True Crime. Real-Life Stories of Abduction, Addiction, Obsession, Murder, Grave-robbing, and...

270 Pages·2013·0.64 MB·English

by  Lee Gutkind

Real-life
stoRies of
GRave-RobbinG,
identity theft,
abduction,
addiction,
obsession,
MuRdeR,
and MoRe
edited by
Lee Gutkind
Pittsburgh
s
t
Copyright © 2013 Creative Nonfiction Foundation. n
All Rights Reserved.
Requests for permission to reproduce material from
this work should be sent to: e
Rights and Permissions
In Fact Books
c/o Creative Nonfiction Foundation t
5501 Walnut Street, Suite 202
Pittsburgh, PA 15232
n
Cover and Text Design by Heidi Whitcomb
ISBN: 978-1-937163-14-3
o
Printed in the United States of America
C
s
t
nIntroductIon:
Bad Men do What Good Men dreaM?
Lee Gutkind ......................................5
e
orIGaMI & the art of IdentIty foldInG
AC Fraser .......................................13
t
levIathan
n
David McGlynn ..................................27
GaBrIelle GIffords shootInG:
oa fatal chaIn of events unfolds
Shaun McKinnon .................................45
CreGret
Vance Voyles. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .83
Grave roBBer: a love story
Joyce Marcel ....................................101
aPoloGy
John Nosco .....................................113
ParrIsh, raWlInGs, hollIs, and flythe, 2008
David McConnell ................................119
the addIct
Lacy M. Johnson .................................139
GIrl, fIGhtInG
Laurie Lynn Drummond ...........................151
s
t
nthe death of a faMIly
David Updike . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171
sPeakInG of ears and savaGery
e
Steven Church . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
t
orIGIns of a Murder
Alexandria Marzano-Lesnevich . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
n
sPectacle: the lynchInG of claude neal
Ben Montgomery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221
o
“I dIdn’t Want to WrIte crIMe Porn”:
an IntervIeW WIth erIk larson
C
Donna Seaman ..................................243
IntroductIon:
Bad Men do What Good Men dreaM?
lee Gutkind
When I was a teenager, I had two friends—Glick and Girson—
who committed murder while robbing a mom-and-pop grocery
store . This took place in Squirrel Hill, the well-to-do Pittsburgh
neighborhood where I grew up, near the lovely, sprawling Frick
Park and a short walk from the high school from which all three
of us had recently graduated . The two old people who ran the
store, Mr . and Mrs . Cua, were notoriously cranky, which made kids
visit their store more often than necessary just to aggravate them,
asking stupid questions or haggling over the price of a package
of cigarettes or a can of Coke . The store was dirty and dusty, and
the shelves were rather bare . No way could the Cuas have made
enough to live on from that store—and in fact, there were constant
and unsubstantiated rumors that they were hoarding mounds of
cash in their living quarters in back of the store . I never talked
with anyone who knew where the rumors had started . It was just
something we high school kids—freshmen to seniors—were always
speculating about .
Probably the supposed hidden fortune was a joke . I mean, why
would anyone live in such filth if they had the means to bask in
luxury—or, at the very least, hire someone to dust their shelves? It
seemed kind of senseless to me . I dreamed daily about owning a
Harley Sportster and a Corvette Sting Ray, and if I’d had the cash
I’d have gone hog wild spending it . Not that I envisioned the Cuas
revving a souped-up engine or screeching around corners with
abandon . But they could have had a Cadillac—and a mansion on
Nob Hill, wherever that was .
Glick and Girson must have thought they would find the
stash—or, frankly, in retrospect, who knows what they thought?
They obviously didn’t think things out too clearly or carefully . I
Lee gutkind
wouldn’t have imagined that they were, together or individually,
capable enough to plan and execute a robbery—or any organized
project or event . I knew Girson as kind of a bully, mean and
moody, and Glick was a victim in high school . Not that he was
pushed around or pummeled; let’s just say he was not highly
respected . His grades were poor, his attendance record in high
school worse, and he seemed to always be in dutch with his family .
Anyway, it wasn’t a very successful robbery: As I recall, their
“take” was less than $20—quite disappointing . Which is maybe
why Girson—he was supposedly the guy with the gun—shot Mr .
