eS AT CONFRONTING THE EVIL eS SR a7 Pe NTs To eS di Pe RA ee cn Remake PrccReeti Rms ke committed. Milwaukee Cus ie aR his son Jeffrey was a ree OLMULLCLg years, TUS eS, SS eR CUR ee PUSAN eUOm ilar PYM MIC world of complete To (=1n1(e ie RCo se RI URL innocent, then Pecan cael R es AORN LARS ioe) Ro) PeeeNen PCM K CMA LOIN ene ne POM eRMCcuecMe eel (ore mmm seeluS Perera TOUR cc) Ae AAMC UmAe(° Me 1el(¢ C10] ie and the ‘evil’ that had compelled him was far more disturbing than any Lionel Dahmer might have imagined. CSR TMU Cole] Ite Lae RAT MeL USO ATS) son were graphically detailed, Lionel Dahmer began to place himself in the dock SUT SOE M ICM OOLVI CoN SMC) LT ieee elm Reoln atts hts descent toward that Wee ein RelA ATC) Leda Oa} inevitably intersected with his son’s. In COM RSOM Roots cs hit darkest Journey ever made by a stricken a pall! ultimately led one Painful rom Admission of ate ee i,| A FATHER’S STORYA Little, Brown Book First published in the United States by William Morrow in 1994 First published in Great Britain by Little, Brown and Company in 1994 Copyright © 1994 by Baramin Group Inc. The moral right of the author has been asserted, All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Printed in England by Clays Ltd, St Ives ple ISBN 0 376 910120 Little, Brown and Company (UK) Limited Brettenham House Lancaster Place London WC2E 7ENThis book is dedicated to Steven Hicks, Steven Tuomi, Doxtator, Richard Guerrero, Anthony Sears, nd Smith, Edward Smith, Ernest Miller, David Curtis Straughter, Errol Lindsey, Tony ‘onerak Sinthasomphone, Matt Turner, Jer- ger, Oliver Lacy, and Joseph Brade- deepest sympathy andFOREWORD by Thomas H. Cook n the night of July 22, 1991, two police officers of Milwaukee’s Third Police District were ap- “proached by thirty-two-year-old Tracy Edwards as they sat in their patrol car in one of the city’s most blighted neighborhoods. A pair of handcuffs dangled Edwards's left wrist, and while the officers lis- he groggily told them of being taken to a nearby ment by a young white man who had subse- y attempted to handcuff him. ough initially skeptical of Edwards's story, the eed to accompany him to the apartment incident had allegedly occurred. Once found a mild-mannered young man who as Jeffrey Dahmer. utes, Dahmer talked calmly to the ‘one of them requested the key to still use srony Tracy ee SForEWwORD er was returned to his place in the liy- a one of the officers headed toward the ing room, and instead. a that officer saw a few seconds later formed the initial investigative stage of a cee that would fi- nally attain international celebrity. Lying haphazardly in an open dresser drawer were Polaroid photographs of young men in various stages of dismemberment. Later investigation would uncover human body parts in the nearby refrigerator, a full human skeleton hang- ing in a closet, glass jars containing male genitalia awash in formaldehyde, and an assortment of other receptacles for the sludge of decomposing bone and viscera which it had been Jeffrey Dahmer’s grim pac- tice to collect. Within days, much of the world had been in- formed of the tragic acts that Dahmer had Carried out in Apartment 213. They knew he had chosen most of his victims from a buck. Sex, of a sort, © 8ay bars and bath- his casual Mention of eenFoReEWORD the two hundred men with whom he claimed to have had sexual relations, was there ever any suggestion of personal affection or attachment. The need for love may well have existed. But the capacity for it, even the most rudimentary sense of how to achieve and sustain it, seems to have been missing. Instead, Dah- mer sought only to “‘play the field,” as he later told one of his psychiatrists, satisfied by relationships that e, in his own words “‘shallow,’’ that is to say, sexual, devoid of more complicated needs or ions. ards the men to whom he was attracted, the ion for Jeffrey Dahmer, as he later stated it ion with his first victim, was simply, “How Buy?” er was usually money, though he offered il victims relatively little of it, a mere fifty anying him to his apartment and ‘the small television he'd installed ‘money, especially so little of it, secure the physical presence And so, after the initial con-ForeEwORD itted the unutterable horrors upon which the he comm| tandably focused. oe because Jeffrey Dahmer was n | killer. His crimes had probed not an ordinary _ 2 plesHeted limits of the humanly imaginal ee ee hilia, and even cannibalism. He practiced necrophilia, i had murdered repeatedly, at least seventeen times. Toward the end, the intervals between murders had shortened radically, and he had begun to kill with a frenzied insatiability. During the short fifteen days before his arrest, he had murdered no fewer than three young men. The trial of Jeffrey Dahmer began in January of 1992. From that time until he was sentenced to nine hundred and fifty-seven years in prison several weeks later, the terrible story of his crimes unfolded day by day, each hideous detail fully explored, each perver- a enumerated, each dismemberment catalogued. sre were pictures and diagrams, forensic and psy- chiatric testimony, all of it Presented