A quick content warning, this episode contains audio from the live shooting.

Some crimes are so heartbreaking or shocking that they change laws, change society, or even earn the label crime of the century.

But the stories that made headlines in decades past aren't necessarily remembered today.

I'm Amber Hunt, a journalist and author, and in each episode of this show I'll examine a case that's maybe lesser known today, but was huge when it happened.

This is Crimes of the centuries. Charles Whitman called his wife's boss early that morning to say she wasn't well and wouldn't be coming in.

He then typed some letters to his relatives and stacked them nicely on his dining

room table. He made sandwiches, filled a three-gallon jug full of water, made sure his transistor

radio worked, grabbed a few extension quartz, toilet paper, canned peaches, a can

or two of pork and beans, an alarm clock, deodorant, sweet rolls, a Bowie knife, a hammer, and a hatchet.

He loaded a military footlocker with everything he would need to get the job done.

Then he went shopping.

First to a local hardware store to buy a machete, an m1 carbine rifle and ammunition. A lot of ammunition.

Next he went to Sears and bought a semi-automatic 12-gauge shotgun, which you would saw off.

A Remington 700 hunting rifle with a high-powered magnifying scope, a Smith and Wesson

357 Magnum revolver, and a 9mm Luger pistol.

Then at about 1030 a.m. because he was following a detailed checklist he'd made so he wouldn't forget, he called his mother's boss and told

him she wouldn't be in that day either.

It was August 1, 1966, a Monday that forecasters had said was going to be searingly hot by lunchtime.

Charles Whitman was 25 years old and blonde, exceptionally bright.

His IQ hovered around 140, a former marine who had distinguished himself

with his sharp shooting skills, a devoted husband, a doting son, a university student, and

deeply, deeply troubled.

...