tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69196233873816587412024-03-13T03:03:59.357-07:00Morbid StreakH. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-74773112245588644192021-05-15T16:18:00.002-07:002021-05-15T16:20:58.845-07:00 My Escape from a Sea Monster: the wild tale of Edward Brian McCleary<p><span style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">After some digging, I was able to find the full text of Brian McCleary's article in </span><em style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: inherit; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Fate</em><span style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> magazine (May 1965 issue). I took screenshots of it and have </span><a href="https://imgur.com/a/QjyszIU" style="color: #0079d3; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">included the imgur album on this post.</a><span style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> You can read this for yourself for free on </span><a href="https://archive.org/details/mysteriesmonster0000unse/page/n7/mode/2up" style="color: #0079d3; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">the Internet Archive</a><span style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">.</span></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">According to Brian McCleary's <em style="font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px;">Fate</em> article, here is his story:</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">On March 24, 1962 Edward Brian McCleary, aged 16, was invited on a skin diving trip by his friend, Eric Ruyle, also aged 16. Skin diving just means diving without the use of a respirator; it's similar to freediving, though freediving is more of a competitive sport. Of note, Brian says he checked the weather report before agreeing to the trip. The two were joined by Bradford Rice, 14, Warren Felley, 16, and Larry Stuart Bill, 17.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">They drove to Fort Pickens State Park, where they entered the waters of Pensacola Bay heading for the sunken <em style="font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px;">USS Massachusetts</em>, which is located on a sandbar about 2 miles offshore. The boys had a "seven-foot Air Force life raft," which they planned to paddle to the ship. It was outfitted with "a drift anchor, pockets for provisions, and oars." From the minute he sets foot in the water and continuing throughout the story, Brian stresses the fact that the water was ice cold.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">The boys took turns paddling so no one would be too tired to dive once they reached the shipwreck, but on the trip out, a storm started to whip up. The sea grew choppier and clouds began to roll into the sky. The wind and waves were pushing the raft out to sea.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">Eric, Warren, and Brian jumped into the water to push the raft from behind, but were unable to make any progress, so shortly after they climbed back in. The waves were so high that they now had to hold on to the sides of the raft.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">The sky was growing darker, and other boats they saw out at sea began to head for shore. They saw a <a href="https://imgur.com/a/vrAdLm1" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Chris Craft</a> boat entering the channel. They waved at the boat, crying for help and shouting "mayday!" An elderly woman waved back, but the boat did not approach them to help.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">Brad grabbed the shark gun, tied a red shirt around the tip, and fired it at the boat. The spear landed about 50 ft away from the boat. "It was impossible for anyone to miss the distress signal," but the Chris Craft continued on.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">At this point, Brian spotted a large buoy and suggested they tie the boat there to wait out the storm. The crew, who are now sitting in a pool of cool water as they were continually swamped by the waves, paddled their raft towards the buoy. Brian describes the buoy was being twenty feet high. However, a riptide had formed at the base of the buoy, and the boat is sucked under it before the boys can tie the raft to it. Everyone jumps clear of the raft, which is pulled underneath the buoy, then washes free.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">Eric and Brian cling to the sides of the raft as the rest of the boys climb back in. At this point, the sky is "black as night," and they are beginning to wash out of the channel past the <em style="font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px;">USS Massachusetts</em>.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">After a while ("I don't know how long"), the storm lets up. The rain turns to mist and the ocean is calm, but a fog starts to roll in. It limits their visibility to 25 feet, and the boys decide to wait for the fog to clear. The boys share some cigarettes that miraculously hadn't gotten wet.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">At this point, the water beneath them becomes unseasonably warm, and the air is filled with the smell of dead fish. They hear a splash and see:</p><blockquote style="border-left: 2px solid rgb(197, 193, 173); color: #4f4f4f; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.357143em 0px 0.357143em 5px; padding: 0px 8px;"><p style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">what looked like a telephone pole. It was about ten feet high, with a bulb on top. It stood erect for a moment then bent in the middle and dove under. The sickening odor filled the air.</p></blockquote><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">The boys discuss what this might be. Warren suggest an oarfish. Brian suggests a sea monster.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">They then hear a "high-pitched whine." Panicked, everyone puts on their fins and dives into the water. "Patches of brown, crusty slime lay all over the surface." Everyone tries to swim for the shipwreck. The water begins to get colder and the rain rolls in again. I should stress that Brian has described everyone at this point being exhausted, cold, and cramped.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">They have been swimming perhaps 30 seconds when Warren cries, "Hey! Help me! Help me! It's got Brad..." before he, too, vanishes. Brian is now swimming with Larry and Eric, but has lost sight of Warren and Brad.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">Then, Larry vanishes. Eric and Brian dive for him, but see nothing. Eric becomes overcome with cramps, and holds on to Brian's neck as he paddles for what he hopes is the shore. It is now described as "pitch black," so he can't tell where he is going.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">After what felt like a couple of hours, lightning flashes and Brian sees the <em style="font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px;">USS Massachusetts</em>. He swims toward it. Eric is pulled off him by a wave, but Brian sees him swimming towards the ship as well. But then:</p><blockquote style="border-left: 2px solid rgb(197, 193, 173); color: #4f4f4f; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.357143em 0px 0.357143em 5px; padding: 0px 8px;"><p style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Right next to Eric that telephone pole-like figure broke the water. I could see the long neck and two small eyes. The mouth opened and it bent over. It dove on top of Eric, dragging him under. I screamed and began to swim past the ship. My insides were shaking uncontrollably.</p></blockquote><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">At this point, Brian does not remember anything until he washes up on a beach. He finds "a tower of some sort," which he climbs and sleeps on the floor. In the morning he climbs down, but his legs fail him and he falls to the beach and starts to crawl, where some passers-by find him.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><a href="https://imgur.com/a/jxGijy7" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Here is the sketch of what Brian McCleary saw.</a><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTikCfqBfBkOgA9-_Tz0CTRY7snKYAqQIax6zV0at_SElk5Xx9kUKL6ArAJuoVk8X7xZ9I5rw4X0L8mg-fsL222RNliz-QEgAB-PZ-euvxRPdhzBOBY4bN6dxYTqKI2bnRM34T3gNHI2u/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="960" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTikCfqBfBkOgA9-_Tz0CTRY7snKYAqQIax6zV0at_SElk5Xx9kUKL6ArAJuoVk8X7xZ9I5rw4X0L8mg-fsL222RNliz-QEgAB-PZ-euvxRPdhzBOBY4bN6dxYTqKI2bnRM34T3gNHI2u/w469-h156/image.png" width="469" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">The article published in <em style="font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px;">Fate</em> ends with a short summary of local news reports, which don't match all of Brian's story:</p><blockquote style="border-left: 2px solid rgb(197, 193, 173); color: #4f4f4f; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.357143em 0px 0.357143em 5px; padding: 0px 8px;"><p style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px 0px 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">One report says Brian 'drfited and swam more than two miles' but Coast Guard and Navy rescue units estimated he swam five miles. Doctors at the Naval Base said he was in the water over twelve hours.</p><p style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">The interviewing reporters told Brian their stories would not mention the sea serpent as it was "better left unmentioned for all concerned."</p><p style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px 0px; padding: 0px;">The bodies of Eric Ruyle, Warren Sullay, and Larry Stuart Bill were never recovered. One body washed ashore a week after the accident and Brian says, "To the best of my knowledge, I identified the body as that of Brad Rice."</p></blockquote><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">I was unable to find confirmation of whether or not this was Brad Rice or why Brian was the one to identify the body.</p><blockquote style="border-left: 2px solid rgb(197, 193, 173); color: #4f4f4f; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.357143em 0px 0.357143em 5px; padding: 0px 8px;"><p style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px 0px 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">The raft was found ten miles from where Brian came out of the water. He was picked up near Fort McRae about 7:45am Sunday, March 5, 1962, by a helicopter from the Naval Air Station He had spent the early morning hours in an old gun emplacement.</p><p style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">The clipping further states Brian was suffering from shock and exposure but was released to his parents after brief treatment in the Naval hospital.</p><p style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px 0px; padding: 0px;">Brian writes us that after the accident he had a nervous breakdown but recovered and was able to resume his life in about three months.</p></blockquote><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><a href="https://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=1356&dat=19620326&id=DcVOAAAAIBAJ&sjid=uw4EAAAAIBAJ&pg=2010,5155807" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">This newspaper article</a> from the Ocala Star-Banner confirms that the four boys were lost at sea, and Brian's story of attempting to tie the raft to a buoy. The raft eventually washed ashore on Gulf Beach, with face masks, shoes, and fins still inside. (Remember that the raft did have pockets to stow things in, so it is possible for these to have remained inside, and the cigarettes to have remained dry if stowed properly.)</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">Location</span></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">I tried to sort this out using Google Maps. The boys go to Fort Pickens State Park- easy enough to find. <a href="https://imgur.com/a/XXmQA0N" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">See map here.</a> <br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4RTg87HI0wFTYiVtpzfqHwKd0f5ix4WXvMVDSm6LPBJ9OmG98ATF3gCeWnnN83_JsO-vtGEhzw3zjyywQEZ7jCH_bKx8-2HMXvcZEszI12w23OVW7WRrsSk6z3e5KoyadxmMhK9OaLl08/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="687" data-original-width="1018" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4RTg87HI0wFTYiVtpzfqHwKd0f5ix4WXvMVDSm6LPBJ9OmG98ATF3gCeWnnN83_JsO-vtGEhzw3zjyywQEZ7jCH_bKx8-2HMXvcZEszI12w23OVW7WRrsSk6z3e5KoyadxmMhK9OaLl08/w394-h266/image.png" width="394" /></a></div><br /><br />Brian describes climbing "three stories of the main embattlement, a long rectangular structure with a square brick tower on top of which is mounted a telescope," through which he looks and locates the ship. They then climb down and launch their raft on the beach.<p></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">The battery closest to the USS Massachusetts appears to be Battery Cooper, <a href="https://imgur.com/a/NRd4bzl" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">pictured here.</a> </p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUsZ7mD858XkuTASD2gZ43oMgH4l9RItyHsn_1ATgfVJNNBI9GpchtZyFjbi0FoM1vwgvFaichz6vsTQ3adoB7S8q5AJxjmYFd7r1yuIGELFUPea5hBCkg9uHsI_iR0x03NmhX9QXtTuA2/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="493" data-original-width="854" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUsZ7mD858XkuTASD2gZ43oMgH4l9RItyHsn_1ATgfVJNNBI9GpchtZyFjbi0FoM1vwgvFaichz6vsTQ3adoB7S8q5AJxjmYFd7r1yuIGELFUPea5hBCkg9uHsI_iR0x03NmhX9QXtTuA2/w436-h252/image.png" width="436" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">However, Brian does describe the "channel," which appears to be between the keys of Fort Pickens and Fort McRee, so they may have launched farther from the wreck.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">The Weather Problem</span></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">Other write-ups claim that weather reports do not mention this storm. I was unable to confirm this with my own research (I did find <a href="https://www.almanac.com/weather/history/FL/Pensacola/1962-03-24" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">this</a> which says there was no rain but doesn't provide much detail.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">I was unable to load <a href="https://www.climate.gov/maps-data/dataset/past-weather-zip-code-data-table" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">this tool</a>. The zip code for Ft Pickens is 32561.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">I don't know if other Pensacola residents who may have been boating that day were interviewed. Minor squalls can blow up on the sea pretty frequently, so this isn't a deal-breaker for me; the ocean is very changeable, as is its weather.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">I did not check the high/low tide reports, however the boys were clearly out overnight so the tide would have been changing at some point either way.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">It was a Rip Tide/Rip Current</span></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">This looks like the most likely answer. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rip_current" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Here is the Wikipedia article on rip currents</a>.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><a href="https://www.wtsp.com/article/news/regional/florida/pensacola-beach-florida-rip-currents/67-d3d0d279-a9c0-4ec4-91fc-8486d09cbf2b" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Here is an actual picture of multiple rip currents on Pensacola Beach.</a></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">So they're definitely in the area, though the boys were a ways offshore.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">Given that they were in what is described as a "channel," particularly knowing that the USS Massachusetts is on a sand bar, it seems likely that a rip current could form there. I do not know the specifics on how rip tides form, though, or if they could form 2 miles offshore. However, looking at <a href="https://imgur.com/a/NRd4bzl" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">the map of Battery Cooper</a>, this does look possible. You can clearly see a deep channel between the shallower keys that sweeps out to sea.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">The Boy's Mental State</span></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">It is repeatedly stressed throughout the article that the water is freezing, the boys are physically exhausted, and are cramping pretty badly. It is entirely possible that the "monster" was just a hallucination, and the boys drowned as they tried to swim back to shore after panicking at being swept out to the ocean. Anecdotally, anyone who was experienced paddling against the tide (I certainly have) can attest that it is <em style="font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px;">very</em> difficult and tiring. In any event, given the described state of the boys, it is not hard to picture how they drowned, regardless of what sequence of events led them to that point.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">So was there even a sea monster?</span></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">Well, maybe.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">The Whale Theory</span></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/biology/comments/7qbqpk/what_reptile_is_this_seen_by_edward_mccleary_on/dsp0o72/" style="color: #0079d3; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">This comment</a> claims that the sighting of the "sea monster" may be a North Atlantic whale skim-feeding. <a href="https://3c1703fe8d.site.internapcdn.net/newman/gfx/news/hires/2017/1-qaexpertsays.jpg" style="color: #0079d3; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Check out this photo</a>, which looks pretty damn similar to a plesiosaurus.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTO3cp-2LW95lquB5hVZEe-rHYbQe1si8dL3wXTbmq-Bsv8VxSrYpJj6LQ5auulTd87jqM7qcO95X6mYeRtYmkRk1snbACiIqTfakLP_JQOioMOSEjqveqAKG5CtOb8V7OofSlrIJ7x0O/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="318" data-original-width="512" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTO3cp-2LW95lquB5hVZEe-rHYbQe1si8dL3wXTbmq-Bsv8VxSrYpJj6LQ5auulTd87jqM7qcO95X6mYeRtYmkRk1snbACiIqTfakLP_JQOioMOSEjqveqAKG5CtOb8V7OofSlrIJ7x0O/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">You may also view <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scoJ6IsU7B0" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">this video</a> which shows a whale filter-feeding, eerily similar to what Brian describes. </p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/scoJ6IsU7B0" width="320" youtube-src-id="scoJ6IsU7B0"></iframe></div><br /><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">Quite frankly, just seeing this video and knowing it's a whale freaks me out, let alone if I was in the ocean with this creature.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">While baleen whales do not eat humans, obviously, it is not directly stated that the monster ever eats anyone. The boys are panicked at the sight, and start frantically swimming away; they are already exhausted and cramping, and could easily drown in their attempt to escape from the "monster." The "monster" does not eat Eric, either; it "dives on top of him," dragging him underneath. A whale is a massive creature and could easily hurt a human. While whales will generally try to avoid humans, it's possible that they could accidentally dive on top of one while feeding if they didn't know it was there. A whale could also pull a person down as they dive if the person is close enough, and in their weakened state, the boys could have drowned.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">Other evidence to support this is the "high-pitched whine," which I feel is kind of self-explanatory - that's a sound a whale makes. The mist could be a whale spouting, and the scent of dead fish would make sense as well (I have never been that close to the mouth of a whale, but I can't imagine it smells pleasant).</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/world-australia-53632975" style="color: #0079d3; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">This article</a> describes an injury by a baleen whale; <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2020/aug/08/three-women-injured-swimming-with-whales-in-australia-in-space-of-a-week" style="color: #0079d3; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">this one</a> refers to a series of injuries caused by swimming with whales.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">This is the theory I favor - I think the boys were caught in a rip tide, saw a whale, panicked, and drowned.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">But then what was the "telephone pole"?</span></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">I have no idea. What do you think?</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">Did Brian kill them?</span></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">This seems unlikely to me. It sounds like Brian was extremely traumatized by this experience and while survivor's guilt could be a part of that, I really don't see him causing the death of his 4 friends. Some people say he paddled the raft away from his friends as a joke, causing them to drown, but I think that their accidentally drowning while being caught in a rip tide is more likely.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">It was a vicious grouper.</span></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">I have dived with groupers before, and while they are HUGE, they are pretty chill fish and they don't look anything like this described sea monster. <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=grouper+&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwipsPKly8zwAhWc6KwKHYqZBDsQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=grouper+&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzIECCMQJzIFCAAQsQMyAggAMgIIADICCAAyAggAMgIIADICCAAyAggAMgIIADoGCAAQBRAeOgQIABAYULAPWIIWYKQZaABwAHgAgAF-iAHuBJIBAzIuNJgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1nwAEB&sclient=img&ei=XDegYKmSFJzRswWKs5LYAw&bih=722&biw=1536&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS738US738" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Here is what a grouper looks like.</a></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Z0cspSNBKlzuOJ90mEpf1iJbdFeOcp5KRaXtOmvCWUMVtzsRAeetcIwzlEG_HH-SugQ7yC91l9DH198uE_K_4brr4fo5iN8j5fs8eBxZW8fkj3g0ihOrBD_-dZEdxgMu8getEPeFR1uw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="992" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Z0cspSNBKlzuOJ90mEpf1iJbdFeOcp5KRaXtOmvCWUMVtzsRAeetcIwzlEG_HH-SugQ7yC91l9DH198uE_K_4brr4fo5iN8j5fs8eBxZW8fkj3g0ihOrBD_-dZEdxgMu8getEPeFR1uw/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWP8tpzKpKI" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Here is a grouper "attack"</a>. They're not going to pay any attention to you if you don't have a fish for them to eat.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">Fate Magazine is a tabloid and this is all made up.</span></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">Well yeah, maybe, but that's no fun, is it?</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://cryptomundo.com/bigfoot-report/florida-hungry-sea-serpent/" style="color: #0079d3; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">This article, from a clearly reputable source</a> rains on our entire parade, though it offers some evidence that <em style="font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px;">something</em> happened:</p><blockquote style="border-left: 2px solid rgb(197, 193, 173); color: #4f4f4f; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.357143em 0px 0.357143em 5px; padding: 0px 8px;"><p style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px 0px 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">[T]he Pensacola News Journal quoted McCleary at length on 26 March 1962, including this description of the fatal incident:</p><p style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">“Larry, Eric and I tried to swim together. Eric suddenly developed cramps. Larry and I tried to hold him up and suddenly my legs stiffened and I wasn’t able to use them to swim with. I tried to get Eric to hold onto me. He finally started shouting that he couldn’t make it. I told Larry that I didn’t think we were going to make it and he said, ‘We’re sure going to try.'”</p><p style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px 0px; padding: 0px;">Whatever happened next remained unstated, as McCleary jumped ahead to his arrival on the shoreline, by himself. There was no mention of a monster, or indeed any description of what befell his friends. More to the point, the Playground News of 2 April 1962 reports the funeral of Brad Rice, washed ashore on 31 March, a presumed drowning victim. Larry Bill, Eric Ruyle and Warren Salley Jr. rated no mention at all.</p></blockquote><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">The article goes on to consult the Social Security Death Index and claims that the latter 3 did not exist at all.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">Here is <a href="https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/13346700/bradford-jay-rice" style="color: #0079d3; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Bradford Rice's grave</a>, which matches this story and includes a newspaper article.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZnSLW4yRoCiJFWZwXK3nY5vJKLF6BIMFVrddcpqnvRkqFc8f5aS3fkMtrR6E_Hb7aOsHcdAKvAIDEr3zNYVwRkp-nXw0Pj6o_eGj4Bgtc0rX_jjNJUV4JqetTEtGJCYmbwz2Vs8Qt6ozG/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="731" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZnSLW4yRoCiJFWZwXK3nY5vJKLF6BIMFVrddcpqnvRkqFc8f5aS3fkMtrR6E_Hb7aOsHcdAKvAIDEr3zNYVwRkp-nXw0Pj6o_eGj4Bgtc0rX_jjNJUV4JqetTEtGJCYmbwz2Vs8Qt6ozG/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">However, I, a random Reddit author and much more reputable source, say that's no fun and we should continue to wildly speculate anyway.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">What happened to Brian?</span></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">I have read posts that claim that Brian went on to abuse drugs and insist that the sea monster existed, and also posts that say Brian say a psychologist who convinced him that the monster was not real. There are no sources to confirm either way.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px;">Edward McCleary died in 2016. <a href="https://www.dignitymemorial.com/obituaries/jacksonville-fl/edward-mccleary-6819524" style="color: #0079d3; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Here is a link to his memorial page.</a> <a href="https://www.legacy.com/obituaries/timesunion/obituary.aspx?n=edward-mccleary&pid=177857125&fhid=11097" style="color: #0079d3; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Here is another.</a> Please be respectful and do not contact or harrass any of his friends or family.</p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0.357143em 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p>H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-89250635628662922412016-05-15T07:14:00.000-07:002016-05-15T07:14:55.815-07:00L'affaire De Chevaline: the Annecy quadruple murder<div style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Brett Martin is a retired RAF pilot with a love of bicycling and a holiday home in Lathuile. On a clear autumn Wednesday in 2012, he was biking up a hill in the village of Chevaline, France. At the top of a steep, remote street, he pedaled upon the unthinkable: a 7-year-old girl, shot, beaten, and bloodied, laying in the parking lot at the top of the mountain path.</div>
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Nearby lay another local cyclist - Sylvain Mollier, aged 45, shot five times - two in the head and thrice in the chest. In a burgundy BMW SUV with British plates was the rest of the young girl's family - her mother (Iqbal al-Hilli), father (Saad al-Hilli), and grandmother (Suhaila al-Allaf, Iqbal's mother) -- all shot dead. Bullet casings littered the ground.</div>
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Brett rushed to the girl to provide first aid and called for help.</div>
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French <em style="font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px;">gendarmes</em> swarmed the scene. This was a rural area that saw maybe one or two easily-solved homicides per year. This case was handled with kid gloves. So much so, in fact, that it wasn't until 8 hours later that specialists discovered the lone unhurt survivor - 4-year-old Zeena, who had escaped harm by hiding underneath her mother's skirts. She had remained hidden the entire time.</div>
