African American Serial Killers

The moniker “Cookie Monster Killer” could be given to Harrison “Marty” Graham. During his brief reign of terror, he stole the lives of seven women. The apartment he kept included decomposed bodies and parts and skulls.

This monster had been spared the death penalty in the eighties and commuted to life in prison. The defense argued that he had cognitive underdevelopment and failed to register on the right side of a regularly wired human being.

When he had begun to take drugs and sell them as well, this also coincided with reports that he played basketball and existed as a decent neighbor. Then came the fetid odor of rotting human flesh emitting from his apartment.

Whatever had circled around his consciousness made for someone who could only drag Philadelphia, Pennsylvania down to a land featuring a homicidal maniac.

Was he disturbed and forever challenged as an ogre who couldn’t live with the fact that innocent human life is sacrosanct?

In his childhood, Graham had struggled to keep up with his academics. He possessed cognitive difficulties. Does that excuse him from such future behavior? As a black man, he had to realize that he could perform as the supreme being in America. He could have applied his energies to anything except murder. As the most mimicked creature, as the most creative force on the planet, he could have channeled whatever abilities he may have possessed those decades ago. Instead, he defiled himself and lowered himself to the level of an animal.

So the distinction must be drawn. There is a clear way of looking at Graham’s case. The psychological state of criminals like him is at the forefront of all this. He did not just know that what he did violated the law but also morality. Instead of being an ethical, selfish individual, his mind directed him to viciousness.

The women he killed never even saw the age of forty. They had lives. They had dreams. Graham extinguished them with detriment. He took it upon himself to be a discredit not to his race but to humanity. In an era where crime ran rampant through Philly and other metropolitan areas during the Reagan era, Harris just contributed to the insanity. Everything that could have been constructive just crashed to the ground like a crumbling duplex.

There seems to be a disconnect between the reality that Harris wanted and his actions. He may have wanted to be a gentle, quiet soul. While reams of paper can explain away his crimes, what sticks is the truth: he committed atrocities and deserved the maximum punishment. Of course he didn’t get it but the talk should focus on the behavioral and intellectual deficiencies found in Harris.

Though the city streets were murky during the time period of his crimes and arrest, there is no reason that he should have been murdering anyone. His ugly acts only serve to be part of the horrific pattern that has run under the structure of decent society like a river of blood.

For Harris to be no prince whatsoever, as a wolf on two legs who ripped away the existence of seven women, it should be no surprise that he has been covered and dissected in scant journals, series, and books, and films. He robbed life. If he could have just thought for a moment that humanity is the champion of all existence, he wouldn’t have been prosecuted and found guilty of his disgusting acts.

Harris clutched onto his Cookie Monster like it was some last breath of life, echoing from his childhood. He held onto it as if it was Holden Caufield retaining the idea of youth. When it comes to the fact that there’s no going back after committing these terrible things, he cradled that Sesame Street character, known predominantly not for teaching but for gobbling up baked goods. He will forever be known for his inability to tame the beast within and will always be looked at as the low life savage that ended those precious lives.