tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40081729537599520502023-11-15T06:23:47.744-08:00From The House of the WatchmanThis is a catalog of mental meanderings concerning the life and times of the Wonderful Mr. Bill, his wife the Stupendous Miss Mona and their family, both extended as well as primary, from their guardpost in Moose Pass, Alaska. Enjoy!Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-75602083832587513702012-10-09T23:23:00.000-07:002012-10-09T23:23:17.975-07:00Group hug<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Miss Mona sez:<br />
<br />
Had the first meeting of the new women's faith-based peer support group I am facilitating this morning. Bad night last night after a VERY active day on Monday so I was in major pain, did NOT want to get out of bed, thank you very much!<br />
<br />
Managed to get up with a little help from my honey, Mr Bill, showered, meds downed and tea-in-hand, I limped my way next door to the church. Nobody there yet, into the Family Room to turn on the "fireplace" a blessed soul donated so the room would warm up above the economical but chilly 50 degrees the thermostat sits at during the week. A little praise music on the cd player and my battered body on the couch (another wonderful donation) to spend a little time in prayer...<br />
<br />
What is a peer support group, you ask?<br />
<br />
Peer support is when people who are experiencing similar challenges get together to provide mutual support as they continue the process they are in. There can be any number of types of groups- young mothers, home schoolers, people with chronic illness, seniors, substance abusers, organic gardeners...Sharing ideas, information, cups of tea, a little humor- we stand together and our lives are richer because of it. Life is messy and often hard, doing it all alone is a great way to flounder and end up failing. In peer support you find you are not the only one struggling, the only one confused or frustrated when things do not go according to plan.<br />
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My group is for those of us dealing with chronic something-or-other with an eye toward prayer, the Bible and restoration. 20plus years of fibromyalgia, chronic depression, a husband in chronic pain and the struggle to make sense of the process are my particular focal points in this group. Others will come with their own particular burdens they could use a little help with. Two ladies came today, one is new to the peer support concept and the other has been in it for a few years. Total confidentiality is a key concept in the process, no gossipy "sharing" with someone outside the group, not even your very bestest friend forever!<br />
My own stuff is mine to spread around as I see fit but by no means do I share the lives and struggles of my fellow members.<br />
<br />
Anyway.<br />
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It can be hard to be a Christian and have a chronic struggle with disease or depression. Helpful people advise me to pray more or repent of the hidden sin in my life."Think positive", they'll say, or "Just trust God!"<br />
When I first came back from my personal pigpen (see the Prodigal story in Luke 15:11), there was very little teaching in churches about how to get the messes cleaned up that my behaviors had made. I was a drunk, a druggie, addicted to what my eldest calls "frivolous sex', and prone to taking off down the highway when things got complicated. Fear, depression, anxiety. A toddler daughter and a screwed-up marriage. Mostly I was treated like I was all better now and things would be fine since I was back in the sheepfold. That was not really how things went, though, surprise, surprise. I needed a whole lot of help and all that was available was a lot of smiley, well-meaning but clueless folks and a sense of somehow being a failure because I did not feel as happy as they all seemed to be. Rural Alaska was a little scarce in the resource department when it came to my collection of garbage.<br />
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Tomorrow I will talk a bit about the process God took me through from there to here, more than thirty years in the process.<br />
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May the God who spoke to the wind and the waves also bring to you the peace and stillness He brought to them!<br />
<br /></div>
Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-16619675770707031802012-10-02T15:24:00.002-07:002012-10-02T15:24:28.070-07:00Do you really want to know?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Miss Mona sez:<br />
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Blogging is such an interesting thing. Thousands and thousands of people sharing all manner of information and insights on an international medium. No holds barred, no topic too obscure, a veritable paradise for the information junkie and the inquisitive (read: nosy).<br />
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What motivates and drives the humans who post? Why do the readers read and then comment? Does anyone really care?<br />
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It has been many months since I have ventured into this digital smorgasbord to share what I think. Mr Bill has gone back to the Moose Pass Journal, his personal newsletter to family and friends- not enough were bothering to do the extra couple of mouse clicks necessary to be stunned and amazed by his humor and wisdom. So, they get it delivered into their electronic laps to read or ignore and he feels a little bit better.<br />
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Do they really want to know?<br />
<br />
Do you?<br />
<br />
There is so much information and opinion available on the internet that it is overwhelming at times. Political and social commentary, recipes, advice, sarcasm and sorrow. Starving children, abused animals, domestic and international confusion and violence side-by-side with cute little kittens, snarky comments and awe-inspiring beauty in art and nature. Political debates rage and paranoid postings of governmental/financial manipulation and conspiracy. Never before has humanity been so intimately vulnerable and yet so isolated!<br />
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I am a Christian.<br />
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I am not politically correct or denominationally strict. I still have unpopular habits and a tendency to challenge the comfortably secure in their cocoon of certainty. I smoke, I sometimes swear, I do not dress fashionably or drive a "green" vehicle. I advocate for the disenfranchised, eat meat that is not organic and snicker at people's foolishness. I have hugged my share of trees and I have cut a few down to keep my family warm, served my country in the Air Force, my community as an EMT, my family as a stay-at-home mom. I vote nonpartisan because I think the party system is archaic and divisive, drink a bit and believe we should legalize cannabis though I really don't care to use it. Think drunk drivers should be shot and child molesters are suitable for compost. Love dogs, cats and all kinds of growing things.<br />
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I have an opinion. I think, I feel, I speak, I listen, I try to sort out the truth from the lies from the opinions from the facts from the theories from the questions. I am a puzzle-solver, a yarn-untangler, a book-finisher until 3 a.m.<br />
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Sometimes I am successful and sometimes I am exhausted by the process.<br />
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But I really, really, really want to KNOW.<br />
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What about you?</div>
Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-73446106792442776472012-06-24T13:28:00.000-07:002012-06-24T13:28:06.354-07:00Thoughts on the need to write<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Miss Mona sez: <br />
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I know it may be a bit weird to share a blog with your husband but it kinda tells you something fundamental about us- we come as a set.<br />
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Not always in the same place at the same time, but always together.<br />
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He tells crazy stories, I am just crazy. We both write about what is on our minds, we just have widely differing ways of expressing ourselves.<br />
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I love to watch him as he writes- he is so focused and absorbed , fingers tapping madly away (he wears the letters off of keyboards!), occasional pauses for help with a word that spellcheck doesn't like or when he can't remember the word he wants to use...<br />
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Writing has kept him sane, helped him to find healing, given him a purpose. Medical retirement in his 30's and constant pain has been a rough row for this man to hoe. Writing about Viet Nam was an emotional rollercoaster as he delved into his memories for accurate descriptions and characters, inserting bits of real into his fictional characters and events.Opening those pain-filled deposits in his mind have caused him to face and not ignore them and he has chosen to take them to our Lord for forgiveness and healing. Each rewrite has brought him a deeper level of healing and freedom, for which I am grateful. Each time he has felt overwhelmed and frustrated by another refusal from an agent or publisher that has made him want to quit, the Holy Spirit gives him a new story line in his dreams that won't stop invading his sleep until he begins to write it down! God is cool!<br />
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Same for me, actually, though my outlet has been journalling and essay/commentary writing. Writing it down helps me to focus, to face, to release to God. The process of trying to describe despair, anger, confusion and pain has, in effect, given them edges and definition. Brings the seemingly impossible and immense problem to a solid place where I can dissect its elephantine proportions down to bite-size hunks. <br />
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Bill keeps telling me I need to write, share my journals and thoughts. Occasionally I try but far too often I allow life to distract or I choose not to share because "no one will read it." Dawned on me that I was doing the same as Bill in that I was giving up (giving in?) and that I really need to do do something with all the stuff floating around in my brain, taking up space and bugging the crap out of me. I need the outlet or I shall stagnate. Writers need to write just like growing things need light. It is food to our spirit, our soul. Readers are a wonderful plus but the bottom line is that they are an option, not a requirement!<br />
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So, here I am, sitting at the keyboard and trying to express the need to express myself. I shall endeavor to be consistent and not too dull, just in case the odd individual may wander by and stop for a look.<br />
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May you find the blessing you are searching for, dear ones! </div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-84774963912102091452012-04-07T23:17:00.002-07:002012-04-07T23:17:47.382-07:00Pre-Easter 4/7/12<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Mr. Bill says: Some of you may have already read about this on my Moose Pass Journal, but I wanted to add this event to our blog. Today, James Arthur Lee Casselman returned home safely from Afghanistan. Becca, his loving wife, set things up so he could surprise his two daughters- an Easter surprise. She filmed this and shared it on her Face Book site, allowing us to share in the moment of this little 4 year old girl jumping with delight to see her daddy and being swept up in his arms. The youngest daughter, Claire, who is 10 months old, will she looked a bit bewildered in wondering what was going on and I have no idea who the other people in the video were.<br />
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I must admit, having gone through my own war- NO, not World War II as some local teenagers believe, but Viet Nam, I was always concerned when John, Joshua and then James went over to the sand box. I knew things could happen, to God fearing Christians, Jews or atheists- this is war and all the sadness involved. My grandfather on my Dad's side fought in his war, my Dad fought in Korea at 17 yrs old and I journeyed off to the Far East to see the elephant myself. To see the elephant was a phrase brought about in the Civil War, of how young men went off to see and feel the excitement of war, much like boys ran away to join the circus and play with the elephants. Sadly, they saw war for what it was- horrible.<br />
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Like any parent, especially one who has been in a war, I prayed every day for the safety of my sons. I knew things could happen and hoped it wouldn't happen to one of our boys. But, being a veteran and a patriot, I was also proud of my sons going off to join. I know my daughters wanted to join, but events took place to alter their plans. Now they serve as mothers, parents to a new generation of Casselmans- at least one half of them. The other half... well, I guess they count too. :)<br />
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My beautiful Mona was also a veteran and I thank God she was, or we may never have met. Through her, I came to know the Lord and for 32 years we've been together through the thick and thin of it. As I have said many a time, she was the perfect cop's wife and was always ready to stand beside me when things turned sour and people would've loved to have harmed us. Our first year of marriage was forged in that steel, when things fell apart in Dillingham and I was the only cop left. Pretty scary for a while. Well, she's passed that trait down to our children, though sometimes they have to be reminded of it. We have tough kids and the pioneer stock of the Sanders is strong in them. Oh, I imagine the survival instinct of the city boy rom my side carries some weight.<br />
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Long ago, my father, who didn't relish living in a Wisconsin orphanage, placed there by his mother so he and his sister could eat, ran away to find his father. He was 8 yrs old. They found him in Texas and dragged him back. One year later, he broke out again and rode the rails to California and did locate his dad. They remained together until my Dad joined the Army at 17 and left for Japan. When the bugle was called in Korea, his armor unit was the first one called in. When the Chinese came across, nearly one million strong, my dad and his friends ran for 80-miles to escape and this was during the Korean winter. Hard task for a new 18 year old.<br />
