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The unlikely origins of a world-famous toy...
Kutol Company was facing disaster.
...the scandalous fallout from a Hollywood flop.
Some say that the film was cursed.
...and the bizarre account of a visitor from afar.
A hatch opens, and a man steps out.
I'm Don Wildman.
Join me on a journey across the United States
as we go deep into the vaults
of the nation's most revered institutions,
unearthing wondrous treasures from the past,
extraordinary artifacts, and bizarre relics,
each with a shocking story to tell
and a secret to be revealed.
These are the mysteries at the museum.
-- Captions by VITAC --
Closed Captions provided by Scripps Networks, LLC.
From the more than 2,400 stars on its Walk of Fame
to Grauman's Chinese Theatre,
Hollywood, California, is the epicenter of the movie business.
And celebrating the silver screen's illustrious past
is The Hollywood Museum.
Here, artifacts ranging from antique film equipment
to jewelry worn by Marilyn Monroe
exalt the glamorous art of Hollywood mythmaking.
But according to museum curator Donelle Dadigan,
there is one item here
that tells a far less celebrated tale.
DADIGAN: It is made of silk.
It has some embroidery work
with a wonderful fur trim all long the edges --
very, very beautiful and well, well-made.
WILDMAN: This gown was worn in an infamous Hollywood movie
shrouded in mystery.
Some say that the film that this gown was worn in was cursed.
WILDMAN: In what film was this dress worn,
and what horrible fate befell its cast and crew?
June 1954, Saint George, Utah.
John Wayne, Susan Hayward, and 220 cast and crew members
are just outside this small desert town
to shoot "The Conqueror" --
a film about Genghis Khan's love affair with a captured princess.
The location has been meticulously chosen
by millionaire producer Howard Hughes.
Howard Hughes finds a location that will double for Mongolia
in Snow Canyon, Utah -- a vast desert with giant red rocks.
WILDMAN: Susan Hayward plays the role of the captured princess
and appears on set in elaborate costumes like this one,
now on display at The Hollywood Museum.
To simulate the tumultuous sandstorms
of the Mongolian desert,
director *** Powell employs industrial wind machines.
For 13 weeks, the cast is just covered from head to toe
with this red dust,
whether it's while they're filming,
when they're resting between takes,
while they're eating their lunches and dinners.
WILDMAN: After months of filming,
the movie is completed.
On February 22, 1956,
this big-budget blockbuster finally hits the silver screen.
But as movie historian Harry Medved explains,
the critics and audiences are unanimous --
"The Conqueror" is a flop.
It just -- It didn't work.
John Wayne, who's great as everyone's favorite cowboy,
but in the Genghis Khan story,
everybody was laughing it off the screen.
WILDMAN: It seems this Hollywood bomb
will recede into the annals of cinema failures.
But in the following years,
it begins to garner a rather morbid notoriety.
In 1963, the film's director, *** Powell, dies from cancer.
Months later, co-star Pedro Armendáriz
dies of a self-inflicted gunshot wound
after enduring a painful struggle with the same disease.
In the months and years that follow,
Hollywood insiders observe
a bizarre and seemingly inevitable trend --
one by one,
"The Conqueror's" cast and crew are dying of cancer.
Agnes Moorehead played the mother.
She died shortly after that.
Susan Hayward then died.
WILDMAN: Finally, in 1979,
John Wayne, the Duke, loses his battle with the dreaded disease.
How is it that this one film
had this connection to all of these horrible deaths?
WILDMAN: Many begin to wonder --
Are the cast and crew of "The Conqueror" cursed?
A year after John Wayne's death,
People Magazine investigates this Hollywood mystery
and makes a shocking discovery.
Of the 220-some people who worked on "The Conqueror,"
about 91 of them were diagnosed with cancer,
and by the time that the Duke had died in 1979,
over 40 people had died of cancer.
WILDMAN: Experts confirm this is more than three times
the average cancer rate in America.