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The scene they found was strange, but told a clear tale: The SUV had made its way up a desolate and dangerous mountain road, though the family inside were not dressed in hiking attire, and rested in the parking lot at the top of the mountain, which the road dead-ended into. A sort of scenic overlook, if you will. The SUV had been reversed sharply into an embankment beside the car park, leaving gouge marks that were still visible two days later. When Martin arrived, the car was still in reverse with the wheels spinning and the doors locked. Clearly, Saad had seen danger and tried to get away.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDQhM5RdNREHb6nCpMFeFj3xBim59s42g0N4A72FqUTY5_Ca3y2sLmcB-leIfk4q9QfXJNtb1U05GoSr2TlEmItbBWjqCNp1u5THFBiqiHuMgMbczx-ibtDx1aHdtjV-7VaXuyJy49qn5/s1600/article-2509972-14DEA329000005DC-520_634x509+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDQhM5RdNREHb6nCpMFeFj3xBim59s42g0N4A72FqUTY5_Ca3y2sLmcB-leIfk4q9QfXJNtb1U05GoSr2TlEmItbBWjqCNp1u5THFBiqiHuMgMbczx-ibtDx1aHdtjV-7VaXuyJy49qn5/s400/article-2509972-14DEA329000005DC-520_634x509+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Investigators surrounding the al-Hilli's vehicle.<br /><b>WARNING:</b> The next two images will show a (pixellated and poorly visible) dead body.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkxpukGrN73Ci0qd6TTz116HwnLJenGefcy0Coj75CRIbpy8vHJQOkFvzJEBmQ3-9xkVa_jyY9jQ4FNDVmR9tE9_voKVZf1aM-qPzvgoLR_1WBurwJy4JNQQwyFzB9lCel9iVKG4HDHlL/s1600/article-2561919-1B9DFB5D00000578-715_634x415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkxpukGrN73Ci0qd6TTz116HwnLJenGefcy0Coj75CRIbpy8vHJQOkFvzJEBmQ3-9xkVa_jyY9jQ4FNDVmR9tE9_voKVZf1aM-qPzvgoLR_1WBurwJy4JNQQwyFzB9lCel9iVKG4HDHlL/s400/article-2561919-1B9DFB5D00000578-715_634x415.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The SUV with Sylvain Mollier's body beside it. You can see the tire marks where the SUV reversed.</div>
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Another shot of the SUV and body.</div>
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As the investigation got under way, it turned out that both the family and the cyclist had tantalizing troubling backgrounds. Iraqi-born Saad was a freelance mechanical engineer currently working for a satellite company. Sylvain Mollier was on a three-year leave of absence from his job at Cezus, which primarily crafted fuel rod housings for nuclear reactors. Tabloids went nuts with potential theories - including that the two were actually forming a plot in cahoots with each other.</div>
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Was al-Hilli a terrorist with possible connections to Iraq? Tabloids at one point burst with headlines declaring that al-Hilli's father had smuggled money out of Iraq for Saddam and hidden it in a Swiss bank account. While the senior al-Hilli, Kadim, did have money in a Swiss account, it was not Saddam's; in fact, it emerged that Kadim's brother had been kidnapped and tortured by the secret police and sustained brain damage. Shortly thereafter, he took his family and fled to England, where Saad and the rest had stayed. Nor did Saad have access to any classified secrets or anything satellite-related that would be of interest for a terrorist cell.</div>
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Mollier was a divorced father of three: two children with his ex-wife and an infant daughter with his live-in girlfriend of two years, Claire Schutz. Like al-Hilli, his tantalizing connections fell apart under scrutiny: he was a welder at the nuclear plant, and did not have access to anything that would be of interest to atomic-minded criminals. Nor had he ever had contact with al-Hilli before: there was no trace of any connection between the two men (or anyone else in the al-Hilli family), apart from the ending of their lives.</div>
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The al-Hillis had driven to France on a vacation. Saad, the father, had visited there several times before, and may have been looking for a job as he liked the location and brought with him his computers and thumb drives from work. They towed a white Bürstner camper behind their BMW and stayed at Le Solitaire du Lac, a campground on the shores of Lake Annecy. On Wednesday, September 5, 2012, he asked his daughter Zainab what she would like to do that afternoon: did she want to go shopping, or go for a walk in the woods? Zainab wanted to take a walk in the woods.</div>
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Saad didn't know the area that well, and asked the campground owner for directions. He won't say where he sent them, but it may have been up that dirt road, or he may have taken a wrong turn; once you turn onto the uphill road, there is no turnaround for 3 kilometers - not until it dead-ends into the parking lot at the top.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09JRo5CJ6rFl-TR5v7UyD2hj2YsCgTgccmJR6sCSwA2cfvi2yfZM34Tb16B8Ykz2gqGeuT9SMJEuCBdRN6RzCdX0XPPePo9kfq_x-qckT9B8fie02hyphenhyphenCwG3rKF0dAoskqErcYjeMHanJN/s1600/article-2561919-1B9F2A7D00000578-339_634x408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09JRo5CJ6rFl-TR5v7UyD2hj2YsCgTgccmJR6sCSwA2cfvi2yfZM34Tb16B8Ykz2gqGeuT9SMJEuCBdRN6RzCdX0XPPePo9kfq_x-qckT9B8fie02hyphenhyphenCwG3rKF0dAoskqErcYjeMHanJN/s320/article-2561919-1B9F2A7D00000578-339_634x408.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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A photo of the al-Hilli family taken just minutes before the attack.</div>
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Sylvain, too, may have gotten lost. He had asked his girlfriend's father to recommend a route, but it likely hadn't included the uphill path. His girlfriend called him shortly before he reached the top, but he was panting and said he wanted to reach the end of the road first.</div>
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Once there, he disembarked his bike. He may have been talking with Saad, who was gregarious and outgoing. Saad liked bikes, and they may have been discussing Sylvain's racing bike, which was not particularly suited for a bumpy, pothole-filled road such as the one up the mountain.</div>
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Each of the victims was killed by two shots to the head - execution-style, making it look like a professional hit. 21 shots were fired. However, the weapon used was a 7.65-millimeter Luger - an antique. Also, it appears that Zainab was pistol-whipped because the killer ran out of bullets- perhaps after shooting her in the shoulder. The model of the gun is known because a piece broke off in her skull.</div>
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The most promising suspect appears to be Patrice Menegaldo, a periphery acquaintance of Claire Schutz, Sylvain's girlfriend (I haven't found information on how she knew him). Police called Menegaldo in as a witness for a routine hour-long interview. Two months later, Menegaldo, a former French Foreign Legion soldier, shot himself in the head. He left behind a seven-page suicide note, the majority of which has not been revealed - except for the fact that he said, "I could not handle being a suspect in a murder."</div>
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But he wasn't a suspect. He wasn't even a witness. He was being interviewed because there were no other leads.</div>
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On the other hand, it could be that neither Sylvain Mollier - shot more times than anyone else, and possibly the first person shot, though this hasn't been confirmed - nor Saad al-Hilli were the subject of the murders. Both seem to have gotten lost, and no one could've known that either one was going to be in the parking lot. It could have been a random act of violence.</div>
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Zainab al-Hilli survived the brutal attack and made a full recovery. She and her younger sister, Zeena, now live in England with their maternal aunt and uncle, as well as another cousin. They had initially been in foster care following the murders. Because Zainab may have seen the murderer's face, they were placed under armed guard in 2013.</div>
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The murder remains unsolved.</div>
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Sources:</div>
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<a href="http://www.theguardian.com/world/2012/sep/05/annecy-shootings-british-car" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">The Guardian</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2509972/Al-Hilli-sisters-orphaned-Alps-massacre-family-police-guard.html" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Daily Mail</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/the-massacre-in-the-alps-8120164.html#gallery" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Independent</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2015/may/25/alps-shootings-saad-hilli-french-foreign-legion-soldier-suspect" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Guardian again</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.gq.com/story/alps-murder-chevaline" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">GQ</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2561919/Man-arrested-France-connection-murder-British-family-French-Alps.html" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Daily Mail again</a></div>
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<i><a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/4j7a4d/laffaire_de_chevaline_the_annecy_quadruple_murder/">Read this post and responses on Reddit.</a></i></div>
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H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-42291475482549833232016-04-29T12:47:00.004-07:002016-04-29T12:47:47.864-07:00Trespassing at Highfields<b>Morbid Streak</b> is gradually going to be moving over to my new domain,<b> <a href="http://hannahrtaylor.com/">hannahrtaylor.com</a></b>. That's where you can view my latest essay, "Trespassing at Highfields." Please do not actually trespass at Highfields. <a href="https://hannahrtaylor.com/blog/">Read it here.</a><br />
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I am waiting to hear back on 3 publications, currently. Upcoming articles will be on urban legends, skydiving and BASE history, and of course, Lindbergh. Hopefully I'll have more news for you soon!<br />
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<br />H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-49685449154447497882016-04-11T12:33:00.002-07:002016-04-11T12:56:32.866-07:00The Trial of the Century 6: The NJ State Police Archives<div style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
<span style="line-height: 1.42857em;"><i><a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/4eca6f/the_trial_of_the_century_8_lindbergh_a_visit_to/">read this post on Reddit /r/UnresolvedMysteries</a></i><br /><br />As I said on Friday, I had the privilege of rooting through the NJSP Archives last week. It was an enjoyable, though overwhelming, experience. I wound up leaving with a sheaf of photocopies and a minor headache. All in a day's work!</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 1.42857em;">The archives are located in the room next to the reception desk at the NJ State Police Museum. The room is filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and file cabinets, the vast majority of which are materials related to the Lindbergh case. The archivist handed me a manila folder to start, which contained the preliminary case report, two binders of statements (I photocopied those of the Lindbergh household and immediate reporting policemen), and when I asked, I got a binder of crime scene photographs, as well.</span></div>
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I’m going to start with the photographs, because, well, those are the easiest to share! Also, I haven’t really gone through the statements in detail yet... that's today's project.</div>
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So far I haven’t seen anything we didn’t already know, although since the statements were given years before the trial, they’re a bit more detailed, and give us a better idea of the household's immediate reactions to the crime.</div>
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So, on to the pictures.</div>
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<b style="color: #0079d3; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;"><a href="http://imgur.com/a/pYiCV" style="color: #0079d3; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">IMGUR ALBUM HERE</a></b></div>
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<b>Teasers:</b></div>
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<a href="http://i.imgur.com/GZ8lnQv.jpg" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Charles Lindbergh's signature</a></div>
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<a href="http://i.imgur.com/ayoIzN9.jpg" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Anne Lindbergh's signature</a> - You'll notice this isn't even in a sheet protector or anything. The papers were as thin as tissue paper, I was having a very quiet mental freakout the entire time I was touching it.</div>
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<b>I'm going to list out all the documents I have the full text of right now.</b> If you have questions about something in particular, ask!:</div>
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<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Major Initial Report - first police report on the case, Cpl. Joseph A. Wolf, 3/1/1932</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Case report, Trooper N. DeGaetano, 3/3/1932</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Statement: Trooper DeGaetano, 3/9/1932</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Statement: Trooper Harry V. Cain, 3/16/1932</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Statement: Trooper Frank A. Kelly, 3/16/1932</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Statement: Trooper Lewis Bornman, 3/9/1932</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Statement: Cpl. Joseph Wolf, 3/15/1932</li>
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Statement: Asst. Chief of Police of Hopewell, Charles E. Williamson, 3/9/1932</div>
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Statement: Betty Gow, 3/10/1932 [nursemaid]</div>
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Statement: Charles A. Lindbergh, 3/20/1932</div>
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Statement: Charles A. Lindbergh, 3/11/1932</div>
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Statement: Olly Whateley, 3/3/1932 [butler]</div>
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Statement: Elsie Mary Whateley, 3/10/1932 [cook/maid]</div>
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Statement: Anne M. Lindbergh, 3/13/1932</div>
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Statement: Violet Sharpe, 3/10/1932</div>
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Transcript of interview of Violet Sharpe, 3/24/1932</div>
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Correspondence from Scotland Yard re: Violet Sharpe</div>
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My next post will probably be the Violet Sharpe stuff.</div>
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H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-53418393667290647552016-04-08T20:42:00.001-07:002016-04-08T20:42:50.445-07:00Guess who has two thumbs and got to visit the NJ State Police archives today?!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfYQvmPaBJBV6V_lpEiehVcE70w1tdgz_CcyGekU_50aNxj6fM9AaZWBsLzJcWn3BuehAX2bMz0uOq5RPIy0mTBHcXyzWdPllqTaRpt3zVofQrQhRiq9ghgITdnE0JwxYYysPY2yXTPTg/s1600/12980928_10101873628121210_1602944819_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfYQvmPaBJBV6V_lpEiehVcE70w1tdgz_CcyGekU_50aNxj6fM9AaZWBsLzJcWn3BuehAX2bMz0uOq5RPIy0mTBHcXyzWdPllqTaRpt3zVofQrQhRiq9ghgITdnE0JwxYYysPY2yXTPTg/s400/12980928_10101873628121210_1602944819_o.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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This girl!</div>
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I had a blast, and it was only moderately overwhelming.</div>
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Can't wait to show you more! </div>
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<br />H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-39365134969720326842016-04-08T07:54:00.001-07:002016-04-09T09:48:25.786-07:00Morbid Mailbag: John FioccoMorbid Mailbag is a series where I post interesting stories or details that readers send me. They usually want anonymity for privacy reasons. I cannot independently verify the veracity of these statements.<br />
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<a href="http://morbidstreak.blogspot.com/2015/11/a-game-of-hide-and-seek-mysterious.html">My original post on John Fiocco's death</a><br />
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Here's a message I received on the John Fiocco case:<br />
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<i>Thursday, April 7, 2016</i><br />
<br />
Hey! I just stumbled across your post on John Fiocco and wanted to reach out. I didn't want to just reply, because I'm not interested in making it easy for someone to figure out my "real life" identity.<br />
<br />
So I went to TCNJ, not at the time John was there, but soon after. I was also a resident of that dorm for 4 years, 1 as a freshman (eerily enough, I lived in his old room) and for 3 years as an RA (we called them CAs).<br />
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So I read the report you posted about the layout of the basement, and there's some misleading info there. So yeah, you'd either walk or take the elevator to the first floor and then take the stairs down to the basement, because the elevators are keyed to NOT go down to the basement after a certain time of night. You walk down these stairs, which are well lit and not sketchy at all.<br />
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The basement is not a basement in the traditional sense. You go down the stairs into a brightly lit lobby/foyer area. There's a big cafeteria to the left, which serves late night junk food. I can't remember what time they closed, actually- but you should be able to look that up online, it's called T-Dubs. Around 3 I think?<br />
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Immediately after going down the stairs, T dubs is right in front of you, to the right are the elevators, and right across from the elevators are a few sets of doors. They're locked, and I think it's a small office and a boiler room. You'd have to go through at least one set of doors to get into the hallway where you'd access the trash room.<br />
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During the day, maintenance for the whole campus uses that hallway for various things (storage, processing work orders, whatever). Students don't go into that hallway, ever. Hardly anybody even knows there's anything back there. Students don't "know" where the compactor room is, and there's no way to get through those fire doors (the locked ones I mentioned) into the hallway, and then you'd have to get the trash room unlocked as well. In FOUR YEARS living in that dorm, as a CA who had access to the building was required to patrol is 3x/night while on "duty," I never once went down there, nor did I ever see a student go in there. Ever. I have accidentally thrown things away, and one of my residents accidentally threw away a $200 birthday card- not once was there a consideration of "oh, I'll go down to the trash compactor room and get it!" It's just not a thing that anyone in their right mind would do.<br />
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The only other bit of information about the trash room I can provide is that there's access from the outside of the building, as well. It's basically a big garage door, and you'd need a key to unlock it. I don't know if there was a keypad or anything, but I think not. Again, never once did I see anybody messing around trying to get that door open.<br />
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Maybe five feet away from the section with the elevators and fire doors is a big glass sliding door, which has access to the outside. You have to swipe using your ID card to get in, BUT (and the reports are right about this), students do sometimes prop those doors open. Not so much as night, that's not common, but it's possible. But sometimes on a nice day, or if they're bringing in laundry and stuff from the car, whatever. Normally the desk staff and CAs are supposed to go down to check those doors, but if it was after midnight, the CAs wouldn't have, and if it was after 2, the desk staff (DAs) would've been gone too. So it's definitely possible that a student came in after 2am and propped the door open, for whatever reason (maybe someone lost their ID and a friend blocked the door open for them, or a girlfriend/boyfriend was coming in late, IDK). Or even if people were coming in from a party and someone just followed them in, it's not like the students would've been like "woah! Do you live here?" It's a big dorm, people wouldn't stop to question some one.<br />
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There is physically no way, absolutely no way in hell that he went down the chute itself from the 4th floor. First, you have to pull open this heavy metal door. The room that contains the chute is really small, you couldn't fit 2 people in it. Second, there's a recycling bin in that room, which is ALWAYS overflowing, I'm talking bags of recycling all over the floor. From the hallway/door, you can lean over and pull open the chute, and shove your stuff in. For frame of reference, you can't fit a regular size garbage bag or even a pizza box down the chute, it just won't fit. Grocery bags with garbage are all you can really fit down there. I distinctly remember that it's smaller than a pizza box, even when you sort of crush it/try to jam it down, because there was usually a pile of pizza boxes on the floor waiting for the cleaners. So, really, there is NO WAY that this tall, broad guy could maneuver into the room, get the chute door open (it pulls out into the room, not pushing into the chute), get up/over the chute door and into the chute itself. Plus, this garbage room is literally in the middle of the hallway, within eyesight of the men's bathroom and right next door to a single room (I think at that time, the singles were actually the CA's room, although I could be mistaken), and the other CA's room was maybe 10 feet away, just around the corner. He probably would've knocked things over, made noise, and generally woke people up & pissed off his CAs.<br />
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The way this dorm is set up, there's no way someone wouldn't have heard him trying to get in the chute. The doors are heavy and loud and slam shut. The dorm is like an angular U shape, and sound echoes like you wouldn't believe. At 3 am, I'd expect it to be pretty quiet. There's always some rowdiness when people are getting home after the parties, but it settles down around 1:30.<br />
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It's very strange, and sad, the whole thing. The only reason I knew about John Fiocco is because I was a CA, and because my boss would occasionally point to a specific security measure and say "that's because of John Fiocco," but really, nothing much changed between his death and when I lived there. The front desk staff still only stayed til 2. They were supposed to be stricter about signing people in between 8 p-2 a, but some were more lax than others. Doors were still propped open once in a while. It's honestly like it never even happened. If it wasn't for my weird fascination with morbid things, and this weird connection I had to him (living in his old room), I wouldn't have known.<br />
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Also, a random note about the trash chute I just remembered-- there are sprinklers INSIDE the chute. It's some weird fire safety code, I believe. It's basically so that if something on fire is tossed in there, the fire won't shoot up to the other floors thru the chute. But the sprinklers can also be triggered if something too big is shoved down there. That wasn't really a problem generally, because the opening to the chuteis so small that you couldn't get much down there. If a BODY had miraculously been fitted into there, the sprinklers probably would've been triggered.<br />
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<i>My response: </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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Thanks so much for all the information. Do you think John would've gone to the basement to retrieve something from the dumpster?...<br />
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<i>Anonymous' response:</i><br />
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<i><br /></i>No, I don't think he would've gone downstairs, but of course it's a possibility...<br />
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Also, there was talk about the "hardcore drug scene" in the area. Completely ridiculous. The worst that TCNJ students get into is Molly or ecstasy at parties, which wasn't even big on the scene in 2006. Weed is common, but NOBODY goes into Trenton for it. The "dealers" are suburban white boys who get it through a friend of a friend, and who "sell" to their fraternity brothers. TCNJ is in Ewing, not Trenton. Ewing is very suburban, tons of students live off campus, and a lot of people in the community work for TCNJ is some capacity. There's no downtown- the biggest "party spot" in Ewing is Firkins, a sort of dive bar. Trenton is only a few miles away, yeah, but students don't go there. They might if they had an internship in downtown Trenton, but that's a decent area. Please believe that the huge majority of TCNJ students are sheltered white kids who would be scared shitless to go to the bad parts of Trenton.<br />
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What's interesting about TCNJ is that we saw a lot more mental health crises than you'd expect. I had multiple depressed/suicidal students, I had one who took medical leave because he had a psychotic break from recently developed bipolar. I know of two students who killed themselves during my tenure at TCNJ. Kids that go to TCNJ tend to be smart, highly motivated people, and with that comes a lot of pressure and expectations.<br />
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So the thought of a mentally ill former student getting in (he would've known the timing of student staff, known how to get in without an ID)... That's not absurd. I don't know how he would've got John into the compactor, though. Would a mentally ill person be able to come up with that plan? He'd have to be lucky that the doors were unlocked (unless, of course, they weren't as consistently locked back then as they were during my time), then hoist him in. That would be a lot of dead weight. I would think at least two people would be necessary.<br />
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Honestly, I don't know what happened. It just does not make any sense to me that he would go into that room. But I also don't see how someone could've forced him in. I've also heard the possibility there was a fight and John was accidentally killed, and one/two guys brought him downstairs already dead. But then again, I wonder how NOBODY would have noticed. These dorms are so echo-y, an altercation in the stairwells would've been very easily heard. Perhaps he voluntarily went outside (to avoid waking neighbors/CAs?) but he was accidentally killed, and the other guy(s) got lucky that the outside garage door access was open (OR it was a different setup at that time).<br />
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It's sad. By all accounts he was a decent person, but hardly anybody knows his name or even knows what happened.<br />
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I just found <a href="http://comm.rider.edu/ridernews/html/sections/2006_2007/18a_04_02_07/news/06_newsstory.html">this article</a> from Rider University [a college very close to TCNJ] which mentions that they made no policy changes as a result of John's death. The only policy that changed was 24-hour swipe card access, instead of nighttime only swipe card access (and that was a result of reporters sneaking into the dorm to interview students). All this means that I think there were no changes to the compactor room setup as I described it - it would've been the same as when John was there.<br />
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<br />
...So I just read some of the court documents, and I wish I could read the full affidavit from Michael Merkowsky. He said that the exterior door was routinely left open, which is really surprising to me because I never once saw them open. It seems very reasonable though that after an incident like this, staff for the building would've been diligent about locking up. If it is the case that the exterior doors were open, and that the door into the compactor itself was unlocked as well, then this incident makes more sense.<br />
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I really only see two possibilities, after thinking about this a lot today.<br />
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1) John accidentally threw something out, and went downstairs/outside to retrieve it from the compactor.<br />
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2) He happened to run into this intruder outside. Maybe he went outside for fresh air, or a smoke. The intruder blitzed/jumped out at him, and either knocked him unconscious or killed him. Intruder dragged him to compactor from outside. I don't think it would be feasible for someone to attack John on the 4th floor, get him through the fire doors and into the elevator, down to the lobby, around the corner and down a long flight of stairs, across another lobby and 20 feet to the trash room.<br />
<br />H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-89873156236825940742016-04-07T11:11:00.001-07:002016-04-07T11:11:29.723-07:00Julie Mott's Missing Corpse<div style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Julie Mott was a beautiful 25-year-old living in San Antonio.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Y8LGz3Z4hMyg0paPekiJpYhbKda4oQHXdZImBDeWs8k2OLSZbQW_Umd7iB_wC2PmDYoJw6QoDlf9X_MRg1pcFCe4ybvvDGZCk3HGncqZWE91LaJEWjTthrff3IfFyaO4V2_WvUCVMvBV/s1600/julie+mott.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Y8LGz3Z4hMyg0paPekiJpYhbKda4oQHXdZImBDeWs8k2OLSZbQW_Umd7iB_wC2PmDYoJw6QoDlf9X_MRg1pcFCe4ybvvDGZCk3HGncqZWE91LaJEWjTthrff3IfFyaO4V2_WvUCVMvBV/s320/julie+mott.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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She passed away on August 8, 2015 after a long battle with cystic fibrosis. Her memorial service was held on August 15, what would have been her 26th birthday. She had requested her body – embalmed, so that friends and family could say their final goodbyes - be cremated afterwards.</div>
