Wyoming’s Most Unsettling Unsolved Case: The Strange Death of Don Kemp

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He was a high-achieving and trusting individual from the jump. At Woodlawn High School, for example, he was voted most likely to succeed. It was there that he also served as class president, not once, but three years in a row, sophomore through senior year. Now, that path led him to Lehigh University in Pennsylvania. And there, Don studied history and English. Of course, he became president of his fraternity and then graduated in 1969. By all outward measures, he was doing exactly what someone like him was supposed to do. After college, Don moved to the place where if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere, New York City, and stepped into the world of Madison Avenue advertising. So, if you've seen the show Mad Men, you can picture exactly what he was up to. Now, he stayed there for more than a decade, 11 years in an industry that rewards confidence, speed, and ambition. And friends and colleagues described him as intelligent, articulate, and driven, someone who could hold a room without trying to dominate it. And for a long time, life was good. But in 1970, he was a man of his word. But in 1976, Don was riding in a taxi when it was involved in a serious crash. The injuries were severe, and he suffered debilitating back pain and whiplash, injuries that kept him bedridden for months. The recovery wasn't quick and, in fact, would continue for the rest of his life. It took nearly two full years before he was physically able to return to work. But by then, something in Don had shifted. When he came back to advertising in 1978, while those close to him noticed he wasn't the same. His sister Kathy would later say that he'd grown disillusioned, not just with his job, but with the entire idea of chasing status and material success. Those long months of recovery had given him time to think and to read, and to return to interests he hadn't touched since childhood. And one of those was history. And Don became especially absorbed in the story of Abraham Lincoln, and not just the assassination, but the people surrounding it. He fixated on Mary Surratt, the lady who ran a boarding house that became a meeting place for several men later identified as conspirators in Lincoln's killing, including John Wilkes Booth. And Mary was the first woman executed by the U.S. government because of her supposed role in the whole thing. And Don? Now, he began developing his own career, developing his own theories about what she had actually done. He read constantly, and took notes, talked about the subject at length. And what started as curiosity hardened into purpose. And by 1982, Don had made a decision. He ended his engagement that year, and sold most of what he owned, and packed his car for a drive west towards Jackson Hole, Wyoming. The plan was simple, at least on paper. Leave New York, and go to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Leave New York behind, settle near the mountains, and finally write the book he'd been carrying inside himself for years. And that drive, though, would turn out to be the last one Don ever made. In September of 82, Don did indeed pack up his Chevy Blazer and started the long drive west. Along the way, he stayed in close contact with his friends, and his family. He sent postcards, and made regular phone calls. Nothing about his tone suggested distress or uncertainty. If anything, he sounded steady, and focused, and excited about the road ahead. His last postcard arrived from North Plate, Nebraska, postmarked November 12th. Two days earlier, on November 10th, Don spoke with his mother, Mary. He told her everything was fine, that the trip was going well, but before hanging up, he added something that caught her off guard. He said, Mom, I really love you. And it wasn't something Don said often, not because he didn't feel it, but because it simply wasn't how he spoke. Years later, Mary would remember that moment clearly. The words and how he expressed them was just different than regular old Don. On November 15th, he visited the Old West Museum in Cheyenne, Wyoming. The witnesses would later recall seeing him alone in the galleries, wandering around for roughly two hours. He didn't speak to anyone, moved quietly, taking his time, so that's all normal and good, but when he eventually left, he made an uncharacteristic mistake. He forgot his attache case. Inside were his travelers, his checks, his diaries, driving glasses, and his address book. Essentially everything he needed to continue on with his journey. Museum staff quickly realized it had been left behind and contacted him. Don thanked them and told them he'd return right away to pick it up. He never did. And that museum visit was the last confirmed sighting of Don Kemp alive. The following day, police located his blazer, abandoned, along a rural stretch of road. It grabbed their attention because it didn't resemble a