A tongue-in-cheek psychological profile on
Mr Ronald ‘Butch’ DeFeo Jr.
An update by
Christopher Berry Dee
Yes, folks, Christopher is still alive and kicking, as is my buddy Ric Osuna, as is Ronnie. However, while Ric and I are enjoying life to the max, Ron, on the other hand is living life in the max – as in rotting away his days behind the grim walls of the SuperMax Correctional Facility, Green Haven, Stormville, New York.
Much water has passed under the bridge since I first profiled Mr DeFeo on this excellent web site. I now have 33 books to my credit – more on the way - and numerous TV documentaries; with two of the books now required reading by students at the Behavioral Science Unit (BSU), Quantico, Virginia, I am now obliged to re-submit a more sensible profile on Ronald – one in keeping with my status as one of the world’s best-selling true crime writers.
I have received hundreds of emails from readers applauding me for my initial profile on Ronald, however, there have been a number of emails written by FBI and criminology students who have suggested that I was being, perhaps, too flippant; that I have treated Mr DeFeo unfairly – that I should have taken into account his abusive upbringing as possible mitigation for wiping out his family of six, before slandering Ronnie in the way I have.
Well, guys, lemme tell ya’ll, I have taken note of the complaints that I have received, I truly have, honest to God I have, and guess what, nothing is about to change for the reasons below. In fact, Mr DeFeo is still the sickest and funniest psycho-clown in town, and no one tells Christopher what he can, or cannot say, period.
Understanding the mind of Ronald DeFeo Jr.:
One could read a million books on the causation of criminal behavior and not find anything that would assist you in your attempts to understand the mind of Ronald DeFeo. You could try word association, otherwise known as the ‘Talking Cure’ or Free Association’, or you might, if you have a bottle of Parker’s ink handy, have a shot at the Rorschach ink blot test – the latter involves spattering ink over a sheet of paper, or your tablecloth – bed sheets if you are infirm – and telling yourself that such-a-such blob looks like a Mount St. Helens, or a well put together woman, depending on your subconscious predilection.
You could also use the ‘Word Association’ test. Try this on yourself. Say a word, any word, and then write down the next word that springs energetically to your mind. Repeat the process until you get bored, or there is a repeat of New Jersey Wives on the television or you take a length or rope and use it to suspend yourself from the tree in your backyard.
Now put yourself into the mind of Ronnie. Imagine you were him. Go on, just for the fun of it. Start off with ‘Marlin Rifle’. Work on this exercise for 37 years (the amount of time he has been enjoying prison food), and you will end up with ‘Litigation’. Ronnie, sues, or tries to sue everyone who has ever written about him, or even met him, to include all of his wives to date.
Here is my own professional Word Association test on Ron:
Ronald DeFeo-Amityville-Long Island-Mass Murder-George Lutz-William Weber- Horror Movies-Countless Books-Millions of $s-Get Rich Quick Ambulance Chasing Attorneys-Book and Movie Contracts-Serious Jail Time- Friendless, Witless = Ronald DeFeo = Clown!
Unassuming and shy?:
This is how Ronald describes himself on the internet…well, to be honest, the web site set up by his third or fourth wife…I really cannot be sure and nor can Ron. But ‘Unassuming and shy’ is not a description that nestles snugly alongside the name of Ronald DeFeo. Indeed, the Trades Description people ought to look into this matter urgently.
You will, by now, have read all about the Amityville slayings on this web site – the One-Stop, 24/7 for DeFeo.com, this is the only store in our galaxy where you go shopping for the goods on Ron.
I’ve been waiting for you for two hours. Who’s do ya think I am…I got better things to do!’:
This was Ron’s less than welcoming greeting to me on Friday, 23 September 1994, the day of his interview at the Green Haven CF, Stormville, NY. (First published in my book, Talking with Serial Killers, published John Blake, London, 2003, and still a world’s bestseller.)
Small in stature, small in mind; one’s initial impression on meeting Mr DeFeo are immediately one of heart-breaking, suicidal-tempting disappointment. As Ric Osuna will agree, because he has also met DeFeo, one is anxiously built up to meet perhaps one of the infamous mass-murderers of all time, and what you see is what you get. BIG DISAPPOINTMENT!
So how can a summarise DeFeo in this respect……….he is a dick-head!
And, it says a lot for him, for everyone else associated with ‘Butch’ grew rich, he earned seed money. He is the ONLY one that hasn’t earned a dime from his crimes, so he wins First Prize for being so dumb.
He is a litigious nut. DeFeo is a nocturnal residence where the lights are not on because he cannot pay the utility bill. He is a roof with most of its slates missing. He is several sandwiches short of a July 4 picnic…99 cents short of a dollar bill…a loser…a guy who would never win a bet on a one-horse race.
Please excuse this description of this drug/alcohol soaked thug, who, took it upon himself, along with his sister Dawn, to blast his entire family as they slept, all cosy in their warm beds before turning the weapon on Dawn. This momentous act of slaughter was not worthy of an Einstein, a Werner von Braun, nor a Monday Morning Quarterback actually scoring a goal. It merely took the mentality of a cretin to take up a Marlin hunting rifle and slither from room to room, killing all therein.