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I know John, James and Joshua have learned a lot over there in Afghanistan and Iraq, and their memories of those times will remain with them forever. Maybe the heat, the lack of privacy, sleeping through mortar attacks, friendships and brotherhood, will be the only memories and for this I would be thankful.<br />
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I never got to talk to my Grandpa about his war, he died when I was five. But after coming home from Viet Nam, my father grabbed a couple beers out of the frig and we walked out into his backyard. For the first time, he shared with me about Korea. He said that now that I knew about war, I would be able to understand. That day I felt something special in our relationship, though we never talked about it again. It was one time thing, because he didn't like bringing up those moments in fear of his own nightmares. Now I've learned that talking about Viet Nam has helped me overcome a lot of my dragons. Oh, there are some moments I will not talk about, but I love to share about the good times- the jokes and pranks we pulled to get by. My kids have grown up hearing these tales- over and over and over again. Now they have their own to tell and I sincerely hope their kids will listen and remember. Some things need to be passed on from one generation to the next, this is the history of our families.<br />
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When I came home from Viet Nam, there was no one waiting for me at the airport and apparently no one knew I was due in. I had to borrow $17 from my closest friend to fly south and I guess I never did pay him back. Imagine what the interest rate could be over 38 yrs?<br />
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I only say this as a way to help Becca understand how happy I was to see that video, it met a lot to both Mona and I. Thank you. Hug him for us. He looked good, but I did notice a bit of a balding spot- same place I have one....kidding. <br />
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Enjoy this Easter, all of you and God Bless!</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-35351282036578674752012-04-03T14:09:00.001-07:002012-04-03T14:09:33.297-07:00Back to Ol' Blue Eyes 4/3/12<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bill says: I will try to wrap this tale up, knowing some of you were left hanging and it has been some time since I sat down to blog. Please refer to the earlier parts to reacquaint you with Blue Eyes. I might also mention at this time of how the weather and majestic scenery in Moose Pass are simply fantastic. We have a low 50 degree temperature and yes, the snow is melting finally. We have lost at least a foot of hard pack snow in the last week and our driveway is back down to...wait for it- DIRT!<br />
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Okay, we're back in 1974 again and I am once more stuck on the desk; taking phone calls, handling walk-n complaints and dispatching my patrols to various calls. The whispers and rumors of the Blue Eyes incident have spread through the squadron and then were carried throughout the base. It seemed we suddenly had a lot of help from other base residents, everyone watching the desert in hopes for any sign of this strange critter. With the desert off-limits at night, we were chasing a lot of people off the dirt roads or hideaways. We also had the occasional love nest; 2-4 people fogging up a parked car in some desert location- which was normal for those cheating on their spouses and desiring a secret spot. Sometimes we'd even catch an officer or two, but we'd just shoo them all back to the hard top roads. I wasn't a morals enforcer, just making sure the off-limits was enforced. Often or not, it was usually the guy who was more embarrassed then his lady friend and even had one lady stand there in the nude addressing me in some pretty colorful profane words. Desert did that to some people.<br />
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A few nights later, Blue Eyes was back in the limelight and I happened to be handling the desk traffic- I began to believe I had some weird sort of connection with this thing, as he or she, or just plain it, always made an appearance on my shift.<br />
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An elderly couple traveling through the base on their way to Bakersfield, ( Edwards was an open base with two major state highways running through it back then- but not now), and had an encounter with what they thought to be a very large bear. They were driving north on 120th Highway, when this critter suddenly appeared in front of them and bounced off the left side front bumper of their vehicle. They were calling in on one of the base emergency phones, which were scattered about the base roadways. I dispatched the South Base Patrol to their location.<br />
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He reported in that the couple had indeed struck some kind of animal, leaving blood and long deep brown hairs over most of the bumper area. He also mentioned the hairs were very thick, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Then he hit me with the bad news, how the couple remembered seeing the creature's eyes and how they were large and radiant blue in color. That was enough. I had him escort the couple to headquarters, so we could conduct a thorough interview and take photographs of the damage. I advised the patrolman to secure the hairs and blood samples with his evidence kit. The couple refused to be seen by the base emergency room, but agreed to come to headquarters. They were hoping for a report to provide to their insurance company.<br />
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I also dispatched three other patrols into the area to see if they could locate the beast, but they were ordered not to leave their vehicle. I was sure a larger search would be conducted during daylight hours, giving the search teams a good range of visibility across the flat desert landscape. There was also a lot of rattlers out there and I didn't want one of my guys stumbling into a nest of them. We already had a couple men out on sick call and I couldn't afford to lose any more.<br />
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When the couple arrived, I went outside to view the damage. The flight chief- my boss, also came out and he stood there, admiring the damage, but refusing to utter a single word. TSgt Harrell was like that, unless he was screaming at you and boy, he was good at stripping a man down when it was needed. He would later retire and go to work for US Customs, manning a station on the Mexican Border. He's gone now, but he was truly one of the good guys- even though he kept sticking me behind that dang desk!<br />
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The damage was there on the bumper and I'd say in my less than some State Farm insurance agent's estimate, the critter this car hit was of sizable dimensions. So, the report was done and you know what happened...YES, everything was seized by the Office of Special Investigations, ( Air Force version of the Men in Black). I was beginning to grow weary of these guys coming in and taking my work, but there was little I could do about it.<br />
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Nothing happened for two nights and I was enjoying a very nice day off, when I was called in to assist the on duty Desk Sergeant. He was new to this work and everyone was being sent out to the base Rocket Site for an "Emergency- Officer Needs Assistance", call. A dozen or more off-duty personnel came in, because the desk sergeant had lost contact with the rocket site patrol and the gate guard at that site reported hearing shots fired. So much for my day off.<br />
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I won't use the patrolman's name because the incident was a might embarrassing for him. He was found unconscious by responding patrols, his .38 caliber service revolver in the sand beside him and all six rounds had been fired. Now in the Air Force, if you fire even one round- for any reason- on duty and off the shooting range, you've got to file a report. Paperwork is what ran the military and I figure we may have killed off a few forests in my time at Edwards Air Force Base.<br />
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His story was how he was driving up around the rocket stands- this was where those huge rocket engines were brought to be tested, when he thought he'd seen some movement. The only light had come from the moon, which was about three quarters full at the time and a few million stars. He wanted to check it out and called in to the desk that he was leaving his vehicle to check on something. Now you have to understand, the rocket site is a good 20 miles from where the couple hit our alleged weird critter- possible Martian or an escaped gorilla or bear with unusual eyes, or some kind of NASA experiment gone wrong. <br />
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The patrolman walked around a bit, having illuminated the area with his spot light and headlights. He was also using his flashlight. The only thing he could remember was this massive shape suddenly appearing in front of him- he recalls seeing a single blue eye- shaped like a silver dollar and just as big. He doesn't remember pulling his revolver or firing it, he could only recall opening his eyes and seeing half-a dozen of his friends standing over him.<br />
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A massive search was made of the area. Foot prints, similar to the one at the MARS Station were discovered and casts were made. There was no blood, so it appeared the patrolman missed all six times.<br />
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I assisted the on-duty desk sergeant with the reports and filing the evidence, knowing it would all disappear in the morning. After two hours of searching, the flight chief called everyone in and another search would be made of the area in the morning by day-shift. I went back to the barracks and got a few more hours of sleep, thinking I'd hitch a ride up there in the morning and look around myself. Instead, I got called into the office of my NCOIC, (non-commissioned officer in charge- MSgt Bacon), and briefed on the events of last night and how he wanted the new report to be typed up. I thought the on-duty guy would get stuck with this, but for some reason he wanted me to type it up. I think it was some sort of punishment for the way I added some flare to the previous Blue Eye reports.<br />
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A week went by and no knew reports of Blue Eyes and we began to think the critter was either dead, chewed up by coyotes or had decided to move along. finally, TSgt Harrell let me back on patrol and gave me South Base Patrol, which sounded like a great idea because little was going on that night and he felt confining me to that area was the safest thing to do. I liked to dig things up, which caused a lot of headaches for my boss. I once confiscated 10 tool boxes, an assortment of radios and the tail stand for an aircraft that were all left unsecured on the flight line. You should have heard the words coming out of the mouth of the squadron commander when he came down to claim the property- I was back on the desk for the following month or so.<br />
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After a few hours of patrol, I parked down at the day picnic grounds. There was a small lake and half a dozen picnics table and a shaded area with some barbecue pits. I was outside my truck; an old 1968 Chevrolet pick-up with a three speed stick on the column. Top speed about 70 mph, but good for desert travel- if you don't mind getting stuck 2-3 times a night. We kept a special jack and a shovel in the back for such events.<br />
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Walking around and answering nature's call- too much coffee, I saw something moving across the horizon. The moon was full and the desert was lit up. The shape, which reminded me of a large- very large Christmas Tree, was moving across the ground at a good pace. I just stood there, knowing it couldn't be a vehicle- not with that shape and started to get excited. Just maybe, this was Ol' Blue Eyes and I'd finally have my chance to take this critter down. Actually I was only armed with my .38 revolver, so my hopes of big game hunting diminished some. I dashed over to my truck and was in the process of grabbing my microphone when an emergency call came over the radio. Big bar fight at the NCO club and I was one of the patrols being dispatched. I thought for a moment about not replying, going off in pursuit of the beast, but I knew better. Besides that, when I looked to see which way the critter had gone, the horizon was now empty of my Christmas Tree. Vanished.<br />
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I only told my flight chief of the sighting that night and he simply nodded his head up and down and smoked his cigarette. Then he pointed at the desk and I knew I was off patrol once again.<br />
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The was the end of Blue Eyes. We never had another report of him haunting the base. The patrolman who emptied his revolver spent a night at the hospital and asked never to be assigned to the rocket site again- which he wasn't. I often searched the desert on my days off, hoping to find some sign of Blue Eyes.<br />
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Recently I heard there was a story of Blue Eyes on the Internet and I checked it out. The whole story, which was supposed to be back when we had our first sighting of Blue eyes, were total bunk. Reports of patrol cars being tipped over, patrolmen injured...ridiculous! None of that happened. If anything Ol' Blue Eyes seemed to be a timid creature, though he did smash down the Mars Station gate and I was always curious why? The Mars Station was deserted and a new one was built.<br />
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End of story. Not much of a sci-fi tale, but all true and it happened in 1974 at Edwards Air Force Base, California. Try to remember, Edwards was a very strange place and probably still is. Here they tested the military's first attempts at building a flying saucer, (I saw photos of it and read how it never worked very well). How they used radiation to grow gigantic veggies, but couldn't quite get the deadly poison out of them. Rumors of how the highly secret North Base area was where the Roswell aliens were being kept. The many underground sites and where chemical warfare was tested during World War II. Yes, a unique location and I spent 4.5 yrs there. I loved the desert and spent many an hour scouting the area. I found wild long horn cattle- only one of them, but mean! Went on many a rattle snake hunt and watched as many of the new aircraft were being tested. I got aboard the Space Shuttle Enterprise and always hoped they would someday let it fly into space. But it was prototype - no engines and only used to glide. I went into the B-1 bomber and thought I'd walked into a sci-fi movie- really spacey. Stumbled across two U-2 spy planes in a unsecured hanger and my partner nearly got busted for being found in one of the cockpits. And I actually got to sit in the cockpit of an SR-71- that was a thrill. Yes, I enjoyed Edwards. Then I thought someone was playing a big joke on me- I received orders for Alaska and I was not thrilled. But I soon learned this was truly God's country. <br />
