Postmortem Family Photos: The Keller Family

January 20, 2016 — 2 Comments

This photo is owned by Thanatos.net as you can clearly see on this, and every other copy of this photo in existence.

In the Victorian era, postmortem photography, also known as ‘mourning portraiture’ was a common practice. Often, these photographs would be sent to family across the country with the expectation that they would be proudly displayed as a way to remember the deceased. Due to the extremely high cost of film in the nineteenth century, death was often one of the few occasions deemed important enough to photograph a relative or friend and violent death resulting in disfigurement was not cause to forgo the photo op. These photos ranged from a portrait of only the deceased subject, to an entire family posing with one, sometimes more than one member who had recently passed. If an entire family was killed in a tragic event, the outcome was a rare, postmortem family photo.
At 8:30pm on January 25,1895 Adolph Hickstein, a piano maker, was playing games with his family in the living room of their home located at 10 1/2 Burt Avenue in Auburn, New York. At 8:30pm the entire family heard a gun shot followed by a cry for help in the residence of their neighbors, the Kellers, who lived at 10 Burt Ave. Immediately, Adolph and his wife rushed next door to investigate. The Hicksteins found the kitchen door open and lying there in the doorway, the body of 30-year-old Emil Keller. As soon as the Hicksteins made the grisly discovery, a second gunshot was heard. Adolph entered the bedroom where he discovered Mary Keller, 29, with her lower body in the bed and her head leaned over the crib of the couple’s nine month old daughter, Anna. There was a large amount of blood coming from Mrs. Keller’s forehead and a 22 caliber revolver clutched in her right hand.