In reality, and as impertinent as this may seem, Ron was not even a big hitter in the homicidal maniac league. Killers, such as Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, Ken Bianchi, Henry Lucas, Arthur Shawcross, Harvey ‘The Hammer’ Carignan, and Aileen Wuornos – I have met most of them – spring to mind when it comes down to doing stuff on grand scale.
As mass murderers go, at least Charles Whitman – The Austin, TX, Tower Killer – put himself out by climbing hundreds of steps before he went berserk on 1 August 1966. And, as glib as this may seem, Britain’s home-grown spree killer, Michael Ryan, at least went walkabouts as he shot to death half the population of sleepy Hungerford with his AK-47 on 20 August 1987.
In reality, Ronnie was too bone idle to leave his front door. Unlike Whitman and Ryan, Ron didn’t actually have to aim his rifle - he was at point-blank-close to his slumbering victims. He didn’t even trouble himself with trawling for targets, either. Louise, Allison, Marc and John were asleep. Hey! He could never have missed potting his father because he was as big as a barn door. Dawn was so close to the muzzle of the rifle she could have counted the grooves and lands in the barrel, and probably did because she was not only a shooter but wide awake when a bullet slammed into her head caving the side of her face in.
So, tis no wonder the cops beat the living daylights out of Ronnie with a Long Island telephone directory after he was taken into custody – he deserved a damn good thrashing for being so stupid and lazy.
Of course, Mr. DeFeo has revelled in his ill-deserved notoriety ever since his night of family annihilation. He bathes and paddles around in his infamy like a rat in sewerage. Posturing, arrogant to the degree of compelling one to vomit in Technicolor; a pathological liar who cannot see the facts if he looked into a magic fairground mirror, so warped is his self-perceived perception of his own richly embroidered CV. He is, and always will be, like excrement stuck to the shoes of any law-abiding member of decent society.
To please my critics:
You may have to wrestle with this one, but in many relationships if one harbors desires or feelings contrary to her or his conscious self-image, or that cause feelings of guilt, she, or he, may try to alleviate these tensions by projecting the guilt onto a mate, or others, and by confabulating some form of justification, such as shouting rude names. However, in Ronnie’s case he projected his tensions using the simple expedient of blasting his family to Kingdom Come – a little extreme, I am sure you will agree?
On this one, sadly Ronnie hits a low note, scoring minus 10. Of those polled who have read a few of his letters – two lines would be sufficient – all unanimously agree that what he says on a Monday contradicted what he wrote the previous Sunday, ad infinitum, ad nauseum. Run this 24/7/365 since the day he was arrested in November 1974, then we find -10 being generous in any event.
Shifting up a gear, let’s examine Ronnie’s post-crime behavior. After slaughtering his victims - by which means necessitated a considerable house clean - he busied himself trying to eradicate any signs of an epic blood bath along with any evidence that might have linked the murders to him. This was a task, one to which he applied some relish, and, in doing so, he fucked everything up.
One of the first compulsively dim thoughts that gallantly fought its way into DeFeo’s pea-sized brain was how to dispose of the Marlin rifle. An admirable idea, perhaps, but instead of cutting the weapon into sixty pieces and scattering them across the North American continent, what does our Ron do? He throws the rifle into the dock directly behind his house…leaving the weapon’s box in his bedroom cupboard, for God’s sake…then after he is arrested, this dimwit draws a map showing the police where the rifle is.
But, this get’s worse, for after the killings Ron disrobes and dumps his bloodstained clothing down a New York drain, soon after - like follow the arrows to this spot - he tells the cops which exact drain ‘someone else’ planted the items in without his knowledge.
So, to put this, how can I say bluntly, Ronald is NOT bright and where no better can this be illustrated than by glancing at his correspondence.
To be honest with you, Ron’s appreciation and command of the English language is painful to witness. It is stressful to read because the theme of his rambling and litigious letters leaves one not having a clue as to what he is talking about.
As for his graphology? I have seen spiders falling into ink and staggering sideways across paper producing more legible script, and the buttercup-yellow of his prison stationary damages the eye.
Hey, Ron – I love ya’, really I do!
Gimme a break… tis time for a cup of Earl Grey tea, and the commercials.
George Lutz & William Weber:
We all know who the late George Lutz was, don’t we? He was the guy who purchased ‘High Hopes’, and, with the eager help of Ron’s then attorney, William E. Weber, came up with green slime coming out of taps and dripping down the walls; more flies buzzing around Dawn’s bedroom than the River Ganges on a hot day. Added to which the very annoyed spirit of a long dead Shinnecock Indian chief who rose from his slot in an ancient burial ground under the house. (Incidentally no record of any such sacred site exists, and what tribe of Indians would bury their dead under water, as Ric succinctly points out – the water table almost comes up to the front stoop at high tide on a windy day?)
