Skip to content
TrackPodcasts
true crimeSep 11, 202633:12

‘My Brother’s Killer’ Is a True Crime Doc with Deep Wisconsin Roots

About this episode

The episode discusses the documentary My Brother’s Killer, which investigates the 1990 cold case murder of Billy Newton, a young man from Wisconsin who moved to Los Angeles. Directed by Rachel Mason, the film highlights the tragic reality many LGBTQ+ individuals faced during the 1980s and 1990s, an era marked by violence and societal neglect. A central figure in the production is Clark Williams, a fellow Wisconsinite whose personal connection to the community helped uncover vital leads in the investigation. Through an interview with the director and Williams, the source explores how independent filmmaking and local journalism can bring justice to forgotten victims. Ultimately, the documentary serves as both a true crime mystery and a poignant reflection on the shared history of the gay community in the Midwest.

Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/murder-files-unsealed--6017387/support.

This episode includes AI-generated content.

Get every episode summarized

Each time Murder Files Unsealed publishes, we email you a written briefing from the transcript — the topics, who appeared, and any specific claims, with the ad reads skipped.

Email me new episodes

Free for 3 shows. No card needed.

Hosts & guests

Transcript ready

911 searchable segments. Every word is indexed and playable.

‘My Brother’s Killer’ Is a True Crime Doc with Deep Wisconsin Roots

Murder Files Unsealed

0:00
33:12

Full transcript

Murder Files Unsealed‘My Brother’s Killer’ Is a True Crime Doc with Deep Wisconsin Roots. Machine-transcribed; use the interactive transcript above to jump the player to any line.

Al limpiar la cocina, trabajamos vise limpiando las zonallas y... Y... Y... Vamos, duro con la grasa, repetimos, sentadilla, limpiando la tapa del horno, va a 8. Nuevo, no me afloque, vamos, duro con la grasa, seguid, vamos con la cocina. Deja, a hacer ejercicio cuando limpiar la cocina, probar el nuevo magistral antigraza, con 5 poderes antigraza y todo el poder de magistral. Ahora, para el resto de tu cocina, basado en 5 ingredientes que dan limpieza y desengrase. Para más información, consulte o visite www.drinko.com.ar Y, no, usualmente cuando me talk about murder investigation, pues, pues, hay una expectación de presición de underline. Oh, absolutamente, como es una acuación de ser solta. Sí, exactamente. Sí. Es como un ingeniería, que se encuentra la vista, la evidencia física, en una dirección muy grande y la detectación de la cadena se conecta a los dos y se dice, que sólo para ver algún bounce prostal, y honesto ni metan visual, vale, honesto, porque las paras positivas también ako un algún impacted de Hannah y environmental довольно simple, así que el enemigo tan bien para coils-så줘z.

Sí, bueno, dabei es un sensor normal y la amenidad chapana Wishtereoa es un separador de riks siempre, para que la cabeza y cohesive la bahía, pues minimamente la beetje data, pero está muy instante de la nuit. El punto para los cock, lo que mas opcional acaba de des seasoning Dragonです hoy más que fue a nivel mejor vindulantes del estava아요후. Sí, nuestras víctimas Coastana de definición absoluta de Already de investigador modeling. Y tienes sonido con blandas o niñas queК Karenil están parezonom sealando pronto de tanto 행 Jugend themselves y de repente instituciones en las que Sergei no voltearon con ruido a comentar las prostitucaciones las las que nos métascen en el primer lugar. Más que ese la verdadera territorio que entró en este virus increíble. También la historia que Mana del washeria acharon que el momento de 2018 Sims казco Ehler EJIT Ah ¿ sadlyрей? Y discol recognize que sus profesos resistiera wilderness un hombreря ¿ travail deétaisость de la dirección de?, ¿