mechanical failure or typical roadside stop. The engine was in fact still running and the doors stood open, and personal belongings of his were also scattered across the roadway. And leaning away from the vehicle was a single set of footprints, heading north, out into the open prairie. The searchers followed those tracks through a light dusting of snow. About a mile from the blazer, they found a duffel bag. And inside were clothes, laundry soap, and a teapot, all identified as belonging to Don. And the footprints continued for another five miles after that, and they ended at an abandoned barn. Nearby, investigators found a small pile of sticks arranged carefully, as if someone had intended to start a fire. Scattered around that area were three of Don Kemp's socks as well. But there were no footprints leading away from the barn. None at all. In every direction around the structure, the snow remained untouched. Flat, smooth, and undisturbed. The search party went over the area carefully, checking inside the barn, circling it, looking for any indication that Don had found some way to leave without leaving tracks behind. And they found nothing. They had to have missed something. I mean, Don must be somewhere. With the ground offering no answers, police turned to the air. And for nearly two hours, helicopters flew low over the search zone, scanning the prairie below. From above, the land stretched endlessly in every direction, wide open and nearly featureless. In terrain like that, a person should have been visible from miles away. But again, there was nothing. On the third day of the search, a powerful blizzard swept across Wyoming. Visibility dropped to near zero. Winds howled across the plains and temperatures plunged, so from there, any further search became impossible, and police made the decision to suspend operations. Their reasoning was grim, but practical. If Don was still alive at that point, and hadn't already succumbed to exposure, he would not survive the storm out in the open. Many of the searchers agreed, and to them, the explanation seemed tragically simple. That a man, possibly in the middle of a mental, mental health crisis, had run away from his vehicle and died in the Wyoming wilderness. But that conclusion didn't close the case. And for Don Kemp's family, it didn't come close to answering the questions that remain. Alright, so quick question. When was the last time you actually sat down and looked at where your money was going? 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And when she got home and checked her answering machine, she found at least five messages waiting. The caller never gave his name, but Judy didn't need one. She was certain it was Dawn's voice. She had worked alongside him almost every day for an entire decade, and the voice on the tape sounded strained, urgent, almost panicked. Much of what he said was hard to make out, but one message came through clearly. I must talk to you. Then he left a phone number, and here's where things take a turn. Well, Judy's phone number was unanswered, unlisted. In 1983, before the internet, this wasn't something a stranger could casually find. To have that number, he either knew her personally like Dawn had, or had access to private records. When Judy dialed the number back, a man answered, and she asked if Dawn Kemp was there, explaining she was returning his call. There was a pause, and the man said yes, then almost immediately, he corrected himself and said no. Judy pressed on, asking him to pass along a message that she had called, and he agreed and then hung up. The next day, Judy tried again, and this time when she asked for Dawn, the man shut the conversation down completely, and he said he didn't know anyone by that name and ended the call. When authorities later traced the messages, they uncovered something that shouldn't have been possible, at least not if Dawn had died in that Wyoming blizzard months earlier. The calls had originated from a rented trailer in Casper, Wyoming, roughly 150 miles from where Dawn's Chevy Blazer had been found abandoned, and they hadn't been made just once. Phone records showed multiple calls on three separate dates, two on February 27th, two more on April 5th, and another on April 10th. So someone had been trying repeatedly to reach Judy Aiello on her unlisted number, and according to Judy, the voice sounded exactly like Dawn. So then, what's the deal with this trailer, and did Dawn somehow make his way to it? The trailer, as it turns out, was registered to a young man named Mark Dennis. He was interviewed by Captain Mark Benton of the Natrona County Sheriff's Office, and during questioning, Dennis denied any involvement in the whole thing. He said he had not made the phone calls, said he did not know Dawn Kemp. His explanation was that either someone else had used his phone without his knowledge, or that the phone company had made a mistake with the records. When investigators showed him a photograph of Dawn, Dennis