Many Hollywood insiders point to tobacco use by the stars
to explain this inordinately high rate.
All these guys were pretty much heavy-duty smokers,
especially John Wayne.
WILDMAN: But soon, a critical piece of information
comes to light that shifts attention
to the area where "The Conqueror" was filmed.
In the town of Saint George, Utah,
where a lot of the people were staying
while they were shooting "The Conqueror,"
nearly half the people in town were diagnosed with cancer,
so there's something very strange about all of this.
WILDMAN: What possible reason could there be
for such high rates of this deadly disease?
The answer may lie in a secretive government project
conducted in the neighboring desert sands.
May 19, 1953, Yucca Flats, Nevada.
For years, the United States has been testing atomic weapons
in a patch of desert
150 miles northeast of the small community of Saint George.
MEDVED: People were reassured -- Everything was gonna be okay.
People in Saint George -- Don't worry. It's fine.
It's all gonna dissipate.
WILDMAN: And on this day,
the military prepares for its largest test to date.
MEDVED: The last of the bombs at Yucca Flats, Nevada,
had a payload four times the amount of the bomb
that was dropped in Hiroshima.
WILDMAN: But moments before impact,
the winds begin to shift, placing Saint George, Utah,
immediately downwind of the nuclear-testing site.
At 5:05 a.m., the bomb detonates...
and enormous amounts of radioactive dust
rain down upon the sands of southern Utah.
One year later, while searching for a location
that will double as Mongolia,
Howard Hughes contacts government officials
to inquire if it's safe to film near Saint George.
Howard Hughes had asked experts at the Atomic Energy Commission,
"Is it gonna be safe to shoot my movie "The Conqueror"
here in Saint George, Utah, and Snow Canyon?"
And they were given the go-ahead.
WILDMAN: But years later, many remain convinced
that the high incidence of cancer
among the cast and crew of "The Conqueror"
can be attributed to exposure to radioactively contaminated sand.
And with medical science unable to directly isolate
the exact factors that caused the cancer,
the true reason for these tragic cases may never be known.
Today, this silken dress, worn by the late Susan Hayward,
tucked in the vault of The Hollywood Museum,
is a solemn reminder of a dark mark on cinema history.
Bisected by Genesee River
is New York's third-largest metropolitan area, Rochester.
This city is known as the home of George Eastman
and the company he established in 1892 --
photography giant Kodak.
Today, visitors to Rochester can find an institution
dedicated to the art of fun --
The Strong National Museum of Play.
Here, according to chief curator Christopher Bensch,
people are invited to look and touch.
BENSCH: You can ride on our 1918 carousel,
you can explore our walk-in, live butterfly garden.
WILDMAN: But among the classic video games and model trains
is one item that's far less colorful.
BENSCH: It doesn't look like much at first glance,
but this gray, soft material is moldable,
it's stretchable, infinitely playable,
and you'd never guess whose hands it winds up in.
WILDMAN: What is this unassuming gray lump,
and how did it get shaped into an enduring American classic?
1933, Cincinnati, Ohio.
The Great Depression has caused
countless American businesses to fold,
and a struggling soap-manufacturing company
called Kutol Products is poised to join their ranks.
A 21-year-old salesman named Cleo McVicker
is told to sell off Kutol's remaining inventory...
and shut it down for good.
But McVicker has an idea
that just might keep the business open.
In the 1930s, homes are heated with coal furnaces
that leave a dirty residue on wallpaper.
BENSCH: Spring cleaning used to be something
that housewives dreaded.
They had to wash their walls
because their coal-burning furnaces put out so much soot.
WILDMAN: Most wallpapers are too delicate to wash with soap and water.
So, in order to save his company,
Cleo pitches executives from a local grocery chain
a product that he promises will remove soot
without damaging wallpaper.
They placed an order for 15,000 cases.
The only snag was,
Cleo didn't know how to make wallpaper cleaner.
