Gay handcuffed

Hallie Lieberman | The Atavist Magazine | March 2024 | 1,897 words (7 minutes)

This is an excerpt from issue no. 149, &8220;The Devil Went Down to Georgia.'

In May of 1991, Michael Jordan, then 21 and a resident of Florida, paid a visit to Atlanta, Georgia, intending to immerse himself in the city's vibrant social milieu. His vacation led him to an area known as Midtown. If the Deep South possessed a gay enclave, Midtown was undoubtedly it. The establishments there boasted a considerable reputation; among the most frequented were The Phoenix, a rustic establishment with brick walls, and The Gallus, an expansive, three-story venue that had been converted from a private residence into a sophisticated piano bar, eatery, and favored haunt for hustlers. Piedmont Park, situated in Midtown's northeastern quadrant, served as a popular rendezvous point for cruising, largely due to the seclusion afforded by its thick greenery. Vehicles, sporting license plates from distant states such as California and Michigan, congregated in large numbers. Local inhabitants voiced grievances concerning the congestion, and arborists erected barriers ostensibly to "safeguard" the trees. On one occasion, a law enforcement officer informed a journalist that the park was "so bustling" with homosexual men, "one would imagine they were attending a drive-in movie."

However, the liberties and pleasures prevalent in Midtown were not without their limitations. The act of sodomy was, in fact, prohibited by law in Georgia, and officers frequently apprehended gay men, sometimes by employing an undercover strategy where they would pose as individuals seeking sexual services. "One of the local television channels would broadcast the names of all individuals who had been taken into custody for soliciting sodomy," recalled Cliff Bostock, a seasoned journalist in Atlanta. The HIV/AIDS pandemic was reaching its peak, and a positive test result was virtually a death warrant, a fate that certain Americans, particularly in the Southern region, believed gay men inherently deserved. A highly regarded Atlanta clergyman, Charles Stanley, garnered national attention in 1986 by asserting that the epidemic was a manifestation of "God indicating his displeasure" with homosexuality.

On the evening of May 12th, his inaugural day in the metropolis, Jordan was strolling through Midtown when a gentleman in a pristine white Lincoln Town Car approached him, inquiring if he was interested in earning some remuneration. Jordan responded by asking, "What must I do?" The individual stated that he was conducting an investigation and offered Jordan $50 to consume vodka. "I shall observe your increasing state of intoxication, and I will record my findings," the man declared. Jordan readily accepted the proposition to acquire easy funds and consented to rendezvous with the man at the intersection of Fifth and Juniper Streets.

Jordan was already present when the man arrived. The man gestured for Jordan to enter his vehicle, presented him with a bottle of vodka, and instructed him to consume it rapidly. Jordan ingested approximately half of the contents, at which point the man exited the car for a brief period to procure something to mix with the alcohol. Upon his return, the man requested Jordan to achieve an erection, as he wished to witness his self-gratification. Jordan stated that he was too intoxicated to become aroused promptly. Subsequently, he consumed more and lost consciousness.

In the early hours of the following morning, an individual named David Atkins discovered someone in a curled, fetal position on the ground within the parking lot situated behind the Ponce de Leon Hotel, where Atkins was employed as a clerk. "Initially, I estimated him to be between 30 and 35 years old and quite unkempt. I nudged him with my foot and instructed him to awaken," Atkins recounted to Southern Voice, a publication catering to the gay community in Atlanta. "It was then that I noticed the widespread blisters across his body, and I realized he was merely a youth."

The individual lying on the ground was identified as Jordan. He was unclothed, and his private parts had been encased in a rubber band and subsequently ignited. The burns extended to his posterior and limbs, and his nasal passages and mouth were filled with blood.

Atkins promptly contacted emergency services, and Jordan was transported via ambulance to the hospital, where he would remain for a duration of one month. When law enforcement personnel were slow to respond to the location, Atkins reached out to Cathy Woolard, an advocate for gay rights affiliated with the Georgia chapter of the ACLU. Woolard immediately took action and contacted the police investigator assigned to the case. In her own words, she encountered "nothing but a series of evasions and delays." Given the victim's demographic, the authorities had classified the assault as a hate crime. For precisely the same reason, Woolard surmised, they were not treating the incident with the seriousness it warranted.

Woolard implored law enforcement officials to interview a potential eyewitness: Bill Adamson, who worked as a bartender at The Phoenix. Adamson stated that Jordan had visited the establishment prior to proceeding to Fifth and Juniper, and had recounted his interaction with the stranger in the Town Car. Adamson issued a cautionary admonition: "Steer clear of him. He poses a danger."

Adamson was not privy to the driver's identity, only that individuals in the Midtown vicinity referred to him as the "Handcuff Man." This individual was identified as a serial offender who approached gay men, offered them monetary incentives to consume alcoholic beverages, and subsequently assaulted or burned them, leaving them in critical condition. On occasion, he would restrain his victims by affixing handcuffs to poles—hence his ominous moniker.

There were men who claimed they had narrowly escaped the Handcuff Man, along with circulating rumors suggesting that some of his victims had not survived. Nevertheless, some individuals considered him to be nothing more than an urban myth. The brutal assault on Jordan would bring the reality to light: not only did the Handcuff Man exist, but there were indeed individuals in Atlanta who knew his name, including members of the police department. His apprehension had not occurred because, it appeared, no concerted effort was being made to capture him.

That particular situation was on the verge of undergoing a significant transformation.

It was not definitively established when the Handcuff Man commenced his initial assault. Adamson asserted that this perpetrator had been actively preying upon the Midtown community since the late 1960s, describing him as a driver of a white Lincoln, approximately five feet ten inches in stature, with dark hair and spectacles. A male sex worker recounted that the Handcuff Man had picked him up in Piedmont Park in 1977, requested that he consume shots of liquor, and subsequently subjected him to an assault. The victim managed to escape with a stab wound to his shoulder and later observed the same individual in the park, apparently observing other male sex workers. He opted not to report the offense due to his apprehension of being publicly identified to his loved ones.

