JUSTICE FOR THERESA CORLEY

Camelot was over and the Summer of Love had ended over a decade before. Viet Nam protest marches, the Kent State shooting, and the Nixon era were a memory. It was December, 1978, winter in America, a time of disillusionment and discontent. Darkness came early and every night seemed starless. But even in that time of financial and cultural depression, the humdrum of life bumped along. Those lucky enough to have a job worked, and if you had an income, even a paltry one, it was probably enough then to allow some discretionary income for having some fun.

In Franklin, the Train Stop, a popular watering hole, was as usual hosting its odd assortment of patrons. From college students to plumbers, orderlies from nearby Wrentham State School and townies, loud voices and laughter were fueled by the great social equalizer, alcohol. Many of the customers on Monday, December 4 were young, under twenty-one, attending a birthday celebration, their jubilant mood interrupted by an argument, some misunderstanding, and the abrupt exit of some of the party-goers.

Exactly what happened after that is not completely known. But one nineteen year old girl, someone’s baby, someone’s sister, never made it home. That girl was Theresa Corley, of Bellingham, one of nine children. She was working in a local factory, attending junior college, just beginning to become a woman, more independent and adventuresome, finding her own way. Her nude body was found in a ditch on the side of 495 a few days later and she had been strangled.

Thirty-seven years later, her sister, Gerri, still remembers her mother’s anguished screams when she learned that her missing daughter would never come home, a sound she says she will never forget. And she and the Corley siblings feel the hurt and despair that her mother did, not knowing who did this to their Terry. An investigation had taken place, to some degree, anyway, and a disjointed story emerged, that Theresa had been sexually assaulted at an apartment in Franklin, left there, was seen by other witnesses, was picked up and dropped off at the Bellingham Police Department not far from her home but was never seen alive again. No one was charged. Years went by and the case grew cold. Investigators have retired. Some potential suspects or witnesses have died.

This year, Theresa Corley would have been 56. For years, there have been whispered allegations and overheard conversations in Bellingham. And quite probably, those most directly involved or knowledgeable about the crimes that were committed that night are out there. Among us. 

Thirty-seven years. It’s a long time to wonder what happened, knowing that someone has gotten away with murder. It’s not too late to put this puzzle together. And that could mean taking a brave step forward. Rumors could lead to facts. And that could lead to conviction and JUSTICE FOR THERESA CORLEY. Can YOU help?

If you have any information at all, and every bit of information can help, please contact any of the following:

Bellingham Police Tip Line at 508.657.2863 or email detectives@bellinghamma,org

Franklin Police Tip Line at 508.440.2780 or email at tips@franklinpolice.com

The Norfolk District Attorney can also be contacted at 617.593.8840.

A Facebook page has also been created: Justice for Theresa Corley Bellingham 1978.

The Unlikely Visitor at the Putnam Post Office

Last Thursday was memorable for a few reasons. First, because I mailed my retirement application into the state retirement board; second, because of a surprising encounter with a visitor to the Putnam Post Office.

As I descended the steps of the post office, I heard the distinct "caw" of a crow, or so I assumed. The persistent cawing became so loud, I was sure some bird was going to land on my head. Stopping to look for the sound, I looked up to see an enormous black bird perched on the parapet of the stone post office building. He -- or she -- was doing sort of a soft shoe dance, and was making its crazy cawing noises which echoed between the downtown buildings.

Within a few minutes, more passersby joined me, standing in front of the post office, necks craned to marvel at the unusual sight. A woman said "it's not a crow, it's a raven." Someone else pointed out that there was another raven on a nearby steeple, and it did seem like they were occasionally calling to each other. This unexpected visitor seemed curious about the impromptu gathering below as it leaned over toward us, continuing its shrill cawing, and performing its skips and hops to our collective delight. We took pictures and videos with our phones, looking like tourists in our own town.

A raven! Of course! I wasn't sure if I had ever actually seen one. Perhaps my greatest familiarity with ravens was from the famed Edgar Alan Poe poem The Raven. "Quoth the Raven 'Nevermore'".

The Cornell Lab of Ornothology All About Birds website calls the common raven "intriguing" and notes that ravens are "among the smartest of all birds." And, "ravens are confident, inquisitive birds that strut around or occasionally bound forward with light, two-footed hops." A 2013 article in The (New London) Day, Ravens: Nevermore no longer (Robert Tougias, 1/4/13) explains that over the last few decades the raven has slowly extended its territory south from remote northern New England, probably due to global warming. It is a highly adaptable bird, but is still largely a wilderness bird. So its appearance in downtown Putnam was rather unlikely.

A few days later I told a coworker about my encounter. She in turn told me a story about a friend who had an owl fly into her house and die, and that was a bad omen, and the friend became very ill. The native American tribes people that the friend had lived near had used herbs and incense to try to rid the house of evil spirits but their efforts failed.

Although I am not of a superstitious nature, this suggestion was a little unsettling. I researched "ravens and superstitions" and learned that the raven is quite enigmatic, with different cultures embracing opposing beliefs about its spiritual significance. While some see the raven as a fore-teller of death (probably thanks to Poe), or a symbol of war, others identify the raven as a good omen, associated with wisdom and magic.The Celtics believe that a raven on the roof brings prosperity.

But I prefer this definition of the raven: The raven, bird of prophecy and bravery, protector of seers and clairvoyants.

And even if the raven is but a bird, with no exotic and mysterious association, it was a very cool experience. I've included a very short video -- not sure if Telegram readers will be able to upload it -- which isn't too good but captures the sound pretty well.