An article published the following day in The Auburn Bulletin described the grisly discovery in horrific detail, “Going into the bedroom Mr. Hickstein was horrified to see Mrs. Keller, her lower extremities in the bed and her head in the crib of her infant by her bedside, the blood issuing from her forehead. The clothes of the child were in flames which Mr. Hickstein quickly extinguished. Neither he nor his wife, even at that time, entirely comprehended the horrible spectacle presented.” After the fire which was burning nine-month-old Anna’s clothing had been put out, Adolph ran to the residence of Ferdinand Sibus at 24 Elizabeth Street and informed the Sibus family, who had been close with the Kellers, of the grim discovery. Accompanied by Mr. Sibus and a small group of neighbors, Adolph Hickstein returned to the Kellers’ home, the police arriving soon after. A group of men raised Emil Keller’s dead body from the floor and found he had a bullet hole in his left side. They then moved the upper-half of Mary Keller’s body into the bed and found she was still breathing despite a self-inflicted gunshot wound located just above her right temple. Doctors Sheldon Voorhees and J.M. Jenkins who tended to the Keller Family knew there was no chance of recovery for Mrs. Keller. Mrs. Sibus found Anna Keller in the crib next to her mother, crying; She wrapped the baby up and took her back to the Sibus’ residence but shortly after arriving, Mrs. Sibus discovered the baby had been shot on the right side of her stomach and hastily returned to the crime scene where doctors were present. A large crowd of curious and concerned neighbors began to gather outside the Keller home, offering to assist in any way they could. Police asked the crowd to disperse and an ambulance was called to transport Mary Keller to the hospital while Dr. Voorhees drove baby Anna Keller to the same hospital in his own car. When Mary Keller arrived at the hospital, no time was wasted in calling Coroner Tripp to take Mrs. Keller to Gross’ undertaking rooms. Mrs. Keller was still alive when she arrived at the funeral home, clinging to life until midnight. Anna Keller was made as comfortable as possible at the hospital, but she was not expected to survive the bullet which had penetrated her right lung and exited the left side of her body. She died the day following the incident at 6:00pm.
Emil and Mary Keller had left their native Zurich, Switzerland five years before the fatal tragedy. First living in Philadelphia, then Washington D.C., Emil was a talented gardener whose work attracted a lot of attention. He moved with his wife to Auburn, New York two years before his murder to work for Mrs. D. M. Osborne, mainly tending to trees in the greenhouse at her residence. When Emil left for work every evening at 8:30 pm, Mrs. Keller would already be in bed asleep. Every evening before he left his home for the Osborne residence, he would go into the bedroom and kiss Mary goodbye. Investigators believe on the night of the murder/suicide, Mary shot Emil as he kissed her. Emil cried for help as he stumbled 35 feet (10 meters) to the kitchen door, on his way to find assistance before collapsing on the floor. This was the gunshot and cry for help The Hickstein Family had heard from their next door apartment. As they raced to the Keller residence, Mary leaned over her daughter’s crib and aimed the gun at Anna’s heart but slightly missed, her clothes being lit on fire by the blast. Mr. and Mrs. Hickstein entered the residence as Mary Keller turned the gun on herself. According to their friends and neighbors, Emil and Mary Keller loved each other and had a wonderful relationship. One friend of the couple described Mary as, “the perfect lady”; She was well-educated, an expert in the piano, violin and zither and well-trained in many other musical instruments; The two had shared a passion and talent for music. However, people also said Mary Keller was insane. One week to the day before the murder/suicide took place, Mary had just arrived home from a hospital where she had spent the last four weeks. Her physician, Dr. Hickey said when admitted, Mrs. Keller “did not talk rationally” and “was all run down, restless and could not sleep. She showed evidence of insanity in that particular but was not violent. Despite the fact that she was not violent and did not make any threats, doctors “thought best to have her undergo treatment”. During Mary Keller’s stay in the hospital, her daughter, Anna Keller stayed with her. Emil Keller boarded with the Sibus’s during the month his wife was in treatment and it seems the family moved homes one week before Mary Keller’s release from the hospital. Previously, the couple had resided at No. 96 South Street and according to reports, had not entirely moved into their new home at the time of their unfortunate deaths. When Mrs. Keller returned home after four weeks of treatment, locals believed it to not be in the best judgment of Doctor Hickey. One doctor at the hospital told reporters he believed Mrs. Keller had needed, “Several months of quiet and rest to recover fully from her run-down condition.”. Emil Keller was happy his wife was back according to Mr. Sibus and said that after she returned, “she was bright and cheerful to her husband and to her friends.”.
A coroner’s inquest took place on the day after the murder/suicide in Undertaker Gross’ funeral home with jurors F. Sibus, Vol Astman, John S. Duanigan, Richard Boehme, William Doyle and James W. Pratt, H. Fliachman. The first witness called was Mrs. Emma Boehme, the wife of Juryman Boehme. She had been hired by Mrs. Keller to assist with the housework. “Mrs. Keller cried hard yesterday morning”, began Mrs. Boehme, “and said she had a stone in her stomach. She was very good and loving and threw her arms about my neck and kissed me. She was in her night dress ready to go to bed and I was talking with her husband when I left. I did the washing the day before. She took care of the baby.”. Next, Dr. J. M. Jenkins was called to provide his findings on the death of Emil Keller; Investigators discovered a hole through his clothing above his heart. The shot had penetrated his heart but Dr. Jenkins was certain he could have been alive for some time before succumbing to his injury. Officer Benjamin B. Roseboom then provided his account of the evening, “I reached the house about the time Mr. Silbus and some others entered. Found Mr. Keller on the floor dead and Mrs. Keller in the bedroom partly out of the bed with the revolver in her hand. Took it out and put it in my pocket. The smoke was fresh in the room at the time I arrived. Heard the neighbors and others say she was insane. The baby was in the crib crying when I entered the home. When Dr. Voorhees arrived he said that the woman could not live.”. Fred Meyer, a piano tuner, then testified that on the morning of the murder/suicide he had been to the Keller’s. He claimed that after he had tuned the piano, Mrs. Keller began playing the piano mechanically and “crying bitterly”. When he questioned her, she asked to change the subject then cheered up and told him she felt well. Fred Meyer that although the family was always happy and pleasant, Mary was always worried for the safety of her child, “very fearful that something might happen to it.”. The couple had a child together several years before Anna was born but the infant died after only thirteen days. This could have greatly contributed to Mary’s fear for Anna and her alleged “insanity”. John Thomas of Burt Avenue was called next to give his testimony. When the Kellers had first moved to Auburn, New York, they had lived with Mr. Thomas for a few weeks. He said, “They were always happy. She was a perfect lady.”, before revealing the reason behind Mary’s hospitalization and the family’s sudden move, “I met Mr. Keller on Christmas and wished him a Merry Christmas. He said it was a bad Christmas for him, that his wife was at the hospital. I asked what was the matter. He said that she was out of her mind, that she imagined someone was in the house and was going to kill her and the baby. He said he would get her out of that house as soon as possible. I met him yesterday and he said that his wife was feeling better but it would take some time before she would be well again.”. The inquest adjourned for 45 minutes after John Thomas’s testimony because bizarrely, Dr. Voorhees had wandered off and could not be found. Where he was found remains a mystery; A mystery which will haunt me to the day I die (I spent over an hour searching for the answer to that). With Dr. Voorhees located, Coroner Tripp turned things over to the jury who agreed, “That the deceased came to his death by means of a ball from a pistol at the hands of Mary Keller.”, but made no mention of the mental state they suspected her to be in at the time.

