On Saturday, July 28, 1973, Mom, Tracy (four), and I (six) were at home packing up for the beach when we heard distressed female voices outside our front window. Frantically racing down the hill on bicycles, far too fast for a summer joy ride, were two middle-aged women. “They’re crazy. They’re going to kill themselves,” Mom thought.
Moments later, my Dad came home and, uncharacteristically frantic himself, instructed Mom to lock the doors and keep our German Shepherd, Spooky, both inside and at our side. He’d just received a call from Camp’s Registrar’s office that shortly after checking in for the week, two guests had rented bicycles and encountered a ‘creepy gunman’ up at the Gilmantown Road split,
less than two hundred yards from our house. They said that the man emerged from the woods, blocked their path, and told them to get off their bikes. Sensing the danger, the ladies sped away despite the risk of being shot in the back. Once safely inside the Woodlands Conference Center, they informed the Controller about this most upsetting episode. A wave of fear came over Mom as this explained what she had witnessed earlier.
After finding that the gunman had fled from the area described by the ladies, Dad immediately called Sheriff Arthur Parker about the incident.
Meanwhile, a staff counselor, Ruthie Brown, was reporting details to Camp leadership and the police about a similarly disturbing encounter that occurred the night before. Sixteen-year-old, Jane Taylor, was returning to her Girls’ Park cabin late that Friday night when a stranger impersonating a police officer insisted that she come with him because “something was wrong.” Jane pulled herself away from his grip and ran into her cabin where her seven roommates were already in bed. She then called out to Ruthie, who quickly came over and sent for Camp security.
With two troubling stories from Friday night and Saturday afternoon still fresh and being seriously looked into, the connection between these incidents had not yet been made. But that was about to change.
On Sunday, following Camp’s church service, Dad received a call from Sheriff Parker about a teenager being brutally murdered near Christine Falls, just a few miles south of Camp on Route 30. The Sheriff speculated that the eighteen-year-old victim, Phillip Domblewski, might have been a Camp staffer, which he was not. More problematic and chilling for Dad was hearing that
the perpetrator had attempted to murder all four people in Domblewski’s group.
Phillip Domblewski, from Schenectady, was camping in Wells with three friends, David Freeman, Nicholas Fiorello, and Carol Ann Malinowski, when they were captured and forced at gunpoint to tie each other to trees so that they could not see each other. Domblewski was taunted, poked, and ultimately stabbed multiple times with a knife. The other three hikers heard
sounds of struggle and torment…until they didn’t. Able to free themselves, they ran away in separate directions.
The murderer chased down David, pulled him into a ditch, and forced him to help keep watch. Carol escaped to the road and flagged down a passing vehicle. While the driver was deeply unsettled by the level of her distress, he remained focused enough to deliver her to Speculator to seek safety and Sheriff Parker.
Nicholas reached his car and sped down to Wells where he reached the parking lot of Vodron’s Restaurant. Looking disheveled, dirty, and maniacal, he climbed onto the roof of his car and creamed for help. He tried explaining to restaurant owner, John Vodron, what had happened at the campsite. A skeptical Vodron called the coroner, then gathered some others, including his
son, to check it out. When they arrived, David sprung from the ditch and ran toward the group warning that the murderer had a gun. But for some reason, the suspect simply turned, walked away, and calmly disappeared back into the forest.
When Sheriff Parker was finally contacted while leaving church, he rushed to meet with Carol at a nearby gas station to hear her story. He arranged a ride for her to the Hamilton County Courthouse where she’d eventually regroup with Nick and David. Sheriff Parker then ordered all exits from the campsite area to be sealed.
At the crime scene, police ran the license plate of the abandoned car and, combined with the three surviving campers' positive identification of a mug shot, the horror of the last three days came into focus. This was not his first kill, only his latest.
This man was no small-timer. He had already spent eight years in prison for a rape conviction.
Two months prior, around Memorial Day, he’d kidnapped and molested two young girls from an ice cream stand in Syracuse. A few weeks later, on 7/11/73, the day before his scheduled court date, he raped and murdered sixteen-year-old Alicia Houck, leaving her body in a place known
only to him.
When he failed to appear in court near Syracuse, an arrest warrant was issued for his alleged crimes. Knowing that he was now being pursued by authorities, he escaped into the six million acres of Adirondack Park to kill indiscriminately. It didn’t take long. On 7/14/73, he stabbed Daniel Porter and his girlfriend Susan Petz to death in Wevertown, near Gore Mountain. Once
again, he dragged her body somewhere not likely to be found.
On Sunday afternoon, July 29, 1973, the largest Manhunt in New York State history was officially launched. The target: Robert Francis Garrow.