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The next day, her body was to be transferred to an offsite crematorium. When staff went to move her, they discovered an empty casket.</div>
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Julie’s body has not been seen since.</div>
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<a href="http://www.news.com.au/world/north-america/cops-hunt-for-thief-who-stole-womans-corpse-from-casket/news-story/17f95daeaafdaa0959910641e4a581a4" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Initial Article</a></div>
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Suspicion immediately fell upon Julie’s ex-boyfriend, Bill Wilburn, who had dated her for six years, though they had broken up two years before her passing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikLx-IPmaD5hU68IBKd2QHmixTL1IthYFGo9PLfrZ09nRWXEM6wdid5QogmuwNtDqR0dyB5TXNwxY30m6ExIGeAkUW470f9V96i3TY42qmuz1gzqacCLHtjAXGobMVRhGT9QOAKfvzERSh/s1600/juliemott2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikLx-IPmaD5hU68IBKd2QHmixTL1IthYFGo9PLfrZ09nRWXEM6wdid5QogmuwNtDqR0dyB5TXNwxY30m6ExIGeAkUW470f9V96i3TY42qmuz1gzqacCLHtjAXGobMVRhGT9QOAKfvzERSh/s640/juliemott2.PNG" width="640" /></a></div>
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According to friends and family members, he had been harassing Julie with calls and text messages in the weeks leading up to her death. Bizarrely, he had also been the last person to see Julie’s body – hanging back until after even the family left.</div>
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But – here’s the best part. I’m sure at least some of you morbid freaks have heard of MyDeathSpace.com. Originally a site to view the MySpace (oh boy, I’m dating myself here!) profiles of deceased people, it’s expanded into an online forum. Julie Mott’s profile was posted to the site, and after her body was stolen, a discussion sprang up.. and who should appear but the ex-boyfriend.</div>
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Before I get into his posts, this is what is known:</div>
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<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Julie’s funeral service wrapped up at around 1pm.</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">After this, her body was wheeled into a viewing room. Friends and family left the viewing around 1:30pm.</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Bill Wilburn was the last person to see Julie’s body. He claims the doors were locked behind him by funeral home staff.</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">The funeral home closed for business on August 15th at 4:30pm.</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Police estimate that Julie’s body was stolen between the hours of 1:30pm-4:30pm. There were no signs of forced entry, so they believe that it was taken when the funeral home was open.</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Some damage was done to the coffin Julie was removed from, so it’s believed that an outsider took her who was unfamiliar with how to properly unlock the coffin.</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">The funeral home did not have security cameras. There was security camera on a nearby building, but it either was broken or didn’t record anything of interest.</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Julie’s missing body was discovered on August 17th, when staff went to transfer her to the crematorium across town.</li>
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Using the name “Heartbroken1,” Bill <a href="http://mydeathspace.com/vb/showthread.php?30936-Julie-Mott-(25" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">begins to post on the MyDeathSpace forums</a>:</div>
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It's been a breath of fresh air to read this thread...</div>
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Let me start out by saying that it's me.....I'm the "obsessed" man.</div>
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We dated for almost 6 years and met on facebook. We talked for two years before ever meeting and I instantly fell in love with her.</div>
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Through out our relationship, I was at odds with her family. I had a tough time finding steady work while trying to make it in the real estate business and we weren't getting much help from either of our families. There's a sense of bitterness from her friends since our relationship really caused them to grow apart. Most of her friends she knew from childhood and all throughout high school but I was her whole life.......and I hadn't realized it until it was too late.</div>
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I fell into a horrible depression and was starting to abuse adderall just to get out of bed in the morning. I was working from 4am to midnight at two jobs that were across town from each other and I rode the bus for 4 hours total every day just to commute. I couldn't afford getting my eyes examined to pass my driving test in order to start driving again. If you've ever lived in San Antonio, it's like living in Mexico with paved streets....once you get into a hole there it's hard to get out with no support system in place. Neither one of our families was jumping in to help and I was too stubborn to ask for it.</div>
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I really wanted to have kids and we had stopped being intimate for almost half of our relationship. She stopped taking care of herself and she was in fact extremely depressed as well.</div>
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We started to fight every time we were around each other. It finally came to a point when we had decided that it'd be best that she go back home and be with family.</div>
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Her family was living in a house that I found for them when Dick Tips fired her father from being his private pilot. Dick tips was known as Dick "head" Tips around the house.....nobody liked that fucking asshole.</div>
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Now it's fucking beyond me why they would choose to use his services but...whatever. Anyway here is what we really know..... The service started at noon on the 15th and ended a little after 1pm.</div>
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A couple things freaked me the fuck out/ bothered me during the funeral. 1 ....the Dad didn't say one word to me......not that surprising but what is surprising is that he would take a trip to Costa rica weeks after she was found passed out in her room with extremely life threateningly low blood sugar. It's amazing that she survived that episode. Why would he do something like that and think any less of me....fine.... I'm just venting a little. 2. The crying usher......I sat in the pew closed to the front right section next to her family. The usher standing to our immediate right was crying during the funeral......he was not related to the family nor did anyone know him. 3. Richard Garcia. the funeral director spoke with Julies Mother immediately after the service (before everyone left) to discuss the steps in the funeral process to follow.....odd considering that that should have been handled way ahead of time and not in front of everyone else.</div>
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I was the last person to leave and there were approximately 3 - 4 employees still there. One of whom was a female that locked the front door behind me as I left. No the crematorium is not onsite. It's at Mission park South where she was supposed to be moved on the 17th. I left around 1:30pm The crime is said to have happened between 130 and 430 pm There are no cameras on site with the exception of a industrial complex next door with one disabled camera...Dick head Tips has yet to put up cameras to this day. The coffin has been said to have been "tampered with" "opened improperly" and "broken into"....which really doesn't mean shit to me because it was a service coffin for those to be cremated.</div>
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There were fresh tire tracks in the grass and tire marks to the rear of the building on the South end opposite the side of cherry ridge but not near the back doors. The tire tracks looked as though the vehicle made a u-turn on the grassy side of the back alley. The back side of the building is pretty much all doors. According to her brother she was placed in one of three rooms and the funeral home "is not very big" according to him. When I was there having my 15 minutes with her after not seeing her for 2 years....I can easily say that it was extremely quiet in the building. I've emphasized to him that if the place is that small.....someone should have heard something or seen something. The back side is mostly garage doors.</div>
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He's adamant that the funeral didn't make a mistake and that no one that works there did this.</div>
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I don't know why he defends the funeral home to no end. I don't know why he won't tell me what evidence proves it was from the outside. I don't know why the fuck they would go to public parks or why the press would be called to his dog and pony shows but not actual HR dogs trained professionals.</div>
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I do know that Tips offered the exact same dollar amount for an award about an hour after I posted the same exact reward on my facebook page. I will be filing a complaint with the funeral homes licensing board and since I've been stirring the pot on the Mission Park Facebook page, they've deleted every single one of their post.</div>
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It's a law that the funeral home must secure the body in a location inaccessible to the public. Regardless of whether it was a mistake in transport, an outsider or an employee.....I will do what it takes to make sure they pull his license.</div>
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I loved Julie very much. She became my best friend in these last two years and I'm truly blessed to have known her. She was an absolutely pure soul. She never said anything bad about anyone. Never complained. All she had was love for this world. She loved horses and when she road it was with such dedication and passion that it was as if nothing else mattered for those brief moments. She had complete control of her horse and "Bling bling Benny" would not let anyone else touch him.</div>
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I did not take her but everyday I will take what she taught me and try to be a better man. Please keep this discussion going. The more facts that get out there and the more people know, the closer we can get to finding out what really happened.</div>
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He goes on - unprompted! - to give his account of his activities after the funeral:</div>
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After the funeral I sat in my car for a good 15 minutes balling my eyes out and contemplating my entire existence......then I bought some weed, smoked until I couldn't remember Math and went to visit my Grandparents. My grandmother just found out she had a tumor so....figured it'd be great to spend time with her while I was in town....I live in Austin.</div>
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I then went to Sam Ash to visit a friend and then went to Logans for lunch with my parents. I made the comment while we were eating that I'd leave flowers on her grave every year for her birthday. My parents looked at me strange and said.....she's gone......she's going to be cremated.</div>
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That was a moment of realization to me....she was not just gone .......but gone gone.........even typing this brings tears to my eyes.</div>
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The cops ran with my parents statement that I was beside myself when I had heard that she was going to be cremated.</div>
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They grilled me for 2 hours and walked my Grandparents property for 6 hours with hr dogs, checked my car and my house in Austin.</div>
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After we ate I drove back to Austin and sat in the parking lot of some bar calling anyone who would have a drink with me.......no one answered so I shut my phone off again and drove my self home into a pit of more self destruction.</div>
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I got a text from my Mom after I woke up on Sunday around....I don't know 2pm and it said...."▣▣▣ call me Julie is missing". I assumed it was a mistype or old text that didn't come through....I just didn't know what to think of it so I went back to bed... I woke up again around 6 and checked my voicemail......18 missed calls......"▣▣▣▣ this is Detective ▣▣▣▣ please call me as soon as possible" I then called my Mom and I could barely understand her.....I've never heard my Mom ever sound so distraught. "▣▣▣▣ someone broke into the funeral home and took Julie........" Me: Oh my god my....this can't be real Mom: "▣▣▣▣▣ ....listen to me.....they think it's you"</div>
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I then called the detective and Austin pd were at my house within minutes after I had given them my address.</div>
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Anyway, since the start of this I've lost my job, my phone, wrecked my car and I've probably pissed off everyone of Julies friends and family members by stirring the pot.</div>
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I couldn't give less of a shit about any of that.......number one priority is finding out what happened.</div>
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I'd love for someone that works there to actually speak out about how things went down. Someone must fucking know something.</div>
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[he then posts again]</div>
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Just realized that sounded all out of order...</div>
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funeral Sat in my car... Bought weed.. Grandparents Logans drove to Austin...sat in some bar parking lot went to sleep... Woke up and heard the news....called parents...called detectives. Travis county showed up and ran search ....Monday was when I drove down to work with detectives and walk my grandparents property....</div>
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I know it doesn't really matter because I didn't fucking take her but.....just clarifying things.</div>
</blockquote>
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Some points forum members made about this:</div>
<ul style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.357143em 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 40px;">
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Bill reveals a lot more details about the crime than were released in any newspaper article. As we'll see later, these seem to be acknowledged as true, but one wonders where he gets the information from.</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">He's careful to allot 15 extra minutes of his caring being in the funeral home parking lot.</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">He claims both his phone and his car were destroyed shortly after the body was stolen.</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">He also notes that his phone was shut off for a period of time - meaning, as I'm sure you know, it can't ping any nearby cell towers.</li>
<li style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Bill blames the funeral home for losing the body. At this point, some people still agree with him. Surely the funeral home is ultimately liable. It's posited that the body was lost (it does happen) or cremated incorrectly or early, and the ashes mislabeled. However, when this happens, the body/cremains are usually found.</li>
</ul>
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Bill then goes on to post a conversation on Facebook between himself and Julie’s brother:</div>
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Facebook conversation between Julie's Brother and I Jon Mott For the record, regardless of what you may read on Facebook or anywhere else, my baby sister Julie was stolen from the funeral home. She wasn't moved or misplaced by the funeral home. She was stolen by a very selfish person or persons. We don't know who did it but we will find out. We will get her back. And the person or persons will be dealt with accordingly.</div>
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ME: How do you know for sure that the funeral home didn't fuck up? Don't you think that all avenues should be explored?</div>
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Jon Mott It's been almost two months, all avenues have been explored.</div>
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ME: What about the former police officer Jim Wilbourn? he was moved the same day Julie was.</div>
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Jon Mott Are you referring to Jimmy Willborn who's funeral was on the 14th and was buried on the 14th?</div>
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ME: I read different</div>
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Jon Mott Where? It's in his obit</div>
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ME: Regardless, I've filed a complaint with the licensing board. They will run an internal investigation.</div>
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Jon Mott Maybe the funeral home wasn't as secure as it should have been but they didn't lose her. All evidence points to her being stolen. Did you receive a complaint number from the TFSC?</div>
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ME: Sure.....? I'll get it too you asap.</div>
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ME: On the road right now.</div>
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Jon Mott I just had a conversation with the owner of Mission Park, they would have been notified of a complaint within 24 to 48 hours. Yet they haven't heard anything. When did you file this complaint?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
..............Sub Comment ME: I wonder why Dick Tips is being called a "friend of the family". You guys have never said one good thing about him in the entire time I've known you.</div>
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Jon Mott You're right. For a time that's the way it was. But people change. Situations change. People learn to put differences aside. I'm wondering why that has anything to do with finding Julie?</div>
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ME: It couldn't have been long before the funeral that there were "differences" and I'm wondering why you would choose to have the funeral there in the first place....and I'm saying this with the utmost respect for you and your family. Also, why hell was the press at his "dog and pony"shows he calls searches and not actual HR dogs and trained professionals?</div>
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Jon Mott When you walk into your daughter's room to find her dead and you know someone in the funeral business, wouldn't you call him? It's not a good time to dwell on the past. As for the searches, the reason the press was there the first time was due to us finding a body. The second was to raise awareness that we haven't given up. But there have been many others that the press wasn't there for.</div>
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ME: Dick head Tips would have been the last person I would have called. He's already shown how little he cares about the welfare of your family. Not to mention that funeral home has half a dozen suites for damages within the last 10 years. Jon I love you like a brother and we're going to get through this.</div>
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Jon Mott You're right ▓▓▓▓▓, we are going to get through this. And when we find out who did this, he's going to jail. And I hope he gets ass raped.</div>
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ME: It was a few days ago. Please message me the details of the evidence you mentioned earlier in the other post.I'd love for you to work with my PI's on this.</div>
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Jon Mott I didn't realize you hired private investigators. Thanks for that Bill. Can you send me the their contact info? I'd also love to work with them.</div>
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ME: Absolutely. Give me few. Still on the road.</div>
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ME: They think I was "obsessed" with her...wait until I find the person who did this.</div>
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Jon Mott I thought you said the funeral home is responsible? You've seemed so sure of it. Are you beginning to think that someone stole her?</div>
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ME: I do think it was someone from the funeral home.</div>
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Jon Mott So are saying that an employee stole her or that Mission Park misplaced her? I'm getting confused</div>
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ME: I think it could have been either. I don't differentiate between the two. If you want to get technical, the funeral home is a building.</div>
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Jon Mott I've had many conversations with Detective Ortiz. Can you give me the contact info for your PIs? I'd like to speak to them about what they have uncovered.</div>
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I left them a voicemail. They've been very systematic about this whole thing, so I'd like to speak to them first.</div>
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Jon Mott That's understandable but I'll be honest, I think it's weird that they haven't reach out to a member of Julie's family. Seems that if they were doing their jobs properly, that would have been one of the first things to do. I hope you're not paying them too much.</div>
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ME: ......whatever it takes.</div>
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Jon Mott Have you heard back from them?</div>
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ME: No. Several missed calls though. Handling some other issues in San Antonio. May have to wait until Monday.</div>
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Jon Mott Man I'd be pissed if the people I'm paying weren't returning my calls.</div>
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ME: They told me in the beginning to not reach out to them during their investigation. I promise they are good at what they do. I'll let you know once we stop playing phone tag.</div>
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Jon Mott So they took your money and said don't call us? Where did you find these guys?</div>
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ME: haha...I'm sure we'll get an update Monday.</div>
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Jon Mott I look forward to talking with them</div>
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ME: Well I don't. This is fucking awful. Awful but obvious that not all avenues have been explored. Keep in mind that every effort in my search is not for you, your family, my family or even me. It's for Julie and I promise I will find out what happened to her.</div>
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Jon Mott I know it's for Julie. I'm sure you, just like us, want her returned so she can be cremated as she wanted. Do you feel that your PIs haven't explored all avenues?</div>
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ME: I don't want to speculate. They update me every Monday though.</div>
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Jon Mott What did they say last Monday?</div>
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ME: I can't disclose anything more than I already have until the final report but I'll definitely let them know that you'd like to speak to them.</div>
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Jon Mott If they have leads or new information, don't you think a member of Julie's family should know? Have they talked to Detective Ortiz?</div>
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ME: We're luck to have Ortiz on this but none of my questions were being answered. Number 1 priority though is finding out what happened. Nothing else matters.</div>
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Jon Mott I think they have a pretty good idea of what happened... someone stole her body.</div>
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ME: A pretty good idea?</div>
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Jon Mott Yup</div>
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ME: Pretty good is not definitive.</div>
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Jon Mott Well if it was definitive, we'd have Julie back and that piece of shit would be behind bars.</div>
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ME: If it's not definitive, we don't know that someone from the outside did it.</div>
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Jon Mott Very true but we don't know that it was someone on the inside.</div>
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ME: What we do know is that the only people who knew where she was moved were the people that worked there and your family.</div>
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Jon Mott She was in one of only three rooms. Not a big place. Plus there is some information that I don't want to disclose that points to it being someone from the outside.</div>
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ME: Please message me!!!</div>
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Jon Mott Why?</div>
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ME: When I left there were approx 3- 4 staff members there and it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. A female locked the front door behind me as I was leaving and if you're telling me someone went in there and took her without anyone seeing or hearing anything....in such a small place...someone is lying. Garage doors make a ton of noise....not sure if she was in one of those rooms or not but....just saying.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott Again there are details that I know that says a person stole her from the casket and that person didn't work there.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
ME: I've heard "tampered", "may have been broken into..." and "someone opened the coffin that didn't know what they were doing". That's all circumstantial. What we do know is that that coffin has been used numerous times. What else do we know?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott I've been asked not to disclose the information I have to anyone.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
ME: ....interesting.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott If you're interested in it, you should call Ortiz</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
ME: Next time you talk to him, tell him to answer his God damn phone when I call....I know intonation is lost in text so please use those exact words.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott I'll be sure to do that. In fact, would you prefer if I had him call you?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
ME: Absolutely! While you're at it, please have Mr. Tips call me....so many questions for him. ME: I'm sorry....not trying to direct any anger toward you. Please excuse my sarcasm.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott It's fine. Jon Mott Don't you think it would be better for your PIs to talk to Dick? He may be more willing to call them.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
ME: How those guys do things is really out of my hands but the more facts, the better. ME: Imagine what someone there might have to do to make it look like an outsider. Is't that possible? I find it odd that it only takes them seconds to come outside and harass me when I've been there but they didn't hear an intruder while they were there.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott I don't get you ▓▓▓▓▓. When all evidence points to a sloppy individual with no knowledge of what they were doing, you remain hell bent on proving Mission Park misplaced her or an employee of Mission Park stole her. Don't you have some doubt that it was an inside job?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
ME: I've yet to see any evidence. All I know is they were responsible for her and until I know what happened, I can't find her but I'l find out whatever you're not telling me son enough. ME: If they were on-site they would have heard an intruder. Either way, I'm absolutely horrified that you'd defend the people responsible. Ask Tips why he hasn't put up camerasyet. Ask him why he hasn't called me to apologize. Has he apologized to Julie's Mom? ME: I was I was there when ▓▓▓▓ called him out when they were at the park. He just walked away....another great opportunity apologize. What a fucking coward.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott Yes he has apologized to my parents and to me. I'm defending him because he didn't steal her. And he's helping with getting her back.</div>
