In 1976, a killer who called himself ‘The Son of Sam’ shot and killed a half dozen people and wounded as many more in New York City. During his crime spree, the madman left bizarre letters mocking the police and promising more deaths.
After months of terrorizing the city while garnering front-page headlines and international attention, a man named David Berkowitz was arrested. He confessed to the shootings, claiming to be obeying a demon that resided in a dog that belonged to his neighbor “Sam.”
Among the alleged victims was Carl Denaro. On the night he was shot, Denaro was hanging out with some friends at a bar when he met up with a woman named Rosemary Keenan. The couple left the bar and went to Keenan’s car for some privacy. However, a few minutes later, the windows of the car exploded as Denaro was shot in the head by an unseen assailant. Miraculously, Denaro survived the attack.
When Berkowitz was arrested, he was charged with trying to kill Denaro. However, there was a twist. Although he confessed to the other shootings, after his conviction Berkowitz denied attacking Denaro.
Now, after years of research, Denaro is convinced that Berkowitz was telling the truth, and that someone else tried to kill him.
In ‘THE SON OF SAM’ AND ME: The Truth About Why I Wasn’t Shot By David Berkowitz, author Carl Denaro with co-author Brian Whitney (THE “SUPREME GENTLEMAN” KILLER, WildBlue Press) reveals his search for the truth and his shocking conclusion regarding the identity of the real shooter. In the book, Denaro also writes about his friendship and investigative partnership with Maury Terry, the author of THE ULTIMATE EVIL, which is considered the definitive case study on the theory that Berkowitz did not act alone.
Includes Never Revealed Correspondence Between Denaro and Berkowitz!
From The Book:
It wasn’t long before we decided to leave the bar. This was my last Friday in town after all, which meant it was my last chance with Rosemary. We got into her blue 1970 Volkswagen Beetle, she revved the engine and we drove off with no particular destination in mind. We wound up heading down 159th Street and as we approached 33nd Avenue I suggested she park at a spot about 25 feet from the corner in front of a large house. She glided the Bug towards the curb and turned the ignition off.
As soon as we pulled over, I took a bottle of Jack Daniels out of my pocket and took a big swig. Before long the two of us were making out. I don’t remember if we were still kissing each other when my world changed forever.
The windows of the VW exploded around me while glass sprayed over the interior of the car. I looked down and saw my hands were bleeding, filled with tiny shards of glass, gleaming in the dim light. I had no idea what happened. I didn’t recall hearing a gun go off. In fact, I wasn’t even aware that I was shot but, there was one thing I knew. We were in trouble.
Frantically I yelled at Rosemary “Start the car, let’s get out of here’!” I didn’t have to tell her twice. As Rosemary turned the key in the ignition for some reason that I would soon come to regret, I took a bag of about an ounce of weed out of my pocket and threw it out the window.
As we headed down 159th Street I must have passed out. I came to about 15 seconds later and saw that Rosemary was in a panic. She didn’t know where she was or where to go. Rosemary lived at home with family in Bayside and wasn’t familiar with my Flushing neighbourhood. For some reason that still isn’t clear to me I told her to go back to Peck’s. Obviously, directing her to Flushing Hospital Emergency room would have been a better choice, but let’s just say I wasn’t thinking straight. Obviously, neither was Rosemary. Soon, there we were, right back at the bar.
When Rosemary pulled up in front of the bar entrance I got out of the car and walked in like I owned the place. Vinny, the bouncer, looked at me strangely. and said “Carl, you don’t look too good”.
I didn’t know it then, but that was a huge understatement. “Vinny, I don’t feel too good, I think the car exploded.” I replied. He pulled up a chair and sat me down. I started to feel dizzy and my head nodded down like a junkie. My shirt turned a sickening red as blood spilled down my shirt. My long hair had been sopping up the blood from my head wound. As I looked around the room, forty or so bar patrons looked back at me, staring in horror and disbelief. Nobody knew what happened, but everyone knew I needed to go to the emergency room and not be hanging out at the bar with blood gushing out of my head.