¿habsto en el el bullied o caso de un algo importante? Y cual suma de vacaciones si ustedes harían microphones, donde nipole passer de laumbing, y infraestructura. Y tal. Y que thumbs antes como unaает un dispersed ב gone, no genere posicionación de sommar morecwow, o suoidada cerca del license de las cosas. Y, por cierto, si surdita todo el día, el– Raremente Jorde ссылando con mal fridgej nos va a atralar una avalanza poniendo eyeliner, y esto investigación desaf noche estare directo al wine. そして como estimated en la bies, con esaНе controversial stiff un mucho mover demanding Satanario ya enσει y previo durante flujes de gas el stebagar. tuvimos historios de terror tiger eligen se el momento de los los gran acre Sinán fusales del disferation y mondiale perseguido y esta es la guía del barrio el de regime de fashionable y ...DNA genealece de databases ...Right, no hi-tech magic here exactamente y no veggila trebuoso de las tasas quitadas conadle

...que ...teuse más de 40 antes imbalance Luo rápidamente investigar MiEST 혹os y scarce desp humanamente en los acciones mur kilometres ... deTechla razón. DEIL Worth exactly, v相astes hurting él ya en cuando haba tu país ni procentes públicosstales ¿ano creyente por đojar? comoоны خبر cincuのは n passat de conductos en cognitive exclus 않았 en speeding party cuando hab perdido quien culturista se le commendan en marcha, porque cuando eres ostracadoizzyamos

effece al完成 Aunque shamelessmente cuando seЕН ao los créditos which is terrifying in itself. Right, just picture that vulnerability for a moment. A young, rejected kid standing on the side of a highway, eventually landing in the sprawling, overwhelming chaos of Los Angeles. And to make a living, to just survive and eat in that hyper competitive environment, he began working in gay tornography. And we really have to pause here and look at the sociological mechanisms that play because this was a defined structural pipeline in that era. A pipeline, right. Explain that a bit more. Well, the journey from a place like Oclair to Los Angeles is not merely a geographical shift. When a marginalized youth is severed from their primary support systems, their vulnerability to exploitation just skyrocket. Right, because they don't have anything to fall back on. Exactly. They aren't arriving in California with a trust fund, or a co-signer for an apartment, or some corporate job offer. They're arriving with deep emotional trauma, a few dollars in their pocket, and an immediate,

desperate need for a place to sleep. But I do want to push back on something here, though, because I can hear some people listening to this and wondering, well, why pornography? Sure, it's a common question. I couldn't a young guy in the 80s or 90s just get a job waiting tables or working retail to survive. Why does that pipeline lead so directly into those specific survival economies? It's a crucial question it really is, but you have to put yourself in the shoes of someone who has been entirely disconnected from the grid. OK. With that retail job, you need a permanent address. You need clean clothes. You need identification, a phone number, references, and a bank account. Oh, wow. Right. And if you're a runaway or a throwaway youth, you have literally none of those things. The formal economy locks you out instantly. So you turn to the informal economy. That makes total sense. Yeah. And the source material notes he made a living in gay pornography. In the late 80s and early 90s, this was a cash business that didn't ask for a resume. And while sex work itself is a profession,

the specific historical context in which these young displaced men were entering it was fraught with unimaginable danger. Because they were already marginalised. Exactly. They were operating in the deep shadows of a society that already viewed them as expendable outcasts, which tragically makes them the perfect prey. Completely. This systemic marginalization creates an absolute paradise for violent predators. A serial killer or a violent offender doesn't just look for an easy physical target. They look for a social void. A social void? Wow. Yeah. They look for targets whose absence will not ring any alarm bells. They want someone whose family isn't going to call the police. And someone whom law enforcement will likely just ignore even if they are somehow reported missing. Because society had already signaled very loudly that it did not care about these young men. Exactly. Like what a father shuns a son when hometown turns its back. And essentially says, you are no longer one of us. It sends a ripple effect into the wider world. It signals a complete lack of protection.

It's an open invitation to predators. It really is. It's almost like Billy was pushed off the edge of his own map by the very people who were supposed to be his anchor. That's a powerful way to put it. The societal failure is literally the preamble to the crime. We cannot detach the violence of his murder from the violence of the shunning that set him on that path in the first place. Right. And that leads us to the grim timeline. On October 29, 1990, and this is just days before Billy's sister was due to fly out from Wisconsin to visit him, by the way. Oh, that's just heartbreaking. It really is. You can imagine the sister arriving and that anticipation just instantly turning to panic. 25-year-old Billy Newton disappeared. His remains were later discovered in a dumpster in the Los Angeles area. Just discarded. Yeah, discarded. And from that brutal moment on, his murder remained unsolved for nearly 40 years. 40 years of absolute silence, files moved to a basement. A life completely reduced to a cold case number. And I have to ask you, based on how we consume media today,

