Very . . . Interesting

An article in yesterday's Washington Post revisited the notorious Bradford Bishop case on its 30th anniversary. In March 1976, Bishop -- a Foreign Service officer who lived in Washington -- allegedly murdered his wife, mother, and three sons; drove to North Carolina and burned their bodies; and then disappeared without a trace. For 30 years, there have been sightings of men who look like him all over the world:

"A Swedish woman who said she had socialized with him in Ethiopia said she saw him in a public park in Stockholm in 1978. A former State Department colleague said he saw Bishop in a restroom in Sorrento, Italy, in 1979. A long-ago Bethesda neighbor said she saw him at a train station is Basel, Switzerland, in 1994. The reports led authorities straight to dead ends."

The Montgomery County sheriff whose responsibility it has been to track this fugitive still has the arrest warrant on his shelf.

This story has spooked me ever since it happened when I was 14 years old. There have periodically been other articles and TV shows about it over the years. I've read or watched every one. I'm fascinated by people who disappear from their lives and assume new identities, whether or not after committing a heinous crime.

Okay, it's usually after committing a heinous crime.

My brother and I lived together for several years in our twenties and thirties, and he thought it was very, um, "interesting" that I had this obsession. Why did that particular type of person fascinate me? What did it reveal about me and my subconscious desires?

During this same period, he found it "interesting" that when I made mix tapes for my female friend A (as she would sometimes do for me), I put so many love songs on them. I'd say, "But most songs are love songs." He'd goad me, I'd deny. Finally, he'd end with: "I'm just sayin' . . ."

I don't like violent or bloody movies. My friend A and I are both gay. Bradford Bishop might still be out there.