</blockquote>
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And more:</div>
<blockquote style="border-left-color: rgb(197, 193, 173); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 2px; color: #4f4f4f; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.357143em 0px 0.357143em 5px; padding: 0px 8px;">
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
.............Sub Comment</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Molly Cuny ▓▓▓▓, regardless of what our theories our we have to show the Mott family the respect and privacy they deserve. As hard as this is for us we must practice more self control.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Me: Thank you Molly, Although I have gotten alot out of this conversation. Sometimes you have to stir the pot. 562 people have seen this conversation....that's 562 ip addresses.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott So are you threatening to hack the people who have read our conversation?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Me: No</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott Kinda seems like you are</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Me: Lets not speculate :)</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott Yet you've been speculating that Mission Park misplaced Julie. Then you speculated that an employee of Mission Park stole her. Neither of which has a shred of evidence.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott Also, is this just stirring the pot with you? Here I am thinking that we were having a real conversation about what happened to Julie, and this is fun and games for you?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Me: I thought we were having a real conversation. This isn't fun for me and I don't play games....If no one else finds out what happened, I will.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott I guess ▓▓▓▓ decided to end our conversation and take himself off Facebook...</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Jon Mott What happened ▓▓▓▓?</div>
</blockquote>
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Not to inject personal opinion, but from those conversations alone (which Bill himself posted!) I think he's guilty as hell.</div>
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It becomes clear as the discussion progresses that Bill never hired PIs or filed a complaint against the funeral home.</div>
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Bill goes over his breakup with Julie, followed up his relationship with a stripper with kids. He then posts Soundcloud links to a recorded phone call of himself and Julie. He claims Julie knew he was recording this phone call to play to his stripper girlfriend, to convince her that nothing was going on between him and Julie. Yes. Really.</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Here is a forum member’s transcript of the now-removed Soundcloud file (not all of the call is transcribed, but "the most important bits" are):</div>
<blockquote style="border-left-color: rgb(197, 193, 173); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 2px; color: #4f4f4f; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.357143em 0px 0.357143em 5px; padding: 0px 8px;">
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: And, um, when she met me she said, she just recently admitted that, um, she broke up with him to be with me or whatever. I don't know if there's, like, a hundred percent truth to that or whatever.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: That she broke up with him [inaudible]?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: She said that she left him partly because of me.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: Hmm.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
[SILENCE]</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Go back to what you were saying. You said that I only want to be with her because I don't want to be alone and she only wants to be with me for sexual reasons.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
x x x</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: So...how does it end? I just call it, that's how it ends? [silence]</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: Uh. You...just suck it up and be strong, or you get somebody else.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: ...her, and [inaudible] don't wanna be alone.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Yeah. Don't you think there's other things I could do to not feel so lonely?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
x x x</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: I get it. Well, what do you think will happen to Jeannine (sp)? [silence]</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: Uh. [long pause] I guess she would be fine if she just stops talking to you.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: If she stops talking to me, she'll be fine?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: Mm-hmm.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: I agree.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: [inaudible] I feel like both of y'all have kind of the same problem, where you're in the relationship more than she is.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Yeah. [silence] Well, what advice would you give her to just, to, like, well let's say that she looks at me as if I'm like a drug for her, you know. And it's something she just needs to quit. What, what advice would you have given her?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: I don't know. She said that she's wanting me to die, so I don't have any really good advice for her.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: [laughs; silence] She said that she wanted you to die. That you couldn't die soon enough. You couldn't, you couldn't die soon enough. I don't know anybody who would ever say some shit like that. [laughs] That's fucked up. [silence] Anyway, what are you doing? Are you eating?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: I'm eating ice.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Yeah. Your favorite.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: Hmm?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: I said, yeah, your favorite. [pause] She's jealous of you and I, you know.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: I don't know why.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Because we get along, and she knows that. Even though you and I broke up, she, she says things like, she's like, 'Because you used to stick your penis inside her.'</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: [crunching ice]</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: [laughs] That doesn't gross you out a little bit?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: It does, I guess. It's just weird.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: [laughs hysterically] It's gross? When she's like, 'Because you used to stick your penis inside her,' I'm like, ew, ew, Julie penis. I don't, I don't think--</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: Whatever.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: I don't think if you're--</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: You're the one who had sex with her.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: What?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: I said, you're the one who had sex with her.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: I don't, well, the point is that I don't...There was a time, Julie, that I had a hard time getting over you, and now? [laughs] You're, uh, I can't, I can't think of you like that.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
[No response]</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Does that make sense?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: What? [crunching ice]</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Will you stop eating ice for, like, a second?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
[silence]</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: [laughs hysterically] Like, doesn't the thought of sex with me kinda gross you out a little bit?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: [long pause] Yeah.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: [laughs hysterically] That's funny.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: [crunching ice, louder]</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Seriously?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: Huh?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Are you, are you almost done chewing ice?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: [pause] The thought of sex with me grosses you out?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: No, it doesn't gross me out. It's just that I don't think of you like that...any more. I love you, Julie, and I love you in a very different level of that.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
x x x</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: It grosses me out because I really do love you, but we're a little bit past the point of the fucking earth in what we are.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
x x x</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: No, it's not about me being stupid. I'm actually pretty smart. It's about, you get one chance on this planet. You get one opportunity, you know, and regardless of what you think, um. I think the way that I do, and you think the way that you do. And, um, there's no difference really, between right and wrong.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: Whoa.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Don't you think that? Like--</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: No, I don't.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: You being you, don't you think that, like, at the end of the day...there's a little bit of a gray area between the right and the wrong?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: [long pause] No.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Really. [silence] Interesting.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
x x x</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Yeah. [silence] You gonna call me if you can't sleep?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: No.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: Will you lie to me and say that you will?</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
J: Yes. Sure. I will call you if I can't sleep.</div>
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
B: I appreciate that. Good night, Julie.</div>
</blockquote>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
So then – who shows up on the discussion thread but Julie’s brother, using the handle Heartbroken.my.ass. Turns out Bill had sent him the link to the forum:</div>
<blockquote style="border-left-color: rgb(197, 193, 173); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 2px; color: #4f4f4f; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.357143em 0px 0.357143em 5px; padding: 0px 8px;">
<div style="font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Greetings all. I'm Julie's brother. My family and I have been monitoring this site for a little while now. I just wanted to come on here because I know this is one of Bill's outlets and no doubt will be reading this.</div>
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Bill, Stop being such a chicken shit and take the polygraph that you originally agreed to take on 8/16. It's been 3 months. Your constant flip flopping of "I'll take the polygraph" to "No, my mom doesn't want me to take it" is getting on everyone's last nerves. And now you want us to believe that you'll take it but have a local news station do it opposed to SAPD? Enough of your bullshit lies. Everyone knows you didn't hire private investigators. I mean, come on. Why would you hire private detectives in Austin when the crime occurred in San Antonio? Doesn't make sense. Just take the polygraph with SAPD. If you pass, they can move on from you as the suspect. Hell, you said yourself, it's inadmissible in court. What do you have to lose?</div>
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Bill responds:</div>
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Jon, I can only imagine what this is like for you but I'm horrified that you would continue to disrespect Julie like this...... and what you said while we were looking over her casket is the creepiest fucking thing I've ever heard anyone say.</div>
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I can't even being myself to type it and honestly she deserves better than that.</div>
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Your mom has been facing a nightmare every day and you're perpetuating it.</div>
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Ask Dick head Tipps why they waited until after your Mom had picked up the flowers to report her missing.</div>
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I'm done with this. I'm doing the best to take everything Julie has given me and trying to live my life the best way I can.</div>
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I didn't take her and if you want to know why I didn't take the polygraph..... fuck you. That's why.</div>
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I've poured my heart out to you people but now I have to move on with my life.</div>
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Jon responds:</div>
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Remind me what I said. I can remember saying she looked beautiful and I remember pointing out to you that the crease in her elbow was still soft. And that was what my mom called "still Julie". I remember you hugging me and telling me that you loved me like a brother. I remember thinking "man, I'm glad I'll never have to see this guy again". I remember thinking it was weird that you stayed back to be the last person to say goodbye to Julie. I thought that was disrespectful to the family. I thought it was extremely disrespectful that when I got up to speak, you left your seat in the back of the chapel, walked up the center isle, and sat where I was seated. Next to my wife and my parents. Like you were a part of the family. I've got big news for you, bud, you're not a part of our family. I remember as we were walking out, my dad telling the funeral director to watch you because you might steal something. Oh the fucking irony on that one! So remind me what did I say that was so creepy?</div>
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Let's talk about flowers. The reason why I'm not going to ask Dick why they didn't discover Julie's body missing until after we picked flowers up on Sunday, is because I fucking know why. I just not going to help you develop your timeline.</div>
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Disrespecting my sister? How? By trying to find out who stole her?</div>
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The reason you won't take the polygraph is because you know you're going to fail it. And be exposed as the sick fucker you are. The sick fucker who drives by the house asking for Julie to peek out the window just so you can see her, which she never did. The sick fucker who comes over in the middle of the night and finds Julie truck unlocked. How long did you sit in the truck, Bill? I believe Julie said 2 hours. Why don't you tell the nice people what you took as a keepsake? Was it a brush? Or was it a headband? I honestly can't remember.</div>
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Now to your "after the funeral" story. I'm not going to give you the details, but I know at least one stop you made that you've never brought up. Was it good seeing her? ~~~</div>
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And so on…</div>
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It’s just a complete trip.<br />
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Bill Wilburn's Soundcloud no longer contains the calls with Julie, but does have a call of him speaking to an investigator with the case, who tells him the case is being referred to the DA's office: <a href="https://soundcloud.com/bill-wilburn" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Soundcloud</a></div>
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In January 2016, Julie's family filed suit against the funeral home: <a href="http://foxsanantonio.com/news/local/family-of-woman-whose-body-was-stolen-sues-local-funeral-home-01-20-2016" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">article here</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/real-life/true-stories/did-julie-motts-obsessive-exboyfriend-steal-her-corpse/news-story/8bfa18d80735a3b17ba50ab284832c21" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Another news article, including the MyDeathSpace discussion</a></div>
H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-76307586528248916272016-04-05T08:42:00.000-07:002016-04-05T08:42:53.109-07:00Published: 10 Works of Art the Nazis Deemed 'Degenerate'<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Entarte kunst </i>is here!<br />
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<span style="color: #0000ee; text-decoration: underline;">Read my work on Listverse.com! </span></div>
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<img src="http://polpix.sueddeutsche.com/bild/1.1166547.1361985300/860x860/eroeffnung.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></div>
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H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-48890645532363991442016-04-04T10:41:00.001-07:002016-04-05T08:38:14.394-07:00The New Mentor: Short Story<a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/4dcecs/the_new_mentor/">View a modified version of this story on /r/nosleep</a><br />
<br />
Generally, Melanie required 24 hours notice. 48-36 hours for trips out-of-state. One week for overseas. 4-6 months advance notice for high-profile celebrities. <br />
<br />
This one was a simple, a 24-hour gig. Melanie was a bit old-school: she preferred receiving information on her prospects in writing. She maintained a drop box at the local post office. For some, this might be seen as risky, but Melanie maintained cordial relations with the local police chief -- he had enlisted her services earlier to take care of a particularly greedy ex-wife. She suspected that he knew he sometimes investigated her hits, but it was never a problem – “a professional never leaves evidence,” that was one of the mantras of her mentor. Melanie was well-versed in digital encryption techniques, but felt that maintaining a paper trail was easier: papers could be burned. Digital files couldn't.<br />
<br />
She had walked through the doors at promptly 4pm to check her mail. She had been expecting this hit -- she had received a call on her sat phone last night from the capo of the local mob. A city councilman had been causing trouble regarding a profitable business investment. He needed to be taken out before the council vote on Friday, and the capo’s persuasion techniques had proven unfruitful.<br />
<br />
Melanie smiled, replaced the papers in the envelope, and tucked it carefully into her glove compartment. The councilman had reservations tomorrow night at a restaurant downtown. She tapped her manicured nails on the steering wheel as she drove home, considering the possibilities. The councilman made it a point to be involved in the local community; she favored quick, clean, execution-style hits, but she wouldn't be able to get him alone to get a clean shot without being seen. <br />
<br />
Melanie turned into her development and pressed her garage-door opener with a slender finger, thoughtfully. It'd been a while since she'd done a poisoning, and she wanted to stay on top of her game. Murders are linked together based on the killer’s style, her mentor had said. If you have no style, you can’t be tracked.<br />
<br />
Melanie's home was clean, modern, and bare. Everything was immaculate and neat. It was more room than she needed, truly, but she knew that a display of her wealth would serve to deter her enemies. Money was power, after all. Melanie would work for anyone with the cash.<br />
<br />
Her "lab" was the second guest bedroom. Melanie had never finished school, but her lethal knowledge base was vast and expansive. She had access to drugs both exotic and common. She ordered from online laboratories and drug dealers; personal contacts and anonymous industries. <br />
<br />
She pondered her options: an overdose always made an excellent hit that was rarely questioned by the authorities. Unfortunately, this councilman was one of the few who truly was drug-free. Something more subtle was needed.<br />
<br />
Melanie thoughtfully walked over to a plain metal cabinet and found it, in alphabetical order, on the second shelf from the top. Barium sulfide: stored in a tightly closed container in a dry space; water soluble; poisonous and nearly undetectable. It would look like a heart attack.<br />
<br />
~<br />
<br />
At 5pm the following day, Melanie showered. She slicked her wet jet-black hair back with maximum hold styling gel, catching the rest in a hairnet. The lump of extra hair would be hidden beneath the trendy waves of a mousy brown wig. Brown hair makes up the majority of the population, her mentor had explained: if you want to be inconspicuous, go brunette. <br />
<br />
Usually Melanie had more refined tastes, but she knew that to blend in completely you had to succumb to the part. The dress code was a button-down white top with black bottoms. She made a face at the feel of the polyester against her thighs, but quickly smiled brightly into the mirror. Cheap eyeliner and clumping mascara obscured her eyes; she made her foundation a few shades darker than usual, blended down her neck. <br />
<br />
She arrived at the restaurant at 6:00. The councilman's reservations were for 7. Busy kitchens always have employees coming and going; this was not the first time she had done a hit from this location, anyway. <br />
<br />
Bussing tables is an easy way to blend. You don't have much interaction with the customers, and it's easy to dash about undetected. The councilman and his wife meandered in at a respectable 7:10; Melanie could tell as the waitstaff's backs straightened. Fighting against a rising tide of handshakes, the councilman made his way to his table at the rear of the dining room, secluded from the plebians' hustle and bustle. <br />
<br />
The wine order was the recommended pairing with the main course. Typical - the councilman didn't have the sense to make the choice for himself. <br />
<br />
Melanie's face never twitched a muscle as she judged the beverage with the taste of a sommelier. "Will that be all?"<br />
<br />
They needed more time to review the menus, so Melanie excused herself and left to go supply their wine. <br />
<br />
Barium was best dispensed in a powdered form; back in her lab, Melanie had carefully spooned a fatal dose into a capsule she had tucked into the pocket of her button-down shirt. She slipped it out of her pocket and into her palm before she picked up the tray and made her way back to the table.<br />
<br />
Her mentor had drilled her regularly in sleight-of-hand, essential for any assassin; she remembered long evenings, one motel room blending into another, when he made her perform 100 tricks before bed. “Again,” he would command, his face impassive and eyes blank. “I saw that one. Too obvious. Again.”<br />
<br />
How grateful she was for that effortless muscle memory now, as she snapped the capsule open and poured the powder into the councilman’s glass, lost among the deep burgundy swirl of his wine. <br />
<br />
She was out of the building long before his heart stopped.<br />
<br />
~<br />
<br />
Melanie hummed quietly to herself as she walked up to check her P.O. box. Some song she had heard on the radio; she generally wasn’t a fan of modern music, but this one was particularly catchy. Her key caught the lock with a faint metallic clink in time with an upbeat. <br />
<br />
Just one envelope today – she stopped as she turned it over. <br />
<br />
Most of her clients had the sense to handwrite their letters, since typing a document on a computer would only leave more digital evidence, but this was the first time someone had made a <i>child</i> write the letter for them. This was an all new low!<br />
<br />
Melanie chuckled to herself and slipped the letter in her purse to read at home. She smiled all the way to her car.<br />
<br />
She opened the letter at home, away from curious eyes and CCTV cameras. She set her purse on her ultramodern table in her dine-in kitchen and slit the envelope with a blood-red fingernail.
Out spilled a handful of coins. With a clatter, dimes, nickels, and even pennies rained down on her table and onto the floor. “Shit!” Melanie cried, stepping back as if to pick them up, but then turned her attention back to the envelope. She pulled out a ten, a five, eight ones, and a letter.<br />
<br />
The letter was written in crayon, in the heavy-handed, awkward scrawl of a primary-school-aged child. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Dear Lady, </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I’ve watched you and I know what you do and I would like to hire you. I do not have much money so I hope this is enough.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The person is:</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Harold Thompson</i><br />
<i>23 Round Hollow Road</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>Thank you,</i><br />
<i>Stacy
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Melanie understood immediately. The address was on her street – the opposite side, two houses down, to the right. But how…?<br />
<br />
She was so careful. How could anyone have figured it out – let alone a child? “Harold Thompson” wasn’t in the business. She wasn’t familiar with the lower-level mafiosos, but they would have no idea where she was -- the kid couldn’t have picked it up that way. Still, though, she should check for leaks. She pulled out her phone, intending to call the local boss, but tapped it against her cheek as she thought instead. <br />
<br />
<i>Could</i> a child have figured it out? Her hours were varied and often late at night. She parked her car in her garage to make it difficult for others to tell when she was home. Obviously, if what the child said was true, and she did figure out Melanie’s profession from watching her, she would have had to watch Melanie leaving and match the times up with missing persons cases. She hid the disappearances well, and it often took weeks, if not months, for some targets to even be reported as missing… most of them never even made the news. How would the child learn of them? Was Harold Thompson a cop?<br />
<br />
Almost on autopilot as her mind spun wildly, Melanie fetched her laptop from her study and booted it up at the kitchen table, to check the local police’s personnel files. To catch her leaving for work… how much time did this kid spend at home, looking out the window? Did she ever sleep? Did she go to school? Did she leave the house?<br />
<br />
Melanie tapped her finger against the paper as her computer churned out its results, studying the letter. She wasn’t an expert, but from what she could tell, the letter was genuinely written by a child. She had a handwriting guy she could consult, but she wouldn’t dare let anyone else know about this. She must not have any weaknesses. <br />
<br />
Harold Thompson was not a cop. There were no cops with the last name of Thompson in her city. No lawyers. She texted a mob connection from a burner phone – Howard was not a made man. He was, however, definitely her neighbor. Divorced. Ex-wife was in prison. Drugs. He worked as a foreman at a steel mill in a town about a half-hour away. She ran his record. It wasn’t pretty. Similar to his ex-wife’s. Ran with a rough crowd.<br />
<br />
One daughter. Stacy. 9 years old.<br />
<br />
Melanie drummed a pen she had been using to take notes on the table. What if it was a child, alone all day, watching her home? Even if a case had no media attention, all missing persons reports were readily available online. Melanie could easily have worked it out when she was nine, but most children were not like Melanie. <br />
<br />
The assassin shook her head, as if that would shake these troubling thoughts free from her skull. Mere speculation would get her nowhere. It was time to surveil her neighbor. <br />
<br />
At least that would be easy.<br />
<br />
~<br />
<br />
Melanie yawned widely and stretched, cracking her back. She’d been reviewing the surveillance footage of her neighbor’s house from the past week. The results were modest, yet troubling.<br />
<br />
Harold was a simple man. He left for work early in the morning and returned home around 6pm, unless he went out to the local dive bar. He didn’t stay out too late, and there didn’t seem to be any current drug use or gangland connections.<br />
<br />
His daughter was what troubled the assassin.<br />
<br />
She could see Stacy’s face in the windows often, but Stacy never left the house. She never went to school, never had friends over to play, never so much as set foot in her father’s backyard.<br />
<br />
Melanie set her jaw as she zoomed in on the footage of the pale little face in the window. <br />
<br />
She had made up her mind.<br />
<br />
~<br />
<br />
