Even today, after a number of newsmagazine shows have done in-depth programs on the Dan Wozniak case and everyone from jurors to former associates to psychologists has weighed in on what motivated him to kill, the story continues to confound. Although the specifics of the slaughter are relatively clear, there’s still the question about how Dan went from a perspiring goofball who bought too many drinks for strangers—and whose fiancée mocked his manhood to investigators—to a pitiless executioner who laughed as he decapitated a friend.
In 2012, after hearing so many theories and characterizations from others, I decided to visit Dan myself and see if he could tell me something that everyone else was leaving out.
I arrived at the Orange County Jail on a Saturday afternoon, as the case was snaking its way through the court system. Once inside, I was instructed to leave my cell phone, tape recorder, notepad, and pen downstairs. After passing through security, I was escorted to the same room where Steve had his conversations with Dan. Like so many others, I immediately noticed Dan’s open face and smile.
Dan hadn’t been expecting me. He’d been waiting for his parents, he explained. When I arrived, he pointed out, “they probably got bumped.” Yet he betrayed neither anger nor disappointment, acting as if I’d dropped in at his apartment on a busy day.
I explained that I was trying to make sense of his situation. How does a seemingly sensitive actor—well regarded by friends and the parents of children in his theater classes—end up facing the death penalty for the murders of two people? Dan nodded and smiled as I raised these topics, then responded apologetically.
He couldn’t speak, he told me, unless I went through Scott Sanders. The attorney was apparently unhappy that Dan had chosen to appear on Lockup and didn’t want the suspect granting any new interviews without a consultation. Once Sanders approved a meeting, Dan said, he’d be happy to talk. Maybe we could even speak in a room downstairs, he suggested, where there was more space and we wouldn’t have a Plexiglas barrier between us.
Dan appeared relaxed and detached from his drab environment. He couldn’t possibly be this enthusiastic, given his circumstances. His manner reminded me of a waiter in an upscale restaurant—maybe a handsome guy like Dan, with some theatrical training—exuding false gusto while chirping out the dessert specials.
He said that he was “flattered” that I’d come to the jail to work on a book about his case. He’d like to cooperate, he said, because, as an actor, he respected writing as an “art.”
As I uttered my good-bye, he cheerfully stood and waved.
* * *
Sanders declined my request to formally talk to Dan and opted not to be interviewed for the book. But I sent Dan a letter, reemphasizing my desire to hear his side of the story.
I received one reply, written neatly in pencil on lined paper:
Thank you for the kind letter. It found me well. I remember you vividly and, as I said before, I have a great deal of respect for artistic individuals including authors, such as yourself.… Are you writing a book just about myself or is there going to be multiple individuals? What are your overall aspects of the book (positive or negative)?… If you do plan to visit me again, I … ask that you extend me the courtesy of prearranging your visit also through my lawyer. Due to the nature of my alleged charges, I hope you understand my extreme caution in talking … or disclosing anything about my past or present conditions.
I wrote Dan one more letter, attempting to answer his concerns. It was returned to me with a red stamp just above the address: “CONTENTS NOT ACCEPTED.”
Yet even if we had engaged in a lengthy letter-writing exchange, I’m dubious that he would have provided that one nugget of truth that helped me understand him.
Does he ever think of Sam Herr and Juri Kibuishi as people who lived and loved and meant something to others? Surrounded by inmates incarcerated for the most malignant of acts, does he believe that he’s in his element or project an artist’s superiority toward his fellow killers? Has he confessed his sins to the God he purportedly worships, or does his self-flagellation end after he chastens himself for getting caught?
There are so many questions I still have for the storefront-theater actor. But I’m not sure he’ll ever remove his stage makeup.