The Duncannon Triple Murders of 1965

 

(Listen to the audio version of this story here.)

On the Thursday afternoon of April 1, 1965, state troopers visited the Duncannon home of 47-year-old Byron Halter and his family, consisting of his wife, Betty, their 17-year-daughter, Holly, and Betty's mother, Mrs. Elizabeth Swank, who lived in the adjoining side of the duplex. The reason for their visit was because someone had sent anonymous letters to the Harrisburg Evening News and the Newport News-Sun warning that four people were about to die. It was an employee of the Newport newspaper who notified the authorities.

The possibility of an April Fool's prank dimmed when additional letters reached the hands of the Duncannon postmaster as well as a close personal friend of Byron Halter, local businessman Howard Maguire. One of the letters appeared to have been handwritten in pencil upon common typewriter paper, the others were carbon copies. Postmarks showed the letters had been mailed from Sunbury, Northumberland County, on March 31, but the letters were dated March 29 (an additional letter reached John Grane of the Newville Valley Times-Star the following day). The text of each letter stated:

First to die-- Sweet mother in law.
2nd to die-- Sweet wife Betty.
3rd to die-- Sweet daughter Holly.
4th to die-- Myself.

I have been good all my life except today. Above all will be saved through Christ. Only myself can be saved by the grace of God. I pray he will. Over $48,000 people owe me, they know who.
To whom this may concern, I have plenty of insurance. 4 homes, 3 in Duncannon, (1) 19-room apartment house in Newville, Pa., (1) retail store in Newport, (1) retail store in Mifflintown. Both stores are well stocked, all inventory paid in full. I want all bills I owe paid in full.

 

State Police Lieutenant Charles Graci of Troop H in Harrisburg was put in charge of the investigation, and the contents of the letters were shared with Sheriff Fuller, Duncannon Chief of Police Allen Kepner and Sergeant Alfred Corkran and Corporal James Corbett of the Duncannon state police substation. Although the letters were unsigned and the envelopes bore no return address, it didn't take long for the police to figure out that the author had been Byron Lester Halter, since not many residents of the small Perry County community could boast owning six properties.

Byron Halter

 

The Halter family was by no means extravagantly wealthy, but held a position of prominence on account of Byron's business acumen. After his discharge from the military in 1946, he owned and operated a jewelry store in Duncannon before purchasing a grocery store at 131 Big Spring Road in Newville in 1947, which led to the family moving to Cumberland County, residing in an apartment over the store. He also co-owned a jewelry store in New Jersey, which was operated by his brother. The Halters returned to Duncannon in 1958.

 

Entering the Halter Home

Corporal Corbett notified Byrons's brother-in-law, Richard Swank, who agreed to accompany him and Trooper William Link to the duplex occupied by the Halters and Mrs. Swank. They arrived at 820 High Street at 1:30 that afternoon, entering the home through a cellar door and making their way to the first floor. It was the body of Holly Lynn Halter they found first; the Susquenita High School senior was sprawled across the floor of her bedroom. The body of 66-year-old Elizabeth Swank was discovered on a day bed in the dining room of her residence at 818 High Street, which was joined to the Halter house by a set of stairs. Trooper Corbett called for backup, and when additional help arrived they located Betty's body in the basement. 

Holly Halter

 

"You know, you see a lot of things in this business, but it still gives you a jolt to see something like that," said Corbett, a 20-year-veteran of the state police. "When I walked into the part of the house where Mrs. Swank lived, I had to walk down a flight of steps. Believe me, I was calling out all the way. In situations like that, you get that funny feeling." 

Each victim had been shot one time with a small-bore firearm. How long they had lain dead was uncertain, but the Wednesday and Thursday copies of the newspaper were found on their porch. The last time anyone had seen any of the victims was on Tuesday afternoon, when Byron picked up his daughter from school. It seemed clear that 47-year-old Byron Halter was the man responsible for the fiendish slayings, but he was nowhere to be found. Was he still alive? Or had he followed through on his promise to become the fourth victim of the baffling killing spree?

818 High Street, where Elizabeth's body was found, as it appears today.

A Community in Shock

News of the tragedy spread quickly through the river town of some 2,800 residents, most of whom knew the Halter family intimately. Hundreds of neighbors stood along High Street into the late hours of night as District Attorney Dan Purdy and law enforcement personnel marched in and out of the murder house conducting their investigation. Among the throng of spectators tongues wagged, tales were told and rumors were whispered. One teenage boy, just returned from baseball practice, bragged that he had once dated Holly Halter, while Marie Linsenbach, who owned a beauty parlor across the street, recalled Holly as a pleasant but quiet girl. "She was taking guitar lessons," the hairdresser remarked. "She said that the other day when she had her hair done. I believe she had just been accepted into some college down near York." 

 

Many expressed disbelief, describing the Halters as a happy, devoted family who never missed a Sunday service at the Duncannon United Church of Christ, where Byron Halter was a Sunday school teacher. The Halters loved animals; they had two dogs and a cat, and Betty was an avid gardener. "Just the other day she was talking about how she was anxious to get some warm weather so she could get started in the back yard," recalled one neighbor.

