Junk Food Murder, Redneck Hemingway, and Weenie Rollers- Gainesville in the 80s

“A friend of mine said that the oldest guy, the ringleader, mastermind, showed up in court in drag with full-on make-up.”

“I wouldn’t call him a fucking mastermind. The dumbfuck was caught a few days later in the professor’s car with his credit cards, going 60 in a 30 the opposite way on a one-way street. He was allegedly in drag. Way to stay under the radar.”

“I thought the story about him being in drag was made up.”

“Whatever, man. It’s a fucking way better story.”

Jimmy, the chef, and Bob, the dishwasher, had been discussing Dr. Appledorf’s murder for a while. It was an ongoing topic. Jimmy was the one who usually questioned the details, but in the end, wanted a good story, not necessarily an accurate one. I don’t think he believed anyone but himself should be called a mastermind.

I was still living in Orlando when the murder occurred. It got national press. Dr. Appledorf was a nutrition professor. I’d heard he was the most popular professor at the University of Florida. His classes had wait lists.

Before his death, he had become a bit infamous. He said you can get your daily nutritional requirements from fast food restaurants. A lot of people believed that the fast-food corporations paid him off.

When Leah and I said we were moving to Gainesville, some people told us that Gainesville is dangerous. I think most of those thoughts came from the publicity of the high-profile murder. The three guys who were charged hadn’t been sentenced yet. Most believed the oldest was the one who talked the two teens into doing it. I think the “mastermind” was 23. They had come over from San Francisco to find the professor. They said that he paid them for sex when he was in San Francisco. He let the three stay overnight in his apartment in Gainesville. I don’t think any of them were from San Francisco. I remember hearing that they were all runaways. I don’t know any of their names.

The murderers said that Appledorf owed them money for sex. There was a lot of disagreement about whether He had paid these young men for sex. A lot of people said there was no way that he was gay. Others said he had a secret life.

When the police found him, he was lying on the couch. He had suffocated. There was a canvas bag over his face, filled with ice. Over that, there was sheepskin covering the canvas bag.

The three ate Subway subs as Appledorf suffocated. They had written Redrum with lipstick on a mirror, referencing The Shining. Later, the “mastermind” said a Clockwork Orange influenced him.

I had met Leah about 6 months earlier. We were in love. She was the first woman I had fallen in love with. I didn’t want to get serious before Leah.

She had a scholarship to Rollins College in Winter Park, Florida. Mr. Rogers and Anthony Perkins had gone there.

She didn’t enjoy her experience. She wanted to transfer to a bigger school. The University of Florida was her choice. She had dropped out of Rollins and was taking some classes at the community college to help her with the transfer.

Ken lived in the student ghetto in Gainesville. I have a feeling that nobody calls it the student ghetto anymore.

We would lift weights on Ken’s porch. Our workout was a fifteen-minute workout dragged out to about two hours. We smoked pot, nursed beers, listened to records, and talked about books, movies, women, etc..

I was a recent arrival in town. I had noticed this guy walking around. He looked to be in his 40s, disheveled, wearing a dusty denim shirt. He might be living on the streets but built like a bodybuilder. Maybe he had just become homeless, I thought. I saw him near Ken's apartment and realized he was Ken's neighbor. Behind Ken's place was a two-story tenement. I saw the mystery man coming in and out of there. Homemade weights were on the cement slab near the outside staircase, and metal poles with industrial-sized cement-filled tomato cans were attached to both ends. There were plastic gallon milk jugs filled with cement, too.

One day, while having our relaxed workout, the guy yells from the top of the stairs to us.

"Hey. I'll be right over. I'm going to work out with you guys."

This was the first time we had heard him speak. His voice was raspy and sounded like years of booze and cigarettes. A few minutes later, he came down. Our workout went from smoking pot and listening to the Clash to "Come on motherfucker, you can fuckin' lift that, don't be a fuckin' pussy.”

He introduced himself to us. He said his name was Billy Soul. I kept thinking of Billy Jack, a film that was part reactionary, part hippie. I have to admit, I liked the movie as a kid. It has its value now. It holds up in the way a Dragnet TV episode does.

We continued to work out with Billy. Our workouts became intense. He was part Vince Lombardi, part Charles Manson. We were terrified of him. He was humorless. He would stare into your eyes and yell, "Come on, you fuck, lift that."