Helicopters swarmed above as law enforcement officers from all over the state converged into the Speculator/Wells area. Multiple roadblocks were established, including at Camp’s entrance, Speculator’s four corners near Charles Johns Store, Downey Avenue’s intersection with Route
30, the bridge to Wevertown, Wells bridge, and the end of East Road. All motorists had their trunks searched and were warned not to stop for anyone for fear that Garrow might try to pose as a hitchhiker.
My Uncle John Van Wicklin, who had a similar powerful build and eyeglasses, recalls his own experience of being seriously interrogated:
“I left COTW on a Sunday by myself to return home and went through three roadblocks coming down out of the mountains. The first roadblock checked the trunk of my car. The second roadblock warned me specifically about Robert Garrow. At the third roadblock further down the road, the trooper took my license and asked me questions from it to be sure I wasn’t Garrow
pretending to be me.”
While none of this was convenient, it was more than understood and appreciated, as my Uncle Doug Schoen remembers:
“This was a truly-unsettling time at Camp as well as throughout the Adirondack Park. Trips to Utica involved being stopped at various checkpoints and nighttime walking around Camp or to town was done with serious apprehension. But I can still picture State Police Officer Plum
standing at the gate of Camp, deciding who came in and who didn’t. He was the largest, strongest, fiercest-looking policeman I had ever seen. Muscles like rocks; a face like granite. Having him stand guard was intimidating yet reassuring. We all knew that no one in their right mind would attempt to get past him! (Caveat: Garrow was not in his right mind.)”
The roadblocks and searches served a dual purpose. Any information regarding Garrow’s possible whereabouts was valuable. On the Sunday afternoon of the Domblewski murder, the wife of one of my Dad’s best friends was driving on Fly Creek Road in Wells to meet with friends who were building a camp. She’d driven up from Amsterdam and the news hadn’t hit the
airwaves yet. A man emerged from the trees and waved his arms to stop her. She rolled down the window and he told her it wasn’t safe to be traveling on this road because a teenager had been murdered nearby earlier that day. She panicked, turned around, and drove back to Speculator to tell her husband, Bill, what just happened on Fly Creek Road. Bill asked her to describe him and
it was clear that she had encountered the fugitive, Robert Garrow. The police took her information and leaned further into searching the Fly Creek Road area.
The massive search reached our own front and back yards with detectives using bloodhounds to trace his scent. Mom was asked to shut all windows and keep us quiet so that I, Tracy, or Spooky would not audibly distract the bloodhounds.
In doing research for this book, I felt confident that the memories provided by my family and friends that lived through Garrow would carry the day. But for good measure, I asked my friend, Mike Nigrelli, a veteran Buffalo Police Detective if he knew of any police officers that were involved with the Garrow case. Mike mentioned that he has some contacts with groups of retired
cops around New York State who still get together over coffee. The results were beyond my highest expectations as his outreach resulted in connections with four officers directly involved with different aspects of the manhunt.
One such phone conversation was with Gil Paddock, who ran the B-Troop Bloodhound Unit. Gil shared that on the Sunday of the Phillip Domblewski murder, while visiting his parents in Lake Meacham, he received a call that he and his tracking dogs, Beau and Daisy, would be picked up by a troop car and taken to the crime scene. Having days earlier been on the search for
one of Garrow’s victims, Susan Petz, Gil would now be looking for Garrow himself. Upon his arrival, where Phillip Domblewski’s body was still tied to the tree, he immediately had Beau and Daisy learn Garrow’s scent from the ditch where he had hidden earlier that morning.
Gil sent Daisy first who walked about fifty yards then made a distinct 90-degree turn at the road. Beau picked up the same trail which convinced Gil that Garrow had entered the woods at that point. However, a BCI (Bureau of Criminal Investigation) Officer disagreed, claiming he’d already checked that area and found no one.
As darkness fell, Gil took Beau and Daisy to Oak Mountain’s Acorn Lodge in Speculator for the night. No sooner had he unpacked and begun to settle in when he heard, ‘thump, thump, thump’ coming up the stairs as an officer was yelling, “Gil, they saw him! He just bolted. They need the
dogs back!”
Gil hurriedly got dressed, gathered Beau and Daisy, and sped to the same intersection where they’d been that afternoon. There he found the same BCI officer who said, “He just came out of this road.”
“That’s impossible. You said you’d checked,” Gil angrily responded as it was exactly where Beau and Daisy had earlier led the officers. Gil put his hounds back on the hunt and instructed the search party to be aware that Beau might suddenly lunge at anything or anyone that made a 90-degree turn. Sure enough, the dogs pivoted toward an area where the brush was leaning
toward the tree line. The dogs had picked up Garrow’s scent. The officer looked at Gil, expecting him to follow the trail into the dark woods, then said, “C’mon, let’s go.”
