimed amateur sleuth who, in 1950, shared his perspective with reporters. "There is no such thing as a specter of ghosts. Everything has a logical reason," he declared. His words resonate across time because I think most of us believe in logical answers, answers that can be backed up by science, but there is always the slight thought of something paranormal fleets across our brains. Casting a skeptical eye on the work of the police, he voiced his suspicion that proper investigations might have been neglected. These words echo through the corridors of history, a reminder that we have not heard of anything that overtly connects the dots and links these victims together.
However, that doesn't stop all of us, the amateur sleuths of the world, from diving into these mysteries that do not make sense to us.
In the face of mysteries that defy easy explanation, the determination of those who seek answers remains unyielding. Time may have cast its curtain over these stories but in the hands of those who dare to delve, revealing a tale waiting to be retold and you never know what the retelling of an old unsolved mystery will bring.
Sources:
https://www.newspapers.com/image/548217055/?terms=James%20Tedford&match=1
https://www.newspapers.com/image/546028474/?terms=James%20Tedford&match=1
https://www.newspapers.com/image/548270018/?terms=Paul%20Jepson&match=1
https://www.newspapers.com/image/658241547/?terms=frieda%20langer&match=1
