John Wayne Gacy (36 page)

Kunkle: “Objection!”

Court: “Overruled.”

Mr. Kunkle did not want Jeffrey to say the words that he knew were coming. I raised my voice over his.

“What is that opinion?” I persisted. “Could he conform his conduct to the requirements of the law?”

“No.”

“How did you reach that opinion?”

“By the beastly and animalistic ways he attacked me.”

I continued with my voice at high decibels.

“Do you have an opinion as to whether he appreciated, could appreciate the criminality of his acts at the time?”

 Kunkle: “Objection.”

Court: “Overruled.”

“Yes,” Rignall answered over the din of lawyers and judges sparring.

“And what is that opinion?”

Kunkle: “Objection.”

Court: “Overruled.”

“No,” Rignall said, shaking his head vigorously. He was telling the court that our client could not appreciate the criminality of his acts at the time, answering my underlying question.

“And how did you reach that opinion?”

“By the way he attacked me … in the beastly manner that he did it, what he did to me.”

I was praying that this kid was not going to puke again. He was shaking and quite upset.

Kunkle had lost that little volley. I calmed down and asked a few more questions about Mr. Rignall’s ongoing medical treatment and his ongoing therapy. Then I said, “I have no further questions.”

Mr. Rignall was excused from the witness stand, and he tentatively and carefully escaped the courtroom, shaking frailly as he walked.

Bob and I gave each other a knowing look. Our first witness had given his personal opinion from the stand, based on his personal experience, his encounter with the defendant. And his opinion was that John Wayne Gacy could not conform his conduct to the requirements of the law, nor could he understand the criminality of his actions. In his humble opinion, Gacy was nuts.

We wanted to show the erratic, changing nature of our client. Gacy would act pleasant and charming one minute, and then without warning, he would be somebody else the next. So we called Lillian Grexa, Gacy’s longtime neighbor.

She told the jury that John was warm and generous, always smiling, that he had wonderful block parties. He was a good daddy and good neighbor, but he kept his bushes too high. He didn’t trim them. Other than that, he was a great guy.

This woman looked like the lady that lives in every neighborhood, on every block, in every city, a nice-little-old-ethnic-lady-that-smiles-and-bakes-cookies kind of woman. The jury knew her. The jury believed her. And so the dichotomy appeared—apparently, Mr. Gacy was not just the monster they had all heard about; he was something else too. Now these fine men and women of the jury would actually have to think, to listen to the evidence.

We put on a couple of other witnesses that testified regarding the good side of John Gacy. Then we ended the day with testimony from Michel Ried. Mr. Ried had lived with John years earlier and had actually considered John a dear friend.

“Sir, could you please state your name and spell it for the court reporter?”

“Mickel Ried. M-i-c-k-e-l R-i-e-d.”

“Where do you currently reside?”

“1349 W. Touhy.”

“Are you married?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any children?”

“One.”

“What is your business or occupation?”

“Welder.”

“Are you currently employed?”

“Yes.”

I continued asking perfunctory questions before I got down to the point.

“Mr. Ried, do you know the defendant, John Wayne Gacy, in this matter?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Is he here in court?”

“Yes.”

“Point him out please.”

“Green suit.” Mr. Ried pointed at John.

“Could you please tell the ladies and gentlemen of the jury where, when, and under what circumstances you met Mr. Gacy?”

“I met John … 1971.”

“Would it have been around November 1970?”

“Could have been. I am not sure about the date.”

Mr. Ried testified that he and Gacy had become friends, that he moved into Gacy’s house, that he got to know him as a good person, a good father, and a good family man.

“Now, while you were still living with him, do you remember when you moved out of the house?”

“I think it was September.”

“September of …”

“Like fall, ’71 I believe?”

“Nineteen seventy-one?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And why did you suddenly move out—did you suddenly move out, or did you plan to move out, had another place to stay?”

“Well, I just suddenly moved.”

“Now calling your attention to, I believe, the day before you moved out, could you please tell the ladies and gentlemen of the jury if you observed anything unusual about John Gacy?”

“Well, we came into the garage one night. It was dark, we went to unload some of the equipment, and we got out of the car and the lights went out in the garage, and John told me to get some fuses under the workbench. So as I was doing that, on my hands and knees, I got hit on the head with something. I later—”

“Did you later learn what that was you got hit on the head with?”

“Yeah, hammer.”

“What, if anything, happened to you when you got hit with the hammer?”

“I stayed down for a couple of seconds, and I kind of stood up and saw that John was looking like he was going to hit me again.”

“Now when you say—backtrack just a little bit—did anything happen physically when you got hit with the hammer?”

“Well, I hurt my head.”

“Did you bleed at all?”

“Yes.”

“You say you did get up then?”

“I did.”

“When you got up, what was John Gacy doing?”

“He had his arm back with a hammer in it, looked as though he was going to hit me again.”

“What kind of look did he have in his eyes?”

“Well, kind of strange.”

“Had you ever seen that look before?”

“No.”

“Had he ever done anything to you like that before?”

“No.”

“Before that, did you threaten him or try to hurt him, or did you try to strike him or anything?”

“No.”

“Did you threaten him with anything at all?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Any kind of extortion?”

“No.”

“You say you got up and looked at him and he had a strange look in his eye? What, if anything, did you do?”

“I put my hand to stop his hand from coming back down, and at the same time, I asked him what he was doing or why he wanted to hit me.”

“It was calm? Like that in an instant, or did it take a long period of time?”

“He hit me. I stood up and grabbed his arm and asked him what he was doing or what he thought he was doing.”

“What, if anything, did he say to you?”

“He just looked at me and then put the hammer down.”

“Did his expression change at all?”

“Yes, it did.”

“How did it change?”

“He seemed like he was sorry he hit me.”

