L-R victim Karen Hill, Shawcross with his “adopted” daughter Margaret Deming and granddaughter, Arthur Shawcross, and victim Jack Blake
WARNING: THIS BLOG CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND SEXUAL MATERIAL THAT IS NOT APPROPRIATE FOR ALL READERS.
It is time to make up for lost time. I’ve promised to post 4 articles every month and I’m determined to post this article and one more before the first of September. Watch me!
Today I am writing about a killer close to my my original home, Rochester, New York. Only the people who lived in the Monroe County New York region or the Thousand Island/St. Lawrence River area, or who are obsessed with true crime probably recognize the name Arthur Shawcross. In 2008 he died in prison of heart failure at age 63 while serving a life sentence for killing 12 women in Rochester.
Arthur, called “Artie” by his mother, was the oldest of four children born at a Naval hospital in Kittery Maine. He grew up in northern central New York State in the small city of Watertown, near the 1000 Islands area of the St. Lawrence River that borders the U.S. and Canada. He was known as a peculiar child who spoke baby talk until he was 14 and hid under radiators and the teacher’s desk although he was a bully at school. Although he earned As and Bs in kindergarten, his reported IQ was 86 a below average score and he repeated at least three elementary grades and dropped out of school in 9th grade. He was a suspect in several burglary and arson cases and in 1963 was arrested and placed on probation for breaking a shop window. While family members dispute his accusations, he claimed he was sexually molested by his mother and aunt and had sex with his sisters. He mauled small animals, wet his bed, and was a suspect in several arson and burglary cases, characteristics known as the MacDonald Triad, common childhood traits of serial killers.
Despite his rough ways, Shawcross seemed to be popular with the ladies. In 1964 when he was 20, he married Sarah Chatterton and they had a son together. He continued to get involved in illegal activities and Sarah divorced him in 1966; Arthur readily gave up his parental rights. In September 1967 he married his second wife, Linda Neary. It may have been her good fortune that Shawcross was drafted into the military the following month, where he served for more than a year in Vietnam. Years later he claimed to have killed more than 40 Vietnamese, describing abuse and torture he inflicted in graphic detail. His army records indicated that he was a supply clerk and did not kill anyone during his service. He was discharged in 1969, then convicted of arson for burning down Crowley’s Cheese factory and Knowlton Brothers Paper Mill and sentenced to five years in Attica prison. Neary divorced him.
His killing did not begin in 1988 when he murdered and mutilated the first of a 10 prostitutes and a mentally impaired neighbor. He had been a dangerous man since 1972 when at age 27 he was convicted of sexually abusing and killing 11-year-old Jack Black and 8-year-old Karen Hill in Watertown where his mother Bessie had settled with her children while their father completed his military service.
Jack Blake was a neighborhood child whom Artie often took fishing in a meandering local stream. Witnesses saw them together at their regular spot on April 7, 1972. That was the last time anyone saw Jack alive. Later Artie was observed eating ice cream on the bridge where they regularly fished. Blake’s body was not found until five months later. The small boy had been sexually molested and asphyxiated. On April 22nd, Shawcross married his third wife Penny Sherbino, a girl he had known in high school. She was pregnant with his child at the time but miscarried four months later.
About a month after the discovery of Blake’s body, on September 2nd, 8-year-old Karen Hill was reported missing. Her mother questioned Shawcross repeatedly because she knew her daughter talked to him and was seen in his company frequently. His answers were vague but when she told police they seemed disinterested. Her body was discovered later that month under a bridge that crossed the Black River, a place Shawcross was frequently seen. She had been sexually molested and her mouth and clothing stuffed with mud and leaves.
Shawcross was soon picked up for questioning. At first he denied knowledge of either case but quickly confessed to both killings. Fearing he would not be convicted of the Jack Blake murder due to lack of corroborating evidence, the district attorney offered him a plea: If he accepted a sentence of 25 years for the murder of Karen Hill and agreed to show police where he had buried Jack Blake’s body, he would not be prosecuted for the Blake case. He accepted the plea and served 14 1/2 years of his sentence. He had been a model prisoner during his incarceration, earning his GED and passing a horticulture class, and was given excellent references by prison staff. He was paroled in April 1987. Well-publicized attempts to resettle in Watertown and then in Binghamton NY were not successful and the parole board finally decided to seal his criminal records and relocate him with his girlfriend, Rose Whalley, a few hundred miles south and east in Rochester New York. Apparently their relationship did not meet his needs and he soon acquired a girlfriend, Clara Neal. Nonetheless he married Rose, who became his fourth wife, in 1989. [He later married Clara, wife number five, during his final incarceration.]
