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Happy Halloween!

I expect many of you will agree with me when I say October is one of the year’s best months. The leaves are turning, there’s a chill in the air, lawn mowing is [almost] an afterthought, Halloween is just around the corner, the baseball playoffs are in progress, and football—NFL, college, high school, whatever—is providing a much-needed distraction for those of us desperate for something to distract us in this period leading up to the election.

Two months after the August launch of my book, I’m continuing to field requests for podcast interviews, print media interviews, and in-person appearances. Just as important, I continue to receive welcome feedback from readers who say they’ve enjoyed the book, or at least found its contents of interest. Among the adjectives they’ve used are “appalling [in a good way],” “fascinating,” “intriguing,” “absorbing,” and “refreshingly unpretentious.”

Recently, a close friend from my high school days back in North Tonawanda, New York, texted me to say that his 90-year-old mother had just finished reading the book. “She thinks you were crazy at times, but she thought the book was great,” he said. I was pleased—with both the “great” and “crazy” parts of his mom’s assessment.

An attorney who I used to work with on a lot of family court cases wrote to say, “I just finished your book. It was wonderful to hear your voice again through your words.” Another high school-era friend likened the experience of reading my book to “sitting in a room in a comfortable chair and having Jeff sitting across from me reciting story after story of nearly unbelievable episodes from his life.”

I love hearing that sort of feedback.

Of course I’m grateful for all the feedback I’ve received from readers. But it’s an extra bonus when the feedback comes from people who’ve known me a long time, and who say they can hear my voice very clearly in the pages of That Beast Was Not Me. That was one important goal of mine when I decided to have a go at writing my first book. I never set out to produce a scholarly tome, or an academic treatise. I always imagined an audience of general readers, and I wanted members of that audience to be able to discern a distinctive and consistent voice. Most of all, I wanted that voice to be unpretentious and relatable.

So, I want to thank all the readers who have reached out to provide me with supportive and encouraging feedback. If you’ve gone to the trouble of posting a positive review on Amazon, thank you for that. I appreciate you!

If you haven’t done so recently, I hope you’ll visit my website (www.jeffreysmalldon.com). Also, I urge you to check out my new YouTube channel.

In previous newsletters, I’ve included a brief blurb/review from one or two well-known authors who’ve read That Beast Was Not Me and offered their feedback. Here’s another capsule review.

This one’s from fiction writer Donald Ray Pollock, whose short story collection Knockemstiff knocked me out (sorry) when I read it shortly after its publication in 2009. That book and Pollock’s two novels, The Devil All the Time and The Heavenly Table, have established him as a leading member of the Appalachian gothic school in contemporary American fiction. Here’s what Pollock said after reading an Advanced Reader’s Copy of That Beast Was Not Me:

And spent close to twenty hours sparring with Gacy in a death row visiting room?

When I learned that Smalldon was at work on a book about his five decades of encounters with killing and killers, I was eager to read it. When I did, I really, really hated to see it end. Smalldon is a damn fine writer, and he has an incredible collection of vivid, highly personal stories to tell.

There have been plenty of books written about serial and mass killers, quite a few bad ones along with a smaller number of good ones. In my opinion, That Beast Was Not Me stands among the finest, most interesting books in this genre.”

• Recently, I was the featured guest on two episodes of the popular podcast Mind Over Murder (Part 1 and Part 2), hosted by Bill Thomas and Kristin Dilley. Things got a little raucous when the conversation turned to my experiences with Rosie Tate-Polanski, who insisted—insisted!—that she was Roman Polanski’s and Sharon Tate’s long-lost daughter, rescued from Tate’s stomach on the night of her murder in August 1969.

• On October 13, I participated in a book signing event at the Polaris Fashion Center’s Barnes & Noble store in Columbus. It was great to meet so many interested readers, great, too, to inscribe and sell so many books. Here are a few pictures from the event (one family who purchased multiple copies of my book asked if I’d pose with one of John Wayne Gacy’s paintings, so I did).

