This podcast contains graphic descriptions of death and decay. Please listen with care.

Campsite Media.

Mccrackin Poston, maybe the best lawyer in Northwest Georgia, grew up in the 1960s in the tiny town of Gravesville, with a cemetery next to his house. There were graves there for Confederate soldiers and for old friends of McCrackin's family.

It was our playground when we were kids. We would lay down on the graves, and when Halloween kids would come by, we would jump up from the graves. We were never afraid of the place. One tombstone was shaped like a lectern. We would play politician or preacher there and have everybody else sit out and listen to the preaching.

One day, when he was five years old, McCrackin went missing. The whole family was searching for him, and they found him at the cemetery attending a funeral. He dressed himself up and everything. For the better part of a decade, he'd attend every funeral, whether he knew the person or not.

Graceful, you have to understand, there was not a lot going on. An event like a funeral, that was big in the town. That in the Easter Sunrise Service. My job became, after an embarrassing incident when one of the neighborhood dogs was in heat, my job became to put up all the dogs before the Easter Sunrise Service. Then that extended to put up all the dogs before the funerals because you didn't want a bunch of dogs lining up and making out while you're trying to eulogize somebody.

Gradesville was in the segregation located south, sitting just below the Tennessee border. It was a small and isolated place, a place where if you never leave, you might have a distorted view of what the world is like. Maybe 90% of the families in the county were white. In McCrackin's early days in school, the N-word was tossed around pretty liberally, but it wasn't allowed in his house. His grandmother was a big influence on the family. She didn't have much formal education, but she was a thinker, and her thinking led her to believe that all were equal in the eyes of God. And so, so did McCrackin. Manners were important, too. And McCrackin's mother would have him take trays of icewater to the people working in the cemetery. And that's how he met the gravedigger.

In those days, a lot of the graves were hand dug. It's an old, old cemetery. I got to know a black man who dug graves. He would hand dig what seemed like a perfect a square, six-foot-deep rectangle.

The grave digger was slim and light-skinned, usually wore coveralls. Mccrackin would stand around and watch him dig, completely enthralled.

It would be especially exciting if he hit a lot of rock because he brought some dynamite with him. And that was... He didn't say, Get out of here, kid. He just let me watch the process. And then, of course, he'd make sure I was safely away, and he'd blast the thing. And it was exciting.

When he was around 10 years old, McCrackin was watching the man close up a grave. The funeral home had already packed their tents up and left, but they'd forgotten a wooden folding chair, and McCrackin pointed it out. The Digger gave McCrackin the chair and said, Why do you hang on to it, kid? And McCrackin kept the chair as he grew up.

He kept the chair when as a teenager, he started volunteering in Democratic politics.

Statewide campaigns often didn't have anyone living in Northwest Georgia, so McCrackin could step in and be their guy there. The general store in Graceville, where McCrackin caught the bus to school, was run by two brothers, Pete and Bud Brown. Mccrackin treated the place like it was the front steps of the White House.

Wooden floor, screen door. I used them as a prop, and I really started realizing this is a rare thing. This is Americana. This is what reminds everybody of 40, 50 years ago. With the Brown Brothers' permission, I started bringing candidates by.

He worked on a lot of campaigns, even Jimmy Carter's presidential run in 1976. Mccrackin kept the Gravedigger's chair through college and grad school. By the time he got his law degree, he decided he was good enough at politics to run for himself. In 1988, McCrackin got on the front steps of Pete and Bud's store and announced his candidacy for the Georgia House of Representatives. At only 28 years old, McCrackin Poston became one of the youngest legislators in the history of Georgia. After eight years at the State House, McCrackin made bigger plans.

I ran for Congress in 1996, and was whipped pretty badly and soundly in that race. This whole region turned red. That election, I was the first Democrat to lose that Congressional seat since the Civil War.

He was also the last Democrat to win even 30% of the vote in his district. These days, Northwest Georgia is represented in Congress by Republican Marjorie Taylor Green.

After he lost the election, McCrackin focused on his law practice. He made a name for himself, defending Alvin Ridley, the Zenith Man, a local television repairman, and town weirdo. The police and national tabloids accused Ridley of holding his wife captive for decades and then murdering her. On the eve of the trial, McCrackin discovered that the man's wife had a condition called hypergrapia that led her to keep meticulous diaries. He found 10,000 pages of her writings in Alvin Ridley's house describing a happy, if strange life, were their husband. And McCrackin used those diaries to exonera rate his client. He wrote a book about the Alvin Ridley case. It's called Xenith Man: Death, Love, and Redemption in a Georgia Courtroom. The case gave McCrackin a ton of press and boosted his reputation as someone who was willing to take on unusual clients.

