We often tell ourselves that monsters look like monsters. That we would know evil if we saw it. The case of Rodney Alcala is a sobering reminder that this is a dangerous —and sometimes fatal —fallacy.
Alcala was a man of many faces. To the public, he was a charismatic intellectual: a UCLA graduate, a talented photographer, and a seemingly charming contestant on ABC’s The Dating Game. To the women he targeted, he was the last face they would ever see.
His early life provided little hint of the horror to come. Born in Texas and raised partly in Mexico, his background was one of instability, but countless people emerge from broken homes without becoming predators. Alcala, however, used his intelligence not to build but to deceive. He crafted a persona designed to disarm. His interest in photography was real, but he weaponized it, using the promise of a modeling portfolio to lure young women into a false sense of security. He was the epitome of the “ladies’ man”—well-spoken, attractive, and artistic.
Then there is the infamous clip from The Dating Game. It’s a surreal piece of television history. There he is, in 1978, with his shaggy hair and confident smirk, bantering with the bachelorette. He wins the date. The audience applauds. What they didn’t know—what he knew—was that he was already a serial killer, having murdered multiple young women and girls. The bachelorette, Cheryl Bradshaw, reportedly felt an intuitive dread and refused to go on the won date. Her instinct —a gift of fear —may have saved her life. His performance was flawless. The camera saw only the mask.
This leads to the unavoidable, unsettling question: Would you have spotted the predator behind the smile?
The uncomfortable truth is, you probably wouldn’t have. That’s what made him so effective. Monsters don’t announce themselves with a snarl; they blend in. They master the art of appearing normal, even exceptionally appealing. Alcala’s charm was his most effective weapon, allowing him to operate in plain sight for years.
His case is a grim lesson in vigilance. It challenges us to look beyond the surface, to trust our instincts when something feels off, even if the package seems perfect. Because sometimes, the most dangerous thing in the room is the one everyone is smiling at.
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