![]() |
||||||||
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - April 3, 2001 | As Julie Salamon writes, the case of Bob Rowe "could keep a theological task force in business for years." The facts, although chilling, are simply told: On February 22, 1978, Rowe, then an unemployed lawyer struggling with depression, took a baseball bat and crushed the skulls of his wife and three children (one of whom was severely disabled) in their house in Mill Basin, a tidy, middle-class neighborhood of Brooklyn, N.Y. Psychiatrists universally deemed him to have suffered a psychotic breakdown at the time of the killings, and even the district attorney made no serious attempt to convict him of murder. After two and a half years in psychiatric hospitals, Rowe was released, went to graduate school, dated two women seriously and married one, fathered a baby girl and spent years trying and failing to gain readmittance to the bar before dying of cancer, at home, in 1997. Salamon had begun researching "Facing the Wind" before Rowe's death, but by her own account she procrastinated in her attempts to interview him until it was too late. In a sense this is perfectly appropriate, since despite Salamon's subtitle (which bears the mark of the marketing division, if you ask me) this is not a tale of redemption but an enigmatic tragedy, fundamentally unknown and unknowable. In the end, Salamon is just as baffled by Rowe as everybody else, himself perhaps most of all. With a lawyer's propensity for detail, he compulsively annotated the books he read, even the Bible. Next to the words of Job after God has permitted Satan to destroy his flocks and kill his family -- "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away" -- Rowe had written, "By what rationale?"
A journalist who now covers television for the New York Times, and whose previous books include "The Devil's Candy," a bestselling account of the making of Brian De Palma's film version of "Bonfire of the Vanities," Salamon wisely keeps her philosophizing about the Rowe case to a minimum. Still, she makes it clear that she simultaneously believes that Rowe suffered greatly for what he did and that he spent the rest of his life trying to deny responsibility for it. By all accounts he was a devoted family man both before and after he killed his entire family, and this horrible dissonance seems to provide some kind of key to his personality. Most accused criminals acquitted under an insanity defense spend at least as long in mental institutions as they would have in prison, but Rowe became a model patient and essentially forced the state to let him go. Yet it never seems clear, in Salamon's thorough and cautious account, whether Rowe achieved genuine understanding or remorse regarding his actions or was simply intelligent and resourceful enough to outwit the mental-health bureaucracy. At least one psychiatrist found him an especially troubling patient, writing that "there is something strangely hollow about him, something which defies diagnostic terminology."
|
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
Maya Angelou reads from "The Heart of a Woman" | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
![]() |
Arts & Entertainment | Books | Comics | Life | News | People
Politics | Sex | Tech & Business and The Free Software Project | Audio
Letters | Columnists | Salon Plus | Salon Gear
Reproduction of material from any Salon pages without written permission is strictly prohibited
Copyright 2005 Salon.com