My given name is Larry Ingber—Laurence Allan Ingber—but some people may remember me as the Ivy League Killer from this supposedly sensational trial on Long Island back in the late Sixties, early Seventies.1 It caused quite a splash in the media for a while because it had all kinds of juicy elements: young love, young love gone wrong, a double murder, class conflict, two dead bodies in the trunk of a Cadillac, a car chase, Mafia connections, other people’s multiple tragedies. In other words, a little some- thing for everyone. But that was a long time ago, and now most people don’t remember me at all. To tell you the truth, I sincerely hope no one recalls that sorry episode. Unfortunately, some people have extraordinary powers of memory, and the dead never forget a thing. I’m somewhere between the two. I don’t want my life to be defined by one very stupid thing that I did when I was nineteen, but I guess, to some extent, that’s what I’m stuck with. 

I truly don’t know why my name stayed in the public consciousness for so long. There are lots of murderers, more famous and much worse than me: Manson, Speck, Chapman, Berkowitz, Gacy, O.J., etc. And as I keep saying to everyone: I didn’t kill anyone. OK, I did witness two murders, did not do anything to stop them, and helped dispose of the bodies in a way that demon- started a “reckless and depraved disregard for human dignity.” But forget about that (not that I can). The point is I didn’t actu- ally kill anyone. That fact always seems to get lost in my story. 

I think, finally, what touched people is that, despite all the violence and sensationalism, at the bottom of it all, they felt that The Girl and I were truly in love. We were just a couple of teenagers trying to make it in a hostile world when things got screwed up. Nothing all that special. It was like everyone’s love story... except for the double murder. 

The reason I’m writing all this down after all these years— with the full and absolute intention of sending it to “the authorities”—is that my life is now in danger. Funny, after almost forty years in some of the worst prisons in “the land of the free, the home of the brave,” after surviving with caged human animals, guarded by other animals, I’ve come out into the real world, into freedom, and now I fear for my life as much as I ever did in prison. 

No, it’s not funny. 

1 On March 17, 1970, the Supreme Court of Nassau County, in Mineola, New York, convicted Laurence Allan Ingber of two counts of second-degree homicide.