Archive for ‘Other peoples Ted’

December 30, 2013

Multi-Genre Paper (Diary)

Anita Pandey writes; We had to write a multi-genre paper that was fictional AND factual and showed different opinions on one topic in different forms like letters, phone calls, etc. I was interested in the Ted Bundy case so I decided to do it on him and try and show a different side to him. A more humanized side that people rarely show in the media.

Original file: Multi-Genre Paper (Diary)

Dear Diary,

This will be my last and final entry. The date for my inevitable execution has been scheduled for tomorrow at 7 am. I will not lie to you. I don’t want to die. I admit that. However, neither am I frightened by the thought of being executed. Through the love of god I have been able to find what I had desperately sought after for so many long years of emotional torture. My psychopathology was always like a monster. The more I ran from it, the closer it seemed to come to consuming me. Finally, I ran to god for help and realized that I don’t need to run anymore. I learned through god’s love that I could love and am loveable. The good lord is my final destination. I converted to Hinduism during my years of incarceration. I came to realize that it is only within the sacred pages of the holy Gita, where someone like me can find some peace. I’ve matured during the past year. Believe me. I’ve grown in the past year, and I’ve learned a lot of things about myself in the past year. My only misgiving is that I will never be in position to apply the principles of the Gita on the streets, where I’d like to apply it. On the plus side, I find that the pressures put on me in jail have actually permitted me to enter into a period of growth. Prison has helped me because it forces me to live in the here and now. I used to live each day at a time just to protect myself. Now I live each day and each moment to try to expand myself. I began considering more esoteric things that I never would have considered before. I engaged in yoga and heavy meditation for 12-14 hour periods per day. It gave me time to reflect on my rage. Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. I reaped rewarding benefits from my dedicated meditation. It calmed me to the extent that I no longer needed to be tranquilized or be sedated with Valium in order to control a violent urge. Many people had told me that I would never succeed in relieving myself of homicidal compulsions and thus I would never be free from taking sedatives either. My response to that was “Man is made by his belief. As he believes, so he becomes.” I have proved that statement of mine. Through god’s help, I have diligently and successfully dealt with those terrible feelings I had and have not touched a sedative in 4 years. This to me is success. To me, this success feels greater than the success I felt upon receiving a 4.0 GPA or the pride I felt upon being elected “Executive Assistant to the Governor” of Washington, Daniel J. Evans. The bliss I feel upon finding god is beyond that of any scholastic or materialistic achievement I obtained in my life. I admit that I had gone completely non-compos mentis and I take full responsibility for the crimes I have committed. I am not proud of them and I wish they never happened, but unfortunately I cannot undo my past. It’s a terrible thing, but I have to try and make it right. Going over cold cases with the FBI really jarred me a couple of times and knocked me back from where I thought I was to where I ought to be. I don’t recall exactly when it happened, but while I was facing the interrogation from the detectives-which was not easy for any given session-I slowly began to understand what I had to do next, how I had to reconstruct my life. I’m in a lot better shape now. I don’t worry about the death penalty. Worrying won’t change things one iota. I’ve come to terms with that threat. I am not afraid to die tomorrow because I know that death is the ultimate liberation for me. I except expiation from god and I pray he will have mercy on my soul.

December 16, 2013

True Crime Blogger Trista Trace, “Letters from Ted Bundy”

Letters from Ted Bundy
Letters from Ted Bundy
Letters from Ted Bundy

I am so sorry that I have been missing for so long. I had been kidnapped and held for ransom….I am very lucky and glad to be back.

I have always enjoyed learning new things about Ted Bundy. Just recently I asked my all time favorite and best true crime writer Ann Rule a question I have wondered about for years …..why hasn’t she ever published all the letters from Ted? She answered me a few hours later stating that she couldn’t because she doesn’t own “the rights” to them. Ann does have the letters and owns them as the paper they are written on but the very content is owned by one of Ted’s last attorneys. How is that for crazy! Seems like those letters may help shed new opinions on Ted Bundy and why he was the way he was and why he did what he did.

December 14, 2013

Ted Bundy poem, “Looking for the soul”

Looking for the soul

Cannibal killer, what are you looking for?
You rend the flesh and snap the bones.
Mutilate and pillage the body.
You turn beauty into horror.
Because you can not see the soul,
you rip open the insides
to see if it is hidden there.
But you find nothing there,
only organs and blood.

