Latest news with #KillerClown
Yahoo
10-05-2025
- Yahoo
How Did John Wayne Gacy Die? Inside the Killer Clown's Death 31 Years Ago, Including His Notorious Last Words
John Wayne Gacy died by execution on May 10, 1994 The serial killer was convicted of murdering at least 33 teen boys and young men in the 1970s His last words after sitting on death row for 14 years became infamous John Wayne Gacy, a.k.a. the Killer Clown, died 31 years ago today. On May 10, 1994, the serial killer — who was convicted of murdering at least 33 teen boys and young men throughout the 1970s — died while at a correctional facility in Illinois. Though his crimes were among the most heinous in American history, Gacy maintained a disturbing double life as both an upstanding citizen and a sexual predator. On the outside, he was seen as a friendly community man who often entertained children in local hospitals and birthday parties — a persona that later earned him the nickname the "Killer Clown." In 1980, he was convicted and sentenced to death. When asked in a recording featured in Netflix's Conversations with a Killer: The John Wayne Gacy Tapes about how he felt about the trial being over, the serial killer said, "How can you feel relief about something you still don't understand?" "Because they say I'm guilty, I'm supposed to feel guilty now? I don't," he said. "I have no remorse." Here's what to know about John Wayne Gacy's death in prison 31 years ago. On March 13, 1980, Gacy was convicted of murdering 33 people and sentenced to die for 12 of those killings. According to Gacy made paintings of clowns and other figures that sold for thousands of dollars during his years on death row, until he was eventually executed by lethal injection. According to ABC News, he was given three different chemicals: one to knock him unconscious, one to stop his breathing and one to stop his heart. However, there was an error during the process, as there was a clog in the line that stopped the second chemical from completely going in at first. Per the outlet, it took 18 minutes for him to die, which is about four times longer than expected. Gacy's execution occurred on May 10, 1994. According to the New Yorker, Gacy's execution date fell on the 26th anniversary of his first arrest — for sodomy — when he was 26 years old. Gacy was executed at Stateville Correctional Center in Crest Hill, Ill. Born on March 17, 1942, Gacy was 52 years old when he died. Just before he was executed, Gacy spoke his notorious last words: "Kiss my a--." Prior to his execution, Gacy ate a final meal from Kentucky Fried Chicken, the restaurant chain where he had been a manager years earlier, per 9News. According to the outlet, he requested a bucket of KFC chicken, 12 fried prawns, a pound of strawberries, fries and a Diet Coke. On the day of his execution, nearly 1,000 people gathered around the City Hall courtyard in Chicago to celebrate Gacy's impending death, per the Los Angeles Times. According to the outlet, they released balloons and carried placards mocking Gacy's fascination with clowns. In the Netflix docuseries, Conversations with a Killer, those marching could be heard chanting, "Death to Gacy," and many people expressed that while the serial killer was getting what he deserved, they thought his execution date should have come sooner. The docuseries also featured one of Gacy's survivors, Steve Nemmers, who said he had "no sympathy for him. I had nothing for him." Meanwhile, jury foreman Ron Beaver said he felt "relief." "The relief came simply knowing that there would be no other children that John Wayne Gacy would kill," he added. In addition to Netflix's Conversations with a Killer: The John Wayne Gacy Tapes, there have been several other documentaries re-telling the horrific events, including Peacock's six-part docuseries titled John Wayne Gacy: Devil in Disguise, which was released in 2021. In June 2024, Deadline announced that Peacock greenlit a limited drama series — titled Devil in Disguise: John Wayne Gacy — with Severance's Michael Chernus portraying the titular serial killer. If you or someone you know has been a victim of sexual abuse, text "STRENGTH" to the Crisis Text Line at 741-741 to be connected to a certified crisis counselor. Read the original article on People
Yahoo
01-04-2025
- Yahoo
Contributor: True crime serial killers fascinate us. But their stories aren't the half of it
I realized a famous true crime story was a part of my family history more than two decades ago, when I discovered my mom's name in a book. In my parents' bedroom combing through their bookshelf, my eyes stopped on a peculiar title, 'Killer Clown.' I'm not sure why I paused. The title was strange; unless it was some Stephen King novel, why was this book in the room where my parents slept? I pulled it from the shelf and turned to the first chapter. The first sentence stared back at me: 'Kim Byers couldn't decide what to do with the photo receipt.' This was no novel. This was a work of true crime. And Kim Byers was my mother. I read until the sun began to cast a shadow across the floor in the bedroom. Read more: Homicide Report On Dec. 11, 1978, my mother's friend and coworker, Rob Piest, went missing. She was 17, and Rob was 15, working a shift at Nisson Pharmacy in Des Plaines, Ill., when a contractor who was remodeling shelving in the store offered Rob a job. At the end of the shift, Rob left to sign new-hire paperwork at the man's house. He would never be seen again. It was a slow day for my mom. She had time to develop a roll