Gil was having no part of it. “No way. This guy is armed. I can’t see a freakin’ thing. I’m not gonna risk getting my dogs or myself shot. We’ll take this up in the morning. Here are the ropes if YOU want to go in.” The BCI Officer agreed. They knew this new lead would help Law Enforcement at least contain Garrow until reinforcements arrived. Gil returned to the Acorn Lodge for what was left of the evening. Good news awaited him there as a second Bloodhound
Team was on their way to double the efforts and keep the dogs fresh.
After the short night, Bloodhound Team D did arrive with one of the members having to cut short his vacation. Gil and this new team immediately struck a better working relationship than with the BCI Officer. They agreed that Team D would work days while Gil’s Team B would check mostly campgrounds and cottages at night. Even better, a new commanding officer allowed both teams to have their hounds “sit back” at the Command Center for a portion of each day, awaiting valid leads instead of endlessly chasing. This strategy was based on their belief that the walls were closing in on Garrow and it was just a matter of time before they’d wear him own. They would soon learn that they didn’t fully understand who they were dealing with.
Meanwhile back at Camp-of-the-Woods, Grandpa, Dad, and other COTW leadership were contemplating how to continue operations during one of the summer’s busiest weeks. The safety of eight hundred guests and two hundred staff was paramount. Camp was considered a possible rich target for Garrow since he had some familiarity with the grounds after his two failed
abductions on that previous Friday and Saturday. Camp was a plentiful source of food with Woodlands, the Dining Hall, and the Tee Pee Snack Shop, not to mention having nearly one thousand people congregating within one hundred acres.
It was decided that tenuously resuming regular activities on heightened alert was the most prudent way forward. Grandpa addressed the full auditorium during the Sunday night service about roadblocks in and out of Camp. All were strongly advised to follow the instructions given by the Troopers in regards to letting departing campers out and the next week’s huge group in.
There were a few who did leave invoking a seldom-used “Slayer Clause” in the refund policy.
“How was your vacation, Mrs. Johnson?”
“Fine except for that pesky serial killer.”
Rounding out the trilogy of “My Uncles and Garrow,” none were affected more than Uncle Bob Purdy. At just nineteen years old, he was Camp’s Night Watchman that summer. The job essentially required the Night Watchman to walk the grounds nightly with a flashlight from 1:00 pm until 6:00 am the next morning. He ensured that buildings were locked and that staff and guests were safe in their accommodations. Protecting one-hundred acres from a homicidal madman was not in the job description – at least until the summer of 1973. Watching for teens making out after curfew and even those rock fights in Boys’ Park would be shelved.
Bob recalls, “I was running a bit behind to start my shift that night (of all nights, he chuckled) and had grabbed my dinner, which I usually ate at 11:00 pm, at the Tower Restaurant in Lake Pleasant. I was especially tired because the day before was my turn in the rotation to make a Utica supply run. When I returned from the Towers, someone near the Gate House told me that
‘something was going on’ in Girls’ Park’. Sure enough, Ruthie Brown and Lynn Todish (I think) told me about a man that tried to pull Jane Taylor away from her cabin. Of the many thoughts that rushed through my head, the overwhelming feeling was that ‘we’ve been violated’.”
With no protocol in place for this heightened level of surveillance, Bob consulted with Grandpa and Dad about how to proceed. They decided that, for starters, he’d be armed with a gun and our German Shepherd, Spooky. He’d then position himself near the Circle at the center of Camp where he could see someone coming from every direction. Some older staff members
volunteered to work with Bob each night until Garrow was caught.
As in the movie, “Jaws,” with fear of the shark robbing the local community of precious summer tourism days, so too were Speculator and Wells hotels being occupied by law enforcement rather than paying customers. The hotels and businesses, including Camp, ensured that law enforcement officials were well-fed and rested during this long, intense search. Gil Paddock’s
stay at both the Acorn in Speculator and a motel in Wells were perfect examples. Gil recalls, “The couple that owned the Motel in Wells told me and my troop partner, Bob, that we could stay in their rooms during the day and have our wives join. They had a hot breakfast ready every morning and even insisted on washing and ironing our clothes every day while we slept, even
ironing our shorts!” Their wives came down to stay with them, bringing extra clothes. Of course, even they were stopped at every roadblock as officers looked in the back of their car to verify the clothes were for their husbands.
Living in the safety and serenity of the Adirondacks, many of the rules of urban society are totally ignored. Few lock their doors at night, many come and sleep in unsecured tents or cabins, and hardly anyone ever locks their car. One of the orders given by law enforcement officials and repeated over and over at the roadblocks was ‘Do NOT leave your keys in your vehicle!’
While the local hospitality was greatly appreciated by law enforcement, every passing day that Garrow went uncaptured added to a growing sense of concern. Police that manned the roadblocks were growing weary, missing their families, and in some cases falling behind in their regular duties by being pulled away for the manhunt.
But while the monotony was about to be broken, a new challenge would emerge.
