3 Adventuring with Rose

To friends and relatives the first few years of the Jesperson marriage seemed smooth and uneventful. Despite his early doubts Keith realized that he was in love with Rose. After Jason Roy was born in September 1980 and named after his great-grandfather Roy Bellamy, the young husband tried to spend every free moment with his family.

Later Rose told a friend: “He adored our kids. He always had one in his lap. He made a plastic carrier on the back of his bike so he could carry them around wherever he went. At Christmastime he gave piles of gifts. He was always generous to a fault. He bought an expensive mountain bike for a friend just so they could ride together. He gave gifts that we couldn’t afford. That’s what he substituted for love. He could only show love to little kids. I called him the Disneyland Dad.

“He took me to a jeweler and said, ‘Pick out the diamond ring you want.’ I said, ‘Why?’ He said, ‘Just because.’ He walked out of the shop and said he’d be back in a while. He couldn’t be there when I put on the ring. That would have been too emotional.”

 

Keith started taking his wife “adventuring,” as they called it, with his father often coming along for the ride while Gladys stayed home and knitted sweaters—her customary preference. After the trailer-court issues faded, father and son began to enjoy each other’s company. On weekends they climbed steep hills in Les’s pickup truck. “Dad and I would pick the highest hill and try to go straight up. If the angle got too steep, I’d yell, ‘Jump, Rose, jump!’ She’d fly through the air laughing.

“We explored back roads and made some roads of our own. Dad would say, ‘Hey, let’s go to Chilliwack.’ He’d get us up at 4:00 A.M., and off we’d go in his pickup. He hung out with old friends, and Rose and I toured British Columbia on a motorcycle. Dad and I were always drawn to Chilliwack. It was in our bones.”

 

The conflict between father and son simmered below the surface. “No matter how much fun we had together, I could never forget how he belted me. Once when he baby-sat our kids, I told him, ‘Don’t hit them. You do not touch them! I’ve never touched my kids and neither will you.’

“Dad said, ‘They’re my grandkids.’ I said, ‘Well, they’re my kids!’”

To friends and relatives Keith still seemed to revel in stories that cast his father as a fool or a weakling—a skewed characterization that he seemed to find comforting. He described an ocean fishing trip: “I caught two salmon and Dad got seasick.” He liked to tell about the roll of pictures his father shot without film. He tended to put a negative interpretation on Les’s activities and routinely referred to him as “the prick.”

 

As always father and son seemed to have little insight about each other’s needs and feelings. “Dad still treated me like the runt of the litter, daddy’s little helper. He dragged me to a nursing home to visit one of his hunting buddies. He said, ‘My friend Smitty’s not doing too good with his lung cancer, Keith. I’m going out in the hall. Talk to him, Son. Nobody likes to die alone.’ I’m sitting there, listening to the rattly breathing, watching his life drain out. After a while Smitty goes limp. I’m holding his hand for ten or fifteen minutes before I realize he’s dead.

“I guess you could say Dad helped me get used to people dying. Was he saying he wanted me with him when he died? Was he afraid of dying alone? Was that why he had me sit with that old guy?

“On our way home he said, ‘Keith, someday you’ll thank me for putting you through this.’ I never feared a dead person after that. When I was killing, I’d talk to my victims as if they were still alive. It was something to thank Dad for.”