are we completely conditioned by the true crime industrial complex to focus purely on the gruesome end of a victim's life? Or without a doubt. Like the dumpster, the crime scene tape, the autopsy, rather than examining the societal failures that forced them into those vulnerable situations in the first place. It feels like we were obsessed with the bullet and completely ignore the person who was actually shot. We absolutely are. Because traditional true crime is largely voyeuristic, right? It provides the thrill of danger without the burden of societal responsibility. Wow. Looking at a crime scene is easy. Looking at how a community's homophobia contributed to a young man's death. That is incredibly uncomfortable, because it implicates the normal everyday people who created that hostile environment. It points a finger back at us. Exactly. Well, realistically, Billy's story could have easily just faded away into that discomfort. He could have been permanently archived as a tragic statistic in a filing cabinet from 1990. But the narrative takes a sharp, almost logic-defying pivot decades later.

And thank God it did. Right. And it is all thanks to a man who walked almost the exact same path. Yes. We are talking about Clark Williams. Right, Clark Williams. Now, Clark is also an Euclare native. He grew up in the exact same area as Billy Newton. But Clark didn't just passively read about this cold case. He stepped directly into the center of a modern investigation. And the documentary, my brother's killer. And the catalyst for this is just fascinating. It is. Clark read a 2021 Milwaukee magazine story written by a journalist named Archer Parkette about Billy's cold case. One single piece of local journalism. Just one article. And reading that compelled Clark to act. He reached out to the director of the documentary, Rachel Mason. And he essentially said, look, I know this world. I can tell you about life in Euclare for a young gay man in that era. He offered them the context they were missing. Exactly. He offered his lived experiences. And because of that initial connection, the documentary was able to uncover what the Milwaukee magazine feature

calls mind-blowing connections between Billy's early life in Wisconsin and his ultimate murder in Los Angeles. The connections are wild. Yeah, the film features intimate interviews with family, friends, and amazingly, people who are still considered active suspects at the time of filming. Which is crazy because getting that level of access to suspects in a 40-year-old case is virtually unheard of in traditional policing. It's mind-boggling. The article actually uses the word, kismet, to describe this coming together of forces. And to me, it's almost like trying to crack a rusted combination lock. That's a good analogy. Like, you could pull in the padlock for years, but the tumblers have just frozen solid. It takes decades of weathering for the rust to finally flake off so things can click into place. Yes, exactly. But I'm struggling with this concept, honestly. Let's look at this purely from an investigative standpoint for a second. OK, let's do it. We are taught that the first 48 hours of a murder are the most critical, right? Memories fade.

Physical evidence, rots, or gets lost. Witnesses die. That is the standard doctrine, yes. So how on earth is waiting 40 years and then publishing a local magazine article in 2021 actually crack open the psychological and investigative doors of a murder from 1990? That sounds completely counterintuitive to everything we know about police work. It does sound counterintuitive. I'll give you that. But it raises a really profound point about the nature of time and investigative work, especially within marginalized communities. OK. You write that in a standard case, time is the enemy. But what this case demonstrates is that temporal distance can actually be a massive asset when a crime is wrapped in intense social stigma or fear. Wait, unpack that for me. How does time become an asset that feels so backwards? Well, think about the immediate aftermath of Billy's murder in 1990. Put yourself in the shoes of a potential witness. You might be a closeted gay man living in Los Angeles or Wisconsin. Right. If you go to the police with information, you are immediately outing yourself

to an institution that is historically hostile to you in 1990 being outed in a police report could literally mean losing your job. Oh, wow. It could mean your family disowning you, much like Billy's father did. It could mean losing your housing. The stakes of speaking up were catastrophic. So you stay absolutely silent purely at a self-preservation? Exactly that. You compartmentalize the trauma and you just survive. But fast forward, 30 or 40 years to 2021. OK. Things are different now. Very different. The immediate threat of physical harm from the killer may have vanished, but more importantly, the social landscape regarding LGBTQ plus rights has shifted seismically. Oh, I see what you mean. Right. So a witness who was a terrified 25-year-old in 1990 is now a 60-year-old man. The fear of being outed doesn't carry the same catastrophic professional or social weight anymore. They might be out. They might be married. Exactly. They might be retired. They might be married to a man. They are finally in a safe enough position to tell the truth. That temporal distance is what allows the rust

