Showing posts with label Ron's posts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ron's posts. Show all posts

By Ron Franscell

Twenty years ago, I was working for the Marin County (Calif.) Independent Journal, the local paper in America's chicest -- and most expensive -- county. So with a new son in the house, we lived a more frugal life a half-hour north, in the quiet chicken-farming town of Petaluma, where my own world had shrunk to raising two children.

Then the news broke that just up the road from my house, just a few miles from my own daughter's kindergarten, the bloody bodies of three little girls were found in the county dump, their throats slashed. But one, little 3-year-old Carmina, was clinging to life ... and the unfolding news was pointing to a disturbing suspect: the little girls' own father.

Steve Jackson's latest true crime book, Not Lost Forever ($25.99, HarperCollins), co-authored with Carmina Salcido officially hits the bookstores today (Oct. 6). The publisher describes it this way: "It is a remarkable story of survival and healing after the 1989 murderous rampage by Carmina's father, Mexican vineyard worker Ramon Salcido in the wine country of Sonoma Valley, California. Left for dead at three years old — her throat brutally slashed — Carmina miraculously survived what is widely considered one of California’s most notorious crimes: the unthinkable attack that savagely destroyed seven innocent lives, including her entire family. At once a harrowing true crime story and the inspirational first-person account of a young girl’s strength, heart, and determination in the nightmare’s aftermath, Not Lost Forever is a shocking and profoundly moving tale of perseverance and hope, and of a precious life regained."


Question: What was different about the style of storytelling in Not Lost Forever?
Answer: Well, Carmina (pictured lower left) was three years old when her family was murdered by her father and she was left for dead with her throat cut. So while her recollections of that morning are extremely vivid, and amazingly accurate when compared to the evidence and what the police believe happened, they are still the 20-year-old memories of a traumatic childhood tragedy.

As such, she had no idea of what was going on around her: the search for her father and his capture and subsequent trial; the massive national and international response to her incredible story of survival, which at the time made her "the most famous three-year-old in the world"; or the impact of the crimes on what to that point had been the sort of laid-back wine country atmosphere of Sonoma County in 1989.

Still, Carmina wanted to tell her part of the story in the first person, which necessitated what I consider a hybrid of first-person memoir with dramatic narrative for passages such as the hunt for her father, Ramon Salcido, and his trial.

There is also some "as told to" sections from my time spent with her traveling to the crime scenes and reflecting on the past in which as the writer, I felt my observations were important to the story, too. Obviously, as she grew older, her memories of the bizarre life she was subjected to AFTER the murders was much fuller and so the first-person aspect is more dominant. We'll see if I was able to achieve a decent blend -- sticking with the wine country metaphor, perhaps something of a cabernet-merlot mix.


Q: How did you fill in the blanks around Carmina's memories?
A. Fortunately, one aspect of Carmina's return to Sonoma (photo courtesy of the Sonoma Index-Tribune) when she was 19 years old was a quest to learn the truth about her family and what had happened in April 1989. So she did quite a bit of digging on her own, looking at library clips and talking to people who had known her mother and father.

She was greatly aided in this by Capt. Mike Brown (Ret.) who had been the detective sergeant in charge of the homicide investigation team that day. He patiently answered her questions, and also helped her with her research, including gaining access to the police, district attorney and court files, which of course contained much more information than what the newspapers had written.

So Carmina actually knew a lot of the story and was able to relate it to me in her own words and in context with her memories. And once again, Mike Brown was invaluable to me as well in regards to filling in those blanks from a dedicated police detective's point of view.


Q: Seven murders, including the brutal slaying of four young girls, two of whom were likely sexually molested, as well as the attempted murder of Carmina ... it seems like a pretty dark story.
A: The depravity of Ramon Salcido is without question. He murdered his entire family and a co-worker in a vicious but calculated manner with plenty of time between murder scenes to consider what he had done and stop himself.

This wasn't one incident, it was four with significant distance between each episode and location. He continues to deny his culpability -- blaming it all on alcohol drugs and untrue allegations about his wife's fidelity -- and has beaten the system and remained alive on Death Row at San Quentin for 20 years.

So yes, if this was the standard fare of a truly heinous crime and then the machinations of justice, it would indeed be a dark tale with very little light with the exception of the work of the detectives working the case and prosecutor who sent Ramon Salcido to Death Row. However, I see it as Carmina's story -- a story about her courage and strength and, for lack of a better term, her indomitable spirit to overcome not just what her father did, but the misery of her life afterward without giving up, and then her quest to learn the truth and finally to confront the man who had done his best to destroy her and everything she cared about.

That she still laughs with such delight and looks forward to life like any young woman who had not been through what she has, is truly inspirational to me. I think anyone who is deal with the aftermath of a crime, or just having a rough ride through life, who reads this book has to come away thinking "I don't have it so bad. If she can overcome that, I can deal with what I have to as well."


Q. I understand that ABC's 20/20 news magazine will be doing a feature on Carmina and the book?
A. Yes, it's due to air on Oct. 16 (check local listings for time). Originally, they planned a half-hour segment to run on Oct. 9, but the producers apparently felt that the story warranted a full hour so it was pushed back a week. I have no idea how they approached the story -- there were several avenues, we chose to write the book as semi-autobiographical (is that even a term or am I making it up?) I do know that viewers will get a good feel for Carmina now, as well as Mike Brown, who once again, though reluctantly (he does it for her), figures prominently in the 20/20 story, too.

