Stephanie Crowe was especially happy on January 21, 1998, because her parents had saved up to buy her a new phone for Christmas and she was permitted unlimited calls; the twelve-year-old was busy chatting to her friends when her mother bade her goodnight and went to sleep.
The next day Stephanie’s grandmother made a gruesome discovery; when she went upstairs to fetch Stephanie for breakfast she discovered the girl lying in a massive pool of blood near her bedroom door. Stephanie had been stabbed eight times with a long-bladed knife, and drag marks indicated she had first been attacked in bed before her killer pulled her to the floor and slashed at her chest. Strangely enough, there was no sign of forced entry into her room, and the words ‘kill KILL’ had been scrawled in pencil on the wall near her body.
Due to the fact no sign of forced entry was found, the police immediately began to pursue Stephanie’s brother, Michael, for her murder. Michael Crowe (14) had been hosting a sleepover with two friends in the room next to Stephanie’s, and admitted to playing his cassette tapes loudly during the hours she is believing ved to have died. Police found his stiff composure indicative of his guilt, and after ten hours of vigorous questioning Michael broke down in tears and confessed to murdering his sister. His two friends present that night were also arrested.
Despite a marked lack of evidence the three boys were charged with murder and put on trial as adults. However, just before the trial was to begin the police had a breakthrough; a shirt they had confiscated from a homeless man showed positive for Stephanie’s blood. The three boys were immediately cleared and the charges dismissed.
The ‘homeless man’ had been questioned just one day after Stephanie’s murder, after a neighbor complained he had been hanging around the street peering into windows. The cops had disregarded him as a suspect as they believed he was schizophrenic and not capable of murder. After Stephanie’s blood was found on his shirt the police launched a manhunt and made televised appeals to the public, but to no avail; the mysterious homeless man has never been captured, and Stephanie Crowe’s murder remains unsolved.
Even Elvis Presley knew why Wilson was called “Mr. Excitement”: I heard that seeing Wilson perform made the King want to hide under the table. The most spectacular Jackie Wilson show I ever saw was at Harlem’s famed Apollo Theater, around 1960. When he took the stage, adorned in a magnificent white suit, he spread his arms open wide, as if trying to embrace the entire room. He started singing the opening notes of his song “Doggin’ Around.“
The audience broke into screams. Even the way he casually held his hands while singing was hypnotic. His dancing was spellbinding — twists and splits that left me in total disbelief. Quickly soaked in sweat (nobody knew how to sweat as good as Jackie Wilson), he took off his jacket and pretended he was going to throw it to the crowd, creating a pure sexual enchantment.
I absolutely adore and idolise women. All women. I think they are all amazing. The female musicians I’ve met have been far more inspiring than the male ones. Women tend to be much more creative and ambitious. I think I may have been a woman in a past life.