In this excerpt from Every Move You Make, I explain how those photographs Bill shared with me played into Evans’s life: “… To further bolster the theory that Evans was perhaps confused about his sexuality, Polaroids depict a man who was experimenting with his sexuality. For one, Evans liked to dress in women’s clothes on occasion. Wearing a blonde wig, make-up and lipstick, he embodied the persona of a female rather affably. Although many might have thought it was nothing more than a Halloween costume, there is evidence he had a penchant for transsexuals and may have dated one while in prison. Not only had he taken Polaroids of a man he had met while prison that lived life as a female, but later, when she got out of prison and completed her transition to a female, Evans visited her and took more photos. One might ask, why would he visit a transsexual... if, in his prison writings [to his sister and others], he ridiculed those same types of people and carried on about how much he hated them?
“If it is true,” [Investigator] Horton said later, “he certainly had me and every other cop he had contact with fooled. I had no idea. I would have viewed our relationship entirely different if I would have known then what I know now. He acted like a tough guy and gave me no hint whatsoever that he was bisexual.”
“… Could Evans have been bisexual?
“I can definitely believe it,” Horton concluded. “ Gary worked so hard to keep it from me that it’s most likely true.”
Chapter 9
WHILE IN THE CLINTON STATE PEN, Evans wrote a letter to Investigator Horton describing the “most famous person” he had met while incarcerated. Evans told Horton that he and Son of Sam had become friends, but Horton didn’t believe Evans. When Evans wrote to Horton, he said, “I lifted weights with [Son of Sam] for about a year. I never used to go near him because that’s fucked up, killing innocent [people] . . .” (Imagine, one serial killer judging another and comparing victims!) Evans, who had killed two people (that we know of) himself by that point, had justified his killings, writing them off as people “who needed (and deserved) to die.” So when he said he didn’t understand Son of Sam choosing random people to murder, he meant it, in his own sick and twisted way of thinking.
Yet as quick as Evans tagged Son of Sam a psychopath, in that same letter to Horton, Evans changed his opinion and described Sam as “a likeable guy, really. . . . He never talked about the killings. I used to kid him that he should’ve shot... rapists instead and he’d laugh. I had a brief look at that new book about him, The Ultimate Evil, by Maury Terry, and the author was claiming [Son of Sam] was with a satanic cult and he had proof. I asked Dave about it and he laughed it off.”
I thought, Dave... wow... Evans called Sam by his first name.
Dave. It sounded kind of funny to me.
By the end of the letter he wrote to Horton, Evans promised to send copies of his Son of Sam letters to Horton—who eagerly waited, but never received them.
Instead, Evans tucked them away and placed them inside plastic sleeves and bound them together in a scrapbook. And here they were, about two dozen letters between Evans and Son of Sam, right in front of me, proving the friendship, yes, but also showing a side of the famous serial killer no one, in some thirty years of studying Son of Sam, had ever seen.
As soon as I got home from my trip to Bill’s, I sat down at my desk and started reading.
Right off the bat, I was amazed by the sheer immaturity displayed in the letters. Some of them seemed to be written by a child—or, rather, an adult with the mind of a child.
Evans’s relationship with Son of Sam was far more personal—not to mention bizarre—than he had explained to Horton. Throughout their friendship, when Son of Sam was ever sent to solitary confinement, he’d write letters to Evans, passed through the hands of another inmate. The language was cryptic and peculiar. At times, they wrote in a medieval dialect — “Take care, White Knight of the Dunes,” Son of Sam would sign off. Or, “Dear, The Barbarian . . . Sir Gary.” There was the common: “Sir Lancelot Evans.” It was as if they had their own language.
For the most part, Son of Sam thanked Evans for sending him magazines, books, tapes—he favored Bob Dylan over Logins and Messina, for example—and food. Other times, they discussed weight lifting and general life behind bars.
As one might imagine, Son of Sam was a target in prison. Because of his celebrity status among criminals, other inmates gunned for him, and he often described to Evans the notes and threats he routinely received.
Interestingly enough, in one letter, Son of Sam wrote that he had run into “two Puerto Rican friends” of Evans’s and was “sending them over” . . . “a gift from Big Dave.” What he meant by this is unknown.
