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Murder he writesMax gives thanks to his loyal audience
It's quite an experience to be known as the "Murder Man," yet that's the moniker I've been stuck with for over 29 years of The Sun's 30-year existence. When people ask me about my job, I always say I'm a writer. Usually they get right down to it and ask me what I write about. What can I say? "Murder!" That's what I do, week in and week out. It's been interesting. Who else has met such an array of bad guys and gals? Let's see, there was David Todd, who shot his wife to death and kept her body in the family freezer for several months. Ron O'Bryan poisoned his own son on Halloween night. Can I ever forget Thomas Vile, who blew a girl apart with a shot gun in a Philadelphia parking lot. 
Cowboy Autry killed two people in a dispute over the price of a six-pack of Schlitz beer. I interviewed him on Death Row. Nova Scotia's Jane Stafford had been abused for years before she blew her husband Billy's head clean off with a shotgun. William Heirens killed three people when he was a 17-year-old pre-med student in Chicago. He had been incarcerated for over 47 years when I met him in prison. Linda Lyon was on Death Row in Alabama, where she remains to this day, awaiting execution. Joel Rifkin murdered 17 prostitutes in New York State, the largest number of murders ever attributed to one man in that state. But all has not been bloody murder. My most unusual assignment occurred during the glory days of the Blue Jays, when the powers that be sent me to Boston to cover the Red Sox, who have the disappointing habit of folding in the stretch. I was briefed to focus on the Red Sox blowing the big games during the pennant race. My luck, they won three straight. I wrote about Babe Ruth. Over the years, The Sun has sent me to more distant climes, usually accompanied by readers who have won Sun-sponsored contests. Maybe these excursions were the greatest thrill of all. Meeting and breaking bread with the people who drop coins in those little red boxes have made it all worthwhile. |
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