said he had never seen the man before and had no idea where he might be. At first, Dennis appeared quite surprised, and he was very cooperative. He even agreed to take a polygraph test. But before that test could be administered, well, something changed. Dennis retained an attorney and declined to answer any further questions. Three weeks after his initial interview with police, he moved out of the trailer and left Casper altogether, relocating to Evanston, Wyoming, on the opposite side of the state. Despite the abrupt end to his cooperation and the sudden move, he was able to return to his home. Law enforcement later stated they have no evidence that Mark was involved in Dawn's disappearance beyond the unexplained phone calls. In their view, he was not a suspect. Officially, the matter ended there. Mark Dennis was simply an unfortunate bystander caught up in a confusing situation. As the investigation continued, the phone calls weren't the only indication that Dawn may have survived longer than the first few nights on the prairie. In the months following his disappearance, two separate individuals reported seeing him in Casper, Wyoming. A one-sighting came from a traveling Abraham Lincoln exhibition, exactly the kind of event that would have drawn Dawn in, given his intense focus on the 16-year-old. Another report came from a local bar, where a bartender later told Dawn's mother Mary that he distinctly remembered serving a man who matched Dawn's description. On their own, sightings like these are easy to dismiss. Mistaken identity happens, and so do false leads, especially in cases where reward money is offered, as it was here. But these reports take on more weight when viewed alongside the phone calls, why would two unrelated witnesses place Dawn in Casper if he had died months earlier near Elk Mountain? And why would someone in Casper have access to Judy Aiello's unlisted phone number? Well, at least one law enforcement official had a theory. Sheriff Ogburn proposed that Dawn may have staged his own disappearance, that he wanted to vanish and begin a new life somewhere else. And on the surface, parts of Dawn's story seem to support that idea. He had sold most of his possessions, and he had broken off his engagement. He had left behind his career in New York. The abandoned vehicle, the scattered belongings, it could all be interpreted as deliberate, almost theatrical. But that theory begins to unravel when you look at what happened next. On October 4th, 1985, nearly three years after Dawn disappeared, a group of deer hunters from Michigan were traveling through an area known as Willow Spring. It sat roughly four to six miles north of Wagon Hound rest area, where Dawn's blazer had been found. And there, they came across the skeletal remains of a person. Alongside the bones were a social security card and a driver's license, Don Kemp. Sheriff Ogburn moved quickly. Before any formal identification was completed, before dental records were compared or forensic analysis was finished, he spoke with the press. His conclusion was definitive. Don Kempe said had walked away from his vehicle, become disoriented as a blizzard approached and died of exposure, likely on the second or third day after his disappearance. An autopsy would later support death by exposure, finding no evidence of foul play, but that explanation still raised questions it couldn't fully answer. The location where Don's remains were found had been searched multiple times during the original investigation. The searchers had covered that area on foot. Deputy Johnson had flown over it repeatedly as well. The terrain wasn't hidden or remote. It lay directly along the path of the footprints, investigating the area. Don Kempe said he had not seen Don Kempe's remains. The investigators had followed years earlier, out in the open, flat and unobstructed. Perhaps Don wasn't in that spot when searchers were looking. He only ended up there after they left. But still, that means he was in that area. For the fact that he wasn't seen by people on the ground or in the air means that it's possible he was hiding and didn't want to be found, even if he were freezing to death. You can argue that possibility, even if it doesn't make a ton of logical sense. Maybe he survived into the fourth day, so the searchers didn't find him. But then, who made those phone calls to Judy in February and April of 83? And who was seen at the Abraham Lincoln exhibit in Casper? Who spoke to Jody on the phone, initially admitting Don was there before changing the story? All these questions make it hard to form a coherent narrative. So, let's take a look at what we actually know with certainty. Okay, so now that his story has been laid out, you can see there's a lot. A lot of strange things and a lot of possibilities. So, let's slow it down for a minute and look at what we actually know with certainty. Don left his attache case behind him. And inside that case was his address book, a book that would