My name is Oliver Kraft.

I'm a patient at St. Elizabeth Hospital, Washington, DC, and I'm probably never going to get out

of here while I'm alive.

Except this, I'm here because of the Grintman, who most people call, Strong Sullivan.

Thirty-three years ago in 1969, Sullivan was buried in Glenwood Cemetery on Lincoln Road.

He died in the electric chair in Tennessee.

His great-grandfather, who we never knew, had set up a trust to make sure all of the members

of the family were buried in Washington.

And so the body was brought to DC by train.

Strong Sullivan was a gambler, an occasionally violent con artist.

1966 he lost $300, playing stud poker to a man named Hoffman.

At the end of the game they got into a vicious argument in Hoffman's dog Adoreman Pinscher,

that had been sitting beside him during a game-attached strong Sullivan.

Going for his leg, the sinking is teak-thin deep.

Two men had to drag the dog off in that night.

Sullivan limped a few blocks to the motel where Hoffman was staying, picked the lock on

his room, entered, and decapitated the man as he slept, using an axe with a pro-candle

he'd found in a junkyard.

Sullivan merely sat in the folding chair outside the room, with the door wide open.

Examining the wounds, El Doberman had inflicted.

Fell asleep in that chair, and in the morning, made walked past him into the room.

She immediately ran out and shook Sullivan away, screaming.

...