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I do apologize for the length of this, but I wasn't sure when I'd be back on my blog again. Bye now.</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-59460973123299721222012-01-09T23:39:00.000-08:002012-01-09T23:39:38.096-08:00Now what?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Wow- 2012! How the heck did that happen?<br />
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The Mayans seem to think we are all in at the end of this one-what do you think? Mr Bill says the calender maker just got tired of the whole thing and figured enough was enough.<br />
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Me, I am actually looking forward to all this year has in store.<br />
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With Mom's passing I find myself without someone I am responsible to care for (Mr Bill doesn't count) for the first time in more than 35 years. I am a free woman and I am trying to grasp what that means. My nest is by no means empty as Hannah is here for the winter and Jeremy lives with us, but they are both adults, pretty low-maintenance and take care of themselves. There are various small dogs and elderly cats scattered about the place, but they don't really count as that kind of responsibility.<br />
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I will be 54 this year and I find myself wondering what I will be when I grow up. <br />
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It is strangely exciting. Silly in many ways considering how many things I have to get done in the next few months. It is not like I have nothing to do (you should see my basement!) or that I am going to run right out and get a job or go to college. That is not it at all. It just feels like the future is full of possibilities! Bill has bugged me for years about writing and I find myself in possession of both a blog and an advice column in a local newspaper- "Miss Mona's Tea and Sympathy" in the Seward Journal. I am working on a Facebook site for Tea and Sympathy (come see and "Like" me!!) which means I have to figure out the whole copy and paste, where do I put it thing and I am by no means skilled on a computer.<br />
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I am on the board of directors for four nonprofits, active in my church which is in the process of occupying our new and unfinished building, a mom, grandmother and general busybody so I already have a full schedule. Trying to figure out how to raise funds and supplies for all these things, learning to research grants and not get sucked into the buy-our-book-we have-the-answer sites. I am hugely involved in peer support for people with chronic medical issues ( I have fibromyalgia and chronic depression) and have a wonderful husband who thinks I should occasionally pay attention to him.<br />
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I think I may end up doing a bit more blogging this year as I feel the need to chronicle this process. And I need to learn how to add pictures and stuff to this thing to make it more visually interesting.<br />
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So, what do I have on the agenda? Come back tomorrow and I will let you in on my, for want of a better term, New Year's resolutions!<br />
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Loving you!<br />
Miss Mona<br />
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<br /></div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-88249400828297610562011-12-14T14:36:00.000-08:002011-12-14T14:36:41.976-08:00Why I Love Alaska<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bill Says: Over the last 33 years or so I have had many an opportunity to visit with grinning tourists from all over the world, mostly with strong accents, while on walking patrol in the various towns I worked- especially the communities of Skagway and Seward. Besides asking me thing like, "Why is there an American flag over your post office?", or "Why aren't you wearing your Mountie uniform?" ( made me wonder if these people took history and geography in school) . These tourists were in Skagway, where they would also walk right off the cruise ship, stand on the dock, look at the majestic mountain peaks surrounding the town and ask me, "What's the elevation here", and I would respond with a friendly, "12 feet, sir." They always seemed to ask me the same things and one such question was, "Why do you love Alaska so much?", and I always replied with, "I love Alaska's freedom and its sheer wildness".<br />
<br />
This last weekend we were able once again to experience Alaska's wildness and of course, the tourists missed it. The weather people, ( those courageous people who stand in front of the TV and hope to show you the weather patterns for a state nearly the size of one half of the Lower 48... and often they sadly fail), were reporting a small snow storm on the way to the Kenai Peninsula. We were to expect a possible 6 inches of white stuff... and oh, possibility some high winds. What we got though...I'd say was the worst storm in our 10 years in Moose Pass. Heavy snow started around 11:30 a.m. on Sunday and the blizzard hit around noon, as we left church. Power was knocked out and stayed that way for the next 42 hours, along with cell phones and even our home phones. So if you called and couldn't get through, this is why.<br />
<br />
To say the least, I missed Sunday Football and heard through the grapevine it was a great game.<br />
<br />
Now on the east coast they declare a hurricane when a storm hits 70 mph. Will, once this storm hit, those same weather people now reported those high winds were sustaining a strength of 70-90 mph in our area and boy, did it blow! I thought some of those gusts were hitting the 200 mph and I half expected to see an old Kansas farm house come flying by and some witch character on a bicycle/broom on her way to OZ. <br />
<br />
Trees were bending in a fashion I didn't think possible without pulling their roots out, and some of them didn't survive the ordeal. We have tree tops and branches all over the yard and at least 6 big trees now laying on the ground. I watched as one of our taller spruce trees did its winter dance, bowing before the wind and I just knew it was about to fall any second and close off our driveway. But it held, except for losing about 9 feet off the top and boy, my ravens are going to be mad. This was one of their favorite spots. When it was all over, we only ended up with a foot of snow a top of what we already had. Most of the new stuff was blown south to Seward...oh, those lucky people.<br />
<br />
Brave electric crews from Anchorage, Cooper Landing and even Seward were in our area trying to restore power, but the high winds made it difficult for them to move about. Power line insulation actually burst into flames for various lengths of line and one reported fiery line running tower to tower was observed south of us. If not for the snow already on the roof, I am sure we would've lost most of our shingles on the old part of the house roof. (I still gotta get those 30 year old shingles replaced and keep putting it off- they cost too much and I'm naturally lazy. Besides I weigh too much to go dancing across the roof top with a lethal nail gun in my hand... I am also afraid of heights. Had to do with falling out of helicopter- sorry, another story!).<br />
<br />
During the storm, Linda Sherill, co-owner, with her husband, Wes, of the old Moose Pass Inn and one of our dear seniors, passed away in the early morning hours. Linda was surrounded by her family and died in her sleep. Mona, who has already done comfort in-home care twice before for those preparing for the trip home to Heaven, has been taking care of Linda for some time and helped prepare the family for this day. When the time came, Mona stepped in and handled most of the things needing to be done, as to relieve the family from these... tasks. My wife is one incredible lady and she does this all out of love. She is also now on a first name basis with the workers of the Peninsula Funeral Home and all the nurses in the Seward Clinic. We will all miss Linda, but we also know where she is now and she is without pain. If you are reading this, please lift the Sherill family, especially Wes, in your prayers. Besides being husband and wife, they were best friends.<br />
<br />
But yes, it is times like this I love my Alaska. True, we have a wood stove to keep the house warm and a propane kitchen stove to keep the tea water hot, but we still have to rough it a bit. Lamps were burning throughout the house and we had enough flashlights to furnish a boy scout troop and not forget a large container of peanut butter. We also have fantastic friends, like Chad, who weathered the severity of the storm to come over and plow our driveway twice and move some of the heavier branches with his loader. He does this out of love too. That's another part of Alaska- people who care for one another and do not ask for payment for such services. Food and water is shared as needed, drivers become available for a trip to the store and someone is always checking on you.<br />
<br />
I guess that's why our population stays at that less than a million mark- our wildness keeps most people away. Bears and moose wander the yards, wide-eyed crazy tundra wookies in your store line don't effect you, everyone is armed to the teeth for that coming zombie invasion and that occasional winter storm that blows your roof off or puts your car in the tree is simply a road bump. We deal with constant frozen water lines, empty fuel tanks because you decided to eat that week instead of buying fuel, and learning how to use a water bucket to flush the toilet when the power is out. This is Alaska.<br />
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Yes, my only real concern in Alaska is simply that summer tourist- his humongous RV blocking my road at 45 mph and then having the gall to complain that ivory carving and scrimshaw isn't a true art and how they could get the same thing in plastic...PLASTIC!<br />
<br />
But someday, it will be my turn again and I will once again return to the Lower 48 and become a TOURIST! I'll ask those stupid questions, get lost on the freeway and K-Mart, here I come....<br />
<br />
</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-11138328276501745952011-10-28T07:30:00.000-07:002011-10-28T07:30:41.288-07:00Moose Pass Journal/Some Early Morning Thoughts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bill Says: I got up at 4 a.m. this morning and thought I'd share a few thoughts with my computer. Mostly a one-sided conversation, ( there are those rare occasions when this contraption pops up with an intelligent reply and I promptly rush out to the kitchen to throw cold water on my face and wake-up), but I have found having a quiet chat with this nearly antique word processing machine often relieves some of the inner stress in my bizarre life. Much like this morning, while listening to the news on TV, where my 58 year old highly intelligent mind, ( it's my blog- I can mix sci-fi with realism), is struggling with taking in the events of today. I find myself comparing these news stories with the activities of the not so distant past. How the Fast and Furious operation is beginning to sound a lot like the news build-up, which led to President Nixon's resignation. It was called the Watergate Scandal and brought about the downfall of the most powerful political figure in our country.<br />
<br />
I can easily, ( yes, the dementia hasn't set in yet), recall the anti-Viet Nam War protests held on the lawn before my high school auditorium between 1969-1971. Crowds numbering in the dozens to a build-up of hundreds came together to voice their bitterness or simply some concern of the young men forced to serve in a far away land in a very unpopular conflict. We even had our school cheerleaders out there leading in some of the more interesting protest songs. Our school allowed this, mainly because it lost a lot of support in 1969, when it attempted to bring down the pupil's protest against a school dress code. A small riot developed and when it was all said and done, the dress code was out.<br />
<br />
I often attended these protests, curious, but I never participated. I was actually a fledgling hawk- one of those John Wayne grunt and spit wanna-be warriors and a lover of mom's apple pie kids. Though, mom couldn't actually bake an apple pie and good old John Wayne never did serve in the military.<br />
<br />
Usually wrapped up with either football or wrestling, forgetting my homework on a regular basis and giving the rest of my time to my girl friend, I was able to see how most of these protesting teenagers rarely knew exactly what they were protesting about. They blurted out this all encompassing message of "Say NO to Viet Nam and bring our boys home!" or "Hell NO- We Won't Go!" They were not old enough to have draft cards to burn yet and these very loud speakers with bull horns possessed little knowledge of what was occurring in Viet Nam. I became so interested in this subject that I enlisted right after high school graduation and promptly volunteered for Viet Nam- which they granted and flew me over there with only 24-hours notice. Stupidly, I forgot to mention all this to my new wife and I remember how they called me at my post, working main gate at Whiteman Air Force Base, Missouri, to tell me my orders for shipment overseas had come in. Excited, I asked the two big questions, "Where am I going? and "When do I leave?" The desk sergeant replied in a calm voice, "You're going to Danang, Viet Nam and we're sending your relief out right now!" <i>NOW?</i> My young wife was not very happy to learn our shipment was to be done in haste and I don't remember if she even talked to me as we drove across country to California. I left her with her mother, which probably prompted the "Dear John" letter I got soon afterward.<br />
<br />
So, as I watch these protesters from New York to Oakland, I am reminded of those events in my past- mainly because so many of the people camping out there have almost no true understanding in how Wall Street works. I don't. But I do know this is the wrong place to be if you're upset with the country's handling of finances, jobs and other aspects of the economy. These people, some who have stated there just out there for something to do, should be march on Washington DC to get their point across- much like the anti- Viet Nam War protesters did. <br />
<br />
