Chapter 1
The Crime Beat: An Obscure Criminal
By Dave Krajicek

An ancient arson case indicates that hand-wringing over fame for the criminally infamous dates thousands of years.

A young man named Herostratus set fire to the majestic Temple of Diana in Ephesus, in what is now Turkey, on July 21, 356 BC. The marble temple was considered the finest of more than 30 shrines built in honor of Artemis, the revered Greek goddess known to the Romans as Diana.

Completed in about 550 BC, the structure was considered one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, along with the likes of the Pyramids. The temple was constructed of marble, with a tile roof supported by huge wooden beams. The temple was twice as large as the Parthenon in Athens – 430 feet long and 260 feet wide – and was supported by 127 marble columns, each nearly 200 feet high. For two centuries, the temple drew tourists and pilgrims to Ephesus.

That ended with the torch work by Herostratus. The heat and tumbling tile and timbers brought down vast sections of the temple, and the perfect white marble was blackened with char.

Far from trying to conceal his arson, Herostratus claimed credit. He hungered for fame and believed only a destructive act of such proportion would ensure that his name would go down in history.

The authorities decreed a novel form of punishment: They tried to sentence the vain young man to a life of obscurity by threatening to execute anyone who spoke his name. The attempt at justice failed.

The name Herostratus has endured in classical literature and has been adapted in the vocabulary of many languages. In German, for example, the noun "Herostrat" denotes a wanton seeker of fame.

Writers from Shakespeare to Nietzsche have commented about the dilemma of criminal fame. Shakespeare wrote, "The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones."

The modern media conundrum of crime celebrity is familiar here, even if the name Herostratus is not.

Mobster John Gotti savored his media image. Timothy McVeigh, the Oklahoma City bomber, seemed to be angling for legend status. The Columbine killers in Colorado left videotape messages that displayed a thirst for celebrity.

Lee Harvey Oswald knew his name would live forever when he killed President John F. Kennedy. The Unabomber was so attune to his media persona that he made journalists aware he preferred to be known as Ted, not Theodore, Kaczynski.

Modern Americans have had no more luck than the ancients in devising a just remedy for crime infamy. But the "solution" of banning Herostratus' name had the ironic effect of ensuring its immortality.