Friday night. Melanie tucked her black turtleneck into her black chinos, smoothing the fabric mindlessly as she completed the ritual. She slipped her holster over her black leather belt, pinned up her curls, and jammed a knit cap onto her head. Time to party. <br />
<br />
At 5:40pm she crossed the street and slipped into her neighbor’s backyard. She easily picked the lock to the back door and waited quietly in the kitchen, listening. The house was quiet. Melanie suspected that Stacy was hiding – she certainly remembering doing the same when she was a young girl.<br />
<br />
Harold’s aged Ford pickup grumbled into the driveway at precisely 5:59pm. <br />
<br />
The front door opened. Melanie held her breath, feeling her pulse rise even after all these years. She heard Harold pulling off his work boots with heavy grunts, the thud of each boot carelessly thrown to the floor. A thick cough rattled through the foreman’s struggling lungs. Finally, she heard the front door close. <br />
<br />
She crossed the room with three quick steps, and stepped into the hallway, facing a surprised Harold on his way to the living room. She fired two shots from her silenced Glock into his chest, stepped forward and placed a foot on his sternum, where the two bright cherries of bulletholes had barely begun to bloom, and fired a final third shot into his head.<br />
<br />
When she looked up, the little girl was standing at the foot of the stairs. Her tiny, pale limbs were a map of bruises, and her eyes were huge as she took in Melanie standing over the corpse of her father. <br />
<br />
Melanie smiled, remembering the day she met her mentor. <br />
<br />
He had stepped over the bodies of her parents with disdain, the way a celebrity disembarking a limo steps over the sewers of New York. He was silhouetted in a sliver of light that had found its way through the ragged curtains of the crackhouse. She recalled his next words clearly, as she repeated them now:<br />
<br />
“What do you feel?” she asked the girl.<br />
<br />
“Nothing,” she replied, barely more than a whisper.<br />
<br />
Melanie smiled and held out her hand. <br />
<br />
Together, they walked away into the night.<br />
<br />H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-57775975675558623932016-04-03T09:32:00.003-07:002016-04-03T09:32:55.749-07:00The Fence: flash fictionI've been encouraged to expand into different writing styles. I do write poetry and fiction as well, though I enjoy nonfiction more these days. However, with my schedule the way it is, doing research (especially at the level I feel is appropriate, which is a bit overkill) can be super time-consuming. So here's a little flash fiction I dashed off yesterday. Hope you enjoy!<br />
<a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/4d2ds4/the_fence/"><br /></a>
<a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/4d2ds4/the_fence/">View this post on reddit.com/r/nosleep</a><br />
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~~</div>
<br />
The fence had been there for 50 years. It was made of wood, but wood will last for ages if you build it right. Sturdy oak logs had been felled by a farmer, the sort of man who makes more with his hands than you can with a bulldozer these days; the sort of man we don’t have around anymore. It stretched around the pasture for his beef cattle, big brown steers who moved languid and slow, lowing at the moon.<br />
<br />
The fence watched with knotted eyes when the first girl came. She was sweet and sallow, with the seams of her stockings running up the backs of her thighs. The man had watched with eyes of stone, and pounced when the light was dim over the oak grove. The girl lay at the west end of the fell, the fading light red over her blank eyes, for seven days; and on the seventh day, the farmer found her.<br />
<br />
The fence watched with knotted eyes when the second girl came. The man had to be more clever now; he was careful to catch her when she was pedaling home, rubber bands collecting her dark wash denim around her ankles, brunette curls tousling down her back. He turned the smooth stone over and over in his hands, waiting, and at just the right second threw it at her tire and caused her to crash. He cradled her lovingly in her arms, left hand over her mouth before she could make a sound; and in just a minute they were back in the fell near the fence.<br />
<br />
He had chosen the rope carefully, a silk blend so the ties wouldn’t hurt so much, and he carried out his duties as he had to. But of course, all things must come to an end, and this was the way it had to be. And when the light faded from her eyes, he packed up his things and left; and the fence watched with its knotted eyes, and the cows blinked their lashes slowly, and the light crept over the oak leaves, ashamed.<br />
<br />
The farmer was concerned when the third girl came. It had been so long, they thought this might be over with. He didn’t want the bloody stains on his name; to this the cattle would’ve said that he dealt in plenty of blood, could they do anything but blink their long lashes and sigh. He consulted with police, who recommended setting up surveillance, but of course to set up a camera he would need a light, and to set up a light he’d need to run electricity out to the fence, and the farmer was a simple man who didn’t have the money for such extravagances. The police drove by more frequently, their headlights like question marks piercing the thick night, but the man was waiting for them.<br />
<br />
The third girl worked in the city and cut her hair in a bob, bleached blonde and processed just like the rest of her. Her mother said she should find a man, but she thought she knew better; she fancied herself a strong modern woman, but a man found her instead. She fought and screamed and scared the cattle and the birds in the oak trees ruffled their feathers, wondering what the humans were up to now and couldn’t they just quiet down so a robin could get a moment’s rest. She clawed and tore up the ruby red manicure she’d so carefully painted on last week, clawed up skin and dirty and musty earth. But soon she was gone like the rest, and the fence watched with knotted eyes as the man hitched up his pants and strolled off into the night.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Surely it had been too long, thought the policeman, hand in hand as he scratched his forehead. The farmer was an old man now, housed in a nursing home; his son owned the field now and never came by. The last herd of cattle had gone to slaughter a decade ago. But here she was, the fourth girl in the fell at the west end of the field, her blue eyes staring blankly at the sky, lips slightly parted, as if she had been saying something just a moment ago.<br />
<br />
It didn’t make any sense. How could there be another?<br />
<br />
The birds eyed each other awkwardly, wondering if any of them should say something to the policeman. A whippoorwill cooed the answer helpfully, but the policeman paid no mind to the sound.<br />
<br />
The fence creaked slightly in irritation as the techs came, with their plastic bags and their tweezers and their grid-line box-by-box search. The M.E. bent over the girl, a disinterested frown on his face as he noted the temperature of her touch. One slender white hand gripped the post of the fence, smooth milky white skin clenching tightly around the dark wooden bark. Try as though he might, the M.E. couldn’t move it, and finally had to break a finger just to move the girl on.<br />
<br />
The fence groaned, as though it had lost a friend. It was lonely in its old age.<br />
<br />
The man arrived at one past midnight, pacing up and down the west side of the field. Insomnia had seized him; he could not sleep, not by day and not by night. He did not miss it; he would never rest. His shimmering legs cast long shadows among the wild grasses. He would find another.<br />
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The fence watched with knotted eyes as the spirit flowed into the night, searching.H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-759995065673673802016-03-28T11:51:00.001-07:002016-03-28T11:51:27.952-07:00Setagaya update!I've finally updated information relating to the Setagaya mass murder case. You can view this on Reddit and join in our discussion <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/4bu9b1/setagaya_mass_murder_of_the_miyazawa_family/">here</a>. I will be rewriting my original post with these new details; perhaps I'll be able to get that up later today.<br />
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<br />H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-2239233764108816312016-03-24T07:41:00.000-07:002016-03-24T07:41:32.109-07:00Entartete Kunst: Struck from the list<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaoqHL7alaFQh4DtT3Uoe4kx_HaoW5GVJhLgVjBeggHfoyiVsmg1F_SrWizHfdgff9D9fklPKiEwKx4oURovuDWcYGOicTQODBej0nGbW8Jz2Obj-xPcwe80maHJ_-g2FTNoNGgQRYG99G/s1600/struck+from+the+list.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaoqHL7alaFQh4DtT3Uoe4kx_HaoW5GVJhLgVjBeggHfoyiVsmg1F_SrWizHfdgff9D9fklPKiEwKx4oURovuDWcYGOicTQODBej0nGbW8Jz2Obj-xPcwe80maHJ_-g2FTNoNGgQRYG99G/s320/struck+from+the+list.jpg" width="244" /></a></div>
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<b>"Struck from the list," Paul Klee, 1933.</b></div>
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Klee painted <a href="http://www.wikiart.org/en/paul-klee/struck-from-the-list-1933">this</a> after a Nazi paper outed him as a Galatian Jew, causing him to be fired from his position at the Dusseldorf Academy. His melancholy is evident in the monochromatic color scheme with the almost-but-not-quite-abstract figure crying. In total, 102 of Klee's works were seized from public collections, and 17 were displayed in the Nazi's "Degenerate Art" <i>(Entartete Kunst) </i>exhibit. Some were subsequently destroyed.</div>
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This, and other super-depressing stories, will be featured in my next article. I hope you're happy, degenerates! </div>
H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-34798419527272118112016-02-18T17:39:00.000-08:002016-02-18T17:39:03.751-08:00Finally back home again!It took two full days of a travel and wading through a lot of snow, but I made it.<br />
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<a href="https://scontent-lga3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xlf1/v/t1.0-9/12743950_10101815405869070_589904578548438890_n.jpg?oh=ebc7bdc73f11b08065465fc5850c5f99&oe=57592329" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://scontent-lga3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xlf1/v/t1.0-9/12743950_10101815405869070_589904578548438890_n.jpg?oh=ebc7bdc73f11b08065465fc5850c5f99&oe=57592329" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Swiggety swooty.</i></span></div>
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I have a lot of getting situated to do, but I have some free time until my job begins full-time, so I intend to get some research done. In the meantime, here's <a href="http://www.keishicho.metro.tokyo.jp/foreign/wanted/seijo/seijo.htm">the Tokyo PD's English-language page on the Setagaya family murders.</a></div>
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Happy hunting!H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-36956317407621832662016-02-12T12:15:00.002-08:002016-02-12T12:15:55.196-08:00Published: 10 Modern Radiation Accidents Involving Civilians Read my work on Listverse.com <a href="http://listverse.com/2016/02/05/10-modern-radiation-accidents-involving-civilians/">here</a>!H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-70128686277609847372016-01-25T17:04:00.001-08:002016-01-25T17:04:11.727-08:00Chicagoland! I am on a business trip out-of-state now, and will be away until mid-February. I will try to get some posts up while I am away. <br /><br />I was just contacted by a Japanese researcher who's looking into the Setagaya murders. The internet is such an amazing place! We'll be talking, and I look forward to sharing whatever I learn with you. H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-63998536919591495042016-01-07T17:20:00.000-08:002016-01-07T17:20:43.863-08:00Vancouver, Vancouver, This Is It!: The eruption of Mount St. HelensDavid A. Johnston never expected to be famous. He was a vulcanologist, after all. While important, it's rarely a newsworthy career.<br />
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Sadly, David was an exception.<br />
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<a href="http://sthelenshero.homestead.com/publishImages/DavidJohnston~~element3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://sthelenshero.homestead.com/publishImages/DavidJohnston~~element3.jpg" height="353" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The iconic image of David A. Johnston at Coldwater II.</i></span></div>
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David completely his undergraduate work in geology at the University of Illinois, and followed up with his master's and doctorate work at the University of Wisconsin. In 1979, the 29-year-old joined the United States Geologic Survey, or USGS. Johnston's specialty was in gas sampling. He hoped it would allow scientists to identify hazards before they violently erupted. <br />
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Johnston's work took him across the Pacific Northwest, and he was at his alma mater, the University of Wisconsin, when Mount Saint Helens woke herself from her 123-year rest with a shudder. <br />
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The first earthquakes struck on March 15th, 1980. Intrigued, Johnston contacted his mentor, Stephen Malone, who immediately allowed him to escort reporters to the area. Johnston was the first geologist on the scene and remained a leader of the team studying the mountain. <br />
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By March 24th, the vulcanologists were confident that the earthquakes were the precursor to an eruption. On the 26th, a phreatic, or steam, eruption burst forth from the mountain.<br />
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<a href="http://media.spokesman.com/photos/2010/05/17/Helens4001-01_t400.jpg?fd5af0684d698ce74dd4392bafb4f89a6dc66ee3" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://media.spokesman.com/photos/2010/05/17/Helens4001-01_t400.jpg?fd5af0684d698ce74dd4392bafb4f89a6dc66ee3" height="400" width="263" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><a href="http://m.spokesman.com/galleries/2010/may/17/mount-st-helens-spared-minutes/">This phreatic eruption</a> took place on the 30th.</i></span></div>
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On April 17th, a bulge appeared on the north side of the mountain. Concerns arose that this could become a lateral blast, which is exactly what it sounds like: a blast erupting from the side, and not the top, of a volcano.<br />
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This series of photos from <a href="http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/rosetta-stones/prelude-to-a-catastrophe-the-only-way-it-can-stabilize-is-to-come-down/">Scientific American</a> shows the growth of Mt. St. Helen's "ominous bulge":<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSVdxVtBt36wEJtlSOnkt-op7rMQPlVgbobfvao0OOhZyDOJPstpf1hYYJ9rwjwFE_kgJc2Pk5ESjFrmo1QkJ-OfhjQMH8PdyesDfsry_h9dKvtbXDLPE1T8bljHW9CX90nGK480qLkcQ/s1600/bulge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSVdxVtBt36wEJtlSOnkt-op7rMQPlVgbobfvao0OOhZyDOJPstpf1hYYJ9rwjwFE_kgJc2Pk5ESjFrmo1QkJ-OfhjQMH8PdyesDfsry_h9dKvtbXDLPE1T8bljHW9CX90nGK480qLkcQ/s1600/bulge.jpg" /></a></div>
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It seems surprising in retrospect, but Johnston was one of few people to share this opinion. Though it was obvious the mountain was close to erupting, the questions of where - and when - remained a mystery.<br />
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Governor Dixy Lee Ray declared a state of emergency on April 3rd, and by the 30th, a "red zone" was declared around the volcano, allowing only people with a special pass to climb the mountain.<br />
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<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/0b/Dave_Johnston_collecting_sample_from_Mount_St._Helens_crater_lake%2C_30_April_1980_(USGS)_cropped.jpg/800px-Dave_Johnston_collecting_sample_from_Mount_St._Helens_crater_lake%2C_30_April_1980_(USGS)_cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/0b/Dave_Johnston_collecting_sample_from_Mount_St._Helens_crater_lake%2C_30_April_1980_(USGS)_cropped.jpg/800px-Dave_Johnston_collecting_sample_from_Mount_St._Helens_crater_lake%2C_30_April_1980_(USGS)_cropped.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>David Johnston takes a sample from the mountain's crater lake, April 30, 1980. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Dave_Johnston_collecting_sample_from_Mount_St._Helens_crater_lake,_30_April_1980_(USGS)_cropped.jpg">Wikimedia Commons.</a></i></span></div>
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Despite the bulge, which was growing at the rate of 5 to 9 feet per day, the north side of the volcano still wasn't producing much vent activity. </div>
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<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/01/Baker_Fumarole.jpg/800px-Baker_Fumarole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/01/Baker_Fumarole.jpg/800px-Baker_Fumarole.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This is a vent, or fumarole.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fumarole#/media/File:Baker_Fumarole.jpg">Wikimedia Commons.</a></i></span></div>
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Wrongly assuming that this meant an eruption was further off than they thought, the USGS instead warned residents about the potentiality of landslides from the north face. Johnston was the one who issued the warning to the press.</div>
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By this point, Johnston was downright scared of the volcano. It was ready to pop at any minute. It was incredibly dangerous to be anywhere on the slopes of St. Helens. <br />
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And then the volcano went silent.<br />
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The phreatic activity slowed. Between May 10th and May 15th, the only change in the mountain was the growth of that looming bulge. On the 16th, the phreatic eruptions stopped completely.<br />
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At this time, Johnston was mentoring a student, Harry Glicken.<br />
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<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/01/HarryGlicken.jpg/320px-HarryGlicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/01/HarryGlicken.jpg/320px-HarryGlicken.jpg" width="244" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Harry Glicken</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Glicken#/media/File:HarryGlicken.jpg"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Wikimedia Commons</i></span></a></div>
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Glicken had been monitoring the Coldwater II station, using laser ranging to track the growth of the bulging mountain. After working six days straight in the tiny trailer, Glicken needed a day off to visit with his professor for his graduate work at the University of California. He was supposed to be relieved by geologist Don Swanson. Swanson, however, wanted to meet with a graduate student who was returning to Germany the next day. </div>
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Glicken bumped into Johnston in the hallways of USGS and asked if he would take his place on May 18th. <br />
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Johnston was extremely reluctant. He had issued the most forceful warning to the public to stay away from the mountain, and had been scolded by his superiors for it. <br />
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"I don't like this at all,"<a href="http://sthelenshero.homestead.com/DavidJohnston.html"> a newspaper quotes him as saying. </a> "I'm not trying to be an alarmist, and I'm usually pretty calm around volcanoes, but I'm genuinely afraid of this thing... I think it would be wise to get out of here." <br />
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After heavy hesitation, he accepted the job of the post at Coldwater II. It was six miles away from the bulging north face, after all. Surely whatever happened on the mountain wouldn't reach him. </div>
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Just before he left, Glicken snapped the photo of his mentor in front of the tiny trailer, notebook in hand, grinning at the camera.</div>
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At 8:23am in the morning of May 18th, Mt. Saint Helens erupted. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWeVQq1qX9eK_Ja7FwSFAbo20WHRvLQ_P8NTJfWIvEoIdX3j1KM9kIpP0XFlbrswojSaR7_xwnsHdtsuisr6JDPU_aa-3YXFmDJkMmSFPOj_QNIEEU_ShwSLUvA6VOsz9LgGFC_6sc2wU/s1600/national+geographic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWeVQq1qX9eK_Ja7FwSFAbo20WHRvLQ_P8NTJfWIvEoIdX3j1KM9kIpP0XFlbrswojSaR7_xwnsHdtsuisr6JDPU_aa-3YXFmDJkMmSFPOj_QNIEEU_ShwSLUvA6VOsz9LgGFC_6sc2wU/s640/national+geographic.jpg" width="412" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.lomography.com/magazine/234721-robert-landsburgs-brave-final-shots"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>National Geographic</i></span></a></div>
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David must have dove towards the radio. He screamed his last words into the microphone.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/rbgAOfv-W20/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rbgAOfv-W20?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<i><b>"Vancouver, Vancouver, this is it!"</b></i></div>
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Seconds later, the signal from his radio was gone - and so was David.<br />
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Amateur HAM radio operator Gerry Martin saw the blast as well. He broadcast, "Gentlemen, the uh... camper and the car sitting over to the south of me is covered. It's gonna get me, too. I can't get out of here..." <br />
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Then his signal went silent, as well.<br />
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A recording does exist of Martin's message, but I can't seem to locate it at this time. <span style="color: red;"> <b>Please contact me if you find it!</b></span><br />
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Robert Landsburg, a local photographer, already had his camera on a tripod. As the mountain burst forth its fury, he pumped out four photos, unwound the film, and threw it into his backpack. He then dove on top of the backpack to protect its contents.<br />
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<a href="http://www.lomography.com/magazine/234721-robert-landsburgs-brave-final-shots">His pictures survived.</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO5jeEvZ7L9uqFeBGcY4NNq67J4tSIrE-L-CtUblbMIfAAQFuxqw9Ue5Ls2h8Roi0MsArK9xug0dbK-j2UUaRYm11ArndVDJqtgbO8N2x3OMm-13GnQjLTvmEJGMW4tg_PIBV1AK0i7hZd/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO5jeEvZ7L9uqFeBGcY4NNq67J4tSIrE-L-CtUblbMIfAAQFuxqw9Ue5Ls2h8Roi0MsArK9xug0dbK-j2UUaRYm11ArndVDJqtgbO8N2x3OMm-13GnQjLTvmEJGMW4tg_PIBV1AK0i7hZd/s400/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Glicken was devastated and guilt-stricken. He convinced three separate helicopter pilots to fly over the mountain, but there was no sign of the trailer or his mentor - they had completely vanished. <br />
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Don Swanson found Johnston's parka and backpack. <br />
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It wasn't until 1993 that the trailer from Coldwater II <a href="https://news.google.com/newspapers?id=zgwkAAAAIBAJ&sjid=1tAFAAAAIBAJ&dq=david+johnston+trailer+construction+workers&pg=3835,2980629&hl=en">was recovered</a>, but the body of David Johnston was never found.<br />
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A touching tribute to Johnston and the other scientists who perished that day is located <a href="http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/rosetta-stones/dedication-the-geologists-who-died-at-mount-st-helens/">here</a>:<br />
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<blockquote>I will admit this: I cry. Every time. Every time I catch sight of the geologist he was, and realize anew what we lost that day, I tear up. He furthered our knowledge; he saved lives by being one of the voices saying that St. Helens was still dangerous even when she fell briefly quiet. He demonstrated an ability to bring science to the public as he spoke to the media regarding her antics. He was an amazing man, a hell of a geologist, and he'll never be forgotten: not just because he died on the mountain that day, but because he was so very good at what he did.</blockquote>
H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-21603146248189487132016-01-07T09:40:00.000-08:002016-01-07T09:40:23.521-08:00The Trial of the Century 5: The Case Against Hauptmann and Other Tidbits<div style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; margin-top: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
Tidbits and clarifications. Unless otherwise noted, this comes from <em style="font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px;">Hauptmann’s Ladder</em> by Richard T. Cahill, Jr.</div>
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On to it:</div>
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<span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">1) Origins of the rumors of Little Lindy’s supposed deformities.</span></div>
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The Lindberghs always strived to keep their private lives private - unsuccessfully. They were, understandably, very secretive about their first son, as they believed the constant media exposure wasn’t good for him.</div>
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Sadly, this secrecy led to rumors that little Charles was being kept from the public eye because he was deformed and the Lindberghs were embarrassed. Cahill testily notes, “It never occurred to the reporters that they were the real reason for the Lindberghs’ overprotectiveness of their child.”</div>
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At one point, the rumors were so out-of-control that Lindbergh called a press conference to address them, specifically denying five newspaper chains from attendance due to their publishing stories claiming his son was deformed. He chided the media for their constant coverage and asked that they back off.</div>
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The only “deformity” little Lindy had was overlapping toes on his right foot, which was used in the identification of the corpse. There is absolutely no evidence that there was anything else wrong with the child.</div>
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<span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">2. Lindbergh’s day before he arrived home.</span></div>
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“Charles spent the day in New York visiting the offices of Pan American Airways, Transcontinental Air Transport, Inc., and the Rockefeller Institute of Medical Research, as well as his dentist.” Cahill cites Kidnap by George Waller here. “Charles had been scheduled to appear at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel as a guest of honor for a dinner held by NYU. Due to a scheduling error, Lindbergh failed to attend the dinner and came home instead. This innocent error has been used by authors of a tabloid-style book to support a theory that Lindbergh actually killed his own son…” referring to Ahlgren and Monier’s <em style="font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px;">Crime of the Century: the Lindbergh Kidnapping Hoax.</em></div>
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It seems that Charles’ day is quite well accounted-for.</div>
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<span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">3. The ladder</span></div>
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The ladder was actually quite ingeniously constructed. It was made of three pieces, the first two of which folded together on hinges, and the third was separate, to be connected via a wooden dowel pin, which was also left at the scene. The three pieces fit together perfectly (as I showed you in the pictures from the museum yesterday), so that it would fit in the back of a car. It was made of lightweight wood and weighed only 38lbs. The rungs were spaced so that there only exactly as many as were needed to climb the ladder, to make it lightweight. It was designed specifically for a certain person to use. However, the kidnapped underestimated the weight of the baby, and the ladder broke.</div>
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<span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">4. The kidnapper also left a chisel at the scene, probably to open locked shutters</span> - but he didn’t wind up needing it, since the nursery shutters on the window he used were warped and would not close properly. It was a ¾ inch wood chisel. The same chisel was found missing from Hauptmann’s tools in his garage. While a ¾ inch metal chisel was found, that’s not the same thing - it has a different angle and is used for working with metal.</div>
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In total, he left behind the ladder, the wooden dowel to connect the two pieces, and the wood chisel. The thumb guard was left in the driveway of Highfields, probably when he ripped Charles' sleeping-suit off his body. At the scene of the baby's shallow grave, he left behind a burlap sack he had stuffed the baby into (traces of the baby's hair were found in the sack).</div>