Pysical matter matter is perverted by you.
Made into somthing unatural and strange.
In nature, everything eats everything.
If you eat a persons flesh,
do you ingest their soul?
Because you have no soul,
you feed the emptiness with pain.
The surface does not reflect,
so you smash it to peices
and try to fit them together in vein.

The animal is awake in you.
The zombi, the werewolf, and
all the dark creatures of the night.
A banquet is laid out to dine apon.
A feast of flesh and blood
served raw and bloody on
a plate of skin.
Jesus said, eat me, drink me.
The flesh of a sacrificial lamb.
But your victims never asked
to be sacrificed.

You will eat yourself empty,
and never be satisfied.
You will devour yourself,
and drown in a sea of red.
when you return to the earth,
the maggots and worms will
devour what is left of you.
There will be nothing of you.
No transfer of life or spirit.
Only emptieness.

Michelle Hayton

December 7, 2013

Ted Bundy poem, “Human Doll”

Human Doll

I want you so much
I am overcome.
The blood in your veins.
The teeth in your flesh.
You taste so good to me.
I must have you right now.
Do not make me wait.
Bend over like the naughty girl
you are and give in to me.
I want you so much
I have to feel the inside of you.
Suck your soul into mine.
Make you my human doll.
Give some colour to your
cold and pallaid cheeks.
Make you and mould you.
I love you more when you are dead.
My corpse.
My fallen angel.
I want you so much
I must kill you
to make you a part of me.
You will become a part of my soul.
I will make you immortal.
Your pain is my pleasure.
Your body is my vessel.
I need you to feel alive.
I need you to be at peace.
In those wooded lots.
The dead ones lie.
Giving their nourishment
to the soil.
No gravestone shall mark your place.
Your body belongs to
the wilderness.
I want you but
I do not love you.
I took you into my unwilling embrace.
I love myself through you.

Michelle Hayton

December 7, 2013

Last Rites For Theodore Bundy

lastritesfortheodorebundy.pdf

I looked closer and recognized traces of the patent handsomeness that had convinced so many young women to develop a fatal trust. Gone, however, was the facade of boyish innocence, the bold theatrics of the courtroom defendant, the sly negotiator seeking last minute reprieve in exchange for his sordid confession. Instead, I saw only a man’s body, pale and vulnerable in death.

lastritesfortheodorebundy.pdf

November 25, 2013

Ted Bundy poem, “Blood Splattered Rose”

It’s hard to tell these days when I’m being mocked or when people are being serious. In any case, here is a poem by michelle.hayton80

Blood Splattered Rose

Your face was a face of sensative and tranquil beauty.
Blue eyes as clear as glass.
Looking into them I feel myself pulled into
your unfathonable depths.
The trench of your soul was so deep and dark.
How could I know the slimey and repellent
monster that dwelled in those depths?
Your hair was soft like silk and boyishly curly.
The kind of hair any girl would be tempted to touch.
How did you manage to wash out all that red?
Never a hair out of place.
Always sweet and clean
exept in the darkest hours of your deprivity.
What a charming hollywood star grin you had.
Your cocky self assurance could win over
anyone, man or woman in an instant.
How could they know your smile
was the smile of a wolf?
Snarling before making the kill.
Such nice hands, narrow tapered fingers and clean nails.
The kind of sensual hands a woman would want on her body.
No woman could suspect what those hands did
in the unobserved woods and rooms of the night.
The woman you laid your hands on cried out in pain
never in pleasure.
You where tall and statuesque
skinny and well porportioned.
How could so much brute inhuman strength
dwell in such a wiry body?
Unspeakable horrors staining your rose
a bloody red.
Using your external beauty as bait to draw women towards you.
You where their prince charming
but then you turned into a monster
before their eyes.
Try as I might, I cannot envision you doing evil
but I know you did.
Your legacy has inspired so many
villians who came after you.
You knew you would be remembered
that was your plan.
What a profoundly intelligent man you where
and yet what an utterly insane temper you had.
None of those sweet and lovely woman
deserved what you did to them.
You where the killer casanova
Promising passion and pleasure
but giving only pain and fear.
Strange that so much horror could dwell
in so perfect a form.
Such a tragic waste of a life
that could have been great.
I am drawn to you but I feel
your coldness squeezing my heart.
It is like you are a black abyess
and I am standing at the edge
absolutly horrified to fall in
and yet unable to turn away.
Why do people like you exist?
I do not know and suppose I never will.
I cannot hate you even if I should.
You where right when you said that
we must move beyound retribution.
So what good would it do to hate you?
Another death is only another death
in a continues cycle of violence.
The time has come to bring that cycle to an end.
I will never give in to my dark side
in the way you did.
You refused to admit your guilt
because in your mind you did not
belive it was wrong.
It was not your fault that you had
no sense of morality.
I will never love or hate you.
But I am fascinated by you
Theadore.

