JUST IN: The FIRST Woman EXECUTED in Ohio’s Electric Chair | Serial Killer Anna Marie Hahn

JUST IN: The FIRST Woman EXECUTED in Ohio’s Electric Chair | Serial Killer Anna Marie Hahn

It was Ohio State Penitentiary, Columbus, December 7, 1938. 8:00 p.m. A single electric chair waited under cold, harsh light. A room full of silent witnesses watched as the fragile, five-foot-tall, 32-year-old blonde was tied to it. Her name was Anna Marie Hahn. And in a matter of minutes, the state of Ohio would do something it had never done in its entire history. It would execute a woman.

But here is what makes this story truly unforgettable. Before the switch was flipped, Anna Marie left behind a 20-page handwritten confession, written by herself from death row, where she confessed everything: every name, every poison, every victim. Now ask yourself. Why would an innocent woman confess to five murders the night before her death? This answer will change everything you thought you knew about this case. Stay with us, because this story goes much deeper than one execution. Welcome to the Red Mark Files. If this is your first time here, hit the subscribe button because you won’t want to miss a second of what’s coming next.

Before we talk about what Anna Marie Hahn did, you need to know who she did it to. Her victims were not random strangers. These were real people, elderly, hardworking, deeply rooted in Cincinnati’s tight-knit German immigrant community. Men who dedicated their entire lives to creating something small but significant. Men who just needed a little help in the last years of their lives. And it was this need that she used against them.

Ernest Coe was 73 years old when he died on May 6, 1933. He was a well-known person in the community. He had no serious health problems before Anna Marie came into his life. Shortly before his death, he bequeathed his house to her. Just like that. Albert Parker was 72 years old, a retired railroad worker. Quiet, hardworking, and trusting. He lent Anna Marie $1,000 and signed a promissory note to prove it. When he died, this document disappeared. It just evaporated.

Jacob Wagner was 78 years old, a gentle gardener in the German settlement of Cincinnati. He was so fond of Anna Marie that he amended his will, leaving her $17,000 in cash and referring to her as his beloved niece. Jacob Wagner was not her uncle. He was her victim, and his death is what ultimately sent her to the electric chair. George Hasselman was 67 years old when he died. Anna Marie broke into his trust and his finances, and left with $15,000. Georg Obendorfer was also 67 years old. He was the last. In the summer of 1937, he took a train to Colorado Springs with Anna Marie and her young son, Oscar. He never returned home.

Each of these men experienced the same silent tragedy. They were getting old. They were lonely. No one was watching them closely enough. There was one man, George Geiss, who managed to escape. But the way he escaped and what he didn’t do afterward cost the lives of four other men. We’ll get to that.

So who exactly was Anna Marie Hahn? To Cincinnatians, she looked like the perfect immigrant success story. A devoted mother, a welcoming neighbor, a caring woman who spent her time caring for sick elderly men when no one else would. But this image was built on a foundation of lies, and it began long before she set foot on American soil.

Anna Marie was born Anna Marie Filser on July 7, 1906, in Bavaria, Germany. She was the youngest of 12 children. Her father, Georg Filser, was a furniture manufacturer, and the family was considered financially secure. But comfort was not enough for Anna Marie. Even as a child, she always wanted more. By the time she was in her early 20s, her thirst for more had already caused a family scandal. She became pregnant and claimed that the father was a famous Viennese cancer researcher named Dr. Max Machie. Later, investigators searched for any information about this person. They found nothing. There was no doctor with such a name.

The identity of the real father of her son Oscar still remains unknown. Her family, confused and shocked, made a quick decision. In 1929, they sent Anna Marie to the United States to live with relatives in Cincinnati, Ohio. Oscar stayed in Bavaria with her parents. In Cincinnati, she met Philip Hahn, also a German immigrant. They married in 1930. She briefly returned to Germany to pick up Oscar, and for a while, everything seemed normal. That was not true. Court records indicate that Philip Hahn became mysteriously ill shortly after his marriage. He was hospitalized. He survived, but the marriage did not last long.

With no real caregiving experience, Anna Marie somehow persuaded them to let her become a live-in caregiver for elderly men in the community. Around the same time, prosecutors said, her gambling debts were secretly mounting. The deadly plan was beginning to take shape. In the early 1930s, Anna Marie Hahn’s life was quietly falling apart. Her marriage to Philip Hahn was deteriorating. The bakery they ran together in Cincinnati’s German neighborhood was low-profit, routine, and did not at all satisfy her ambitions. She was bored, restless, and, according to court records, deeply in debt. Her vice was betting on horse races. She played big and often lost. Debts were piling up faster than she could cover them.