As a retired police officer, I am taken back by the conduct of some the police officers in how they have physically dealt with these protesters, and again much like the police dealt with the protesters of my day. But the hundreds of thousands who marched on Washington DC in 1968-69 and smaller numbers in 1970-71, got their point across and the war ended. Our Congress needs to understand how, why and what we are upset about, but mostly in a peaceful fashion. Oh, we have a right to protest- for our beloved country was founded on this idea. BUT we have no right to hurt people, cause damage to businesses and turn our beautiful parks into wasteland. We must also be careful of the communist-socialist propaganda spreading professionals who are out there to spur a lot of this on- just as they did in 1968. For them their cause is the downfall of the USA.<br />
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We must not let the media control our thoughts, for their sole drive is ratings. Yes, they do provide the news, but we must investigate the stories ourselves through the Internet and other sources to ensure the news is true and balanced. Most of media, from newspapers to radio and TV is controlled by democrats. Only a few media sources come from republican or right-wing liberals, and even they must be checked out. Good old Rush can get a bit overhanded and carry a big wind that is unsupported by facts- so be careful. The news you might share with a friend can be only based on rumor and before long the rumor creates serious harm.<br />
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In closing I wish to state I am extremely unhappy in how our president continues to go outside the laws of the Constitution to get his programs into operation- bypassing congress in hopes to gain votes. I firmly believe, (I'll probably get a visit by those dudes in the black suits and dark glasses, who'll want to seize my guns for this), our current Commander in Chief, wishes to bring about the downfall of our country. He is a socialist, with just too many ties to communist and multi-billionaires, who have attempted to cause such problems in Greece, Spain and other parts of Europe. His association with the Labor Unions, taking in their monies for his campaign, is simply wrong as he works to put the union's desires over the health of our country. Too many lies are coming out of his mouth as he hopes to use fear to get his job bill passed. He says we need more police out there, but it is the police unions who have selected higher pay over additional officers.<br />
<br />
Look, a union I was required to join to work for the State of Alaska, in fact saved my job, while investigating the Lt. Governor. But I shouldn't have been required to join the union and it speaks of the old boss laws on New York in the mid to late 1800's and early 1900's, when the knuckle draggers came out of their holes to enforce the desires of the growing unions. Did they bother to explain how all those dues were being used and if I agreed with their union support of different politicians or bills before congress? <br />
<br />
Enough said, my computer is frowning at me and my morning coffee has grown cold. Love to all and God Bless your day.</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-23961782253737407552011-10-24T14:43:00.000-07:002011-10-24T14:43:24.238-07:00Moose Pass Journal/Blue Eyes Part 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bill Says: Please refer to Parts 1 & 2 if lost or just beginning this strange tale.<br />
<br />
As I walked up to the Flight Chief, outside the MARS Station on South Base, he begin to brief me on what had happened...at least as far as he was able to determine to this point.<br />
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Two people were working the swing shift at the MARS Site tonight. One was a female Airman First Class, (two stripes) and the other, a male Buck Sergeant, (three stripes). Approximately 30-seconds before the emergency call was made, the two of them had been busy with their machines, when they heard a loud crash outside. Though the female airmen first believed one of the vehicles had been crashed into, it was the sergeant who suspected the main gate was being smashed into. Neither of them was armed.<br />
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The sergeant walked over to the one window that looked out toward the gate and he suddenly startled the young female airman, by giving off a half-scream - half gasp, before feinting to the floor with a wump-like sound. Unfortunately, this would embarrass the young sergeant for sometime.<br />
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Seeing her supervisor collapsed on the floor, she ran over to the telephone to call the Security Police. This is when she had shreiked into the mouth piece, hurting my ear, and feinted to the floor only a few feet away from the young sergeant. Now most of us thought a girl feinting, upon being freightned, wasn't all that abnormal, but the poor guy should've saught reassignment to another base after his feinting episode...That was until other events occured and we understood why he was so startled.<br />
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When the South Base patrol arrived on scene, he discovered the gate smashed inward and was smart enough to park outside and walk-in, not wanting to destroy the gate further and cover over any tire prints caused by the intruder. He took caution, but remembering there were at least two people working inside, he continued to advance. He saw the two vehicles parked inside by the one entry door, but no other vehicles parked inside the compound or outside the fence.<br />
<br />
He found the front door unlocked and discovered the two people unconscious on the floor. He first checked to make sure they were breathing and then took a brief look around before calling in. A combat veteran, his sixth sense was buzzing and he didn't like the feeling and this is why he wanted to flight chief dispatched to his location. None of the equipment appeared to be missing, nor was it damaged. Both personnel were first incoherant with the Security Police and the ambulance personnel, spouting off about some strange creature of amazing size. Due to this, their squadron commander ordered hospital personnel to administer blood tests for possible alcohol or drug usage. Both tested out negative for both booze and illegal narcotics, and they had no record of prior illegal usage. This greatly relieved the MARS Station Supervisor, who first arrived at the site and then appeared at the hopsital to check on his people. He was happy to see that none of the expensive equipment was destroyed, but the damage to the main gate troubled all of us. Later, when the two people were able to talk with us, refusing legal counsel, their separate stories were the same and they never had time to create a fable before the interviews. Doctors verfieid they had behaved as if truly shocked and their feintings appeared to be real. They were still excitable, while talking with our investigators and I later typed up these interviews.<br />
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After hearing the crashing noise, the sergeant first looked at his assistant's troubled expression and walked over to the window, not knowing what he would find. He first saw that the gate was heavily damaged and then he saw something that reminded him of a giant bear- his word, not mine. He thought it had burst through the gate and was now in the compound and approaching the building. He added that this thing, for a better term, had these two radiating blue eyes, each one the size of a old-fashioned silver dollar. The eyes glowed, he had said. The thing was dark in color, even under the overhead security lights and all he could distingush was those weird eyes and that was all he could remember. But added that he had never seen such a creature before and especially around the site or even in the desert before that very strange moment. At the time, I thought it very bizarre how he couldn't remember more about the thing, but later....<br />
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Now the girl, who was 19-years old, she couldn't remember any shape or form what so ever. Just those radiating blue eyes staring back at her through a southside window, as the thing came closer and closer. That's when she collapsed and now doesn't even remember making the call to me on the emergency line.<br />
<br />
Well, so much for interviews. We accomplished a thorough check of the place- inside and outside. I halfway expected to find a large California Grizzly, or maybe an escaped Gorilla, hiding behind the MARS Station. But we found no animal or some man in a animal suit playing some kind of joke. We also didn't find a motorcycle with a battering ram to take the gate down. One of our patrolman found a clump of hair on the gate, which was dark brown in color and felt strange, unlike any hair I could recall and it didn't feel like plastic or cloth. It was placed into evidence.<br />
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The Flight Chief summoned me to the other side of the building, the same side where the window was that the female airman saw the thing. The Flight Chief had his flashlight aimed at the desert floor, adjacent the building. His beam was reflecting off a smashed Coke bottle, one of those little 8 ounce jobs. There was a foot empression, or what appeared to be a foot empression right on top of the bottle glass. I say on top, because the broken glass in the impression was driven down into the dirt. The investigator summoned by myself, made a plaster cast of the print and took all the glass into evidence. He had also taken a dozen or more photographs of the impression, this side of the building and of course the gate. We never found fresh tire tracks that could've come from a vehicle smashing its way through. Only the fresh tracks of the vehilces owned by the two airmen. The investigator also took impressions of the tire belonging to all the personnel who worked at the site.<br />
<br />
It appeared to all of us that the bottle had recently been broken; the glass edges were clean and shiny. But the rest of the glass was dirty from long exposure. Now, from prior experience I know I could stand on one of those bottles and never break it and I weighed 300 pounds...remember I was 6'7" and not shaped like some dumpy basketball...okay. So, I had to figure this thing was heavier than I. We also noticed that to look through this window, as the young airman had stated, the thing had to be over 7 foot tall and closer to 8 feet in height. The building was split level, making the first floor over 3-feet above ground. The thought of such a thing sent a cold chill up my back and we tossed around all kind of ideas... was it NASA? Was it from a UFO.... or was it a prank?<br />
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When the cast impression was pulled it revealed a flat print just over 14-inches in length and 6-inches wide. There were no ridges, no marks or scars- a real flat foot. There was also no evience of any blood from breaking the bottle. Nothing else was found at the site.<br />
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The Flight Chief insisted I ride back with him, so I turned my keys over to another patrolman and reminded him the vehicle had transmission problems. He was to deadline it upon returning to SP Headquarters. I don't think my Flight Chief trusted me, he saw that look in my eyes and probably thought I'd be out scouring the desert for this thing. I admit the idea had run through my mind- but I had a lot of typing to do. We didn't have word processors back then, but at least my typewriter was electric and I had a lot of white out.<br />
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Oddly enough, the very next day the MARS Site was closed down. All the equipment was moved and placed into another facility closer to Main Base.<br />
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I finally finished my report, attached evidence sheets and interviews, and handed it over to my Flight Chief for him to review. I also added the needed information to my running police blotter. The blotter is always provided to the Base Commander so he can keep an eye on what was occuring around the base, so it was constantly reviewed for content, spelling errors and mistakes before being sent to the Base Command Post. I can't tell you how many times I had to redo my blotter before I could go home. Everything looked okay tonight and I returned to the dorm, letting the mid-shift desk sergeant take over the reins. The oncoming flight was briefed on the incident and warned to keep their eyes open. An extra two-man patrol was assigned to South Base.<br />
<br />
The next morning, I was awakened by an unapologetic day shift patrolman with loud knuckles, advising me my presence was required at SP Headquarters. They wanted my blotter completely redone and all mention of last night removed. I was advised the incident report was gone and later discovered so was the evidence.<br />
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Although I felt it wrong to retype the blotter, I followed my orders. I also wondered why the day shift guy couldn't have done it, but then remembered my signature was required at the bottom of each page. So, it took me less than an hour to accomplish what they wanted. I had to redo it twice due to mistakes- I'm not at my best early in the morning. I also only used three fingers to type back then and now use five. Having been self-taught, I tried typing school and thought they were trying to break my fingers and went back to my method. However, over the years I've learned to be quite fast with my five finger method. It was either that or get off work a couple hours late. There was one such night that left me with over 20 incident reports and I got off work some 7 or 8 hours later. The base was having racial problems in the barracks. Still, for some reason they liked my calm composure on the desk- probably something from having the daylights all scared out of my in Viet Nam.<br />
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Will, nothing happened for the next few nights, except for the routine UFO sightings that were called in from off-base residents and the few obscene phone calls called in by my intoxicated buddies. But otherwise, it was quiet and I was once again pestering my Flight Chief to let me back on patrol- he wouldn't budge.<br />
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Then.... sorry, you have to wait for the next part.<br />
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<br /></div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-86493577109517447122011-10-20T15:04:00.000-07:002011-10-20T15:04:49.642-07:00Moose Pass Journal/Blue Eyes Part 2 10/20/11<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bill Says: Hello People- it's a lovely day here in Moose Pass land, though a bit windy and snow is for casted for this weekend. Temperatures in the low 40's during the latter part of the day and dropping to 22 degrees. So, enough on the weather report. We are now on part two of the Legend of Blue Eyes-<br />
<br />
