52 Famous Murderers
and No Bubblegum

I left graduate school with a MA in Forensic Psychology and a notion I could pursue a career probing the depths the human mind can sink through while assisting a criminal justice system burdened by many factors beyond simple policing and meting out justice. It would be a lark, providing lots of fascinating party talk and dinner chat to titillate my listeners.

My notion was first tested when I was told to wear a clip-on tie while interning in the agitated ward of a correctional facility so I wouldn’t be strangled by any of my more rambunctious charges. It was vigorously challenged when sitting across the long, narrow, table from me, on one of those days you’ve missed the coffee cart when you really shouldn’t have, was an explosively violent young person wearing a straitjacket. He had been unruly during the night and so the restraint was deemed prudent. After a few minutes of chitchat he asked me what I would do if he suddenly jumped over that table and did his best to smother the life out of me, or maybe just break my neck instead, before the corrections officer, standing some feet across the room, could stop him.

What bothered me most wasn’t how casually he said it, but that I believed he had a good chance of doing it, straitjacket or not. I kept my eyes on him and didn’t flinch. I looked at him very carefully for a moment and said, as calmly as possible, “that wouldn’t be a good idea.” He leaned back and unwound. He agreed and smiled. I will never forget that smile. I started breathing again. I wondered if that guard, now suddenly standing very far away it seemed, had his cup of java that morning. We continued the chitchat.

I finally gave up the notion of a career in forensic psychology after sitting with another person who performed a card trick. It’s the one where each card in the deck is used to tell a story, no matter their arrangement after shuffling. In fact that’s the name of the trick: the storytelling card trick. He didn’t miss a pip as he went through all fifty-two pasteboards. I was impressed. He was very personable, fairly charming, always cheerful around me. He had also placed his infant son in the oven and turned up the heat. Way up. It was the voices in his head. They told him to do bad things. I wondered if those voices helped him with his magic tricks too.

By then it occurred to me that perhaps pursuing a career in computing would be better than wearing clip-on ties and conducting Rorschach tests. I was sold on the switch when I found out the starting pay for psychologists. Funny how society pays the least amounts to the most important people doing important jobs and the most amounts to those who entertain us, but, honestly, have the least important jobs.

After the switch, my conversations at parties were not as titillating. In fact, it cost me the friendship of someone who invited me to her events for the sole purpose of show and tell. I would relate my out of the ordinary experiences with the criminal mind to her guests, much glad-not-me and OMG exchanges ensued. Once I turned to the boring world of computers (this was back when the computer revolution was just beginning), the silence and half-nods made her drop me like a hot potato.

Which brings me to Mother Productions’ 52 Famous Murderers trading card set.

I doubt anyone would seriously want to trade these like Harry Potter’s Famous Wizards Cards or flip for them in the schoolyard like we did with Baseball cards (I always lost). No matter how you shuffle this deck of infamous serial killers, their stories are always chilling and saddening and very scary. So the next time you’re at the movies, nicely tucked in your seat as you stare up at that make-believe serial killer cavorting safely, distantly, from you onscreen, take a look around. You never know who may be smiling at you.