She needed money, and in a way that didn’t require a lot of honest work. So she made a calculated decision. She got a job as a caregiver in the German immigrant community in Cincinnati. And this choice was not accidental. This community was built on trust, a common language, and a deep sense of cultural affinity. These people cared about each other. They welcomed each other into their homes. Anna Marie understood this and used it all as a weapon. Her victims were never random. These were elderly men who lived alone, had modest savings, and no one visited them.

She would enter their homes as a helper, prepare food, administer medication, and in many cases manage their finances. She was becoming irreplaceable. She gained their trust. And then there was George Geiss. One day, Anna Marie brought him a mug of homebrew. When she left the room, he noticed flies sitting on the drink. They died almost instantly. George Geiss suspected something was wrong. He fired her and kicked her out, but never went to the police. She calmly left his house and went straight to her next victim. No one was watching, and she knew it. There was a man who guessed the truth and saw flies falling dead from the drink she brought him. But what he did next cost the lives of four more men.

Anna Marie Hahn didn’t need an accomplice. She acted alone. Court records confirm that no accomplices were ever identified or prosecuted with her. She planned, prepared, and executed every step completely independently. This detail alone makes this case extremely disturbing. Her weapons were arsenic and croton oil. Both substances were difficult to detect in the 1930s. Both were quite affordable, so neither purchase aroused suspicion. She administered poisons through food, drink, and medicine—things she personally prepared and delivered to men who trusted her completely. When investigators finally searched her home in Cincinnati after her arrest, they were stunned by what they saw. According to prosecution testimony, the amount of poison found in the house was enough to kill half of Cincinnati.

This was not a crime committed on impulse or in a fit of rage. This was a planned, carefully thought-out, and ongoing operation. The financial side was planned as carefully as the physical. Court records show that she forged documents, listed herself as a beneficiary in wills, and destroyed promissory notes after borrowing money from her victims. She had ingrained herself into Jacob Wagner’s estate as his so-called “favorite niece”—a title she had no right to, but assumed without hesitation. Even the presence of her son Oscar was part of how she operated in the world. She used the image of a mother traveling with a child to appear completely normal, particularly during her final train ride to Colorado Springs with Georg Obendorfer.

This was not a crime committed in a state of passion. It was a system: quiet, prudent, and cold. Now we get to the part that changes everything. Between 1933 and 1937, Anna Marie Hahn moved quietly, like a shadow, through Cincinnati’s German community. Every victim trusted her. Each victim paid for this trust with their own life. And every time, she came out with a benefit: a house, a canceled debt, an inheritance, or life savings.

Here’s how it happened. Ernest Coe, age 73, May 6, 1933. Ernest was Anna Marie’s first known victim. By all accounts, he was a healthy, community-connected man, and had no serious health problems until she came into his life. She became friends with him. She came in handy for him. And then, without any warning, he died. He left her his house. No investigation was opened. No questions were asked. A lonely old man died, and a kind woman was mentioned in his will. That’s exactly what it looked like. That’s exactly how she wanted it to look.

Albert Parker, 72 years old. Albert was a retired railroad worker. Quiet, decent, and trusting. He lent Anna Marie $1,000. She signed a promissory note. It was a simple, honest deal between two people who trusted each other. When Albert Parker died, this receipt disappeared. Court records indicate that the document was either destroyed or simply vanished. The debt disappeared with him. Like Albert Parker.

Jacob Wagner, 78 years old. June 3, 1937. Jacob was a gentle gardener in the German settlement of Cincinnati. He was warm-hearted and generous, a man who saw only the best in others. He became so attached to Anna Marie that he rewrote his will, leaving her $17,000 in cash and naming her his beloved niece. Anna Marie Hahn was not his niece. She was his killer. The death of Jacob Wagner became the official charge of murder for which Anna Marie was sentenced to death.

George Hasselman, age 67, July 6, 1937. Less than 5 weeks after Jacob Wagner’s death, George Hasselman passed away. Before his death, Anna Marie became deeply entrenched in his life and finances. He died. She walked away with $15,000. Another silent death. Another grieving community. And yet, no one suspected anything.