in the most ex- Cruciating detail, As Dahmer's Crimes, fantasies i and s Practices were revealed ecret sexual it became clear aS not the Suffering of his vic- i and Wt deaths and dismemberment Dahmer. It was 10ForReworb Just before being sentenced, Dahmer spoke qui- etly to the judge, as well as to the families of his victims. He asked that no mercy be extended to him and said that he had chosen to go to trial, rather than plead guilty, because he “wanted to find out just what it was that caused me to be so bad and evil.” The trial, of course, produced no such startling mination of the tragic compulsions which gener- Dahmer’s crimes. ‘who was Jeffrey Dahmer? We must admit im- ly that no one will ever know, that Jeffrey er is a mystery even to himself. Because the crimes proceed from the darkest of hearts, claim to have discovered the ultimate enigma either of the criminal or hisFOREWORD Z ictures filled the family album, Hehe) he ea of his own. — “ life moves forward through a rec- oe f joy and grief, success and fail- ognizable landscape of joy : fhe a ure. We exist within the confines of the ordi ble le have good days and bad days. We do some things well, others badly. We take and give pleasure, take and give distress. We are never called upon to con- front the truly monstrous, much less to see it in the face of one we brought into the world, nurtured to maturity, sought, however fallibly, to aide and com- fort, teach and guide. We see the monstrous in the 8rainy photographs of tabloid newspapers and pulp Magazines. But these faces remain distant, alien, com- fortingly remote. The and daughters. That is what se Fest of us, and that rience, It also consti Our attention, as well listen, Y are not the faces of our sons Parates Lionel Dahmer from the tutes his legitimate claim upon as his right to speak and have us was made that the crimes of his om them. Excerpts € the rounds of the die. Publishing pe which mad, me nted and derided as Were pri 12FoREWORD a salacious, money-grubbing attempt to capitalize upon the infamous acts that had been committed by his son. It is an accusation that Mr. Dahmer has em- phatically denied, and during the time that | have worked with him on this book, | have seen no sug- gestion that money was the aim of this—for lack of a better word—confession. Instead, | have seen a father try to come to terms both with the dreadful actions of his son, and with his own actions as a father. | have : him confront every error of judgment, every mis- ulation, every instance of obliviousness that might contributed to his son’s derangement. | have ied him open himself up to the darkest possibil- father may allow. On certain, emotionally ing occasions, | have seen him choke back his ave the table, and come back to it, glance then return his attention to the appalling tis fatherhood. | have seen him confront a ar more clearly than he, has recognized and worked to face it. have observed. | cannot speak aboutingly perhaps even : ; Dahmer bequeathed his son. Like a sory, it is a tale OF WORF and forebod and denial. Perhaps, more than anytl f that parental dread which, to’ trayal O' another, all parents share, the terrible child has slipped beyond your gre girl or boy is spinning in the void maelstrom, lost, lost, lost.ACKNOWLEDGMENTS he names of friends, acquaintances, and strangers who supported Shari and me throughout this dark- est period of our lives are much more numerous than the people who showed ill will toward us. We des- perately needed the understanding words and prayers. Although I have never met Patrick Kennedy, | have been told that he treated Jeff as a human being during the long questioning periods immediately following the arrest. | express my gratitude to him and to his partner in the Milwaukee Detective Bureau, Dennis Murphy, whom | did meet and respect for his like behavior toward Jeff and me. Shari has a very special spot in her memory of Captain M. Gurich, Patrol Division of the Medina, Ohio, County Sheriff's Department and his two dep- uties, who came to inform her of Jeff's arrest. She remembers Captain Gurich gently breaking the details to her as he sat on the couch in our home. Also, my thanks to all of the sheriff’s staff for their assistance on a moment's notice to protect my wife from harass- ment from the press and media. 15AcKNOWLEDGMENTS rae earance in Akron, Ohio, in oo cael John Karabatsos, and all the associate deputies exhibited extremely pee d humane treatment toward Jeff, Shari, an 1 me. z Being a longtime resident of Bath, Ohio, and participating with many of the members of the Bath Fire and Rescue Squad in Indian guides, Tall, etc., | learned early of the efficiency and dedication of the Bath Police Department, and of the caring nature of Chief Gravis. The degree of professionalism and sensitivity exhibited by Detective Lt. Richard Mun- sey of the Bath Police, as he handled various aspects of the investigation, was exceptional, and will not be forgotten. A special thanks is also due to Kenneth Risse of the West Allis, Wisconsin, Police Department for Prompt and extraordinary Tesponse to my frequent calls for patrol cars to control t! er's