The Keller Family Grave, Fort Hill Cemetery in Auburn, New York

The Keller Family funeral took place two days after the murder at 8:30pm at the Universalist Church. The casket was special ordered, 4 inches (10cm) deeper and 9 inches (23cm) wider than an ordinary coffin so that Mary, Emil and Anna could be buried together. The bodies were thoughtfully placed so as to hide any wounds; Mary’s head rests on Emil’s left shoulder in order to hide the gunshot wound above her right temple and the slight discoloration of her right eye.

Below is the original article from The Auburn Bulletin reporting the incident, courtesy of FultonHistory.com

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If you enjoyed this article, you might also like Life Before Death: Overcoming the Fear of Death Through Modern Postmortem Photography, Burying the Dead is Killing the Planet, Everybody Poops: The Postmortem Edition, and Pray the Decay Away: Incorruptible Corpses and Other Forms of Natural Postmortem Preservation

Life Before Death: Overcoming the Fear of Death Through Postmortem Photography

October 1, 2015 — 8 Comments

German photographer Walter Schels and journalist Beate Lakotta set out to dispell their shared fear of death by photographing terminally ill people perimortem and postmortem in the series “Life Before Death”. Beate Lakotta and Walter Schel have been married for over twenty years; Schel is 30 years her senior. The two are well-aware Schels will most likely die long before Lakotta, an event which they both fear. Walter Schels grew up near Munich, Germany during the final years of World War II; His own home was bombed as a child and he saw many victims of the air raids. He said the horrors he witnessed in childhood caused him to spawn a deep fear of death, “I was afraid of death and coffins my whole life and I avoided seeing any dead bodies, even those of my parents.”. In order to find subjects willing to participate in the project, the couple visited hospices in Hamburg and Berlin. Surprisingly, many patients near death wanted to participate in the project, eager to speak about their prognosis with someone outside of friends and family. Both subjects and loved ones had to agree upon participating, and only a small few chose to back out of the project. In the end, Schels and Lakotte interviewed and photographed 26 people who were severely ill and near death. For an entire year as the project was underway, the two were unable to work on any additional projects; They were on-call 24/7, ready to complete the postmortem photography portion in the event one of the subjects passed. Schels had previously worked on a series depicting birth, stating his fear of death was so intense all he could think was, “At the end of this birth will always be death.”. Although the series has had a deep reaction with many people, Schels insists he wasn’t trying to get across any message with the touching photos, only trying to “selfishly” rid himself of his fear, stating, “I hoped to lose my fear by doing this project where I had to confront myself with death. I am old enough to think about my own death so it was obvious to for me to close the circle between birth and death by doing this project.”. The powerful black and white portraits have been published into a book; The artist chose to use black and white photography to focus more on form and color. Lakotta said of the series, “Its like cement. That cold, that hard, and that heavy.”. According to Schels, “We both cried during this time more than ever before. It was impossible for either of us to deal with the physical death and, even more, the mental pressure on our own. Even now we still have to fight against tears when we get touched at certain points [in the series].”. Although the fear of death may still remain for the two, now Schels knows, “Death is ruthless. It is better to be prepared.”.

Elly Genthe, 83

First Photographed December 31, 2002
Elly Genthe was a tough, resilient woman who had always managed on her own. She often said that if she couldn’t take care of herself, she’d rather be dead. When I met her for the first time, she was facing death and seemed undaunted: she was full of praise for the hospice staff and the quality of her care. But, when I visited again a few days later, she seemed to sense her strength was ebbing away. Sometimes during those last weeks she would sleep all day: at other times, she saw little men crawling out of the flower pots who she believed had come to kill her. “Get me out of here”, she whispered as soon as anyone held her hand. “My heart will stop beating if I stay here. This is an emergency! I don’t want to die!”
Died January 11, 2003
Gerda Strech, 68

First Photographed January 5, 2003
Gerda couldn’t believe that cancer was cheating her of her hard-earned retirement. “My whole life was nothing but work, work, work,” she told me. She had worked on the assembly line in a soap factory, and had brought up her children single-handedly. “Does it really have to happen now? Can’t death wait?” she sobbed. On one visit Gerda said, “It won’t be long now”, and was panic-stricken. Her daughter tried to console her, saying: “Mummy, we’ll all be together again one day.” “That’s impossible,’ Gerda replied. “Either you’re eaten by worms or burned to ashes.” “But what about your soul?” her daughter pleaded. “Oh, don’t talk to me about souls”, said her mother in an accusing tone. “Where is God now?”
Died January 14, 2003