Georg Obendorfer, 67 years old. August 1, 1937. This is what ruined her. In the summer of 1937, Anna Marie convinced shoemaker Georg Obendorfer to come with her to Colorado Springs. She took her young son Oscar with her. It looked like a normal vacation. They boarded the train together in Cincinnati. According to Oscar’s testimony at trial, Georg Obendorfer began to feel ill on the train, before reaching his destination. By the time they reached Colorado, his condition was rapidly deteriorating. He died in his hotel room shortly after arrival.

When the police arrived, Anna Marie Hahn looked them in the eye and said she didn’t even know the man. And she had just crossed the state line with him. Then she did something no one expected. She offered to pay for his funeral. This proposal immediately aroused suspicion. An autopsy was scheduled. The results arrived. Arsenic poisoning confirmed. She stood at his deathbed and told the police that she did not know the man, even though she had just crossed the state line with him. What investigators found next shattered her entire world.

When Anna Marie Hahn returned to Cincinnati from Colorado with her son, Oscar, she probably thought the worst was behind her. She was wrong. The detectives were already waiting. Arrest warrants were prepared. As soon as she returned to Cincinnati, law enforcement got on the case. What happened next said it all about the kind of woman she was. She didn’t break. She didn’t panic. She looked composed, well-dressed, and completely calm, creating the image of a woman with nothing to hide and nothing to fear. She feigned innocence with the same confidence and charm with which she visited the homes of five elderly men. But this performance could not stand up to what investigators found in her home.

When detectives searched her home in Cincinnati, they were shocked by what they saw. The amount of poison found in that house was staggering. One detective later said that the poison found would have been enough to kill half of Cincinnati. This was not the home of an innocent woman. This was the home of someone who was carrying out a brazen campaign of constant poisoning. By that time, her marriage to Philip Hahn had long since effectively broken down. He played no role in the events that followed.

The reaction of Cincinnati’s German-American community was shocking. These were the people who accepted Anna Marie into their circle, entrusted her with their elderly relatives, and never once doubted her intentions. Her motive was never complicated. It wasn’t insurance. This was not revenge. It was a common financial theft: manipulating wills, forging documents, and quietly misappropriating the fortunes of men who didn’t even suspect it.

The arsenic found in Georg Obendorfer’s body didn’t just close one case. It opened several others. Investigators began checking every elderly man who Anna Marie Hahn had once cared for. What they discovered was a pattern—a four-year silent trail of deaths that never once aroused suspicion. Authorities ordered the exhumation of the bodies of her previous victims. Toxicology results were received. Poisoning was confirmed in many bodies. For four full years, she had acted without suspicion, and the reason was painfully simple. She was a caregiver.

The elderly men she cared for were sick and dying. This was not unusual. This was expected. Her role gave her the perfect shield. If it weren’t for Georg Obendorfer’s death in Colorado, in another state under a different jurisdiction, where an autopsy was ordered almost immediately, it might never have been uncovered. Throughout the investigation, Anna Marie insisted on her innocence. She remained calm. She remained unmoved. She didn’t tell the investigators anything. But the evidence already spoke for itself. Prosecutors built the case around what they called a scheme of mass murder for profit. Five men, four years, and each of them was robbed before the funeral. Four years, five men, all died quietly, all their money gone, and no one suspected anything until one autopsy in a hotel changed everything.

The Colorado autopsy became a crack in the wall. And as soon as it appeared, everything began to collapse. The level of arsenic found in Georg Obendorfer’s body could not be dismissed. It was final. There was no room for doubt, for explanation, or for any innocent reason for what the toxicology report showed. Investigators then received the results of the exhumation of her previous victims in Cincinnati. One by one, the results were the same. Poisoning confirmed. The pattern was now documented in black and white. What had looked like a series of sad but natural deaths was now something completely different: a deliberate, calculated campaign of killings that lasted four years. Then came the search of her home in Cincinnati. The supply of poison found inside dispelled the investigators’ last doubts. This was not a woman who made one terrible mistake. This was a woman who was ready, stocked up on poison, and waiting.

And then the most devastating blow was dealt, and it came from within her own family. Her son Oscar testified at the trial. He told the court that he had traveled by train from Cincinnati to Colorado with his mother and Georg Obendorfer, and confirmed that Obendorfer had become sick on the way. These words, spoken by her own 12-year-old child, carried enormous weight in the courtroom. Anna Marie Hahn was formally arrested and charged. When Cincinnati was rocked by the news that enough poison had been found in her home to kill half the city, the public reaction was one of complete and utter disbelief.

