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Picture this: In 2018, Robert Chambers received an unexpected letter in his prison cell in New York. The sender was Ricki Stern, a filmmaker from his past at prep school, hoping he’d join her docuseries on the 1980s. Chambers chose not to respond.
Flashback to 1986, when 19-year-old Chambers earned the notorious moniker ‘Preppy Killer’ after he strangled Jennifer Levin, just 18, in Central Park. Fast forward to a year after the letter, and a trailer for a show about his story pops up on TV in the prison yard.
In early 2020, A&E aired The Preppy Murder: Death in Central Park, a limited series that got a lot of attention. It raised questions about media sensationalism, especially in the wake of the #MeToo movement, and also hinted at potential childhood trauma for Chambers. You could only imagine the atmosphere in his cell block, where guys probably speculated about his past. During commercials, they’d poke their heads over to ask him questions. Eventually, seeing the attention wasn’t comfortable, Chambers hung a sheet to signal ‘Do Not Disturb.’
I had a chance to chat with Chambers when I visited him that summer. I mentioned I had also been featured in a true crime series. His dislike for the genre was clear, which isn’t surprising given my perspective as a storyteller coming from a challenging place.
Back in 2001, life took a grim turn for me. At just 24, I shot a friend who had turned adversarial, landing me a 28-year sentence. It was through a creative writing workshop that I discovered my passion for writing, eventually leading to contributions focused on prison life by 2018. That autumn, I was approached by producers from HLN about participating in Inside With Chris Cuomo, initially framed as a piece on redemption—though they conveniently left out one significant aspect: evil.
This made me wonder: just how ‘true’ are these true crime narratives? While my story includes darkness that shouldn’t be overlooked, is it right for journalists to come to a narrative already with preconceived themes? My understanding is that a good journalist should delve into each story uninhibited by biases, aiming to showcase the complex nature of individuals and their experiences.
So, who can really tell our stories with honesty? Since I share space with the subjects I write about, I have a different familiarity with their struggles than most true crime storytellers.
True crime is undeniably powerful in storytelling. Despite the decline in crime rates in the U.S., polls reveal that 54% of Americans perceive crime being on the rise, perhaps fueled by the 56% of viewers tuning into true crime content. The genre seems to stoke the desire for retribution.
A significant figure in my new book, The Tragedy of True Crime, is Robert Chambers. In researching his story, I reached out to Stern who had initially contacted him. I quizzed her about why she wasn’t upfront about wanting to create a documentary reevaluating the media’s portrayal of his case.
Stern’s reply in an email was vague: “I don’t quite recall the letter’s content, but my intention to have a chat with him might have led to my lack of detail. If he agreed to speak, I would clarify the series’ goals.” To her credit, I’ve found her previous documentaries to be compelling, but her justification still leaves me with questions.
On the flip side, some creators are blunt about their intentions. Claire St. Amant, a former producer for 48 Hours, shares a candid look into the mindset of those in the true crime world in her memoir, Killer Story. “I didn’t think I’d end up befriending murderers; it was a rush to trick them into believing I liked them.Linked to this are conflicting sentiments about honoring the lives involved in these grim tales.
Looking back, I was really naïve about the intentions of the HLN producers when I collaborated with them. I thought the show would better illuminate my journey back to humanity, but they aimed more at sensationalizing my past, particularly to probe the victim’s family. Watching that episode, titled Killer Writing, was sobering. I saw a heart-wrenching clip of the deceased’s sister expressing her grief just moments after I was shown celebrating my writing achievements. I felt like I’d been twisting the knife in her wound by agreeing to it.
When telling another’s story, we carry a heavy weight of responsibility. Our interpretations, own experiences, and biases reveal themselves in every narrative choice we make. Information can be distorted, timelines can be bent, and countless truths can be tossed aside. With people who’ve committed heinous acts, the stakes get even higher.
True crime shows aren’t going anywhere. Their draw lies in that tantalizing behind-the-scenes peek at humanity’s darker self. Sadly, creators enter these tales expecting to mold them to fit their molds rather than exploring them openly. And amidst all of this, there’s me: a murderer and journalist who’s caught in the middle of this strange web, but I strive to share my truth.
