Friend, clown, malevolent being
Gacy was a good guy, many considered him a “model neighbor”. Attentive, kind, always willing to collaborate selflessly with associations for the betterment of the community. He was a model citizen, except, of course, for the dozens of corpses that appeared under his house, as if he didn’t know any better?
Married, with two children and a repressed homosexual, at the age of 26 he tried to abuse a young boy whom he tied up. Still inexperienced in murder, the young man escaped, reported him to the police and good old Wayne ended up in jail. He was sentenced to ten years in prison, but as in his public life, Gacy was a model inmate and managed to be released after 18 months in prison. He was released on June 18, 1970.
After his release from prison, he went back to work, reintegrated himself, built up a thriving business that provided jobs, of course, for the youngsters in the neighborhood. He gave multitudinous garden parties attended by the most pious souls of the surrounding area, people from the associations in which Gacy worked, such as the Chicago Civil Defense or the Jaycees, a kind of chamber of commerce for youth, and if all this is not enough, he wore his Pogo costume, a clown more terrifying than funny, and went in his spare time to entertain children from nearby hospitals and orphanages. A good disguise, no doubt: who would have thought that behind that clown was hiding a potential rapist, murderer and maniac?
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In 1972 he remarried a certain Carole Hoff, divorced and with two daughters, who, despite knowing the reason why Gacy was imprisoned, did not give it any more importance, thinking that it was something temporary and that the good man would not make the same mistakes again. Carole’s mistake, of course, because that same year, Wayne Gacy would commit his first murder.
A young man he had slept with in his own house, in the morning, according to Gacy, found him with a knife in his hand, thinking that the young man wanted to rob him, they got into a fight and Gacy killed him… this one sure did not denounce him like the previous one.
Gacy always liked business. His first wife’s father was an area manager for Kentucky Fried Chicken subsidiaries, and one of these restaurants was the first business he ran. After several failed attempts, in 1974 he started a construction company, Painting, Decorating and Maintenance Contractors, Inc. Again, the company was unique in that the entire staff was made up of good-looking young men. He commented that this would reduce taxes, although the reality was quite different, as the real purpose was to use them for his sexual practices. Many of these workers became his victims and ended up a couple of feet under the basement floor of his house.
John Wayne Gacy was no beauty, he was a rather fat and short guy, affable and, yes, he looked like a very nice person. When he wasn’t busy abusing and making some of his workers disappear, he was out hunting. He would go to homosexual meeting places, where he would select his victims. He would take them to his house, where he would tie them up, torture them, sodomize them and, in the end, strangle them.
Gacy’s basement was already overflowing with corpses. Finding an open hole to bury them became a problem, so he began to dump corpses in the nearby Des Plaines River.
Certainly, Gacy didn’t seem to care much for discretion in those days either, and he was never one to hide his atrocities. Rumors and accusing fingers soon pointed at him when he began taking his victims home in broad daylight, and even more so when a number of his employees had disappeared without a trace.
It was the disappearance of Robert Piest, his latest victim, that put the police on his trail. Piest’s mother was waiting for him on December 11, 1978, his birthday, but Gacy went ahead and held his macabre celebration. The mother, when she reported him missing, said the boy had gone to a parking lot to meet a contractor for a summer job. Pies worked at a Drugstore and there the police were informed that Gacy had been at the store doing an estimate for renovations. Pulling the thread bit by bit, it all led to Gacy.
In his house they found 33 bodies and a whole catalog of personal effects to identify them. The killer clown had kept trophies of almost all his victims, although he didn’t even remember the names of most of them. In his brazenness, he even sold the car of one of his victims to an employee. It has never been known for certain how many people Wayne Gacy killed.
Some young men were lucky enough to escape from Gacy’s house, perhaps because they voluntarily collaborated in sexual matters, perhaps because Gacy did not feel like killing that particular day, even one of them, with whom he did try, escaped and denounced him at the beginning of 1978. He was Jeff Rignall, 26 years old, had agreed to get into Gacy’s car and Gacy put him to sleep with chloroform in an oversight. Rignall awoke handcuffed in Gacy’s basement. There he raped him and put him back to sleep with anesthetic on several occasions. Finally, for no known reason, Rignall awoke in a nearby park with his liver destroyed by the chloroform. He reported it to the police who, incredibly, ruled that there was insufficient evidence to charge Wayne Gacy without even suspecting or linking him to the frequent disappearances in the area in recent years.
Gacy’s background matches the profile of most psychokillers in history. A broken family, an alcoholic father who mistreated all his children and his wife, who even once shot John’s dog to death as punishment for something he had done. According to Gacy himself, at the age of five a girl had molested him and at the age of eight it was a contractor who had molested him.
John Wayne Gacy was a psychopath without any remorse, cold and ruthless and with a great capacity of conviction to make everyone believe what they wanted. His double life was the role of a lifetime, a perfect performance that he maintained almost unscathed until he was caught. He was executed by lethal injection on May 9, 1994, without the slightest hint of remorse about any of his murders. His last words were, “Kiss my ass.”
Two sentences in a prison interview portray his outlook on life very well
-What is it allowed to do?
-As much as I can without getting caught.
-What is good?
-Whatever is good for me.
Gacy painted a series of drawings and pictures, rather pathetic, and as usually happens in these cases, a bunch of sick people who consider this guy as a kind of mystical hero have come to pay considerable sums for these garbage. Cover of some of the cd’s of some pseudo-satanic and inspirational group of some B-movie or other.
Characters like these are found everywhere, but obviously, they remain hidden. Psychopathic individuals who lie in wait for someone to serve as their victim.