home and pro trolman, During Jet's May 1992, Sher! he assault on my moth- perty by the media. His young pa- Jacques Chevreman, guarded my mother’sACKNOWLEDGMENTS Ed Gernon, a screenwriter in Los Angeles, for starting me on the book project. Also, to Nancy Snyder, for her continued and constant support in our troubled times, | say a very warm and heartfelt thank you. With great affection, gratitude, and respect, | ac- ledge attorneys Robert and Joyce Mozenter of lelphia, Larry Vuillemin of Akron, and Steve ‘g of Madison, with Larry Vuillemin as Jeff's ittorney for legal affairs connected with the Ohio area, and with Steve Eisenberg han- | affairs in Wisconsin. We wish to ac- for their tremendous contributions in Jeff and us in all legal matters after the ince these people have come on that we have a strong, caring,ACKNOWLEDGMENTS For my agent Joel Gotler and his Renaissance ff in Los Angeles, California, 1 am very —_ ae for insightful advice and efficient, rapid aoe especially during the frustrating, un- certain times before completion of this book. Joel has shown his concern for us as individuals, while dem- onstrating his professionalism as a business person with excellent contacts. From the first meeting with the William Morrow Publishing Company in New York City, | felt that Se- nior Editor Paul Bresnick and his staff were interested ina story that would be from an entirely different van- tage point. | thank Paul for his commitment to this book and for his considerate flexibility during some initial Problems. | am very grateful that William Morrow and Paul allowed me the Opportunity to explore the rela- tionships intertwining my background with Jeff's, toACKNOWLEDGMENTS Finally, | reserve until last two very important per- sons in my life. One, who is very much alive but whose health has been permanently altered by this ordeal, my wife, Shari. This book could not have been written without the immense assistance of Shari. It was her memory, her insight, and her sensitivity that made it possible. She is the epitome of a tremen- dously caring helpmate who will give her all to pro- ¢ her own. The other person is my mother, who just months ago succumbed to the ravages of this Catherine Dahmer, an unwitting victim, loved me without reservation, unconditionally. The of love and the quality of family experiences e and my devoted father, Herbert Dahmer, ith me could be a standard, | think, for par- here. The reason that | write of Shari and ether is that they had formed a bond that ‘especially strong in these later years. ly stream from Shari’s eyes when the special things Catherine would she felt for him, the fact that she life for eet or me. These are © Lone H. DarimerIn deep and awful channel runs This sympathy for Sire and Sons —William Wordsworththe police had told me that my son was dead, | would have thought differently about him. If they’d that a strange man had lured him to a seedy ent, and a few minutes later, drugged, stran- sexually assaulted and mutilated his dead ther words, if they’d told me the same hor- they had to tell so many other fathers July of 1991, then | would have done done. | would have mourned my son- lone the things tl really Jet a _ could anyone ee such things? | had bee a es where they said he had done t c in rooms and basements which at according to the police, had been slaughterhouse. | had looked in my, and seen only a scattering of milk. cans. | had leaned casually on tl claimed my son had used both as’ and a bizarre Satanic altar. Ho all of this had been hidden from horrible physical evidence of my son dark nature of the man who had ce child | had held in my arm: whose face, when | glimp: looked like mine? Predictably, ag the came increasingly that Jeff could not Own, but that he one else, so, who had taken a lation, and had Conjured yjas Satanic as the ones in “other” was an evil genius bolical Svengali who had cle of his power, and tl mindless demon. As | a such a person, the air arout darting, screeching bats, briefly, a world that was as as the things my son had do But | am an analytical how much | might have wa ality of this demonic “other,” was no more than a phantom my son, to remove some part been heaped upon him. And so, my first confro with the fact that | am ana real things, not things that evidence, and it has to be anyone. There was no evi helped him do such things. evidence that anyone from his apartment, bLioneL DAHMER them had ever had the slightest suspicion of the hor- rors that lay behind that closed door. is Jeff had done everything alone, everything in se- cret. No one was to blame for all these deaths but him, and there was no question but that | had to accept that fact. Jeff had done it all. He alone was to blame. So that was what the police really told me in July of 1991. Not that my son was dead, but that some- thing inside of him was dead, that part which should have made him think about the misery he was caus- __ ing, and so draw back from causing it. ___ This part is alive in most people, at least to some ‘degree. True, everyone is selfish at times. Everyone is vain and egocentric to some extent. But in most peo- , there is a line that this part Commands us not to Cross. It tells us that we can 80 only so far in the way We treat other people, only so far in the way we dam- s them. It may be that this “part” is no more than a ain Bate °F a Configuration of brain cells, We hear: oscience,” “being human,” or “having a ; Sodot People may think it comes from ‘raining. 