Follow bestselling true-crime author Ron Franscell on Facebook or Twitter

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By Ron Franscell




Your last breath is only a few hours away. The governor isn't going to call. People are gathering outside to cheer your death. The Death Row chaplain has run out of prayers. The clock is ticking like a time bomb.

You have one final decision before your life is over: what will you eat for your last meal? Porterhouse steak? Beef Wellington? French nouvelle?

In Texas, where we keep painfully detailed Death House records, the most common answer is surprising: cheeseburgers and fries. Why? After 20 years in stir, where cheeseburgers aren't commonly served in the prison chow line, they are the most evocative comfort food in a Dead Man Walking's memory of the outside world. Or maybe they just taste good.

Double and triple cheeseburgers were on the Last Menu for killers. Most were prepared in the prison kitchens, but insiders reveal that they'll occasionally make a quick run to the Golden Arches to satisfy a last request.

But burgers aren't the only surprising final entree for the condemned. Hatchet-killer David Long had four BLTs. Baby-killing mass-murderer John Wheat had liver and onions -- and whole milk. Family killer Leonard Rojas had a whole fried chicken (extra crispy). Shootist John Baltazar asked for Cool Whip and cherries. James Powell wanted one pot of coffee. Random killer Jonathan Nobles requested communion for his last meal. And robber-killer Clifton Russell wasn't picky -- he asked for "whatever is on the menu."

Just like the outside world, cheeseburgers are declasse for the celebrities of Death Row. Serial killer Ricky Lee Green had five scrambled eggs, four sausage patties, eight slices of toast, six strips of bacon and four pints of milk. Born-again pick-axe killer Karla Faye Tucker chose a banana, a peach and a garden salad with ranch dressing. Serial killer Kenneth McDuff gorged himself on two T-bone steaks, five fried eggs, French fries, coconut pie and Coke. "Candyman" Ronald O'Bryan -- who poisoned his own son and ruined Halloween for many children -- ate a T-bone with corn and peas, saltines, Boston cream pie and sweet tea. Railroad Killer Angel Maturino Resendiz declined any last meal.

Last Meals are purely symbolic of society's mercy. They are generally served so close to execution that they have no nutritional value to the condemned. In most cases, they don't even have time to digest completely. They are simply a gesture to provide one last comfort or pleasure to a man or woman who'll be dead within a few hours.

So ... what would you order for your Last Meal?


(Want to know more? Pick up the latest edition of "Texas Death Row," Edited by Bill Crawford)

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By Ron Franscell

My friend Charles Cohen, 72, has died. He passed at 1:30 a.m. today and he will be buried on Sunday, September 6, in Philadelphia, not far from his parents and grandmother, who were killed by mass murderer Howard Unruh exactly 60 years before ... September 6, 1949. The timing feels less like coincidence, more like design.

On a day I expected to sit with him and hear stories about his extraordinary life, I will instead attend his funeral.

Over the past several months, I developed great affection for Charles, who found himself suddenly alone in the world at 12 years old. Every time some deranged gunman would kill a large number of people, my phone would ring and we'd talk for a long time about what had happened. Of course, these killings aroused dark memories in Charles, but he always wanted to talk about the survivors and the families of the dead because he had a direct, empathetic connection to them. They were his family, too.

Sometime next year, Charles' story will be part of a new book exploring the mass-murder survivor's experience. Like many others, he embraced the gift of a "second" life. He felt he owed something to those who weren't as lucky on one fateful, fatal day.

I will miss my friend, but tonight, he knows what we don't.


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By Ron Franscell

Ed Gein wasn't your ordinary grave-robbing, corpse-grinding, necrophiliac, cannibalistic, would-be serial killer. He could carry a snappy tune, too!

You might recall Eddie. In the late 1950s, cops investigating a local murder in Plainfield, Wis., stumbled upon a a startlingly grotesque scene in Gein's farmhouse. Yes, they found their murder victim dressed out like a dead deer, but that was the easy part. They also found a mask made from the face-skin of another local woman; human skulls made into bedposts and soup bowls; four disembodied noses; socks, lampshades and baskets made of human skin; shrunken heads; a box of female genitals; and a belt made from nipples.

In a surprise verdict, Eddie was judged insane. Go figure. He died in 1984 in a Wisconsin insane asylum.

But like all good freaks, Eddie isn't really dead. He lives -- nay, thrives -- in our cultural consciousness. In both books and film, he was the inspiration for Norman Bates in "Psycho" and for Jamie Gumb in "Silence of the Lambs." His affinity for human-face masks was even aped by Leatherface in "Texas Chainsaw Massacre."

Now, Eddie will be the main character in "Ed Gein, The Musical," an indie film by Appleton-based DaviesRussell. It's being shot in Omro, Wis., because the citizens of Plainfield simply weren't interested. Go figure.

Co-producer Dan Davies says his movie will be historically accurate ... but will also feature lots of comedy and "plenty of great music." Oh yeah! Broadway-style show tunes with stirring lyrics like "I'm in love ... she's all cooked up!" and "I truly love you ... you smell of formaldehyde."

Ed must have some strange power over musical minds. Former Marilyn Manson bassist Gidget Gein took his name from Eddie. And there's also a grindcore band called "Ed Gein." Consider their 2003 album, "It's a Shame a Family Can Be Torn Apart by Something as Simple as a Pack of Wild Dogs," featuring the hit single, "The Marlboro Man is a Douche Bag."

