His case, in 1966, was really the trigger for the end of the warm fuzzy Howdy Doodie fifties. Outside of Eddie Gein, there had been few mass murders up until then, and when eight student nurses were all hogtied, raped, strangled, and stabbed the shock wave was a tsunami.

To top it off, two weeks subsequent to Speck's night out Charles Whitman climbed a tower at The University Of Texas and picked off sixteen kills! No more Buffalo Bob and hello Freddie Kruger.

The prosecutor said, "He wasn't a guy in a tower with a rapid-fire weapon. ... He took them one at a time, spent at least a half hour alone with each victim, ritualistically washed his hands, came back and got the next victim." The one survivor was lucky enough to hide under the bed. Apparently Speck forgot to do before and after head counts. She was a very positive witness, and identified his tattoos, too.

When he croaked one cop early on the scene said, "Judgement Day has finally arrived for that sucker. And he died an easy death ... he should have suffered a lot more than he did." The cop was right, of course. It turned out Speck thought Joliet was OK. In 1983 he said, "I love Stateville. This is my home." Not much justice there if that's how he really felt.

Do you know where your daughters are? Do they like guys with tattoos?