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April 28, 2008
College Drunken Drownings (Finally) Investigated as Serial Murders
It's about time:
Finally, a couple of retired NYC detectives are connecting the dots among some 40-plus "drunken drowning" incidents, many of which we have followed since 2003. I have always suspected (as did other crime story followers) that this rash of coincidences (same modus operandi, same victim type, same improbable deaths) that these drownings were murders.
I'll be eagerly following the investigation.
Hat tip to our old friend, Bexxma in Austin, Texas, for alerting me to this news.
Vance Holmes' excellent chronology can be found here: DROWNING IN COINCIDENCE
A Blast From The Past
Here are some excerpts of entries published on this blog in the past about these cases:
APRIL 15, 2004:
I am extremely skeptical of the freakish number of accidental drownings in LaCrosse and Eau Claire, Wisconsin, regardless of their proximity to the Mississippi River. This conclusion defies statistics, logic, and ignores the fact that hundreds of college towns across the country are located near bodies of water and are populated by young men and women who overindulge on the weekends and don’t wind up disappearing and later floating in the river by the dozens.
On the contrary, I suspect a serial killer is responsible for many of these deaths, and he has returned to his home turf of LaCrosse, where he began his bizarre ritual in 1997 with the first three victims. As profiler John Douglas asserts in his books about serial killers, the perpetrator usually begins his career on familiar territory. If we examine the chronology and circumstances of this string of uncommon drownings, we can see a pattern emerge that includes a signature, specific type of victim, and other similarities that cannot be ignored.
APRIL 19, 2004:
...he fits the profile perfectly, and the modus operendi is beyond coincidental, it’s the killer’s signature: age range, athletic type, good student, a non-resident, and leaving a piece (or more) of the victim’s personal property at the scene.
FROM THE "FISK" ARIL 19, 2004:
From the source cited by the authors above, approximately 600 males between ages 15-24 die of drownings each year. How many of those disappeared from a group of friends and walked into a river? Most drownings occur in swimming pools. Of that same age group, 4,191 deaths per year were homicides. Based on those statistics, Jared and the others were almost seven times more likely to be murdered than to drown. I would venture to guess they were 100 times more likely to be murdered than to drown under these bizarre (and now familiar) circumstances.
No, I cannot see him walking to the river to clear his head or get some fresh air. I can accept him walking up and down the sidewalk, arm in arm with a friend, singing a fight song or stumbling down stairs. I can visualize him ducking into an alley to relieve himself or toss his cookies. I see him praying to the porcelain god in the men’s room and then washing his face with cold water. I even see him getting in the backseat of a casual acquaintance’s car for a lift home. However, I do not imagine him wandering down to the river by himself and tumbling in. I have been around a lot of drunken people in my life, and I have suffered more than my share of self-inflicted hangovers, and the closest I have witnessed to this scenario is someone jumping or being pushed into a swimming pool and requiring rescuing because they are too drunk to swim.
No, it is not “more comforting” to believe that Jared was murdered, or to deny our personal responsibilities regarding the dangers of mind altering substances. Most of us are realistic and accept that there are consequences to risky behavior. Certainly, if every young man in La Crosse quit drinking for the rest of the semester, probably nobody else would drown. But that does not explain the seasonal cycle of these incidents, the uncanny similarities of the victims, the geographical pattern, or the “extremely unlikely explanation” offered by La Crosse educators and law enforcement. Obviously, they have a professional stake in this being an accident and their bias is totally subjective and manipulated to quash the underlying panic and cynicism of the students and citizens.
Only an outsider with no vested interest in the outcome of an investigation can render a fair and critical assessment of these events. Until a retired FBI profiler, a seasoned homicide investigator, or an experienced private detective is hired (or volunteers) to research these cases, Jared’s death, and the now statistically probable future unexplainable deaths, will continue to be deemed “an unfortunate mix of a high level of intoxication and a cold, swift river.” From my vantage, it is more an unfortunate mix of denial by high ranking authorities, and a cold, swift dismissal of the real lack of evidence of accidental drowning.
April 07, 2008
Once a Cartoonist...
Back in September, I met a gentleman online who was interested in my essays and stories and we began a mutually amusing correspondence for several months. It turned out that he was a somewhat famous cartoonist who had retired a few years ago after his wife suffered a massive stroke. As a result of her confinement, "Jim" was isolated from many people and hobbies he once enjoyed.
I mentioned to him that I once dabbled in cartooning, mostly sketching little caracitures on cocktail napkins and other amateur folly.
"Once a cartoonist, always a cartoonist," he told me. It's who you are, bad drawings and all. Well, they're not really *that* bad.
One time, years ago (1995, I think), I went to Niagara-on-the-Lake with a woman who was, at the time, a sort of therapist/mother friend. Her brother and his family lived up there. It is a beautiful place. His wife was a gourmet cook and while I knew my way around a Dijon vinaigrette, I learned a few important culinary tips and musts that weekend.
They had a sumptuous dinner party the Saturday evening I was there and some discussion was had over mushrooms. I can't recall now what prompted it, but one of the guests said, "I saw this huge mushroom at the market, you know, really huge. What are they called again?"
"Portobello?" suggested someone. No, that wasn't it. A few other guesses were made. Then I said, in a sort of Science Teacher voice, "Oh, that would be the fungi humongi."
They had all had a few glasses of wine, so it took a second.
As a thank-you gift to my wonderful host and hostess, I composed and drew a comic book called, "The Fungi Humongi" which was about a giant mushroom that attacks bad restaurant cooks all across the globe who use, among other things, Kraft parmesan grated cheese in a can.
It was full of bad puns. The illustrations were crazy enough to be funny. At the end, the Fungi Humongi winds up living in Jamaica (mon) and is worshipped as a god. His apostles snip bits of his fleshy top and brew hallucinogenic tea.
I think I still have a copy around somewhere, and if I ever find it I'll scan it for your amusement.
As a child, I used to write captions and draw little balloon thoughts and mustaches, hair, glasses, whatever, in my Religion Book at Catholic school. I got into a lot of trouble for that, needless to say.
I am surely going to Hell.
Posted by lorelei at 07:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)