of film for herself. She put the receipt in the pocket of the blue parka she wore. The parka belonged to Rob. As he left the store with the contractor, Rob asked my mom for his jacket back. The receipt rode in the jacket pocket through the snowy streets to the contractor's house. And later, when authorities searched for Rob, it would be proof: He had worked a shift at Nisson Pharmacy that Dec. 11. Later, the contractor would lie. He would tell the police he had never talked to Rob at the pharmacy. He would say the 17-year-old girl who worked with Rob was not telling the truth when she told authorities her friend had left with him. But the receipt proved the words out of his mouth were just that — words. The truth was much heavier. Read more: Ron Jeremy superfan raped, killed L.A. women. Did prosecutors miss chances to stop him? As a child, I'd known she had a friend who went missing. I had been taught to stay away from men in vans who might hypothetically pull up and ask me if I wanted a ride while I was walking in the neighborhood. But, I was learning, the dangers hinted at were only the beginning. My mother had faced down a monster. She testified at the 1980 trial of John Wayne Gacy. In the courtroom, she pointed him out as the man who'd offered Piest a job. Gacy had buried 29 bodies under or around his home, and he'd disposed of her friend in the river, along with three others. Gacy was found guilty of the murder of 33 young men and boys whose lives were taken too soon. My mother was the key witness for the prosecution. In the decades since, it became evident to me that this murder case had mostly been told in a dangerous, one-sided way. Gacy became central, myth-like, a part of cultural lore alongside other serial killers such as Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy. Read more: DNA snags suspected serial killer in brutal 1977 slayings in Ventura County These monsters get put on a pedestal, the most interesting characters in the story. More often than not in true crime, this framing device is the default. But I knew, through my mother, that there was so much more to be told: The people affected by crime should be at the forefront. The 33 young men and boys survived by so many friends, family members, neighbors and others who cared about them should take precedence over the killer. Gacy murders have been recycled for podcasts, TV and film, and audiences have come to know his entire life story as they try to understand why he killed. We are groomed for this form of storytelling, and for many of us, it makes us desensitized to violent crimes. I am invested in retraining the algorithm on who tells these stories and how. As I got older and became a mother myself, my mom shared more of her perspective on this case. What was it like to face this horrible person? How did she survive losing her friend? How does anyone cope with such loss? Read more: Full coverage: 'Man in the Window' When I started writing about the case and my mother's experiences, I purposefully moved beyond merely recapping the surface level timeline of events, or fixating on the killer. I wanted to re-enter an old story and make it new, showing the ripple effects of violence. The facts revealed Gacy to be less fascinating than his touted public image. His brain was studied after his death. A forensic psychiatrist thought they would find an explanation for why this man killed. But it turned out his brain was not so interesting. There was nothing special to be found. True crime commands immense interest, particularly from women. A 2023 poll found that women are almost twice as likely as men to listen to true crime podcasts. There's also a hunger for new voices, new stories, new entrances into seemingly familiar narratives. Narrative nonfiction true crime books like "The Third Rainbow Girl," and TV shows like Netflix's 'Into the Fire' offer fresh perspectives that respect the young women lost, their loved ones, and their communities. The connection so many of us make with true crime is one worth studying. Figuring out our intersection with crime is important, on a personal and cultural level. Because if we become desensitized to violence, or worse, if we find comfort in it, we lose empathy for the lives that were lost, and the lives that had to go on long after a killer was caught. When I recently reread 'Killer Clown,' instead of the shock I felt the first time, I felt love and pain for the people who'd lived through December 1978 in Des Plaines. I imagined what the mothers and fathers did when they learned that their boys were never coming home. I thought of the friends and lovers of these young men and boys. The next time you come across a reference to John Wayne Gacy, serial killer of 33 young men, remember that one of them was Rob Piest. And remember that there were those, like my mom, who loved him. Courtney Lund O'Neil is the author of "Postmortem: What Survives the John Wayne Gacy Murders." If it's in the news right now, the L.A. Times' Opinion section covers it. Sign up for our weekly opinion newsletter. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
Los Angeles Times
01-04-2025
- Los Angeles Times
True crime serial killers fascinate us. But their stories aren't the half of it