Finally, ten days into the manhunt, a Deerfoot Lodge Boys Camp counselor awoke to find his car had been stolen (obviously he’d forgotten the car keys commandment). Police were almost certain that it was Garrow. It made sense that he would steal a car if he could.
If this was true - if it was Garrow - the news elicited a mixed reaction from authorities. How did he do it? How could one man be so elusive for so long? However, on the positive side, it could be a game-changer.
The stolen car from Deerfoot was reportedly seen running a roadblock heading north on Route 30 near Indian Lake. Unfortunately, a patrol car in pursuit sustained a broken fan belt. With poor radio reception in the mountains, word didn’t reach the police for another hour. Authorities knew
Garrow had relatives, a sister, and her children, in the Mineville-Witherbee area, about eighty miles north of Speculator. They had already been surveilling that property and would now bolster the police presence there.
Cautiously but aggressively, the focus shifted to Mineville, New York.
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PART TWO
Robert Garrow had dodged hard situations his entire life.
His abusive father and mother once beat him so hard with a brick that his sister thought he was dead. He was sent to a boarding school in Rochester where he didn’t know a soul. While other students enjoyed normal sports, music, and social lives, he worked alone on a farm where animals were his only companions. He was discharged from the military for among other things, bed wetting.
For his life of crime, Garrow’s most valuable asset was deception. According to Jim Tracy’s book, “Sworn to Silence: The Truth Behind Robert Garrow and the Missing Bodies Case,” Garrow was able to commit rape during his ‘evening walks’ after grocery shopping or family dinners without them suspecting a thing. A judge once dismissed new charges against Garrow as
a reward for his exceptionally good behavior during his earlier prison sentence. One of his son's friends actually compared him to the loveable, sensible father in the “Happy Days” television show, Mr. Cunningham. Some members of the manhunt teams even claim that Garrow blended
in to join the manhunt….for himself.
With Garrow now on the move, roadblocks were immediately bolstered between Speculator and Mineville. The “all hands on deck” mantra was more important than ever. Gil Paddock and his partner, Bob, thought they were being sent home until further notice when they received a call
that “they jumped him.” Gil was directed to head north to a memorial highway and establish a quick make-shift roadblock. Dressed in civilian clothes (a t-shirt and a baseball cap that read “NYSP”) they pulled over their black and white car. Gil’s biggest concern was that they had just
one shot-gun between them:
“We set up a roadblock, checking and questioning every car. Then it started to get dark. We had been up since 5:00 am and were told a replacement crew would be there at 7:00 am the next morning. They finally did arrive and relieve us at 9:00 am” Gil was generally healthy but indicated that stamina was sometimes an issue as one of his lungs had burst three years earlier in
a deep-water recovery exercise.
“There were very nice people living on the corner who brought us a steak dinner and opened their garage for anything else we could use, including five gallons of gas which we definitely needed since we made it there on fumes,” added Paddock.
The news reached COTW that Garrow was on the run. Uncle Bob and the beefed-up Night Crew didn’t let up. One particularly quiet night, even by Adirondack standards, Bob and Don Hammond, Jr. heard a noise in the Dining Hall, just above where Garrow had attempted to abduct Jane Taylor a week earlier. It sounded as if someone had bumped into a stack of dishes
causing them to crash to the ground. Both armed and with Spooky, Bob and Don crept up the Dining Hall’s main stairway. With hearts pounding, they maneuvered around each corner in ‘Dragnet’ fashion. Now well into the Dining Hall and having not seen anyone, the noise happened again. Bang, crash! It turned out to be the ice machine and looking back, Bob said,
“This provided some much-needed levity.”
After Garrow stole the car at Deerfoot and headed north to Mineville, Hamilton County Water Sheriff, Don Hammond Sr., took Dad to the camp that Garrow had set up in the woods. Dad felt so many powerful emotions as he surveyed the scene where Phillip Domblewski’s life was taken. He was struck by the well-constructed lean-to he’d built and how his evil personality seemed to
hover over the space. His survival skills were also exemplary as it was soon discovered that this spot was only about a hundred yards from where the police staging area had been. Notable as well was his exceptional skill as a woodsman and that he was able to survive on fish, berries, and
mushrooms.
Up in Mineville-Witherbee, it didn’t take long for the instincts of law enforcement to prove true. Reports of a burglary nearby bolstered their confidence that Garrow was being sheltered at his sister’s house. A short time later, it became airtight as Officer Ransen Caola confronted Garrow’s nephew in town who reluctantly admitted that he was bringing food to his uncle. In the
events that were about to unfold, there were several key leaders including Majors Donald Ambler and John “Jack” Lawliss, and Senior Investigator, Henry McCabe, who was a major contributor to Jim Tracy’s book.