Some of the letters were typed, others handwritten.
One of Evans’s favorite books, he explained to Son of Sam, was Red Dragon, by Thomas Harris, the prequel to Harris’s blockbuster bestseller, The Silence of the Lambs. Evans insisted Son of Sam read the book.
“Dave” did read it, he said, but didn’t much care for it. It was “fair,” Son of Sam said. Ironically, Sam said he didn’t “like psycho stories.”
The AIDS crisis had been major news the year the letter was written. Son of Sam said AIDS was “a lot of shit.” He called it “media hype.” Evans, though, was worried about it affecting the world, while Son of Sam said it would stay confined to the “inner cities . . . prostitutes and junkies . . .” He then went on to list which states had reported cases, along with how many cases were in each state.
In one letter, Evans told Son of Sam how much he missed seeing him.
“I miss visiting you, too,” Son of Sam wrote back. In the same letter, Sam thanked Evans for supplying him with what was an endless array of fruit cocktail, juice, and other snacks.
One note somebody had slipped into Sam’s cell had frightened him, and he expressed to Evans how afraid he had been to “go to sleep at night.” The guy had called him a “cheap cocksucker” for not having snacks in his cell to steal, then went on to say that if Sam didn’t fill his cell with “donuts, oatmeal pies, or nutty bars” and “chocolate,” the guy was going to “rip” the “veins out of” Sam’s “neck” while Sam was sleeping.
Evans was totally absorbed by these stories. It was important to Evans that the Son of Sam was sharing his life with him. He could hardly believe it. Sam, on the other hand, continually fed Evans’s ego, complimenting him on his muscles and addressing him in a way he must have known would cater to Evans’s grandiose thoughts of himself.
In his final few letters, before getting out of solitary during one rather extended stint, Sam talked about collecting “mouse droppings” on his “cell floor.” He’d shoot the “shit pellets,” he explained, using a homemade slingshot, at people that walked by his cell. He promised to bring a “bag” of “shit pellets” with him so he could show Evans how to do it. “You’ll be impressed,” Sam promised.
Flinging mice shit pellets. This was Son of Sam’s life.
Sam had sent Evans a copy of Muscle & Fitness magazine one day, but Evans sent it back. To Evans’s absolute horror, the editors had chosen to use an African-American bodybuilder in an article, which turned Evans off of the entire magazine.
“I forgot,” Sam wrote back, “how prejudice you are.”
Chapter 10
THESE LOST SON OF SAM LETTERS show a different side of the infamous killer, one that has escaped the clutches of researchers and writers for decades.
For the most part, they are not dated; yet the few that are prove they were written between June and December 1987, a period when Sam claims to have been touched by the hand of God and “born again.”
Sam referred to himself as “Big Dave,” “little Dave,” “Berko,” “The Great Berko,” “The Great Mouse-kit-eer,” “Master B,” “D,” “White Knight,” “Torch,” “The Missing Link,” “M. Mouse,” and “Dave.” A familiar way for him to sign off was, “Your nasty friend” and “Keep swinging your royal sword.”
He liked to draw Evans pictures a
nd cut out photos from magazines and photocopy or embed them into different sections of the letters. In one, Sam clipped a photograph of a German Shepard. There’s a caption—“Hi, Gary”—draw in, and a note from Sam on the bottom of the page: “There are lots of little Garys, but only one Big Gary.”
In some of the letters, Sam’s mind wanders. He goes from one subject to the next and has a hard time staying focused, almost always referring back to Evan’s body. Here’s an excerpt: “Wayne [a fellow inmate they both knew very well] tells me you still take your showers under the faucet in the yard. I’m surprised. You’re so big, Gary, my goodness, I don’t see how you fit. I can tell when you walk past my cell. The sun always shines in my windows. But when you go by suddenly the sun gets blocked out and everything gets dark. It’s like a big truck passing through.”