1 dont ee oe —_ it comes from moral ce iat, only repeat what the = a in: oe it had ei- : ve in the first place. 8 that was my most re ad- Reo Omething Missing j me jeff, th have Cried out, Stop! rat) iS 28Jett, catching his breath and giggling, as Lionel lifts him up and down, 1960CHAPTER ONE y son Jeff was born in Milwaukee on May 21, 1960. It had not been an easy pregnancy. My wife had gotten pregnant very quickly, only two after our marriage, and neither of us, | sup- really prepared for it. During the first part of ncy, Joyce began to suffer from morning d as time went on, it steadily worsened or less continual state of nausea, one so found it difficult to keep any food ‘continual vomiting even affected her d she finally found it necessary to type instructor. ined at home, coping as best nausea, but with other ail- ical and emotional. , Joyce became increasingly ned to bother her, but partic- g odors that came from the two-family apartment She found the slightest odor, regardless of howLioneL DAHMER = ordinary, Was insufferable to a ee a manded that ! do something abou ! gS. wanted me to complain ano every noise, every odor. But this was something that | simply could not do. | have always found it difficult to confront other people, and certainly, | felt unable to confront my downstairs neighbors about noises and odors that were well within normal range. The fact is, none of the problems that Joyce continually complained about seemed very bad to me. But they seemed very bad to Joyce, and over time, she grew increasingly irritable at my refusal to com- plain to our neighbors. Because of that, we began to _ argue. At times, the arguments were very heated, and ‘once, to escape the tension they generated, Joyce left __ the house completely, and walked to a nearby park, where she sat on a bench, wrapped in her coat, all alone in the snow, until | came for her, from the bench, and walked her back to t Can remember how sh led her home. There ‘there didn’t seem elt helpless. She NaYS reass tugged her he house. | e trembled beneath my arm as was a real sadness in her face, to be much | could do to relieve would ask me jf | loved her, and ure her, even though these reas- ine to satisfy her, = ie — moments now, | think of my _ ae ™y inability to show itina t have been Meaningful to her.A FaTHER’sS STORY showed love by working, by striving, by tending to her every physical need, by moving toward a future which | expected to share with her. That was not what she needed, of course, but it was all that | could give. Thinking analytically, which is the way | tend to think, 1 saw myself as a dutiful husband, a provider of the sssentials—food, clothing, shelter—the kind of man y father had been, which served as my only model at a husband should be. fact that Joyce found it difficult to accept me ntinued to plague our marriage in the com- It was a problem which our living con- ade worse, and in the end, it became conditions, at least, had to be mell of our neighbor's cooking struck the rustling of their pots and pans,Lionet DAHMER her whole body would grow rigid and 5 ble. Her jaw would jerk to the right and begin to tremble. Tier + cidity’ “UTR a similarly frightening rigidity. During these — izures, her eyes would bulge like a fright- strange sé ) é - e ened animal, and she would begin to salivate, literally frothing at the mouth. 2 Each time Joyce was taken by one of these sei- zures, | would take turns with my parents walking her around the dining room in an attempt to relieve the rigidity. Slowly, we would make our way around the dining room table, Joyce barely able to walk, but do- ing her best, while | held her up. This procedure very rarely worked, however. Because of that, a doctor would usually have to intervene, giving Joyce injec- tions of barbiturates and morphine, which would fi- nally relax her. Joyce's doctor could find no medical reason for these sudden attacks. He suggested that they were —— Joyce's mental, rather than her physical, being pregency. Were probably tied to her had tobe done, an * her first baby. Still, something list of medications joe 34ded Phenobarbital to the “eclcations that had alread: be ' This additional a 'y been prescribed. Bood, however, and oe appeared to do little | She becam, Cyce’s emotional condition ‘ame increasing| ae gly tense and irrita- ble. She took Offense guj With others, ks and often seemed angry = at the 8enerally harsh na : ture of in place, and 34A FaTHER’s Story During this period, | did what | thought | could do to keep Joyce comfortable, but at the same time, | realize now, | also left her alone with my parents quite often. | was a graduate student at Marquette Univer- sity, studying for my master’s in analytical chemistry. was also working as a graduate assistant. As a result, Iwas away from home for