Whenever I hear a name close in spelling or pronunciation to John Wayne Gacy I feel creepy. Yes, this guy was unpleasant and terribly wicked. He lacked the milk of human kindness, shedding innocent blood with impunity. I find it difficult getting the right words to qualify this man. People who said he was heartless were only economical with the truth. He was a serial rapist. He did not spar the young, snuffing out the lives of many young boys. By the time he was arrested, he had sent over 33 lives to early and untimely graves. The serial killer pictures from his house are incredibly difficult to look at.
That is not why I feel uneasy when I hear his name. He was adjudged by a good number of people as the most notorious serial killer in the last one hundred years of America’s history. That also did not make me uncomfortable. I will now let the cat out of the bag.
Gacy was the least person anyone could suspect, even though he probably belonged in the psych ward. You could mistake him for a saint before his arrest. He was a force to reckon with in the community: a married man, a popular chaplain of the Jaycees, a vibrant Democrat, a successful business man, a clown performer at parties organized for children and a volunteer worker in the neighborhood. I have never heard of a better pretender.