WILDMAN: Desperate to deliver on his promises,
he enlists the help of his brother, Noah.
Noah concocted a wallpaper cleaner
out of flour, water, mineral oil,
salt, and boric acid,
and they produced a wallpaper product,
very much like this one,
that you would put on your dirty, sooty wallpaper,
and you wound up with clean walls
at the end of your project.
WILDMAN: Kutol Wall Cleaner hits grocery shelves across Ohio
and is an immediate success.
And over the next two decades,
there seems to be no limit to the company's fortunes.
But by the 1950s, Kutol, now run by Cleo's son Joe,
suddenly finds business in free fall.
Dirty coal furnaces have been replaced
by clean gas and electric heaters,
which do not produce a sooty residue.
BENSCH: Housewives had no need for wallpaper cleaner anymore,
and the Kutol Company was facing disaster.
Their key product was becoming completely obsolete.
WILDMAN: So, what stroke of genius will it take
to save this struggling family business?
It's the 1950s in Cincinnati, Ohio.
When demand for its signature product --
a gray, putty-like wallpaper cleaner -- dries up,
the Kutol Company, run by Joseph McVicker,
is driven to the verge of collapse.
But salvation for this struggling family business
will come in a most unexpected form.
December 1954.
Kay Zufall, Joe McVicker's sister-in-law,
is a nursery-school teacher in New Jersey.
While looking for a Christmas project for her students,
she chances upon a new use for an old product.
BENSCH: Kay was leafing through a magazine
and saw a recommendation
that you could make ornaments out of wallpaper cleaner.
WILDMAN: The next day,
Kay brings the gray, dough-like material
to her nursery school and gives it to her students,
who instantly take to its limitless possibilities,
creating figures in all shapes and sizes.
BENSCH: Kids loved it.
It was everything she wished for in an arts-and-crafts product.
WILDMAN: And as soon as she can, Kay calls her brother-in-law Joe
to bend his ear about this new use
for his company's signature product.
And Joe McVicker realizes
that Kay has happened upon a brilliant idea.
He instructs Kutol executives
to re-brand their wallpaper cleaner
as a cheap and creative children's plaything.
They remove the detergent qualities of it
that would take the soot off the wall
and they give it a new aroma.
WILDMAN: Not only that,
but the company soon takes its dull-looking putty --
just like the small sample
in the collection of The Strong Museum of Play --
and adds a cosmetic upgrade.
BENSCH: Now it was being turned out in three primary colors --
red, yellow, and blue --
that could be blended into any color of the rainbow.
WILDMAN: And finally, they give it a soon-to-be iconic name.
BENSCH: Originally, Joe McVicker called it
the "Rainbow Modeling Compound,"
and Kay Zufall said, "That's a terrible name.
"Why don't you call it...
'Play-Doh' instead?"
It sent the product into the stratosphere.
WILDMAN: Over the next six decades,
more than two billion cans of the popular dough are sold,
cementing its status as an icon of American childhood.
And today, in The Strong National Museum of Play
in Rochester, New York,
this small lump of gray wallpaper cleaner
reminds visitors of a very colorful toy's humble beginnings.
Founded in 1630, Boston is home to buildings
as varied as the iconic Prudential Tower
and the Statehouse, which sits atop Beacon Hill.
And on one quiet street is an institution dedicated
to preserving this New England capital's rich past --
the Massachusetts Historical Society.
Its collection includes a cannon from the War of 1812,
swords from the Battle of Bunker Hill,
and a portrait of John Hancock,
but among these storied relics
is one rather plain item that,
according to museum librarian Peter Drummey,
played a central role in a truly sensational tale.
DRUMMEY: We have in our collection a four-page manuscript document,
brown with age with faded ink,
that's at the heart of one of the most extraordinary
*** mysteries in American history.
WILDMAN: What was this brutal and horrifying crime,
and what haunting piece of classic American literature
did it inspire?