Meanwhile, activity at the normally quiet Duncannon substation was at a fever pitch. Manning the desk was Trooper Joseph Geroski, who said that handled more phone calls that night than he usually received in a week. Additional troopers from nearby Harrisburg, enlisted to help track down Byron Halter, huddled into a small dining room for a last-minute meal; it was shaping up to be a long night.

The Hunt for an Unlikely Killer

Since the Halters had moved to Duncannon from Newville seven years earlier, state police turned their attention thirty-five miles away, to the sleepy rural community near Carlisle where Byron had once operated a grocery store. In Newville, he had been active in his church and community affairs and had served as commander of the town's American Legion post. He was seen visiting friends in Newville in the days and weeks leading up to the murders. Newville chief of police Charles Bear and his officers thoroughly searched the rental property which Byron still owned, looking for clues in the attic and garage, but it didn't appear as if the suspect had returned to his old stomping grounds.

Authorities also directed their search forty miles to the north of Duncannon, in the vicinity of Sunbury, from where Byron had mailed his letters on March 31. Sergeant Paul Gelnett and Patrolman William Koble of the Sunbury Police Department kept close surveillance on local taverns, restaurants and hotels. When the manhunt failed to turn up the suspect, a 13-state alarm was issued by the Pennsylvania State Police, asking law enforcement to keep their eyes peeled for a white Pontiac Bonneville with the license plate number 562-992.

 
The Final Hours of Byron Halter

On the evening of Wednesday, March 31, a woman named Leah Griffith had just finished eating supper and was taking a walk when she noticed a car parked along the side of a dirt road by an open field near Stonington, six miles outside of Sunbury. She thought little of it at the time and returned home, but her curiosity was piqued the following day when she noticed that the car had not been moved. However, once again, she returned home. But on Friday, April 2, while walking to a neighbor's house to obtain eggs, Miss Griffith saw the car for the third time, and she went to investigate. Slumped in the driver's seat was a middle-aged man dressed in a maroon sweater, brown pants, white shirt and a bowtie. On the seat, next to the man's right hand, was a Bible.

Leah Griffith ran to the home of a neighbor named Victor Delorso and told him about her gruesome discovery. Mrs. Delorso telephoned the police, while Victor and Miss Griffith returned to the car to await their arrival. Corporal Samuel Yupco and Trooper George Zelnick of the Shamokin state police substation were dispatched to the scene. Soon they were joined by Sergeant Corkran, Corporal Corbett and Trooper James Donnelly. Sure enough, it was the white Pontiac authorities had been searching for. The driver was dead; evidently, Byron Halter had used a rubber hose to funnel exhaust fumes from his tailpipe into the car through the right side rear window. 

 

"I didn't open the car door when I saw him lying across the front seat," Miss Griffith later stated. "I knew the man was dead when I looked through the window." Although police had previously scoured the area, the elevation of the road, coupled with the fact that the car had been parked in a dip in the field, made the Pontiac impossible to see from the main highway.

"If it hadn't been for Miss Griffith taking those daily walks, it might've been a long time before anybody spotted it," declared Victor Delorso.

Dr. Henry Ulrich, the Northumberland County coroner, believed that Byron had been dead since Wednesday. He certified the death as a suicide. The body was taken to the Korten Funeral Home in Sunbury before being returned to Duncannon. Meanwhile, the car was impounded and towed to Adams' Garage in Paxinos, where the trunk was opened by state police. Inside, they found a .22-caliber rifle, a briefcase, and a tape recorder. They listened to the tape, which contained a confession from Byron, in which he claimed that he had murdered his family because he was depressed over business problems.

 
The Aftermath

On the Sunday afternoon of April 4, 1965, funeral services for the victims were conducted at the Duncannon United Church of Christ. It must've been a surreal experience-- and an extraordinary test of faith-- for the pastor, Reverend Lester Brown, to officiate the funerals of the man who had taught Sunday school at his church and the three innocent lives he had erased. Only one week earlier, the Halter family had sat in the pews now occupied by awestruck mourners. After the funeral, the bodies were laid to rest at Duncannon Cemetery. 

While the Halter family slaughter made headlines across Pennsylvania, news of the ghastly crime didn't make the front page of the borough's weekly newspaper, the Duncannon Record. In fact, despite being the largest mass slaying in Perry County's history, the front page of the first edition published after the murders instead featured stories about the meeting of the Duncannon Centennial Committee, distribution of state fuel tax refunds and a perfect game bowled by Marysville man Bill Warner at Mountain View Lanes.

The reasons for this omission are quite clear; by this time, Duncannon residents were experts on the shocking crime and probably wanted a diversion from these events rather than a reminder, but mostly because Byron Halter's mother-in-law, Elizabeth, was the mother of Richard A. Swank-- the publisher of the Duncannon Record. 

