Madman
Welcome to our feature of Madman by M F Gross. Keep scrolling for an excerpt from the book!
About Madman
Can a forgotten crime still echo through time? In MADMAN, @mfgrossbooks resurrects a true story of terror, pursuit, and resilience—one that shook Florida’s Gulf Coast in 1949 and vanished from public memory.
After a brutal murder in the quiet beach town of Crystal Beach, police launched a massive month-long manhunt for John Calvin “Rastus” Russell—an escaped convict and former psychiatric patient whose spree would terrorize an entire region. MADMAN brings this nearly forgotten manhunt to life with gripping, cinematic detail, inviting readers to walk the dirt roads, hide in the palmettos, and feel the rising tension as justice closes in. This isn’t just a true crime tale—it’s a Southern Gothic portrait of a town in crisis, told with empathy, urgency, and grit.
Review for Madman
What a mind-blowing read! As a true crime junkie, this one gave me legit chills. The author dives deep—pulling from witness accounts, psychological insights, and Rastus Russell’s shady past—yet spares readers from the overly gory stuff. It’s wild to think something so dark went down in such a quiet neighborhood. The story honors the victims while also giving us a peek into the mind of a psychopath (without excusing his actions). Definitely one for a mature audience, but wow—what a powerful, unsettling, and unforgettable read. Unfortunately, it’s a true story. I also appreciated the spread of photos included in the book.
About the Author
@Mfgrossbooks is a Florida-based writer and researcher who specializes in the stories history leaves behind. A former financial writer, he brings a sharp investigative instinct and an eye for human drama to his nonfiction work. MADMAN is the product of more than a year spent digging through archives, walking the crime scene, and reassembling a story the world had almost forgotten.
Excerpt from Madman
Context: It’s August of 1949, Crystal Beach, Florida. A handsome, charismatic, young stranger has entered the house of Norman and Anne Browne – a retired couple from New York. The stranger claims he is interested in seeing the Browne’s house – as it is for sale. The Browne’s invite him in for coffee. It’s early on a Sunday morning. The following transpires…
Rattlesnake Road has not been named arbitrarily.
The climate and landscape of Florida’s Gulf Coast offers ideal living conditions for the venomous reptiles. The animals thrive in the area’s warm, subtropical environment and diverse ecosystem. The abundant availability of prey and variety of ample hiding spots makes Norman Browne’s backyard – and, in fact, most of Pinellas County, a prime habitat for rattlesnakes to call home.
For residents of Crystal Beach in 1949, this most often means Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnakes or the tiny but potent Pygmy Rattlesnake. The former is the largest venomous snake in North America, with specimens in the South often reaching six feet or longer.
While residents rarely see the slithering reptiles, a thriving population infests the wooded area around Norman Brown’s secluded home. Also inhabiting the woods around Crystal Beach are ample populations of raccoons, opossums, and coyotes.
As such, Norman keeps two shotguns on hand for encounters with unwelcome wildlife on his property. In fact, the retiree recently killed a six-foot Diamondback not far from the house. Inside the female snake, he found twenty-two eggs*
On this day, one of the weapons leans innocuously in a corner of the Browne’s bathroom. Rastus Russell has just disappeared behind the bathroom door. When he emerges, the visitor is gripping Browne’s loaded .12-gauge shotgun in his rugged, farm worker hands. And he’s not examining it for purchase. He raises the weapon and points it at Norman Browne’s chest.
“What’s the idea?”
Browne demands, seated at the dining room table.
Irritated, Russell smashes the coffee cup and saucer out of Browne’s hands with the butt of the weapon. The cup crashes to the table, breaking off a piece of porcelain and staining Mrs. Browne’s white tablecloth with hot, dark coffee.
“I’m a desperate man!” he tells Browne as he explains his situation.
He tells the terrified couple that he is connected to a Chicago drug smuggling gang looking for a hideout and threatens that if anything happens to him, his gangster pals will “take care of it.” He then demands to know where the Brownes keep their money.
When the Brownes state they have no money, Russell becomes agitated. He continues to argue with the couple, repeatedly asking about the money. The Brownes try to convince Russell they are telling the truth.
Rastus Russell isn’t buying it. He tells Mr. and Mrs. Browne he is going to tie them up while he looks for it. He asks if they prefer to be tied up in the bedroom or their garage. Apparently making the decision himself, the lifelong criminal marches the couple out to the back porch, down the steps, and takes them on the short walk through the yard to the garage.
The Brownes obediently comply
– the powerful weapon pointed at their backs.
Inside the tiny, wooden, dirt floor structure, the Brownes breathe the trapped, familiar air smelling of earth, mildew, and mouse droppings. The intruder finds some spare rope. Between old cardboard Crisco boxes, light wood bushel baskets, and Norman Browne’s push-powered grass cutter, Rastus Russell binds the couple by the hands and feet. He then tosses the rope over the wooden beam in the ceiling, pulling the couple’s hands over their heads, tying the rope tight. Leaving the Brownes restrained in the garage, Russell closes the dual, barn-like doors and locks them with the outside deadbolt, securing a steel hasp.
He vanishes into the house.
Norman and Anne Browne hear their captor rustling through their home, searching for money he is convinced is inside. After a short time, Rastus Russell exits the house and, unexplainedly, climbs back into the Ford and drives away.
Traumatized but relieved, the Brownes believe their ordeal is over.
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