1830, Salem, Massachusetts.
This once-bustling port city is in a period of decline,
and Joseph Knapp, a young sailor,
is worried that he won't be able to provide for his wife.
So Knapp goes to the only man who can help --
his wife's wealthy uncle, Joseph White.
Joseph White is 82 years old.
He has a fortune
that's estimated to be more than $400,000.
WILDMAN: But White has never approved
of the young sailor's marriage to his beloved niece
and refuses to offer any assistance.
DRUMMEY: Joseph White has made it clear that Knapp and his wife
are not going to receive anything from his vast estate.
WILDMAN: So a desperate Knapp devises his own remedy.
DRUMMEY: He'll steal Joseph White's will.
WILDMAN: If White dies and leaves no will,
then, by law, his estate will be distributed evenly
amongst the family.
Joseph White has an extended family of nephews and nieces,
all of whom will inherit part of this great fortune.
WILDMAN: And to guarantee that his scheme succeeds,
Knapp takes it one step further.
He plans to arrange for White's ***.
WILDMAN: To help in this greed-fueled plot,
Joseph Knapp taps brothers *** and George Crowninshield --
two men entrenched in Salem's dark underbelly.
DRUMMEY: The Crowninshield brothers
are descendents of the first family of Salem,
but they're the black sheep of the family.
WILDMAN: Knapp promises the Crowninshields
a share of White's riches,
and on April 2, 1830, they put the plan in motion.
Joseph Knapp goes to Joseph White's home
while he's away and steals the will.
WILDMAN: Four days later,
with White back at home and fast asleep,
*** Crowninshield slips inside, brandishing a heavy club.
DRUMMEY: *** Crowninshield sees before him
this very old man in his bed...
...and crushes in his skull with a blow from his *** club.
WILDMAN: The next morning,
White's body is discovered,
and the violent and bloody crime bewilders authorities.
After scouring White's stately mansion,
it seems nothing is out of place.
DRUMMEY: There was large treasure in his house,
but it hasn't been stolen.
Why was this *** committed? It's a mystery.
WILDMAN: With no discernible motive
and little in the way of evidence, the case goes cold.
A gleeful Knapp burns White's last will and testament,
certain he has committed the perfect crime,
but will his devilish plot succeed?
1830, Salem, Massachusetts.
A man named Joseph Knapp has executed a devious plot.
He's orchestrated the *** of his uncle,
destroyed the old man's will,
and now stands to inherit a fortune,
but will he get away with it?
A few weeks after Joseph White's death,
the case takes a surprising turn
when the police are mailed a crucial clue.
DRUMMEY: They receive a letter from a man who says
that he knows that Joseph Knapp
has paid *** Crowninshield $1,000 to commit the ***.
WILDMAN: The letter's author explains that he overheard the men
discussing their devious scheme in public.
Police promptly arrest the Crowninshields
and Joseph Knapp, who feigns innocence in the matter.
Joseph Knapp appears indignant.
How could he be accused of such a horrific crime?
WILDMAN: But it soon becomes clear
that Knapp won't be able to maintain the pretense for long.
DRUMMEY: Joseph Knapp must have been very nervous at this time.
The carefully laid plan is unraveling before his eyes.
WILDMAN: Racked with guilt,
Knapp asks to meet with his family's reverend.
And as the two men talk,
Knapp suddenly blurts out a shocking confession.
He orchestrated White's ***.
DRUMMEY: And in fact, writes out a long, detailed confession
of his role in the conspiracy and ***.
WILDMAN: Knapp and his fellow conspirators are put on trial,
and a jury finds the men guilty, sentencing them to hang.
But one final piece of evidence,
discovered long after the *** of Joseph White,
reveals the most shocking twist in the breathtaking crime.
DRUMMEY: A key piece of evidence
is now here at the Massachusetts Historical Society,
and that was the most up-to-date version of Joseph White's will.