Shawcross worked a number of short-lived menial jobs, the last as a salad maker for a produce company. In spite of having a wife, a girlfriend, and a job, he was able to make time to cruise Rochester’s “red light district” on run-down Lyell Avenue. Pretty 27-year-old Dorothy Blackburn was one of them. She disappeared on March 24, 1988 and was discovered dumped in the Genesee River after she had been viciously attacked, bitten in the groin, and strangled. On September 11th the body of prostitute Anna Steffen was discovered near the Blackburn dump site, and on October 21st, the asphyxiated body of a homeless woman 59-year-old Dorothy Keeler was discovered. The body of Patty Ives, sexually abused and strangled, was found 6 days later, on October 27th. While prostitutes were often involved with drugs and found themselves in dangerous situations, Rochester police were now convinced they were looking for a serial killer. They warned the women who cruised the Lake-Lyell avenues to be cautious of strangers and travel in pairs. Arthur Shawcross, though, was a well-known figure to the girls who worked the streets and they did not consider him dangerous.
June Stotts, age 30, was Arthur’s friend. She was neither a prostitute nor a drug-user. He picked her up on the street on October 23rd and they drove to a nearby beach where they had sex, then argued. Stotts was strangled, anally abused postmortem, then her body split open from neck to crotch, and partially eviscerated; her body was discovered on Thanksgiving Day. After June’s slaying, Shawcross strangled and mutilated Frances Brown, Maria Welch, Elizabeth Gibson, Darlene Trippi, Felicia Stevens, and June Cicero.
On January 3, 1990, a police helicopter covering route 31 near Northampton Park where a wallet and boots belonging to Felicia Stevens had been discovered, saw a car stopped on a bridge over Salmon Creek. The occupant was outside the passenger side of the vehicle and below him, frozen in the creek ice, was the nude body of a woman later identified as June Cicero. This was not the first time Shawcross had visited her body, he told police. Two days after the murder he had returned to the scene with a hand saw, cut out her vagina, and ate it. While the vagina had been cut, the cannibalism allegation was never proven Arthur Shawcross had been her last trick on the night of December 18th. She had bragged to police earlier that day that the killer didn’t worry her. She could take care of herself. He should be afraid of her, she had claimed.
Arthur Shawcross justified every murder he committed except the murders of the children, Those he repeatedly refused to discuss. In one videotaped interview, however, he told the questioner that he did not want to talk about the children because he regretted those crimes and felt shame. For the other victims, he always found an excuse. The prostitutes made fun of his inability to perform sexually, he claimed. Several tried to steal his wallet. One bit his penis during oral sex. His written confession was 80 pages long.
He never expressed remorse for any of his crimes and in fact said he was unable to feel any emotion about them. In November 1990 he was tried for 10 cases of second degree murder (one occurred in an adjacent county and was tried separately) and sentenced to 250 years in New York State’s Sullivan Correctional Facility. On November 8, 2008 he complained of leg pains and was transferred to an Albany hospital where he died the same day.
The beginning of this blog reflects my own personal opinions and very likely does not reflect the beliefs of my writing partner, retired Manatee County Sheriff Charlie Wells. His frame of reference is vastly different from mine. It reflects different experiences than those I have had; I deeply respect what he believes to be the truth.
Most of the following blog tells the stories of two fine, dedicated Florida Troopers, Claude Baker and Charlie Campbell, and how their duty to protect the public cost them their lives. By telling their stories in tandem with references to George Floyd and Derek Chauvin, I want to emphasize that we cannot afford to polarize our nation further by simplistically defining complicated people and situations as right or wrong, good or evil, Black or White, racist or non-racist. Abolishing police departments is a foolish idea; making them better trained and accountable for the acts they perform, right now, is essential. God bless the brave men and women who leave their homes each morning in the hope of protecting our communities. May they remain strong, fair, and safe.