Michelle Hayton

February 18, 2013

I LIKE YOU SO MUCH I COULD EAT YOU, Ted Bundy poem

http://ilikeyousomuchicouldeatyou.blogspot.com/2008/04/ted-bundy.html

Ted Bundy

I.

Before sweat gripped crowbars, three strands
of blonde, the boat imagined, or plaster
of Paris,

Stephanie, the first to touch Ted’s wrist, skin
purple with vein, stops courting.

II.

Now teeth pocketed skin, blood
in the carpet grain. Brain, too–
red and yawning.

I feel like a
vampire, Ted says.

III.

The picture shows a raised palm, the start
of a smile. Now even the attractive
fail–how unnerving

to look at Ted and think
lust.

IV.

A chair.
A crowd cheers when the hearse and Ted pass.
And fireworks,

lighter fluid, a barbeque pit, somewhere a first kiss,
fruit sticky fresh, children circling in play.

January 24, 2013

The Earthly Remains: Revisiting Ted Bundy

SOURCE: http://www.orderofthegooddeath.com/the-earthly-remains-revisiting-ted-bundy

On January 24, 1989, after languishing on death row for nearly a decade, Ted Bundy was executed by the State of Florida. He had been convicted of the murders of three women, and was suspected of thirty more, but had remained adamant about his innocence until the eve of his execution. Finally, hours before his death, Bundy began to confess. As he described his crimes, an estimated crowd of five hundred gathered outside the prison, selling T-shirts, drinking beers, and celebrating the imminent death of the man who had for so long seemed a larger-than-life caricature of evil, refusing to display guilt, fear, or even a belief in his own mortality. Finally, his time had run out.

Though Bundy refused to confess to any crime greater than shoplifting during the time he spent on death row, he had allowed journalists Hugh Aynesworth and Stephen Michaud to interview him about “the person” who had committed the murders of which he was accused—citing his expertise as a former psychology major as the basis of his insights. In the interviews, Bundy described a conflict between “the normal personality” and an “entity” that slowly began “to demand more of the attention and time of the individual.” At one point, he compared the entirety to a cancer, though he remained unsatisfied with the metaphor, as “one has no control over…a malign tumor, and yet, one would think that an individual would have control over the development of something purely psychological.” Bundy claimed that the entity was “not an independent thing,” and that “this person” was fully aware of his actions, and knew the difference between right and wrong, but suggested a gradual process during which the entity’s power became overpowering, and “finally, inevitably—would make a breakthrough,” and lead “this personality” to kill.

There were many things about Ted Bundy that infuriated the public during the nearly fifteen years he spent in the public eye. He was arrogant to the point of hubris (he had been a law student before he was arrested, and insisted on representing himself pro se during both of his Florida trials), and believed himself to be far more intelligent than any of the investigators or prosecutors assigned to his case. He complained bitterly about his “wrongful” imprisonment, but was clearly delighted with his newfound fame—not least because of how many letters he received from women offering him money, sympathy, and sex. While on death row, he married and fathered a daughter, and enjoyed regular visits from his family. He read, studied, wrote letters to numerous correspondents, and stayed in touch with his family back in Tacoma, and if he was troubled by guilt over the untold number of murders he had committed, he never revealed it. Even while locked away and forced to passively await his death, he experienced the things his victims would never know: growing older, getting married, starting a family, and essentially living a good life.

Yet perhaps the most infuriating thing about Bundy was the fact that his self-proclaimed intelligence wasn’t a sham. During the time he was active, he had gained a deep understanding of the society he lived in, and successfully manipulated its weak spots for his own sadistic gain. He realized that the young, pretty girls he targeted were not encouraged to cultivate physical strength, or to question authority figures (he impersonated a police officer on at least one occasion). He recognized that the status he had attained—that of an attractive, educated, and genial young man—essentially placed him above suspicion. He worked in politics and aspired to a career in law, and saw that self-absorption, manipulation of others, and the cultivation of a deceptive exterior were not just encouraged but required of the powerful men he observed. The skills he cultivated in his career as a serial killer—deceit, evasiveness, greed, self-absorption, and a finely tuned ability to anticipate the actions of both his pursuers and his prey—were the same skills required of young politicians, lawyers, and businessmen. When Bundy was finally apprehended, it was largely by chance, and he managed to escape twice while in custody, killing three more victims after his second breakout. His arrogance may have been his downfall, but it was also, perhaps more than anything else, the thing that allowed him to remain so active for so long.