WILDMAN: This handwritten document
was not the one that Knapp stole and lit on fire.
This one was with White's attorney for safe-keeping,
and it contains the most ironic turn in this tragic tale.
Knapp was to inherit money from Joseph White's estate.
WILDMAN: In fact, shortly before his brutal ***,
White had amended this latest version of his will
to leave Joseph Knapp $15,000.
This will reveals that the *** of Joseph White,
the entire conspiracy, was for nothing.
WILDMAN: And years later, the crime's sensational details
fascinate an aspiring writer named Edgar Allan Poe.
DRUMMEY: In 1843,
Edgar Allan Poe publishes "The Tell-Tale Heart,"
which contains extraordinary parallels in fact and fiction.
An old man is murdered in his bed.
In each case, it's only the confession
that causes their conviction.
WILDMAN: And today, the roots of Poe's dark literary classic
live on in the collection
of the Massachusetts Historical Society,
where this will reminds visitors
that sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.
Point Pleasant, West Virginia.
This riverside hamlet is considered by some
to be the site of the first battlefield
of the Revolutionary War.
But more recent otherworldly events
have sparked a revolutionary change
in our understanding of the universe.
And many of these encounters are commemorated
at the Mothman Museum.
Artifacts from West Virginia's bizarre paranormal history
fill the space,
but there is one item here that stands galaxies apart.
SHEPPARD: They are plastic, seven inches across.
They're very rare. They were almost destroyed.
WW According to occult author and expert Susan Sheppard,
these artifacts tell a terrifying tale
of a visitor from afar.
They are one of the most important artifacts
in terms of the paranormal.
WILDMAN: So what, exactly, do these reel-to-reel recordings
reveal about an extraordinary incident
that, to this day, remains a mystery?
November 2, 1966, Mineralwells, West Virginia.
After a long day on the job,
50-year-old sewing-machine salesman Woodrow Derenberger
returns home.
When his wife greets him, she is shocked by his appearance.
His wife said that he could have not been any whiter
if he had been lying in a coffin.
WILDMAN: A fear-frozen Derenberger
pulls himself together
and shares the story of his confounding commute.
At his wife's urging,
Derenberger relays his experience to police,
and whispers of a story begin to spread.
A local news station arranges for an interview,
and details of a chilling encounter go public.
Although the footage has vanished,
the original audio recordings of that interview
are preserved at the Mothman Museum.
A hatch opens, a man steps out,
the spacecraft then shoots up to about 75 feet over the highway.
WILDMAN: An awestricken Derenberger
watches as the figure slowly approaches the car.
He had dark hair that was slicked straight back,
he was wearing a long, black coat with a beaming smile.
WILDMAN: The humanoid introduces himself as Indrid Cold,
and while his intentions are not clear,
he does reveal that he's a searcher
from a distant planet of beings
who eat, sleep, and breathe just like humans.
The conversation lasted 5 to 10 minutes,
and Cold ended the conversation with the words...
WILDMAN: When Derenberger concludes his tale,
the skeptical interviewer digs deeper.
There were questions
that were trying to discredit Mr. Derenberger.
The ask him if he had stopped at a bar on the way home.
Was he a drinker?
WILDMAN: But Derenberger remains adamant.
But not everyone is convinced of Derenberger's veracity.
You had a lot of people that were highly skeptical
of Mr. Derenberger's account.
At the same time, you had people looking for the UFOs in the sky.
WILDMAN: So, is Derenberger telling the truth?
November 2, 1966.
Mild-mannered salesman Woodrow Derenberger
claims to have had an otherworldly experience --
a close encounter with a human-like figure
that emerged from a spacecraft.
Now, according to Derenberger,
the figure communicated with him telepathically,
relaying that he comes in peace,
So, is Derenberger telling the truth?
As police investigate the case
of his encounter with Indrid Cold,
several witnesses step forward with new evidence.