In the year 1984, Susan Faludi, then a reporter in her early twenties and on the path to becoming a Pulitzer Prize-winning author, authored a prominent article concerning male sex workers for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. In her inquiries with her contacts about the perils inherent in their occupation, she discovered that "the most significant apprehension currently prevalent on the streets is engendered by the specter of 'The Handcuff Man,' an individual who purportedly targets sex workers, offers them a flask of vodka laced with sedatives, and then assaults and incapacitates them with handcuffs."

In the subsequent year, specifically in April of 1985, a slender man lowered his car window along Ponce de Leon Avenue and inquired of Max Shrader if he was interested in acquiring some funds. Shrader, aged 21, had been engaged in sex work since the age of 13, serving both heterosexual and closeted homosexual men, including a married Baptist minister. He was well aware of the inherent dangers associated with his profession; he had previously been subjected to a gun threat, and a female sex worker who was his acquaintance had been tragically murdered. "Her head was discovered in one refuse container, and her limbs in another," Shrader stated. "She was a pleasant individual." Shrader was cognizant of the Handcuff Man, who had perpetrated an attack on another of his associates. However, the man situated in the vehicle on Ponce, as the thoroughfare is commonly referred to, did not present himself as a predator. He wore glasses and a neatly pressed shirt, appearing quite ordinary.

The man invited Shrader to partake in some alcoholic beverages with him, an offer Shrader accepted. However, after a short interval, he began to feel an unusual sensation. He wondered if the man had surreptitiously administered a substance to him. Shrader subsequently collapsed to the ground. "Please do not harm me!" he pleaded as the man pulled him into his automobile.

The man then proceeded to a wooded vicinity, where he halted the vehicle and forcibly extracted the inebriated Shrader into a dense patch of kudzu. He then doused Shrader's groin area with a liquid and ignited a match, which illuminated Shrader's face in a ghastly manner that Shrader would forever recall. When the man dropped the burning match, Shrader ignited.

Shrader remained in the woods for an extended period, fluctuating between consciousness and unconsciousness. He cried out for assistance whenever he possessed sufficient strength. Approximately at 9:30 p.m., a man who happened to be a registered nurse was en route home with his companion when he observed a naked figure by the roadside. The nurse immediately stopped, assessed Shrader's dire condition, and hurried to his residence to contact the authorities and retrieve some blankets to wrap Shrader in. "I suppose Providence guided him here," Shrader remarked.

Shrader was transported to Grady Memorial Hospital, the identical medical facility where Michael Jordan would receive treatment six years later. He remained hospitalized for six weeks, during which time the police visited him on a single occasion. They left a business card and advised him to contact them if he wished to speak. He subsequently misplaced the card and never heard from the police again.

Shrader expressed no astonishment at this lack of follow-up. The Atlanta constabulary seemed more preoccupied with harassing and apprehending gay individuals than with safeguarding them. At times, they would meticulously record the license plate numbers of vehicles in Piedmont Park and subsequently extort drivers who harbored intense fears of their sexual orientation being revealed—an exposure that could result in the loss of their families, their employment, and potentially their very lives. Instances of violence directed at gay individuals frequently remained uninvestigated, or were at best inadequately pursued. The publication Etcetera, a magazine catering to the gay and lesbian community in Atlanta, reported that between the years 1984 and 1986, no fewer than 18 gay men perished as a result of attacks by unidentified assailants. The magazine voiced its frustration, noting that the police possessed "minimal comprehension" of crimes motivated by homophobia. George Napper, Atlanta's public safety commissioner, declined to issue a statement denouncing assaults against the gay community, as he feared it might be interpreted as preferential treatment.

Following a two-year recuperation period, Shrader resumed his sex work, bearing the indelible marks of his ordeal. Having experienced a disadvantaged upbringing, the exchange of sexual services represented one of the few avenues through which he had ever generated income. At the very least, he now possessed a visual memory of the Handcuff Man's countenance and could actively avoid him.

J.D. Kirkland held the belief that he, too, had glimpsed the Handcuff Man's face. Kirkland, a member of the Atlanta police force, provided security services on multiple evenings per week at The Gallus. According to Don Hunnewell, one of The Gallus's proprietors, Kirkland embodied a fusion of the tough character "Dirty Harry" and the stoic sheriff from the renowned Western series Gunsmoke—a "formidable, cowboy-esque" police officer. During his leisure hours, he dedicated time to training horses on an expansive property situated on the outskirts of the city and was in the process of composing a novel featuring a time-traveling law enforcement officer. Kirkland was married with children; he did not identify as gay, yet he exhibited profound empathy towards the patrons of The Gallus. "He genuinely cared," Hunnewell stated. "I don't believe his views were at all judgmental regarding their activities." (Kirkland passed away in 1996.)

Diners had shared accounts of the Handcuff Man with Kirkland, including descriptions of his physical appearance, and on November 4th, 1983, an individual fitting this description entered The Gallus. Kirkland proceeded to create a trespass notice and subsequently captured a Polaroid photograph of the man. The Gallus maintained a "barred book," a compendium of images of individuals prohibited from entering the premises; it was incumbent upon the bartenders to consult this register at the commencement of their shifts to facilitate the ejection of any unauthorized patrons. Kirkland placed the man's photograph within the aforementioned book.

Prior to escorting him from the premises permanently, Kirkland requested the individual's name. The man identified himself as Robert Lee Bennett Jr. "I am an attorney," he added, "and I intend to initiate legal proceedings against you."