Love Explodes onto the Paducah Scene

HISTORY

H

by J.T. Crawford

Murder in the Atomic Age

Major Tilghman Tade, Chief of Detectives, examines evidence from the explosion.

photos by The Paducah Sun

957 WAS PART OF A GOLDEN ERA FOR PADUCAH. THE atomic boom and completed gaseous diffusion plant had ushered in a new age of prosperity. Spirits were up as affluence flourished and the city’s population increased. New neighborhoods dotted the landscape, each house standing as a marker of Paducah’s growth. Amid that suburban fescue sea stood a contrasting stark monument. The burned-out shell of a nearly-completed house marred the landscape. The charred remains of the home had remained in that dreadful condition for over a year by August of ’57. Its destruction was complete as were the hopes and dreams of those who once 1 sought to call it home. 3:31 AM, August 25, 1956 — The piercing ring of the telephone woke Vivian Chaudet from a sound sleep. The 41-year-old was staying at his parents’ home at 3689 Forest Circle. They were away in Florida. “Hello,” he uttered with barely enough wakefulness to form the word. As the caller stated their purpose, Vivian’s consciousness came into focus. Then, a long pause. “Alright,” said Vivian. “I’ll be right out.” Early morning calls are nearly always bad news. This was no exception. Vivian got dressed and stepped outside for what was to be the last time. Vivian was well-known around Paducah. He was a salesman for the produce company of Barger and Golightly. A decorated World War II veteran, he was a musician, dance band leader, and organist at Bellview Baptist Church. For decades, Paducahans knew Vivian as a talented performer who played, sang, or led bands at a variety of functions across the city. Just a little over a week before that late-night phone call, Vivian had discretely married Miss Dorothy Mitchell, a Reidland High School home economics teacher. It was his third marriage, her first. That night, she was staying at her parents’ home on Madison Street. The caller was Mrs. Alton Rogers of 201 Pepper Lane in Lone Oak. She informed Vivian that his neighboring house, one that was under construction and was to be the home for him and his new bride, was engulfed in flames. That would have been a shock to just about anyone receiving such news. It wasn’t to Vivian. It was already his second attempt to build a house there. He’d bought the property in 1955 in preparation for his marriage, and the first house he was

HISTORY Vivian Chaudet Murder

Vivian Chaudet The charred remains of the Chaudet home

The Paducah Sun photos by

building burned in June of ’57 just before the couple were to move in. Defective wiring at a fuse box at the carport was determined to be the cause. By the time the second attempt at construction caught fire just a couple of months later, Vivian probably knew better than to blame an electrical issue. He dressed methodically before heading out into the balmy, August night. Vivian entered the detached garage behind his parents’ house, opened the door of his car, and sat in the driver’s seat. A split second later, an explosion ripped through the vehicle. Shrapnel tore through Vivian’s right side from his knee to his shoulder as he was blown clear from the vehicle. Bits of metal ripped throughout the car, many even puncturing completely through the roof and into the ceiling of the garage. Forest Circle neighbors, rocked from their slumber at 3:45 AM called police. When officers arrived, Vivian lay, nearly lifeless, on the garage floor next to the vehicle. “They put something in my car,” he managed to utter. Those were his last words. Vivian was taken to Western Baptist Hospital where he was pronounced dead. He never had the chance to tell anyone who “they” were. At about the same time as the explosion, another resident of Pepper Lane phoned Vivian’s wife, Dorothy, to tell her about the fire at their under-construction home. Doro-

thy rushed out, headed to see if Vivian had heard the news yet. When she arrived at his parents’ home, she discovered a crime scene. Vivian was still on the garage floor. When she learned he was still alive, she tried to rush to his side but was prevented from doing so by the police. She was also taken to the hospital and treated for shock. And more than likely, she instantly knew who was behind her husband’s murder. Two days earlier, Dorothy Chaudet had met with Reuben Crews, a chemist at the Atomic Energy Commission plant and a man she’d known since colThe sensational tale lege. Crews had, for many years, made newspapers from coast to coast. expressed great love for Dorothy, a sentiment that went unrequited. Dorothy would later tell officers that she’d never dated Crews and that they’d only gone on a few rides together, the last being a while before her marriage. Crews had, for years, kept his hopes up of winning her love. The same week of the explosion, Crews called on Dorothy, offering her an oil painting he’d completed. It was a portrait of Dorothy, created from an image of her from a college yearbook. She refused to accept the gift. “I’m hurt very bad,” said Crews. She replied, “I’m sorry.” Crews replied, “Then you’re sorry you married?” “No,” answered Dorothy. “I am sorry you feel hurt.” Dorothy had already suspected Crews of the phone calls both she and Vivian had been receiving. The anonymous calls were designed to drive a wedge between her and Vivian, each one telling new lies about one another. Crews dogged

Chaudet’s car after the bombing Longfellow School

Dorothy, calling her incessantly and stopping by her parents’ house. After the murder, he was an immediate suspect. Paducah police tracked Crews down to his mother’s home in Hollow Rock, TN where he’d gone shortly after the explosion. They questioned him, and Crews admitted that he was “desperately in love” with Dorothy and that he’d just learned of the Chaudet’s secret marriage on Friday, the day before the bombing. The police, not having any concrete evidence and not knowing the legalities of jurisdiction, left Crews in Tennessee. The next day, Crews’ mother found him dead in his bedroom. In the days after, the story unfolded. The bomb in Vivian’s car was constructed of a high-explosive charge packed in shrapnel in a beer can. It was activated by a mercury switch which completed a circuit when tilted. A detective later found a model of a similar bomb at a Paducah boarding house where Crews stayed. And two days before the murder, a coworker saw a mercury switch in Crews’ lunchbox at the plant. Additionally, the destroyed house on Pepper Lane had a strong odor of gasoline. The day before the fire, Crews’ purchased five gallons of regular gas at a station near his home. His car used ethyl gasoline, and the five-gallon container he used to purchase the gas was found empty behind the station the day after the fire. It was pretty evident that the jilted Crews was behind the death of Vivian Chaudet. He had pestered Dorothy for years, developing a psychotic obsession that could only end in disaster. Her marriage to Vivian was more than he could bear, the object of his deluded infatuation being forever ripped from his fantasy. In his dying, Crews only added to the mystery of the story. There was nothing at the scene of his death to point directly to suicide. Investigators immediately noticed a blue, bruise-like area on his right forearm. The FBI, who had been investigating the murder case, analyzed part of Crews’ stomach and intestines and found nothing to indicate self-poisoning. There was thought that maybe he’d exposed himself to something radioactive from the plant. Another hypothesis was that Crews had let air into his veins. After he was embalmed, the blue area remained, and a layer of skin over the spot dried up and fell off. The sensational tale made newspapers from coast to coast. Pulp mystery magazines picked up the story. What had happened appeared obvious. But the public wanted more. The unfolding story was front-page news for The Paducah Sun-Democrat for days following the murder. Dorothy and Vivian were probably well-aware of Crews’ instability, a reason to keep their marriage as secret as possible. They’d even maintained separate residences even after they were married. She would later remarry and die during childbirth. The charred monument of the Chaudet’s happily-ever-after stood on Pepper Lane a little while longer, mired in legal suits over who was responsible for its demolition. Even though Dorothy later remarried, she said Vivian was the only man she ever loved. Paducah’s most sensational murder case remained a strong memory for the community for many years. Even today, one might hear the uttered question “Did you ever hear about the musician who died in the car bomb?” Vivian Chaudet, the victim of a deranged and misguided love.