much of the day, particu- arly during the last two months of her pregnancy. | ig, intervening hours, Joyce was forced to ore or less housebound with my mother. She n have a driver's license. There was noLionet DAHMER tional condition, Joyce continued taking various uld sometimes take as many as twenty- ae get No doubt these helped to relieve some pee suffering, but for her emotional dis- tress—the sense of helplessness and isolation that sometimes overwhelmed her—there appeared to be no relief. The irritability continued, and she grew more and more alienated from both me and my par- ents. | felt helpless to do anything about it. | found it difficult, as | have always found it difficult, to read the exact emotional state of another person, and during this time, | certainly found it difficult to read Joyce. So | floundered about, doing what | could, for the most part ineffectively. Joyce often lashed out at these awk- ward attempts to comfort her, a reaction that some- times baffled me, since such anger was so different from my own way of handling things—the general Passivity with which | have more often reacted to the ups and downs of life, | Nn any event, we never really came to terms with se Of that first year. Because of that, | think Ist troubled €xperience laid the foundation for a longe: ani '8€r, and even ‘ore troubled, marriage. In More tr marriage Some sense, our = tee the damage eee felationship never recovered from improved. © tat this early stage, never really Then, at th y at the born. end i: Of this long trial, my son was 36A FaTHerR’s STORY | was at Marquette when he came. It was around four-forty-five in the afternoon, and | was working in he graduate-assistant office when the phone rang. It fas my mother, telling me that my father had already en Joyce to Deaconess Hospital, only a few blocks Marquette. drove to the hospital immediately and discov- at Jeff had already been delivered. | went Joyce’s room and found her in bed, looking of course, but also quite happy for the first weeks. ‘“You have a son,” she said. ites later, | saw my son for the first time. I plastic bassinet, his body wrapped | could see him lying motionlessly losed, sleeping quietly. | stared at I ‘much he looked like me, how ‘ifin miniature, i in thatLionet DAHMER me, | could see his small eyes peng here “nd there, taking in the world for the first times | often think of him in that initial innocence. | imagine the shapes he must have os the blur of moving colors, and as I recall him in his infancy, I feel overwhelmed by a sense of helpless dread. | consider his eyes, blinking softly, and then 1 remember all the horrors they will later see. | dwell on the small, pink hands, and in my mind | watch them grow larger and darker as | think about all that they will later do, of how stained they will become with the blood of oth- ers. It is impossible to reconcile these visions, or to escape their sadness. They are like scenes from sep- arate worlds, pages from different books, so that it is impossible to imagine how the end of my son’s life could have sprung from the beginning of it. For during those first few days, after we brought Jeff home, a happiness settled over us. The long ordeal Si SR ge seemed over, a dreadful hard- ae = ied had all but obliterated from our ‘ ime, we experienced that kind of joy all of us ho rounded fy ofa happy, smiling baby, sur- a, ; Swirl of pink bubbles, its tiny fist 38A FaTHER'’S STORY wrapped around a slide rule. Inside, Joyce had written a short poem: Chemistry has many phases With chemists in a fuss Well here's our little formula Patented by us! it was a happiness that lasted for only the time. Within a few days of bringing Jeff home, an to develop once again. , there was the question of nursing. - process seriously disturbed Joyce She began to dread it terribly. her to relax. She told JoyceLioneL DAHMER my mother, refusing to come Be 2 the table _ join the rest of us for dinner. Instead, she remaine up- stairs, alone in her bed, with Jeff sleeping quietly in the small bassinet 2 few feet away: : There were also arguments with me, disputes that seemed to have no solution. Often, Joyce would leave the house, and once, | found her nearly five blocks away, lying in a field of high grass, her body draped only in her nightgown. By then, of course, | had become aware of Joyce’s own childhood, of her father’s alcoholism, of the long battle she had waged to overcome the domination and wildly explosive behavior he had imposed upon her and her entire family. But when | tried to analyze her situation, | always reached a wall | couldn’t climb. What could | possibly do about her past? How could I make up for it? What could Joyce do about it, other than finally put it behind her? In my view, the point was to forget whatever fear or cruelty she’d experi- — child, and to concentrate on the future. It Bthir a clear and uncomplicated. You them. ifficulties, or you were crushed by To — s ee Was utterly one-dimensional. - ‘as also unreal, since it failed to f€cognize th; = at Joy tainly more a Ce was more complicated, and cer- €eply wounded th. i i me, and t felt, an | could imagine. elpless