So it was a shock to everyone when, hours before his execution, Bundy finally talked. His ability to manipulate the legal system had finally been bested; his appeals had finally run dry. Even his wife had finally abandoned him, taking their daughter with her. Bundy had one last hand to play, and the time had come to play it. He sat down with Bob Keppel, the Seattle investigator who had been working on his case in various capacities for the last fifteen years, and admitted to his guilt in thirty murders, though he hinted that he had committed more. (Many estimate that he murdered perhaps as many as one hundred women; some guess the number to be even higher.)

Bundy had already told Aynesworth and Michaud about what “the person” who committed the murders “might” have done with their bodies—how he might have dumped their corpses in secluded locations and revisited them on multiple occasions, sometimes staying with them overnight; how he might have applied makeup or nail polish, or shampooed their hair; how he might have had sex with the corpses until they were too thoroughly rotted and picked at by animals to be recognizable as human; how he might have sawn off their heads with a hacksaw and taken them home with him as souvenirs. Over the years, detectives had pieced together Bundy’s methods: his propensity for putting on a sling, singling out a victim, and convincing her to help carry something to his car, then driving to a secluded location, raping her, and strangling or bludgeoning her to death. They had found many of his victims’ remains—though often by chance—and had pieced together a picture of how the crimes had occurred, and of the man who had committed them. But now, for the first time, Bundy placed himself within the narrative. He stopped talking about “the entity” and “the personality,” and described his personality, his actions, and his murders, largely in the hope that a final show of contrition would grant him another stay of execution, long enough to confess to the very murder he had committed, and to reveal the locations of thirty or fifty or a hundred more women’s remains.

But it didn’t work. Bundy made his last confession mere moments before his scheduled execution, and was granted no more time to make another. The trade he was willing to make—the locations of their bodies in exchange for his; divesting himself of his last defense (arrogance and denial) in exchange for just a little more life—wasn’t good enough.

At 7:16 a.m., as the executioner flipped the switch and the current began to surge through Bundy’s body, the celebrants massed outside the prison began to cheer. Some had been waiting outside the prison gates for days, ever since Bundy’s execution date was set, and many more had gathered throughout the night—though it might be more accurate to say that many of them had been waiting for the last ten years. Rachelle H. Saltzman, who was working as a folklorist for the State of Florida at the time, wrote:

Those from the general public included “a white-haired 81-year-old grandmother from Jacksonville” who offered to “pull the switch.” University of Florida students from Gainesville…asked “‘Governor Martinez to host the next one at Florida Field’”; they even offered to “‘do cheers, and…sell tickets’ to offset state legal costs.” Also present were members of the Cochran family who had left their Orlando home “at 2:00 a.m. to catch the show”… Dorothy Cochran had “brought along her 6-year-old twin daughters” because she “though it would be educational for them, kind of like a field trip.”

The celebration was by no means confined to the area surrounding the prison. Lake City, Florida, which had once been home Bundy’s last victim—a twelve-year-old girl named Kimberly Leach—boasted a free barbecue the night before. (During one of Bundy’s appeals, Leach’s father told the press that he wanted to see Bundy electrocuted “well-done.”) Florida restaurants served up “Bundy fries” and “Bundy fingers,” and local radio stations played “Electric Avenue” and “Shock the Monkey” in reference to the electric chair. Outside the prison, hawkers sold commemorative pins, T-shirts, and tin foil hats meant to resemble the electric chair’s helmet, and spectators waved signs proclaiming “Burn Bundy Burn,” “Thank God It’s Fryday,” and “This Buzz is For You.”

Bob Keppel, who spent the night before the execution talking Bundy through his confessions, later wrote:

Bundy became transformed toward the end of his life into something he never was in real life. There were Bundy souvenirs, Bundy fan clubs, Bundy memorabilia, and a whole Bundy mystique…. Yet for all the mythos surrounding Ted Bundy, he always remained a cowardly individual who could not even muster the courage at the end of his life to accept total responsibility for what he had done…. Thus, Bundy probably didn’t understand what his case has become to the nation, that he himself had become kind of an icon embodying a special kind of malevolence.