Michael Lauermann, 56

First Photographed January 11, 2003
Michael Lauermann was a manager. A workaholic. One day he just keeled over. At the hospital they said: “Brain tumour, inoperable.” That was six weeks ago. Lauermann doesn’t want to talk about death, he’d rather talk about his life. How he managed to escape the narrow confines of his native Swabia and go to Paris. Studies at the Sorbonne. Baudelaire, street riots, revolution, women. “I really loved life,” says Lauermann. “Now it’s over. I’m not afraid of what’s coming.” There is no one by his side, that’s his choice. That’s not the way his life was. But he has no regrets. He even derives a certain enjoyment from this advanced stage of the illness. Free and easy, a kind of weightlessness. He feels as if his body were fading away. He is not in pain. “I will soon die”, Lauermann says. Three days later there is a candle burning outside the door of his room. It indicates he has passed away.
Died January 14, 2003

Michael Föge, 50

First Photographed January 8, 2003
Michael was left part-paralysed and unable to speak by a brain tumour. His wife communicated with him by squeezing arm: “I could feel his vitality. We had fun,” she said.
Died February 12, 2003
Roswitha Pacholleck, 47

First Photographed December 31, 2002
“It’s absurd really. It’s only now that I have cancer that, for the first time ever, I really want to live,” Roswitha told me on one of my visits, a few weeks after she had been admitted to the hospice. “They’re really good people here,” she said. “I enjoy every day that I’m still here. Before this my life wasn’t a happy one.” but she didn’t blame anyone. Not even herself. She had made peace with everyone, she said. She appreciated the respect and compassion she experienced in the hospice. “I know in my mind that I am going to die, but who knows? There may still be a miracle.” She vowed that if she were to survive she would work in the hospice as a volunteer.
Died March 6, 2002  Barbara Gröne, 51

First Photographed November 11, 2003
All her life, Barbara had been plagued by the idea that she has no right to be alive. She had been an unwanted baby: soon after her birth, her mother had put her into a home. But she had a strong survival instinct, and became very focused, she said, very disciplined in the way she lived. After much hard work, it seemed that life was at last delivering her a better hand. But then the cancer struck: an ovarian tumour, which had already spread to her back and pelvis. Nothing could be done. Abruptly her old fears returned: the familiar sense of worthlessness and sadness. At the end of her life, Barbara told me that she was overwhelmed by these feelings. “All my efforts were in vain”, she said. “It is as though I am being rejected by life itself”.
Died November 22, 2003
Heiner Schmitz, 52
First Photographed November 19 2003
Heiner was a fast talker, highly articulate, quick-witted, but not without depth. He worked in advertising. When he saw the affected area on the MRI scan of his brain he had grasped the situation very quickly: he had realised he didn’t have much time left. Heiner’s friends clearly didn’t want him to be sad and were trying to take his mind off things. They watched football with him just like they used to do: they brought in beers, cigarettes, had a bit of a party in the room. “Some of them even say ‘get well soon’ as they’re leaving; ‘hope you’re soon back on track, mate!’” says Heiner, wryly. “But no one asks me how I feel. Don’t they get it? I’m going to die!”
Died December 14, 2003
Peter Kelling, 64

First Photographed November 29, 2003
Peter Kelling had never been seriously ill in his life. He was a civil servant working for the health and safety executive, and didn’t allow himself any vices. And yet one day he was diagnosed with bowel cancer. By the time I met him, the cancer had spread to his lungs, his liver and his brain. “I’m only 64,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t be wasting away like this”. At night he was restless, he told me, and kept turning things over in his mind. He cried a lot. But he didn’t talk about what was troubling him. In fact he hardly talked at all and his silence felt like a reproach to those around him. But there was one thing that Peter Kelling followed to the very last and that was the fortunes of the local football team. Until the day he died, every game was recorded on the chart on the door of his room.
Died December 22, 2003 Edelgard Clavey, 67
First Photographed December 5, 2003
Edelgard was divorced in the early eighties, and lived on her own from then on; she had no children. From her early teens she was an active member of the Protestant church. She contracted cancer about a year before she died, and towards the end she was bed-bound. Once she was very ill she felt she was a burden to society and really wanted to die. “Death is a test of one’s maturity. Everyone has got to get through it on their own. I want very much to die. I want to become part of that vast extraordinary light. But dying is hard work. Death is in control of the process, I cannot influence its course. All I can do is wait. I was given my life, I had to live it, and now I am giving it back”.
Died January 4, 2004Jannik Boehmfeld, 6
First Photographed January 10, 2004
Jannik was only four years old when doctors detected a rare type of brain tumour. Four months later his mother, Silke was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was determined to stay strong for the sake of Jannik and his little brother Niklas, but her prognosis was bleak; She survived her son who died just 25 days after his 6th birthday.
Died January 11, 2004    Wolfgang Kotzahn, 57
Fist Photographed January 15, 2004