to flake off your metaphorical combination lock. That makes so much sense. But even if the witnesses are finally ready, they still need a reason to speak up, right? Yes. And that is the immense localized power of independent journalism. A national television broadcast is too broad. It lacks intimacy. It's too polished, maybe. Right. But a deeply researched, localized piece of writing like Archiparket's 2021 article, acts as a flair shot directly up into the night sky of a very specific community. It signals to people like Clark Williams that someone is finally looking and that it is safe to come forward. Because Clark possesses the exact missing, cultural, and geographical context that a traditional homicide detective in Los Angeles simply lacked. I mean, an LAPD detective in 1990 is not going to understand the social nuances of growing up gay and Eau Claire Wisconsin. They wouldn't know the local haunts, the whisper networks, or the specific brands of ostracization, these kids faced. No, they wouldn't even know what questions to ask,

let alone who to ask them of. So Clark stepped in and acts as a cultural rosetta stone for this investigation. Rosetta stone, I like that. He really is. He isn't just a geographical match to Billy. He is a temporal match. He lived the era. He survived the specific pressures of that exact moment in time. Which brings us to the broader context of that era. Because to really understand Clark's immense value to this investigation and to truly grasp the weight of the documentary, my brother's killer, we have to look closely at the incredibly perilous landscape that both of these men were navigating. Yeah, you cannot understand the crime without understanding the atmosphere in which it occurred. Right. And the Milwaukee Magazine article dives into Clark's reflections on coming of age in Milwaukee during the 90s. He talks about living there with his partner, Robert. And Clark emphasizes something really profound. The universality of lived experience for gay and bisexual men of his and Billy's generation. It was incredibly consistent across the country. Right. Like it didn't matter if you were in Wisconsin or California.

The baseline of danger was identical. It was a shared reality built on sheer survival. And the source material explicitly highlights that this era was marked by severe rampant anti-gay violence. And crucially, this was violence that was often entirely ignored and uninvestigated by law and force. Completely swept under the rug. Add to that, the devastating apocalyptic toll of the AIDS epidemic sweeping through the community at the exact same time. The documentary's director, Rachel Mason, states that clutch areas generation went through a type of hell that is rarely grasped by people today. It is a history that has been heavily sanitized, honestly. We look back at the 80s and 90s through a lens of pop culture and neon. But for this specific demographic, it was an absolute battleground. When I try to visualize this, it's as if an entire demographic of people was living in a parallel, incredibly dangerous dimension all while walking the exact same physical streets as everyone else. That's a great way to visualize it.

Imagine walking down a sidewalk where you're constantly scanning for physical threats, knowing that if you are attacked, the people meant to protect you will likely do nothing. But the straight couple walking 10 feet ahead of you feels completely safe. It's a dual reality. It really is. But this brings up a massive structural issue regarding justice. How do you actually solve a murder when the institutions that are supposed to protect the public-like local law enforcement were apathetic, or in many cases, openly hostile and mocking toward the victim? What you're describing right there is the core mechanism of institutional betrayal. Institutional betrayal. Yes, and it's a compounding psychological trauma. The primary trauma is the actual violence, the physical attack, the murder of Billy, the epidemic of violence in the streets. But the secondary trauma, which is sometimes even more insidious and long-lasting, is the institutional response to that violence. So to ground this in human terms, it means the cops you pay taxes to,

the ones who swear and oath to serve and protect are literally leaving you to the wolves. Well, worse than leaving you to the wolves, they are sometimes opening the gate for them. Oh, wow. Yeah. When police routinely refuse to investigate anti-gay violence or when they mock the victims in their reports, they aren't just failing at their bureaucratic jobs. They are broadcasting a profound society-wide message that certain lives are completely disposable. It's an endorsement of the violence. Exactly. They are signalant to predators that you can commit violence against these specific individuals with absolute impunity. It essentially creates a state-sanction hunting ground. The psychological toll of that on a community has to be immeasurable. It completely alters the atmospheric pressure of your daily life. You can never let your guard down. Never. It forces the marginalized community to turn entirely inward for protection. You build a wall around yourselves because you know no one else is going to defend you. And that creates a deep, incredibly justified distrust of all authorities. Right, of course.

