In July of 1976, David Berkowitz started his murderous rampage on the streets of New York. By the summer of 1977 we were all residents of his nightmare. We didn’t know his name. All we knew was that some madman was shooting people, young women in particular, along with their companions.
Reporters dubbed him the “44 calibre killer.” He left a note for media dubbing himself “a monster” and a “brat.” “I am the Son of Sam,” he proclaimed.
This was one very sick and twisted guy. Police were looking for him. A few vigilantes were on the lookout, but many people just hid inside.
I was in the neighbourhood that summer, working with youth in Queens. If you think I’m radical now, you should have known me then! Youthful naivete combined with intense faith, conviction, and personal experience combined to inspire some crazy ideas.
After evenings working with the youth, I would go looking for the shooter, late into the night. Driving slowly, surveying shadows. Parking and waiting in silence. Sitting alone in the park.
Looking back now, I'm not sure what I would have done had our paths crossed.
Try to hand him a tract? Try to send enough words around the point of his gun before he pulled the trigger?
Having explored the darker recesses of my own heart, I held a stubborn belief that no person is beyond change.
And 27 years later, I still can’t shake that belief.
Yes, I’ve been burned. Sure, I’m more careful – even occasionally cynical. I don’t want to be played for a sucker by some cunning, conning con.
I understand the complex implications and twisted intentions inherent in some convict conversions. I’ve seen people playing the pity card, the victim card, the race card and even the “Jesus” card. All the time playing instead of making an honest change.
I’ve seen too much not to be suspicious. I’ve heard friends tell me, “These people don’t change.” I know statistics regarding recidivism cast aspersions on any alleged rehabilitation. But I still have this feeling that giving up on these guys is like giving up on part of myself.
I am by no means soft on crime. I’m not easy on criminals, because their crimes aren’t easy on people.
I talk with hoodlums, hookers, johns and junkies, thugs and dealers. I encourage them to change. But if they won’t change, we’ll do our best to get them busted. There’s too much at risk to turn a blind eye.
I understand the concern of those actually or vicariously victimized. I’ve heard the comments. “Fry the bastard.” “Make him taste the suffering he’s inflicted on his victims.
Unrepentant criminals will experience a hell that exceeds even the one into which they have dragged their victims. That is as it must be. No escape. No slick defense attorney to find a loophole. No naïve judge or bamboozled jury.
In my line of work, in my community, I’ve come face to face with a wild variety of people who have committed unspeakable crimes. Some convicted by courts, some unjustly acquitted, and some never caught.
But I’ve also seen enough to know there are times even the “impossible” cases change.
This week I heard a recent interview with David Berkowitz. Straight from his prison cell, 27 years following his conviction. He sounded lucid, remorseful and like a genuinely changed man. Despite the fact that he’s eligible for an attempt at parole, he writes that reconciliation with his conscience and creator is more important than release from the consequence of prison. And his walk matches his talk.
Better late than never? Would I feel different had he killed someone I know?
Here in Winnipeg, I’ve met some hardened criminals who’ve been softened by an awareness of – and genuine sorrow for – their depravity. There are no attempts at excuses for what they have done. They’ve moved miles beyond rationalizing their evil.
There’s something profound in conversations with these guys. No pretense. And often I get a sense of someone just itching to be given a chance to be who they want to be – instead of what they’ve been in the past.
Don’t get me wrong. This is not about naiveté. This is not some pity trip. It’s not even really about us.
It’s about some people that have too much good to offer to be discounted as useless.
I’m thankful for my time with the “better late than never” crowd.
Rev. Harry Lehotsky
514 Maryland Street
Winnipeg, Mb R3G 1M5
(204) 775-4929
lehotsky@escape.ca