A New Kind of Monster by Timothy Appleby Read Free Book Online Page A

activity began. Nonetheless, it remained for many years a highly enigmatic enterprise. Both Deep River and Chalk River were patrolled by armed guards, with access to either place controlled by military checkpoints. Deliberately placed upwind and upriver from Chalk River to avoid possible fallout from its reactors, Deep River sits between the Trans-Canada Highway and the Ottawa River, about 125 miles northwest of Ottawa and a 45-minute drive from the big Petawawa army base.
    Everything in Deep River was meticulously planned—so much so that years before the Williams family arrived, its critics mocked it as sterile, artificial and oppressive. In a jaundiced and now-famous article in
Maclean’s
magazine in 1958, author Peter Newman painted a picture of a community that could sometimes be stifling, likening Deep River to “a utopian attempt to create a happy environment where all is ordered for the best.” The writer quoted a poem penned by a resident that mocked Deep River’s entrenched sense of good order:
    Although the town is trim and neat
,
    With cozy houses on every street
,
    Though saying so is indiscreet
,
    I hate it
.
    But the poet was assuredly in the minority among the mostly urban-educated professionals who lived in and around Deep River. Writing in 1970 as Deep River marked its twenty-fifth anniversary, visiting
Globe and Mail
reporter Rudy Platiel marveled at what he called “a town with few parallels.” He noted the energetic volunteerism, the busy library, the enthusiasm at the weekly newspaper, and the scores of clubs and social groups—everything from yachting and drama to track and field, curling,bridge and a symphony orchestra whose conductor doubled as a neutron physicist. “This town is clubbed to death, always has been,” according to Hickey the realtor. “Access to the big city didn’t used to be what it is today, and people made do with what they had.”
    In short, Dave Williams and his family had arrived in a small town with a sophisticated urban feel to it, full of skilled professionals with high expectations. The work was steady, the money was good, and home was a big three-bedroom duplex on Le Caron Street that the Williamses bought in March 1968, the same month Russell turned five.
    An elderly English-born widow who lived in the other half of the duplex at the time and is still in Deep River today remembers his parents as standoffish and aloof. Russell, however, was a lively, friendly little boy who would chat across the fence, sometimes in very English-oriented slang. One time he solemnly informed her that his younger brother, Harvey, had just “spent a penny” in the garden flowers, a euphemism for relieving oneself that was dated even then. Like everyone else who learned of his arrest four decades later, the former neighbor was horrified by the news. “He was a smart kid, very smart. I don’t know where he went wrong, but something went wrong. I hope they throw the book at him.”
    No less stunned was retired teacher Erma Wesanko, who taught Williams in the kindergarten class at Deep River’s T.W. Morison Public School. A snowbird, she was vacationing in Florida when she got word. “It was a tremendous shock, quite a surprise. His name rang bells when I heard it, and when I saw his picture I absolutely remembered him as this little blond boy I had known. I could just picture him. He was a quiet little boy. I can’t remember him being tremendously outgoing. He was just a normal little boy, very attractive, gorgeous really. It’s just a verysad story. It hurts me terribly to think about how this could happen to someone.”
    Wesanko remembers her teaching days in the community with great fondness. “Deep River was such a great place for children, a safe town with all kinds of activities and all kinds of things to do.”
    But beneath the smooth veneer of familial stability was an undercurrent of turbulence,