Judging from the crowd that had congregated in anticipation of his death, one could almost argue that Bundy had become a kind of saint. Rather than carrying within him a great, beatific goodness, however, he was a vessel of pure evil—an evil that would be destroyed at the moment of his physical death. The joy that greeted his demise suggested that the world would be a palpably better place after his execution—despite the fact that he had not posed a threat to society for nearly ten years—and that the “special kind of malevolence” he possessed would be eradicated like a disease.

After Bundy’s death, celebrants cheered at the departure of the van carrying his remains to Gainesville, where he would be cremated. But the party ended there. Bundy was dead, and the evil he had carried was apparently gone from the world. Vendors packed up their souvenirs and counted their earnings. Spectators rolled up their signs, piled into their cars, and drove back home. Camera crews dismantled the equipment and left in search of the next story. And Ted Bundy’s ashes, along with all his other earthly possessions, were given to his attorney, with the instructions that they be scattered at an undisclosed location in Washington’s Cascade Range, in lieu of a public funeral. In many ways, he’d already had one.

Bundy had disposed of two of his victims in Lake Sammamish State Park, and of another two on Taylor Mountain, both locations west of Seattle and not far from the Washington Cascades. It was in these secluded, wooded areas that he revisited his victims for hours at a time, possessing them as fully as one human being can ever possess another. (In his interviews with Aynesworth and Michaud, Bundy described his fondness for theft, and how the joy of ownership was, for him, far superior to the thrill of the crime.) It is not so far-fetched to guess that there may be other, undiscovered bodies somewhere in the Washington Cascades—perhaps one, perhaps a dozen, perhaps all of them clustered in the undisclosed location where Bundy’s ashes were laid to rest.

The truly remarkable thing about the disposal of Bundy’s remains, however, is how little anyone seemed to care what happened to them. Anyone who followed the Bundy case with even the vaguest interest can piece together the likelihood of his remains mingling with those of his victims. Yet the fate of his body became a nonissue once it became just that—the fate of a body, and not of a man.

If we are to believe in evil—evil as a substance, as nonhuman dark matter that sometimes comes to rest in human bodies, as something as intangible yet identifiable as a soul—then what happens when the person who possesses it dies? The people who clustered outside Florida State Prison on the morning of Bundy’s execution seemed to believe that it would simply dissipate, and would perhaps descend to hell just as a soul ascends to heaven. Yet this is a fiction that perpetuates the same blind spot that allowed Bundy to seem above suspicion for so long. If “evil” is an unknown quantity, a supernatural presence in an otherwise normal human body, then we will fail to suspect the seemingly normal humans surrounding us—let alone a handsome, successful, intelligent young man—of harboring “evil” impulses. Bundy, unable to acknowledge the enormity of his crimes until it was clear that doing so was his only hope at survival, comforted himself with the same fiction by describing “the entity” and “the personality”—two separate beings coexisting within the same body. But there was no entity. There was no pure evil or “special kind of malevolence.” Bundy wasn’t possessed, nor was he a larger-than-life monster. Though psychologically atypical, he was in all other ways a normal, flesh-and-blood member of the human race, and his death was the same as anyone else’s. No great evil departed the world at the moment he died. No one was safer. No one’s life was measurably improved. The human capacity for evil actions remained unaltered: greater in some, but present in every man, woman, and child on earth.

Ultimately, the scattering of Bundy’s ashes in the Cascades is a testament to his humanity, and a crucial reminder to us that he was human after all. He may have committed brutal crimes in Washington’s parks and woods, but they were also areas that he loved the same way the rest of us do: the way we love the beauty of an area that will live long after us; the way we love a place that affords us peace; the way we love our home. And Bundy himself, though no longer able to cause us harm, is still present in our world, his earthly remains at rest in one of the most beautiful parts of the country. They have no magic qualities. They pose no threat to the area they inhabit. They are, in the end, the remains of a human being—no more, no less.

Sarah Marshall is a graduate student and teacher living in Portland, Oregon. Her essays have recently appeared in The Hairpin, The Awl, The Montreal Review, and Propeller Magazine, on topics ranging from Linda Lovelace to Hannibal Lecter. When she was seventeen, she wrote a one-act play about Ted Bundy, and produced it as a project for school. Not much has changed since then.

March 3, 2012

Ted Bundy: The makings of a killer

Ted is immortal. I don’t think he’ll ever really die.