In the late summer of 1974, I was stuck on the desk as usual and working the 4 p.m. to 12 a.m. shift. So far it had been a relatively quiet night; a drunk sergeant needing a ride home from the NCO Club to an angry wife and a brief fight at the Airmen's Club, which was broken up by the time the patrols arrived. With all the alcohol served at these clubs there always seemed to be a disturbance at one of them.<br />
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It was coming on 9:30 p.m. or 2130 hours in military time, when the emergency line began to ring. I quickly reached up and grabbed the special phone before the ring even ended, startling my assistant desk sergeant with my speed. To my surprise, all I heard on the phone was a woman's loud terror-filled scream, which was immediately followed by a thunk-like sound and I imagined this was the phone hitting the floor or table-top. This left me with an open phone line and no detectable background noises.<br />
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We had set procedures for such incidents and I grabbed up the other phone, while advising my assistant to go get the flight chief from the other office. I called the base phone exchange, which always kept an open tap on our emergency line, which would show the exact location the call had come in from. It took a young sergeant about 12-minutes to show the location- a bit slower than usual, but the call had come in from the base MARS Station on South Base. This surprised me, I was expecting a domestic disturbance from base housing or the woman's barracks.<br />
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As I dispatched three patrol units to the MARS Station, I was recalling what the building looked like; a single building of approximately 800-square feet and manned 24-hours a day by between two to five personnel. It was their job to operate radio equipment, which connected them to locations all over the world, similar to HAM radio operation. But this MARS equipment was far more complicated and extremely expensive. The station was located 8-miles south of the main base area, surrounded by a vast expanse of open desert. It would take my south base patrol a good five minutes to make it there. My highway patrol unit and a patrol I dispatched from the housing area, would take approximately 9 minutes to arrive on site for back-up.<br />
<br />
I had the assistant desk sergeant continue to listen in on the open line in the event the caller came back on or if he could hear any other sounds, while I briefed the flight chief on the initial call and what actions I had taken. <br />
<br />
8 minutes later, ( I had to record all the times in my running police blotter), my south base patrolman came on the emergency phone and my assistant handed the phone to me. He requested an ambulance for two personnel and our flight chief to respond to the MARS Station. When I asked for further details, he advised me it would have to wait and I hated waiting. So, I dispatched the ambulance for unknown injuries and watched as my flight chief left the office to respond to the location. I was getting mighty curious and had a strong desire for a chocolate donut. Whenever I got anxious, I had a hankering for a donut and my 300-pounds was evidence of this problem.<br />
<br />
10-minutes later, the flight chief came over the radio and requested I contact the on-call Investigator and have them respond. He also add that since I'd be typing up all the reports, I'd better respond also once another NCO arrived to take over my duties. My assistant was only an Airman First Class and at least a Sergeant had to be on the desk at all times. I brought in a Sergeant from off North Base Patrol to relieve me and I took his vehicle to respond to the site. The flight chief felt my first hand look would help in what I needed to write up and I could tell by his voice he was somewhat confused and this had me really wondering what had happened at the MARS Station, as I drove south with my red and blue lights flashing.<br />
<br />
I also realized my recently appropriated patrol vehicle was having transmission problems; the clutch was going out. I'd deadline this vehicle once I got back to headquarters and hoped the grinding gears would survive the round trip and then address this problem with the sergeant who was operating it earlier. He should've reported it and checked out another vehicle, instead he was up in North Base grinding gears and tearing up a transmission because the vehicle didn't belong to him. Or maybe he simply didn't know how to use a manual shift and thought the grinding was normal usage, I'd have to check into this. As Desk Sergeant I was also partially in charge of the vehicles used on my shift, a sad fact I came to learn early on when I was called back from a sound sleep to explain some of these problems discovered by the next shift and not reported in my blotter. <br />
<br />
The MARS Station is one large two-story open floor building, with the lower level sunken half-way into the desert floor; a split level surrounded by hard packed desert sand. The site is also surrounded by an 8-foot tall chain link fence, with coils of barbed wire on top of it. A large vehicle gate, which is always secured by a chain and heavy lock, is the only access. The lower level of the building is three feet tall and made of cinder block construction. The only door has four wooden steps leading to it and there are four sets of two windows on each side of the building and the area inside the lot is completely lit up by overhead security lights.<br />
<br />
Driving south and grinding gears, I felt this location was one of the more secure sites on south base, especially since it was manned 24/7. I figured it would be pretty difficult for someone to break in and assault the personnel and why would they...unless someone wanted to steal all the equipment. That's what I thought, until I arrived on scene.<br />
<br />
When I drove up, the first thing I noticed was how the heavy metal front gate was mashed down, appearing to be actually run over. All the Security Police vehicles were parked outside the compounded, not wanting to drive over any possible evidence. But it appeared strange, not like a gate being run over by a vehicle; the center of the gate was smashed down, but not wide enough for a vehicle to pass through and still secured by the chain and lock. I believed it would've taken a very large and mighty heavy motorcycle to accomplish such a degree of damage. Something like a two-ton bike at least and I couldn't remember any bikes weighing that much.<br />
<br />
I parked my funky patrol vehicle and walked in to where the others were standing. The ambulance crew were inside the building. My Flight Chief saw me and he walked over to brief me on what he had learned so far.....<br />
<br />
Part 3 to follow</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-54849922317819189052011-10-13T17:01:00.000-07:002011-10-13T17:01:05.802-07:00Moose Pass Journal/Legend of Blue Eyes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bill Says: Long ago in a far distant galaxy- sorry, that's been used far too often and relates to a fictional tale and this isn't one of those. However, quite a few years ago, I wrote out the story of the "Legend of Blue Eyes" for my children. I had told them this weird and spooky story at many a bedtime and or while out camping- it was one of Micah Sue and Joshua's favorites. Now, as I said, this is not fiction, but a true event, which occurred at Edwards Air Force Base, California in the summer of 1974. It effected the lives of a lot of people. Later, I extended the story to add some details and provided a 15-page copy of the event to each of my kids one Christmas. Now, wanting to keep a record of such things in our new blog, I've decided to add this experience to my list of police cases and will present it in parts.<br />
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For information: Our son James, who is an E-6 in the Air Force, was sent to Edwards for a very short stay and he learned they still talked about Blue Eyes. This led me to check the Internet for any information concerning Blue Eyes and found several reports of a highly fictitious nature. These reports were made by people who were never there and the supposed facts they detailed never happened. This upset me some. So, this is the true story of Blue Eyes and I hope you enjoy it. If you want a sci-fi story about Blue Eyes, look it up on the Internet. Makes great fiction, but it didn't happen that way.<br />
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PART ONE: Now there were some who thought that strange night and the days to follow had something to do with the experiments NASA was conducting up in their high security area. We knew they did some really weird things up there and it was even rumored they were the ones who actually had the Roswell alien aircraft and three dead aliens. Their compound on Edward's North Base Area was extremely secretive, well guarded and very mysterious. I once watched a helicopter crash into the compound, which was mostly underground and the guards wouldn't even let us, the ambulance or the fire trucks in. Strange place.<br />
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There were others who claimed that night was all tied in with so many of the mysterious UFO sightings during that same time period, but a lot of the Air Force personnel who worked the flight line felt these sightings were only the highly classified Air Force and NASA aircraft buzzing about. These aircraft only flew at night and did cause some bizarre lighting effects. Then we had a few people who thought it was all a hoax, tied in with the recent showing of a "big foot" movie at the base theater. But for me, the summer of 1974 was a very real experience, one that still makes me wonder what really did happen in that desert compound and who or what, was Blue Eyes?<br />
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I had recently returned from a tour of Southeast Asia, where Uncle Sam had thoughtfully provided me with a all expense paid vacation to Viet Nam, followed by a tour in Thailand. I had weathered monsoons, unbearable heat and 200% humidity, along with little brown people trying to kill me, only to find myself assigned to the Upper Mojave Desert. This was where the summer's heat could hit 133 degrees.<br />
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A law enforcement specialist, I had become a member of the 6510th Security Police Squadron and a chilly night could drop below zero. At the time, being a city boy from the Los Angeles area, I thought these temperatures were down right cold, but little did I know... 4 years later, the Air Force sent me to the interior of Alaska. Here I was to learn what real cold was all about; 82 degrees below zero, ( actual temp), and another time when the windchill factor dropped to 122 degrees below zero. But I would come to love Alaska, where I met my beautiful wife and raised my family for the last 34-years.<br />
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Back to my story- To me the high desert country was a thing of mystery, a land where the imagination came alive and shadows of all forms, from dinosaurs to Martians, seemed to move about under a full moon. I spent almost all my free time exploring the 300-square miles of Edwards Air Force Base; 2nd largest military installation in the continental USA and 3rd or 4th largest in the world. Still, I have to admit I sometimes drove off base when I was on duty- but with good reason or at least what I thought to be a good reason. Once I chased a wild long horn steer with my truck and another time I fled from a pack of coyotes, ( I was exploring an abandoned underground facility).<br />
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My supervisors didn't always agree with my reasoning or my antics and they often grounded me by putting me behind a desk. I became the C Flight primary Desk Sergeant; handling the radios, alarms, typing the reports and a running police blotter, and talking with people over the phone or walk-ins.<br />
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I doubt if there were many people who had come to know this military desert as well as I did. For 4 1/2 years I patrolled it and took off on my own, while off-duty. There were of course some sun-bleached miners, who lived in some "Death Valley Day" old lean-to shacks just off-base and who I found talking to themselves- but friendly. And there was the famous Pancho Barnes, the woman identified in the "Right Stuff" movie as the owner of a desert cafe/house of prostitution. They ignored the prostitution part in the movie, but Pancho was a madame and politicians visited her abode, while supposedly making a tour of Edwards. I finally got to meet her during a traffic stop, driving her massive Cadillac 30-miles over the posted speed limit. Back then she owned most of the desert the Air Force leased from her and she knew every square inch of that land, but her old cafe had burned to the ground by the time I arrived. I still liked to go out there and wander through the ruins- looking for a bit of history of all the men and women who had passed through there. Pancho finally died alone, surrounded by some 36-cats and the military took over ownership of the whole base. She never did pay for the ticket I issued her, she simply tossed into the back of her Cadillac, smiled and drove off.<br />
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The center of Edwards, or what we called Main Base, was a large island-like complex surrounded by a sea of sand. This was our service housing and barracks, stores and the various maintenance buildings, a massive flight line and two active runways. The runways ended at a huge dry lake bed, which was used to land test aircraft and these covered a distance of several miles in length and over a mile wide. This provided Edwards with the longest runway in the world and would come to used as the emergency landing strip for the Space Shuttle. Occasionally a SAC B-52 would need to make an emergency belly landing, diverted to Edwards because they carried nukes on board and Edwards was considered to be expendable if the bomb went off on landing. We'd all go out to watch it circle the base, using up its fuel and then come in for its belly landing. For one brief moment everyone on base would hold their breath until the plane came to a stop and then smile, when no mushroom cloud appeared to ruin our scheduled barbecue we had planned.<br />
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Edwards Air Force Base, named after a Captain Edwards, who was killed testing the flying wing, was the Air Force Flight Test Center. Assorted manufacturers brought their latest jet aircraft to Edwards to test and hopefully sell to the military at great expense. The northern part of the base, the area situated off the flight line, belonged to NASA and they conducted their own tests with some mighty funny looking aircraft. . This brought great delight to the local UFO society. Far across the lake bed from the main base area was an area known as the rocket site. It had a longer and formal name, but we just called it the rocket site. Here they tested among other things- rocket engines. They also had numerous labs, some of them underground and all highly classified. We would sometimes refer to them as the magic shops and I am here to tell you, some of the strangest things happened up there and these are a story in themselves, but that is for a later time.<br />