Cua to death .
I haven’t seen either of those guys since they were arrested, but
I think about them nearly every time I pass the site of the murder .
Glick, I am told, committed suicide, and the last I heard, Girson
is still in prison . I don’t know if either of those stories is true . I’ve
done a bit of Googling, unsuccessfully .
Why do I remember this event—while so many of my high school
memories have faded? Any murder is shocking, of course, but for
me there’s a mystery to it—so many unanswered questions . These
guys came from comfortable, respectable middle class families,
not unlike mine . Girson’s dad was a merchant, as was my father .
Our moms were typical 1950s/1960s housewives, stay at home
moms . Glick’s parents were divorced, I think, though I don’t
remember for sure . But they both lived in a good neighborhood,
and were—I think everyone would have said—“good kids .” We
all were . Maybe not so popular or perfect, by any means; we did
a lot of things wrong—but we knew what was right . What on
earth were they thinking? What went through their minds that
prompted them to get a gun and shoot down an old man for the
sake of a few dollars?
It was crazy—though also not entirely . Maybe not out of the
realm of possibility, at all, especially for young and rebellious boys .
Having been, myself, a fairly rebellious boy, I frequently wonder
how close I came to doing something similarly destructive—
something awful that I would forever regret . In high school and
6
IntroductIon: Bad Men do What Good Men dreaM?
the few years afterward, before I went into the military and finally
to the university, I was all about taking chances with weapons and
illegal substances, and setting off on illogical adventures—just
because I wanted to do something different and also, I guess,
because I wanted to call attention to myself .
So the story of Glick and Girson is, for me, I think, a sort of
worry stone: something to turn over again and again, and examine
from various angles . Am I capable of such an act? Could I be that
stupid—so ruinous to my life? Or in the reverse, could I be a victim?
As I read through this collection recently, I thought about those
long-ago murders, and about why true crime stories have such a
strong appeal for so many of us .
There’s no doubting our fascination: Just talk with magazine
or book editors, or librarians, about the popularity of true crime
stories . Better yet, turn on your TV . It’s nearly impossible to escape
crime programs—whether fiction or nonfiction . In prime time
and rerun, there are the many popular ripped-from-the-headlines
dramas like “Law & Order” (and its numerous spin-offs), “Criminal
Minds,” NCIS, and CSI . The selection in true crime is equally rich .
Two popular long running network shows—“Dateline NBC” and
“48 Hours”—are devoted to true crime . There’s also an entire true
crime cable channel, Investigation Discovery, which, according to
the New York Times, grew 69 percent in total viewership from
mid 2010 to mid 2011 . They’ve got some rather raunchy-sounding
crime series programs, like “Blood, Lies and Alibis,” “Sins and
Secrets,” and my personal favorite, “Happily Never After”—and
some recognizable personalities anchoring these shows, like “On
the Case,” with the former popular CNN anchor Paula Zahn .
People can’t get enough of these stories—but why? I think true
crime stories fascinate because they make us more aware of how
vulnerable we are not only as potential victims but also, perhaps,
to a certain extent, as perpetrators . I remember something a
character on one of the Law & Order series programs—Detective
Goren, played by Vincent Donofrio—observed in one episode:
“Bad men do what good men dream .”
7
Lee gutkind
• • •
One day recently I sat down and read the stories in this collection
one after another . It’s not that I hadn’t read them before—to the
contrary, I have read and reread each repeatedly as editor, but
never all in one great burst . Originally, I had intended to read
the entire manuscript over the course of a couple of days, but one
story seemed to flow and feed into the next . . . I was hooked . Even
during two brief coffee breaks at Starbucks that day and evening,
I couldn’t quite disconnect myself . I was caught up in the stories,
imagining myself as victim, perpetrator, bystander .
But there was something else about these pieces, in particular, that
kept me riveted and reading, story after story, on that day . That’s
the personalities, the voices, the motivations and emotions of the
writers telling the stories . These writers—among them are criminals,
law enforcement officers, and victims—elevate the substance of the
gritty crime, leading the reader far beyond the surface and the
hype . They transform the stories they are dramatizing into rich,
high-powered literature in which characterization and motivation
are as important, perhaps even more important, than the stories
themselves . I should say that I believe that the literary quality of
these nonfiction stories sets them apart from the run-of-the-mill
crime fare . They dig deeper than the average sensationalist fare
on television . There’s great tone and style in each piece included
here—but also substance to ponder and discuss .
