In 1994, Tom Junod wrote a story for GQ called "The Abortionist." The piece won him the National Magazine Award for Feature Writing in 1995, and would eventually be cited as one of the top 100 works of journalism in the 20th century. Many people read this story when it appeared in print, but not me—I read it years later. I sought it out in early 2003, when I was living in New York City after I had graduated college, after I had read all of Junod's work at Esquire and was looking to read the stuff he'd done at GQ. One day I went to GQ and made a copy of "The Abortionist", along with a dozen other stories written by all the famous writers during the magazine's breathtaking run under Art Cooper and David Granger the mid-90s, stories that have become legendary to nerds like me, but stories that have also never been resurrected by the internet, stories that more people should know about. While I was searching the bound issues (thank you, Chris Raymond), I was particularly interested in a story Tom wrote the very next year, in 1995—a story even darker than "The Abortionist", but a story less famous, for whatever reason. A story completely unavailable to read unless you had access to those bound copies, or unless you bought that issue of GQ on eBay. The story is called "The Rapist Says He's Sorry", and when Tom wrote it, he was 37 years old; he had not only become one of the most prolific magazine writers but also, in my opinion, the best. He says that "The Rapist…" changed him—the process of writing it changed his writing, and the story itself changed his life. The piece won the National Magazine Award in 1996, making him the first and only person to ever win two bronze elephant statues in a row. Now, I don't think you should have to do what I did in order to read the story—go digging through a dusty magazine shelf in Manhattan. So here it is, for the first time, online—"The Rapist Says He's Sorry." A story that should never go away.
-- Justin Heckert
This is Mitchell Gaff. Mitch lives in a special place. A facility the state of Washington created for sexual predators. Mitch's therapists think there's a chance that Mitch won't go raping again next time he has the opportunity. Which is a good thing. Because, soon, Mitch and the thirty men who live with him are getting out.
The Rapist Says He's Sorry
By Tom Junod GQ December 1995
The first thing that strikes you about Mitch Gaff is his voice. The voice is not merely soft, not merely sincere, not merely considerate, not merely kind—it is the essence of softness, sincerity, consideration and kindness. It is the kind of voice that seems incapable of telling a lie, mustering aggression or even allowing itself the freedom of an insult. It is the kind of voice that begs you to trust it, that pleads with you to trust it, and if you heard it on the street, or in a bar, you would trust it, immediately. It is the voice of the nicest guy you've ever met. It is a voice Mitch Gaff has put together—has devised and constructed—with great care, great courage, great effort, and at the cost of great pain, and that is why he is horrified and heartbroken when he opens his thoughtful mouth, starts speaking in his thoughtful syllables and scares the living hell out of people.
Here's the rest of the story, and a Gangrey-exclusive note from Junod.
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