Law Enforcement as a career is taking a brutal beating these days with some justification. The world froze in horror at the video image of Minneapolis police officer Derek Michael Chauvin kneeling for eight minutes on the neck of George Floyd, who had been suspected of passing a counterfeit twenty dollar bill. Floyd was only the most recent victim of a flurry of Black American deaths by officers of the law. These deaths are not largely the product of evil racist cops. They are the product of a racialized country that not only permits but in some cases encourages citizens to take the worst parts of their nature, their prejudices and hatreds, out onto the streets and to act on them without fear of recrimination.
I think most law enforcement professionals do the best job they can to protect the public–Black and White–and to put bad people away where they can do no more harm. They risk their lives every day to do so.
Charlie Wells told me the stories of two fellow-troopers he knew, worked with, liked, and respected during his early law enforcement days. I have paraphrased here but have written in the first person: Wells is the narrator. Sections that appear in italics were written directly by Charlie Wells and are part of his forthcoming autobiography.
Troopers Claude Baker and Charlie Campbell were as close as any two troopers I knew. They shared a common vision of what it was to be a law enforcement officers but they were different men with different personalities and characteristics.
Charlie, who stood about 6’1” and weighed around 250 pounds, had little patience when he was confronted by a violator who wanted to give him a hard time. Otherwise he just looked mean. A sinkhole had developed in one of the roadways in Sarasota and troopers were assigned to prevent motorists from driving into it. Charlie was directing traffic that hot summer day when he motioned drivers to turn right or left, avoiding the hole. One vehicle pulled up to the intersection and watching Charlie’s direction, the driver honked his horn. Charlie looked at the guy who was yelling at him, but could not hear what he said because the car window was up. He shrugged his shoulders questioningly and the driver pointed that he wanted to go straight. Charlie once again motioned for the driver to turn.
The driver blew his horn again, this time louder and longer, and once again motioned to Charlie that he wanted to go straight. Charlie moved the barricade, then walked over to the driver who by now had rolled his window down and was still grumbling. Charlie said “Do you see that sinkhole over there?” The driver raised up in his seat to see better and finally said yes. Charlie said “Drive into the hole.” The driver said “I don’t want to drive into the hole.” Charlie said “I told you to drive into the hole.” By this time the driver was red-faced and shaking his head no. Charlie said “If you don’t want to drive into the hole, then you have to turn. Why do you think the barricades are there? Why do you think I’m here?” The embarrassed driver finally got the message, turned right, and drove off.
While Charlie was the more serious of the two, he also had a sense of humor. One night he invited Trooper Ron Getman to go fishing with Claude and him. Getman showed up at the meeting place by the water and got out of his car with a bucket of shrimp for bait. His friends asked him what was in the bucket and Getman told them. Campbell grabbed one of the shrimp from the bucket, threw it in the water, and announced “Well, looks like they aren’t biting. Let’s go get a beer.” Getman caught on immediately. The invitation had not been for a fishing trip, it was strictly a beer drinking night!
Claude, who was the smaller of the pair, was always smiling. When he issued citations to violators they never seemed to get mad at him. Getting promoted within the Florida Highway Patrol (FHP) was difficult. It meant months of studying law, policy and supervision prior to the promotional examinations. On one occasion the promotional examinations were held at the University of South Florida, Tampa. Claude and Charlie rode to the exam together in Charlie’s car. I pulled up in the university parking lot at the same time they did. We got out of our cruisers, shook hands, and walked to the examination room together. I asked Claude if he had been studying. “Yes” he said, “on the ride up here, but it was hard to concentrate because Charlie kept talking to me.” I knew Claude was kidding, he hadn’t studied at all. We all laughed and entered the exam room. After we had finished I saw Claude again and he said “I think I may have missed one or two questions.” We laughed and walked to our cruisers. Claude had no interest in being promoted. He was content with his life and did not care about climbing the chain of command. In many ways I admired him for his contentment. It wasn’t that he was lazy or unintelligent. He was a bright trooper with a good head on his shoulders, but above all he was happy.
Henry Lorenzo Payne was not a stranger to law enforcement. Two days before encountering Trooper Claude Baker, Payne had been serving a three-year sentence for auto theft at Zephyr Hills Prison Camp in his home state of Florida when he escaped from a work release program on November 15, 1973. It didn’t take him long to return to a life of crime. The next day he went to a Ware Construction Company site in Tampa. He reached through a car window where a security guard named Spivey was seated and attempted to grab the guard’s gun. When Spivey refused to give it up, Payne dragged him from the car, beat him, and stole his weapon and a small television set he had been watching.