Somewhere down deep inside where only God and Eddie Gein have explored, I want to be offended by this, but I just can't. If we can celebrate Sweeney Todd and John Dillinger, then Eddie deserves his screen time, too. In fact, I've got this tune stuck in my head:

Her hands are tasty and her knees are sweet
her pituitary gland is a tasty treat.
Who do you turn to when you need to sup?
... I'm in love ...
she's all cooked up

Uh-huh.



You can now follow Ron Franscell, author of THE DARKEST NIGHT, at Facebook and Twitter. He is now working on his next book, an exploration of mass-murder survivors' experiences -- without music.

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By Ron Franscell


Within the last few years, a few states have begun debating a "new" kind of verdict in criminal trials: guilty by reason of insanity. The idea might be gaining traction as a way to balance both the needs of a psychotic perpetrator and sane society's peace of mind.

How would it work? The explanation is simpler than the debate. A criminal judged "guilty but insane" would be sentenced to a mental institution for as much time as it would require to "heal" his insanity, then once cured, finish his sentence in a prison (or whatever appropriate penal program).

Fact is, Americans remain uncomfortable with the current "not guilty by reason of insanity." Blame John Hinckley.

A case close to my journalistic heart illustrates the difficulty: Kenneth Pierott beat to death his bed-ridden, handicapped sister to death with a dumbell and was judged "not guilty by reason of insanity." He served 3 years in a Texas mental hospital and was released, cured. He moved in with his girlfriend (who had a 5-year-old son, Tre-Devin, from a previous relationship) and they had a child together. One day, Pierott decided Tre-Devin was draining the soul of his own infant son, so he stuffed Tre-Devin in the oven and turned the knob to "broil." The pilot light malfunctioned so Tre-Devin wasn't cooked to death ... he merely suffocated in the closed oven.

This time, Pierott got 60 years in prison for murder. But if he'd been kept under state supervision in an asylum or prison after his first murder, Tre-Devin would be alive today.

At least Texas has not yet freed Andrea Yates, the mom who drowned her five young children in a bathtub in 2001. In her first trial she received a life sentence for murder, but after it was overturned on appeal, she was found "not guilty by reason of insanity." In effect, we now have five drowned babies but in the eyes of the law ... nobody did it. Well, somebody did it and we have a good idea of who, but technically, it wasn't Andrea Yates. And if it wasn't her, who was it? A hitman on the grassy knoll? Nobody could seriously argue Andrea Yates' sanity, but should she be released back into society on the day that some psychiatrist decides she's all better?

A guilty-but-insane verdict allows the courts, society and history to affix responsibility. Victims and citizens alike would know somebody was punished.

As for punishment, the guilty-but-insane verdict would allow us to separate such criminally insane people from society for as long it was deemed necessary. They could get the treatment they need in a secure psychiatric facility, and if they were ever judged "cured" they would be transferred to a prison for the rest of their sentences.

And I think it would reduce the casual use of the insanity plea. We already believe that most criminals, most sociopaths, are mentally ill to some degree or they wouldn't have such a hard-on for society's rules. They use that against us. Our test for criminal insanity has boiled down to whether the perpetrator knew it was wrong at the time -- would he do the same thing if a cop were standing beside him? Under that test, Tre-Devin would still be dead, but Pierott would get official sympathy of society for his scrambled brain and ultimately be allowed back into society, maybe to kill a third time. Guilty-but-insane would ensure Kenneth Pierott got the help he needed AND the punishment he deserved.

Our current system has devoted far too much concern to the perpetrators and far too little to victims, past and future.

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By Ron Franscell

Los Angeles police today arrested John Floyd Thomas, Jr., a name no self-respecting true-crime buff will want to forget.


After a recent arrest, a DNA database matched Thomas to evidence left in two 1970s killings in Southern California. Thomas, they say, might have begun a serial rape and murder spree as early as 1955.

Police believe Thomas might prove to be the most prolific serial killer in American history, with an estimated 30 cases in the L.A. area alone.

Stay tuned ...

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Ron Franscell is a veteran newspaperman and author of the bestselling true crime/memoir THE DARKEST NIGHT. He is now working on a new book about survivors of mass murder.

By Ron Franscell

Funny story. Not long ago, I was telling a fascinating little yarn about the autopsy of a deranged killer whose body was riddled with more than 200 bullets after pursuing police cornered him at the end of one of modern America's bloodiest massacres.

Then my wife nudged me with one of our secret signs that maybe I should change the subject because, after all, we were at a funeral.

In 30 years as a newspaperman and a couple true-crime projects, I sometimes forget my threshhold for grisliness is somewhat higher than the ordinary human's. I have attended autopsies and exhumations, thumbed through hundreds of coroner reports, pored over grotesque evidence photos, learned a couple cool tricks to keep from retching from death-stink, and seen more than my share of gore-splattered crime scenes. Most times, I know how far is too far, but sometimes I forget that I chose to see these things so you (the common public) didn't have to ... mostly because, trust me, you don't want to.

This, of course, totally neglects the voyeurism that is such an intimate part of true crime. From graphic descriptions of rape and dismemberment to uncloseted skeletons, many of us want to see the darker elements of crime and punishment.

This week, while researching an upcoming book, I was given a crime-scene photo that actually caused me to gasp. Honestly, that's hard to do. The first thing that went through my mind was, "God, the publisher will never print that." The second thing was, "God, what if they want to publish that?"

Honestly, I don't know which bothers me more.