SOURCE: http://www.my-diary.org/read/b/542952235

Ted Bundy: The makings of a killer, by Alexis J. Caloway

*This is an old essay that I had to write for one of my English classes. It’s
not perfect, by any means, but it was one of the few papers I got to write about
that I *wanted* to write about. Just fealt like sharing it…)*

What creates a killer? The question is simple enough. Perhaps, however, it can
be answered by an even simpler question. General killers, mass murderers, serial
killers are they just victims of their environment or does an unforeseen
mental snap simply occur in these average and usually relatively normal
individuals which cause them to develop a killers mentality? For the notorious
serial killer Ted Bundy, this creation was largely due to the circumstances
within his past which molded him into what he became. Perhaps equally as harmful
is the fact that each incident built up upon past incidents of a similar nature
which created a snowball effect, of sorts, which in turn also strongly
contributed to Ted Bundys mindset development of a killer.

Theodore Robert Bundy (then Theodore Robert Cowell) was born November 24, 1946
to Louise Cowell. She had had Ted in Vermont in a house for unwed mothers,
having had the baby out of wedlock. His mother and he, however, soon returned to
her parents house in Philadelphia to live for a short while (Philbin 42).
They lived there for about four years where he was raised by his mother and
grandparents. Louise posed as his older sister with his grandparents playing the
part of mother and father. However, he early on reasoned that this was most
likely a falsehood. a story attributed to the adult Ted Bundy had it that
Louise posed as his older sister, not his mother. This is not so; he always knew
her as Mom (Michaud, Only Living Witness 1983, 58).

Ted had shown signs of violent tendencies at a very early age. In court, a
psychiatrist by the name of Aynesworth told of an interview he had had with
Teds aunt (Louises sister) in which she reported that at about the age of
three he would take butcher knives from the kitchen and come upstairs and
secretly lift up her covers and place them beside her on her double bed
(Michaud, Only Living Witness 1999, 329). As a child he also had somewhat
of a temper. He would get into scuffles with his friends or acquaintances over
tiny things, such as getting hit in the eye during a play war game or another
boy scout having hatcheted a sapling. A childhood friend recalls: It was
really easy to see when Ted got mad Someone would say something and you could
see it in his face (Michaud, Only Living Witness 1983, 62).

Childhood, especially early childhood, is an essential time of learning and
family influences in such a time are quite strong and make impressions on the
child that are deep enough to be built upon later in life and long lasting,
regardless of whether the influences or impressions are good or bad. In Teds
case, his grandfather was an early influence and contributing factor to his
later killer mentality. According to Dr. Lewis, every Cowell family member
she talked to -including Louise- described Teds grandfather as an
extremely violent and frightening individual. Sam Cowell once shoved his
daughter Julia down a staircase for awakening too late one morning. These
violent tendencies also extended (more liberally) toward animals, such as
physically abusing the neighborhood cats and the pet dog. Furthermore, he
reportedly had a rather extensive collection of pornography which young Ted and
his cousin would often get into (Michaud, Only Living Witness 1999,
330).The introduction to all these elements played a pivotal role as the
building blocks to Teds later development.

The introduction of pornography was a vital instrument which served as a strong
push in the snowball effect of Teds mentality. In his final jailhouse
interview with the psychologist James Dobson, Ted Bundy was agonizing over how
his addiction to hardcore pornography had ruined his life and how much it had
contributed to his violent sexual urges (Philbin 44). He started obtaining an
interest in pornography at about thirteen or fourteen years of age, when he and
his cousin would sneak into the collection of books his grandfather had. Bundy
describes, however, how that interest progressed to stronger forms and evolved
for him. For most everyone that would simply be a sign of healthy interest,
normal. But this interest, for some unknown reason, becomes geared towards
matters of a sexual nature that involve violence.

He goes on to explain that in such cases the person may hold no hatred or ill
will towards women in general and that that transition is simply a weakness of
sorts that gives way to fantasy. That interest and sense of fantasy continues to
grow until the limit of the material is reached as far as for the items in the
dirty book stores will go (Michaud, Conversations With A Killer 67).
[Ted] read pulp detective magazines and gradually developed a store of
knowledge about criminal techniques That learning remained incidental to the
central thrill of reading about the abuse of female images, but nevertheless he
was schooling himself (Michaud, Only Living Witness 1983, 117).

Bundy states how once the limit is reached concerning books and pictures, a
person may be prone to indulging in a form of voyeurism. How one would pay
closer attention, initially, for the types of things they wanted to see without
necessarily changing any of their normal important day to day activities
specifically for the purpose of indulging that urge. Over time, one would become
quite skilled at it. He continues, however, with the next step or evolution over
time.