The following day, November 17th, Payne abducted a twenty-one-year-old female from a shopping center and forced her to drive to a wooded area near Tampa. There he raped her, stole her 1972 blue Oldsmobile, and drove off leaving her in the woods.The victim walked to the nearest phone and called the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Office.
Payne laid low until nightfall, then headed south, passing through Ruskin, Palmetto, Bradenton, Sarasota, and Venice in the stolen car.He was, unsurprisingly, speeding. Trooper Baker who was on duty and traveling north on route 41 at the time, made a U turn and gave chase.
At 7:58 p.m. , Trooper Baker, #365, radioed the Bradenton dispatcher and advised that he was stopping a blue Oldsmobile Cutlass, license number FL 3W-51397. They were seven or eight miles south of Venice on U.S. 41, otherwise known as Tamiami Trail. The Bradenton dispatcher checked his records and reported that the car was not missing or stolen. Traffic stops like this one occur thousands of times a week and were normally routine. The Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Office report of the rape and car theft had not yet been entered into the system; This stop on this night would be anything but routine.
Terry and Sharon Rhodes were traveling south on U.S. 41 and saw a trooper pass them with blue lights on. They said the trooper went out of sight at a curve in the road, then a few minutes later they saw the trooper’s blue lights again. When their car was adjacent to the patrol car they saw the trooper lying on the ground face down. Terry, who worked for an ambulance service in Fort Myers, jumped from his car and ran to the trooper’s aid.He turned Claude Baker over and attempted to clear his air passage. Claude was moaning and then expelled a lot of blood.Rhodesdid not see Payne who had already left in the blue Oldsmobile.
Everything was quiet in the dispatch system until 8:03 p.m. The on-duty Bradenton dispatcher broke the radio squelch and I detected a nervous quiver in his voice. Ben Clinger, ordinarily a calm dispatcher and a man I knew well was not calm now as he spoke on the radio. He was talking to a citizen speaking from Claude’s radio, which was very unusual. While I could not hear what the citizen was saying I could clearly hear Clinger and some back and forth between Clinger and the citizen. Clinger broadcast words that chilled me to the bone: “Bradenton all units, #365 has been shot on U.S. 41 approximately 7 miles south of Venice.” I had heard a similar message about a trooper earlier in my career and the results had not been good.I felt sick.
Sarasota County Sheriff’s deputies rapidly deployed to the scene. Detective Robert Hampton and his colleagues searched the area to recover evidence.Hampton reported that Claude had been shot twice, once on the left chest and a second time on his right arm near the elbow. His gun lay on the ground behind the left rear tire. Ironically, Sergeant Eric Britt found a check issued by the Ware Construction Company to Henry Lorenzo Payne two feet in front of Claude’s patrol car. Payne had worked at the work site where he had robbed the security guard the day before.
At midnight the Charlotte County Sheriff’s Office reported they had received a call from a Port Charlotte resident. She had been watching television and had seen the news report of the trooper killing with a description of Payne and the car he was driving. She said she had seena car matching that description parked in her neighborhood. Charlotte County deputies immediately responded. They found Payne. In the Oldsmobile he was driving, deputies found a .38 revolver and the clothes Payne had been wearing. There were bloodstains on his jeans.
Payne was not going to give up easily. After his arrest he told Detective Hampton that his name was Leroy Jenkins. He admitted having been in the blue Oldsmobile, but insisted that a man he called “Bee Bop”had picked him up hitchhiking and was the actual shooter.After Hampton left the room, Payne finally admitted his true identity to the other officer interrogating him, Lieutenant Bohanson. Payne invoked his right to an attorney, was assigned a public defender, and refused to talk to detectives any further.
Undoubtedly to avoid the death penalty, Payne eventually plead guilty to first degree murder for the death of Claude Baker. He was sentenced to life in prison at Tomoka Facility. In addition to murder, Payne was convicted of robbery, rape, grand theft auto, and escape. In 1987 he again escaped his Jackson County facility. While out of prison Payne was convicted of additional crimes: Robbery with a firearm and aggravated battery with intent to do harm, and escape. Again, hopefully for the last time, he is serving a life sentence in prison.