I have held forth here and elsewhere in the past that true-crime publishing has become largely pulpy and exploitive, splashing faux blood on bookjackets and promising "16 Pages of Shocking Photos!" I cannot believe that shocking photos are more attractive to true-crime readers than good, dramatic storytelling ... but it wouldn't be the first time I've been dead wrong.

One of the classics of the genre is Gary Lavergne's 1997 "Sniper in the Tower," about Charles Whitman's 1966 shooting spree from the University of Texas Tower. It set a standard for detailed research and reportage, but more interestingly, its photo insert contained images of Whitman's dead wife and mother in which their actual corpses were Photoshopped out. Only the blank outline of their bodies remained. While I understand the motivation to show a little dignity in a genre that usually doesn't, I also felt that someone decided my constitution wasn't strong enough to see two tiny black-and-white dead people. Run the image or don't run the image, I thought, but don't manipulate it.

Bloody crime-scene photos don't affect me much, but I must realize I'm far more jaded than most. For me, color seems to be more provocative than black-and-white; yesterday's images are far more affecting than tintypes of Jesse James' corpse. But in the end, I would neither buy (nor refuse to buy) a book based on my reaction to a surreptitious glimpse of its photos in the checkout line. The images, like the adjectives, just add color to the movie that unreels in my head as I read.

If my wife were here right now, she'd nudge me. She'd remind me that not everyone has inspected, up close, the logo on a dead man's socks, or seen a dead man's bloated body burst like a sad balloon on a hot summer afternoon.

And not everyone can come here to ask some of true crime's most devoted fans how they feel, so ... what's your feeling about disturbing crime photos in true-crime books and magazines? Are they truly off-putting or an essential part of why you read true crime? Will grotesque pictures influence your purchase (or refusal to purchase) a book?

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16 PAGES OF SHOCKING PHOTOS!
(Did you look?)


Isn't a diet of true-crime just a little dark on such a beautiful day? Yeah, I think so, too. So here's a little lighter fare, just for fun and yucks. And as for "true" crime, well, it's about crime and truth, but ... you'll see what I mean.

In the violent movie "No Country for Old Men" (2007), the Josh Brolin character Llewellyn checks into a motel in Del Rio, Texas, where he hides his satchel of $2 million in an air duct. Soon enough, he's found by the vicious killer and more bloodshed erupts. For 500 Monopoly dollars and all the pixels you can eat ...

What was the name of the Del Rio motel and the room number where Josh Brolin stashed the loot?

The clock is ticking ....

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In Gainesville, Fla., parking cops issued seven tickets to a 2001 BMW parked in a neighborhood for several days. It was only after a perturbed neighbor finally called to have it towed a couple weeks later that they found a dead guy in the back seat. John Waldo, 41, had been missing since the day of the first parking ticket.

Why is this important?

Well, we now have solved a true-crime mystery that's been plaguing us for years: Where's Waldo?

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Ron Franscell is the author of the bestselling true crime/memoir "The Darkest Night" (2008, St. Martin's, $6.99). Living in San Antonio, Texas, he is now working on his fourth book.

By Ron Franscell

Kim Trenor, the twisted mom of a dead child who came to be known as Baby Grace, was convicted in the bizarre murder this week in Galveston, Texas, and will spend the rest of her life in prison without any hope of ever being released ... and, one hopes, with her child's death-cries ringing every day in her dreams.

Trenor and husband Royce Zeigler (Baby Grace's stepfather) are accused of lashing the little girl with leather belts, smothering her under pillows, holding her head underwater and throwing her across a room by her hair during a 4- to 6-hour "discipline session" in 2007. Her corpse was stowed in a storage shed for 2 months before it was set adrift in Galveston Bay. Zeigler awaits his own unscheduled capital-murder trial.

Because the killer mom is a danger to herself and because Texas takes special care with all capital-murder convicts, she'll be held under suicide watch indefinitely. But Trenor's safety in prison might be a whole new challenge, with any number of inmates chomping at the bit to take a shot at a mother who helped kill her own baby daughter, covered up the killing and dumped the child's corpse in the Gulf of Mexico, then hoped nobody would notice her absence.

I believe facts have no moral quality, only what we project upon them.

Thus, it seems to me, a criminal trial is like a cultural ink-blot test, in which society looks at a set of insensate, numb facts and projects its own history, fears, impatience, insolence, clemency, insecurities, dreams — and nightmares — upon those facts.

In theory, we are not really describing the ink blots, but something inside ourselves. And what’s inside is every fairy-tale monster: A brutal ogre, a bloodthirsty werewolf, an elegant vampire, a bullying giant, a scheming devil, a predatory wolf, a sneering troll, or maybe just an abusive mother.

The archetypes of our fears have trickled into every heart. And when a crime captures the public’s imagination before a trial, the great majority of citizens are already projecting the monsters of our collective mythology onto the suspects.

Since no courtroom in the world is expansive enough to accommodate the populace of even a small-ish town in the least populated state in America, we select twelve neighbors at random to sift and cull the truth from evidence, testimony and lawyers’ speechifying. Placing our faith in randomness, we presume these 12 will reflect the psychology and conscience of the place we live, surrogates that reflect the best and worst of us. Their noble duty is to protect the public from the monsters among us. But they are charged with an equally noble trust that almost nobody else wants: To protect the monsters from the public.

For me, Kim Trenor is a monster of the first-degree and I won't lose a night's sleep worrying about her safety in prison. I prefer to save my concern for others whose hearts haven't shriveled and whose lives have not already ended, except for the rot.