Whats happening is that were building up the condition and what may
have been a predisposition for violence becomes a disposition it begins to
demand more of the attention and time of the individual. Theres a certain
amount of tension, uh, struggle between the normal personality and this, this,
uh, psychopathological, uh, entity [theyd] had all this, this reservoir
of tension building up. Building and building. Finally, inevitably, this force
this entity- would make a breakthrough.
Eventually the force would be too strong or tension too great that control is no
longer possible and the person would actually begin to act out upon their
compulsion and need for something more or greater an experience then they had
encountered so far (Michaud, Conversations With A Killer 68-71).

Ted Bundys initial lack of social connection and social abilities were also
key elements to his minds molding. Ted never knew his real father and was
never really close to his stepfather, despite the mans attempts to form a
connection with his stepson. Ted spent time with his stepfather only
grudgingly. Johnnie tried. He had accepted Louises child just as he had
accepted her If Ted seemed increasingly removed from him, he put it down to
burgeoning adolescence (Rule 11). However, young Ted felt uneasy around the
man and preferred to remain in solitude when possible.

His school life also served to further hinder his sense or ability of social
connection with other people, especially his peers. He was a shy introverted
individual with a fairly low sense of self esteem. Ted was a target for teasing
and bullies in school because he was different from the other children,
regardless of his attempts to fit in with his peers (Bell, The Early Years
par. 4). Ted always kept himself apart, a devise for masking his
insecurities (Michaud, Only Living Witness 1983, 63).

It was not so much that there were significant events [in by boyhood], but
the lack of things that took place was significant. The omission of important
developments. I felt that I had developed intellectually but not socially Ted
explain(Michaud, Conversations With A Killer 12). He felt that the years
prior to high school were all right, for the most part (concerning his general
social development), but afterwards it came to a halt, of sorts. He felt as if
his friends of old were moving forward while he remained behind. He didnt
lack the desire to join in with the others, but lacked the incentive and ability
to actually do so. I used to compensate for my outright fear of socializing.
Maybe, also, it was a way to protect myself, because I couldnt achieve those
kinds of social goals that I wanted (Michaud, Conversations With A
Killer12-14).

One of the last events Ted Bundy experienced as part of the snowball effect
transitioning his mindset to that of a killer was romantic rejection and the
need for revenge. In the spring of 1967 Ted Bundy became involved in a
relationship with a woman whom he quickly and absolutely fell in love with. He
was amazed that she went out with him, considering she was out of his league.
However, she ended up breaking off the relationship, not being as in love with
him as he was to her. [she] believed he had no real direction or future
goals She was a practical young woman and seemed to realize that Ted had some
serious character flaws that took him out of the running as husband
material. He never got over the fact the she had left him. However, the
two remained in touch via mail despite the breakup (Bell, The Early Years
par. 8, 10-11). Despite this, after some time he was involved in another
relationship with a woman by the pseudonym of Elizabeth Kendall. She felt more
for him then he did for her, however, and Ted often avoided the subject of
marriage saying he was not yet ready. Elizabeth was not aware of his past
relationship or the fact that he and his ex-girlfriend still kept in contact
(Bell, A Time of Change par. 5).

Teds life began to take a more positive aspect at this time due to several
circumstances. His work in politics was blossoming, he was a volunteer at a
crisis clinic, and he was more serious about his studies in law. In 1973,
during a business trip to California for the Washington Republican Party, Ted
met up with his old girlfriend. She was amazed at the transformation in Ted. He
was much more confident and mature, not as aimless as he was when they last
dated. They continued to meet and after a time his old girlfriend fell in
love with him once more. (This woman was unaware of the presence of Elizabeth in
his life.) Bundy even approached the subject of matrimony with his new lover
several times over the fall and winter seasons. (Bell, A Time of Change
par. 7-8).

However, his demeanor and attitude quickly changed for the worse. Where he
had been so loving and affectionate, he now seemed cold and distant. Something
had happened to change Teds whole attitude toward her Now he seemed
uninterested and almost hostile. She had thought they were engaged and yet he
acted as if he could hardly wait to be rid of her (Rule 51-53). She waited
for him to respond after she had returned to California; however, there was no
word from Ted. She never obtained an explanation for his behavior and never
received word or letter from him again. He had accomplished his task for
revenge. He had hurt her as she had once hurt him that time long in the past.