“He put the hammer down?”

“Yes.”

“What, if anything, did he do to you at that point?”

He told me that he didn’t know what came over him, but he felt like he wanted to kill me.”

“Now, after he said that, and he put the hammer down, what, if anything, did he do?”

“Well, I guess he patched up my head.”

“Patched up your head?”

“Yes.”

“Where? Right in the garage, or in the house?”

“No, we went into the house.”

“And what was he doing or saying?”

“He was sorry that he did it.”

“And then you moved out the next day?”

“The next day.”

“Now, as you look back at that, Mr. Ried, have you formed or do you have an opinion as to that particular time with the hammer in the garage? Do you have an opinion as to whether John Gacy knew or could conform his conduct to the law? Do you have an opinion?”

“Yes.”

“What is that opinion?”

“I don’t think he knew what he was doing.”

“Do you have an opinion as to whether or not he could appreciate the criminality of that act at that time?”

“No.”

“You don’t have an opinion?”

“I do. I don’t think he knew what he was doing.”

“Was that behavior different from the John Gacy you had known for those six months?”

“Yes.”

“Other than that behavior, what kind of guy was he?”

“Well, he was like a brother to me.”

“He treated you good?”

“Yes.”

“No further questions. Thank you, Mr. Ried.” I looked at the prosecution table. “Your witness.”

As we closed in on the end of week number 4, we believed that we had successfully upset any plans by members of the jury to politely listen to what was said from the witness stand and then quickly vote to convict this bastard. They were going to have to really give the case their serious consideration. At least, that’s what we thought.

On Friday morning we put on several more character witnesses to testify to the various sides of Mr. Gacy.

Finally, it was time to break out the shrinks, the testimony of the men and women on which the entire case would hinge, would turn, would be ultimately decided—the doctors that would make it simple for the jurors to understand the case and the defendant, John Gacy. Right.

32

B
EFORE
D
R
. T
IMOTHY
Leary was known as the LSD guru and he coined the phrase “tune in, turn on, and drop out,” he was a very well-respected man in the field of psychological sciences. He was a member of the team at Harvard University’s Department of Social Relations and a frequent speaker and writer regarding psychiatric and psychological research and study. He was credentialed. He was a big-time, hotshot shrink.

I read something that he said, which was quoted in the popular book
I’m OK,
You’re OK
many years ago, that has stuck with me ever since. Here’s the quote:

I would like to share with you some of the historical background of my immobilization as a psychological scientist. As I look back I can see that there were three stages of my own ignorance. The first, which is by far the most happy, you could call the stage of innocent ignorance when I was possessed with the notion that there were some secrets of human nature, there were some laws and regularities, some cause and effect relationships, and that through study, through experiences, through reading, some day I would share these secrets and be able to apply
my knowledge of these regularities of human behavior to help other people.

In the second stage, which might be called the period of illusion of non-ignorance, came the disturbing discovery that, although on the one hand I didn’t know what the secret was, suddenly I discovered that on the other hand people were looking to me as though they thought I might know the secret or be closer to the secret than they … None of the research that I did worked nor did any of my activities provide any secret, but again I could always say, “Well, we didn’t have enough cases,” or “We must improve the methodology,” and there were many other statements which I’m sure you are familiar with. One can postpone the painful moment of discovery but eventually the unhappy truth finally becomes apparent—that although many people may be looking to you and listening to you—you have patients and students and you’re going to PTA meetings and they are looking to you for the secret—still eventually you begin to think maybe, maybe you don’t know what you’re talking about.

By no means am I trying to imply that psychiatrists or psychologists or others in their field do not know what they are talking about. I would never say that, and I do not think that—heaven forbid, perish the very thought.

What I can say is this: Of the seven major psychiatric and psychological experts that testified either on behalf of the State or on behalf of the defense, doctors and PhDs all, no two of them diagnosed the defendant in the same way. They all said that he was crazy. On that there was a consensus. But nobody seemed to know why or to what degree.

They did, however, have plenty to say about the subject of John Wayne Gacy. The standard-issue testimony of an expert witness in any field begins with an hour or so of credentials—every school,
every degree, every treatise, every book, every speaking engagement, every teaching position, all of it must be painstakingly and carefully testified to from the stand. Otherwise, what the heck are they doing up there, right? They are experts, after all.

After they are through with the accolades, and everyone in the courtroom has gone somewhere else in their minds, they begin to expound. That’s when the fun really begins.

Let’s just say that for days and days the jury learned more about the field of psychiatry and psychology than they ever planned to know. This knowledge came to them from the stand in a foray of fifty-dollar words and ten-cent examples. They did, however, hear some incredibly interesting nuggets about our client interspersed between the mumbo jumbo. Let’s give credit where credit is due.

And truth be known, the testimony was absolutely essential to the defense. Bob and I would not have been able to make our case without them.

Let me try to encapsulate days of testimony into sound bites that set forth their primary message.

Dr. Helen Morrison, probably our best expert witness, shocked the jury with the information that Mr. Gacy, as a child and adolescent, would steal silk women’s underwear, use them for private sex, and bury them under the house. That information will kinda take your breath away when you first hear it. It does lend itself to the possible interpretation that maybe the defendant went off the proverbial rails long before he had a fighting chance to change directions.

That story was repeated by other shrinks as well.

The fine doctor used many big words to explain to the jury that John Wayne Gacy was insane. The big question remained, however: Was he insane enough? Was he insane at the time of the crimes?

Her testimony was clear.

“Now, Doctor, based on all that you have reviewed, your clinical evaluation, your expertise in the field of psychiatry, do you
have an opinion based on a reasonable degree of medical certainty as to whether John Gacy, as a result of the mental disease you have described, lacked substantial capacity to conform his conduct with the requirements of the law at this time of each of the alleged acts?”