Sam was forever giving Evans lists of things he wanted, hoping Evans could somehow come up with the items (which Evans always did). “I’ll write more tomorrow,” Sam said in one letter. “Here’s my new tape request: 1.) The Band – Last Waltz; 2.) Streets of Fire – Soundtrack. How’s that? Cruel Might Warrior, remain steadfast against all OBSTACLES! True Brother – Great Tricep King – Carry on, IRON Torch. Dave”
One of Sam’s letters begins with the line, “How’s my favorite Popcorn Eaten criminal?... This morning I awoke to find two shiny apples on my cell bars and a little note from the Big ‘GARY EVANS.’...”
Some have suggested that Gary Evans and Son of Sam were lovers. I am not so sure they were lovers and cannot make that leap with the evidence I have, but I know for certain that there was a mutual respect between these two psychopaths, and they remained great friends until Evans said one word that made Sam never speak to him again (I’ll get to that in a minute).
Further into that “Big Gary Evans” letter, Sam lists several rules he had developed for the inmates hanging around his cell area.
“I fined [a fellow inmate] ten dollars payable to DaveTown,” he told Evans, “… and wrote him up for breaking the following DaveTown rules: 1) Parking a smelley, stinky mop in front of my house and leaving it there. 2) No smoking in front of Dave’s house... 3) No loitering in front of Dave’s house without an invitation. 4) No retards in front of Dave’s house. 5) No talking shit in front of Dave’s house.”
It is amazing to ponder the notion, really, while reading these letters that they were written by a world famous serial killer that spent his days living in some sort of adolescent fantasy world. If you read Sam’s Web page today and compare what he says today back to that time (which these letters were written), you have to wonder, is this how a born-again Christian would act as the hand and light of God supposedly touched him?
In the second part of the letter, Sam goes on to speak of an inmate who “broke every one of those rules.” Then he tells Evans about a “jerk who fell off a six floor roof and lived to tell about it, due to his fabulous training.” Using his natural charm, Sam wrote, “Listen, if you send me a few munchies–fine, great. But don’t send me cash.”
Whenever Sam was shipped off to another part of the prison, he missed Evans, that much is clear. “See you on Oak Island,” he ended, “with your moles... there’s popcorn buried in those treasure chests. ...yours truly, The Great Mouse-kit-eer.” As a post script, “Don’t forget to visit Dave Town, Exit 1 on the Thruway... more directions later.”
What is Sam actually saying here? Is there some sort of hidden affection (or message) in his words?
Chapter 11
THE COMMUNICATION BETWEEN EVANS and Sam was rooted in a fictional world. Sam generally wrote to Evans when he was put in what he described as “Keep lock.” This is why the tone of the letters sometimes sounds as though Sam is writing to Evans on the outside. It was Sam’s way of keeping in contact with what was going on inside the small section of the prison he liked to believe he mastered and commanded.
“My brother,” he wrote to Evans one afternoon, “I will... be out of KL [soon]... then I will try to get into ARCHITECTUAL DRAFTING to obtain a degree in Lighthouse Structualization [sic] and Interior Design. Then I will build a lighthouse! Goodbye cruel world. There will be No Trespassers near my Lighthouse.”
At the time, Evans had been thinking about studying drafting after his prison term ended. Evans was an exceptional artist, in some respects; he made stained-glass window pictures, paintings and drawings, and was fairly good with a pencil. He felt drafting could set him on the right track—although, as soon as he was released, Evans quickly forgot about his desires to go down the path of righteousness and always went back to thieving (and killing), justifying it by saying it was too easy (and lucrative) to be a criminal.
Sam had a strange sense of humor, and in just about every letter he wrote to Evans, he tended to throw in at least one joke of some sort. Evans would often choose various books and music for Sam to try. He’d send them to Sam when they were apart. Fleetwood Mac was a Son of Sam favorite. Evans had sent him some organ music once, for which Sam did not appreciate, writing, “zzzzzzz... Play this music for someone on their death bed—they’ll go quicker. See you before Christmas, I think. The Great Berko.”
“Sir Lancelot Evans, My Fellow Viking,” Sam wrote to Evans one day. “The gods have been most favorable and kind to me today. The Voodoo Queen, my number one Tormentor, has been driven off by the forces of Good to another pasture where she can work her evil upon other unfortunate pasture where I have been freed of her spells...”
