Following is a detailed account of how the horrors at Tri-State Crematory came to light. It is the story of two unsung heroes whose names have been almost anonymous to the public.

In an exclusive interview, Gerald Cook told The Gazette the details of how he and his aunt, Faye Deal, came to “blow the whistle” on Tri-State.

Cook and Deal never wanted to claim their 15 minutes of fame. As writer Norman Arey said in a Milwaukee Journal Sentinel article, “Cook and Deal have declined repeated requests for interviews.” They tell their story here for the first time.

Cook and Deal’s story begins almost a year and a half before the story broke in the press on Feb. 15, 2002.



October 3, 2000



Although he had worked for Blossman Gas, Inc., for 14 years, this was Gerald Cook’s first propane delivery to Tri-State and he dreaded it. He had been to this place one time many years before when he did Blossman’s service work on gas heaters.

Since its opening in 1951, Blossman Gas, Inc., had grown to be the 11th-largest propane dealer in the country, with offices in eight southeastern states, 17 of them in Georgia. Cook delivered out of Blossman’s LaFayette office, and Tri-State Crematory was located three miles north of LaFayette in the small community of Noble.

Cook thought no one at Blossman wanted to make a gas delivery to Tri-State, which was exactly why he was there. The Blossman employee who normally ran the route had been adamant about not wanting to make the delivery, and since he was Cook’s friend, Cook had agreed to put Tri-State on his route as a favor to him.

It was hard for Cook to put his finger on exactly why he dreaded it so much. Maybe it was just because this was a crematory, or maybe it had something to do with a comment owner Ray Marsh had made to Cook’s father some 20 years earlier when Cook was just a 12-year-old boy. Marsh had made a remark about cutting up bodies, and the chilling memory of that remark still lingered with Cook.

Ray Marsh had asked Cook’s father if he could borrow a forklift to place a body in the incinerator. Marsh had gone on to explain that the body was too large for him to lift. Cook’s father turned down Marsh’s request because his forklift could only be used on concrete, not gravel or dirt. Marsh responded that if he couldn’t get the body picked up and put in, he might have to cut it up and put it in a piece at a time.

As Cook approached the facility on Center Point Road, an uneasiness deep inside told him that something was wrong. He couldn’t shake the feeling, nor could he define it, but it was there — something unmistakably foul.

A hose stretched across the driveway to the crematory, the kind of hose usually seen at a gas station that makes a loud dinging sound when driven over. A second loud ding sounded as the back tires of Cook’s truck passed over the hose, alerting the owner that someone was on the property.

Cook intended to get the delivery over with quickly, but he knew the tank he spied through the opening of the security fence surrounding the crematory could not be the right one; it was too small for the 200 gallons of propane Marsh had ordered. Cook decided there must be a larger tank somewhere on the property, and he set off to find it.

Driving through the 16-acre property, Cook noted that it was cluttered with junk — trash and debris scattered everywhere. He drove off to the last of several outbuildings in the cul-de-sac of the driveway. Leaving the big diesel engine idling, Cook exited the cab of the truck to follow the beaten path that ran alongside the building.

As he neared the end of the building, he stopped suddenly, aghast. There, to the left of the path 10 feet from the building, lay the skeletal remains of a person. Stunned at the sight, Cook tried to gather his wits and make sure it was what it appeared to be, asking himself, “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”

Cook’s wide, frightened eyes scanned the area around the trail where he saw brush, broken pallets and trash that had been pushed into a heap by a small backhoe that stood nearby. What Cook saw mingled in with the debris made his knees weak with fear. Human skulls were clearly visible, some with patches of hair and skin still clinging to the bone, others bleached white and bare. Bones he could not identify also lay in the mix, and his nightmare deepened at the sight of whole bodies with tissue desperately clinging to their bones. The sight of it burned itself into his memory.

He stood fixed in place by the horror of it as waves of nausea engulfed him. Were these murder victims? Had these dead people been part of some evil ritual? Was this what Ray Marsh had been talking about 20 years before?

Cook’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud shout that boomed out over the sound of the idling truck engine: “Gas man! Gas man!” Brent Marsh’s voice and words sent what felt like a jolt of electricity through Cook. For a few seconds, Cook was paralyzed with fear, unable to remember when he had ever been so frightened.

Summoning all his strength, Cook ran as fast as he could down the path, stopping just before the corner of the building. Slowing to a walk and trying to look calm, he stepped out into the open just as Brent Marsh appeared and came around the truck. At that moment, Cook thought Marsh looked frighteningly large, and he was scowling at Cook.

Cook tried to sound casual as he squeaked out the words, “Where’s your tank at?”

After a long, hard look, Marsh motioned back toward the crematory and told Cook to go back over in that direction. Cook got back in the truck and drove to the area where the larger tank was located, and Marsh followed close behind him.

With March watching his every move, Cook connected the hose from the truck to the tank and started the pump. Marsh’s hovering made him even more nervous, and Cook wondered if the tank would ever fill. Finally, with the task complete, Cook handed Marsh the invoice, disconnected the hose and secured it to the truck. Still fighting his fear, Cook climbed back into the cab and drove down the driveway past the residence of Brent Marsh’s parents, Ray and Clara Marsh, and on out to Center Point Road.

Once off the Tri-State property, Cook felt a tremendous sense of relief, but what he had seen had physically sickened him. For a while, he drove around aimlessly as he tried to clear his head and let the nausea pass. While he drove, he decided to talk to his boss, store manager Bobby Brown, about what he had seen. Cook thought Brown was levelheaded and knew the two of them could come up with a plan to deal with the situation.

When he got back to the office, Cook pulled Brown aside and told him the gruesome story. Brown listened quietly and appeared to be shocked. They decided to think about it overnight and discuss it again the next day, so Cook went back out to finish his route.

The next morning, Brown appeared to be very tired. He told Cook the issue had kept him awake all night, but he had made a decision: He would report the incident to Walker County Sheriff Steve Wilson. Cook was relieved to hear Brown’s decision. As Cook climbed into his truck to start his route, Brown went to his car to go tell Sheriff Wilson what Cook had seen.

Once the two men passed their concerns to Sheriff Wilson, they put the subject out of their minds, confident the sheriff would handle the situation appropriately.

Unknown to either Brown or Cook, did not send anyone to investigate. The sheriff later said he dismissed the report as soon as he heard it.



To be continued in Wednesday’s Gazette.



To contact reporter Jana Cone, call 382-4321, ext. 208