in dealing with her. 40A FATHER’S STORY I couldn’t understand where her fears and rages came from, and so | often avoided her, fleeing to my la ratory, where things were considerably less volatile, ind where all reactions could be systematically con- Because of that, Joyce often remained alone for riods of time, isolated, in some sense helpless, as at work at Marquette, my life taking on a e and immensely comforting routine. | had just my work schedule, of course, but all the yen when at home, | often occupied my- e work and studying for exams. | was at but some other part of me was busy future, as | saw it, thei“ Lionet DAHMER hich a struggling graduate student could locate his whic 2 ife and child with a reasonable sense that they wile while he was away. = sae Jeff was babbling happily. He took great delight in sitting in his high chair while we fed him, energetically spitting his food out even ee we struggled to make him eat. He seemed to take a fierce joy in this practice, laughing all the way down to the bottom of his stomach, his whole body shaking, as if seized in a frenzy of enjoyment. For the next two years, we continued to live in this apartment while | worked at Marquette. Joyce re- mained at home with Jeff, seeing to his every need. She would take him for walks in the buggy, once as far as five miles to Marquette University to surprise me. During all this time, our relationship was a mix- ture of good and bad times. It was not the period of Constant tension it would later become. Joyce became More relaxed, as if she wer i new “role” of wife and mother. To me, she seemed reasonably content, As for Jeff, he , likable child, He played contin- walker,” Scooting in all directions e sidewalk on the side of ck, toppling over, bloody- to the house where Joyce mforted him as he gradu- shaking ang Sucking in his breath in 42A FatHer’s Story fright. He played with the usual stuffed toys, bunnies and dogs, with wooden blocks that he loved to stack carefully and then push over with a sudden, powerful thrust. In the fall, while in his playpen, he would metimes gather up the surrounding leaves and be- 1 to tear at them fiercely. Once, when | asked him hat he was doing, he replied simply, “Ruputa “which meant ‘‘ripping the leaves.” Then he of 1962, | was offered a graduate assis- e Ph.D. program at lowa State Univer- shortly ; that, Joyce, Jeff, and | iversity’s Campus at Ames, lowa.Lionet DAHMER liking. In the new post that Wa eee i students. work, | would noes ith chemicals and lab Id be working wit 5 instead d by analytical instruments in equipment, surrounded by ; iackaah an environment that was nearly free of con students. As such, it was a welcome change from the sort of work I'd been doing. Although | enjoyed work- ing with students, the lab offered different challenges, and | soon began to think of it as the place where | really flourished. In the lab, the iron-clad laws of sci- ence governed an otherwise chaotic world of actions and reactions. In the world at large, and particularly regarding my relationship with Joyce, things were More obscure and complicated. It was often hard for me to know exactly where | stood, or what | should do at any particular moment. The lab, on the other hand, was a place where | felt safe in my judgments, secure in my expertise. Outside it, | felt far less certain of myself, far less able to » that | und, governed things erstood the laws that Joyce remai ned at home at Pi found the h ae louse in a vi ; ery unwhole- oe Samoa we'd arrived, and ieee pate led down to the task of doing far more Meanwhile, Court. We had 44A FATHER’S STORY cleaning and scrubbing than she’d anticipated. Once again, she found herself more or less locked away at home, while | spent my days, and now a good deal of y nights, at work in the laboratory. As a result, her emotional state began to deterio- recurrent dream plagued her, one in which she -ontinually being chased by a large black bear. times screamed in her sleep. At times | to calm her, making the typical suggestions tic mind, recommending that she walk drink a glass of warm milk, but never he actual dream, or the roots from more heated,LioNnet DAHMER and he began to bes out at the nurses to treat him. a eke times, too, times when Jeff fe ge vigorous and full of fun. We went to — é festivals, and Ames had its own small ae we occasionally visited. | set up a swing ee our house, and made a sandbox Bie to play in when the weather was such that he could stay jection lumps, ash it all, Jeff remained a happy, ebullient child. When | arrived at home for supper, he would come rushing to me and jump into my arms. He was eager and expressive, and he loved to play and to be tead to in the evening. He played with large blocks now, and rode a small tricycle. Even more, he loved for me to take him riding on a bicycle, his body seated on the chrome handlebars. On one of these rides, Jeff suddenly demanded that | stop immediately. He was quite excited, his eyes very wide as he fixed them on something | could not make out. When | brough: ‘ : up ahead and ies oe “Look,” he said “look a “What?” at that. 1 . Pointing at. asked, still unable