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By Ron Franscell

Accused of murdering his estranged wife and two children and ripping their hearts out, Andre Thomas plucked out his own right eye just before his 2004 murder trial. His self-surgery didn't win any sympathy from his Sherman, Texas, jury: they sent him to Death Row.

But apparently he didn't like the view from his cell. Last week, Thomas plucked out his remaining eyeball -- and ate it.

Look -- oh, sorry -- this guy is obviously either insane or starving. But Andre Thomas proves what your mother always told you about the first-degree slaughter of your family: "You'll put your eye out, kid"

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By Ron Franscell

The NBA and Congress have long had more criminal members than most other "upstanding" institutions in America, but now the NFL is giving them a run for their laundered money.

Last weekend, New York Giants receiver Plaxico Burress -- one of professional football's legendary stupid, rich gangsters -- shot himself in the leg with his own gun as he was fiddling with it at a swanky Manhattan club. He doesn't have a weapon permit (a felony in New York) and he didn't let the cops in when they came to ask a few questions, like "Hey, are you a freakin' moron or what?"

Burress (pictured) has been suspended by his team for the rest of this season, and NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell could heap a little more misery on this chucklehead. But worse, Burress faces several mandatory years in prison if convicted of the two weapons charges he now faces.

Burress deserves what he gets, but so does the NFL if it doesn't get tougher on the brainless gang-banger wannabes with which it fills its rosters. In the past two years, at least one NFL player has been killed in a gangster-related shooting and others have been involved in tense situation where guns were brandished. I mean, these guys are making hockey look peaceful!

~~~~

TRIVIA QUESTION OF THE DAY: Back in 1974, an Austin killer named Robert Elmer Kleasen murdered two Mormon missionaries and chopped up their bodies in his taxidermy shop. He was convicted but released because cops used an illegal search warrant. He moved to England and married a prison pen-pal. He died at age 70 in London's Belmarsh Prison. Where is he buried?

(I have no idea, but I'd like to know.)

Ron Franscell is the author of the bestselling true crime/memoir "The Darkest Night" (2008, St. Martin's, $6.99). Living in San Antonio, Texas, he is now working on his fourth book.

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Ron Franscell is the author of the bestselling true crime/memoir "The Darkest Night" (2008, St. Martin's, $6.99). Living in San Antonio, Texas, he is now working on his fourth book.

By Ron Franscell

It's safe to assume the readers of In Cold Blog are fairly conversant in matters of mass- and serial-killing. You know your Mansons from your Bundys, right? Well, it's Friday and you've had a tough week, so here's something fun -- in a macabre sorta way -- to distract you from your nasty obsession with Dr. G.

In the next 60 seconds -- and before you read any further in this post -- list as many mass-murderers and serial killers as you can ... ready ... set ... GO!

How many did you get? 10? Watch more TruTV.

20? Not bad.

30? Impressive.

OK, here's another little test for you, and this one is a little harder: In the next 60 seconds, name as many victims of mass- or serial killers as you can. Ready ... set ... GO!

Oh c'mon, if every name you came up with was killed by the Manson Family, that's no better than the devoted readers of Mommy Blogs! Pre-schoolers wandering through the true-crime section at Borders can do better! ICB readers are the cream of the crop! What? You couldn't name a single victim of Bundy, Dahmer, BTK, Gein, Gacy or the Ripper?

OK, forget that test, let's try another one: In the next 60 seconds, name as many survivors of mass- or serial-killers as you can. Ready ... set ... whaddya mean you're not even gonna try?? C'mon it's just for fun. Please?

If some idle cybersurfer drifts through here, he's gonna think that we are more fixated with the killers than with their victims. That just doesn't seem right, does it? I mean, we know ordinary folks are fascinated by demented killers, but we're supposed to be ... I dunno ... extra-ordinary.

Our infatuation with the perverse sometimes leaves little room on our emotional hard drive for the victims of perversity. That's not to say we cannot appreciate the horrors faced by Catherine Eddowes, Nancy Fox, Bobby Piest or Debra Lynn Bonner -- but we forget their names and faces far quicker than the names and faces of the killers who ended their lives.

And when it comes to survivors of these monsters, barely a single name would kindle a spark of recognition in even the most devoted true-crime reader.

Talk to me, friends. What does this say about us?

(How did I do on my own test? Hey, I'm a true-crime writer and a career journalist who started his newsroom life in the cop shops and courtrooms of this great ... OK, I sucked, too.)

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Ron Franscell is the author of the bestselling true crime/memoir "The Darkest Night" (2008, St. Martin's, $6.99). Living in San Antonio, Texas, he is now working on his fourth book.

By Ron Franscell

Right at this moment, some pretty smart people are saying a depression is likely, and I am having weird dreams about loading the whole family on a rusty 1974 Pinto for a long trip to California. I still don't understand exactly how giving $800 billion to unethical bankers is going to make my life better. We still haven't gotten to the bottom of this global warming thing. The Dow fell below 10,000 today and a quick calculation of my 401(k) suggests I will be able to retire 42.4 years after my 100th birthday. I think it's possible we don't have the right presidential candidates again. Gas prices are like the weather ... they change every 10 minutes. And Osama bin Laden is still out there someplace.

But I'm not worried about any of that.

Why? Because I'm still obsessed with how O.J. Simpson could be so stupid as to dodge a murder conviction in the "trial of the century" only to go out -- again -- and commit another big-time crime.

Felony stupid.

