Between the ages of 4 and 9, Amy Hammel-Zabin was sexually abused by her father and grandfather. Steeped in shame and guilt, the young girl never spoke about the horrors she was forced to endure. With the death of her grandfather the abuse stopped. So did her memories of the abuse, which she squelched until they suddenly surfaced when she was 26.
After reading numerous books on sexual abuse and undergoing years of therapy, Hammel-Zabin finally gained a full understanding of what happened to her and why. Now 41 and a music therapist in Greenwich, Conn., she has written the recently published “Conversations With a Pedophile” (Barricade Books, $21.95). The book juxtaposes memories from her painful childhood against thoughts expressed in letters from incarcerated homosexual pedophile Alan, a former patient with whom she has maintained a connection for more than a decade through letters and phone calls.
Arrested in the late ’80s and imprisoned for life after a much-publicized trial, the ex-Scout leader and church deacon was charged with sexually abusing hundreds of boys. Hammel-Zabin uses a pseudonym for this predator to protect his family and the victims, who totaled more than 1,000 over a four-decade period.
As with other patients, Hammel-Zabin was able to read Alan’s thoughts and emotions through the music he enjoyed. By playing and singing music to and with patients, she said in an interview in her home, “often things happen so much more intensely. I get in six months what might take a psychologist two years, because I can go through all the back doors.”
Although she has worked with other pedophiles, it was Alan who made her realize “how clever and manipulative the snare was,” she said. Pedophilia is not about sex, she explains. It’s about control of one person over another. And the victims are easy to spot.
“It’s absolutely frightening that a predator can look over a group of kids and pick out the most vulnerable of the children. Children who he knows won’t go back and tell their parents what has happened.
“Once a child is caught in this trap, there is no way to get out,” she continues. “For me, the most therapeutic part was realizing that I don’t need to be ashamed about what happened to me.”
Full disclosure
When she began writing the book, Hammel-Zabin says she had no idea she would be delving into her own family background and history of sexual abuse. She was the only girl among four brothers in a dysfunctional family controlled by an abusive, alcoholic father who never wanted children and a submissive mother she calls “basically a single parent within the marriage.” However, it quickly became apparent that the book, which champions the policy of no secrets between parents and children, had to disclose her own secret.
“I had to be ethical and give a complete picture,” she said, explaining how she wrote letters to her relatives, telling them she “needed to do this,” and promising not to use their family name.
“None of my family members said `don’t do it,’ but I think they are all very nervous. When a family has secrets, they are most comfortable keeping those secrets.”
Hammel-Zabin met Alan in the late ’80s while he was incarcerated in a maximum-security unit, awaiting a hearing. There to evaluate the mental health of prisoners before their hearings, she was introduced to Alan, who had spoken to no one in that unit. When meeting her, Alan unexpectedly said: “If you want to understand me, listen to my music.”
The songs Alan requested she play on her guitar slowly unraveled the workings of his mind. The lyrics dealt with loneliness, separation, emotional deprivation and children.
“Every therapist is also a human being,” she writes, “and though I could surmise already from that first session that Alan had done awful things, I did not and could not see him as a monster. His musicality revealed him to me as a fellow person.”
Hammel-Zabin identified a common bond: The shame, guilt and isolation she felt as a young girl were the emotions Alan talks about in his letters. “That sense of commonality is a little eerie,” she said, “but it’s certainly present.”
A self-proclaimed `victim’
After that first meeting, she returned weekly for a year, and slowly Alan confessed his sordid past that began as a young boy molesting boys younger than himself. Distanced from his cold, undemonstrative parents and a world that he could not relate to, Alan justified his actions by considering himself a victim.
“I sexualized everything in life and took out all of my pent-up feelings and frustrations in sexual and sexually aggressive ways against more vulnerable victims,” he says in a letter that appears in the book.
As the years progressed, he indulged in a complicated fantasy world, contriving plots to ensnare victims. Choosing his prey from mostly 7- to 13-year-olds from dysfunctional or uncommunicative families, he felt they would be swayed by his caring and kindness. Alan, she says, was more than just their friend. He was integral to their lives.
He paid attention to their problems, helped them with homework, bought them gifts and took them on camping trips in return for sex and a promise not to tell. Again, shame and guilt kept them quiet.
Alan’s secret life was discovered when the mother of one of the boys, cleaning her son’s room, found a pornographic photo of her son. She contacted the police and Alan, by then nearing 50, was arrested. An investigation followed and many of his victims came forward. Pleading guilty, he was sentenced to five to six consecutive sentences with no parole.
“All these boys are at risk to abuse others,” says Hammel-Zabin of his victims. “They are at risk to lead very damaged lives.” The ones who pressed charges against Alan are the lucky ones. “There are many other boys who were not identified and have never even spoken about it.”
While in prison, Alan attempted suicide many times. Finally, he decided that if he was going to live, his life had to have some purpose. He will never leave prison and feels “guilt and horror about the things he has done,” she says. He hopes his published letters will help educate readers, allowing them to get into the mind of a pedophile and perhaps save other vulnerable children from the fate to which his victims were subjected. “It is a small way to give something back. To make his life worth something.”
Chances are, she says, he will eventually die a violent death in prison. Sexual offenders are vulnerable to attacks from other prisoners.
As for Hammel-Zabin, she is happily married and the mother of two young children. Her mother recently separated from her father and lives near her. Hammel-Zabin never brought any charges against her father, who lives in another state. She had no contact with him for years, but now speaks to him occasionally by phone.
“It’s after a long time of working with therapy and after a lot of anger,” she said. “But bring my children to him? No.
“It’s not for me to mete out the punishment or to hold on to a whole lot of anger. I feel that he will get what he deserves … whatever that is.”