And so a couple of years after the Zenith Man case, in February of 2002, it makes sense that McCrackin gets a call from a friend of the Marsh family, asking him to represent Brent in the tristate cream Crematory case. Mccrackin has heard about Tri-State on the news by then. He knows that if he takes the case, people will be pissed. But then he remembers the chair and the nice man who let him watch as he dug perfectly rectangle graves by hand and as he blew rocks with dynamite. He remembers the name of the gravedigger, Ray Marsh, Brent's father. So McCrackin takes the case, and he's a good fit because a lot of people think that what happened at Tri-State Crematory is so evil So reprehensible that Brent doesn't even deserve a lawyer.

But McCrackin sees holes in the case and in people's impression of his client. And it's not long before he publicly challenges deeply held traditions about death and how we treat the dead by raising a controversial question. Is what happened at Tri-State Crematory really as bad as it seems? From Waveland and Campside Media, this is Noble. I'm Sean Raviv. Episode 4, The Furnace.

When McCrack and Poston, attorney at law, takes on Brent Marsh as a client, it's not some care-free decision.

It's just a few days after the discovery, and hundreds of families whose loved ones' bodies were sent to the crematory are furious. And McCrackin knows that. He sees them on TV very clearly describing their feelings.

I think someone definitely dropped the ball, and I am so angry about it all. I don't know what to do. A callous disregard and disrespect to family's loved ones.

The people that are running this thing are animals. They need to just do whatever the worst is to do to this man. He knew what he was doing. It was wrong.

I spent a lot of time speaking with the families, the victims of tristate crematory, like Sheila Mannes, who helped lead the angry online forums and loved her husband so much she would unwrap a of her she kissed for him to take on hunting trips. But I still find it difficult to channel that grief and anger today to present in full now exactly how people felt then. Maybe the best way to try to comprehend the anger of all these families is to imagine it was you. Imagine a person you love. Maybe it's your mother, your father, your sibling, your partner, someone who raised you or was raised with you, who formed you, knew you better than you knew yourself. Imagine a person who is so important in your life that it feels like they're a physical part of you.

Now imagine that person dies and you never get to see them again. Never get to share those jokes and memories again. Never get to laugh and cry with them again. And then imagine that weeks or months later, when you're still processing this horrible permanent death, that you find out that the business you paid a lot of money to peacefully transition your one-of-a-kind person from Earth to whatever comes next, that you paid to cremate them, has instead taken their body and let them rot on their property, to be infested by insects and eaten by scavengers, left their body in a pile of trash, or buried them in a shallow grave. How would you feel about the person or the people who did it, and about anyone who takes their side?

The anger becomes very visible in Walker County once bond hearings begin for Brent. Armed guards are stationed on a rooftop near the courtroom for his perp walks. Brent is put in a bulletproof vest. On one walk, someone spits at him, and a woman tosses an urn at him, and the ashes hit two of the reporters swarming Brent. On another occasion, when Brent is being escorted to a patrol car, deputies have to restrain a woman screaming bloody murder at him. On the news before a court hearing, he's seen holding a piece of paper in his cuffed hands. Here's McCrackin.

Unbeknownst to each other, both Brent and I wrote letters to our wives that we had on us. And I think I just told her this is an important part of being American, is making sure that the Constitution applies to all Americans. And if this is something that takes me out, I'm very sorry. I'm very, very sorry.

The anger mostly stays out of the courtroom, although there is one attempt by the daughter of someone sent to Tri-State to bring it inside.

She was caught trying to smuggle a sword into the courtroom, disguised in a cane, because nobody knew her to ever use a cane, and she's not that old a woman. Suddenly, she's walking with a cane, and one of the officers says, Let me look at that. He pulls out a long sword out of it. I may have been the first lawyer since the 1700s to get run through.

Because of incidents like this, the sheriff argues that Brent will be safer if he stays in jail, and a judge agrees. So that's where Brent stays for now.

Mccrackin is a confident guy and a good lawyer, but he begins to worry that Brent might spend the rest of his life behind bars.