The same night, there was a gentleman
who was driving south on I-77
that saw a man on the side of the road
that fit the exact description of Indrid Cold.
WILDMAN: Other residents call police
and report seeing beams and streaks of light in the sky
that same evening,
yet no one can verify the source of these lights
or confirm the identity of Indrid Cold.
SHEPPARD: The police never turned up any concrete evidence
that Derenberger was stopped by Indrid Cold
or had any communications with him.
WILDMAN: Many speculate that what Derenberger experienced
was the product of hallucinations.
However, records reveal he had no history of mental illness.
Lacking any logical explanation,
there are those who believe that Derenberger's story is a hoax.
SHEPPARD: There are some people
that thought perhaps it was some attention-seeking thing.
WILDMAN: But as his notoriety grows,
Derenberger retreats from the limelight.
SHEPPARD: Mr. Derenberger ended up moving away from West Virginia
because of the ridicule he and his family were getting.
WILDMAN: Despite the cost to his personal life,
Derenberger never retracts his story.
He dies in 1990 at the age of 74
with the true nature of what he encountered a lingering mystery.
Today, these audio reels at the Mothman Museum
stand as a testament to a mild-mannered man
who never stopped believing in other worlds.
With its kitschy boardwalk amusements and sportfishing,
Beach Haven, New Jersey, has served as an ocean resort town
for more than a century.
And no place celebrates the deep connection
between the people of this area and the sea
more than the New Jersey Maritime Museum.
On display here are mementos from famous sea voyages,
navigational equipment, and antique diving gear.
But according to curator Deb Whitcraft,
one item in these galleries has a history darker than the rest.
It's made of coarse canvas-type material
and includes cork panels with ties
and is inscribed with the word "adult" on it.
WILDMAN: This standard-issue life vest
tells a shocking tale of sabotage, intrigue, and ***.
What role did it play
in one of the most confounding maritime disasters of all time?
September 5, 1934.
The S.S. Morro Castle, pride of the Ward Cruise Line,
departs Havana, Cuba, en route to New York.
Fitted with impressive staterooms
and magnificent furnishings,
the ship steams peacefully
under the watchful and experienced command
of Captain Robert Willmott.
WHITCRAFT: Captain Willmott had a wonderful record
not only with regards to safety,
but also with regard to the way he treated his passengers.
WILDMAN: Two days into the voyage,
as the Morro Castle cuts through the Atlantic waters,
the voyage takes an ominous turn.
In the early evening of September 7,
Captain Willmott complains of an upset stomach,
and he retires to his stateroom.
Just hours later,
it is discovered that Captain Willmott is dead.
Doctors are perplexed by his sudden demise.
The cause of death is inconclusive.
Captain Willmott was thought to be in perfect health.
WILDMAN: To preserve the body for a later autopsy,
it's placed in cold storage.
The first officer takes command of the Morro Castle,
and later that evening,
with the ship several miles off the coast of New Jersey,
a crew member appears on the bridge
with even more disturbing news.
At 2:45 a.m.,
it was reported that there was a fire aboard the Morro Castle.
WILDMAN: Blinding, acrid smoke quickly fills the corridors
and makes it impossible for many on board
to reach the safety of the lifeboats.
The fire went the entire length of the Morro Castle,
forcing people to find areas of the ship
that the fire had not yet reached,
and they were running out of options.
WILDMAN: Passengers rushed to grab life preservers
like the one on display at the New Jersey Maritime Museum.
As the flames rise, many are forced to jump for their lives,
plunging 50 feet into the icy waters below.
By mid-morning, the ravaged passenger liner
has drifted ashore off Asbury Park, New Jersey,
captivating thousands of horrified beach goers.
WHITCRAFT: When the ship ended up on the beach,
most of the people who lost their lives
had already jumped from the ship.
WILDMAN: In the end, more than 130 people --
a quarter of those on board -- are killed in the disaster.
And outraged public demands answers,
and an investigation is launched.