Over 700 were in attendance at the Ewing Funeral Home in Venice to show their respect for a fine trooper and an outstanding man. The chapel was filled to capacity and an overflow crowd listened to the service on outside speakers. Staff members from General Headquarters (GHQ) Tallahassee including FHP Director, Colonel J.E. Beach. The Lieutenant Colonel and several Troop Commanders from around the state were also in attendance. Law Enforcement officers from hundreds of state and local agencies were in attendance to honor Claude. Hundreds of local citizens came, even though many of them may have never known Claude, but they wanted to let Claude’s family and law enforcement know they cared for them and many of them wept during the service.
An FHP Honor Guard stood at Claude’s casket. An American flag covered the casket, which I believed would have pleased Claude: He was a patriotic man. Claude’s family was ushered into the chapel and quietly took their seats. Connie Baker, Claude’s wife along with his daughter Sabrina were escorted in by Corporal Steve Ward, Claude’s immediate supervisor. It was heartbreaking for me to look at Connie and Sabrina Baker as the sat, eyes overflowing with tears. Connie was a beautiful, dignified lady. She and Claude had been married for over nine years. The service was almost unbearable for her. At her young age I was not certain that their daughter, beautiful little Sabrina, could understand that her daddy was never coming home again.
The motorcade that accompanied Claude Baker’s body consisted of more than 150 patrol cars and police motorcycles from multiple agencies, blue lights flashing with hundreds of civilians falling in behind them. The procession was two miles long. Along the route, hundreds lined up on the sidewalks and street corners to salute the hearse carrying Claude to his final resting place. The entire experience was humbling, yet bittersweet, bitter because of Claude’s murder, sweet because of the support he was receiving from the public along the way. We had lost a good man and the public knew it.
Losing Claude Baker had been agonizing for Charlie Campbell and he was never the same after his best friend was murdered. He finally asked for and was granted a transfer to Perry. He thought the change might ease his pain and help him get past it all. Before long he settled into his new assignment and seemed relatively satisfied.
On November 16, 1974, near Thanksgiving and one day short of a year since Claude Baker had died, Charlie got into his cruiser, signed on in service, and headed to the Perry Florida Highway Patrol station. He spoke with the dispatcher, jotting down information on a “Be On The Lookout” (BOLO) for a stolen beige Volkswagen. He headed south on U.S. 19, the main arterial highway through Taylor County.
About seven miles south of Perry Charlie spotted a beige Volkswagen that fit the description of the BOLO stolen car. Charlie made a U-turn though the median and fell in behind the car. Reading the license plate, he noticed that it was different from the one on the BOLO. He activated his emergency lights and stopped the Volkswagen to investigate.Charlie had no way of knowing that the driver was one of the most evil human beings in the nation at the time: Paul John Knowles.It was never determined why Campbell had not radioed ahead to dispatch, as was protocol, to report that he was stopping the Volkswagen.
Knowles was a ruthless serial killer who had already murdered and raped numerous times. [See the details in the blog dated July 31, 2020, truecrimemama.com]. As Charlie approached the Volkswagen, Knowles quickly exited with a sawed-off 12-gauge shotgun and got the drop on the trooper.Knowles handcuffed Campbell, then ordered him into the passenger side of the car. The two drove away with Knowles behind the wheel, leaving the Volkswagen behind.
Knowles could not afford to be spotted driving a sheriff’s vehicle, but he used it one final time to stop a blue Ford Torino driven by 30-year-old James E. Meyer of Wilmington, Delaware.Meyer had rented the car from Hertz at the Tallahassee airport and was headed to Perry on business. Knowles subdued Meyer, most likely, by handcuffing him with a spare set of handcuffs found in Charlie’s FHP cruiser, then placed him in the Torino’s back seat with Charlie and took off looking for an escape route to leave the area.
The Taylor County area is a rural county encompassing fewer than 1,300 square miles with a population of 21,600. Perry is the county seat and is located about 50 miles south of the state capitol in Tallahassee. While the County is on the west coast, it is not a beach community but better- known for great hunting and fishing locations. Because of its size, limited financial resources hindered law enforcement in their search for Charlie. The County’s small sheriff’s force relied on wild life officers, state troopers, the marine patrol, the FBI, and local citizens to assist them. All their efforts failed and Knowles drove out of the county and made his way to Georgia, less than 40 miles away.