Two men who will be forever uniquely linked to Garrow - and to each other - are Ronald Brooks and Hilary LeBlanc. Again, thanks to my Buffalo Police Detective friend, Mike Nigrelli, I had the privilege of speaking with each of them.
Sergeant Brooks worked the Whiteface Mountain area which he described as “an open grave with the only action being for stolen skis.” Hillary ‘Guy” LeBlanc was a Conservation Officer who also worked the northern part of New York State. Both were pulled away from their regular duties for the manhunt. Even as of the morning of August 9, 1973, neither Brooks nor LeBlanc could have imagined a need to form mutual trust and communication upon which their lives, and the lives of others, would suddenly depend.
Shortly after assuming their positions along Silver Hill Road, fifty to seventy-five yards apart, Brooks heard four shots. They appeared to come from Officer LeBlanc but he wasn’t sure as both men had mentioned power lines that caused some level of an obstructed view. As LeBlanc started shouting at Garrow to put down the gun, Brooks responded, “Hey, we’re supposed to be
quiet out here.”
LeBlanc pointed toward the area where he’d fired and indicated that he believed he’d shot Garrow. Still laying low, they watched to see whether Garrow would get up while LeBlanc reloaded his modified shotgun with a pistol grip made specifically for working in the woods as a Conservation Officer. Then they saw Garrow ‘go down twice and get up twice’. “This is not
good,” Brooks told LeBlanc. They knew they needed to go in after him.
Brooks told LeBlanc, “Take him out. I’m not going in there with buckshot flying around.” They found and followed a trail of blood, then heard something ahead which they believed to be Garrow. The bloodhounds and more police had now caught up with them and followed the blood trail visible on the weeds and plants.
Despite being wounded, Garrow tried to fool the bloodhounds by creating two trails where he went in, came back, and broke left to create a split which he hoped would buy time. But then, Sargent Ronald Brooks turned and saw Garrow laying on the ground. He shouted, “Don’t move!” Garrow looked at him, turned his head again, and closed his eyes. Brooks saw Garrow
struggling for his gun which was under his legs, with the ‘action open and ready’, but before he could grab it, he was apprehended by officers, including Lawliss and McCabe.
Hillary LeBlanc recalls, “I saw him scrambling to bury his knife and flashlight (evidence) but was unable to with a broken arm. He had also lost his glasses which he was very dependent on.”
When a reporter overhead a radio dispatch calling for an ambulance to Witherbee, she raced to the scene and was able to snap one picture of Garrow being carried on a stretcher. Other media, including the Associated Press, arrived shortly after to hear the briefing from Major Ambler.
Hillary LeBlanc did not engage with the media as he chose to decompress, but Ambler was sure to point out that LeBlanc surely “might have saved lives.”
On the Memorial Highway, while still on roadblock duty, Gil Paddock received the call that he, his two hundred fellow officers, and much of New York State had been waiting twelve long days
to hear, “They got him.”
Official word of the capture from Sheriff Parker had reached Dad at Camp. It was almost too good to be true. Dad could now relay the great news to a full auditorium the following morning. In and around Speculator law enforcement officers disappeared from the area as quickly as they’d shown up. Many headed north to Witherbee. In Speculator, a large sign was made that
read, “THANK YOU TROOPERS!”
Garrow was taken to the Champlain Valley Physicians Hospital in Plattsburgh, NY, where Senior Investigator, Henry McCabe, and his officers intensely questioned him, mostly seeking his knowledge about the whereabouts of Susan Petz. Following the forty-one days of treatment and interrogation, Garrow was transported to the Hamilton County jail in Lake Pleasant. Yes,
that jail. If you’ve ever played golf at the Lake Pleasant Golf Course, you’ve seen it right across the road. If you’ve ever ‘earned’ a speeding ticket there, I hope you found my Dad to be the fair judge I know he was.
During his time in the Hamilton County Jail, Garrow consulted and strategized with his attorney, Frank Armani. Garrow had obviously been a very difficult problem for law enforcement. However, it could be argued that he presented an even larger problem for Armani, who would possibly become more famous than Garrow himself.
Frank Armani had been Garrow’s lawyer for two previous cases in Syracuse. He recognized that Garrow had some issues, some of which he attributed to headaches sustained from a car accident, but he claimed that he did not believe that he was capable of murder. Even during the recent
manhunt, Armani had requested a television interview with a Syracuse station so he could beg Garrow to give himself up.
Then came the bombshell that would ultimately define this case forever.
Garrow told Armani and his associate, Frank Belge, that he not only committed the murders of Alicia Hauck and Susan Petz, but where he left their bodies. Armani and Belge then secretly visited both places and were horrified to find that Garrow was telling the truth. After photographing the remains, they faced an epic dilemma. By law, attorney-client privilege
prevented them from sharing this information with anyone, including the families who were desperately holding out hope that their loved ones might still be alive.