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After arriving at Edwards, I was quickly grabbed up by a very intelligent flight chief, who knew a good thing when he saw it. But in truth, he was extremely short handed at the time and needed a sergeant who could count all 11 of his fingers and twelve of his toes. He made me the desk sergeant, placing me in charge of 28-30 patrols and two gate posts. Most of our incidents concerned theft, disorderly conduct, domestic problems in housing, criminal mischief and assault, drug and alcohol violations, and vehicle accidents. My job was to also represent the Base Commander as visitors passed through the base all the time. Edwards was an open installation back then and outside the flight line area, the two highways that ran through the base were used by civilian traffic taking a shortcuts to either Los Angeles, Mojave and Lancaster or other communities in all four directions. We had special tickets to issue to civilians and even had a magistrate come on base to conduct traffic court. If we had to arrest a civilians, they were transported to either the LA County Sheriff or Kern County Sheriff- depending on where the offense was since the country line came right through the center of the base.<br />
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Some of the visitors would get lost and come in to Security Police Headquarters and meet me or my over worked and picked on assistant desk sergeant. I was training him or her and made sure they knew what their responsibilities were... along with some of mine. I needed to stay fresh to meet the public and I also needed to learn how to type. I thought my fingers were going to walk off and leave me.<br />
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Occasionally, tears flowing from my eyes, I prostrated myself before my flight chief and begged to escape my prison. Tired of my whining, he'd let me escape and go on patrol. I'd usually have all-base patrol, which allowed me to go anywhere I wanted and of course, I'd head for the desert. One of the laws on base was no vehicle traffic in the desert after dark, this was due to people becoming lost and dying out there. One time my partner and I busted two men running guns to the Boron Mines, using the base's desert area to reach the striking miners. I also found a case of dynamite and one time, ( fortunate or cursed), I found an old World War I bomb. Boy did I feel foolish when the bomb guys told me it was still live, especially after picking it up. It was a photo flash bomb, used to light up the area to show bomb damage. When they blew it up, it was brighter than the sun and would have simply evaporated me had it gone off when I dropped it. Again, my angels were watching over me. Poor guys work overtime in my life.<br />
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There was the time I had a 26-mile high speed chase after catching a guy who was stealing copper from the Rocket site. The chase ended when he plowed into a California Highway Patrol roadblock and destroyed two patrol cruisers. He ended up in their custody and was on the way to the hospital. So, I liked to stay busy on patrol and often caused my flight chief some heart ache, which landed me back on the desk until the next time I felt the walls closing in and began my whimpering scene.<br />
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He got mad at me once, can't remember what I did, but he put me on flight line patrol. So... I impounded enough tools, left behind tail stands and misplaced radios to provide for 15 incident reports. The desk sergeant was not happy, especially when a complaint call came in from one of the aircraft squadrons. What I did was certainly part of my job, but the colonel was not too happy. He knew the base commander would be receiving a report, showing how his men were leaving behind their tools and radios. Then I was back on the desk the following night and my flight chief was not talking to me. Good thing we were friends.<br />
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But on that summer night of 1974, I was on the desk and working the swing shift- 4 p.m. to 12 a.m. or 1600 to 2400 hours in military time. So far it had been a quiet night. It was about 9:30 p.m. when the emergency line began to ring... this was pre- 9-1-1 days. <br />
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Part Two to follow soon.<br />
<br /></div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-62677689905436823842011-09-20T15:17:00.000-07:002011-09-20T15:17:59.602-07:00Moose Pass Journal/Books/ 9-20-2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bill Says: This synopsis is for my second book in the "Badge and the Cross" series and is entitled, "A Political Action". I have recently finished editing it and was surprised to see I had written this story in 2005. I have never sent it out, but will enter it into some contests in the future, unless I acquire an agent or publisher beforehand.<br />
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Synopsis: Terrorism strikes in the heart of downtown Toronto, with an early morning explosion. The Provincial Parliament Building is decimated by a device similar to the one used in the Oklahoma bombing. Dozens of people are killed and hundreds more injured. Is this the act of al-Qaeda fanatics or domestic terrorists, or possibly a despicable plan put into action by greedy men, who wish to masquerade their heinous crimes of insurance fraud under the guise of international terrorism?<br />
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This story begins in May 1969, when a UH-1 Huey helicopter is shot down north of Chu Lai in South Viet Nam. A Marine patrol is sent out to locate the crash site and finds only two survivors. Evidence shows how an 8-man Viet Cong unit had reached the site first and was apparently taken by surprise; thinking everyone was dead they are caught unaware and killed by a seriously wounded Army chaplain, Captain Anthony Rogers. Hoping to protect the wounded soldier with him, Rogers uses the man's M-16 before loss of blood renders him unconscious.<br />
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The tale jumps ahead to present day and the Toronto bombing by terrorists claiming to be the infamous Front de Liberation du Quebec ( Liberty for Quebec); a faction, which in real-life actually operated in Eastern Canada in the late 1960's and early 1970's. But this new faction, known simply in the story as the FLQ, are not working for some great cause, but in fact they are paid mercenaries. This group is being financed by five wealthy French-Canadian industrialists, who intend to use the FLQ to mislead the authorities in a basic grand scheme to defraud provincial and federal governments, and property insurance companies to the tune of 300 Million dollars. The FLQ will attack and destroy occupied or empty buildings; mostly under long term lease to the the government and where property values have soared. Their plan is to rebuild massive office buildings, malls and apartment complexes on this land, with no concern for the dead and injured brought about by their scheme.<br />
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Leader of the 12 men and women of the FLQ is Steve Munroe; a half-crazy militant radical of French-Canadian and Sioux bloodlines. His second-in-command is an explosives expert with an alias of Hugo Rice; former East German Army Officer turned cold-blooded mercenary.<br />
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Captain Jean-Paul Leon, Sgt. Steve Adler and Sgt. Brady Wilkens of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Intelligence Division are assigned to investigate the bombing and work with the Toronto Police Department. After a second bombing of a massive multi-level parking garage, killing a woman and reducing the structure to rubble, Captain Leon angers the FLQ with his derogatory comments made during a TV interview. This infuriates Monroe and results in the FLQ fire-bombing Leon's home and killing his wife and two sons.<br />
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Upset over Monroe's personal vendetta against the RCMP captain and his poor attitude in general, the financiers no longer have faith in Munroe's ability to carry out the rest of the operation. They have a change in plans and order the FLQ to Alaska.<br />
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Due to salmon fishery concerns, Canadian fishermen use their boats to surround the Alaska ferry, M/V Columbia inside Prince Rupert Harbor. A US Coast Guard vessel is sent in, causing the Canadians to respond with a Canadian Navy vessel. Within hours of their arrival, Canadian fishermen cease their blockade and the ferry sails north. But due to rising hostilities in Canadian and Alaska waters between fishermen, the Canadian Prime Minister travels to Alaska to meet with the Governor. Travel arrangements are made; they will meet in Fairbanks and travel by VIP train car to Anchorage, with an overnight stop at Mt. McKinley National Park.<br />
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Broken up into teams and traveling different routes, the FLQ meets in Fairbanks with plans to stop the train south of the park and kidnap the Prime Minister and Governor. Hugo has stopped in Montana and met with local militia to acquire weapons needed for the operation and this includes two-stinger missiles.<br />
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Fearing the current Prime Minister, who supports a free Quebec, is too weak politically to be re-elected, the five industrialists put this operation into effect to make him an international hero and hopefully sworn into office for another term. The FLQ will hold him for ransom for 5-days and then allow him and the Governor to escape. After which, Hugo has orders to kill the members of the FLQ, including Munroe.<br />
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The FLQ use explosives to cause an avalanche and stop the train. The ambush results in the killing of 13-people and wounding another 7. While they hold 8 passenger cars filled with tourists under their guns, the FLQ remove the politicians and vanish into the woods to a prearranged location. This now includes an Alaska US Senator, who was along for the meeting. But after the ambush, things go bad for the FLQ. An 800-pound grizzly sow protecting its cubs attacks and kills two of the terrorists, including Munroe's girl friend. Munroe begins to going insane from losing his girl friend and takes his anger out on the US Senator, killing her. When he threatens to kill the other two politicians, he is put in restraints. Hugo shoots down a State Trooper helicopter with a stinger missile and kills the four troopers in it. The FLQ is now on the run as a forest fire results.<br />
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A vengeful Captain Leon goes on leave and travels to Fairbanks. Relying on friendships he made with local Fairbanks Police years ago, he is put in touch with Alaska Railroad Special Investigator Greg Hansen. A former Trooper, Greg is sympathetic with the RCMP captain's plan to locate and kill the FLQ. Wishing to avenge the four dead troopers and not wanting to see the terrorists paraded before the international courts and made into heroes, Hansen joins with Leon and they travel to Cantwell, Alaska. Looking for a guide, a trooper friend from the Cantwell Post introduces them to a partially disabled trapper by the name of Anthony Rogers, ( former Army Chaplain, who resents God for what happened to him in Viet Nam and the 8-men that haunt his dreams).<br />
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For the past few nights, Tony Rogers was plagued with nightmares, unlike the ones he had grown accustomed to from his Viet Nam experience. He sees himself leading two complete strangers through the bush. When he meets Leon and Hansen, he knows that God is once more at work here and he finally agrees to take them to where he suspects the FLQ are holding the hostages. He has hunted and trapped this area for years and knows all the trails and where several cabins were built by trappers.<br />
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Meanwhile the FBI's prestigious Hostage/Rescue Team has arrived and they are on the trail, assisted by members of the Alaska Army National Guard, US and Canadian Secret Service and Alaska State Troopers. <br />
Hansen had earlier attempted to join the rescue party but was told to remain in Fairbanks.<br />
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Fearful of losing another helicopter, surveillance is being done by high flying Alaska Air National Guard jets.<br />
There is also a boy scout troops in the area, with no idea anything is going on and they stumble into an ambush site set up by Alaska National Guardsmen.<br />
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Unauthorized and unexpected, the three man rescue team of Rogers, Hansen and Leon locates and then takes on the FLQ. In the shoot-out that follows, Rogers is wounded and a terrorist loses his life to protect the Governor; a bond had developed between the two men. Hugo has wounded Leon and thinking him dead, holds the Canadian Prime Minister hostage. Hugo orders Rogers and Hansen to surrender, the the Prime Minister would be killed. Fearing for the lives of the two politicians, they offer up their guns. but before Hugo can shoot Hansen, a blood-curdling cry of rage comes from behind Hugo; Captain Leon comes flying from behind and impales a surprised Hugo with his sheath knife. Both Hugo and Leon stumble backwards and over a 50-foot cliff and to their deaths. Moments later, the FBI rescue party arrives on scene.<br />
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Back in Toronto, Sgt Wilkens and Sgt Adler's investigation uncovers the five industrialists and arrests are made. The investigation also reveals 9 provincial and federal employees, including the Prime Minister and his Chief of Staff, were on the payroll of the five men. Certain properties and contracts were routinely awarded to one of the five industrialist's many shadow companies.<br />
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In the conclusion, Captain Leon is posthumously decorated for valor and buried with his family. Tony Roger begins to pastor a small church in Cantwell and at the Governor's request, Hansen returns to his former lieutenant's position in the troopers.<br />
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In another planned story, Lt. Hansen and Pastor Rogers will be brought back together for a murder case in Cantwell.</div>
Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-53340794640634384212011-09-15T16:27:00.000-07:002011-09-15T16:27:38.109-07:00Moose Pass Journal/Book Synopsis/9-15-2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bill Says: I've completed two manuscripts into a series I entitle, "Badge and the Cross". This first one is subtitled, "Stronghold".<br />