have contained Judy Aiello's unlisted phone number. That fact alone provides a possible explanation for how someone in Wyoming could have obtained her contact information. If the address book was taken from the museum, whether intentionally or opportunistically, whoever had it would have had access to Don's personal contacts. That much is plausible. What's harder to explain is what came next though. Why would someone call Judy and speak in a voice she believed was Don's, or at the very least a voice close enough that a woman who had worked beside him for 10 years felt certain it was him? The most benign explanation is also the simplest, a cruel prank. Someone finds the address book, sees the reward notice posted around Wyoming, and decides to toy with the people Don cared about. That scenario would explain why the calls contained no useful information, and why Mark Dennis denied knowing anything about them. And perhaps the voice, well, it was just close enough. But there is a darker possibility, that Don was actually in that trailer, in Casper, when Judy called. In that version of events, Don would have been held against his will by Mark Dennis, or someone else using his residence. It would explain Judy's certainty about the voice, and would explain the initial yes when asked if Don was there, followed almost immediately by a reversal. And it would explain why Dennis hired a lawyer and left town once police began asking questions. But that explanation also comes at a cost. For it to be true, Don would have had to be abducted after leaving the museum. He could have been taken right after, in which case his blazer on the side of the road, well, that was all staged by the abductor. Or Don really did pull over, jump out of the car, and was abducted somewhere in those woods. He then would have had to have been held for months in Casper, killed, transported back to Carbon County, and placed in a location that had already been searched. And all this without leaving any evidence of these things. It's an extraordinarily complicated chain of events, which makes the prank call sound more likely, and Judy being just mistaken about that voice. The last theory we need to talk about is the one that centers on Don's mental health. It's rooted largely in what came after that taxi accident, and in what was later found in Don's own writing. Inside the attache, the case recovered from the museum were Don's diaries, and some entries referenced spiritualism and grand, almost divinely inspired ideas. In at least one conversation, Don told an acquaintance, a woman named Plet Harari, that he believed he was destined to gather people in Wyoming. In his writing, Don occasionally framed himself as a kind of chosen figure, a leader, someone meant to guide others. When placed alongside the physical trauma of the accident, the disillusionment of his former life, and the abrupt changes he made afterward, it suggests the possibility that Don was experiencing significant psychological distress. If you accept that framework, well it offers one explanation for his behavior in Cheyenne. It could explain why he appeared withdrawn at the museum, why he forgot the attache case, and why he drove north to the museum. , , If this were the case, then it makes sense that he may have been out there all along while search and rescue teams tried to find him, but they always operate under the assumption that a person wants to be found, and in a manic state, maybe Don didn't. That explanation is tragic, but it is internally consistent. To accept the mental health only explanation, you have to assume that Judy was mistaken about the voice of a man she'd known for ten years, and that those phone records were a prank, and that multiple sightings of Don were coincidental cases of mistaken identity. So then, either Don died alone, accidentally in the prairie, wandering around in a bad headspace until he succumbed to exposure, or someone intervened. The first explanation is simpler, and it's also the one the authorities ultimately accepted. The case, though, went cold, and it has never officially been closed. In 2014, Mary Kemp died at 86, still believing that Mark Dennis is the one who killed her son. That man is still alive, he's never spoken publicly about the case, no journalist has ever tracked him down for an interview, and no researcher knows what happened to him after he left Casper, and he faded just as completely as Don Kemp disappeared in that Wyoming prairie. Don Kemp walked away from his blazer on November 16th of 1982, and where he went exactly after that and what happened in the months before his body was found? Remains an unsolved mystery. Serious stories? Because you never know. Maybe your town will be next. Tammy regularly hauls stuff to her kids at college. That's why she shops at BJ's Wholesale Club, saving up to 25% off grocery store prices. Beef jerky, microwave meals, laundry pods, even they can't screw up. 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