He traveled on less populated roads, but was not invisible. In Lakeland Georgia a service station attendant reported seeing Knowles in a car with two other men about 1 p.m. Another witness saw him in Abbeville around 4 p.m., and a third witness said he saw the car near the the Houston and Pulaski county lines a short time later where Knowles made a right hand turn onto the dirt state road 247, traveling at a high rate of speed. Between 6 and 7 p.m. purchases of a tape recorder, tapes, clothing, shoes and batteries were made at a Sears store in Macon Georgia with Charlie Campbell’s credit card. By 10:15 p.m. Knowles had checked into the Ambassador Motel in Macon. By then he was alone.
Early the following afternoon, Henry County Georgia Sheriff’s Deputy Charles Hancock received a BOLO for the blue Torino Knowles was driving. He saw the car and called for a roadblock at Highway 52 where Knowles was headed. Seeing the barrier, Knowles sped up and hit a patrol car, then sprang from his car, pointing a revolver at the pursuing sheriffs, but did not shoot. He ran for the nearby woods. Law enforcement officers and a team of tracking dogs were not immediately able to locate him.
Several hours later Knowles was apprehended in Henry County. His escape route covered a distance of 4.5 miles, primarily through a wooded area. During the time he was pursued Knowles forcibly entered two residences located on Springdale Road. He had stolen a single-barrel Stevens shotgun from one of the houses and it was in his possession at the time of his arrest.
Knowles was eventually captured by a soft-spoken young man named David Clark. Clark had spotted Knowles while walking outside his house, calmly walked into his home to get his shotgun, and Knowles surrendered to him without a struggle. He was exhausted after running several miles from the pursuing deputies and dogs. Ironically, the 12-gauge shotgun Knowles had stolen did not have a firing pin and was worthless to the killer. Clark marched Knowles across the street and asked one of his neighbors to call the police. Scores of law enforcement officers quickly appeared at Clark’s address and took Knowles into custody. Clark was considered a hero by his neighbors. The slender 27-year-old had not been figured to be the type to capture a dangerous criminal, his neighbor said.
Four days later, on November 21, 1974 the bodies of Charlie and Meyer were found by two deer hunters, Dennis Thompson and Walter Owens, near Perry, Georgia. Charlie and 7 another miles west where they were killed. Charlie and Meyer were found lying head to head at the base of a large pine tree. It appeared they had been restrained by handcuffs prior to being shot in the head. Charlie was in full FHP uniform, except his hat and gun belt. He had been shot with a .357 magnum, Claude Baker’s gun, the gun Charlie had requested Florida Highway Patrol issue to him after Claude’s death.
A Federal Grand Jury was impaneled in Macon and Sheldon Yavitz, Knowles’ attorney, was subpoenaed to testify regarding tape recordings he possessed that Knowles had made at the scenes of 18 murders he was charged with. He wanted someone to write a book about his exploits using the tapes.
A large number of reporters and curiosity seekers had gathered at the jail trying to get a photo or glimpse of Knowles, which caused authorities to be concerned about his security and the security of police officers at the jail. After careful thought, they decided to move Knowles to Douglas County Jail in Milledgeville, Georgia. The sheriff of Douglas County was Earl Lee who was a big affable man who had a solid reputation in law enforcement. After having served as a deputy for eight years, Sheriff Lee ran for sheriff and was elected. Lee had attended law enforcement schools to sharpen his skills and also graduated from the National FBI Academy. While he was there, Lee became friends with a Georgia Bureau of Investigation (GBI) agent named Ronnie Angel.
After Knowles was incarcerated in the Douglas County Jail, Lee and Angel regularly visited his cell to establish rapport with him. The two lawmen were tenacious and wanted to get as much information as Knowles would give them about other murders he had committed. Sheriff Lee later testified before the grand jury that he had asked Knowles how many people he had killed and Knowles had written in the palm of his hand the number 18. The sheriff also testified that Knowles had written on the wall of his cell Georgia, Florida, Virginia, Connecticut, Mississippi and Ohio as the states where he had committed his crimes. Sheriff Lee and Agent Angel also asked Knowles what he had done with Charlie’s service revolver and after many conversations, on December 10, Knowles finally agreed to show them where he had discarded the weapon. The sheriff knew that Knowles was a vain, cocky man who was upset when he wasn’t mentioned in the media and might cooperate for the attention it would offer him.