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Synopsis: 1989 Klondike Gold Rush- Skagway, Alaska and final port-of-call for dreamy-eyed fortune hunters; miners, get-rich-quick con artists and covetous opportunists in frilly dresses. They lived in a muddy tent city of 5,000 people, located on the rocky shores of the Upper Lynn Canal and farthest northern point of the Inland Passage.<br />
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From the earliest days, Skagway was a sin-filled town and the only law was handled with the fastest gun or the blade of a knife. Right or wrong was often decided by dangerous gangs of thugs, who controlled the prostitution, gambling and liquor sales. Many a miner died, either from natural hazards in climbing the treacherous Chilkoot Trail, or by the hands of evil men and women waiting to get rich off the hard labors of weary men. As the town grew wild with its heinous acts of debauchery, Skagway's cornerstone was laid in murder, suicide, insanity and lust,violence and mayhem, prostitution and thievery.<br />
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This tale begins aboard the Alaska ferry M/V Taku, heading north and out of Seattle. Jake Roberts, (primary character), is returning to Skagway following a lengthy absence. While en route, he recounts those 10-months he served as a police officer in Skagway and how, on a Halloween night, he was seriously wounded from a young assassin's blade. The incident left his life in shambles and a long painful recovery.<br />
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Jake was a brand new Christian and fairly new civilian police officer when he stood alongside his bible believing wife, a former occultist, and faced down a collection of dark spiritual forces. Meanwhile, a satanic cult held Skagway in a tightening grasp of demonic oppression.<br />
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With a constant flow of bar fights to break-up, seasonal soft ball tournaments with rowdy ball players, attempted suicides and a murder investigation to handle, plus deterring prostitutes from operating in town, Jake is called upon to investigate serious and occasional fatal accidents, between chasing ghosts from haunted hotel rooms and bars, and dealing with an unruly gigantic stuff grizzly bear. He has his hands full, as Skagway comes under siege with the arrival of over 250,000 summer tourists. He is later grieved to investigate a teenage homicide of a local youth and struggles to keep his job, while working under an anti-Christian Police Chief, who belongs to the town's Masonic Order.<br />
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Things take a turn for the worse when Jake is called upon to investigate the desecration of an historic grave site at the request of the US Park Service. Human bones were used for occultist altars and members of a secret clan make violent war against Jake and eventually attempt to murder him in order to keep their identities secret.<br />
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Now after years of recovery, therapy and later attending Bible College, Jake returns to Skagway. He is the new pastor and with his wife by his side, they will do whatever is necessary to bring the Lord's Salvation to the lost people of Skagway. They also desire to dethrone the Dark One who has reigned over this Alaskan coastal community for far too long.<br />
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Note: With the exception of the attempted murder of Officer Jake Roberts, all of the police cases used in this story actually occurred in Skagway, between February 1982 and September 1984. Names were changed. But the haunts and ghosts are on record, including the references to the stuffed 7-foot tall grizzly bear mount that often roams through the museum at night- even though it is secured to the wall by a length of heavy steel chain. The Skagway Asylum, built to handle the many depressed and insane miners of 1898-99, was torn down in the 1950's and only a few blocks of ruble remain. The U.S. Marshall's Office of the early 1900's, which once held Eric Stroud, "Bird Man of Alcatrz", was used for a recorded 12-suicides and is still used by the Skagway Police Department. </div>
Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-68223385660488460422011-09-05T20:29:00.000-07:002011-09-05T20:29:23.485-07:00Moose Pass Journal/Thoughts/9-5-2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bill Says: I guess you could add this to my wife's post concerning my mother and the pain and down right exhaustion of watching her die ever so slowly. In my lifetime, which involved losing my father, an earlier wife in the war, my brother and too many fellow soldier friends in the war, I have seen my fare share of death. I experienced even more in my years as a cop. But in this case, watching my mother slowly dwindle away, pound by pound, over a period of months has really and gradually just zapped the life out of me. The depression of impending death hangs over the house like a fog. Yet, it has also given me a time to think so-called deep thoughts, while I hold her hand and play solitary on the computer, concerning the relationship between parents and kids. But I wish to begin with saying how fortunate I am to have a beautiful and loving wife, who is capable of great giving, who has offered up some 21-years by taking care of my mom. I think of her sister Sally, who has done much the same thing over the years for her mother-in-law. These ladies came from good stock and I hope my children will learn from this experience.<br />
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Most of this is simply my putting my thoughts onto this record and I sincerely hope I do not bore the reader too badly with my wanderings. I will return to my books in the next blog.<br />
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My dad, who was often thought of as my hero, next to John Wayne, suddenly left our home in California when I was 9 years old. My older brother and I never saw my parents fight and later, my mom wished she had forgiven my dad for an affair. But she ordered him out and sought a divorce and then she was alone for the next 20-years. He moved far away to Arizona and eventually met and married my mother # 2- Bea.<br />
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In those early years I saw him two weeks out of the summer and the occasional Christmas. He rarely called, and seldom wrote, both of which were hard for him. Yet I always knew he was there. He was prompt with child support payments and paid for my braces. Later, as a teenager I was able to spend whole summers with him and we had great adventures across the Arizona desert.<br />
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But when I graduated from high school and he wasn't there, I was really hurt. He never saw me wrestle, play football or toss a 12 lb shot-put through the air. He wasn't there for the varsity letter ceremonies or when I simply needed advice about girls. My mom did it all. She was at every game, every wrestling match and often came to weekend practices to gauge my distances with that hefty lead ball. We had a very special friendship. My siblings, who were older, were all gone by the time I entered high school, so it was just the two of us.<br />
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After high school, my dad and I grew apart and we often fought over the phone or through the occasional letter. He rarely liked the women I chose to marry; Mary, when I was 18yrs old and she was 16- who Dear John'd me in Viet Nam.... maybe he was right about her. Then there was Nancy, who gave birth to John and Micheal. Oh, he loved the kids and was over joyed that we arranged it somehow to have John born on my Dad's birthday.<br />
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When I became a Christian, Dad and I reconciled and I was baptized in front of him in his boss's jacuzzi. He came to love Mona, because she stood up to his brashness and foolishness. And he loved Elizabeth, James, Joshua and Micah Sue very much. He was a much better grandfather than a dad.<br />
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When he died in 1990 and I stood over his coffin, I was in anguish over the the months and years we wasted in fighting. We were so much alike- too stubborn and unable to compromise. As a result, we wasted so much time apart. I was to later learn he had died with a major lie in his thoughts concerning me and which made him think poorly of me and this again, hurt.<br />
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Nancy, upon our break-up, had gone to live with my Dad and Bea- his wife and my friend, along with the two boys. They paid for Nancy to go to beauty school for a year and took care of the boys this whole time. I never knew of this and he thought I had simply abandoned them. Had I known, the boys would've joined us in Alaska and life would've taken a different turn for both of them. But he never approached me by phone or letter to discuss this. Now I know he's in Heaven and knows the truth, but it was rough on Mona and I in learning of this lie and how hurt he and Bea were in thinking so poorly of me.<br />
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So, I was raised without a dad and I told myself I would do better with my kids, yet I ended up doing much the very same thing to John and Micheal. Then came along our other four kids and I swore I'd again do better. That I would try to be there for them and I guess I failed pretty badly because of work, church and helped other youth through our church youth group. I was a cop and I put a lot of time into it while the kids grew. I missed some games and pushed one son into a sport he did not want to do, but tried to honor his father by joining in. There were apparently times when they needed to be protected and I wasn't there, but only learned of it years later. The times they needed to talk with me about serious things and I wasn't there, learning of this too years later .<br />
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Of late I have seen some of the results in how injured, hurt and silent my children have become toward us. I can only hope they will forgive me or us, and learn from the mistakes we made. I hope they are capable of doing better then their parents. One of my children is silent, as I was and another is angry, as I was. So many blood traits can be passed along. Yet some of the children have forged ahead and do well and I pray they all will.<br />
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I am immensely proud of my children and what they have accomplished. I am proud of the kids who have come into our lives by situation and choices. We may not always agree with the decisions they all make, but they are all now adults and some with children to raise.<br />
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I look back through my dad's life. His father deserted him at an early age and he tried hard not to repeat it. A blood curse has followed the Casselman's first born son for at least 4 generations I know of and now down through my oldest son, John. I can only pray that God breaks this curse and Tariq will not be another father to pass it along. I wish I could learn of how it came about, but I do know my Great-Great Grandfather was murdered on a train in Canada and the family fled to the USA. This curse may be involved. I do not know, but I pray against it.<br />
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I desire all my sons and daughters stand proudly, to be strong Christians and charitable to their fellow man. I also pray for them to be loyal and giving spouses and parents, who listen to their kids and are there to support them. I wish this for all of you. God Bless!</div>
Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-9908891363589278052011-08-31T13:40:00.000-07:002011-08-31T13:40:16.494-07:00Moose Pass Journal/Books/8-31-2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Bill Says: This next book synopsis is for, "Legend of Silene", which is my first attempt at writing a Christian fable of sorts. The story is based upon the Legend of St. George and the Dragon and surprisingly, this tale did take place in Libya, North Africa. The story was carried into Europe by knights and fighting men returning home from King Richard's 3rd Crusade, which takes place in the latter part of the12th Century.<br />
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My fable has a touch of Edgar Rice Burroughs, a dash of HG Wells and smidgen of Jules Verne, and begins in current day Tripoli, Libya. Here a Sunni storyteller entertains children and tourists with a very unusual fairy tale. This is an ancient story, where the oddities of the universe transform reality into the imaginary, myth into a courageous man's destiny to fulfill an ancient prophecy. In doing so, he becomes the slayer of evil and a legend in the service of Jesus Christ.<br />
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The Sunni story teller takes his listeners back to 1968 Viet Nam, where newly promoted Corporal GW Sanders, a proud member of the 101st Airborne, is about to participate in a helicopter assault deep into the ominous A Shau Valley. While the helicopters warm up, Sanders in approached by a South Vietnamese Captain, who has brought with him an elderly Montegnard holy man. The tribesman has come a great distance on foot to meet GW, a foreigner he has seen only in his visions. The holy man brings with him three strange gifts for GW; a handmade wooden cross hanging from an elephant hair necklace, a satchel of dried water buffalo meat and a large and extremely sharp flint blade. The old man tells GW of his visions and how these things were necessary for GW's survival over the next few days. The captain interprets the Jade dialect and tells of how the spirits had named the blade-<i>Ascalon</i>.<br />
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Not wanting to offend the holy man, GW places the items in his field pack and boards the helicopter. He immediately notices the holy man has disappeared in to the crowd of soldiers and soon forgets about the gifts as he mentally prepares himself for battle.<br />
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The Army hopes to catch the enemy by surprise, but within hours a major battle is underway. Outnumbered, US forces are ordered to withdraw by helicopter and GW's shot-up platoon is given the job of rear-guard action. A massive attack overruns their position and survivors flee deep into the jungle. GW is accompanied by Corporal Paul Grant and PFC Richard Hughes, and they eventually find refuge in a small cave.<br />
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With GW on guard, the other two sleep and after midnight the earth rumbles under a massive earthquake. All three are rendered unconscious, while a mysterious and bizarre event occurs around them. The cave is transformed into a gyrating blender, emptying the three men into a multi-colored vortex. They leave one reality and are dropped into another, thousands of miles away and hundreds of years earlier.<br />
