Most people hear the name "Candy Man" and think of a hook-handed ghost from a movie. Or maybe they think of the urban legend about needles in Halloween treats. But the real story is much worse. It’s grounded in 1970s Houston. It’s about a man named Dean Corll.
He was a family man, sort of. He worked at his family’s candy company, the Corll Candy Company. He gave out free pralines and candy to neighborhood kids. Everyone thought he was a nice guy. They were dead wrong.
Between 1970 and 1973, Dean Corll, along with two teenage accomplices, kidnapped, tortured, and murdered at least 28 young men and boys. It was, at the time, the most prolific serial killing spree in American history. And yet, for decades, it’s been overshadowed by names like Bundy or Dahmer.
The Making of a Monster in Houston
Dean Corll didn’t look like a villain. He was a veteran. He was polite. He was a business owner. This is the part that usually trips people up—how someone so "normal" could be so depraved.
Corll’s family owned a candy shop in Houston, and he eventually worked for them. This gave him easy access to local teenagers. He lived in various places around the Houston area, including the Heights and Pasadena. He used his status as a "cool older guy" to lure kids into his web. But he didn't do it alone. This is what makes the Candy Man serial killer case so uniquely disturbing. He recruited two local teens, David Brooks and Elmer Wayne Henley, to help him find victims.
Imagine that. Two kids helping a grown man hunt their own friends.
It started with David Brooks. Corll reportedly paid him for every boy he brought to the house. Later, Henley joined the fold. These weren't just "helpers"; they were participants in a nightmare that lasted three years while the Houston Police Department largely ignored the disappearances, dismissing the victims as "runaways."
Why the Police Failed
The 1970s were a different time for law enforcement. If a teenager from a working-class neighborhood went missing, cops often just shrugged. They’d say the kid probably hopped a bus to California.
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In the case of the Candy Man serial killer, this negligence was fatal. Parents were begging for help. They told the police their sons wouldn't just leave without a word. The police didn't listen. Because the victims were mostly from the "wrong side of the tracks," the urgency just wasn't there.
The Torture Board and the Boat Shed
The details of what happened inside Corll's various residences are stomach-turning. He used a "torture board"—a plywood structure with handcuffs and restraints—to keep his victims immobile.
He didn't just kill them. He toyed with them.
The depravity involved in these crimes is hard to wrap your head around. Corll used a combination of "candy" (literally and figuratively) and drugs to lure and subdue his victims. Once they were restrained, the torture would begin.
Eventually, the bodies had to go somewhere. Most were buried in a rented boat shed in Houston, others at High Island and Lake Sam Rayburn. When the crimes were finally discovered in August 1973, investigators found a literal graveyard under the dirt floor of that shed.
The Night it All Ended
Everything fell apart on August 8, 1973.
Elmer Wayne Henley brought a girl and another friend, Tim Kerley, to Corll's house. Corll was furious. He didn't want the girl there. He ended up restraining both Henley and Kerley. Henley realized that his "mentor" was finally turning on him.
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In a moment of desperation, Henley convinced Corll to let him loose so he could help torture the others. Instead, Henley grabbed Corll's .22-caliber pistol.
"I can't do it, Dean," he supposedly said. Then he shot Corll three times.
The Candy Man was dead. But the horror was just beginning for the city of Houston. Henley called the police and confessed everything. He led them to the boat shed. He led them to the beach.
A Legacy of Trauma and Reform
The aftermath of the Candy Man serial killer case changed how we handle missing persons in America. It was a wake-up call. You can't just assume a kid is a runaway.
The families of the victims were left with a hole that never filled. Some of the victims weren't even identified until decades later. In fact, "Swimsuit Boy," one of the victims found in the boat shed, wasn't identified as Lamar Gallant until 2010. Another was identified as Nils Anthony Jacobsen as recently as 2008.
Think about that for a second. Families waited over thirty years just to know where their sons were buried.
Misconceptions About the Name
People often confuse Dean Corll with Ronald Clark O'Bryan. O'Bryan is the guy who killed his own son with a cyanide-laced Pixy Stix in 1974—also in the Houston area. Because O'Bryan used actual candy to commit murder, he is often called "The Candy Man."
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But Dean Corll is the original. He earned the moniker because of his family's business and his habit of handing out sweets to neighborhood kids. O'Bryan was a calculated murderer for insurance money; Corll was a systematic serial killer.
What We Can Learn from the Corll Case
This story isn't just about a monster. It’s about systemic failure. It’s about how easy it is for a predator to hide in plain sight if society decides to look the other way.
Honestly, the most terrifying part isn't the "torture board." It’s the fact that Corll was able to convince two teenagers to become his recruiters. He corrupted the very youth he was preying upon.
If you're looking for the "why," there isn't a simple answer. Psychologists point to Corll's overbearing mother and his repressed life, but thousands of people have tough childhoods without turning into the Candy Man. It was a perfect storm of a predatory personality, a lack of police oversight, and a social environment that marginalized the victims.
How to Research This Further Without Getting Overwhelmed
If you want to look deeper into the case, you have to be careful with your sources. A lot of true crime podcasts sensationalize the gore without respecting the victims.
- Read the Original Reporting: Look for archives from the Houston Chronicle from August 1973. The raw shock of the city is palpable in those pages.
- The "Man with the Candy" book: Written by Jack Olsen, this is widely considered the definitive account of the case. It focuses heavily on the societal failures in Houston.
- Texas Monthly Archives: They have done incredible long-form pieces on the identification of the remaining "John Doe" victims.
- Visit the Memorials: There have been various efforts to honor the victims in the Houston area, reminding us that these weren't just "runaways," but children with lives and futures.
The story of the Candy Man serial killer is a dark chapter in American history, but it's one we shouldn't forget. It reminds us to listen to parents when they say something is wrong. It reminds us that the person handing out candy might not always have the best intentions.
Most importantly, it serves as a reminder of the 28 lives cut short—kids who were just looking for a friend or a fun afternoon and walked into a trap. We owe it to them to remember their names, not just the nickname of the man who took them.
Check the Texas Department of Public Safety's missing persons clearinghouse if you're interested in how modern technology like familial DNA is still being used today to close cold cases from that era. Supporting organizations that provide DNA testing for unidentified remains is the most direct way to help bring finality to families who are still waiting for answers.