On December 18th, Lee and Angel collected their prisoner from his cell and secured his hands and legs with cuffs and chains to prevent an escape attempt. Lee drove the cruiser and they proceeded south on Interstate 20 toward Henry County. Agent Angel had contacted several GBI agents and members of the Henry County Sheriff’s Office and requested they meet him and Sheriff Lee at Hudson Bridge Road and Interstate 75 to provide additional security for the search for the gun.
At the county line road bridge Knowles lit up a cigarette and Lee directed him to throw the cigarette out. He pulled over to the side of the road for Knowles to dispose of it, but Knowles said he would put it out in the ash tray. Shortly after that Sheriff Lee saw and felt Knowles’ arm reach over his shoulder and grab his gun. Agent Angel also saw Knowles grab the sheriff’s gun. Shots were fired and the vehicle left the roadway. Upon coming to a stop, Sheriff Lee got out of the vehicle and confirmed that Knowles was dead. The latter had actually fired the sheriff’s gun while it was partially holstered and at approximately the same time, Agent Angel fired the shots that killed Knowles.
Examinations by the state crime laboratory recovered three bullets from Knowles body during an autopsy. A metal paper clip was found in the Douglas County Sheriff’s vehicle that Knowles had used to pick the handcuff lock from his right hand. On December 30, 1974, a coroner’s inquest was held in Douglas County to examine the facts surrounding the death of Knowles. After hearing nine witnesses testify, the coroner’s jury ruled that the death of Knowles was justifiable homicide.
In a single year’s time, two outstanding law enforcement officers, Claude Baker and Charlie Campbell, colleagues and the best of friends, lost their lives in the line of duty. Henry Lorenzo Payne was off the streets for life, no longer a threat to innocent Florida citizens. The spree killer, Paul John Knowles, a man who had at the same time gone on a murderous six-month rampage, was also now dead.Without the courage and persistence of men like Baker and Campbell, there is no doubt that the world would be a vastly more dangerous place. We are grateful for their lives. May they rest in peace.
Top: Paul John Knowles Left: Cocktail Waitress Angela Covic Right: British Journalist Sandy Fawkes
WARNING: THESE CONTENTS DEPICT EXTREME VIOLENCE AND ARE NOT SUITABLE FOR A VARIETY OF READERS.
My writing partner, retired Manatee County Sheriff Charlie Wells, first told me the story of Paul John Knowles. Wells’ law enforcement career had begun with the Florida State Troopers, and in that role he worked and became friends with Trooper Charles Campbell, one of Knowles’ two final victims, whom Knowles kidnapped and killed in Macon Georgia in November 1974. That event will be the subject of another blog.
By the time Charlie Campbell was shot, Knowles, then 28 years old, had become a brutal predator who strangled, shot, tortured and raped at least 20 people; he claimed to have killed 35, as many as better-known serial killer Ted Bundy. There is no conceivable justification for such cruelty, but after researching his life and his crimes, it is possible to understand how such a monster came to be.
If nurture is a factor in creating a killer, Paul John Knowles’ family life would have easily qualified him. The 5 Knowles children lived near Jacksonville Florida with their parents in a 3-room house–a main room, one bedroom, and a kitchen. Their toilet needs were met by an outhouse. Paul’s younger brother Clifton Knowles told a reporter that if the things that happened in his family were to have occurred today, the children would have been placed in foster care. What his father described as a “whippin,” he said, “I called a beating.” The children bore bruises from his belt and Clifton said his father nearly beat Paul to death more than once. He would run off into the woods until he healed, then come home until the next time.
At age eight, he had stolen a bike and committed other petty crimes. Beatings not having tamed his son, his father turned Paul over to the state where he was placed in the infamous Dozier School for Boys located in Marianna Florida where he remained off and on until his early teen years. It was the ideal place to feed his growing rage. A reformatory that operated from 1900 until its forced closing in 2011, the institution was known for its extreme brutality. Boys whose spirits could not be easily broken, known as “The White House Boys,” were taken to a special building where they were severely beaten, raped, and sometimes killed by guards. The State investigation that resulted in the institution’s closure uncovered at least 81 child deaths that had resulted from abuse or neglect at the hands of Dozier School employees. An NPR documentary was produced that portrayed the school through the eyes of many of its victims, now adults who could finally speak up and defend themselves. In 2020, novelist Colson Whitehead won a Pulitzer Prize for his book TheNickel Boys, based on facts uncovered about the Dozier School. The reformatory did not “reform” Paul. It may very well have helped to transform him from a bad boy, a budding criminal, into a stone killer.
