A long time ago, I used to work out at the London, Ontario YMCA on Wellington Street. One particularly intense character was Russell Johnson, who always worked out with leather gloves on his hands. I moved from London and later learned that this intense man was a a serial killer who would scale the walls of apartments and strangle women. He was a good looking guy with a good job at a local auto plant, who took his workouts particularly seriously. I can’t ever recall him laughing or joking. A friend of my mother’s was supposed to be set up on a blind date with him, but cancelled for a reason I now forget. At the same time, I was a teenager, thinking London was a dull city where nothing much happens.

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