The way they charged him, the potential sentencing was over eight thousand years. Now, my reaction was four times the time since Jesus walked the Earth is excessive. And That's what you say in the Bible Belt to get people's attention because they're thinking, He may be right. We should have just charged him with one time the time since Jesus walked the Earth. I mean, what's the difference? You get a past 100 years, there is No difference. It's crazy.

Mccracken is also worried about the fate of Brent's family, especially his parents, Ray and Clara. Before the discovery of bodies, they're well-respected in the community. Now, they're an easy target. Clara's position as a drug-free school's resource teacher is eliminated. An advisory committee she's on, threatens to kick her off. And her bank closes her account and sends her a check, saying they no longer want her business. Ray started the crematory and ran it for nearly 15 years before Brent took over. Clara and Ray lived a stone thorough way from the bodies that piled up. To many, including the authorities, they don't seem innocent. As McCrackin expects, the anger quickly spreads to him, too. The woman who he pays to clean his home hears about his new client. She calls the house and yells at him.

And she said, I told everybody you wouldn't represent that I said, I don't think we can work together anymore. She agreed and hung up. I thought, This is interesting. This is a guy who, without a doubt, needs a lawyer. And there was a huge potential for injustice in this thing.

Taking on the case of a guy who everyone hates actually appeals to McCrackin. He's still steaming from losing his house race so handily a few years earlier, and he's at a point in his life where he wants to stick his middle finger up at the people of Georgia's ninth Congressional district.

I was still pissed off at the world, to say the truth, from the total rejection of me by the voters. And I felt this during the Alvin Ridley case. So what if he's the bogeyman in town that you use to scare your children into behaving? I'm going to represent him. And I actually remember thinking that. I'll help him, and that'll show them not to jump to conclusions.

If it's unpopular McCrackin wants, he's going to get it. In defending Brent Marsh, it will become his job, to put it crudely, to diminish the worth of dead bodies, of our earthen vessels. To argue that the families are overreacting, that they're being a bit dramatic. He'll have to somehow argue that what Brent Marsh did to hundreds of bodies was not as bad as it looks.

And in order to do so, he'll have to get granular about what exactly Brent Marsh was paid to do, what exactly it means to cremate a body. He'll have to get people asking, is cremation an immaculate process performed by reverential purists on hallowed ground? Or is it just another job?

During one of my many conversations with McCrack and Poston, he told me that one thing he's learned in his decades working as a defense lawyer is that a good client is one who keeps their fucking mouth shut. That's what he told Brent Marsh, and that's what Brent has done ever since, with just a few exceptions.

On the day the bodies were first discovered, February 15, 2002, Brent didn't have a lawyer yet, and he spoke to investigators on the scene about his crematory furnace. He told him he'd been having trouble with it for months. And as proof, police did find some bodies that were partially burned, as if Brent tried to cremate them. But the fire went out halfway through.

To try to figure out the state of the furnace, the police and lawyers bring in experts to inspect it. One of the experts is a man named Chuck Crawford. Chuck runs a funeral home in Nashville with his wife, and they have their own crematory. They opened it in 1998, back when cremation wasn't even half as common as it is now. According to Chuck, at least, funeral directors, as a very general rule, they prefer burial to cremation because you make more money embalming bodies and selling caskets than you do handing over ashes.

When I first put the machine in, I literally got phone calls from some of my friends in the industry, and I was asked the same question every time, Why are you promoting cremation? I said, It's not a matter of promoting anything. It's a matter of seeing what's coming.

Chuck was right that cremation was coming. In 1973, cremation rates hit 5% for the first time in the US. By 1998, it was closer to 25%, and it's gone up about a % each year since, to the point where it's more common now than burial.

But back in 2002, it's far less common in the south. So when the lawyers and investigators are looking for an expert nearby who doesn't have a connection to Tri-state, they've limited options. Chuck's not too far away in Nashville, and when he gets a call and the lawyer on the other end is like, Hey, we need you to come down and inspect this crematory for us. He says, Sure thing.

One of the things that struck me was driving out The pine trees are amazing. It's really pretty, but it was isolated. The grounds themselves, there was an old hearse parked in a building. Their residence was there. It was a nice house and big lake and all these things. It was just an interesting property because when you think about contrast that with funeral homes, these big Victorian homes with white columns and big herses outside and antique furniture. When you drive down to this place, it just seemed like a stark contrast to what the funeral industry portrays itself to be. I mean, you think about any funeral home you can think of. The grass is manicured, the sign is perfect. Everything is great. If you see a funeral home with a broken shutter and the car has got a flat tire, Isn't it going to give you an indication something's wrong over here?