Remember, this is coming from a guy who claimed to have been saved by Jesus Christ at the time. It was cryptic language—and quite blasphemous, if you’re a Christian in the way that Sam now claims to be—that Sam and Evans liked to use more often than not. They had written about past lives, in which they both thought they had been born knights of the round table. Because of Evans’s massive body-builder physique and enormous, almost freakish triceps, Sam often called him “The Great Tricep King.”
In that same letter, Sam went on to say, “Upon completion of said ‘punishment’ [solitary confinement] I shall again return. Please be patient with me; it won’t be long now. ...A fellow Viking is worth more than all the gold of Oak Island.”
After Evans sent Sam a copy of Red Dragon and encouraged him to read it, no doubt thinking it was right up Sam’s alley, Sam rejected the book in passing, writing, “I finished... The book was fair—very overrated. Now I’m on Deathwork.”
Published in 1977, Deathwork follows the stories of four murderers on death row, three males, one female.
Son of Sam related to Deathwork on a psychological level, this was obvious in his writings. He could feel the pain of these condemned inmates, as he had felt the world was against him and what he had done.
“Listen,” he told Evans, “this book is GREAT! A look inside the Florida prison system. I can’t put this book down. In fact, I’m reading it with my left hand and typing with my right. I also slept with it last night.”
Sam began his next letter to Evans by saying, “I’ve got some really bad news for you. I just received a revelation that the world is going to end on June 22, 1987 at about 1:30 PM. Take care, man. See you later. You’ll probably be in your cell when it happens, or maybe in the gym. ...”
This was Sam’s way of lightening the mood between him and his fellow serial killing friend. In the next paragraph, he went on to add, “Man, I had a terrible nightmare last night. I had a dream that two peppermint patties were flying all around my cell chasing me and bouncing off my head. ...”
Sam had an incredible skill for manipulating people into doing what he wanted—most serials are manipulators, sure, but Son of Sam was a master. There’s no doubt he sensed Evans envied him, even looked up to him, and Sam used that to his advantage. He fed Evan’s enormous ego and often wrote letters to Evans as if he adored Evans’ body.
“Sir, Hello, my name is Donald Jones and I am writing to you, Mister Evans, because I seen a picture of you in Muscle & Fitness Magazine and I seen you on the front cover. ...Si
r, I hope one day my triceps are as big as yours. You are my idol and I have a big poster of you on my bedroom wall. ...”
Evans sent Sam an endless supply of food and magazines.
“Thanks for the granola bars,” Sam wrote. “Of course I still eat them. Heck, in keeplock I’ll eat anything. ...No smut for now—not enough strength.”
Evans often talked about his penchant for breaking out of prison—and even once catered the idea of buying a small, mail-order flying machine. In light of that, Sam wrote, “Listen, I have a hideaway in the woods in case, in the glorious future Gary Evans, AKA ‘The Man With Wings,’ needs a place to lay low. I’ll send you instructions in my next letter.”
But again, not only does Sam not write as though he is a man saved by Christ, in none of the letters Sam wrote to Evans at this time does this killer mention or even allude to God or Jesus Christ, as one might imagine a born-again Christian would.
Chapter 12
AFTER LEAVING BILL’S, RETURNING TO MY OFFICE in Connecticut and reading all of these letters, I was faced with having to sit down and think about how I would incorporate them into my book. Thank goodness it was easy, only because I had a foundation of a book already written. Weaving excerpts from the letters—at least some of them—into the narrative of Every Move You Make turned out to be pretty effortless, actually. Understanding Evans and Son of Sam’s relationship would be an on-going research project of mine, never-ending, essentially.
As for Bill and his wonderful family, all of whom greeted me with kindness and trusted me with these treasures, I am forever grateful.
“Once you left,” a friend of Bill’s there that day I showed up later told me, “we took a moment to clean up the items and we all discussed how confident we were that you would portray all facets of Gary’s life and childhood. We also were confident you’d return the pictures, etc., you had taken with you … [My fiancée] and I discussed many of the stories again and anxiously spoke about reading Every Move You Make and wondering what it would actually contain. Everyone had a sense of relief that Gary’s story would be told from a non- judgmental point of view and nothing would be one-sided.”
MADNESS, SEX, SERIAL KILLER: A Disturbing Collection of True Crime Cases by Two Masters of the Genre Page 12