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<span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">5. Hauptmann’s finances - there is no ransom money unaccounted for</span></div>
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From the testimony of William Frank, an investigator with the US Treasury Dept.:</div>
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On April 2, 1932, the day the ransom was paid, the Hauptmanns had $4,941.40 in total assets.</div>
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On September 19, 1934, the day Bruno Richard Hauptmann was arrested, they had $56,059.65. This includes all expenditures, income, and ransom money hidden in Bruno’s garage.</div>
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When you subtract $4,941.40 from that amount, as well as the known income the Hauptmanns received, you have $49,950.44 left unaccounted for - just .56 less than the ransom paid.</div>
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While Hauptmann did trade on the stock market, he lost more than he won, and actually lost $5,728.63 during that time period.</div>
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No ransom money was spent after Hauptmann was arrested.</div>
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<span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">6. Hauptmann’s employment records</span></div>
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Edward Morton testified about this, and entered the employment records of Reliance Property Management, the company that handled Majestic’s payroll, into evidence. Hauptmann started working for Majestic Apartments on March 21st - not March 1st, the day of the kidnapping - and finished on April 2, 1932, the day the ransom was paid.</div>
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<span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">7. Hauptmann’s alibi witnesses</span></div>
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This is a big one I had wanted to find out about.</div>
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From <em style="font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px;">The Lindbergh Case</em> by Jim Fisher</div>
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Anna claimed that Bruno had arrived at the bakery where she waitressed at 7pm on March 1st, and waited around until she finished her shift at 9:30, then drove back to their apartment. However, on cross, she was reminded that in October 1934, “when Insp. Henry Bruckman of the Bronx had asked her if she could recall what her husband had been doing on March 1, 1932, she said that she couldn’t remember what he was doing on that particular day.” Anna admitted that she had said that. Anna was also forced to admit that she could reach the top shelf of her closet where Bruno said he had placed the shoebox full of money, that she dusted and cleaned it, and had never seen the shoebox there.</div>
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The next witness was Elvert Carlstrom, who said he’d been in the bakery at 8:30pm on March 1st and had seen Hauptmann there. On cross, he was asked to describe Hauptmann. He tried to look at Hauptmann, and when his view was blocked, was unable to provide a description.</div>
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After a recess, he was asked what else he did that night. The witness eventually plead the 5th. The next day, prosecution returned with information that Carlston was a petty thief, bootlegger, and mentally unstable.</div>
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The next witness was another customer at the bakery, Louis Kiss, who said Hauptmann had come in that night accompanied by “a police dog,” which I’m assuming is a German shepherd or something. The Hauptmanns did walk a neighbor’s dog. He said he remembered the day because a week earlier his son had to go to the ER. However, that year had been a leap year so the timing was off. Cross discovered he was a bootlegger and a drunk.</div>
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The next witness gave his name as August Van Henke, who said he’d seen Hauptmann at a gas station near the bakery, and spoke with him as Hauptmann had “a police dog” and his dog, who looked similar, was missing. The dog was not his. Cross discovered that the witness went by two other names- August Wunstorf and August Markhenke - and the restaurant he owned was actually a speakeasy. He may also have run a brothel.</div>
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The next witness, Lou Harding, said he saw a blue car on March 1st in Trenton, which pulled up and asked for directions to the Lindbergh estate. He said he saw a ladder in the backseat. He said he reported the incident to Princeton police, who took him to Highfields, where he was questioned by two detectives and showed him the ladder which he identified as the one he saw.</div>
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On cross, he admitted to serving time in Rahway prison, and had also been convicted of assault and battery, and on another occasion, carnal abuse. He had also served two sentences for drunk-and-disorderly at the Mercer County Workhouse. The detective who he claimed questioned him had never worked on the Lindbergh case. He also couldn’t describe the ladder.</div>
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And that was it for Hauptmann’s alibi witnesses.</div>
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<span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px;">Bonus Round: Violet Sharp</span></div>
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This information comes from <em style="font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px;">Their Fifteen Minutes</em> by Mark Falzini. I found it very interesting and haven’t seen it mentioned elsewhere.</div>
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“According to Emily, Violet Sharp’s sister, Violet told her on a couple of occasions that she had been married years before in London, when she was just 17 years old. She said his name was George Payne. When asked about this after Violet’s suicide he denied it and there was no record of the marriage ever found. Emily said it had only been mentioned ‘in passing’ and their mother, Lucy, first told her of it… Violet allegedly kept the marriage secret from their mother, ‘...until he was supposed to be dead. My mother said, ‘I don’t believe it’ to which Violet retorted, ‘Fine, it didn’t happen then!’’</div>
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“The alleged marriage came to light in 1929 when Violet applied for her passport. Her application was delayed because she needed to have letters of recommendation from her previous employers and some of them were addressed to Violet Payne…</div>
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“After her suicide, Scotland Yard was asked to investigate the alleged marriage, but they found no record of it at Somerset House in London. They did learn that although Violet said that he had died, George Payne was very much alive and living in London. They paid him a visit at his home…</div>
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“...He married Ellen Cone in 1896 and they had one daughter, Winifred Annie who was born shortly thereafter...</div>
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“George Payne was a printer’s stock keeper and in early 1927 he met Violet when they both worked for Mr. Pearce-Leigh in Gloucester Square, Paddington. Payne was employed as a butler and Violet as a parlor maid. They worked there for six months, until the Pearce-Leighs moved to a country home.</div>
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“George stated that he and Violet were never intimate; at most they went to the movies together. After leaving the Pearce-Leighs employ they never worked together again. Violet would write him and they would meet for walks whenever she got back to London. George set up an address for the letters… because he did not want them going to his home. “</div>
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Falzini speculates that Sharpe’s record of mental instability may have exacerbated the extent of the police questioning in her mind, making them seem more intense than they actually were. She did not make things any easier for herself by lying to police (more on this later). He wonders, “Was her close friendship with George Payne just that, a friendship but one magnified and distorted by Violet to the point that she actually believed they had been married? Why would she tell her employers that she was Mrs. Payne instead of Miss Sharp?”</div>
H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-18590684372365208782016-01-06T13:24:00.001-08:002016-01-06T13:24:20.206-08:00It's that time of year...I apologize for the lack of updates lately. Things have been in an upheaval. I'm in the middle of a chaotic move as well as a change of career, and of course, the holidays came smack dab in the middle of everything!<br /><br />
First of all, exciting news: my article is now up on <a href="http://listverse.com/2016/01/05/10-little-known-facts-about-the-lindbergh-kidnapping/">Listverse</a>! I'm so glad one of my favorite websites to read is just as pleasant to work with, and I look forward to contributing more to their site. <br /><br />I had some free time this week, and finally made the trip over to the New Jersey State Police museum to view their Lindbergh exhibit. For now, you can view an Imgur album <a href="http://imgur.com/a/sZbF8">here</a>. I've made arrangements to view the State Police archives shortly. I also made my way to view the trial transcripts again, and plowed through a ton of research that I'll be sharing with you soon.<br /><br />Thank you for your patience! This new year will bring lots of new, exciting research!H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-45421166606782031092016-01-05T12:13:00.000-08:002016-02-12T12:14:33.931-08:00Published: 10 Little-Known Facts About the Lindbergh Kidnapping Read my work on Listverse.com <a href="http://listverse.com/2016/01/05/10-little-known-facts-about-the-lindbergh-kidnapping/">here</a>!H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-63131073519476195972015-12-04T09:04:00.000-08:002015-12-04T09:07:06.783-08:00Last Photos in a Tsunami: John and Jackie KnillAfter the devastating tsunami hit Thailand on December 26, 2004, Christian Pilet and his wife, who were Baptist missionaries, volunteered to travel to Thailand and help. One morning, while Christian and a friend were walking on a beach strewn with rubble, his friend kicked something with his foot. <br />
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"He said, 'Look, it's a smashed digital camera,'" <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/WNT/PersonOfWeek/story?id=532106">relayed Pilet</a>. "It was obliterated. It was in very bad condition. Finding the camera seemed liked a nonevent."<br />
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Still, Pilet was curious, and was able to open the camera and retrieve the memory card, which he brought with him back to his hotel. Much to his surprise, it was undamaged - and the pictures relayed a devastating story.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3Yaqo_-l0qCP-JnM4uFK_55eC57hmT2dxsgKx6Sxjcveb-Ay-SxBLu2MlpIFKyTW4xAcJOew3VObZk5k1kxWOYBeS0RFFRIbkHv3eSgRQNIKRw9iw5CFhrjRuwYtoZVZHcrIdr_01PU6/s1600/050224_tsunami_vmed_5p.grid-4x2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3Yaqo_-l0qCP-JnM4uFK_55eC57hmT2dxsgKx6Sxjcveb-Ay-SxBLu2MlpIFKyTW4xAcJOew3VObZk5k1kxWOYBeS0RFFRIbkHv3eSgRQNIKRw9iw5CFhrjRuwYtoZVZHcrIdr_01PU6/s320/050224_tsunami_vmed_5p.grid-4x2.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
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an earlier photo from the memory card</div>
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The photos revealed the vacation of <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/id/7026617/ns/world_news-tsunami_a_year_later/t/camera-shows-last-words-tsunami-victims/#.VmG-TrgrKUk">John and Jackie Knill</a>, a couple from Vancouver, Canada who had been visiting the Khao Lak resort in Thailand. It showed them happily posing on vacation... until <a href="http://altereddimensions.net/2015/knill-couple-final-photos-indian-ocean-thailand-tsunami-story-from-grave">the last eight pictures</a>:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv-wD6VbOJMAG6UiRyEBOs8QLIojo825qYa-o0Mqn_dNohVN8sASNuPon3bzqQs9JeTIcD1CU6Wc7xX0DCbs0sqNLaQwu-Tl3Xlcj5XXcyKLMk55-qZwtPaHh5EYngui_F1tdZ9sd8GZXy/s1600/image_thumb62.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv-wD6VbOJMAG6UiRyEBOs8QLIojo825qYa-o0Mqn_dNohVN8sASNuPon3bzqQs9JeTIcD1CU6Wc7xX0DCbs0sqNLaQwu-Tl3Xlcj5XXcyKLMk55-qZwtPaHh5EYngui_F1tdZ9sd8GZXy/s1600/image_thumb62.png" /></a></div>
Before a tsunami hits, the water recedes from the beach. It would certainly be a curious event worth retrieving your camera to document.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0WBToYNsow3GJ0U0OwILSL8_S9ns-D_zL0ZYSkYk2Rbj3vov8kIxDdZ86EFSd5JsBgeVH8TLgQg_9CyRT-2CoywjLSyvsMbnV0XGbMLJf_bs2MUDOocA3PHpZgvTdXbvbvumq2Al5ppK/s1600/image_thumb63.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0WBToYNsow3GJ0U0OwILSL8_S9ns-D_zL0ZYSkYk2Rbj3vov8kIxDdZ86EFSd5JsBgeVH8TLgQg_9CyRT-2CoywjLSyvsMbnV0XGbMLJf_bs2MUDOocA3PHpZgvTdXbvbvumq2Al5ppK/s1600/image_thumb63.png" /></a></div>
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Far in the distance, beyond two ships, the tsunami becomes visible.<br /><br /></center>
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Swimmers have begun exiting the water, alerted to something in the distance. <br />
All seem to be looking at the wave in the distance.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKhcvhoDsNWYv_IsS87fZiLKO-LoQJQ-4VOJC_OqfJGoxHP3kQo8fJZxeGf8YHP7DnDgDB4RvKrLVKLRLiKg_iV7f2YwnPFW_r8iY0QoBu9a3MbQnUDSW_8bzI5vpFxh1sxVZIe1G4Lye/s1600/image_thumb65.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKhcvhoDsNWYv_IsS87fZiLKO-LoQJQ-4VOJC_OqfJGoxHP3kQo8fJZxeGf8YHP7DnDgDB4RvKrLVKLRLiKg_iV7f2YwnPFW_r8iY0QoBu9a3MbQnUDSW_8bzI5vpFxh1sxVZIe1G4Lye/s1600/image_thumb65.png" /></a></div>
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It is now 8:26am, and some beachgoers seem oblivious to the wave the in background, casually strolling along the shore, unaware of their impending doom.</div>
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The wave has now reached the ships, which have turned to try and face it head-on. Its size becomes apparent compared to the large ships.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9LthsBu49bR4s1KQ_Zlev-abz1WxKV7q0I_e_mPGOl4XlfSygZ-SV6JibELqzZHhmJ2vW-F9vvWrHeuEkdfCr0iU2DNL6Yg86pTquyWXsC-fhFkNT6P4bNX7lM0__xxnHSo54QIVfFpv/s1600/image_thumb66.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9LthsBu49bR4s1KQ_Zlev-abz1WxKV7q0I_e_mPGOl4XlfSygZ-SV6JibELqzZHhmJ2vW-F9vvWrHeuEkdfCr0iU2DNL6Yg86pTquyWXsC-fhFkNT6P4bNX7lM0__xxnHSo54QIVfFpv/s1600/image_thumb66.png" /></a><br />
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What ships?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmejykbxD8_CTfqM-fuf6EU3HxmsTqsOen2fougJ_6wYKR5LFQ86vR3wEtXt-O5URUy20SSrPEa7qOHEXTkf8_DYHf_0Ld6rGNQE-Jb7LeF3VzYrKjcT-4NZ3sBX3ULhtBuPviDhrMSUfv/s1600/image_thumb67.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmejykbxD8_CTfqM-fuf6EU3HxmsTqsOen2fougJ_6wYKR5LFQ86vR3wEtXt-O5URUy20SSrPEa7qOHEXTkf8_DYHf_0Ld6rGNQE-Jb7LeF3VzYrKjcT-4NZ3sBX3ULhtBuPviDhrMSUfv/s1600/image_thumb67.png" /></a></div>
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The wave draws closer, gaining height and power.</div>
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The wave dwarfs a beachgoer who runs for his life. The time is 8:30am.</div>
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The following is the last image on the Knills' camera.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfbRFgxBWbdG3KFyNuxzUz8BVBcTErYEan-PJg0pY0hb2E6uX6cUGclaQPU0I0VnAl2cW8wY-E2dweAmVgO_rB7dy7vGvOVgBlflfinCqmUHTyyU9UJUFsFEO75qBhyphenhyphenvD6yt_gNJ3ojIYg/s1600/image_thumb69.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfbRFgxBWbdG3KFyNuxzUz8BVBcTErYEan-PJg0pY0hb2E6uX6cUGclaQPU0I0VnAl2cW8wY-E2dweAmVgO_rB7dy7vGvOVgBlflfinCqmUHTyyU9UJUFsFEO75qBhyphenhyphenvD6yt_gNJ3ojIYg/s1600/image_thumb69.png" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/id/7026617/ns/world_news-tsunami_a_year_later/t/camera-shows-last-words-tsunami-victims/#.VmG-TrgrKUk">Pilet was shocked</a> by the photographs: "It was as if you were hearing somebody speak their last words and then suddenly they are cut off in mid-sentence."<br />
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Christopher Pilet immediately began searching for the couple in the photos, and came in touch with the Knills' three sons. Pilet traveled to Vancouver to deliver the photos in person.<br />
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John and Jackie Knill were a retired couple thinking of settling in Thailand. "Thailand was their favorite place," <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/WNT/PersonOfWeek/story?id=532106&page=1">explained their son, Patrick</a>. "They found peace there every time. They came back a better person every time, and they were already great people." And he did find some comfort in the images, saying that his parents seemed to be speaking to him: "...that we were together, it's OK, and here you get to see what we saw last." <br />
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Pilet took some comfort as well. "...you can look at the image of them happy in their last day and really be glad they were enjoying a tremendous Christmas." <br />
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Some have criticized the Knills for not running from the wave (though many beachgoers in the images are seen oblivious to the dangers as well). "I don't know why they didn't run," <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/id/7026617/ns/world_news-tsunami_a_year_later/t/camera-shows-last-words-tsunami-victims/#.VmG-TrgrKUk">said their son, Christopher</a>. "Either they knew they couldn't [run,] or they didn't know the power of the wave." <br />
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Running may not have helped much - the resort is right on the beach and there is no higher ground to flee to, especially not in the few short minutes before the tsunami hit. This image from Pintrest seems to show the resort after the tsunami:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpceQ4-5T0MBB95r3GtH2R-tGk9x5QmQSgAyl6-T6zlp5hyyEReiWerTjwtJaz-oyfrgAyCSKfZgWs2VkH1WteROdma3JtGBbpmbyY1bWl9VIxxOT4BmK4p1QgpTvTPdmbbDjNZhBtp7vK/s1600/f6746f4787ea3f2dfa0125ab896b9bb4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpceQ4-5T0MBB95r3GtH2R-tGk9x5QmQSgAyl6-T6zlp5hyyEReiWerTjwtJaz-oyfrgAyCSKfZgWs2VkH1WteROdma3JtGBbpmbyY1bWl9VIxxOT4BmK4p1QgpTvTPdmbbDjNZhBtp7vK/s400/f6746f4787ea3f2dfa0125ab896b9bb4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Instead, the Knills chose to document their last moments, giving us a heart-wrending insight into what tragedy they went through - and also enabling us to recognize a tsunami should we ever be in the same situation.<br />
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The remains of the Knills were recovered and returned to their children in Canada. <br />
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The Knill brothers worked together to establish a fund to remember their parents and help orphans from the tsunami. I have been unable to find any current information on the fund, but the address for donations is listed <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/british-columbia/tsunami-photos-show-couple-s-final-moments-1.563329">here</a>:<br />
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Knill Thailand Fund<br />
Box 314 <br />
1489 Marine Drive<br />
West Vancouver, B.C. <br />
V4T 1B8</blockquote>
H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-12774858493719189622015-11-18T09:00:00.000-08:002015-11-18T09:08:24.871-08:00The Trial of the Century 4: Hauptmann Speaks<b>ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ʀᴇsᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ: </b>ɪᴛᴇᴍs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʀᴇsᴇᴀʀᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀs ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɢᴏᴇs ᴏɴ. ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏᴜʀᴛʜ ᴘᴏsᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs <a href="http://morbidstreak.blogspot.com/p/series.html">sᴇʀɪᴇs</a>.<br />
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ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴇsᴛɪᴍᴏɴʏ ʜᴀs ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴄʀᴏғɪʟᴍ. <br />
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The Testimony of Bruno Richard Hauptmann</h2>
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<a href="http://www.charleslindbergh.com/kidnap/bh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.charleslindbergh.com/kidnap/bh.jpg" height="252" width="320" /></a></div>
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Hauptmann (who went by his middle name, Richard), was born on November 26, 1899, in Saxony, Germany. He went to public school for 8 years, and following his graduation, attended a trade school for 2-3 years. He studied carpentry and machinery and began working at the age of 14 in his hometown, Kamentz.<br />
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He went to fight in the first World War when he was 17 years old, and served for 1<span font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;">¾ </span>yrs, He testified that he was slightly wounded, or perhaps gassed. He came out of the army around Christmastime in 1918. <br />
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This was a bad time to be in Germany, of course, and Hauptmann was unable to obtain work. He was convicted of “an offense” (in this part of the testimony, unnamed; we know this to have been a burglary including the use of a ladder) in springtime of 1919, and was later paroled.<br />
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Hauptmann first tried to enter the US in the summer of 1923. He boarded a steamer, but was discovered on the ship and returned to Germany. He tried again in November of the same year and was successful. <br />
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He found work as a dishwasher in New York City and worked for about a month, then became a mechanic, then a dyer, and then as a machinist; finally, he gained work as a carpenter, earning $8 a day.<br />
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Hauptmann met Anna Schoeffler in 1924, they moved several times, and he began earning more. Bruno and Anna married on October 10, 1925. <br />
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<img src="http://www.lindberghkidnappinghoax.com/brunoanna.gif" /></div>
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Anna and Bruno, <a href="http://www.lindberghkidnappinghoax.com/bruno.html">dubious source</a>.</div>
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Hauptmann testified that he has never been to Hopewell in his life, nor had he ever been to Highfields, and so on, and so on. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Hauptmann testifying. </span></div>
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<b>On March 1st, 1930:</b><br />
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He woke up around 6am and took his wife to the bakery between half past six and a quarter to seven. He dropped his wife off, put the car in the garage, and went to the White Plains subway station, and took the subway to the Majestic Hotel, where he was to report for work.<br />
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Hauptmann went to the carpentry shop and the foreman told him to go see the superintendent. The superintendent told Hauptmann that he could not start working, since the job was filled up, though Hauptmann claims he had a note from an agency granting him the job.<br />
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Hauptmann left his tools at the Majestic and went to the employment agency, trying to get the ten dollars back that he paid to get the position. He couldn’t get it back and was told to come back tomorrow when there would be other positions open. <br />
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He then spent the day going around to various employment agencies and to Radio City trying to get a construction job, and then went home around 5pm. He picked up Anna around 7pm, walked “the owner’s” police dog (I suppose the owner of their apartment?) and ate dinner at a restaurant. They left the restaurant after 9pm, Hauptmann drove them home and went straight to bed.<br />
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On March 2nd, Hauptmann got up at 6am again and took his wife to her job at the bakery. He then put the car in the garage and went to the Sixth Ave. subway stop, where he says he purchased a paper and read about the Lindbergh case for the first time.<br />
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Hauptmann continues to deny writing the ransom letters, meeting in the cemetery, and so on. He continued searching for a job from the 1st to the 15th of March while working at a lumber yard near his home. He gets a new job at the Majestic Apartment on the 15th or 16th of March, though he leaves this job on the 1st, claiming he wasn’t paid what he was promised. (This is, of course, when the kidnapper received his ransom.)<br />
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Finally, the ladder recovered at Lindbergh’s home is brought out. When asked if he built the ladder, Hauptmann first replies, “I am a carpenter.” Laughter filled the courtroom. Hauptmann was not taught English at school, and his testimony occasionally reflects his difficulty with the language.<br />
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The question is asked again, and Hauptmann replies, “Certainly not.” <br />
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He is asked to come down from the witness stand and look at the ladder, and upon doing so, says “Looks like a music instrument.”<br />
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“Does it look like a well-made ladder?”<br />
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“To me it looks like a ladder at all, I don’t know how a man can step up.” Your guess is as good as mine as to what Hauptmann means there; he apparently did not feel it was well-made.<br />
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Hauptmann denies transporting the ladder in his car.<br />
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I have been busy the past few weekends and have been unable to make it to the library to further check the microfilm. I have located copies of the trial transcripts and FBI files online and will be ordering those, which should hopefully make this research go faster. <br />
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Next up: The Notes</h2>
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H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-77943852742961339382015-11-08T15:51:00.002-08:002015-11-18T09:07:39.403-08:00The Trial of the Century 3: March 1, 1932ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴘᴏsᴛ ɪɴ <a href="http://morbidstreak.blogspot.com/p/series.html">ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴅʙᴇʀɢʜ ᴛʀɪᴀʟ sᴇʀɪᴇs</a>.<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ʀᴇsᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">: ɪᴛᴇᴍs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʀᴇsᴇᴀʀᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀs ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɢᴏᴇs ᴏɴ. </span></h2>
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Where were you on the evening of <br />March 1st, 1932?</h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XT-HyqU3mqDUIV-mUjxXJCSCkEIFVFXxF2m4Nu81FsDj-b9_pmJzAzhXv5LZJaiuR7WKWI0DviPcUSLcV3ha2c_QwAQaHYawOanNKYAynNNHkFgfyCDWqXcZXkpa1gCMmK4HTZ0XRFFN/s1600/Highfields+Floor+Plan+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XT-HyqU3mqDUIV-mUjxXJCSCkEIFVFXxF2m4Nu81FsDj-b9_pmJzAzhXv5LZJaiuR7WKWI0DviPcUSLcV3ha2c_QwAQaHYawOanNKYAynNNHkFgfyCDWqXcZXkpa1gCMmK4HTZ0XRFFN/s640/Highfields+Floor+Plan+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.house-crazy.com/the-charles-lindbergh-house-in-hopewell-new-jersey/">Source.</a></span></div>
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<div>
On March 1, 1932, the Lindbergh household contained: </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Colonel Charles A. Lindbergh Sr.</b></div>
<div>
<b>Mrs. Anne Morrow Lindbergh,</b> his wife</div>
<div>
<b>Charles A. Lindbergh Jr.,</b> their son<br />
<b>Mr. Oliver Whately, </b>manservant<br />
<b>Mrs. Elsie Whately,</b> housekeeper/cook<br />
<b>Miss Betty Gow, </b>nursemaid</div>
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<h2>
Testimony of Anne Morrow Lindbergh</h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn_1V8YhCMZJ9D_Lw5nUb3C43f5pusIEHlqheapJhWDQHqBEkGxvbXtlvIs1if-OZvyZI4XI1Vx7kpGX82mN10_Hu17szTMwUaX7bTgKpkLhL-WV-2BZUXlc2BHDoRKIsVOaAUN6j5t-dB/s1600/Anne+court.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn_1V8YhCMZJ9D_Lw5nUb3C43f5pusIEHlqheapJhWDQHqBEkGxvbXtlvIs1if-OZvyZI4XI1Vx7kpGX82mN10_Hu17szTMwUaX7bTgKpkLhL-WV-2BZUXlc2BHDoRKIsVOaAUN6j5t-dB/s320/Anne+court.jpg" width="254" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Anne Lindbergh arriving at court.<br /> <a href="http://www.lesliejonesphotography.com/collection/0806002468">Leslie Jones Photography</a>.</span></div>
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Anne spent the day at home in Hunterdon with the baby. She had taken a walk in the afternoon, after which, upon returning, she threw a pebble up to the baby’s window, and Betty Gow held the baby up to wave hello to his mother.