And that, after all, is the challenge and the mission of the creative
nonfiction writer: to take a true story, gather the details from every
conceivable source and angle, and employ literary techniques—
dialogue, description, inner thoughts and points of view—to make
the characters, the locations, and the stories themselves as vivid
and cinematic as possible .
It goes without saying that such a task is difficult—but the stories
in this collection demonstrate how effective such approaches are
when done well . Who could resist getting caught up in the story of
AC Fraser, confronted by a prison guard who seems to know more
8
IntroductIon: Bad Men do What Good Men dreaM?
about her than she knows about herself? Or Lacy M . Johnson’s
mind-boggling story of being kidnapped by her ex-boyfriend, or
Steven Church’s unconventional meditation on ears and savagery,
which takes on everything from Mike Tyson to Travis the Chimp,
and David Lynch to Van Gogh . Included also in this book are
stories about gang violence in the suburbs; women police officers
in physical combat with criminals; and a fascinating deconstruction
of the origin of a murder, which traces the perpetrator back in
time, examining the circumstances that helped to determine his
life and that may have propelled him directly into the act of killing .
Two of the stories included in this collection are especially
important to mention—for both are taken from a seemingly
unlikely source: your daily newspaper . Many journalists, critics,
and pundits like to say, these days, that long form narrative can
no longer exist in newsprint—that newspapers, not to mention
the art of reporting, are dying . The stories here put the lie to
that contention: For “The Lynching of Claude Neal,” Ben
Montgomery of the Tampa Bay Times conducted dozens of
interviews over a two-year period with historians, residents of
Jackson County, Alabama, and relatives of 23-year-old Claude
Neal, lynched in 1934—a crime for which no one has ever been
punished . Montgomery’s story is a riveting reminder of an
era that will forever haunt and taint our national legacy . The
other newspaper piece, from The Arizona Republic, is equally
captivating: Shaun McKinnon’s reconstruction of the days and
hours leading up to the Gabrielle Giffords shooting . The detail
of McKinnon’s reporting and his crisp, hard, Hemingwayesque
prose, which tells the story from the points of view of the shooter
and many of the victims and bystanders, create a unique and
compelling profile of a crime the country will never forget .
Finally, the collection ends with an in-depth interview with
a master of the true crime genre, Erik Larson, author of books
including The Devil in the White City and, most recently, In the Garden
of Beasts . In an interview conducted by Booklist critic and essayist
Donna Seaman, Larson explained how he begins his work by
9
Lee gutkind
reading broad histories and, as he puts it, “circling in,” looking for
his main characters . Then, he heads into the depths of archives
such as the Library of Congress, devoting years to capturing the
minute and compelling details of the characters and events, and
gradually moving out into the field to immerse himself in the
locations where the events took place . He becomes fully engaged
in all aspects of the story before sitting down to write, explain, and
recreate it .
“If the story doesn’t come alive for you, it’s not going to come
alive for your readers,” Larson says, and I think that says a lot
about the appeal of true crime nonfiction . The stories here, I think
you will find, gnaw away at you, piquing curiosity and feeding the
hunger to understand more about human nature—why we do
the things we do, how we can end up in previously unimaginable
situations, and also what we are afraid of . Our lives can change
in an instant: seemingly normal, nondescript teenage boys, for
example, can become murderers; citizens waiting in line to meet
their congresswoman can be massacred; a car accident can begin a
chain of tragic events that unfolds over decades .
And the thing is, you can never know how you will react to these
events should they happen to you or near you . You can’t know
how you will react to someone who threatens you, hurts you, or
just confuses you . Will hunger for money and adventure—or
boredom, or stored-up frustration and anxiety, or something else
entirely—push you over the edge into a world from which there
is no return? I don’t know . We can’t know, until it happens to us .
But reading this book, true story after true story . . . you have to
wonder .
10