One time, I was doing a military press. I had lifted the weights from the ground up to my chest. Billy closed in on me. His face was about two feet from mine. His eyes aimed at mine. He turned towards Ken and said. "Look into this motherfucker's eyes. He's immortal." I started to laugh. I lost control of the weights and dropped them. "How the fuck did you drop that? Fuck!"

We were afraid to laugh around him. Life was not a joke to Billy Soul.

Billy Soul was one of those infamous university-town types. He was banned from the Plaza Of The Americas on the University of Florida campus. He used to bring his weights there and work out. He hassled the Christian street preachers. He hassled the Hari Krishnas, all political organizations, fraternities, sororities, and everyone else. He used to eat the Hari Krishna free lunch and then yell at them, "You're a bunch of dumb motherfucker's for feeding me."

We heard stories that Billy's family was wealthy. I didn't believe it at first, but it was confirmed soon. Billy asked Ken to pick up a check from his father in Winter Park. Ken told me about the mansion that his professorial father lived in. According to legend, Billy's dad had been a physics professor at the University of Florida. While conducting some experiments, he inadvertently developed a weenie heater that would change the world. You know, the thing that rotates hot dogs at the 7-Eleven and keeps them warm. He had become very wealthy from the weenie heater.

A few years back, I read that Dr. Sewell, Billy's father, had passed away. I thought about how terrifying it was to work out with Billy. I thought about when Leah came by Ken's. As soon as she left, Billy asked, ``Is she Spanish or Italian?" I said her grandmother is Italian."

"I bet she would fuck all of us."

"She's my girlfriend." "I know. I like her."

We used to jog through the student ghetto. Billy would jump fences and chase dogs with the sign on the fence that said beware of dog.

I miss those days in Gainesville. I was going to be a bunch of things someday. I remember listening to the Clash; I'm So Bored With The USA. I felt like something was happening in the world.

I lived in Gainesville, FL, from 83-84. I was working at a restaurant downtown. I bartended, waited tables, was a maitre d’, prep cook, or whatever they needed. It was one of the nicest places in town. Our manager was a pseudo-intellectual, pretty boy—kind of a pain in the ass.

He was patronizing but had moments of sensitivity. He always arrived for the evening shift with a copy of the New York Times. I read the Times most days, but he would explain how well-rounded you can become by reading the Times daily. This was a little annoying, and he would also give us chores he was supposed to do. He was very flirtatious with most of the women who worked there; he was a good-looking guy but very cheesy. He was disliked by most of the workers; he was not hated, just disliked.

Writer Harry Crews frequented the place for dinner, usually staying after to drink a little. A young woman or two usually tagged along. Our manager worshipped Harry. He was constantly trying to give him some new beer that came in or whatever. Harry didn't give him the time of day unless a snarl or a grunt counted. Many of us found this unrequited relationship amusing.

The restaurant closed every night at 11 PM. Sometimes, after closing time, the owners or the manager would lock the doors and have a private party with a select few. I was never interested in hanging out.

It was rumored that the business was started with drug smuggling money.

The owners would do coke when I wasn’t around. I didn’t want to get to know them. They may have been suspicious of me.

There was a guy who bartended nearby. He was a regular. One day, he realized who my father was.

My father was smuggling drugs from Colombia at the time. The bartender starts telling the owner what a badass my father is. He said he did some work for him. They looked at me in astonishment. I was trying to be private. They seemed to trust me after that. I still kept to myself.

One night, while Harry was at one of his favorite drinking spots, Lillian's Music Store, he ran into the crew from our restaurant. Lillian's had closed, so our manager got his big chance to impress Harry. He brought him and a few others back to the restaurant and opened up the bar to them.

The next evening, I came to work for the dinner shift. The manager was grumbling,

"Fucking Harry Crews. That motherfucker, who does he think he is?" He repeated this several times.

I asked. "What's up? I thought you loved Harry Crews."

The chef had walked out to get something to drink. He despised the manager. The manager glared at us. "You want to know what's up? Come with me."

We followed him out to the street. It was nearly dusk. He pointed to the building next door. It was being remodeled. Drywall sheets were covering the tall window frames. There was a huge hole in the sheet of drywall next to the front door.

"You see that? Harry fucking threw me through the drywall. He's fucked up. He's got mental problems. He's a drunk."

We laughed a little. The manager stormed back inside. He was about six feet tall 180 pounds. It was quite a toss.

About an hour later. Harry Crews came strolling in. He looked up at the manager for a moment. "Hey, sorry about last night." He kept walking and sat down