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At approximately 6:15pm, Anne was in the baby’s room while he had his dinner at a maple table towards the center of the room. She stayed in the nursery until the baby was put to bed. He was given medicine and rubbed with Vick’s Vapo-rub for a slight cold he’d had the past few days, dressed, and put in bed at around 7:30pm.
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The baby was wearing a homemade shirt Miss Gow had made for him out of a flannel petticoat, on top of that a larger sleeveless shirt, and on top of that a wool “sleeping suit.” The baby may have had on a "thumb guard," used at the time to prevent infants from sucking their thumb. Anne could not remember specifically if he was wearing it that night.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvJNgcv5Tk2yNdhRCDzl26NIvaqQYSllw_AinT753k6C-zINsHmM9tfy5YUEEQt8Mskc90K-o5epW9xz1oQ-xMaPgvsoXBrxw96HAGGdamLA9AkVfeSowGRotHUDSDeLqP-u06E3wsHkA/s1600/Baby+Alice+Thumb+Guard+-1931A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvJNgcv5Tk2yNdhRCDzl26NIvaqQYSllw_AinT753k6C-zINsHmM9tfy5YUEEQt8Mskc90K-o5epW9xz1oQ-xMaPgvsoXBrxw96HAGGdamLA9AkVfeSowGRotHUDSDeLqP-u06E3wsHkA/s320/Baby+Alice+Thumb+Guard+-1931A.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://lindberghkidnap.proboards.com/thread/931/thumb-guard"><span style="font-size: x-small;">An example of a thumb guard.</span></a></div>
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Col. Lindbergh was not home yet, at 7:30pm, when Anne left the nursery. She sat at a desk in the living room; what she was doing at the desk is not mentioned. She was there until approximately 8:25pm, when she heard Charles honk the horn of his car. He came inside and they had dinner, finishing at around 9pm, then sat in the living room by the fire shortly. The couple went upstairs to their bedroom and talked for around 15 or 20 minutes. Charles drew a bath and bathed and then went down to the library while Anne got ready for bed.
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Anne rang for Mrs. Wheatley and asked her to bring a “hot lemonade” - she’d caught the cold from the baby, and this drink was just hot water with some lemons in it. After Mrs. Wheatley left to fix Anne’s drink, Miss Gow ran into Anne’s room asking if Anne had the baby. Anne sent her downstairs to speak to Charles and went into the baby’s room shortly after 10pm. She found the room empty, and went back to her bedroom, where she met Charles and Miss Gow. Charles got a rifle from the closet and they returned to the baby’s room and searched it. Anne then retreated to her bedroom with Mrs. Wheatley and got dressed and returned to search the house.
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Anne was not subjected to a cross-examination.
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<h2>
Testimony of Charles A. Lindbergh, Sr.</h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmMOEUQgnkxb58kRvA_PEoZTeoI_jCEHdYl-cSRbjCExhETxKxK-6wrsJd0UiaEsshEdiK44X-W9GJ4-w7-Jw34aLDw4nHh7iNIgD-FjQutJ0E1kNtvARo_kxI5oVGFRSFBwO8mefqY4yB/s1600/800px-Charles_Lindbergh_testifying.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmMOEUQgnkxb58kRvA_PEoZTeoI_jCEHdYl-cSRbjCExhETxKxK-6wrsJd0UiaEsshEdiK44X-W9GJ4-w7-Jw34aLDw4nHh7iNIgD-FjQutJ0E1kNtvARo_kxI5oVGFRSFBwO8mefqY4yB/s320/800px-Charles_Lindbergh_testifying.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Lindbergh on the witness stand in the Flemington Courthouse.<br /><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lindbergh_kidnapping#/media/File:Charles_Lindbergh_testifying.jpg">Wikipedia</a>.</span></div>
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On March 1st, Charles had spent the day in New York, and arrived home at around 8:25pm. After parking, he joined his wife in the dining room, had dinner, and finished dinner at around 9pm. They left to the living room, where they sat on a sofa and talked for 10-15min. <br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: Well, some time during that night did you hear some sort of a noise or a crash? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Yes, I did. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: About what time was it and where were you? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Sitting on the softa in the livign room during the ten or fiteen minutes after we had come into the livign room from the dining room. At that time I haered a sound which seemd to me, at the time, the impression that entered my mind at the time vaguely was that it was like the top of -- well, say, an orange box, the top slats of an orange box falling off a chair, which I assumed to be in the kitchen. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: That is, sort of like the falling of a crate, a wooden crate? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: The slats of a crate. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: At any rate, what you felt was happening was that some pieces of wood, like the slats of a crate, had fallen in the kitchen? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: That is correct. I did not pay very much attention to it at the time, but enough to remark to my wife the words, "What is that?" </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: Except for that, it went unnoticed? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Yes. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: About what time was that? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: That would be about 9:10 or 9:15. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: Was it the sort of a noise that would come with the falling of a ladder? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Yes, it was, if the ladder was outside. </blockquote>
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The couple then went upstairs to the bedroom, where they continued their conversation. He took a bath, then left down to the library where he read for a bit.
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The writing-desk where Lindbergh sat in the library was apparently underneath the window of the nursery, but Charles did not see anything (as far as the darkness would permit, during the time he was in the library).
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Around 10pm, Miss Gow came to Lindbergh and asked “rather excitedly” if he had the baby. He did not, and ran up to the nursery to check:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
as I entered the room, of course I at first and immediately looked at the crib. The bed clothing in the crib was in such condition that I felt it was impossible for the baby to have gotten out himself. I knew that neither my wife nor Miss Gow had taken him because Miss Gow had asked me if I had him and my wife was upstairs. The clothing was standing – the bed clothing was standing stiffly enough so that the opening where the baby had been was still there, the clothing had not collapsed.</blockquote>
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At first glance Lindbergh did not notice the note; his attention was on the crib, and it was not until he returned to the room about 5 minutes later did he see it, "unopened" on the window sill. The window was closed; "The note was in an envelope on top of the grating which forms the window sill and through which heat comes from the radiator."
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Lindbergh then got his Springfield rifle and told his manservant Mr. Wheatley to call the sheriff. As soon as he determined that the call had got through (he feared the lines may be cut), he called the NJ State Police and a friend and attorney, Colonel Beckenridge. He then went outside to look around.
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At this point police arrived, and with their flashlights, soon discovered the ladder underneath the nursery window. They found the footprints and marks of the ladder underneath the nursery window. The note was not opened or touched until police arrived with proper equipment (i.e. to take fingerprints).
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At this point it was nearing daybreak (I presume) and mention is made of several hundred of the press showing up, and there was considerable confusion due to all the press walking around.
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<h2>
Testimony of Bessie Mowat Gow</h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtcoTZDYQP3zsktdp3OyQZWoRiCnyC_7Fy_xmMRStjg30qCLioua_HTDiOaVpxEmT_Ub-9sXJXCEGRyIfiitSxn4VLj6AVDhiHnvAUbc8nSVrAqBi7fM_QA-NIkrjveLU78O2iqu4MejmX/s1600/betty+gow+with+baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtcoTZDYQP3zsktdp3OyQZWoRiCnyC_7Fy_xmMRStjg30qCLioua_HTDiOaVpxEmT_Ub-9sXJXCEGRyIfiitSxn4VLj6AVDhiHnvAUbc8nSVrAqBi7fM_QA-NIkrjveLU78O2iqu4MejmX/s320/betty+gow+with+baby.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Betty (listed in court documents as "Bessie") pushes baby Charles in a stroller.<br />Screencap from movie footage, <a href="http://www.corbisimages.com/stock-photo/rights-managed/U611031INP/betty-gow-pushing-baby-carriage">Corbis</a></span></div>
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Bessie usually stayed at Englewood while the Lindberghs went to Hopewell on the weekends. She was called at 11am on March 1st to help Mrs. Lindbergh, and arrived at Highfields at around 1pm.
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Her testimony is lively and full of character, so I'll allow her to speak to you in her own words:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-EqJoHprkRBxr4iPVtcsiI02ikRxUdBBeA2_0D6rVVQi9ohhtoyPbmQvycgNMai7egP1wZk8QlCJbQHqQDQlV2ww_laenoAytmNcG6eM32X761Q1mXBuBLv9d4AgG3SPOIVoR9YHtJOTK/s1600/betty+gow+court.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-EqJoHprkRBxr4iPVtcsiI02ikRxUdBBeA2_0D6rVVQi9ohhtoyPbmQvycgNMai7egP1wZk8QlCJbQHqQDQlV2ww_laenoAytmNcG6eM32X761Q1mXBuBLv9d4AgG3SPOIVoR9YHtJOTK/s320/betty+gow+court.JPG" width="255" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Betty Gow enters the Flemington Courthouse before testifying.</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.ebay.ie/itm/1935-Press-Photo-Betty-Gow-nurse-of-Charles-Lindbergh-Jr-as-witness-at-trial-/391290208825?hash=item5b1ab6c239" style="font-size: small;">Historic Images, Ebay.</a></div>
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<blockquote>
About quarter of six, I should say, the baby came running into the kitchen, ran around the table several times and spoke to Elsie. I took his hand then, took him upstairs for supper. I left him in his room for, oh, one minute, not as long as it took me to get his cereal from the kitchen. Came upstairs again; gave him his supper. He hadn't quite finished when Mrs. Lindbergh came into the nursery and she stayed with me while we got the baby ready for bed. We undressed him and just as he was about ready for bed I decided to give him some physic. In taking this he spilt some over his nightclothes.<br />
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...I undressed him again and decided that I would have time to make him a proper little flannel shirt to put on next his skin. I didn't have enough sewing materials there, so I asked Mrs. Lindbergh while I went out of the room to get some from Mrs. Whately, who I thought would have some. Went down to the kitchen where she gave me scissors, and said she would look for thread and bring it to me. I went back up to the nursery. Mrs. Lindbergh played with the baby while I cut this little shirt out. Mrs. Whately came into the room with the thread and I stitched it up very hurriedly and put it on the baby after having rubbed him with Vicks.</blockquote>
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In addition to this, the baby wore diapers and some sort of rubber pants on top, a sleeping suit, and a thumb guard on each hand.<br />
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After the baby was finally ready for bed, Betty Gow testified,
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<blockquote>
I put him in his bed, Mrs. Lindbergh and I went around the windows, closed the shutters, we closed all the shutters tight except the one at the window, the southeast window; this one we couldn't quite close, it had evidently warped, so we closed it as best we could and left it that way.</blockquote>
The shutter was drawn against the window but unlocked.<br />
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Miss Gow left the room once at a half-past seven, but returned, and apparently at this time she pinned up the baby's bedclothes. This was the proper way to put the baby to bed at the time, as it would keep him warm and keep him from kicking off his blankets in the night. Miss Gow finally left the baby's room at 8pm exactly - she recalls looking at her watch.<br />
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She proceeded to the West Wing and had dinner with the Wheatleys. At around half past eight they heard Mr. Lindbergh’s car come in, and she spoke with him briefly as he made his way through the kitchen about how his son was doing. She stayed in the dining room for about a half hour and was with Mrs. Whately the entire time, and Mr. Whately came and went some. <br />
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She finally left the downstairs at around 9pm, during this time the dog had been with Miss Gow in the sitting room. Miss Gow and Mrs. Whately went upstairs to look at a new dress together. Miss Gow glanced at her watch and realized it was nearly 10pm and went to check on the baby:<br />
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<blockquote>
I didn't put any light up but let the door of the room open so that the light from the hall would come in. I crossed to the French window and closed it, plugged in the electric heater and stood for about one minute waiting for the room to lose its chill. I then crossed to the cot and bent over with my hands on the rail and discovered I couldn't hear the baby breathe. I bent down, felt all over him and discovered he wasn't there. I thought that Mrs. Lindbergh may have him. I went out of the baby's room into the hallway and into Mrs. Lindbergh's room. I met her or saw her coming out of the bathroom and asked her if she had the baby. She looked surprised and said no, she didn't. I said, "Well, where is the Colonel, he may have him."<br />
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I said, "Where is he?"<br />
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She said, "Downstairs in the library." <br />
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I turned quickly and ran downstairs to the library where I saw the Colonel sitting at his desk reading. I said, "Colonel, do you have the baby?"<br />
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He said, "No. Isn't he in his crib?" <br />
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I said, "No."<br />
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He ran past me upstairs and into the baby's room. I followed him and from there entered Mrs. Lindbergh's room. He didn't say anything. He ran into his closet, came out again with a rifle and all three of us went into the baby's room. He said, "Anne, they have stolen our baby."</blockquote>
Mr. Lindbergh sent Betty Gow downstairs to fetch Mr. Whately, who went up to the Colonel, then the two went downstairs to phone for help while the three women proceeded to search the house high and low for the baby. Betty recalled seeing Lindbergh run outside with his rifle.<br />
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After the officers arrived, Anne, Miss Gow and Mrs. Whately sat in the sitting room in silence, until Mrs. Lindbergh’s friends arrived. This was Mrs. Breckenridge, as well as some other of Mrs. Lindbergh's friends from New York; they arrived in about an hour.<br />
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Miss Gow was summoned back into the nursery "to secure a knife" (this isn't fully explained, but it sounds like to open the envelope with), where she noticed a smudge of “a brownish muddy color” on the child’s bedclothes. Apart from the envelope on the windowsill, she did not notice anything else amiss in the child's room.<br />
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Another mention of the media circus is made, and then, about a month after the kidnapping, Miss Gow recovered the child’s thumb guard.
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<blockquote>
I believe it was May 12th – Oh, no, it was not – about one month after the baby was stolen. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: That would be somewhere in the neighborhood of April the first? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: It would be. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: And would you tell us about it, please, how you happened to find it? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: It would be in the afternoon after lunch, Mrs. Whately and I were in the habit of taking walks down the driveway. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q. On the premises? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A. On the premises. We walked down to the gate where the police were stationed, talked to them for a little while and on the way back I should say about one hundred yards from the gate we both noticed this object on the road. I recognized it immediately and picked it up. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: Who picked it up? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: I did; went right up to the house, found Colonel Lindbergh, and gave it to him, and told him how I had found it. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q. Was it then in the same condition as it is today in this courtroom? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Exactly the same condition. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: Still knotted? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A. Still knotted.</blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Betty Gow leaves court after a grueling cross-examination. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The breathless caption to this photo claims she collapsed after it was taken.</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.ebay.ie/itm/1935-Press-Photo-Nurse-Betty-Gow-After-the-trial-/391033718637?hash=item5b0b6d076d"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Historic Images, Ebay.</span></a></div>
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<h2>
Testimony of Elsie Whateley</h2>
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Elsie's testimony sort of ties it all together, so I will let her speak to us in our own words as well. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Elsie Whateley and Betty Gow in court.<br /><a href="http://www.lindberghkidnappinghoax.com/servants.html">Dubious source</a>; images of Mrs. Whateley are difficult to come by.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<blockquote>
Well, in the afternoon, if you want to know, I went up into the nursery about four o'clock and we played with the baby and Mrs. Lindbergh came up and we all played with the baby. ABout 4:30 I went downstairs and got some tea. Mrs. Lindbergh came down and then Betty came down and brought the baby. The baby went in to Mrs. Lindbergh and stayed with her while we had our tea in the sitting room. Then the baby came in the kitchen and said, "Hello Elsie," and I talked to him and played with him and Betty came in and took him upstairs and that is the last I saw of him. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: What did the baby call you? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Elsie. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: That is your name? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Yes. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: Now, was the child a playful child? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Yes, lovely. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: Normal? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Yes. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: Ordinarily healthy except for slight cold? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Yes. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Mr. Reilly: Oh, I object to this. That has already been testified to by the father and the mother; it is only a repetition. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
The Court: You make no question about the health of the child? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Mr. Reilly: It is leading and it is merely suggestive and sympathetic. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Mr. Wilents: If counsel makes no question about it I shall be delighted to refrain from asking about it.</blockquote>
<br />
But Charles Jr. did have a slight cold.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Well, when Bety came down as near as I can tell you it was about a quarter of eight and the Colonel hadn't come; so my husband said that he woudl have his supper first and get it over befopre the Colonel came. So he went in and he had supper while I was preparign theirs... Then I came out and Betty and I decided to have our supper. While we were eating the Colonel came and I got up to attend to them and the Colonel- </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: About what time was that, Mrs. Whateley? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Twenty minutes past eight. The Colonel came in and he went through to Mrs. Lindbergh. ABout five minutes afterwards they came down and they came into the kitchen and they stood talking to my husband and myself a few minutes. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: The Colonel and Mrs. Lindbergh? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Yes. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: Came in to the kitchen to talk to your husband? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Just to speak to us just for a little while. Then they went in and had dinner. We served the dinner, and Betty was still in our sitting room, she was reading; and then we cleared things up, about nine o'clock Betty and I went upstairs; I wanted to show her something. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: What was it you wanted to show her? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Well, I had bought a costume and I wanted her to see it. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: A dress, you mean? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Yes. [This was for a masquerade of some kind.] </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: And you went up to your room then? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Yes. And Mr. Whateley went into our sitting room; he said he would read and then he went in there and he sat reading. We stayed in my room, and we had been there a long time, and Betty looked at her watch and she said, "It's ten o'clock, I must go to the baby." </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
....Q.: So... you were with Miss Gow pretty nearly every minute from about a quarter to eight, when she came down from the nursery? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: I was. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: Until about ten o'clock when she said she was going back to the baby's room? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Yes, sir. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: Except for very short intervals, your husband was in your presence? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Yes, he was. </blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zYdZ5kLTQ4AUuLjGIs4owNHsk3_E3tTIIg5eWpgBdKxF7eU7IbsEEvkACyHo4eVTSzjtB2E4RtPtSJPyxs7ibLFTrYu-iZ2hJrd9OVLpFBkgpZIOZvECs8_iY3aDkdynUqPChFVQ-kkp/s1600/betty+gow+aquitania.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zYdZ5kLTQ4AUuLjGIs4owNHsk3_E3tTIIg5eWpgBdKxF7eU7IbsEEvkACyHo4eVTSzjtB2E4RtPtSJPyxs7ibLFTrYu-iZ2hJrd9OVLpFBkgpZIOZvECs8_iY3aDkdynUqPChFVQ-kkp/s1600/betty+gow+aquitania.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">During the time between the recovery of the corpse and the trial, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Miss Gow (L) and Mrs. Whateley (R) returned to Scotland and England, respectively.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We see them here returning to the US to testify,</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">heavily guarded, on the SS Aquitania.</span><a href="http://www.ebay.com/itm/1934-Press-Photo-Betty-Gow-w-Ollie-Whately-aboard-SS-Acquitania-/371423718606" style="font-size: small;">Historic Images, Ebay.</a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span> </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
....Q.: Now, about ten o'clock when Miss Gow left you, did you leave the room too? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Yes, I went along to Mrs. Lindbergh's room. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: What happened there? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Well, I spoke to her. Do you want me to tell you what happened? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: Yes, please. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A; Well, she had a slight cold and she asked me if I would get her some lemon water and take it up to her. So I came out of the bedroom and, as I came out, I met Betty and she asked me if Mrs. Lindbergh was in there and I said yes. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
And she said, "I wonder if she wants to see the baby. I am just going in." </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
And I said, "Well," I said, "if she wants to, she is going through the other way, because she has gone through that door." </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
So I went downstairs and Betty went back into the baby's nursery. And I went downstairs and I told Mr. Whateley what I was going to do. And he got up and he put the kettle on, and I got a lemon out... and just as I was cutting the lemon through, Betty came down... and asked Mr. Whateley if he would go up to Colonel Lindbergh, he wanted him, as the baby had gone. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: What is that? I don't understand you. [Remember, the courtroom was very loud.] </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Betty came down and she asked Mr. Whateley if he would go up to the Colonel, as thet baby had gone and he wanted him. So he went upstairs and I asked Betty what she meant, and she said, "Why, Elsie, the baby is gone." </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
And I left her and went up and saw Colonel Lindbergh and my husband standing at the top of the stairs, and I said to the Colonel, "Where is Mrs. Lindbergh?" </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
And he said, "In there," he pointed ot the baby's nursery. And I went in and she was standing by the crib, and I stood by her. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: When Betty Gow said to you the baby was gone, in what tone of voice or manner of voice was it that she indicated it to you? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Well, she was terribly upset, of course. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The Court: What was that? I didn't understand. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: Terribly what? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: I say she was terribly upset. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: Then of course - By the way, you came down finally, I suppose, all of you. What did the women of the household do thereafter? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Well, Mrs. Lindbergh and I went into her room and I asked her to get dressed and I helped her to dress, and then Mrs. Lindbergh and I started to search the house and the Colonel and my husband went outside and searched around there. Then finally we came down and went into the living room and sat there... we didn't do anything, we simply sat.... </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: Did you talk? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Not much. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: Quite silent? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Yes. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q.: Tell us something about it, you see you were there, you will have to help us. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A.: Well, she didn't say anything in the living room. As I was going around with her, she said, "Oh, God." </blockquote>
The Whateleys and Miss Gow retired at around 4am, but Mrs. Lindbergh stayed up all night.<br />
<blockquote>
Q.: ...by the way, some mention or reference was made to a dog in the house. Was there a dog in the house that night? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Yes, there was. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: What sort of a dog was it? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: A terrier, an English terrier. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: An English terrier. Was he a barking dog or a quiet dog? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Well, I always thought he was sharp, if he heard a noise, he would bark, as a rule, but the wind was so bad that night you couldn't hear anything. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Mr. Reilly: I move to strike that out. It is calling for her conclusion. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