I realized a famous true crime story was a part of my family history more than two decades ago, when I discovered my mom's name in a book. In my parents' bedroom combing through their bookshelf, my eyes stopped on a peculiar title, 'Killer Clown.' I'm not sure why I paused. The title was strange; unless it was some Stephen King novel, why was this book in the room where my parents slept? I pulled it from the shelf and turned to the first chapter. The first sentence stared back at me: 'Kim Byers couldn't decide what to do with the photo receipt.' This was no novel. This was a work of true crime. And Kim Byers was my mother. I read until the sun began to cast a shadow across the floor in the bedroom. On Dec. 11, 1978, my mother's friend and coworker, Rob Piest, went missing. She was 17, and Rob was 15, working a shift at Nisson Pharmacy in Des Plaines, Ill., when a contractor who was remodeling shelving in the store offered Rob a job. At the end of the shift, Rob left to sign new-hire paperwork at the man's house. He would never be seen again. It was a slow day for my mom. She had time to develop a roll of film for herself. She put the receipt in the pocket of the blue parka she wore. The parka belonged to Rob. As he left the store with the contractor, Rob asked my mom for his jacket back. The receipt rode in the jacket pocket through the snowy streets to the contractor's house. And later, when authorities searched for Rob, it would be proof: He had worked a shift at Nisson Pharmacy that Dec. 11. Later, the contractor would lie. He would tell the police he had never talked to Rob at the pharmacy. He would say the 17-year-old girl who worked with Rob was not telling the truth when she told authorities her friend had left with him. But the receipt proved the words out of his mouth were just that — words. The truth was much heavier. As a child, I'd known she had a friend who went missing. I had been taught to stay away from men in vans who might hypothetically pull up and ask me if I wanted a ride while I was walking in the neighborhood. But, I was learning, the dangers hinted at were only the beginning. My mother had faced down a monster. She testified at the 1980 trial of John Wayne Gacy. In the courtroom, she pointed him out as the man who'd offered Piest a job. Gacy had buried 29 bodies under or around his home, and he'd disposed of her friend in the river, along with three others. Gacy was found guilty of the murder of 33 young men and boys whose lives were taken too soon. My mother was the key witness for the prosecution. In the decades since, it became evident to me that this murder case had mostly been told in a dangerous, one-sided way. Gacy became central, myth-like, a part of cultural lore alongside other serial killers such as Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy. These monsters get put on a pedestal, the most interesting characters in the story. More often than not in true crime, this framing device is the default. But I knew, through my mother, that there was so much more to be told: The people affected by crime should be at the forefront. The 33 young men and boys survived by so many friends, family members, neighbors and others who cared about them should take precedence over the killer. Gacy murders have been recycled for podcasts, TV and film, and audiences have come to know his entire life story as they try to understand why he killed. We are groomed for this form of storytelling, and for many of us, it makes us desensitized to violent crimes. I am invested in retraining the algorithm on who tells these stories and how. As I got older and became a mother myself, my mom shared more of her perspective on this case. What was it like to face this horrible person? How did she survive losing her friend? How does anyone cope with such loss? When I started writing about the case and my mother's experiences, I purposefully moved beyond merely recapping the surface level timeline of events, or fixating on the killer. I wanted to re-enter an old story and make it new, showing the ripple effects of violence. The facts revealed Gacy to be less fascinating than his touted public image. His brain was studied after his death. A forensic psychiatrist thought they would find an explanation for why this man killed. But it turned out his brain was not so interesting. There was nothing special to be found. True crime commands immense interest, particularly from women. A 2023 poll found that women are almost twice as likely as men to listen to true crime podcasts. There's also a hunger for new voices, new stories, new entrances into seemingly familiar narratives. Narrative nonfiction true crime books like 'The Third Rainbow Girl,' and TV shows like Netflix's 'Into the Fire' offer fresh perspectives that respect the young women lost, their loved ones, and their communities. The connection so many of us make with true crime is one worth studying. Figuring out our intersection with crime is important, on a personal and cultural level. Because if we become desensitized to violence, or worse, if we find comfort in it, we lose empathy for the lives that were lost, and the lives that had to go on long after a killer was caught. When I recently reread 'Killer Clown,' instead of the shock I felt the first time, I felt love and pain for the people who'd lived through December 1978 in Des Plaines. I imagined what the mothers and fathers did when they learned that their boys were never coming home. I thought of the friends and lovers of these young men and boys. The next time you come across a reference to John Wayne Gacy, serial killer of 33 young men, remember that one of them was Rob Piest. And remember that there were those, like my mom, who loved him. Courtney Lund O'Neil is the author of 'Postmortem: What Survives the John Wayne Gacy Murders.'
