My Personal Motivation For Writing About John Norman Collins

The events detailed in this post happened in Ypsilanti, Michigan, just two blocks beyond the green lights of this photograph.

Last winter, I was asked by a Detroit News reporter if writing about John Norman Collins and the Washtenaw County killings of the late Sixties was personal for me. Without missing a beat, my answer was "Hell yes, it's personal!"

When a community is held hostage by their fear of an unknown serial killer in their midst for two years, suddenly it becomes very personal for everyone.

Murder is the greatest violation of an individual and almost every culture has strictures against it because it strikes at the heart and well-being of society. What is most difficult for people to understand is how someone can murder impersonally without provocation or conscience.

***

Throughout John Norman Collins' reign of terror, I lived at 127 College Place, a block up the street from the boarding house on Emmet St. where Collins rented a second story room. Like many other people coming and going to classes at Eastern Michigan University, I walked passed that house twice a day. 

It was only after the two year ordeal, when Collins was arrested and the murders stopped, that people were able to contextualize their experiences. Like so many other people in Ypsilanti and Ann Arbor, I saw his photograph on the front pages of The Ypsilanti Press and The Detroit Free Press. I recognized him immediately though I didn't know his name until I read it.

John Norman Collins' Perp Walk at Arraignment in Ypsilanti

***

My first encounter with Collins happened on Sunday, July 30th, 1968. It was after 9:00 PM. I was walking home on Emmet St. with my girlfriend, Kristi Kurtz, after going to the party store on W. Cross St. for some groceries. 

In front of the Arm of Honor frat house, a convertible with three guys in it pulled up along side us. The driver who was wearing an EMU shirt asked Kristi if she would like to hang out with some real men.

With a full bag of groceries in my arms, I spoke up, "Hey, guys. She's with me." Then I was crudely threatened with an impromptu ass kicking. I saw for the first time what many people have since described to me as "the (Collins) look."

Kristi was having none of it. She burst forth verbally and impugned their manhood with a string of well-chosen profanities. The driver, who I didn't know but got to see his face, hit the gas pedal and peeled away screeching his tires in frustration. (See the link below for more details.)

It was over a year later when I connected that incident with the disappearance of Joan Schell. Later the same night, Collins and his two buddies picked up Joan hitchhiking in front of McKenny Union on the campus of Eastern Michigan University. She was reported missing the next day - August 1st.

Incidentally, Miss Schell shared a rented apartment on Emmet St. with a girlfriend, directly across College Place St. from the room Collins rented at the boarding house. He could look out his window directly at Schell's apartment house.

The same evening Miss Schell disappeared, three witnesses saw Collins and Schell cross College Place at about 11:30 PM, and one of the young men in the car that picked up Miss Schell testified in open court that he was in the car with Collins that fateful night when they gave Joan a ride.

***

Some time later on another occasion in the early evening, I was waiting for a pizza at Fazi's shop on College Place St. a half block from the EMU campus. It was the local hangout in our neighborhood with a couple of pinball machines that could be set for free plays, so people liked to hang out there.

It was warm in the shop, so I went outside. Around the side of the building, I saw two guys trying to break into a car that was parked there. They tried the doors, they tried the trunk, they tried to pop the hood. What struck me most about them was that they did this with impunity. They vaguely noticed me watching but studiously ignored me.

I went into the pizza shop and asked if the car parked next to the building belonged to anyone there. It didn't. I walked out of the shop and saw the two guys walking shoulder to shoulder towards where I was standing. One of them was a lean six feet tall and the other guy was taller, heavier, and Hispanic looking.

When they were about to pass me, the lanky one raised his stiffened right arm and tried to clothesline me in the face. I dunked and swung around in a defensive position expecting a tussle. But the two of them walked on like nothing had happened. 

I watched them walk half a block up College Place and then crossover to the corner house on Emmet St. I didn't connect the two experiences yet, but I saw where they went. Collins' face was now familiar to me, but I still didn't know his name.

I was pissed and went into the shop to get my pizza. A friend of mine asked what had just happened?

"Some guy just took a swing at me."

"I know. I just saw. Why?"

"They were trying to break into the car parked outside and I saw them. Do you know who they are?"

"Not really, they're just a couple of assholes who live in the neighborhood."