Combing through the charred wreckage,
officials determine the blaze originated in the writing room,
and there, they make a shocking discovery.
WHITCRAFT: It was determined that the cleaning supplies,
which only the crew members had access to,
played a role in the quick spread of the fire
when it was initially started.
WILDMAN: Now the police begin to wonder,
did a crew member of the Morro Castle
set the ship ablaze?
After the sudden death of Captain Robert Willmott,
the pleasure cruiser S.S. Morro Castle
catches fire and runs aground, killing 130 passengers and crew.
But when investigators scour the smoldering ship's remains,
they discover evidence of arson,
so who set this devastating blaze, and why?
As investigators continue to search the ship,
they find the remains of Captain Willmott,
but it seems the body has been moved.
The remains weren't even recovered from the area
where it is said that Captain Willmott's body had been taken
after his death.
WILDMAN: His remains are charred so badly
that determining the cause of death is impossible.
And investigators begin to suspect
that the captain was murdered
and that the killer set the fire to cover his tracks.
Soon, investigators begin to focus on a crew member
with a dubious record,
the chief radio operator, George White Rogers.
WHITCRAFT: George Rogers had a criminal history a mile long --
pyromania, assaults, terroristic threats on people.
WILDMAN: Fellow crew members state that Rogers
fell out of favor with the captain,
and that the two argued bitterly
just hours before Willmott's untimely demise.
Captain Willmott told George
that his job as a radio operator would be over
when the ship returned to New York.
WILDMAN: Despite their suspicions,
investigators lack evidence in their case against Rogers.
Today, Rogers is widely believed to have been responsible
for the fire on board the ship
and possibly for the *** of the captain,
but no one can be 100% sure.
The true culprit remains a mystery...
and this life preserver on display
at the New Jersey Maritime Museum
stands as a reminder of a tragic voyage
that started as a dream vacation,
but became a nightmare at sea.
Home to the Big Three auto makers,
Detroit, Michigan, is known as the roaring engine
of the modern American car industry.
But it is also home to an institution
that features the work of the old masters --
The Detroit Institute of the Arts.
Here, over 100 galleries are filled with priceless pieces
by Diego Rivera, Peter Paul Rubens,
and countless others.
But according to senior curator Alan Darr,
one ornate artwork comes from an artist
just as gifted, but far less known.
DARR: It's a large and rather wonderful marble.
It has a complexity that is indicative
of the talent of the sculptor.
WILDMAN: This delicately carved piece
depicts a loving moment between the Madonna and Child,
but it represents a stunning tale of greed,
deception, and betrayal
that brought the art world to its knees.
How is this sculpture tied to a scandal
of truly monumental proportions?
1924, Italy.
In the years following World War I,
a devastated country finds itself
in desperate need of the funds to rebuild,
and in an effort to bring in money from foreign investors,
the government allows some of the nation's most treasured art
to be sold to the highest bidder.
DARR: It was then possible to acquire works of art,
great treasures, from Italy that now would be impossible.
WILDMAN: With wealthy collectors eager to *** up works
by Michelangelo, Donatello, and other Italian masters,
representatives from American museums
are dispatched to the continent.
DARR: The Italian Renaissance and Gothic period
commanded enormous prices in the '20s.
WILDMAN: And one man believes
he can take advantage of this booming postwar demand
for Italian masterpieces.
His name -- Alfredo Fasoli.
And he has a daring scheme
to separate Western collectors from their money --
Pass off forgeries as works of classic Italian artists.
To make his plot succeed, Fasoli exploits the talents
of a struggling artist named Alceo Dossena.
DARR: Dossena was a very talented sculptor.
He was pretty much self-taught.
WILDMAN: Fasoli had first encountered Dossena
eight years earlier in Rome,
where the artist was selling small terra-cotta sculptures
on the street.
DARR: Fasoli was blown away.
He was so surprised that this was such a high-quality work.