Richard A. Swank

 

Swank, who had accompanied state troopers in searching the Halter home was a man still grieving the loss of his mother, his sister, and his niece, all of whom he saw dead on that sad afternoon. While there was no reporting of the crime in his newspaper, he did devote page four to a touching and eloquent editorial, which, in terms of grace and humility, ranks with some of the greatest columns ever penned by a newspaper editor:

For over twenty years I have had the weekly task of writing one or more paragraphs for bereaved fellow townsmen who, faced with the death of someone they loved, found themselves inadequate to convey their gratitude for the understanding shown them by sympathetic friends and neighbors. I have always felt an emptying of some part of myself in penning these simple words-- have time and time again tried to put within the brief phrasing a truth of feeling-- and always have failed because there are not words of enough value to bring welling from the depths of sadness and despair the overwhelming message that a town such as ours can show to those stricken in grief.

This week I must again try to find those words, but this time for myself and for my family.

Those who live in my town know so well the tragedy that has befallen us. But to those... who live beyond this area, and who have not read the daily newspapers or heard television and radio that covers local news, I must explain that out of the night that surrounds us all some strange convolution was followed in my brother-in-law's mind-- something from which he could not save himself-- that resulted in his taking not only of his own life, but that of my mother, my sister and my niece. Only his family and my family can truly share the grief together. And the sympathy that has come to us... should and must be given to the members of his family, who are as much deserving of condolence as mine.

While the enormity of his act has left us all shattered, the horror which he must have faced can leave me with only compassion for his plight. His action was beyond his comprehension because in all our many years together I never knew him to be anything but a kind man and a thoughtful man and a man who deeply desired to do good things in his life.

 

For the last five days I have sought every avenue of my own mind to find an answer for what has happened, and while I have not truly found it, the seeking has brought me to an acceptance of the fact... Long ago I chose to live in a small town and not to seek my future in a place beyond the place of my birth... This past week I have been vindicated in my choice, because from my neighbors and friends I have drawn deeply of reassurances and comfort, and I have watched my wife and my children find solace in the words and acts of my fellow townspeople.

 Fine books of etiquette tell us that to truly thank some person for an act of kindness, one should write a personal note. It is impossible for me to do that, because I would have to write two thousand letters... We have been lifted up time and again by words of encouragement, whether they were on the finest engraved paper or on a torn-out notebook page penciled in ungrammatical innocence... and they have all contained the same message of love. As I write these words and as I look back over them I know they sound embarrassingly sentimental, but I shall not erase them-- for public tears can be proud tears...

This adversity has taken half my family, for my brother-in-law and myself shared a common interest. For over 25 years we have laughed together and played together and have faced many things side by side. As in most families, not every occasion has been bubbly and roses, but in responsibility we shared. He was a kind father and husband, he loved my mother as his own. Each of us must have some complexity; fate led him to a rare and single act of violence.

 

The Halter family gravesite (photo by Beth Quigley O'Brien)

My sister was an unsophisticated person. She was a good housekeeper, a faithful worker in the church, a person who had many friends in the community. A well-polished floor, a line of white clothing flapping in the morning breeze, a roast or a pie in the oven were evidences of her talent. What faults she might have had were her own and rarely harmed anyone else. Her pride was her daughter, and her love was great enough to encompass compassion for stray cats and other bits of life kicked about by a sometimes thoughtless world.

My niece was full of the enterprise of youth. The whole world face her and she was only beginning to feel the surge of talent with which she would challenge it for a place of importance. These talents were noticeable in the bits of writing she had attempted, in the sense of line and proportion she could place within an illustration, in an appreciation of music and theatre and all the other things that youth must find fresh in its own generation. Her classmates have lost a part of themselves... I hope that her brief presence among them has been of some inspiration, that her death will illustrate the fact they all must face: That the world into which they are about to step must be filled with understanding for each other, and for tolerance of all things they may not immediately comprehend.

In my mother I have lost my most avid reader. No matter how I might put these words on paper she would say they were right. I could not write a bad poem or a stilted essay or a stupid story-- to her they were all good, they were perfect. In my office the files of this newspaper are bound and shelved for the past twenty years. If ever I lost one it could be replaced by calling her at home-- she saved them all. No matter how ill she ever felt... if a neighbor called she could summon, somewhere in the conversation, a witticism or a remark that would turn pain into sunshine. Whatever she asked of the world was not for herself, but for the ultimate use of her children.

I am not a strong churchman... I take no pride in making that statement. But in this moment and in the moments of the past few days I have drawn a surprising amount of strength from the church. I make no promise that I will change my habits, I seek no compromise with God. But I know deeply this strength goes back to childhood when I was impressed with the habits of keeping Sunday as it should be kept-- and this was the rare bit of discipline that was strongly enforced by my mother.

Mostly I am writing these words... to purge the poisons I hope will cleanse my soul. But partly I am writing them for all the other people who, before me and after me, must face the fact that life terminates, but that within the fabric of desolation can be found new hope, new considerations and new lessons. For all of it is so much like Robert Frost said in the following stanzas:

 Whose woods are these I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
to watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
to stop without a farmhouse near
between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
to ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.