Great, I thought. I walk passed that house at least twice a day to get to classes. Swell!

***

My attic apartment at 127 College Place St.

My final encounter with John Norman Collins occurred in a most unlikely place, my third story attic apartment. The large house I lived in was built in the late nineteenth century and had been subdivided into five apartments sometime over the years. It was a broken down hovel, centrally located in what we called the student ghetto. It was affordable and it was home.

Late one Saturday night, my roommate and I came home and walked up the narrow staircase leading to our attic apartment. We noticed something peculiar. Our door was locked. 

Most of the people who lived in the house were freaks (hippies) and had lived there for a couple of years. Everyone knew everyone else and got along well, so there was a communal atmosphere of trust in the house. But recently, some new people had moved into the large ground floor apartment.

I fumbled in my pocket for my key and unlocked the door. I flipped on the light in the efficiency kitchen and heard some rustling in our darkened attic apartment. My twin bed was wedged inside a small alcove to the left of the main living space. 

A person several inches taller than me suddenly blocked the doorway putting on his sports coat and shielding the young woman he was with. She hastily straightened up her disheveled clothing. When his jacket was on, he stepped towards me and we were face to face. Once again, I saw "the look." 

It was the same guy who took a swing at me in front of Fazi's pizza shop. He stopped in his tracks when he finally saw my roommate who was six feet, three inches tall, and very powerfully built. He was a highway construction worker.

To defuse the situation, I apologized for disturbing them and explained that this was a private apartment. All he said was "sorry" as he and the embarrassed girl carrying her purse slinked out. It was suddenly clear what had happened. 

The new tenants in the ground floor apartment were some fraternity guys having a house warming party. At some point after they had a couple of drinks, Collins searched for a quiet spot to take this young woman, and he settled into my vacant apartment uninvited. He locked the door for privacy. 

By now, I knew this guy by sight. Several months later, like so many other people in the area, I saw his picture on the front page and finally learned his name. Little did I imagine that over forty years later, I would be writing about John Norman Collins and those frightening days.

http://fornology.blogspot.com/2013/10/facing-down-john-norman-collins-kristi.html 

The John Norman Collins Movie - Part Three of Three

In 1976, William Martin, (aka: Martin "Marty" Bacow), billed himself as executive producer for a movie based on the Washtenaw County murders of seven young women in 1967-1969 and their accused killer, John Norman Collins. 

He reported in an Ypsilanti Press article dated October 13th, that he had completed the script seven months before.  The movie was slated to be called Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep, named after the children's bedtime prayer. "The filming should start sometime after the new year," Martin said.

William Martin, known as Marty, hired a New York film director (who wishes not to be identified) to assemble a film crew and come to Ypsilanti/Ann Arbor to shoot a low budget film. 

This Director of Photography (DP) says he and his crew drove two film trucks to Ann Arbor only to find that "Marty had no script, just a sketchy outline and nothing else. He had no cast, no locations, and he had only partial financing for the project." William Martin was confident that publicity would attract investors and additional funding, the life blood of the movie industry.

Rory Calhoun in "The Texan"

William Martin (executive producer) named local attorney Jay Kaufman to be the producer. It was his job to raise the money. Somehow, Martin was able to land Hollywood actors Rory Calhoun, to play a Michigan Sate Police post commander, and Kathryn Grayson of Hollywood musical fame, to play John

Kathryn Grayson in "Kiss Me Kate"

Norman Collins' aunt, Sandra Leik. These actors were represented by the same booking agent, who it was thought, owed Marty a favor. 
Psychic Peter Hurkos was hired to play himself and Bill Bonds, a local Detroit television newscaster, was also hired to play himself. Other roles would be cast by locals as they went along.


The DP said they shot footage for four or five weeks. On a typical day, there would be no casting and no preset location. "Marty rode around in a Cadillac convertible and literally acquired a cast and locations along the way. We were shooting cinema verite."

"For example, we went to the Michigan State Police headquarters and suddenly real state policemen were playing troopers in the movie, and we were shooting scenes in and around the police post."

Towards the end of the exterior and location shooting, Martin Bacow (aka: William Martin) was being questioned by Federal authorities about the disappearance of Teamster boss Jimmy Hoffa and where his body might be buried. Because of the controversy, word came down that the studio pulled the plug on the project.