There are colorful tulips brightening up the night table. The nurse has prepared a tray with champagne glasses and a cake. It’s Wolfgang Kotzahn’s birthday today. “I’ll be 57 today. I never thought of myself growing old, but nor did I ever think I’d die when I was still so young. But death strikes at any age.”. Six months ago the reclusive accountant had been stunned by the diagnosis: bronchial carcinoma, inoperable. “It came as a real shock. I had never contemplated death at all, only life,” says Herr Kotzahn. “I’m surprised that I have come to terms with it fairly easily. Now I’m lying here waiting to die. But each day that I have I savor, experiencing life to the full. I never paid any attention to clouds before. Now I see everything from a totally different perspective: every cloud outside my window, every flower in the vase. Suddenly, everything matters.”

Died February 4, 2004 Maria Hai-Anh Tuyet Cao, 52

First Photographed December 5, 2003
“Death is nothing,” says Maria. “I embrace death. It is not eternal. Afterwards, when we meet God, we become beautiful. We are only called back to earth if we are still attached to another human being in the final seconds.”. Maria’s thoughts on death are permeated with her belief in the teachings of her spiritual guru, Supreme Mistress Ching Hai; She believes she has already visited the afterlife in meditation. What Maria hopes is that she can achieve a sense of total detachment at the moment of death: she spends most of her time in the days leading up to her death preparing mentally for this
Died February 15, 2004 Klara Behrens, 83
First Photographed February 6, 2004
Klara Behrens knows she hasn’t got much longer to live. “Sometimes, I do still hope that I’ll get better,” she says. “But then when I’m feeling really nauseous, I don’t want to carry on living. And I’d only just bought myself a new fridge-freezer! If I’d only known! I wonder if it’s possible to have a second chance at life? I don’t think so. I’m not afraid of death — I’ll just be one of the million, billion grains of sand in the desert…”
Died March 3, 2004

Beate Taube, 44

First Photographed January 16, 2004
Beate had been receiving treatment for breast cancer for four years, but by the time we met she had had her final course of chemotherapy, and knew she was going to die. She had even been to see the grave where she was to be buried. Beate felt that leaving her husband and children behind would be too difficult and painful if they were with her. At the moment of her death she was entirely alone — her husband was in the kitchen making a cup of coffee. He told me later that he was disappointed that he couldn’t be with her, holding her hand, but he knew this is what she had always said, that dying alone would be easier for her.
Died March 10, 2004  Elmira Sang Bastian
  First Photographed January 14, 2004
Elmira Sang Bastian was most likely born with the tumour that, by the age of 17 months, had taken over almost her entire brain. Her mother, Fatemah, refused to give up hope. She prayed: “Dear God, now it is in your hands. If it be your will, let a miracle happen. Or is it selfish of me to want to keep my daughter? Was it your plan that she wouldn’t remain with us for long?”
Died March 23, 2004  Rita Schoffler, 62

First Photographed February 17, 2004
Rita and her husband had divorced 17 years before she became terminally ill with cancer. But when she was given her death sentence, she realised what she wanted to do: she wanted to speak to him again. It had been so long, and it had been such an acrimonious divorce: she had denied him access to their child, and the wounds ran deep. When she called him and told him she was dying, he said he’d come straight over. It had been nearly 20 years since they’d exchanged a word, but he said he’d be there. “I shouldn’t have waited nearly so long to forgive and forget. I’m still fond of him despite everything.” For weeks, all she’d wanted to do was die. But, she said, “now I’d love to be able to participate in life one last time…”
Died May 10, 2004

Jan Anderston, 27

First Photographed April 8, 2005

Jan Andersen was 19 when he discovered that he was HIV-positive. On his 27th birthday he was told that he didn’t have much time left: cancer, a rare form, triggered by the HIV-infection. He did not complain. He put up a short, fierce fight – then he seemed to accept his destiny. His friends helped him to personalize his room in the hospice. He wanted Iris, his nurse, to tell him precisely what would happen when he died. When the woman in the room next to him died, he went to have a look at her. Seeing her allayed his fears. He said he wasn’t afraid of death. “You’re still here?”, he said to his mother, puzzled, the night he died. “You’re not that well,” she replied. “I thought I’d better stay.” In the final stages, the slightest physical contact had caused him pain. Now he wants her to hold him in her arms, until the very end. “I’m glad that you stayed.”

Died June 14, 2005

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