to see what he was “Ws right there,’ looked Jeff cried. More ii " Closely in the direction he indi- 46A FatHer’s Story cated, and saw a small mound that looked like little more than a clump of dirt. When I drew closer, | saw at it was a nighthawk that had fallen from its nest .d now lay helplessly on the hard pavement. We the bike and went closer. At first, we didn’t ‘0 do, but at Jeff's urging, | picked it up took it home. Over the next few health, feeding it a mixture of ich we served by means of a the bird took solid food, hamburger. It grew took it outside to and | can stillNeW Braduate-<- hoo! Yionel, tows State ( arrivals J, Unive leff, Joyce, ersity, 1969 andCHAPTER TWO hen | was a little boy, | developed an obsession. Slowly, over time, | became fixated upon, in a 5 pnotized by, the physical presence of fire. an old man who lived only three or four vn from my childhood home. He had a and smoked a pipe. When he wanted to , he struck the necessary match on his As a child, | saw him do it many times, perhaps my early obsession with fire single, curious, and often-repeated ise, and in response to whatever my fixation grew over the years. € matchbook collection. Still ice of stealing matches. I’d | found them, lying on a wer. Then I'd sneak away ‘ike them one by one and by the dancing flames. stages, my father neverLionet DAHMER one as a high-school math teacher and a i, asa he was a busy man. He knew only what most batbel know about their children. He knew when a sick, when they'd beers physically hurt, and when they'd triumphed or failed in some important matter. z My father, of course, did not know anything of my inner life. He did not know, for example, that at times during the school day, | began experiencing new and mysterious (to me) sensations as | climbed the jungle gym or the parallel bars, or as | rubbed up against bathroom stalls. He did not know that | later fanta- sized about ample, buxom women. These are the sorts of things, of course, that fathers rarely know about their growing sons, the private world of their devel- ping sexual needs, the twists they take as they find Ways of satisfying them. Nevertheless, my father was very involved in his role as parent, Particularly so, given the general ap- Proach to fatherhood at the time, which was to be Somewhat distant, a figure whose primary function 'ecessities and maintain disci-A FATHER’S STORY But there were things he didn’t know, and one of them was that his son had begun to drift, helplessly and innocently drift, toward a fixation which had, in its most dreadful form, the potential for a vast and unfathomable destruction. And so, | continued with my obsession. It grew er, and began to include a fascination with bombs, h the making of explosives. Still, it was fire that ed me until, while indulging my obsession one - afternoon, | very nearly burned down a garage. last, my father learned that there were us impulses in me, that somewhere, without M “how, a dark pathway had been dugLionet DAHMER was nothing more than a ste eb oe oy sed upon my father’s own confident notion was aa with fire was one | could control ae of my will alone. It would never have oc- curred to him that such a fascination might attach itself to my sexuality, that it might hook on to that relentlessly driving engine, and that if it did, my will would be crushed beneath it like a small twig beneath a roaring train. His naiveté protected him from such dark imaginings. | think my naiveté protected me, as well, from an early uneasiness about what might have been devel- oping in my son. In the late fall of 1964, when Jeff was four years old, and we were still living at Pammel Court, | noticed a smell which very clearly came from beneath the house. | took a flashlight and a plastic bucket and Crawled under the house to find whatever it was that Was generating such an unbearable odor. A few min- ness a large pile of bones, the remains of are Acie which had probably been killed Populated the general area. It was the = ap a Civets, a close relative of the skunk, cee “S “2 the house. They had used the area — as a place for devouring the small Preyed u i _ Within afew minutes 1 ot animal remains 1A FATHER’S STORY ment of bones, white, dry, and completely fleshless, since they had been picked clean by the civets. Joyce and Jeff were waiting for me as | came out _ from under the house. Once on my feet again, | set the bucket down and began to talk to Joyce. | was still talking to her a few minutes later when | glanced and saw Jeff as he sat on the ground only a few t away. He had taken a great many of the bones the bucket and was staring at them intently. From e, he would pick a few of them up, then let with a brittle, crackling sound that seemed e him. Over and over, he would pick up a es, then let them drop back into the pile on the bare ground. to him, and as | bent down to gather throw them away, Jeff released an- - of bones and let them clatter to the th ; the sound theyLionet DAHMER foretaste of his -— = per to me, as it often edge of a chill. oe ae 2 something dark and shadowy, of a malicious force growing in bos ae now colors almost every memory | have of