The film crew was left high and dry. This was the weirdest film shoot any of them had ever been on, and they speculated that the film may have been a scheme to raise money and defraud investors.

William Martin produced several low budget movies over his career. One of them, Jacktown, is about a Jackson Prison inmate who tries to go straight in Royal Oak, Michigan. A short viewing of this film will convince anyone that William Martin (Martin Bacow) was no filmmaker.

When I wrote and contacted Paramount Pictures in Hollywood, I was told that they had no knowledge of Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep. Their archivist checked their records and film vault and found no evidence of any film rushes or publicity stills from the movie. They had no record or association with the film.

Further research on Martin "Marty" Bacow (aka: William Martin), discovered in a book entitled The Last Mogul by Dennis McDougal, revealed "Martin Bacow, a Hollywood jack of all trades, began his career in Southern California in 1948 as a boxing announcer, who then branched out over the next four decades to become an actor, screenwriter, labor negotiator, and a B movie producer."

A close associate of Teamster President Jackie Presser, Bacow was known as the Teamster's man in Hollywood. It was rumored he could start and settle labor disputes in Tinsel Town. 

The DP recollected that during the filming in Ann Arbor that "Marty was always seen in the presence of two Teamster consultants, William 'Candy' Davidson and Marvin 'The Steel Broker' Mulligan, who acted as Martin's private security."

Lost JNC Movie post - part one: http://fornology.blogspot.com/2012/05/the-lost-john-norman-collins-movie-part.html 

Lost JNC Movie post - part two: http://fornology.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-lost-john-norman-collins-movie-part.html

The Fourth Estate Proves its Worth in the John Norman Collins Case

When I went to the Washtenaw County Courthouse to get transcripts for the John Norman Collins case last fall, I was surprised to discover that those files had been "purged" from their records. The explanation was that they were old and it was a cost saving move.

I was dumbfounded. I'm  hoping that they are stored deep in a warehouse someplace, so I continue my document search. It is hard for me to imagine that history can so wantonly be destroyed because of a short sighted budget decision.

With the absence of official documentation, it would be impossible to piece this forty-five year old case together were it not for a small handful of reporters who went beyond the headlines and wire service reports to document this case. Hundreds of stories were filed in newspapers cross the state of Michigan and beyond, but some reporters stand out.

First and foremost is William (Bill) Treml, crime reporter for The Ann Arbor News in those days. This was Bill's first big break and the longest lasting case he ever reported on. His news stories were the most detailed reporting on the string of seven murders that plagued the campuses of Eastern Michigan University and The University of Michigan.

Bill Treml also had a virtue that made his reporting cutting edge; he had the trust of local law enforcement which placed him at the top of the list for inside information. The Detroit News and The Detroit Free Press reporters were outsiders and were treated that way. There is something to be said for reporters not getting too cozy with authorities.

Walker Lundy of The Detroit Free Press stung Washtenaw County law enforcement with a string of critical articles on local police efforts, but none more scathing that his report on the botched "mannequin" mantrap where he described police as the "Keystone Kops." This was a major slap in the face for local law enforcement who was on the verge of capturing the killer when the governor took over the case and handed it to the Michigan State Police. Lundy's critical eye and adversarial relationship with the police gave his reporting more of an edge than Treml's.

The pressure to solve these cases was intense in Ypsilanti and nobody kept the police on their toes more than John Cobb of The Ypsilanti Press. John was licensed to have police band radio scanner in his car and was often on the crime scene taking pictures and snooping around before the police could get there. For a time, he was under consideration as a possible suspect.

The last reporter I would like to single out is Cynthia (Cindy) Cygan of The Macomb Daily. She had a distinctive approach to her stories. The Daily was the local Warren and Center Line newspaper, the hometown paper of the Collins' family. 

Miss Cygan went to school with John Norman Collins sister, Gail, and now she found herself reporting on the trial of Gail's younger brother. Cygan often reported about the family in the courtroom or about the spectators, some of whom came to see Collins. Her perspective provided a necessary counterpoint to the overall reporting of this case.

I owe a debt of gratitude to these reporters in particular and also to the nameless staff reporters who helped to preserve this history, so I can reconstruct this "lost" case for the true-crime book I am writing entitled, The Rainy Day Murders.