• In mid-October, I appeared on two more segments of the radio program Wake Up Niagara! (the first one was in September). It’s broadcast from Lockport, New York, a neighbor city of North Tonawanda, New York, where I grew up.

• On November 9, I’ll be participating in the Local Author Fair being held at the Fairfield County District Library, about 30 miles south of Columbus.

• On December 11, I’ll be the guest presenter at a luncheon event sponsored by the managing partners of Friedman and Mirman, one of Columbus’s leading firms specializing in family law.

• On January 16, 2025, I’ll be appearing at an author’s event sponsored by the Grandview Heights Public Library.

Some of what I’ve been reading during the past month:

You might want to avoid this book unless you’re looking for a truly granular account of how Edward Albee’s 1962 play Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? landed in the hands of director Mike Nichols and got made into the landmark film of the same name, released in 1966. But if you are looking for a highly detailed account of that process, with all of its attendant drama and spectacle (Richard Burton! Liz Taylor!), you’ll be richly rewarded if you choose this new book by Philip Gefter.

I was drawn to it mostly because I regard the Nichols-directed film as a stone cold classic, as brilliant as it is difficult to watch, and because I wanted to learn more about Nichols’ choice to use the Smith College campus for the film’s exterior scenes, including the famous opening scene, which features George (Richard Burton), a college history professor, and his wobbly wife Martha (Elizabeth Taylor), who happens to be the college president’s daughter, returning home after an evening of drinking and socializing at a faculty cocktail party.

Turns out it was Smith alum Gloria Steinem who convinced Mike Nichols — who wanted to marry her — to film the exterior scenes at Smith. The college was less than eager to take advantage of the “opportunity” to have its campus featured in the film—but a significant financial inducement sealed the deal.

Albee’s play is brilliant; the film version is, as I said, an instant classic; and Gefter’s book is an incisive, penetrating look at the film from pretty much every imaginable angle. If that’s what you’re looking for, I strongly recommend Cocktails with George and Martha.

Wilder-Taylor’s book is billed as “a memoir of loving and leaving alcohol”—and that’s pretty much what it is. It tells the story of how, when she was in her late-30s, Wilder-Taylor recognized that she was incapable of drinking with moderation in the way most other drinkers were.

The book is by turns poignant, funny, insightful, and a bit too pat. The ground Wilder-Taylor plows has been plowed many times before, often by writers who are as good or better than Wilder-Taylor at exposing the muck beneath the carefully curated surfaces that alcoholics use to obscure the many unhealthy and maladaptive aspects of their addiction.

Still, I recommend this book for its good humor, and for its potential as a trigger to self-examination for anyone who might be wondering whether it’s time to switch from sober-curious to sober.

Approach this title with caution: it’s neither “a Mamas and Papas book” nor an in-depth look at Cass Elliot’s life. If you’re searching for either of those things, I suggest you look elsewhere.

What is on offer here is a revealing window on what it’s been like to be Cass Elliot’s daughter. Owen was just seven years old at the time of her mother’s death in 1974. Owen was, according to folk singer Judy Henske, the product of her mother’s desire to have someone in her life who was always going to be there and would never leave her. It comes as no surprise that the poignancy of that wish and then the irony of Cass’s early death have hung over Owen’s life like a dark cloud for exactly 50 years now.

Those twin aspects of the history are at the center of this account. If you come to it looking for the right things, this book will function as a welcome supplement to the many other books that have been written about Cass Elliot and the Mamas and the Papas, one of the 1960s greatest folk-pop vocal ensemble groups.

Valparaiso University is my alma mater. I also taught there for a year, as a member of the English faculty. Why do I mention these things? The answer is in the pages of A Fever in the Heartland.