Chuck's point is about how funeral homes tend to present themselves as dignified places for the dead to spend their final moments above ground, as places and people who care deeply about your loved one and treat them as a member of their own family. They seem to grieve with you.

But what about the funeral homes and funeral directors that work with Tri-State? They sent their clients' bodies to Noble for a nice profit, a really nice profit. Brent Marsh was charging just two to $300 to drive from Noble, pick up a body, drive it back, burn it, or so he said, and then return the ashes to the funeral home. He did all the work, or again, he said he did. And some of the funeral homes would turn around and charge $1,000, sometimes for the cremation that they didn't even perform, that it turned out nobody performed in a lot of cases.

All that, and few of the funeral home directors admit to ever visiting Tri-State Crematory, at least in recent years before Brent is caught. If they did visit and saw bodies lying around in piles of junk, would they still have used the place?

In my opinion, it was their duty, if not the law, to inspect the place they were sending bodies, but they didn't.

As Chuck looks around the Marsh family's property, assessing things and taking it all in, he spends a moment enjoying the breeze.

I remember standing there and listening to the wind through the trees and thinking about the people that had been in that field. That's where they were left. It was a contrast how peaceful and serena it could be if you thought about the carnage that had happened there.

You considered the displacement of dead bodies against the wishes of family to be carnage?

Yeah. When you do this for a living, you realize that you put somebody in the ground that's permanent. This is the final chapter of their life. And without getting carried away, you realize how important it is.

Chuck walks up to the crematory building. It's brown, not too big. On the outside, it looks like a cabin. He goes inside. There's an office, a small ante room, and the room that holds the furnace, which is also called a retort in the industry. When police first searched the building, they found one body in the furnace itself and six more on the floor. But by the time Chuck gets there, all of the bodies have long been cleared out. Chuck goes straight to the furnace room. The retort is called a power pack, and it's made by a company with the mundane name, Industrial Equipment and Engineering. It was purchased in 1982 by Brent's father. The power pack is about 6 feet wide and 8 feet tall. It's got what looks like a freezer door at waist level and a retro-looking control panel to the right of the door. The front of the machine is lined with '70s style wood paneling. Behind the stainless steel door is a coffin-shaped chamber lined with fire bricks, which are made to withstand high temperatures. Sticking out on top of the furnace and through the roof is a metal smokestack with a rain collar.

When you're running the power pack by the book, this is how it goes. You put the body in through the freezer like loading door, feet first, using cardboard rollers. You close the door and lock it. Turn on the power. Thirty minutes later, after some preheating, the ignition burner lights to heat the main chamber to 1650 degrees. Two and a half hours later, the burner turns off, and the cremation is done. So three hours total from start to finish, give or take. When you open up the door after, all that remains of the corpse is briddle bone. That's if you're doing it right. But there's a lot that can go wrong.

The big fear of the crematory is burning one out. And if you get a body burning too fast, that steel will melt eventually. If the brick is damaged and the heat can get through to the steel, it could melt it. And then you got an introduction of all kinds of air coming in there, and it's like opening the window in a house fire.

The tristate furnace hasn't been used for a while by the time Chuck inspects it, but he sees some troubling signs there. It doesn't appear have been maintained properly. It's common for fire bricks to crack because of the repeated and intense changes in temperature after so many cremations. But the tristate furnace bricks have more than cracks. Some of the bricks are broken. The floor has gaping holes. The fan blades are dirty. The smokestack has rust holes as well. It might be dangerous to even turn it on. After the retort has done its job, reducing the body to just bone, the remains are pulled out of the furnace and sorted. The bones are put into what's called a pulverizer machine or a processor, which looks like someone combined a stock pot with a blender. It's got large blades at the bottom and can grind the bones down to what we think of as ashes in just 30 seconds.

But Chuck doesn't find a pulverizer anywhere, or at least not the kind you'd find in his crematory. He does find something else. He finds a wood chipper.

I found a wood chipper that had bone fragments in it, what seemed to be bone fragments. And I mentioned to one of the attorneys, I thought, I think he was using this as a processor.

Chuck Crawford worked for a tree company when he was young, so he spent a lot of time around wood chippers. This one at Tri-State Crematory is small, the size of a lawnmower. There's a square intake shoot, which then narrows like a gramophone, so whatever is dropped into it goes straight to the spinning blades. From what Chuck can tell on the output end, it's connected to a stove pipe on the roof of the building. He examines the wood chipper closer because he sees a familiar coating within it. It seems that Brent or someone has turned the wood chipper into an ad hoc bone pulverizer.