In the fall of 1937, Anna Marie Hahn walked into the courtroom, and Ohio froze in anticipation. The trial lasted four weeks and became one of the most high-profile criminal cases the state has ever seen. The composition of the jury was unusual for the time: 11 women and one man. This detail alone made headlines. Anna Marie came to court every day, looking calm and collected. Neat clothes, neat hairstyle, impassive facial expression. She listened to every piece of evidence against her and feigned innocence as if it were second nature to her. But the prosecutor’s office could not be fooled, nor could the jury. The prosecutors clearly stated their arguments. This was a scheme of mass murder for profit. Each victim was financially exhausted before they were poisoned. Each death was carefully staged to look like a natural one. And Anna Marie Hahn got richer every time.

Two testimonies struck the most. George Geiss, the man who saw the flies die from the drink she brought him, took the stand and told the court everything he had seen. And then there was Oscar, her own 12-year-old son. He testified that he, his mother, and Georg Obendorfer had traveled together by train from Cincinnati, and that Obendorfer had become ill before arriving. The jury deliberated for less than three hours. Guilty. Without a recommendation for clemency. Under Ohio law, the absence of a pardon meant only one thing—an automatic death sentence.

On November 10, 1937, Judge Bell formally sentenced Anna Marie Hahn to death by the electric chair. She continued to insist on her innocence as every word of the verdict was read aloud. She became the first woman sentenced to death by the electric chair in the state of Ohio. Her lawyers filed an appeal. The case reached the United States Supreme Court. The court refused to overturn the verdict. Her fate was decided. On December 1, 1938, Anna Marie Hahn was transferred to the Ohio State Penitentiary in Columbus. She spent months convincing herself that Ohio would never execute a woman. That at the last moment someone would intervene, that the authorities would back down.

No one backed down. In her final hours, she stopped pretending. She took a pen and wrote page after page, 20 pages in total. A full, handwritten confession, where she admitted to the poisoning, expressed a deep lack of understanding of why she did it, and, most importantly, poured out her fear for what would happen to Oscar when she was gone. She didn’t ask for a last supper. She was too consumed with grief and panic to eat. Prison reports indicate that she consumed only plain liquids or nothing at all. Oscar, who was only 12 years old, spent most of that last day with her. When it was time to lead her to the execution chamber, he was led to the door and taken away. He went to the prison chapel and sat alone while his mother died. Her lawyers made a last-ditch appeal to federal court. It failed.

At 8:00 p.m., Anna Marie was dressed in blue pajamas with a brown top, her golden-blonde hair disheveled. The guards led her down the death row corridor, past the cells of 12 condemned men. Each of them went to the bars of their cell and stood in silence. She looked at them and exclaimed, “Goodbye, everyone, and may God protect you.” Then she reached the door of the execution chamber and fainted. Two guards and two female guards lifted her up and carried her inside. She was placed in a chair, held out her hands to the witnesses, and cried out, “Mr. Woodard, don’t do this to me. Think of my boy. Will no one help me?” She turned to the prison chaplain, Father John Sullivan, and whispered, “Be careful, Father. You will be killed too.” Father Sullivan began to recite the “Our Father” prayer. She repeated it with him, word for word. In the middle of this prayer, a switch was flipped. At 8:13 p.m. on December 7, 1938, Anna Marie Hahn was pronounced dead. She was 32 years old. The first woman executed by the state of Ohio.

After her death, Anna Marie’s lawyers sold her 20-page confession to the Cincinnati Enquirer newspaper on one condition. Every dollar earned was to go to a trust fund for Oscar. This promise was fulfilled. Oscar eventually settled with a foster family in the Midwest. He lived a relatively normal life and later served in the U.S. Navy during World War II.

Ernest Coe, Albert Parker, Jacob Wagner, George Hasselman, Georg Obendorfer. Five men who trusted the one they believed was helping them. They deserved much better. Anna Marie Hahn poisoned men for years to secure her money and freedom. In the end, the only thing she secured for herself was a place in history as the first woman to be executed in the state of Ohio. And somewhere in the prison chapel, a 12-year-old boy waited alone for his mother, who would never be released.

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