Then we have my dear friend, parapsychologist Professor Hans Holzer, suggesting that the Indian chief will rise again – probably soaking wet - sometime around midnight when the clocks strikes 12. We have fire storms enveloping peaceful Amityville…mysterious fleeting figures running amok…the house’s foundations shaking at 8 on the Richter Scale – and not a single window is broken. Oh, I almost forgot the flying pink pig.
And this is before our Ronnie had his say!
You want to know what I think. Well, I reckon that most of the residents of Amityville heard the DeFeo’s dog barking and the gunshots that night. They all knew the DeFeo tribe, believe me, and I reckon that there must have been a collective gasp of: “Oh, shit, they’re at it again”, before they turned over and went back to sleep.
Trying to help Ron:
In the knowledge that Ron is as dim as a 5 watt lamp, do we forgive him for not realising that Ric Osuna, and me in my own book, have gone out of our way to highlight a number of crucial issues which could – if he were at least half-sensible to cotton-on, get him out of Shit Creek into which he continually wishes to navigate upstream. To wit:
Both Ric and I are firmly convinced that Dawn fired the Marlin rifle several times that fateful night. And, we both support any efforts to have Dawn’s nightgown forensically examined for gunpowder blowback, which could prove that she did, indeed, use the weapon. Tis also true that the nightgown still exists in the evidence room at Yaphank Police HQ. Both Ric and I have seen it!
So Ric and myself are aggrieved, and quite rightly so, that here we are trying to uncover the truth at much time and expense to ourselves, at no cost to Ronald, and as soon as we haul his ass out of Shit Creek, he picks up his oars and paddles frantically back up it again, heaving litigation against his helpers into his wake as he proceeds around every bend.
Butch’s fan club:
This group of primates includes a running list of dysfunctional, ambulance-chasing attorneys who find themselves hired and fired with the same frequency as one changes socks. Yep! Ron has sued, or tried to sue every one of them.
As add-ons and optional extras, there is – and always has been – a veritable menagerie of over-excited creatures that applaud Ron’s shooting enterprise, and whose form of communication in the Amityville chatrooms consists of clicks, grunts, shrills, as well as the occasional yelps and screams. Guys, there was even a British ex-cop who advertised his house in Wales for sale in the very same chatroom. DeFeo’s supporters are all candidates for a human zoo, with their main thrust in life to sign affidavit after affidavit, then retract every word as soon as it is convenient.
If Ronnie had any sense at all, from the moment he arrived in prison he should have been on his knees before every priest who crossed his path. He should have been in the chapel every Sunday drinking tea and eating cookies. Ron, the fastest route to parole is embarking on a Journey into the Light. Suck up religion like an Arab drinks from an oasis. ‘CONTRITION’ should have been tattooed on your forehead from the outset, you moron.
But no! Our endearing Ronnie enlists the assistance of the Devil and starts signing movie deals that will send the Bible-thumping segment of society into palpitations for the remainder of their days.
Now, I think I have almost said my piece. I am a great believer that the public has a lot of commonsense. You don’t need to be a shrink, or have half of the alphabet after your name to figure out Ronald ‘Butch’ DeFeo.
It will assist you enormously to study Ric’s website carefully. Look at the gross crime scene photos too. They should carry a public heath warning, but they graphically illustrate DeFeo’s night of ballistic handiwork. Not something he should be proud of either, but he is because he’s Ronald DeFeo.
Had not George Lutz capitalized on this family massacre, concocting a bullshit scenario which made him a rich man at the expense of the deceased, then the Amityville story would have long faded into history. And, the attorney, William Weber has a lot to answer for too. Defending Ronald DeFeo appeared to come as a secondary consideration, with a plea bargain agreement in one hand, while clutching a movie contract in the other certainly brought Mr Weber’s otherwise good name into the gutter.
It’s true that several of the cops were bent, and the trial judge was so crooked he couldn’t lay straight in bed, but none of this helps DeFeo at all. Of course Det. Lt. Robert Dunn and Det. Dennis Rafferty had a documented history of falsifying evidence and rough-handling suspects – as proved by the 1989 Investigation into the Suffolk County District Attorney’s Office and Police Department.
Judge Thomas M. Stark, presiding, only got the to try the case because the then District Attorney Gerald Sullivan knew that the initial judge, Judge Signorelli, was raising questions about how DeFeo’s confessions were unlawfully obtained. Sullivan certainly engineered Signorelli’s step-down, and the appointment of Judge Stark. And, I have met Dunn, Rafferty, Sullivan and Judge Stark – and they have confirmed all I write here.
So, there DeFeo sits, this poisonous little man in his prison cell preening his over-inflated ego and making everyone he has ever met, their lives a misery. He is fastidious about his appearance, his prison-issue shirt and pants are always well-ironed and immaculate. But, whichever way you cut DeFeo, he still looks exactly as he is - a wet rat.
Of course he attempted to sue Ric, but that failed. He attempted to sue me, but as I am out of his civil jurisdiction – in England – he was wasting his time and reams of buttercup-yellow paper into the bargain.
Today, in 2011, Ronald ‘Butch’ DeFeo Jr. is 60-years-old. He is ill and has been so for several years. He exhibits no remorse for his dreadful crimes and bathes in the limelight his followers afford him.