I could just tell without even had to touch it, just from what I've seen in my own machine, that that was probably bone dust. It will stick and continue to pile up. It's like snow. When you have snow and it's drifting.

It's weird that Chuck has experienced with both pulverizers and wood shippers, but it gives him a unique perspective on all this.

I thought, Hey, this would work. Would this reduce the bone fragments into the powder that you need? Yeah, but is it right? No.

What's wrong about it?

Number one, the machinery that we use is made just for that specific purpose. We have ventilation to protect the employees. We have the ability to recover all the bone fragments that we can. That was shooting them out of stack. The dust was going out the stack. And what we're charged with by law is to recover all of the human remains that is practicable, which is an interesting word. And when you think about, in our case, we're vacuuming brick. How much dust can you get out of brick? And one of the questions I got asked was, don't you think there's going to be commingling? Absolutely. The process is inherent with commingling. There's going to be some remnants of the prior case. You can't possibly get it all out.

Chuck shocks me when he says this, I visited his crematory in Nashville. It's impeccable. Looks clean like a hospital. His furnace is inspected every year. He's careful about replacing bricks when they need replacing, about maintenance and sanitation. He vacuums out the furnace after every cremation. But even Chuck doesn't get 100% of your ashes in the urn.

It's not It's not because he made a mistake or because he doesn't care about you or your loved one. It's because cremation isn't perfect. You just can't get every single remnant into the urn. There's always going to be someone lost in between the cracks. Chances are that some tiny amount of the previous cremation will end up in your urn. Co-mingling of ashes, as he calls it. The same exact word that investigators use when they talk about bodies that are found co-mingled on the marsh property.

Co-mingling is a part of the cremation process that nobody talks about. It's not something that the funeral industry would want to explain to customers, because we want to believe that this is a flawless, sacred process. But it's not. It never is. I asked Chuck if the retort, the furnace at Tri-State, is like the wood chipper. It isn't up to his standards, and it seems wrong. But would it have worked?

Oh, yeah. It had all the fundamental qualities. It was big enough. It was steel. It had brick on the inside. It It had the moving parts that you know it could have worked. But I had no ability to gage how long it had been shut off or when the last time was it was turned on. I have no idea.

But your impression was it had been used in a while. Correct. Do you recall on a scale of 1-10 how you would have rated the state of this retort?

Probably at least on the low end of three, this is not to be completely inoperable. There'd be big chunks of ceiling missing and everything else. I would not run this machine, but there's worse conditions, machines that are broken are broken.

Have you seen worse than this before?

No, I haven't.

In the end, Chuck's inspection of the crematory doesn't lead to a lot of definitive answers. A broken or substandard crematory furnace isn't an excuse for accepting bodies, not burning them, and then giving people fake cremains.

Brent's defense won't be about practical things like, Was the furnace working? It'll be about subjective human things, emotional things, about what price you deserve to pay for messing with dead bodies, and really, for contaminating the memories of those who are still living. Mccrack and Poston has watched families yelling and screaming as Brent walked two in from the courthouse. He's watched elected officials, in his opinion, pretending to be sympathetic and concerned for the families. He's watched packs of cameras recording it all, and something begins to dawn on him.

I had the creeping sensation This is all theater. These people are only showing their emotions when the cameras show up.

Mccracken licks his lips. Because if this is theater, few are better at it than him. He's been doing theater since he was a teenager on the front steps of the general store in Graysville. If the politicians and the families and the prosecutor want theater, he'll give it to them.

When you set this tone of We are being so solemn, and that lawyer is making us mad, and those things. I think you're just setting yourself up for the short end of the stick as the theater plays out.

Highlighting the drama can benefit Brent's case in very real ways. Walker County has already spent a lot of resources on the recovery of bodies at Tri-State, and McCrackin knows that a trial will be expensive for the county. Even more so, if McCrackin can convince a judge, the only way for the trial to be fair is if it's held in a different county. A surefire way for McCrackin to do that is to show that he and Brent are in danger.