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Ron Franscell is the author of the bestselling true crime/memoir "The Darkest Night" (2008, St. Martin's, $6.99). Living in San Antonio, Texas, he is now working on his fourth book.

By Ron Franscell

Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, two of the most infamous outlaws of America's Outlaw Age, have been rotting for 74 years in their Texas graves. But still today, you can buy a 1-inch square swatch of Clyde's blood-soaked trousers at one of two roadside museums, just up the lonely backroad from where the star-crossed lovers -- and cold-blooded killers -- were fatally ambushed by lawmen in 1934.

The Bonnie & Clyde Ambush Museum is one of those places that crime history buffs like me would drive a hundred miles out of the way to see (I did). It's been open less than a year in Gibsland, La., and is run by the son of one of the six cops who gunned down Bonnie and Clyde. It's also in the building that was once Ma Canfield's Cafe, where the lover-killers stopped minutes before the ambush -- their take-out sandwiches were found half-eaten on the dead Bonnie's lap.

The main industry in Gibsland (Pop. 1,091) in Bonnie and Clyde. Boots Hinton's Ambush Museum has artifacts related to the outlaws, including some of the guns seized from the outlaws' well-perforated car, the famed swatches of Clyde's pants, Bonnie's red tam, rare photos and films, even the prop car used in the 1967 film "Bonnie and Clyde" starring Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty. (The real death car and Clyde's bloodstained shirt are displayed at a Nevada casino.) But there's another museum next door with more stuff. And every May, there's a festive re-enactment of Bonnie and Clyde's Shakespearean end.

Apparently nothing else of note has ever happened in Gibsland, which is fortunate for Gibsland. This little burg has capitalized brilliantly on its single grotesque event. History buffs, crime fans, or just tourists with quirky tastes flock here to pay $7 a head for a peek at a bloody page of history.

Just about 8 miles down the road, a cracked, graffiti-ravaged stone monument marks the exact spot where Bonnie and Clyde died in a hail of 130 bullets fired by 6 Texas and Louisiana lawmen who never gave the killers a chance to reach for their weapons. Within minutes, the place was crawling with curious bystanders, who snipped some of Bonnie's hair and pieces of her gory dress, picked up shell casings and broken glass, even tried to cut off Clyde's finger and ear ... all for souvenirs. Like something out of the Old West, photographs were taken of the disfigured corpses, and the town where the couple was embalmed -- not buried -- swelled to five times its normal size with gawkers hoping to catch a glimpse of the dead couple.

But what's the modern fascination with Bonnie and Clyde (or Dillinger, Jesse James, Butch Cassidy or Al Capone)? It's one thing for a true-crime author and history nut to chase ghosts of unrepentant, angry thugs, but ordinary people? It hardly seems to be the opportunity to live a moment of justice, but maybe ... Is it the promise of blood? A chance to rub up against death?

In the case of the former (and to some small degree the latter), author Joseph Geringer, who wrote "Bonnie and Clyde: Romeo and Juliet in a Getaway Car," explained the long-lived legend this way: "Americans thrilled to their 'Robin Hood' adventures. The presence of a female, Bonnie, escalated the sincerity of their intentions to make them something unique and individual -- even at times heroic."

Indeed. A few of the vandals who have defaced the stone marker at the death site pay tribute to Bonnie and Clyde. To be sure, locks of Bonnie's hair or even that half-eaten sandwich might turn up on eBay when you least expect it.

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read more “Bonnie & Clyde are bullet-riddled dust, but they are immortal in our imagination”

Ron Franscell, author of the bestselling true-crime THE DARKEST NIGHT, will be the guest on Burl Barer's Internet radio show at 4 p.m. CDT Saturday (8/9). Listen on your computer by clicking on OutlawCrime.com

By Ron Franscell

You might think from watching the dizzying array of TV crime fare that DNA evidence is the incontrovertible defense killer (or in some cases, the golden key to the jailhouse door for wrongly convicted inmates). In most cases it is definitely the most trustworthy evidence ... except that for the past 7 years, questions have been rising about matches in the FBI's central database that defy the odds and send a little quiver through our faith in this science as a prosecutorial tool.

It all began in 2001, when an Arizona crime lab worker tested the state's DNA database and found two felons with similar genetic profiles. Remarkably, they matched at 9 of the 13 locations on chromosomes, or loci, commonly used to distinguish people from each other. In court, a DNA expert would say that the chance of these two men sharing these same markers would be 1 in 113 billion -- or nearly impossible.

But these two men did. And they weren't related: one was black and one was white.

Crime labs began conducting other searches. In 2 states, nearly 1,000 such cases were found where two criminals matched at 9 or more "loci."

This weekend, the Los Angeles Times reported that this surprising discovery has ignited a legal fight in which the FBI is trying to block similar searches and forestall even court-ordered inquiries into its DNA database known as CODIS (Combined DNA Index System). The FBI asserts the data was misleading and misrepresented, and further mucking around in its system will simply harm crime-fighting. The FBI has even reportedly threatened to cut off some states' access to CODIS if they persist in so-called "Arizona searches."

Nobody knows exactly how rare DNA matches are; they are just FBI estimates. But the dispute here focuses on one word: "profile." Your complete genetic makeup is unique, but your "genetic profile" is just a narrowly focused snapshot of your genes. As the Times said, siblings often share these genetic markers, and unrelated people can share some by coincidence. An exact match of 13 markers by two unrelated people is unlikely. The odds? 1 in 1 quadrillion.

DNA evidence laws have changed since that 2001 search. States now require DNA profiles match at 13 loci instead of nine, enormously strengthening the odds. But in some older, colder cases, 9 loci can still be used, and the Arizona results have thrown a huge wrench into those prosecutions.