As an adult, Paul John Knowles was a red-haired, six feet tall handsome man sometimes described as a combination of Robert Redford and Ryan O’Neal, and dubbed “The Casanova Killer” because of his good looks and charm. In the last half of 1974, in at least 6 states, he killed 14 women and 6 men. Because he murdered several victims in a short time span at different locations, he was branded a special breed of serial killer known in law enforcement as a spree killer. Most of his victims were complete strangers. They did not resemble one another: They were gay and straight; men, women, and children; attractive or not so much; homebodies and hitchhikers; ages ranging from 7 to 65, engaged in various occupations–waitress, teacher, retiree.
He did not strike out because he lacked love or companionship in his life. Paul may have despised his father, but he loved at least three women: His mother for whom he wanted to publish his life story and support her with the proceeds; Jackie Knight whose marriage to him did not last, but nonetheless remained his lifelong friend; and Angela Covic, a San Francisco waitress and his pen pal who obtained his early release from prison. They intended to marry immediately, but when he arrived in California he found that she had become disenchanted and called off the nuptials. He claimed to have killed his first three victims that night in San Francisco although it could not be proven. Only weeks later, Knowles began the rest of his murder spree.
In July, he entered the Florida home of 65-year-old Alice Cooper, ransacked her residence, gagged and tied her to a chair, and stole her car. Cooper wore false teeth which slipped and caused her to die choking; Knowles discovered her body when he returned to her house a second time that night. She was his first victim.
That evening, while he was attempting to abandon her car, he spotted two family acquaintances, 7-year-old Mylette Anderson and her 11-year-old sister Lillian. Afraid they might identify him for police, he strangled the little girls and dumped their bodies in a swamp. These were victims 2 and 3. In addition to the trooper and James Meyer with whom he was kidnapped, 15 other strangers were murdered, singly and in pairs. A father and his 15-year-old daughter were killed. A mother was strangled in front of her 3-year-old child. He killed gay men whose bodies he left nude, and a woman whose corpse he had sex with. No one seemed immune from his carnage except young boys. Even when they were present at killings, he left them untouched. They reminded him, perhaps, of himself as a young boy, abused by his father and again by his keepers at the Dozier School. He could live again through these boys, unassaulted this time.
Sandy Fawkes was one woman he charmed but did not kill. She was a British journalist on assignment for an American publication and she met Paul John Knowles in the bar of a Holiday Inn in Atlanta Georgia. They spent the night together and while Fawkes reported that the sex was unspectacular, she accepted his invitation to travel to Florida and see southern America with a native. Why did he leave her unmolested? Many hypothesized that he wanted her alive because she was a writer, and he craved being famous like his hero Jesse James and having the opportunity to earn book royalties that he could give to his mother. As a convict he and his family could not have benefited from such a book, but he did not know that.
Moreover, his life ended on December 18, 1974, a month after parting company with Sandy Fawkes. He had been arrested again and was terrified of the electric chair. He accepted an invitation to accompany Georgia Bureau of Investigation Agent Ron Angel and Douglas County Sheriff Earl Lee on a road trip to visit some of his crime scenes in the hope of gathering more information about his motives and victims. Seated in the back of the squad car, he surreptitiously worked his hands free of handcuffs using a paper clip and made a grab for Lee’s gun, perhaps a bid for “suicide by cop.” Agent Angel obliged him with three bullets, ending six months of national terror.
Readers who may want to know greater detail about Knowles’ specific crimes are referred to Google or to any of the following resources: The Casanova Killer: A Documentary; The Casanova Killer: The Life of Serial Killer Paul John Knowles a Kindle edition written by Jack Smith and Marjorie Kramer; and Natural Born Killer: In Love and On the Road with a Serial Killer and Killing Time: The Bizarre But True Story of Two Weeks of Love and Terror, both written by Sandy Fawkes.
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