Athens — I have made a lot of speeches. That’s what members of Toastmasters International for the past 30 years have done a lot of when not at work.

For those of you who are not familiar with Toastmasters, it is an organization that teaches better thinking, better listening and especially, better public speaking.

I got my wife into it as a condition of our marriage (not really), and I was so lucky she allowed herself to enter our ranks. She later was so taken with it, she became district governor, then later sat on the board of directors of Toastmasters International.

I am particularly drawn to the Toastmasters Humorous Speech Contests that progress to the area, division and district levels.

Please believe me. The incident I am about to tell you is the truth. In one such Humorous Speech Contest at the area level of competition, I openly testified to the 200 or so members of the audience that I was a serial killer (Watch that spelling!).

I told them what I had said was absolutely true, and that if they didn’t believe me, I would go to the trunk of my car, and retrieve that empty box of Post Toasties.

Some of the speech judges thought that was funny. Some, like you maybe, thought it not really funny at all.

Of course, it goes without saying that the subject of serial killers is not really a subject with any humor. I also experienced that non-funny side of the subject with what I believe to be a real killer.

It was when I was a reporter for a daily newspaper in Metro-Houston back in the early 1990s. I heard through the local news sources that a man had been arrested, and later bonded out of jail, in connection with killing a series of women on the Gulf Freeway between Houston and Galveston.

For those of you who have not driven this route, there is a stretch of the freeway that has few people residing close to the pavement. It is often called “No Man’s Land.”

Young people are often seen hitch-hiking their way to Galveston along this route, or parking on the shoulder after experiencing car trouble.  It is especially dark during the night hours, with  no homes nearby.

After I heard that an alleged killer of women along the stretch of roadway had posted bond, I looked up his home address in the phone book, not really expecting to find it.  But, I was wrong. It was there, offering the entire address.

I thought to myself, “Let’s not call him first. Let’s surprise him.”

So, during the daylight of office hours, I travelled the streets near William P. Hobby Airport indicated on the route by a map. I ended up at a mobile home with a late model pickup parked out front.

My adrenaline was climbing. I was thinking that if I lived through this, and he would cooperate with me, this would be a massive career-booster.

The plan was this. I would knock on the door of the trailer house. He would open the door.  And, I would introduce myself, and tell him the name of my newspaper.

Then I would tell him that I wanted to explore his side of the story, and let our readers know what he had to say.

Things didn’t go as I had planned.

It wasn’t necessary to knock on his door after I parked my car in front of his residence.  He came out quickly, as if he had been watching for strangers driving up, and he demanded to know what I wanted.

I looked at this excited, wide-eyed person (suspect?) who was wearing a T-shirt with the imprinted picture of a bleeding knife, and I introduced myself just as I had planned. Then I asked if he were Mr. so-and-so, and he said nervously that he was not the one.

I excused myself, thinking this guy looked a lot like the guy in the police mug shot on television.  But, I wanted to be courteous, and walked to my car, thanking him.

I smiled and waved through the windshield as I left, and was about to leave the entrance to the mobile home park, when I looked into my rear-view mirror.

I saw him rush into the house, then come out quickly through the door, and get into the truck parked outside the home. He then accelerated, making gravel fly in a frenzy.

I exited the site, pushing a little harder on the accelerator myself.  While moving down the street, I noticed him fishtail out the entrance, and gaining on me. He was getting closer and closer. He was inches from my bumper. He followed me like this for about an eighth-mile.

Then he put on the brakes, and slowly began to turn around, and move the opposite direction, presumably back to his residence, or to the homestead of the guy who wasn’t there. Right?

As I continued to travel back to my newspaper office, I thought about how different this whole situation could have been. Was it worth it?

Yeah, I think so, at least for me.  I wouldn’t suggest it for anyone else, especially fun-seeking youths who also want to make a name for themselves in our business.

If you have such an idea, consult your supervisor, and hear what they think of the idea.

As for now, I’m older, and can look back and realize that particular event didn’t help my career one bit.

I guess the only blessing of the experience is that I didn’t get what some people might think I deserved for having such a stupid idea.

But, it’s also a blessing because through the whole experience, I got smarter, and more experienced about the side of life that no one really wants to be in.

So, I guess I’ll go back to another one of my passions, that of public speaking, and tell people that I am, indeed,  a serial killer.

Jeff Riggs is editor of the Athens Daily Review.