The development of Ted Bundys mind frame into that of a killer was an
extensive process that spanned from his childhood to his adult years. Various
circumstances of his past molded him and shaped what he would eventually become.
There was a snowball effect regarding each circumstance where they built upon
one another causing Ted Bundy to become more and more predisposed to the life he
eventually led; where each circumstance built upon the last was more negative,
pulling him into a life he could not escape since it was engrained into his very
being the life of a killer.

Works Cited

Bell, Rachael. The Early Years. Trutv.com. Turner Broadcasting System,
Inc. n.d. Web. 18 November 2009.

—. A Time of Change. Trutv.com. Turner Broadcasting System, Inc. n.d.
Web. 18 November 2009.

Philbin, Tom, and Michael Philbin. The Killer Book of Serial Killer. Naperville:
Sourcebooks, Inc. 2009. Print.

Michaud, Stephen, and Hugh Aynesworth. Ted Bundy Conversations With A Killer.
New York: Signet, 1989. Print.

—. The Only Living Witness. New York: Linden Press/Simon & Schuster, 1983.
Print.

—. The Only Living Witness. Irving: Authorlink Press, 1999. Print.

Rule, Ann. The Stranger Beside Me. New York: Pocket Books, 2009. Print.

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February 1, 2012

Strangers in a Strange Land – Ted Bundy

This is something very beautiful. To preserve it, I copied from the source.

Several years ago, I became fascinated with serial killer Theodore Robert Bundy. I read a plethora of books and developed somewhat of a reluctant affinity for him. Partly because I felt he wasn’t a typical empty vessel of hate and destruction. Studying his biographical information, testimonies from friends and family, and pictures of him gave me the sense that he didn’t come into the world destined to hurt and kill.

It’s interesting. His longtime girlfriend, Liz Kendall (a pseudonym), wrote a book about her time with Bundy. “The Phantom Prince” is out of print and semi-rare, but not impossible to get a hold of and I did. It’s a hard situation to interpret because it’s from Liz’s perspective, and she was undoubtedly very emotionally weak and sensitive. She was insecure and needy, not to mention an alcoholic. Still, it’s an eye-opening study of someone (Ted) trying to function, DESPERATE to build normal relationships, and battling horrible demons. Literally, I think he was beset with demons.

Ted really seemed to want to be normal. Not only did he want to be normal, to the point of CRAVING it for its own sake, but he possessed good qualities. Ted had a great sense of humor, he was well-mannered, he doted on friends and family, he was intelligent. He once saved a toddler from drowning and Liz recounted that he ran a purse snatcher down (funny, considering what a thief he was from such a young age). He seemed to be a human being, like any one of us, who possessed a profound weakness in his soul, one which was able to be manipulated by adversarial forces. With each woman he murdered, he lost more and more of himself. Eventually there was very little of his spiritual -I- left in him.

Study pics of younger Ted and compare them with pictures of him after he’d murdered so many people. There is little left of who he was in his blue eyes, which grew black when he was angry, and he emanates spiritual weakness.

A wicked mythology sprung up around Ted and it is so surreal to me, so crazy that he has become such a dark figure in American culture. Understandable that he HAS, but still strange. I guess I’ve read so much about him and intuned so much of his humanity that I am bewildered by the films depicting him, the books, the hatred people have for him, and all the years that have passed. I was 2 years old when he was executed via the electric chair. I was but a twinkle in my father’s eye when he brutalized and murdered women and little girls. But he had a life full of experiences, of people who adored and liked him, of water rafting in Washington, of buying kittens and rabbits for Liz’s daughter, of drinking his favorite beer and working as a suicide hotline operator. It is difficult for me to reconcile the good with the bad, the life which was full of light and promise, with the convicted murderer who starved himself so he could slip out of his cell and gimp into the Colorado mountains to hide.

I am not a groupie. I harbor no perverse delight for Ted Bundy, nor do I think serial killers are “cool.” But I will not say that redemption is impossible for those who possess even a glimmer of light or good intention in their spirits. I think it would be a grand act of mercy for everyone to put good thoughts out to Ted and other people like him (as in, not being an empty, hateful shell).

I have done this, tried to reach out to him, and had a very strange dream a few years ago. I was in the lobby of a big hotel and there was Ted, surrounded by girls who looked so much like his victims. They were laughing and happy and doting on him, and he was doing the same. He turned, saw me, came forward, and hugged me. He then kissed me on the cheek.

SOURCE: Strangers in a Strange Land – Ted Bundy