It looks like an antique.
Fasoli had someone here
who was very talented as a sculptor
and could make other pieces to look old.
WILDMAN: Fasoli becomes Dossena's patron and sets him up in a studio.
But Dossena is kept in the dark
about the full extent of Fasoli's plot,
satisfied to carve hundreds of ornate marble works
for a small commission.
DARR: He received very little money,
maybe the equivalent of a few hundred dollars for each piece.
WILDMAN: To dupe hungry collectors,
Fasoli arranges for Dossena's work
to be placed in convents and cathedrals --
passing them off as antiquities
and building intrigue for eager Americans.
DARR: Fasoli builds a story
about a newly discovered, important Italian Renaissance
or Italian Gothic or Ancient Greek sculpture.
WILDMAN: Fasoli's scheme fools some of the biggest institutions
and names of the art world.
In June 1924, a man named Harold Parsons comes to Rome
in search of masterpieces for The Cleveland Museum of Art.
There, he meets none other than Alfredo Fasoli.
DARR: Fasoli lets it slip that he knows where there might be
an important work in marble by Nicola Pisano,
one of the great artists of the Italian Gothic period.
WILDMAN: When the arrive at the convent outside the city,
Parsons is awestruck by the gorgeous statue
by the 14th-century father of modern sculpture.
He said, "I must have that for The Cleveland Art Museum."
WILDMAN: Fasoli negotiates the price of $18,000,
which Parsons gladly pays.
And thrilled at having secured a genuine Pisano,
Parsons has it shipped to Cleveland,
and trusting Fasoli to find more great works for the museum
over the next four years.
But as Parsons leans on Fasoli for more treasures,
something soon happens
that shakes the art world to its core.
It's the late 1920s.
When an American art museum
purchases a beautiful sculpture of the Madonna
from an Italian art dealer,
they think they've acquired a rare masterpiece,
but when the work's authenticity is called into question,
it triggers an unprecedented art-world scandal.
In 1928, Fasoli's scheme comes crashing down
when he is sued in a Roman court
for passing off forged artworks as antiquities.
The man behind the lawsuit is Alceo Dossena.
But why would the artist sue the art dealer?
That year, after creating works for Fasoli for over a decade,
Alceo Dossena made a shocking discovery.
He heard through connections in the art world
that Fasoli sold one of his pieces to a London museum
for $150,000,
passing it off as the work of an old master.
Dossena, who had been paid a mere trifle
compared to this hefty sum, was stunned.
DARR: And he confronted Fasoli and said,
"I'm getting practically nothing,
"and you're getting very rich.
I want more money."
WILDMAN: And when Fasoli brushes him off,
Dossena goes public with the details of their arrangement.
DARR: The word got out that Dossena had made these pieces,
and Fasoli's reputation was shattered.
WILDMAN: Soon, news of the scandal reaches America,
and Harold Parsons is devastated when he learns
the true provenance of his cherished finds.
This wasn't the wonderful Nicola Pisano marble Madonna
from the 14th century, but in fact, it was an Alceo Dossena.
WILDMAN: Despite this immense fiasco,
Dossena tries to salvage his reputation
and continues to make works in the classical style,
including this marble Madonna,
now on display at The Detroit Institute of the Arts.
But art buyers, still reeling from the deception
wrought by his former handler,
fail to value Dossena's work very highly.
In 1933, a lot of 39 of the artist's sculptures
sells for just over $9,000.
DARR: He was crushed.
In the end, Dossena dies a few years later,
penniless and impoverished, broken man.
WILDMAN: And today,
this beautiful sculpture by Alceo Dossena
is on display at The Detroit Institute of the Arts,
reminding all who see it that the value of a work of art
is found not only in the skill of the artist,
but in the name of the man who made it.
From a cursed film to an art-world fiasco,
an accidental invention to an alien encounter,
I'm Don Wildman, and these are the mysteries at the museum.