So even though McCrackin doesn't really feel like he's in danger, he scours the internet, and especially the forum moderated by the families for threats. He finds them, but nothing too damning. He gets a few angry calls at his office, too, but they aren't menacing enough to sway a judge. Then one day, when McCrackin is making an appearance on a local access channel, he remembers that the brother of the cameraman is the Imperial Wizard of the North Georgia Nights of the Ku Klux Klan.

The reason I know is every election I ever ran, they would call in and denounce me on the air, and I would smile. It was just an understanding we had that I would be denounced, and then I would go on and win. It was just a great understanding. I never felt threatened by them.

Mccracken tries to get the Imperial Wizard to call into the station and threaten him publicly to prove to the judge that Brent can't get a fair trial in Walker County.

I taunted the brother saying, Well, I guess the clan is what it used to be. He goes, What do you mean? I said, Man, I hadn't had the first threat. They're just nothing anymore, are they? I got a phone message at my office from the Imperial Wizard of the North Georgia Nights of the Ku Klux Klan. He said, I'm sorry, I got cancer, and I can't get involved in this. He later died. I just thought, Well, there you go. The closest thing I had to it was two little old ladies calling in and telling me I needed to die. I mean, it was just hardly I was too embarrassed to lead with them because they just weren't that threatening.

Mccrackin's KKK ploy fails, and he doesn't get his change of venue in the end. But he does manage to get a jury brought in from another county, and they'll have to be housed and fed for the duration, upping the cost of the trial. Mccrackin calls the county's attorney constantly to remind him how expensive this is going to be for them. Eventually, the attorney estimates that in order to finance the trial, property taxes in Walker County will have to go up 25%. And as if defending Brent Marsh and threatening to raise property taxes isn't enough to bring about the rage of his neighbors, McCrackin also publicly makes the one argument that nobody wants to hear. Even if it may be in the back of their minds.

One of the first things I said was, It's not like anybody died here. Well, it was just this universal reaction to me saying that to where people were going, You just don't understand our culture. You're wrong.

Mccrackin is pointing out one of the great ironies of this case. There's so much gore, so much rotting human flesh, skeletons, mass graves, hundreds of dead bodies, even a damn wood chipper. At the center of it all, a mysterious man from noble who refuses to talk. It's impossible to see all this and not think about how much it resembles a horror movie. But it's not a horror movie. Brent's not a serial killer. He didn't kill anybody. Not a single one of those bodies is dead because of him. Saying all of this, though, it's not something that makes McCrackin or the harsh as any more popular.

Mccrackin has to be very careful how he talks about these issues in public and when expressing his opinions about death.

This is the Bible Belt, and there's some deep feelings that bodies are going to pop up out of the ground in the final days. But in my family, there's burials. I don't think of that as my parents in that grave. I think they're not there. Their spirits are gone. So it really doesn't matter.

Mccrackin isn't saying Brent didn't cause anyone harm. He's just saying the criminal case should be treated less like the horror movie it resembles and more like the fraud case it is. But because it involves dead bodies, you can't just treat it like a bunch of stolen laptops. The investigators, in particular, have to treat the bodies with meticulous care because they were once people's relatives, yes, but also because many are yet to be identified at this point. And figuring out who exactly all these bodies are or were is a monumental task. After they get past the easy ones, the ones who are wearing a hospital band with their name written right on it, or the ones who were embalmed and looked not much different from the day they died, they have to deal with the bodies that are decayed or mummified or half burnt or co-mingled with other bodies. They can't afford to mess up the identifications, not only because they need to return remains to the right families so they can have some closure, but also because identifying the bodies can help explain what exactly happened at Tristate Crematory and whether was working alone.

I think we ended up with maybe a total of six or seven from 1997. And then in '98, the number jumped up to 20-ish or so. But then he hit 99, and boy, the numbers really jumped forward.

That's on the next episode of Noble.

Noble is a production of Waveland and Campside Media. Noble was reported and written by Johnny Kaufman and me, Sean Raviv. Johnny Kaufman is our senior producer. Sierra Franco is our associate producer. Editing by Jason Hoke, Johnny Kaufman, and Matt Sher. Fact-checking by Kaylyn Lynch. Sound design, mixing, scoring, and original music by Garret Tiedemann. Our theme music is La Lucha Asuna Sola by the band Esmerine. Campside Media's operations team is Doug Slawin, David Eichler, Ashley Warren, Destiny Dingle, and Sabina Mara. Jason Hoke is the executive producer at Waveland. The executive producers of Campside Media are Josh Dean, Vanessa Gregoriades, Adam Hoff, and Matt Sher.