So when a tragic murder like Billy's happens, the very people in the community who might have crucial information are too terrified of the police to come forward. Why would you give information to an officer who might use it to ruin your life? You wouldn't. Right. It's a vicious cycle that essentially guarantees these cases will go cold. And that grim reality is what makes Clark's involvement in this documentary so incredibly poignant. The article highlights a really powerful contrast presented by the director. She points out that Clark represents what she calls the actualized life. That's a beautiful term. It really is. Clark survived that era. He navigated the hellscape. He married his partner, Robert. He had a daughter. He got to live the full, complex, beautiful life that Billy Newton was brutally denied. And there is a heavy survivor's responsibility inherent in that. And that contrast is exactly why my brother's killer is functioning as much more than just a murder mystery. It transcends the true crime genre entirely. It becomes an act of historical reclamation.

For Clark, stepping into this investigation isn't just about finding the person who killed Billy. It's about honoring a completely lost generation. As Clark notes in the source material, Billy's story reflects the unlived potential of thousands of young people who didn't survive that era, whether they were taken by violence or the AIDS epidemic. They didn't get to tell their stories. So Clark is making sure Billy's has heard. He's giving a voice to a cohort of peers who are silenced. It is such a profound act of community solidarity across decades of time. It is. And when you are dealing with a story that carries that much historical, communal, and personal weight, the methodology of how you tell it becomes incredibly important. Which is a perfect pivot to how this film was actually made and distributed. Because telling a story like this requires a very specific type of care. It can't just be churned out for cheap entertainment. Absolutely not. The source material outlines director Rachel Mason's absolute uncompromising occurrence to independence. She flat out rejected what she called corporate overlords.

The true crime industrial complex, essentially. Right. Streaming networks, massive production companies. Yeah. I want to look at the mechanics of why she said no to them. Because if you land a massive deal with a major streaming platform, they generally mandate exclusive coastal premieres, right? Oh, always. They demand the film debut in New York or Los Angeles in glossy theaters to maximize industry buzz, get the reviews out, and drive subscription numbers. But Mason refused. Instead, she prioritized Midwest screenings. She specifically chose to premiere the film at the Milwaukee Film Festival. Which is a huge statement. It is. She stated it was structurally vital to allow Billy's sisters to attend, to allow Clark to experience it surrounded by his community, and to validate the local Midwestern community where this entire tragic story originated. It makes total sense when you frame it like that. But I want to play devil's advocate for a second here. Sure. Go ahead. If the goal is to get Billy's story out to the world, wouldn't a massive corporate release

with a huge marketing budget accomplish that better? Like, why is it so structurally crucial for the family's healing and for the integrity of the story itself that this premiere happens in a theater in Milwaukee, rather than on a global streaming home page right out of the gate? It comes down to the ethics of true crime consumption. OK, talk to me about that. Well, when a massive corporate entity takes a deeply personal hyper localized tragedy and premieres it in Los Angeles or New York, geographically and emotionally detached from the epicenter of the grief, it almost inevitably turns the trauma into a spectacle. A spectacle, right? It commodifies the pain. The story is packaged for mass consumption by strangers who have no skin in the game. The victim's life just becomes content to binge on a Tuesday night. Precisely. It is an extractive process. They take the tragedy out of the community, polish it, and sell it back to the world. It feels so gross when you say it like that. It is gross. But by insisting on a Milwaukee premiere, Rachel Mason is engaging in a process of community healing.

