elation now gave way to a certain anxiety. Clearly, Gacy wasn’t going to take at face value just anything that
was sent to him. He may have been guilty of overconfidence but he wasn’t stupid; he obviously planned to dig deep into the
mind of whomever he befriended.
This project was going to be a lot more difficult than I’d ever imagined. While I welcomed the challenge of trying to plumb
Gacy’s mind, all the while blocking access to my true self, I also felt a lot of external pressure.
Although I was busy planning the next step in our correspondence, my parents were adamant about calling a halt to the whole
thing.
“What are we supposed to tell our friends you’re doing lately?” my mother complained. “‘Oh, nothing much. He’s got a new friend,
though. John Gacy. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? Tortured and killed thirty-three boys about Jason’s age. But I understand
he’s very nice when he’s in a good mood.’”
My father added his own concerns. “Don’t you worry people might think you’re a little strange, writing to killers?” Eventually
realizing that his argument was falling on deaf ears, he pleaded, “Jason, why don’t you start going back to the gym again?”
“Dad, I’m going to learn a lot of cool stuff if this works out. So what if other people wouldn’t try this? You know I’m not
like everyone else. Why are you trying to make me
act
like everyone else?”
One cool, fall night I followed my father outside so he could smoke a cigarette. We stood in the backyard, moving around to
stay warm. “Jason,” he said, “you’re going to do whatever you want. I know that. But Mom doesn’t like this idea, and it’s
going to cause trouble around the house. I can already feel it.”
I felt sorry for him. He was always catching flak for the things I dreamed up.
“Dad, you know Mom is against almost everything I try. Why should this be any different? I promise I won’t let it get out
of hand.”
But “out of hand” is what it eventually got.
The response from Gacy suggested that if I did my homework carefully, I could get inside the mind of
anybody.
Already, I started thinking about other serial killers I might contact, but I was getting ahead of myself: first I had to
capture Gacy’s interest.
I knew that my next hurdle was to get through his primitive “psychological test” in such a way that I’d not only “pass” but
that he’d fight to be my mentor and teacher. I needed to fill out the items in such a way that I’d sound genuine and sincere,
yet very confused and vulnerable.
I reviewed what I knew about Gacy, and what I suspected was the case. Although he claimed to be bisexual, I knew that he’d
stopped having sex with women just about the time he began his two-year killing spree. As for what I suspected: obviously,
he’d be against the death penalty, he’d have some fairly liberal attitudes about sex, and he’d be especially attracted to
someone who was easily controlled.
I crafted my responses with the same meticulous care that I devoted to a pivotal term paper. One question asked me about my
impression of the “perfect man or woman.” I crossed out “woman” and wrote in “partner” instead, so it would seem that I might
be inclined toward bisexuality or homosexuality. I added that my partner would have to be kind, sensitive, sincere, funny,
and good-looking. I tried to make my responses as ambiguous as I could so I’d have some flexibility later to alter my beliefs,
depending on what evolved. I was really just operating in the dark, even though I’d gathered some good intelligence.
There was one question that began: “Nobody knows I’m ______.” I decided I should throw in something provocative to get his
wheels spinning. I answered: “. . . thinking about being a nude dancer to earn extra money.” In my mind, this accomplished
the following: First, it let him know that I had an attractive body and
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