By Linda Wolfe
Referred to as the so-called "Rough intercourse Killing," the 1986 homicide of college-bound youngster Jennifer Levin by the hands of preppie Robert Chambers surprised and horrified the country, receiving as a lot cognizance and media hype because the O.J. Simpson case that quickly later on. In Wasted, which used to be named a "Notable ebook of the Year" by way of the New York Times, veteran journalist Linda Wolfe is going in the back of the headlines to inform the entire tale of this chilling crime. With never-before-revealed information, Wolfe re-creates in shiny aspect the reckless global of the prosperous children of the Nineteen Eighties, the vicious court docket battles that tried to color sexually-free Jennifer as liable for her personal loss of life, the startling jury-room wars that avoided the jurors from achieving a verdict on Chambers' culpability, and the secrets and techniques in the back of the preppie's last-minute plea cut price. a real crime vintage, this story of 2 children who attached - and crashed - within the speedy lane of...
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Additional resources for Wasted. The Preppie Murder
Out back was a large tree-studded yard. In front of the TV, an undulating waterbed. She was the second daughter of Steven Levin and Ellen Domenitz, whose families were Jewish and who had themselves each been raised in green and homogeneous suburban towns, Steve in Massachusetts, Ellen on Long Island. They’d met in Boston while Ellen was going to a junior college and Steve was attending an acting school. Acting was in Steve’s blood. His grandfather, who’d emigrated to the United States from Russia in the early part of the century, had made his living in the shoe business, just as Steve’s father did after him, but the old man had always wanted to be an actor and toward the end of his life he had even become one, performing with a Yiddish theater group.
Something about how he was having problems with her. “Yeah, well, I guess the best thing is, you never get married,” Sheehan said. Bob nodded, laughed. He’s a really sweet guy, Sheehan thought. Most of the regulars are. And they follow my career as if they’re my fan club. Sheehan had made the regulars real proud this year. 38 in his hand. Sheehan had pulled out his own gun, shoved it at the kid’s face and screamed, “You pull the trigger, I’m gonna blow your fucking head off! ” He’d never been so tough in his life.
That fall—it was 1979—Jennifer, a gangly eleven-year-old with crooked teeth and limp hair that she tucked impatiently behind prominent ears, moved back East. Ellen had soured on California and decided to rent a small house in Manorhaven, a somewhat shabby enclave in the posh Long Island suburb of Port Washington. She enrolled Jennifer in the sixth grade of Manorhaven’s public elementary school. Jennifer barely remembered Long Island, and she wasn’t happy about being a new girl at a new school. But she tried to find friends, flinging herself into the chore by making the first gestures.