She is actively returning the narrative back to the people who actually own it. Allowing Biliero sisters, Clark, and the local LGBTQ plus community to witness the story together in a shared physical space of mourning and validation is an active, profound respect. Wow. Yeah. It tells the community, look, this happened to your people in your home and you deserve the right to process it first on your own terms. It prevents the story from being exploited. And that ethic of deep respect extends directly into the artistic choices made in the editing room, too. Oh, deaf. The Milwaukee magazine piece highlights the film's editor, Dion, who pains takingly piece the narrative together. And they made a remarkable, really unconventional choice. They included Bilié's own poetry as a guiding force in the film. That is a stunning directorial choice. And it radically alters the traditional true crime framework. It really does. Think about the corporate true crime docs who usually watch. They can feel like a factory assembly line of trauma. They pump out the gore, show the dramatic crime scene photos,

get the clicks, and move on to the next victim. In Gaysack. The victim's narrative usually starts and ends with a crime scene. But this independent approach feels completely different. By centering Bilié's own words, his own artistic expression, what does that practically do to the viewer's experience of the story? It forces the viewer to confront the victim's humanity. Yes. In so many true crime narratives, the victim is reduced to an object, a body and a dumpster, a chalk outline on the pavement. They are defined entirely by the absolute worst thing that ever happened to them, which is their brutal end. Which is so unfair. Completely unfair. But by centering Bilié's poetry, the filmmakers refuse to let him be defined merely by his victimhood. They are reviving his inner life. They're relating and speak for himself. Exactly. They are allowing him to be the narrator of his own emotional journey. He remains an active participant in his own story. The audience hears his hopes, his fears, his unique perspective on the world.

That's incredible. Yeah. And the source material even notes that the director felt Bilié's... No. No. No. No. No. No. As he was putting this piece of footage together. It shows they were actually listening to the victim, not just studying the mechanics of the crime. It restores his humanity. Hmm. Which, if you think about it, is the ultimate counter-narrative to a killer who tried to erase him and a society that tried to pretend he didn't exist in the first place. It is a radical act of empathy. Okay. That gives me chills. And what is truly amazing about this deep diet is that this idea of centering the victim isn't just an artistic poetic choice for a documentary film. No, it goes much further than that. It does. As we move into the final aspects of this investigation, we see that it is actually the foundation of a highly rigorous, real-world investigative methodology that Clark is now championing. It moves seamlessly from artistic expression back into absolute, gritty, real-world application.

It really does. The source explains that Clark's overarching goal in all of his work is promoting what he specifically calls a victim-centered investigation. A victim-centered investigation. Right. He points out that back in the 1980s and 90s, the gay community was practically begging local police to utilize their insider knowledge. The community knew where to look, they knew the whisper networks, they knew the right questions to ask and who the dangerous individuals were. It had all the intel. Yes. And Clark's hope is that modern law enforcement will finally swallow their pride and start leveraging this immense wealth of lived experience to crack these remaining cold cases. He is advocating for the utilization of hyper-local community intelligence. And Clark is so dedicated to this methodology that he has already moved on to his next mission. The article mentions that while he waits to see my brother's killer completely pure on the big screen at the Milwaukee Film Festival, and side note, he actually refused to watch early screeners so he could experience the raw emotion with his community. Which I think is a beautiful detail.

Right. But while he's waiting for that, he is simultaneously actively investigating another local cold case. He is looking into the 1983 homicide of a man named Eric Hanson. Another tragedy buried by time and apathy. Yes. And the way Clark is going about this investigation is fascinating. He isn't just putting up generic. Have you seen this man flyers around town? Right. That wouldn't work. No. He is publicly seeking information from anyone who frequented very specific 1980s gay bars in the Walker's Point and Third Ward neighborhoods of Milwaukee. The article specifically names these locations. See Restlivi, Ball Game, The Phoenix, Rec Room, and Paradise Books in Video. He is putting a call out, asking anyone who is embedded in that specific scene to reach out to him directly. That level of specificity is a masterclass and how to conduct a community-based investigation. It feels completely different from a standard police tip line, doesn't it? The traditional police work often feels like it just studies the physical bullet and the trajectory.

But a victim-centered investigation, the way Clark does it, studies the entire atmospheric pressure, the temperature, and the mood of the room, long before the gun was even drawn. That's a really sharp way to look at it. But this brings up a deeply frustrating reality for me. If community members like Clark have always known the right questions to ask, the right bars to check, and the right people to lean on, why has law enforcement historically been so incredibly resistant to accepting this highly specialized, highly accurate help? Why would a detective turn away a free roadmap? To understand that resistance, you really have to look at the deep historic friction between marginalized communities and institutional power structures. Police departments operate on strict hierarchies, rigid chains of command, and standardized methodologies. Historically, there has been an immense ego-driven reluctance to admit that a decorated homicide detective, with a gold shield, might know significantly less about how a neighborhood operates than a civilian who lives there. So as a massive institutional ego trip.

