Supper, served on a plastic tray, passed through the door traps at 4:30 p.m. When Jeff received his tray, some of the inmates started yelling again. “Does this taste better than human meat? Which one tastes better?”
As before, Dahmer didn’t respond.
They continued.
“Hey, Jeff, do you prefer dark meat or white meat?”
“He definitely preferred dark meat over white meat!” one of the white guys jeered.
“Brother, Jeff consumed more red than white meat,” said one Hispanic inmate, laughing.
No sound came from Cell 1.
After a few minutes, one guy shouted, “Hey, Jeff, how’s the corpse?”
That time, much to everyone’s surprise, Dahmer replied. “Chunky,” he said, “delicious and tasty.”
After supper, an officer collected all the trays and gave Dahmer his medication. I learned later that he’d been taking the same prescription drugs for a couple years, prescribed by a psychiatrist after his sexual-assault charge. The two drugs were Lorazepam and Doxepin. Lorazepam is a drug used to control anxiety and acts as a relaxant. It’s for people with high stress or nervous conditions. Doxepin is an anti-depressant or sleep aid.
He received both drugs four times a day.
Right after supper, the clamor started again. “Did you eat all the meat on your tray, you animal?” They continued calling him a racist and making other derogatory remarks that crossed their minds.
I don’t know why, but I had enough. “Hey, that man has already been given his time,” I told the outspoken inmates. “He’s being punished for what he did. He got caught for all his wrong-doing and now he’s doing time for the rest of his life. So let the man rest. He’s entitled to that. He’s entitled to be left alone.”
Even Dahmer didn’t deserve the onslaught of abuse. As a Christian, I believed that even though this man did horrible things he was still just a sinner, just like the rest of us. In God’s eyes, we are all His children, and wishing pain and hurt upon someone else makes us no better. For that matter, who were we to judge him?
I actually felt sorry for Dahmer. Of course, I didn’t agree with what he did, but he was obviously troubled. Dahmer walked into the lion’s den but I decided I wasn’t going to let him go alone.
Someone hollered to me from down the line. “Brother, I don’t know why you’re taking up for that racist! He killed all those Brothers. Dahmer don’t give a fuck about you, just like he didn’t care about those he tricked into going to his apartment and then killed. And then what he did to them afterwards! Man, I don’t get how you can stick up for him!”
They all started in again, using profanity to try to get Dahmer to talk, but again he wouldn’t utter a word. Finally, an officer barked to quiet down.
The inmates’ comments bothered me; I wondered if they bothered Jeff as well.
I admit I was curious about him. Not just his history, but I wondered what he was doing or thinking. Was he feeling bad, scared, or hateful? Was he wishing he could take it all back and start over? Did he know about God or Satan? What compelled him to cut people up?
Questions kept popping into my head.
It was strange to think that Jeffrey Dahmer, one of the most notorious serial killers of all time, was right on the other side of my cell wall … just inches away. I was within speaking distance to a man that most considered a monster.
Then it hit me. I started to believe that Dahmer was next to me for a reason. Perhaps this was the work of the Lord. The questions I left in his hands seemed to be answered. I began to think I was
supposed
to talk to him, get to know him, and help him get to know God.
Later that evening, an officer asked if we wanted to take showers and clean our cells. He started at Cell 1. Even though the shower was across fromDahmer’s cell, which meant Jeff wouldn’t have to walk in front of anyone else, Dahmer didn’t want to take a shower, nor did he want to clean his
As before, Dahmer didn’t respond.
They continued.
“Hey, Jeff, do you prefer dark meat or white meat?”
“He definitely preferred dark meat over white meat!” one of the white guys jeered.
“Brother, Jeff consumed more red than white meat,” said one Hispanic inmate, laughing.
No sound came from Cell 1.
After a few minutes, one guy shouted, “Hey, Jeff, how’s the corpse?”
That time, much to everyone’s surprise, Dahmer replied. “Chunky,” he said, “delicious and tasty.”
After supper, an officer collected all the trays and gave Dahmer his medication. I learned later that he’d been taking the same prescription drugs for a couple years, prescribed by a psychiatrist after his sexual-assault charge. The two drugs were Lorazepam and Doxepin. Lorazepam is a drug used to control anxiety and acts as a relaxant. It’s for people with high stress or nervous conditions. Doxepin is an anti-depressant or sleep aid.
He received both drugs four times a day.
Right after supper, the clamor started again. “Did you eat all the meat on your tray, you animal?” They continued calling him a racist and making other derogatory remarks that crossed their minds.
I don’t know why, but I had enough. “Hey, that man has already been given his time,” I told the outspoken inmates. “He’s being punished for what he did. He got caught for all his wrong-doing and now he’s doing time for the rest of his life. So let the man rest. He’s entitled to that. He’s entitled to be left alone.”
Even Dahmer didn’t deserve the onslaught of abuse. As a Christian, I believed that even though this man did horrible things he was still just a sinner, just like the rest of us. In God’s eyes, we are all His children, and wishing pain and hurt upon someone else makes us no better. For that matter, who were we to judge him?
I actually felt sorry for Dahmer. Of course, I didn’t agree with what he did, but he was obviously troubled. Dahmer walked into the lion’s den but I decided I wasn’t going to let him go alone.
Someone hollered to me from down the line. “Brother, I don’t know why you’re taking up for that racist! He killed all those Brothers. Dahmer don’t give a fuck about you, just like he didn’t care about those he tricked into going to his apartment and then killed. And then what he did to them afterwards! Man, I don’t get how you can stick up for him!”
They all started in again, using profanity to try to get Dahmer to talk, but again he wouldn’t utter a word. Finally, an officer barked to quiet down.
The inmates’ comments bothered me; I wondered if they bothered Jeff as well.
I admit I was curious about him. Not just his history, but I wondered what he was doing or thinking. Was he feeling bad, scared, or hateful? Was he wishing he could take it all back and start over? Did he know about God or Satan? What compelled him to cut people up?
Questions kept popping into my head.
It was strange to think that Jeffrey Dahmer, one of the most notorious serial killers of all time, was right on the other side of my cell wall … just inches away. I was within speaking distance to a man that most considered a monster.
Then it hit me. I started to believe that Dahmer was next to me for a reason. Perhaps this was the work of the Lord. The questions I left in his hands seemed to be answered. I began to think I was
supposed
to talk to him, get to know him, and help him get to know God.
Later that evening, an officer asked if we wanted to take showers and clean our cells. He started at Cell 1. Even though the shower was across fromDahmer’s cell, which meant Jeff wouldn’t have to walk in front of anyone else, Dahmer didn’t want to take a shower, nor did he want to clean his
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