Decades later, ordeal continues for parents of murder victim
I’ve been writing about the Houston Mass Murders since 2008, when I started to do stories about the efforts to identify victims of Dean Corll, Elmer Wayne Henley and David Owen Brooks who tortured and killed at least 29 young boys in the 1970s. The stories of the murders were heartbreaking and gruesome, but the work of Sharon Derrick to give three remaining unnamed victims a name was inspiring. Along the way, I got to know the families of victims and interviewed one of the killers.
But this story, about the decades-long fight by the parents of one victim to keep his killers behind bars was simply wrenching. Decades later, their pain and loss was still so fresh.
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James Dreymala awoke that morning with his nerves churning. His wife, Elaine, had not slept at all.
Now, as the seconds ticked down to the appointed hour, sadness flickered in his eyes. Elaine clutched a manila envelope, her fingers tracing tight circles along the edge.
The strain was starting to show.
In a few minutes, the Dreymalas would walk into Suite 201 in a nondescript brick building and bare the most profound pain of their lives.
The couple would talk of the 13-year-old boy they lost four decades ago and the men who murdered him, of mourning without end and dreams dashed with unimaginable violence.
Elaine would have to wrangle just the right words from a mind that still eddies with sorrow and loss. James would need to steel his spine and shoulder through his statement without being halted by his own tears.
Then, as they do every 18 months, as they have done 41 times before, they would ask a Texas parole board to keep one of the men who killed their son and at least 28 other Houston boys behind bars for the rest of his natural life.
This has been their existence for half a lifetime. Writing letters, circulating petitions, pleading with parole boards.
It is a crusade they vow to continue until their last breaths.
“This is not just for Stanton,” said Elaine, as she and her husband steadied themselves for the Thursday meeting in Angleton. “It’s for all the others, too.”
James Dreymala, grimacing to keep from crying, swept off his wide-brimmed straw hat, hoisted up his slacks and sighed.