his ae In a sense, his childhood no longer exists. Everything is now a part of what he did as a man. Because of that, I can no longer distinguish the ordinary from the for- bidding—trivial events from ones loaded with fore- boding. When he was four, and pointed to his belly button and asked what would happen if someone cut it out, was that merely an ordinary question from a child who had begun to explore his own body, or was it a sign of something morbid already growing in his mind? When, at six, Jeff broke several windows out in an old, abandoned building, was that only a typical hood prank, or was it the early signal of a dark andA FATHER’S STORY orthopedics or anatomical drawing or sculpture. It might simply have led to taxidermy. Or, more likely, it might have pointed to absolutely nothing, and been forgotten. But now, | will never be able to forget it. Now, it an early suggestion, whether actual or not, of a ubtle direction in my son’s thought. t the time, however, | hardly thought of it at all. to the extent that | gave Jeff any early guid- at least as far as his future interests might be, it d the sciences, particularly chemistry. after I'd discarded the animal remains I'd our house, | took Jeff to my chemistry irst time. We walked from home, © as we moved down the narrow dirt our house to the university’s me’Lionet DAHMER But at the same time, he asked no questions, and seemed more or less indifferent to the laboratory at. mosphere. It was a day’s outing, nothing more, and when it was over, he appeared no more interested in the mechanics of science than he might have been in a light show or a fireworks display. He was a child enjoying the company of his father, and when our time in the lab was over and we strolled back down the dirt road toward home, he bounced along beside me with the same energy and -playfulness that he’d shown as we'd walked to the lab earlier in the day. There was no suggestion that he’d developed even the most fleeting interest in anything I'd shown him. Noth- ing in the vast array of laboratory equipment, the walls of bottled chemicals, the glittering cabinets filled with tubes and vials and beakers, nothing in all that had managed to captivate him with anything like the Power of old bones like fiddlesticks. = “n8age in scuffling or other Bames Whose ruler Ene: Instead, he preferred ighly defined and noncon- 56A FATHER’S STORY frontational, games full of repetitious actions, partic- ularly those that were generally based on themes of stalking and concealment, games like hide-and-seek, kick the can, and ghost in the graveyard. Sometimes, when | would come home from the Jab to grab a quick supper before returning to it, | would see Jeff crouching behind a tree or hiding be- ind bushes. At those moments, he seemed totally absorbed, so | rarely made the effort to break his con- on by calling to him or waving as | walked ‘house. Instead, | let him go, had my supper, seconds later, bent upon my own obsession, as, perhaps, no less intense than his. the lab, | became absorbed .in my own never a great student. What others got 9k me much longer. | was a plodder, a | worker. For me, anything less than an Id mean failure. Others had flashes sudden illumination, but | of my own will. immel Court, | exercised that Ph.D. work became, quite lit-Lionet DAHMER s, in good-byes tossed over my shoul- The Ph.D. loomed before me ain. Everything else seemed himin brief hello: der as | left the room. like an enormous mount small. : But Jeff was not small. He was getting bigger every day. Still, | barely saw him grow, barely glimpsed the changes that were creeping over him. And so, it was not until Jeff suddenly became ill that | was brought to a full stop. The illnesses that had plagued Jeff during the early years of his life had gone away as he’d grown older. He seemed healthy and robust, a normal kid in every way. Then, suddenly, he was stricken. One day in the spring of 1964, Jeff began to com- Plain about an area of tenderness in his groin area. This tenderness worsened, and a small bulge ap- peared in his scrotum. We took him to the doctor right away, and he was subsequently diagnosed as suffer- = froma double hernia. The doctor explained that aa te reat of a birth defect, and that Sea — Correct the problem. and while joyce oe = for the following week, fagged, floppy-eared q Sed by, Jeff selected the log he'd slept with since the age Of two as the st . uffed anii 4 him to the hospital. animal he wished to accompanyA FATHER’S STORY remained sedated for several hours. When he awoke, of course, it was to a great deal of pain. So much pain, [learned later, that he had asked Joyce if the doctors had cut off his penis. He remained in the hospital for several days, and even after he’d returned home, his recovery seemed to move forward slowly. For long hours, he remained the sofa in the living room, his body wrapped ina , checkered bathrobe. During that period, he d slowly, ponderously, like an old man. The ice which had marked his childhood, his y and energy drained away. any period of recovery, of course, a cer- 1g of mood could be expected. But in Jeff, es eae a sense of something