From the pages of:
www.policegazette.us
Originally published, October 2012
We have a saying
roundabout these parts. “If Binghamton did anything half-assed, it would
be an improvement.” On rare occasions, the people of Binghamton have
been willing to put in the whole butt, and any walk through Downtown
will show you what a giant butt it can be.
Arthur Shawcrosse was a brutal murderer of eleven women in Rochester, NY. In the 6th grade listening to details of Shawcrosse’s pursuit and capture was the first time I learned about prostitutes and the modern serial killer. This was no romanticized Jack the Ripper, this was a monster choking and beating women to death in the streets and stashing them under bridges so he could return weeks later to masturbate while watching them decompose.
According to Shawcrosse, his career as a murderer began in Viet Nam, where he claimed to have been given free range to prowl and kill in the jungle as he pleased. No record exists to support this, of course, but even Shawcrosse couldn’t remember how many victims fell to his growing sadism. In previous wars, soldiers had a month on a troop ship to change personalities, Viet Nam was the first where soldiers could be in a war zone one day and with their families the next. With two wars drawing to a close in our time, it is Shawcrosse we should be thinking of. When he returned home to Watertown, Shawcrosse was still hungry.
If you ask me, the real monster is the criminal justice system that gave less than 15 years to a man guilty of raping, murdering, and mutilating two children. Then, as is now, when New York State needs to place scum like this in a community, Binghamton is where they look first. According to logs available to schools and day cares, many of the faces leering from front porches across from the Binghamton Post Office are registered sex-offenders and child molesters. Lock up your wives, daughters, mothers, and pets when you go to collect your mail.
Shawcrosse was given a home in what is now an abandoned-looking church on the corner of Munsel and Chenengo St., where he was expected to live quietly and not make trouble. If there are any corpses to his credit in our city, Shawcrosse took that knowledge to his grave. Only a few weeks were needed for Shawcrosse’s history to get out, and in a rare display of public decency, Arthur Shawcrosse was driven out of Binghamton and on to infamy.
As I rode my bike along the River Walk in the days before students moved into a shiny new housing, I was astounded by the distinct lack of broken glass and trash that had decorated the pavement for months. All summer I’d slalomed to avoid slashing my tires or riding through goose, dog, horse, or human feces, but all had been hosed away. The only drunks on park benches were students that moved in early and couldn’t find their way back to the West Side the night before. A new Binghamton was being presented for the kids that would soon be living and spending and driving our shiny new roundabout.
IBM is gone. Link is gone. Even Boscov’s and BAE are only tied to us by the thinnest threads. Bars, head shops, and Subway are the only Downtown businesses thriving. Trash and toothless meth addicts are no way to attract people to live here. In the days before the students moved in for a new school year, Binghamton looked presentable. If we want those students to stay and work and rebuild our economy, at least one posterior cheek will be necessary to convince them.
Arthur Shawcrosse was a brutal murderer of eleven women in Rochester, NY. In the 6th grade listening to details of Shawcrosse’s pursuit and capture was the first time I learned about prostitutes and the modern serial killer. This was no romanticized Jack the Ripper, this was a monster choking and beating women to death in the streets and stashing them under bridges so he could return weeks later to masturbate while watching them decompose.
According to Shawcrosse, his career as a murderer began in Viet Nam, where he claimed to have been given free range to prowl and kill in the jungle as he pleased. No record exists to support this, of course, but even Shawcrosse couldn’t remember how many victims fell to his growing sadism. In previous wars, soldiers had a month on a troop ship to change personalities, Viet Nam was the first where soldiers could be in a war zone one day and with their families the next. With two wars drawing to a close in our time, it is Shawcrosse we should be thinking of. When he returned home to Watertown, Shawcrosse was still hungry.
If you ask me, the real monster is the criminal justice system that gave less than 15 years to a man guilty of raping, murdering, and mutilating two children. Then, as is now, when New York State needs to place scum like this in a community, Binghamton is where they look first. According to logs available to schools and day cares, many of the faces leering from front porches across from the Binghamton Post Office are registered sex-offenders and child molesters. Lock up your wives, daughters, mothers, and pets when you go to collect your mail.
Shawcrosse was given a home in what is now an abandoned-looking church on the corner of Munsel and Chenengo St., where he was expected to live quietly and not make trouble. If there are any corpses to his credit in our city, Shawcrosse took that knowledge to his grave. Only a few weeks were needed for Shawcrosse’s history to get out, and in a rare display of public decency, Arthur Shawcrosse was driven out of Binghamton and on to infamy.
As I rode my bike along the River Walk in the days before students moved into a shiny new housing, I was astounded by the distinct lack of broken glass and trash that had decorated the pavement for months. All summer I’d slalomed to avoid slashing my tires or riding through goose, dog, horse, or human feces, but all had been hosed away. The only drunks on park benches were students that moved in early and couldn’t find their way back to the West Side the night before. A new Binghamton was being presented for the kids that would soon be living and spending and driving our shiny new roundabout.
IBM is gone. Link is gone. Even Boscov’s and BAE are only tied to us by the thinnest threads. Bars, head shops, and Subway are the only Downtown businesses thriving. Trash and toothless meth addicts are no way to attract people to live here. In the days before the students moved in for a new school year, Binghamton looked presentable. If we want those students to stay and work and rebuild our economy, at least one posterior cheek will be necessary to convince them.
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