The Court: The answer seems not to be responsive. Mr. Wilents may reframe his question. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q (Mr. Wilents).: Did the dog bark that night between the hours of 7:30 and 10 o'clock? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
A.: No, he did not. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: What was the condition of the weather? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: It was very, very windy. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: Was it so windy that you could hear the wind? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Yes, you could. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: Do you know in what room the dog was during those hours between half past seven and ten o'clock? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Yes, he was in our sitting room in his basket. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: When you are talking about your sitting room, you are still referring to the dining room adjoining the kitchen? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: I am, yes. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: And downstairs? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Yes, sir. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: That is, the nursery being upstairs? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Yes. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
...Q.: I think Colonel Lindbergh told us, Madam, that your husband died in May, 1933? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: Yes. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Q.: What was the cause of his death, if you know? </blockquote>
<blockquote>
A.: It was <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/peritonitis/basics/definition/con-20032165">peritonitis</a>.</blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Betty Gow, left, and Oliver Whateley, the Lindbergh's butler.</span></div>
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<a href="http://fineartamerica.com/featured/betty-gow-nurse-of-the-lindbergh-baby-everett.html"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fine Art America.</span></a></div>
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<h2 class="tr_bq">
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H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-52718747987806751682015-11-06T12:07:00.002-08:002015-11-08T15:59:00.740-08:00A Game of Hide-and-Seek: the mysterious death of John Fiocco, Jr.<div style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.42857em; margin-bottom: 0.357143em; padding: 0px;">
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<a href="http://www.nj.com/mercer/index.ssf/2011/10/fiocco_parents_tcnj_graduate_k.html">John Fiocco, Jr.</a></div>
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<h2>
A Bad Hangover</h2>
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On March 25, 2006, John Fiocco attended an off-campus party with his friends and returned to crash in a girl's dorm room with two other TCNJ students. He was last seen at around 3am. When the students awoke in the morning, Fiocco's shoes remained, but Fiocco was not in the room. His roommate reported him missing at 3pm the next day, though he was told an investigation could not begin until Fiocco had been missing for 24 hours.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3bTSrvSABzRzfcRdO-vePG0Pn0B0clvGCPbZIaeJWaDAmQno6IyVnxdkp6zGsoirMChBY4ImLK1KCifk_IOZ02e0Us2TRHK03l5hmsA1WbYcrbuN2hWKQzlJ2oqKL9Jkoa3N-b6QzcLXi/s1600/bilde.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3bTSrvSABzRzfcRdO-vePG0Pn0B0clvGCPbZIaeJWaDAmQno6IyVnxdkp6zGsoirMChBY4ImLK1KCifk_IOZ02e0Us2TRHK03l5hmsA1WbYcrbuN2hWKQzlJ2oqKL9Jkoa3N-b6QzcLXi/s320/bilde.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.courierpostonline.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20060330/NEWS01/603300382/1006">A missing person flyer for John is displayed at a TCNJ bus stop.</a></div>
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Investigators traced back the drunken antics of Fiocco and searched the dorm, Wolfe Hall. Rumors ran wild.</div>
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On March 28, Fiocco’s blood - a lot of blood - a “voluminous” amount of blood - was found in and around a dumpster, and investigation focused on a trash chute that led down to the compactor. Investigators even ran a camera down the chute, but refused to comment on what they did or did not find. The idea, of course, was what Fiocco either voluntarily or involuntarily was stuffed down the chute. People strongly questioned whether a human body would fit down the chute; one student described the door as "spring-loaded" and leading into a "two-foot-by-two-foot space." </div>
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After a few months, word was spread that investigators were searching for anyone who had information on a <a href="http://www.tcnjsignal.net/2006/11/29/statepoliceexaminenewpossibilityinfioccocase/" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">late-night game of hide-and-seek</a>.</div>
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I distinctly remember reading an interview with the garbageman who ran the compactor before emptying the dumpster into his truck. A red substance oozed from the dumpster as they ran the compactor. He joked with his coworker that it looked like blood, but the two thought nothing of it. It turns out it was actually Fiocco's blood. I can't find a record of this quote, which I remember reading in a local paper, but it brought out an important question that we'll touch up on later: was Fiocco still alive when he entered the dumpster? Did the garbageman kill him when he activated the trash compactor?</div>
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The investigation then turned to searching the landfill where TCNJ’s garbage was brought to. After some time, Fiocco’s body was found there, badly decomposed.</div>
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<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/26/nyregion/26missing.html?_r=0">Fiocco's body is recovered in a landfill.</a></div>
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<h2>
A Mysterious Death</h2>
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“It was probably drugs,” one of my friends told me. “TCNJ is close to Trenton; it’s essentially Trenton, but nobody wants to talk about that because it’s such a nice school. It was a drug deal gone wrong. People get into that stuff, you know.” John was a well-known, well-liked kid. A typical freshman, gregarious and friendly. It wasn’t known that he had been involved in anything shady, but you never know. A kid like that could easily get mixed up with coke or something, and a dealer from Trenton visits the dorm, there's some unpaid debts, and there you go.</div>
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Was it the drunken game of hide-and-seek? Did he climb into the garbage chute to hide, and wind up falling into the dumpster? It turns out that no blood was found in the garbage chute. Did Fiocco willing climb into the dumpster? And why? </div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.42857em;">Was it the compactor that killed him, then? There was a motion-activated sensor in the compactor that would periodically crush the garbage when it got too full. It could have been triggered by the entry of Fiocco’s body, instantly crushing him.</span></div>
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Or - perhaps more reasonably, but something no one wanted to consider - was he not alive when he climbed in the dumpster? And was the killer someone from TCNJ?<br />
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<h2>
A Manic John Doe</h2>
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In 2008, Fiocco’s parents filed a wrongful death lawsuit against the school:</div>
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The court documents cited “gross negligence” on behalf of the College. Examples include 16 daily hours of open access to Wolfe Hall; failure to ensure the doors to Wolfe Hall and its compactor room were locked; open access to the compactor room; and allowing individuals to enter Wolfe Hall without signing in at the front desk when sign-in was required.<br />
<a href="http://www.tcnjsignal.net/2012/09/18/fioccos-settle-at-425000-mystery-remains-unsolved/" style="color: #0079d3; font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.42857em; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Source</a></div>
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In 2011, Fiocco’s parents dropped a bombshell: they alleged a TCNJ graduate had murdered their son:</div>
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Attorneys for Susan and John Fiocco Sr. made the bombshell revelation as they argued against TCNJ’s motion to dismiss a wrongful death lawsuit filed against the school by the couple. The attorneys said the graduate, who was never charged and was identified in court only as John Doe, sneaked into Wolfe Hall dormitory through lax security measures and killed Fiocco, 19, of Mantua, who had gone to sleep drunk. The attorneys accused TCNJ of gross negligence and asked a judge to send the case to trial.<br />
<a href="http://www.nj.com/mercer/index.ssf/2011/10/fiocco_parents_tcnj_graduate_k.html" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Source</a></div>
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They specifically stated that for an hour and a half that night, the doors to the dorm had been propped open.</div>
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While there are no direct links to the crime being a homicide at all, and no direct links linking John Doe to the crime, there seems to be a bit of circumstantial evidence:</div>
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While there was not enough evidence to charge John Doe with Fiocco’s death, there is plenty to link him to the crime, the lawsuit argues.</div>
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He had a history of mental illness, was on campus the night Fiocco disappeared and has no alibi for the late night hours in which Fiocco disappeared, according to the complaint.</div>
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Weeks before Fiocco’s disappearance, John Doe had been committed to a mental health facility where he was diagnosed with manic depressive and bipolar disorders, the suit says.</div>
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On the weekend Fiocco disappeared John Doe was not taking his medication and was acting “manic and bizarre” according to family members, it alleges.</div>
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Two days after Fiocco disappeared John Doe was involuntarily committed to a psychiatric hospital for a second time, according to the suit.</div>
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John Doe allegedly confessed to at least two people, one of whom contacted police, O’Hearn said.</div>
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During an interview with attorneys for the Fiocco family, John Doe’s mother allegedly said her son routinely left the house at all hours of the night and was regularly on the TCNJ campus, according to O’Hearn.</div>
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The woman said that when she heard about Fiocco’s disappearance and learned that blood was found in the garbage bin she wondered where her son had been that night.<br />
<a href="http://www.nj.com/mercer/index.ssf/2011/10/fiocco_parents_tcnj_graduate_k.html" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Source</a></div>
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Police did say that John Doe was one of the hundreds interviewed by police, but would not comment any further on the nature of that interview.</div>
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Of course, being mentally ill and needing psychiatric care doesn't make one a murderer, nor does it make one any more likely to be murderous than anyone else. The fact that the mother was suspicious lends some credence to this idea, but again, being "manic and bizarre" and leaving the house late at night doesn't mean you're guilty of homicide.</div>
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Did John Doe even know Fiocco? How did he get in the dorm room without waking anyone else up? Why is there no evidence of a struggle or a fight? If Fiocco was killed before he was placed in the dumpster, where is the blood?</div>
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In 2012, the Fioccos and TCNJ <a href="http://www.tcnjsignal.net/2012/05/05/425000-settlement-for-fioccos%E2%80%99-suit-against-the-state-and-the-college/" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">reached a settlement</a> with a payout of $425,000. As a result, the case would not be going to trial, and Fiocco’s death remains a mystery. No criminal charges were ever brought against John Doe.<br />
<br /></div>
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<h2>
Other sources</h2>
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<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/01/nyregion/01student.html" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">NYT, 4/1/06</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/26/nyregion/26missing.html" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">NYT, 4/26/06</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.tcnjsignal.net/2011/11/14/court-doc-gives-brief-history-of-fiocco-v-tcnj/" style="color: #0079d3; margin: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Court documents</a></div>
H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-77297006104494598102015-11-04T09:04:00.002-08:002015-11-04T09:04:48.190-08:00Morbid Mailbag: your stories about Lindbergh and HauptmannSince starting my research into the Lindbergh trial, I've gotten some fascinating messages. This is very much a hometown story for me, and that's true for many people from Flemington! <br />
<br />
Here are a couple tales for you...<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><b>A reply on my first Reddit thread:</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Friday, October 16, 2015<br /></i><br />
I also grew up in NJ and went to college nearby where this occurred. I have always been infatuated with this case. My freshmen year of college, in my speech class, I presented my speech on this case. <br />
<br />
After class, an acquaintance of mine approached me and said I should come see somersetting in her room. She showed me a photograph of a man and a letter from the state of NJ. Her great-grandfather was the truck driver that found the baby. She also shared with me that her great-grandfather knew that the baby that was found was NOT the Lindbergh baby. The story she told me is that the police kept repeating to him, "This is the Lindbergh baby, do you understand that?" But that the baby was actually a child from the nearby orphanage that they used as a decoy to make it seem as though the baby had been killed. He overheard that the baby was sent away to another family.
<br />
<br />
<i>Heart's thoughts:</i><br />
<br />
Sadly, Lindbergh opted for cremation, so tales like these can never be put to rest. The body was badly decomposed and partly eaten by animals, though, so I doubt the truck driver or assistant would have been able to make an identification. You can find images of the corpse online (I will refrain from posting one here at the moment). The face was slightly recognizable, and the corpse was identified based on the undershirt hand-sewn by Bessie Gow and an overlapping toe.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><b>Message from my "Submit a case" page:</b></i><br />
<br />
<i>October 26, 2015</i><br />
<br />
So I saw your post on the Lindbergh Trial on Reddit. I haven't ever felt comfortable sharing this, so here goes, I guess. I've been doing genealogy for the past few years. I was compiling stories and such, and my grandmother asks me if I know about the Lindbergh baby. I'm like, of course I do. <br />
<br />
She says, "Do you know Bruno was innocent?" <br />
<br />
Of course I was interested in what she had to say. <br />
<br />
My grandfather's mother's father worked with Bruno. He worked with Bruno as a carpenter and a house painter. My great-great-grandfather and Bruno put the ladder together from the slats or flooring in Bruno's attic in order to paint Highfields, since the Lindberghs hadn't been there for some time and they requested the house to have a fresh coat of paint.<br />
<br />
By my grandmother's story, Bruno couldn't have kidnapped the baby due to the fact he had an alibi. He was with my great-great-grandfather's parents; I don't know if it was one or both. But he had an alibi and couldn't have done it. My great-great-grandfather was kind of confused why the police didn't contact him, as it was known that they were working on the house. And I have never have seen his name mentioned, ever.
<br />
<br />
<i>Heart's response:</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
That is fascinating. I've yet to go through Bruno's testimony, but I'll be sure to check that out. At the time of the kidnapping (this is based on part of the testimony that are available on Murderpedia) Hauptmann had been looking for work, and was supposed to work at a hotel that day but was told he wasn't needed. So he claims he was going around New York looking for work all day. His alibi for the time of the kidnapping was having dinner with his wife at a restaurant, so I need to see if there were any witnesses to attest to that (or if there weren't, why weren't any questioned? and so on).<br />
<br />
Hauptmann did claim that he never made a ladder, didn't make that ladder, and didn't even sketch a ladder (there was a sketch found in his notebooks). So I'm kind of skeptical, because if he had a legitimate reason for making that ladder, why not own up to it? I can see him denying it if he didn't have a lawyer, but being that he did the lawyer must have pressed him like "if you can explain your way out of this, it'll save your life." <br />
<br />
So I'm skeptical, but eager to compare this to his testimony!<br />
<br />
<div>
<i>Anonymous' response:</i><br />
<br />
That is interesting. Their last name is [redacted]. They were from Mercer County, New Jersey. My grandmother says they weren't questioned at all which I don't quite understand. [Great-great-grandfather] was a carpenter as well as a painter. It might have not been Bruno's, so why did he have it if it was made by [great-great-grandfather]? And deny working on the house. Did he copy it?<br />
<br />
They could have pressed him like that and he got defensive and decided to lie, because either way he was going to look guilty like if he told the "truth." For example,"Well you were working with someone who made the ladder -- how do we know you didn't use it to break in?" <br />
<br />
I honestly feel like my grandfather's grandparents knew a lot more then they let on. They were adamant about the eugenics theory [i.e., that Lindbergh had his son killed because he had some sort of a disability]. Well, why? What did they know? They didn't live far from where the Lindberghs' home was. I was told they have a lot secrets or skeletons in the closet considering this it makes them all the more cryptic/ominous.<br />
<br />
I don't like that they didn't cross-examine Mrs.Lindbergh. That leaves so much open. It'd be nice to be able to bring everyone involved back from the dead for one afternoon and just ask, you know, since the dead can't go to prison. Haha!<br />
<br />
<br />
<h2>
Do you have a personal tale to tell about the Lindbergh case? </h2>
Or any case, for that matter? <a href="http://morbidstreak.blogspot.com/p/var-blogid-8694494030520005341this.html">Let's chat!</a></div>
H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6919623387381658741.post-59035383565172856292015-11-03T10:33:00.001-08:002015-11-03T10:33:50.291-08:00Better Days: an inspiring tale of hope and love from the jungles of Colombia <div class="tr_bq">
Poor Colombia - the country just can't seem to catch a break. I'm sure you've heard harrowing tales of drug lords and the FARC, revolutionary rebels who hide deep in the jungles and terrorize the countrysides. I don't want to get too much into the politics of the situation, because that's not the point - it's not a good situation for anyone involved, and surely empathy is deserved all around. </div>
<br />
The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, or FARC, had been around since 1960, and had a nasty habit of taking hostages in order to finance their rebellion:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
By the time that the FARC and the Colombian government announced a ceasefire at the end of last year, their civil war had become one of the longest-running and bloodiest in the world. The FARC, Latin America’s oldest surviving left-wing insurgency, has been labeled a terrorist group by the US State Department and has a long history of kidnapping to help finance its operations. In the past decade, 6,880 people have been snatched in Colombia and held for ransom — some for as long as 18 years. Five hundred of the hostages are either involved with the military or politics. While the FARC prefer to kidnap Americans for money, prominent Colombian prisoners can be valuable political leverage. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Hostages’ accounts of their time in captivity are harrowing: Sgt. Jose Libardo Forero was one of Colombia’s "forgotten" hostages, held by the FARC for nearly 13 years. After his release, Forero spoke of relieving his mental anguish by bonding with jungle animals and one pet pig he called Josefo, whom he got hooked on coffee. Colombian politician Ingrid Betancourt, held for six years, recalled being chained to a tree by her neck.</blockquote>
<br />
Our tale takes place in 2010, and our hero is Colonel Espejo, the communications expert of the Colombian army. The Colonel had a problem: he needed to send a messages for the hostages of the FARC. Commando missions were taking place throughout the region, pushing hard to rescue hostages who had been held for close to a decade and were losing hope, fearing they had been forgotten. Since the FARC would shoot hostages dead at the first sign of a military invasion, Colonel Espejo needed to tell the hostages to prepare to escape. <br />
<br />
But how do you communicate to captives deep in the tropical jungle? The Colonel called 42-year-old advertising executive Juan Carlos Ortiz, who had worked with the military before creating a unique campaign against Colombia's cocaine problem. <br />
<br />
But how do you send a message to a hostage? Whatever the hostages saw, heard, or touched, their captors would see, hear, and put their hands on, as well. How could Ortiz send a message that would remain invisible to the captors, yet be understood by the hostages? It would have to be in some kind of code...<br />
<br />
In 2010, it was known that many of the captives were military members. "What about Morse code?" suggested Colonel Espejo. Morse was taught to many military members as part of basic training, yet FARC members, civilians from the Colombia countryside, would not have this knowledge. <br />
<br />
The military knew that hostages often had access to the radio:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
...it relieves the tedium of long hikes through the Colombian jungle and keeps their minds from escape. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Communicating with hostages via radio is a years-old practice in Colombia. The show "Voices of Kidnapping" on Bogota’s Caracol Radio is dedicated to victims’ families who send messages to their loved ones via special call-ins. Creator Herbin Hoyos Medina came up with the idea in 1994, after he was kidnapped for 17 days. He now broadcasts the show from Madrid, giving families 30-second slots to send messages.</blockquote>
After tossing about the idea of hiding the code in a commercial, the team of advertising executives and military members decided upon a pop song.<br />
<br />
Teaming up with composers and advertisers from Colombian radio station Radio Bemba, military police coded a 20-word-long message and tucked it after the chorus of a song they composed. The message was repeated 3 times during the song to ensure that it would be heard and understood. Recorded by musical artists Natalia Guiterrez Y Angelo, it actually sounded like a Top 40 pop hit with a musical synth interlude.<br />
<br />
The short message conveyed words of hope, reassuring hostages that if they chose to run away, they would not die alone in the jungle: the military was nearby, waiting to rescue them: <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://cdn0.vox-cdn.com/thumbor/XuDNMqH4GmdkqT-brrKwhOikJzQ=/1000x0/filters:no_upscale()/cdn0.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/2899134/morse_code_gif.0.0.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="88" src="https://cdn0.vox-cdn.com/thumbor/XuDNMqH4GmdkqT-brrKwhOikJzQ=/1000x0/filters:no_upscale()/cdn0.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/2899134/morse_code_gif.0.0.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Listen to the powerful song below:<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="no" height="450" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/184253099&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
Now try to read the lyrics without getting teary-eyed:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<b style="box-sizing: border-box;">"Better Days"</b><br />
<br />
In the middle of the night<br />
Thinking about what I love the most<br />
I feel the need to sing<br />
What my heart has to give<br />
I talk about those I love<br />
About how much I miss them<br />
I talk about pride and strength<br />
Which beat inside my heart<br />
<br />
[CHORUS]<br />
A new dawn singing this message<br />
From my heart<br />
Although I'm tied up and alone<br />
I feel as if I'm by your side<br />
Listen to this message, brother<br />
<br />
[MORSE MESSAGE]<br />
19 people rescued. You’re next. Don’t lose hope<br />
<br />
[VERSE 2]<br />
I want to keep on fighting<br />
For my friends, my family, my children<br />
We will soon see each other again<br />
I'm sure better days are coming<br />
<br />
[CHORUS x 2]
</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
Is someone cutting onions in here?<br />
<br />
The military controlled many radio stations near the jungle where the FARC hostages were held, and they managed to get the song significant airtime:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The song was played on over 130 small stations and heard by 3 million people. Though most Colombians in major cities would not even recognize the song, it became popular in the rural areas controlled by the FARC. By December 2010, "Better Days" was echoing across the jungle. And the plan worked.
"We know of hostages who heard the message and were able to escape and provide information that led to the release of more hostages," says Colonel Espejo. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
....One former hostage was able to confirm the song’s effectiveness, according to Col. Espejo. He told Ortiz of a clandestine operation that resulted in the release of Private Joshua Alvarez. In his military psychological evaluation, Col. Espejo says that the soldier spoke of hearing "the code hidden in the song," and revealed how the message was passed from soldier to soldier. The song was even enjoyed by the FARC, who were oblivious to its secret message. Back home in his village in western Nariño, Alvarez was greeted with a hero’s welcome, including fireworks and banners. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"It makes me very happy to think of the hostages listening to our song," Ortiz says.
</blockquote>
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<span style="color: #363636; font-family: Georgia, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sergeant Pablo Emilio Moncayo, held captive by FARC for 12 years, <br />is released in March 2010 (<a href="http://en.people.cn/90001/90777/90852/6936286.html">source</a>, <a href="http://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/news/2010/mar/30/only-slim-hopes-for-more-colombia-hostage-releases/">source</a>)</span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
Colombia agreed to declassify the code operation in 2011, to allow Ortiz to earn a well-deserved rewards for his efforts. <br />
<br />
As of 2014, FARC and the government of Colombia have been involved in peace talks, and have agreed to work together against the Colombian drug trade. <br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Original article by Jeff Marsh of The Verge, <a href="http://www.theverge.com/2015/1/7/7483235/the-code-colombian-army-morsecode-hostages">link</a></i><br />
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<br />H. R. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00658277637867108210noreply@blogger.com0