The legal ethics of this case are still discussed in law schools to this day. Armani’s professional and personal struggle with withholding this knowledge is also the main plot in the book, “Sworn to Silence: The Truth Behind Robert Garrow and the Missing Bodies Case” The first ten chapters cover Garrow’s life up to being shot and captured. Much of the remaining thirty-one
chapters feature, as the title suggests, deals with what Garrow told Armani after his capture.
Garrow’s long, pre-trial stay in the Hamilton County Courthouse jail also presented unique challenges for Sheriff Arthur Parker, Under Sheriff Doug Parker, and their families whose homes were attached to the facility. Richard Parker (grandson and son, respectively) remembers:
“The Hamilton County jail had no handicap capability, so in order to bathe him they grabbed my kiddie pool from the yard. That is how he got clean during his stay. They used ice-cold water to see if he reacted to the uncomfortable cold. The other oddity was we lived in half of the six- cell jail where a serial killer and a manipulator was being housed. My father slept with the key
to his cell tied around his neck. There was no way that he was going to trick someone into opening that door,”
Bill Edwards, Sr., who was also my fifth-grade teacher at Lake Pleasant Central School and father to long-time friend, Chris Edwards, manned a roadblock on Elm Lake Road and worked weekends in the jail, all while serving as Piseco Deputy of the Lakes during the week. Mr. Edwards (yes, Mr. Edwards, you know I’ll always call you that) remembers how Speculator,
Piseco, and Wells residents protected their homes during those days and his own jail-watching experience:
“All at once, firearms were in everyone's cars, trucks, and houses. This was unprecedented for our happy-go-lucky communities. Nobody in our towns will ever forget the worry that a murderer would show up at your house some night. I know I certainly did (worry). When Garrow was finally captured, we had two officers at the jail 24/7. I worked Saturday nights along with a
retired NYC cop. We positioned ourselves in the office and every hour one of us would unlock the large steel gates allowing the other to enter the actual jail cell area. To this day, I can HEAR and FEEL those gates reverberate and go “clunk” behind me as I was about to be just five or six feet from a murderer.”
In the Spring of 1974, the stage was set for the trial at the Hamilton County Courthouse. Being the county’s first murder case in forty-five years, reporters poured in from all over the state, including some national media. All attendees were directed through a metal detector borrowed from the Albany Airport.
Finding an impartial jury would prove most difficult. Almost every eligible person in Hamilton County was subpoenaed and almost every eligible person in Hamilton County not only knew about the case but had been following it closely. Judge George Marthen, who brought years of experience as a Long Island Magistrate, understood the need to set the tone early. He made clear
to prospective jurors who’d already made up their minds that ‘the case would be determined solely on the evidence provided in this courtroom and nothing outside of it.’
Mom and Dad were among those called to be polled. Mom recalls:
“I remember so well the day we were interviewed for jury duty in the Garrow trial. It was almost like walking into a movie set and it felt surreal. I was shocked by the number of State Troopers and other law enforcement on the courthouse porch. They were relaxed, smoking, and talking amongst each other. We also recognized television reporters from different stations.
Once we entered the courtroom, in groups of thirty or so, it became very real. We were seated about five rows behind Garrow and his lawyers. When I saw him I felt a mix of utter revulsion and shock. He was hunched over in his wheelchair and leaning to his right. He looked small and frail and yet he didn’t. His head was tilted, almost resting on his right shoulder. He would
occasionally move his eyes slowly to the right and around the room. He was fully aware of everything and that sidelong glance made my blood run cold. There was no doubt that knew exactly what was going on. He was the personification of pure evil.
The judge told us that the trial might be lengthy. Then asked to give a reason for why we couldn’t serve, including whether we had heard about the case, to which I am sure every person answered ‘yes.’ My excuse was that I had two young children at home and couldn’t be away that long. We were asked about our feelings toward the death penalty and in most cases we were simply told by the lawyers that we were a ‘yay’ or a ‘nay’. Some people without good reasons not to serve were questioned further and told to wait. Dad and I were let go right away. He explained about his position in camp and they said, “DISMISSED.” The defense wanted no one from COTW because
of the two incidents prior to the murder involving the staff girl and the two bike riders. The names were called in alphabetical order from all of Hamilton County. As it worked out Maye and Ken Reed were next after us and dismissed as well. When we left the courthouse, the general feeling of everyone we spoke to was that he was faking his injuries. Because it took a few days to assemble a jury, stories of the locals who were polled started to go through the area, including one that Jimmy Bernier, the owner of The Oxbow Inn, sat quietly and made a noose while he was waiting to be questioned. Needless to say, he was dismissed without question. When the jury was finally impaneled, Bud Keck from Lake Pleasant was chosen by the jurors to be foreman.”
