Did the Real Jack the Ripper Die in St. Louis in 1903?

 

 

The world can’t seem to get enough of the first celebrity serial killer--the man who got away with murder–-again and again and over again.

Why? Do we really care that more than a century ago some faceless slasher eviscerated prostitutes in a seedy section of London–-thousands of miles away?

Perhaps we fear a serial killer might live next door. Perchance the existence of a Ripper forces us to doubt the people around us. Jack goads our minds to contemplate the unthinkable.

 

• Does a friend’s loving exterior hide an evil inner twin?
• Did the nice lady from the trailer park really put cyanide fish tank cleaner in her husband’s Excedrin?
• What color is the heart that beats inside the Spike TV T-shirt of the man who moved in across the street last Tuesday?

Perhaps the fear is more primordial still–the sum total of all fears. Does a faceless evil skulk in the shadows to pounce on us, to mutilate and defile us when we least expect it? Whatever the cause, people never seem to tire of the cruel and enigmatic butcher who preyed on women. 

Ripperologists place quack doctor Francis J Tumblety at number two on their all-time suspect list. The selfsame Francis J. Tumblety died in St. Louis in 1903. Maybe some of our American ancestors personally knew the man, listened to his horrifying rants about women, shook his blood-tainted hand. Maybe the Ripper was closer to our loved ones–to ourselves–than we ever thought possible.

That’s why I felt compelled to write... Jack the Ripper in St. Louis