By the mid-1920s, the Ku Klux Klan had amassed enormous power and influence across the United States. Nowhere was its ascendancy more dramatic than in Indiana. In 1923, David C. Stephenson, who liked being referred to as “the Old Man,” was appointed Grand Dragon of the Indiana Klan and head of Klan recruiting for seven other states. In a 1924 speech, Stephenson promised, “We are going to Klux Indiana as she has never been Kluxed before.” He liked to boast, “I am the law in Indiana.” Almost insanely ambitious, he had no difficulty imagining himself the president of the United States.

Stephenson’s vision included the purchase of Valparaiso University. He envisioned it becoming what Timothy Egan refers to as “a Harvard of intolerance in the northwest corner of [Indiana].” Fortunately, Hiram W. Evans, a “blank-faced” dentist from Dallas who became the national Klan’s Imperial Wizard, helped nix the idea, mostly for financial reasons. Not long afterward, the Lutheran University Association purchased the floundering university and set it on an entirely different path.

D. C. Stephenson’s epic downfall came about as a result of his rape and murder of a young woman named Madge Oberholtzer. I’ll withhold the details and encourage you to read Egan’s book, which is narrative non-fiction of the very highest order. It’s illuminating on so many different levels. Sadly, its lessons continue to reverberate in 2024.

When I was a senior in college, my professor for a course in abnormal psychology remarked in class one day that he’d just finished reading Helter Skelter. He said that he’d found the book’s treatment of the Manson murder case both fascinating and terrifying. I’d read Helter Skelter, too—in a single, caffeine-fueled all-night binge. I found that I couldn’t put it down. After hearing my professor’s reference to the book, I stayed after class to talk to him. He surprised me by suggesting that perhaps I should consider trying to initiate correspondences with Manson and his followers, including some, like Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme, who weren’t in prison at the time.

That thought had never once crossed my mind. However, now my professor was urging me to take it seriously—so how crazy could it be?

As I say in my book, I must have been one of the few people who missed the memo captioned “Don’t Try to Bullshit Charles Manson.” I tried—and failed miserably. What I tried to do in my first letter was convince Manson, who I knew was a frustrated musician, that my main interests were his music and song lyrics. I chose not to say anything about being interested in his “case,” with all its grisly details and all its tragedy.

Manson didn’t waste any time responding. He wrote mainly to say that I was phony and a bullshitter, and to demand that I either leave him alone or get to the real truth about why I’d chosen to write to him in the first place.

Here’s part of what he wrote: “Man I can see you’re out of it. Songs and poetry for what? Be true with me. I don’t know bitterness. I understand truth with no BS. It’s—who are you? What’s your trip? & what do you want?”

His demand for a more truthful account of who I was and what I hoped to achieve through our correspondence led me to be more honest with him—and it’s what set us on course for a correspondence that continued for the next year and a half.

Last month when I signed off, I referenced Amy Winehouse’s classic “October Song.” This month, I’m recalling Tracey Thorn’s haunting “Late in the Afternoon,” from her third solo record (Love and Its Opposite, 2010), which Thorn described as being about “real life after 40.” Vaguely, I can remember the start of that chapter of my own life. It’s becoming ever more hazy. Anyway, check out Thorn’s song; it’s well worth a listen.

Heck, before we know it, it’ll be Thanksgiving.

-Jeff

P.S. For music lovers who subscribe to my newsletter, I always try to include a couple of song recommendations, the kind I regard as “can’t miss.” This month, I’m suggesting you check out Mary Fahl’s bleak-sounding yet beautiful version of Sandy Denny’s little-known classic “No End.” Here’s the link. Also, please check out Benny Trokan’s “Turn Back You Fool.” At first, I thought Trokan was speaking directly to me—but the more I listened, the more it became clear to me that he was hoping this soulful little ditty would dissuade all his listeners from giving in to the urge to do foolish things. Or maybe he was just trying to get everybody to revisit “Cowboys to Girls,” The Intruders’ classic song from 1968.