Garrow pled not guilty to all eighteen charges against him. Armani and Belge’s strategy was to convince the jury that Garrow was insane - a strategy implemented even before the trial began. They had him testify that he ‘went berserk’ while killing Phillip Domblewski because he reminded him of a long-haired man he caught with an ex-girlfriend. Armani pressed Carol,
David, and Nick to say that Garrow acted irrationally during their capture and Phillip Domblewski’s stabbing, but they refused to take the bait.
But the insanity defense did not work. On July 1, 1974, Robert Garrow was found guilty and sentenced to twenty-five years to life.
Garrow was sent to the maximum-security prison in Dannemora. His daily portrayal of a paralyzed man ultimately helped persuade the State to accept his transfer request to the more handicapped-friendly and lower-security Fishkill Prison. There, he continued to secretly exercise and maintain enough muscle to perform his final act of deception. On September 8, 1978, after
his son smuggled a gun inside a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken during a visit, Robert Garrow escaped Fishkill prison.
At 10:30 pm, after pretending to retire as usual, Garrow sprung from his wheelchair, climbed a fifteen-foot wall, and fled into the fields surrounding the prison. Guards found a makeshift pillow dummy in his bed and a ‘hit list’ with the names Armani, Belge, and the man who shot him, Hillary LeBlanc, at the top. Panic ensued around the state when the news broke.
Helicopters swarmed above, traffic was backed up on I-84, and prison security guards were all issued guns. The media assembled and flooded the zone. For three long days, Garrow went undetected until, not far from the prison, a Correction Officer spotted him lying below a tree. The armed Garrow fired at and struck Officer Dominic Arena, but Officers Duncan and Strack
fired back, ultimately killing Garrow.
On September 11, 1978, the long, state-wide nightmare was over.
Just as Gil Paddock had welcomed the “they got him” call four years earlier during his roadblock duty, so too did Hilary LeBlanc welcome his call that “they really got him.” I asked Mr. LeBlanc if he remembers where he was when he received the call that Garrow escaped.
“Well, this is off the record,” he said. And so it will remain. All I can share about Mr. LeBlanc’s response is that he was made aware that Garrow literally took note of who’d shot him up in Mineville. So, LeBlanc and his family reacted accordingly to the news of his escape and that of
Garrow finally being killed.
Richard Parker, who now directs Farrell’s Funeral Home in Auburn, NY, notes:
“Oddly enough I go to the cemetery where he has been buried. The funeral home that handled his burial sent an empty car out as a decoy. They then sent out a nondescript car to fool the media. It’s Oakwood Cemetery in Syracuse. I talk to the workers there all the time. They say that the son that helped him escape still visits his grave frequently. They love my connection to the infamous Garrow.”
Once again, I so greatly appreciated the opportunity to speak with Officer Gil Paddock, Sergeant Ronald Brooks, and Conservation Officer Hillary LeBlanc. During each phone conversation, I hung on every word as they recalled their memories so vividly and matter-of-factly.
Connecting with Hillary LeBlanc didn’t seem like it was going to happen. After sending the email about my project to Buffalo Police friend, Mike Nigrelli, as he requested, I received a response the very next morning from a member of a retired police group, Kevin Kailborne. Kevin passed along the contact information for Mr. LeBlanc with a recommendation that I reach
out to him. I would have welcomed the opportunity to speak with anyone even on the perimeters of the story, but the man who actually shot Garrow? Wow!
Before calling Mr. LeBlanc, I did more online research about him and noticed an interesting pattern. There was naturally much said about his shooting of Garrow, but very little said by him. So, I didn’t know what to expect. I made the call and he answered. Check. After a sixty-second self-intro and elevator pitch that I probably should have practiced more, Mr. LeBlanc politely
replied, “I’m sorry. I really don’t discuss that incident. Good luck.” Click.
Ugh. Well, no harm, no foul. I thanked Kevin Kailbourne and informed him that Mr. LeBlanc preferred not to discuss the incident which I fully respected. We often hear how military veterans rarely discuss their days of war with their children, preferring to understandably keep it all compartmentalized.
Fifteen minutes later, my phone rang showing Mr. LeBlanc’s number. Uh oh. Was this a restraining order coming? He asked exactly what my project was about and how I knew Kevin Kailbourne. My answer must have been better than my original pitch as he said, “Know this. I’m no hero. I was just one of many who was doing my job. We were spread about 50-75 yards apart
on Silver Hill Road…”
Wait, was he starting to tell me about the shooting? I couldn’t have scrambled for my pencil and pad more quickly.
“We were staked out outside a family member’s home when Garrow’s sister and nephew came out,” LeBlanc continued. “They’d been protecting, feeding, and giving him clothes. There were some power lines in my line of sight, but then I saw him and shot him four times. I was just doing
my job,” he repeated.
