“To the Women.”
Author Liza Rodman dedicated her memoir, The Babysitter: My Summers with a Serial Killer, “to the women.” I always read dedication pages, and when I saw this phrase at the beginning of the book, I thought the sentiment was sweet.
But, that’s about it. Because I didn’t know yet.
I didn’t know what I was about to read.
By the time I finished reading The Babysitter, the full impact of “to the women” hit me like a brick.
The Babysitter was a very different read for me. I’m not a true crime fan, and this book perfectly illustrates why. Ghosts and ghouls won’t make me bat an eye, but when it comes to how incredibly depraved humanity can get? That’s the stuff that keeps me up at night.
Yet, this memoir by Rodman and co-author Jennifer Jordan called out to me. Despite my fear, I’m morbidly fascinated by the dichotomy of human nature; the idea that a certifiably insane serial killer could also have been a beloved, trusted babysitter drew me in like a moth to a flame.
In The Babysitter, Rodman chronicles the childhood summers she spent under the care of Tony Costa, who murdered a string of women in the 1960s – y’know, when he wasn’t babysitting Liza. Costa’s history, from his awful childhood to crazed adulthood, is incredibly disturbing on so many levels. It’s grotesque, what Costa did to those women. We’re talking Jack the Ripper shit here. And necromancy. It’s also shocking that a man like this could have gone under the radar for so damn long.
In contrast to the monstrous Costa is innocent and neglected little Liza, who felt that her babysitter was sometimes the only person to really “see” her. Rodman bravely and honestly describes her difficult childhood with an emotionally abusive mother, and how she and her sister were often left in the care of anyone but their mother – including someone who turned out to be a serial killer.
It’s not difficult to see the parallels between Liza’s and Costa’s abusive upbringings. Liza endured things that were just as shitty as Costa did. Yet, one child turned out to be a serial killer, and one turned out to be … well, not. (Though, honestly, Liza, I think we all would’ve turned a blind eye at a spot of matricide, given what’s revealed about your mother. Hugs to you. So many hugs.)
One of the key things about The Babysitter is that Rodman allows you to learn a different side of Costa. An oddly more nurturing side. When you see how tenderly he took care of Liza, how he was one of the few positive examples of adulthood in her life…you can’t help but wonder where Costa went off track. When you learn about the difficulties Costa faced growing up, you feel that, really, this person never really had a chance. It’s almost enough to make you feel sorry for him.
Almost.
When you realize what Costa did to his victims, though…any sympathy you might have for him evaporates. Rodman spares no details here, either. When you read The Babysitter, you learn the young women’s names and flip through their photos, which are included in the book. You learn where these women were from and where they were headed. Where they never got to. And, who never heard from those women again.
There were many times when I wanted to stop reading The Babysitter. And/or throw up. But after learning the victims’ stories, seeing their faces, and knowing in detail what was done to them, I knew I had to keep reading. It’s the least I could do for those poor women.
“For the women.”
I don’t plan to read another book like The Babysitter again. I won’t need to; this one’s going to stay with me for a long time.
This is reminiscent of “The Stranger Beside Me,” in which Ann Rule, who went on to write a lot of bestselling true crime books, described her time working alongside Ted Bundy on a crisis hotline. Monsters have always walked among us.
Oh, UGH!!! I think I’ve seen that book go by. I’ve been curious about it, but not quite curious enough. The Babysitter’s got me covered on true crime books for quite awhile!