What happens now? DNA remains a strong piece of evidence, and an even stronger argument for releasing wrongly convicted people. But the fight over the data is likely to muddy every single case in the near future where DNA is the only evidence against an accused offender.

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read more “DNA SNAFU: Crime labs are finding questionable matches in FBI system”

Ron Franscell is author of The Darkest Night, an atmospheric true crime/memoir about a monstrous 1973 crime against two childhood friends in a small town -- and how that one night continues to haunt that place 35 years later.

By Ron Franscell

Who hasn't gotten a summons for jury duty? For most of us, the worst part is thinking of ways to avoid jury duty, but what if you found yourself judging the guilt of a man who raped, dismembered and maybe ate his 6-year-old victim? What if you were forced to look at the grisly crime-scene photos and couldn't talk to anyone about it? What if your dreams were suddenly nightmares? And what if your only choices were to send this accused child rapist-butcher back onto the streets or kill him with a guilty verdict?

Luckily, more jurisdictions are realizing violent crime's effects on jurors. Courts in some parts of Washington, Oregon, Arizona, Michigan, Ohio, Minnesota, New York and Texas offer post-trial counseling and debriefing for jurors on difficult cases. Every day somewhere in America, a barbarous crime is being tried and at least 12 more people can be added to the list of some criminal's victims.

But jurors aren't the only humans indirectly affected by violent crime, which seldom has just one victim. Families, friends, even entire communities can be traumatized by a single barbarous act, and the effects can last a lifetime.

Last week, two victims of violence sought me out. The crimes that splashed them happened years ago -- in one case, 50 years ago. Both are kind and gentle people whose current lives they described as full and rewarding, but they were dragged back again and again to the awful events that marred their past. They wanted to talk about those moments when everything changed ... when the ripples began.

One was the survivor of a future serial killer's first awkward attempt to kill. The other was the small-town father of a teenager who murdered his mother and sister before committing suicide. Something wriggling inside them like a black worm made them want to tell their stories, as if talking about it might make them whole again.

I add them to the long list of peripheral victims I have known: the scuba diver who found the body of an 11-year-old murder victim in a deep river at the bottom of a dark canyon ... and never dived again; the boyhood friend of a murdered child who, even now as a middle-aged man, cries when he remembers that he didn't know how to grieve; the sober uncle of a murdered child who returned to the bottle after looking at her in her open casket ... and never took another sober breath before he died young from his alcoholism. All crime victims without portfolio. All affected ... but somehow not embraced.

True-crime writers hear these stories all the time. Readers see their own experiences in the stories we tell. They relive horrors and they seek out people who might hold the "magic beans" of solace, comfort and explanation. But we can seldom comfort or explain.

Crime's ripples threaten to break down the levees that protect our safety and sanity, each and every one ... if we let it. I have seen too many people splashed by its grotesquerie to think otherwise. I wish I had a way to protect us from it, to explain how we may avoid it altogether, to fix it when it happens.

I can't. I don't even have a good solution that doesn't involve making us all victims ... which I refuse to be. The best I can do is write stories and hope some universal lessons float to the surface. As I wrote in "The Darkest Night":
We are not stones. On stones, we carve the words that summarize our lives. With stones, we declare lifelong love. From stones, we take metaphors and meanings. Within stone walls and fences, we sometimes hide.

But it’s a messy world, and humans weren’t intended to live behind stone walls, so we must find our place in a messy world … or not truly live at all.

The fear of evil, like grief, must be reduced to its proper weight in our hearts. The memory of it never goes away, but we find a way to live with it. The children in our neighborhood now have children of their own. Most have continued living, wiser and chastened. Some of us went on to successes that let us see the place in prouder, happier ways, but all of us live with this one tragedy tucked away someplace in our hearts.

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read more “Crime's Rippling Effects: There's seldom only one victim”


Thirty-five years ago, Southeast Texas yielded up 27 corpses in what was then America's worst mass murder, even before the term "serial killer" had been coined. In 1973, 10 decaying corpses were found on a High Island beach and near Lake Sam Rayburn, and 17 others were exhumed from a southwest Houston boat shed.

Today, the body count has been exceeded, sadly, by other ghastly crimes. The so-called Houston Mass Murders -- all grisly child abductions solved long ago when the killer was shot dead by one of his young accomplices -- aren't news anymore. In a 500-channel world that devotes a substantial number of them to forensic and crime shows, and endless reruns of "Law & Order" episodes, nobody talks about this moldering old case anymore.

Until now.

Three of those 27 victims were never identified. Today, they would have been middle-aged men, except for the grotesquerie visited on them by a killer named Dean Corll (pictured at right), the monster of the moment known as Candy Man. They might have had children of their own. Children that would be missed. But these three, while they might be missed, have no names, no faces, no next of kin who has claimed them. And they have no graves because they rest in cold storage at the Harris County Medical Examiner's morgue where they bear only numbers.

Forgotten? Not by Sharon Derrick, a forensic anthropologist, who continues to seek their identities almost 4 decades later. And now the search is ramping up, because parents, sisters, brothers and other relatives are getting older and dying.