It's ego-heavily compounded by systemic bias and homophobia. Right. If the prevailing institutional culture of a police precinct in the 1980s viewed the LGBTQ plus community with suspicion, mockery, or outright disdain, they certainly were not going to view those same people as credible, reliable, investigative partners. They just wouldn't trust them. Exactly. They dismiss the very people who held the keys to solving the cases. They would literally rather a case go cold than admit they needed help from a community they disrespected. Which is exactly why these files sat in basements gathering dust for the case. And that context is why Clark's methodology for the aircans in case is so incredibly brilliant. Look at what he is doing by publicly naming those specific bars, Silivie, Rec Room, the Phoenix. He's just listing geographical locations or addresses on a map. He's invoking deep, emotional, cultural landmarks. For the gay community in Milwaukee in the 1980s, these bars weren't just places to get a cheap drink on a Friday night.

They were absolute sanctuaries. They were communication hubs. They were the only places you could truly let your guard down. They were the only safe havens in a city that was otherwise hostile to them. Yes. So by naming those specific spaces in his public plea, Clark is instantly triggering community memory. He is bypassing traditional intimidating police barriers and speaking directly to the survivors of that era in a cultural language they intimately understand. That's so smart. It is. When he says Rec Room, he's signaling, look, I am one of you. I understand the context of our lives back then. I know what it smelled like, what it sounded like, and what we are all afraid of. It completely disarms the fear that usually prevents marginalized people from coming forward to the authorities. Because they aren't calling an intimidating police precinct where they might be mocked or ignored, they are emailing Clark Williams, a peer who understands their history. Exactly. He is acting as a trusted intermediary, a bridge between the cold evidence and the warm beating heart of community memory. It proves that the community always

held the collective puzzle pieces. They just desperately needed someone they actually trusted to ask them to put the puzzle together. That is such a powerful, fundamental shift in how justice can be pursued. We have covered a massive amount of ground today on this deep dive. We really have. We started by looking at the heartbreaking tragedy of Billy Newton, a young man shunned by his Wisconsin home, who fled to the dangerous streets of Los Angeles, survived through the underground gay pornography industry, and was brutally murdered in 1990. A tragedy born entirely of societal failure. We watched how that tragedy sat in agonizing silence for nearly 40 years. And then we saw how the kismet of a 2021 Milwaukee magazine article by Archer Parkett caught the eye of Clark Williams, finally breaking that silence. Yeah. We unpacked the profound compounding generational trauma of the 80s and 90s, the uninvestigated violence, the devastation of the AIDS epidemic and the absolute failure of institutions to protect their citizens.

And we saw how independent art guided by Rachel Mason and editor Dion utilized Billy's own poetry to restore his humanity, prioritizing community healing in Milwaukee over corporate profits and true crime spectacle. Ultimately leading us to Clark's current vital mission. Building a victim-centered investigation model, applying the painful lessons the past to cold cases like the 1983 murder of Eric Hanson. Using the memories of sacred places like the rec room and paradise books to filing on Earth the truth. What is most vital to remember here is that knowledge is only truly valuable when it is actively applied. Billy's story is devastating as it is is no longer just a tragic piece of history. Thanks to this documentary and Clark's ongoing relentless work, it is a functional blueprint. It shows exactly how marginalized communities can bypass broken, apathetic institutions, reclaim their own narratives and demand accountability on their own terms. It is entirely about taking the power back. And as we wrap up this deep dive, I want to leave you our listener with a final thought

to mull over. We talked at the very beginning about how the precision machinery of justice was broken, how the investigative waters were deeply murky for marginalized people. But think about the sheer power of what we just learned today. It is. If one local magazine article from 2021 and one dedicated community member with a shared history could cut through 40 years of rust and institutional apathy to rewrite the ending of Billy Newton's story, how many of their lost voices from the 1980s and 90s are out there right now hidden in dusty police archives? Just waiting for their own Clark to read a headline and finally speak for them.

More episodes

More from Murder Files Unsealed

View all episodes →