giving his address as 217 East Third Street and the name of his employer as Betty Goodyear.
Toole was through with wandering. He rekindled his relationship with Goodyear’s son James Redwine and picked up his threadbare existence in Jacksonville where he’d left it a year before, though still without Lucas and “Becky” at his side. It is hard to say how long he might have carried on as it appeared he always had, just one more figure on the margins of life, managing somehow to stay afloat.
But the truth beneath the surface of Toole’s dismal existence was far darker than anyone might have suspected. Rotten teeth, unkempt hair, rank breath, and filthy clothes —check! Borderline intelligence, a bad attitude, poor coping skills —on the mark. Friends —none. Acquaintances —few. Skills —nonexistent. Prospects —nil.
All dismal enough, perhaps, but what Toole had hiding in the wings made those attributes seem the stuff of a Disney hero in comparison. And if he hadn’t finally had a little truly bad luck, the horror-show side of Ottis Toole might never have been known.
Jacksonville, Florida—May 31, 1983
U ntil the passage of the Uniform Holidays Bill in 1968, Memorial Day was always celebrated on May 30, a time set aside to honor U.S. men and women who died while engaged in military service. As John Logan, the commander in chief of the Grand Army of the Republic, wrote in his 1868 general order, the purpose of “Decoration Day,” as it was originally known, was to fly the flag and strew graves with garlands in proud memory of all those heroes who had “made their breasts a barricade between our country and its foe.”
Over time, Memorial Day has become a somewhat trivialized occasion, its luster dimmed by a series of unpopular wars over the past half century and its date now shifting year by year to coincide with the last Monday in May. Perhaps a weary workforce and school population now welcome a three-day weekend as an unofficial kickoff to the summer season, but surely the holiday achieves little to instill the sense of honor, duty, and sacrifice it was designed for.
Certainly there was no such apparent effect on James Redwine, Ottis Toole’s sometime companion, and pal Charles Hammock, two juveniles picked up by police the afternoon following the holiday’s observance in Jacksonville in 1983. That morning, Redwine and Hammock had expressed their own holiday passions by setting fire to an unoccupied house at 1203 Hubbard Street.
Tipped off by an informant, police tracked down the pair, who quickly admitted setting fire to both the Hubbard Street house and another unoccupied house in the same neighborhood of Springfield a week earlier. However, Redwine told officers, they had help in these arsons. A man named Ottis Toole, an erstwhile boarder in his mother’s various rooming houses, had convinced them that burning down houses could be great fun, and they had gone along.
Accordingly, officers set out looking for Toole, who offered no resistance when they finally picked him up the following Monday, June 6. In fact, Toole not only confessed to the two arsons in question but told police that he had set dozens of fires in Jacksonville over the past twenty years, most of them in vacant buildings. He rode along with officers through a series of downtrodden neighborhoods, identifying thirty-six such sites where arson had been suspected, including his mother’s house at 708 Day Street. He’d been setting fires since he was nine, he told police, doing it “to keep blacks out of the neighborhood” and also because it turned him on sexually.
During a court-ordered psychological examination, Toole told Dr. Ernest Miller that setting fires allowed him to “fantasize sex,” and that he would characteristically watch the blazes from a distance and masturbate. He told the doctor that he was a homosexual, but claimed that while he enjoyed the company of children, he had never consummated a sexual relationship
Toole was through with wandering. He rekindled his relationship with Goodyear’s son James Redwine and picked up his threadbare existence in Jacksonville where he’d left it a year before, though still without Lucas and “Becky” at his side. It is hard to say how long he might have carried on as it appeared he always had, just one more figure on the margins of life, managing somehow to stay afloat.
But the truth beneath the surface of Toole’s dismal existence was far darker than anyone might have suspected. Rotten teeth, unkempt hair, rank breath, and filthy clothes —check! Borderline intelligence, a bad attitude, poor coping skills —on the mark. Friends —none. Acquaintances —few. Skills —nonexistent. Prospects —nil.
All dismal enough, perhaps, but what Toole had hiding in the wings made those attributes seem the stuff of a Disney hero in comparison. And if he hadn’t finally had a little truly bad luck, the horror-show side of Ottis Toole might never have been known.
Jacksonville, Florida—May 31, 1983
U ntil the passage of the Uniform Holidays Bill in 1968, Memorial Day was always celebrated on May 30, a time set aside to honor U.S. men and women who died while engaged in military service. As John Logan, the commander in chief of the Grand Army of the Republic, wrote in his 1868 general order, the purpose of “Decoration Day,” as it was originally known, was to fly the flag and strew graves with garlands in proud memory of all those heroes who had “made their breasts a barricade between our country and its foe.”
Over time, Memorial Day has become a somewhat trivialized occasion, its luster dimmed by a series of unpopular wars over the past half century and its date now shifting year by year to coincide with the last Monday in May. Perhaps a weary workforce and school population now welcome a three-day weekend as an unofficial kickoff to the summer season, but surely the holiday achieves little to instill the sense of honor, duty, and sacrifice it was designed for.
Certainly there was no such apparent effect on James Redwine, Ottis Toole’s sometime companion, and pal Charles Hammock, two juveniles picked up by police the afternoon following the holiday’s observance in Jacksonville in 1983. That morning, Redwine and Hammock had expressed their own holiday passions by setting fire to an unoccupied house at 1203 Hubbard Street.
Tipped off by an informant, police tracked down the pair, who quickly admitted setting fire to both the Hubbard Street house and another unoccupied house in the same neighborhood of Springfield a week earlier. However, Redwine told officers, they had help in these arsons. A man named Ottis Toole, an erstwhile boarder in his mother’s various rooming houses, had convinced them that burning down houses could be great fun, and they had gone along.
Accordingly, officers set out looking for Toole, who offered no resistance when they finally picked him up the following Monday, June 6. In fact, Toole not only confessed to the two arsons in question but told police that he had set dozens of fires in Jacksonville over the past twenty years, most of them in vacant buildings. He rode along with officers through a series of downtrodden neighborhoods, identifying thirty-six such sites where arson had been suspected, including his mother’s house at 708 Day Street. He’d been setting fires since he was nine, he told police, doing it “to keep blacks out of the neighborhood” and also because it turned him on sexually.
During a court-ordered psychological examination, Toole told Dr. Ernest Miller that setting fires allowed him to “fantasize sex,” and that he would characteristically watch the blazes from a distance and masturbate. He told the doctor that he was a homosexual, but claimed that while he enjoyed the company of children, he had never consummated a sexual relationship
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