"We need to get the word out, because at some point before too awful long, there won't be anyone living that will have memories of them," Derrick told The Associated Press. "We really need to push this."

Candy Man's nameless corpses are a tragedy heaped upon an injustice. The Candy Man's grave in Pasadena, Texas, is marked, but 3 of his victims don't even have names as they wait years for someone to remember them.

FOOTNOTE: Corll is not the only Candy Man in Houston-area crime history. The other was Ronald Clark O'Bryan, also of Pasadena, who killed his own son with poisoned candy on Halloween in 1974. After his 1984 execution, the much-hated O'Bryan was buried in a secret grave somewhere in Texas under a fictitious name to discourage vandals.

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read more “Coldest Case: Medical examiner still seeks identities for 3 boys slaughtered by 1973 serial killer Dean Corll”

By Ron Franscell

Ron Franscell is the author of THE DARKEST NIGHT, an atmospheric true crime/memoir about the abduction, rape and murder of two childhood friends in the small town where he grew up ... and how the crime still echoes there 35 years later.


My mind has drifted lately to two distant hard-scrabble, god-forsaken landscapes where justice has been as elusive as sweet rain.

In California's Death Valley, they are chasing ghosts. The search for unknown, unnamed and unremembered victims of Charles Manson's murderous cult has literally hit a dead end. After digging four holes in the hot alkaline soil, investigators found no bones, no clothing remnants, no weapons ... nothing. Maybe it'd be like CSI, wrapped in an hour, so we watched. Maybe they'd find some 40-years-gone bit of macabre evidence to soothe a family, so we watched. Maybe they'd prove already know, that Manson is a monster, so we watched. Maybe they'd show the bone fragments, the rusty axe or the blood-stained blouse on TV, so we watched.

And in the desolation of West Texas, another chase has been frustrated while we watched. There, a limestone temple rises from the caliche, fenced off from the world. But it's not yet clear whether the fence was to keep the world out or to keep the polygamous Fundamentalist Latter Days Saints' secrets in. Last week, the Texas Supreme Court ruled that Texas Rangers and child-welfare authorities had no legal right to seize 468 children from the FLDS' secret compound, where they were essentially being raised into a perverse pedophilic society masquerading as religion. So very soon, those children might be returned to the parents who have so far failed to protect them from cultish molesters. Indeed, they have helped breed a steady supply of victims.

In Death Valley, we are obsessed by the savage symbol of Charles Manson and the promise of ghastly treasure buried for more than 40 years. In Texas, in the midst of an ongoing crime and a perverse legal tangle, we are less fascinated. (We can blame our language. The word most commonly associated with the FLDS mess is "polygamy," one of those seemingly victimless crimes that excites almost nobody except would-be polygamists, when we should be talking about "pedophilia" -- which engenders a vastly different response.)

The Texas mess centers on the letter of the law. The court doesn't deny that crimes are likely happening in the FLDS compund, but says authorities should have been more surgical and had better evidence before removing all 468 children from the compound. But is it so hard to imagine that citizens and even some lawyers would have protested loudly if authorities had not acted to protect those children? Ah, that's a hypothetical for government's next cult confrontation.

Manson and FLDS are not related in almost any way except their landscapes and this blog. One is about high-tech forensic science; the other is about due process. One is about murder; the other is about child molestation and deviance in the name of religion. One is ancient history; the other is now. One is an admittedly engrossing drama and the other appears to be bogged down in complex legal prattle.

But they share a question: What really matters to us?

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read more “Obsession and Indifference: Charles Manson and the polygamous mess”

Ron Franscell is author of the bestselling new true-crime/memoir THE DARKEST NIGHT. You can hear interviews with him this month on Dennis Griffin's "Meet the Author" (2 p.m. EDT, May 16) and WVLK-AM in Lexington, Ky. (9 a.m. EDT, May 23.)

Before there was Las Vegas ... there was Hot Springs.

Arkansas might seem an unlikely place for the likes of Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, Bugs Moran, various Genovese capos, Bugsy Siegel, Frank Costello and Meyer Lansky, but from the 1930s into the 1960s, the city's spas, horse tracks, whorehouses and open-secret gambling made it a perfect getaway from humdrum life of big-city racketeering, murder and assorted malfeasance back home.

At first blush, it might seem odd that Hot Springs is home to the nation's first-ever gangster museum. But the last place in the world to open the Gangster Museum of America? Fuhgeddaboudit.

Hot Springs has gangster Owney "The Killer" Madden to thank. When he moved to Hot Springs in the 1930s, it must have seemed like paradise after his stretch in New York's Sing Sing prison for manslaughter and parole violations. Madden laid out the welcome mat for his mob friends (and enemies) -- and they came. The spa city was considered neutral territory and mostly vacationed peacefully together.

"Until Tony Soprano came along, I probably couldn't do this," said Robert Raines, the museum's director. "I'm glamorizing these guys, and they weren't very nice people."

Today, Hot Springs' gangster days are still big business. Crime-tourists often request Al Capone's regular suite at Hot Springs' Arlington Hotel: Room 442.

And the museum's downtown building itself has a checkered history. Built at the turn of the 20th century, it has been home to the Hot Springs chamber of commerce ... a drive-in mortuary and a bordello.

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read more “Hot Springs, Hot Water: America's first gangster museum opens ... in Arkansas?”

In Cold Blog is a true crime blog founded by best selling author Corey Mitchell, and is written by award winning journalists, authors, criminal justice professionals and others.

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