For LeBlanc, the Garrow incident seemed more of a footnote, possibly even a distracting side note to a career in Conservation, about which he was most proud. He explained how he’d won battles with companies like GE and others regarding their toxic waste disposal and helped develop a protective foam suit used in icy waters. He also boasted about his adult children who have had amazing professional careers themselves.
When I mentioned that my biggest takeaway from our conversation was that he’d rather be defined by his Conservation career and his children rather than the Garrow incident, his response said it all. “That’s quite true. I’d like to be known as someone who did more than just shoot an *ss-hole in the woods.”
When I told him I was from Speculator, he replied, “Get out. I was just there YESTERDAY to change the registration on my gun permit.” I then told him about Frank Armani’s visit to my Dad at the Courthouse. Finally, I had something of interest for him in return!
The conversation ended so well that he invited me to follow up any time and to call him, “Guy,” his adopted nickname. He said he’d welcome a copy of the book when finished and his parting gift was a referral to his partner on that fateful day, Ronald Brooks.
Speaking with Mr. Brooks was indeed a gift. Listening to his memories made me feel like I was an eyewitness to how he and Mr. LeBlanc worked in the field in Mineville that day. Their banter was utterly fascinating. After feeling good about how the interviews were conducted, there was one question I’d probably want back. I asked Ronald Brooks, “Were you scared?”
He erupted in laughter. “Are you kidding me? Yeah, we knew he was going to resist,” replied Brooks.
When I began writing the book about growing up at Camp-of-the-Woods and Speculator (due out in early 2024), I actually debated whether to include a chapter about Robert Garrow for two reasons. First, despite growing up in Speculator, my knowledge of Garrow was limited to mostly this - he killed ‘some people’, was once in Camp, shot during a manhunt, tried in the Hamilton County Courthouse, faked the severity of his injuries, escaped from prison, and was shot and killed.
Secondly, I’d planned for the book to be filled with mostly positive memories. Enough said, right?
But during a four-day visit with my parents in Florida during their vacation in April of 2023, I simply asked them both for their memories while we were sitting on the porch of their rental condo. I hit ‘record on my phone’s voice memo app, and said, “Go.”
What happened next was my “aha” moment about details regarding Garrow that had somehow eluded me all these years. Once they laid out the timeline beginning with Friday night with Jane Taylor and seeing the shaken cyclists on Saturday, it all came together for me much like a young football fan finally understanding that the game is all about four chances to get ten yards, aided
by the first-down line on television.
The stories didn’t end with their 1970s memories. Dad mentioned that in 2019, while in his Hamilton County Courthouse office, a visitor curiously stopped by asking to see the courtroom. Dad did not recognize the elderly gentleman but had seen him before – nearly forty years earlier in that same courtroom. Frank Armani, now 80 years old, asked to see the room again where he
famously represented Garrow in 1973.
When our daughter, Anna, was in High School, she did a report for a forensics class about Garrow. A few years later, some of her Buffalo friends came to Speculator. She asked Mom and Dad to share the story with them around a campfire. They were mesmerized.
At a recent graduation party for my friend, Chris Bergstrom’s son, Ryan, I spoke with Chris’s father who served in the New Hartford Police Department near Utica. When I mentioned my Garrow project, he immediately recalled being pulled off his regular duty, being sent to Speculator for a briefing, and placed on Road Block/Check duties in Inlet, NY, about sixty miles northwest of Speculator. Mr. Bergstrom recalls, “It was hot and monotonous. We barely had time to eat and when we did, it was mostly mayonnaise sandwiches. But I do have a ‘keeper’ of a picture from the experience.” He went on to say that a picture of him performing vehicle checks appeared in a Utica newspaper that shows a reflection in his sunglasses.
Over coffee a couple of years ago, former LPCS and Wells schoolmate and good friend of Tracy, Aimy Aiken Wombwell, recalled a time when Richard Parker invited her and brother Tom (Boomer) Aiken to play at the County Courthouse after school where they pushed each other around in Garrow’s wheelchair.
My close high school friend, Ron Kuiken, now lives near Albany and marvels at how folks in the Capital region instantly think of Garrow when he mentions that he’s from Speculator. Perhaps Speculator’s Chamber of Commerce should embrace this by changing their slogan to “Mountains, Lakes, and Garrow. Hey, two out of three ain’t bad.”
Tracy and I were too young to remember much of this. Mom and Dad admittedly minimized the danger or at least the sense of danger to us. And family, aunts, and uncles, some of whom graciously shared here, were only in their twenties with either very young families or no families at all yet. While their memories are crystallized about this frightening time, the theme and
collective sentiment that comes through is “We all went through it together.”
Don Purdy Former Bills Front Office Executive, Co-host of Podcast, “If the Walls Could Talk in Buffalo,” and Author of Thunder Snow of Buffalo: The October Surprise Storm.