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The tale now moves to Silene, Libya, the year is 1178 A.D and Brother Samuel, a 75-year old man with a secret past is introduced. Sam poses as a defrocked Catholic priest in a Muslim world. He washed up on the northern shores of Silene 42-years ago and was promptly thrown into a castle dungeon. Through his knowledge of medicine and engineering, he was able to earn his release. Through time, he became Chief Court Advisor to King Ramie, Lord and High Protector for the Kingdom of Silene. He now educates the king's daughters; Princess Lonnia- a witch, Princess Lannia- a female warrior in exile and Princess Lennia- the king's favorite.<br />
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There is also a curse hanging over Silene in the form of a 20-ton, 50-foot tall aquatic dinosaur landlocked in a salt water lake by a quake/tsunami event in the long past. Set down by ancient decree, twice a month this <i>dragon </i>is fed fair maidens in hopes to keep the beast from destroying Silene. Girls are taken in raids, from local families or bought in slave markets to fulfill the quota. Brother Samuel spends a lot of his time trying to figure out a way to destroy the monster and pleads with God for a miracle. The answer to his prayers has arrived.<br />
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Sanders, Grant and Hughes discover their modern weapons, other than their knives, shovels and a single grenade, were destroyed by strange the quake. They struggle for a week to find their way out of a long tunnel-like cavern. Following days of travel, the come up against a rock wall and once their last torch burns out, they discover a baseball sized hole in the wall that allows sunlight into the cave. They use their one grenade and E-tool shovels to escape. But they are startled by what they find before them; a white sandy beach and a blue-green ocean. Not the jungle they expected. The three men soon lay eyes on a fairy tale castle off in the distance and to make matters even more surreal, they are taken prisoner by a troop of mounted Saracen knights and thrown into a rat-infested dungeon.<br />
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The meat had kept them fed and the wood cross kept them from being slain on the spot, for the officer in charge of the knights recognized it and how it matched with Sam's cross.<br />
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Brother Samuel visits them and once he had learned who they are and what century they had come from, he admits to them in how he was a US Navy Lt. Commander, who had been thrown from a British Destroyer in the early days of World War II. It is Sam's plan to identify GW and Paul as fellow Irishmen; both being anti-British mercenaries, who survived their ship's sinking. Richard would be a Black Moor and Sudanese court officer, who was accompanying GW and Paul to his country to train their soldiers.<br />
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Released into Sam's custody, they are forced to accept their situation and Mushid, a Silene knight, begins training them with lance and horse. GW lays his eyes on a proud steed, a grey speckled Arabian, thought to be a cursed animal because three of its owners were either killed in battle or severely injured. He names his horse, Valiant and a strange bond forms between horse and man. Richard, who is utterly afraid of horses, is forced into a fight to the death with an unruly ogre of a man and demonstrates his skills in both Judo and Karate. Both of which he had learned through years of training at the local YMCA. Paul, unable to grasp the skills of fighting with a sword or lance, becomes and apprentice to Sam.<br />
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Princess Lennia becomes fascinated with GW and being of royal blood, Sam can only see trouble developing. Princess Lonnia, who worships her dark gods, is jealous of Sam's relationship with her father, his religion and she wants Sam and the other three men dead. Repeatedly, she does her best to have them killed.<br />
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The Great Imam, Muslim Holy Leader for all Libya, visits Silene and he too would like Sam's head on a pike. But he also desires the death of the king's two oldest daughters for their blasphemy against Muslim Law. Fortunately, the Caliph of Libya uses his royal relationship with King Ramie to keep the religious leader in line and prevents him from executing Sam and the two daughters of the king. But the Great Imam finally uses religious law to force King Ramie to either slay the dragon within one year or feed Sam to it.<br />
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A relationship between Princess Lennia and GW blossoms and Princess Lonnia uses it to set a trap for both of them. Found innocently in the stables after dark, GW and Princess Lennia are taken into custody. As a favor to Sam, King Ramie banishes the three men from Libya and they journey into Egypt. But Princess Lonnia isn't done yet and she has her youngest sister sentenced to be sacrificed to the dragon. The king attempts to stop it, offering the townspeople a ransom, but they have seen too many of their own daughters fed to the foul beast and will not accept it.<br />
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Sam and Mushid travel to Egypt to locate the three men. They know of an ancient prophecy of a stranger riding in mounted upon a war horse to do battle with the dragon for the life of a princess. Sam and Mushid believe GW is that man. GW is of course named George Whitney, but he never liked the name and went by his initials.<br />
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In the prophecy, the knight carries a lance named Ascalon, which now has George believing in the story. The blade is fitted to a lance, which is reinforced with metal plating. No other lance or arrow had been able to pierce the dinosaur's hide and Sam believes this finely edged flint blade may just do the job.<br />
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George returns to Silene, does battle with the dragon and slays it. Following with prophecy, the dragon 's blood seeps into the desert sand and a gusher of fresh healing waters erupts. Hundreds of people come from a far to be healed. Through this miracle and the slaying of the beast, the Kingdom of Silene returns to Christianity, having once been so before the Sword of Islam conquered Africa.<br />
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George marries the princess, becomes a prince of the land, while his two friends carry the tale into the crusades.<br />
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There is a bit more, but this is getting long winded for a blog. Thanks and God Bless!</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-54659286815113918882011-08-26T10:48:00.000-07:002011-08-26T10:48:57.965-07:00Moose Pass Journal/Book # 2/ 8/26/2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Bill Says: First off, today in our son, Joshua Troy Casselman's 27th Birthday. He was born in Skagway, Alaska.<br />
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Okay, this synopsis is for my very first completed manuscript and it is entitled, "Operation Apache Snow- a Story of Viet Nam". Oddly enough, when I decided to change the setting and story line, preferring to write about my time in Viet Nam, I suffered writer's block. Once I returned to this story, everything began to flow again. I have also written a sequel to this story, but it needs final editing.<br />
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Synopsis:<br />
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A work of Christian fiction, Operation Apache Snow is an action based story primarily set in 1969 Viet Nam and it tells of the many young Christian boys, who right out of high school, became men in a very few short moments. How they came face to face with their deepest fears and a challenge of faith, when they lost their youthful innocence with the simple pull of a trigger, and of the grief they suffered in watching their friends suffer from wounds or death.<br />
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In many cases, such boys lost their faith in their Lord Jesus Christ and in a lesser sense their faith in their government. Most of these same soldiers suffered severe forms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for decades to come and sadly, only a few would renew their faith in God.<br />
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The main character in this story is one such young man, who came from a strong Christian middle-class family in Southern California. Matthew Kendal is a pastor's son, who was raised on the Word of God and is engaged to his high school sweetheart- Kathy Lee.<br />
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After participating in a high school varsity track meet, Matthew returned home to learn of his older brother's death in Viet Nam. Angry, especially with God for allowing this to happen, he turns from his faith, puts aside his plans for Bible College and marriage to enlist in the US Army. Matthew also volunteers for duty in Viet Nam and carries a dangerous blood thirst for vengeance and becomes a proud member of the 101st Airborne- the Screaming Eagles.<br />
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During training, Matthew befriends Pvt. John Adams; a troubled Black youth from Washington DC. Adams, like many others, was given a choice between going to jail for car theft or enlistment in the military. Later, while both men are going through jump school together, they befriend, Pvt. Jose Martinez; a street wise Chicano, who left behind the gang life of East Los Angeles to fulfill a promise to his dying mother. These three young men become an unlikely trio, who stand-up against racial pressures from all fronts and face head-on the rigorous and often painful weeks of boot camp and airborne training.<br />
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As fictional characters, these characters are placed into an actual rifle squad of D Company, 3rd Battalion, which participated in Operation Apache Snow. History now remembers this operation as the epic May 10-May 20, 1969 battle for Hamburger Hill.<br />
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Here the 101st Airborne suffered previously unheard of losses; 70-killed and 422 men wounded. For 11-days they were pounded by torrential rain fall, forced to slosh through knee-deep mud and face relentless enemy fire, but still they made the heroic climb to claim the summit of Hill 937.<br />
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Outnumbered, they nearly reach the top, when the 29th North Vietnamese Army counter-attacked with fresh troops. But refusing to give up, D Company pushed forward with one goal in mind; to take the summit at all costs. Their courage entices the rest of the battalion and on their 11th drive up the mountain, they breach the summit defenses, where the battle continued on in brutal hand-to-hand combat.<br />
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Jose Martinez sacrifices his life to save Matthew by jumping upon a grenade, but before this battle is over both Matthew and John are severely wounded and left crippled for life.<br />
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However, the story doesn't end there, it continues on with how Matthew and John renew their faith in God and remain close for the rest of their lives. As disabled veterans they face the new challenges of civilian life and come home to such accusatory names like "baby killer", and "Nixon's gestapo". They begin to witness a nation renewing itself with the unveiling of the Viet Nam Memorial- The Wall.<br />
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John finds the Lord's teachings instrumental in his drug rehab and community work, while Matthew, who finished Bible College, entered the ministry. As their families grow in time, Matthew and John are part of a group of Christian Viet Nam veterans who return to Viet Nam. Only this time they are not carrying M-16s, but they risk much by smuggling Bibles for the growing number of underground Christian churches in a communist country.<br />
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Though this story chronicles the battle for Hamburger Hill, Operation Apache Snow also tells of the men's loved ones back home in the world, of worried parents who wait for every letter from their son, Matthew, and how Kathy Lee's confusion with an anti-war rally and the riot to follow leads her to writing Matthew a Dear John letter. There is also the ever so vivid nightly news casts that became more graphic with the passing years and brought the war's violence right into the family's living room.<br />
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Unlike other Viet Nam war novels, Operation Apache Snow speaks of the busy life of a North Vietnamese medic. Trapped inside the mountain, Lin He Que, a member of the 29th North Vietnamese Army, struggles to keep his comrades a live with limited medical supplies. Weary from lack of sleep and seeing so many of his friends die, Que had a startling confrontation with a wounded Matthew upon the mountain's summit. Unable to kill Matthew because of his convictions as a medic, Que leaves him alive in a trench and flees down the mountain. 30-years later, Matthew and Que are brought together by God in the hallways of a Hanoi hospital. Que, now a surgeon and disillusioned with communism, listens to Matthew's word of forgiveness and God's love and eventually accepts Jesus Christ into his life. He becomes instrumental in help with Viet Nam's underground church movement.<br />
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Note: It is not surprising that the reader will find how my main three characters closely resemble the three soldiers cast in the Viet Nam Memorial Statue. Matthew is a composite of the 18019 year old white middle-class, while John and Jose represent the ethnic and often uneducated minorities sent to Viet Nam in droves. These are the men who became the country's strong backbone, whose courage and sacrifice would be forever enshrined on the Wall.<br />
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It was my goal in writing this story to show that through a time of great violence and fear, moral upheaval and barbarism, that in such a lengthy conflict and its aftermath, there can also be found a time of spiritual growth, repentance, forgiveness and brotherhood, and prayer. This was Viet Nam. <br />
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That's it for Book # 2. Thanks for reading and God Bless!</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-46601068587699822932011-08-23T21:17:00.000-07:002011-08-23T21:17:26.364-07:00Moose Pass Journal/ My Books/ 8/23/2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Bill Says: As earlier stated, I wanted to show you all the Synopsis pages for my 5 and maybe 6 books. This is a basic outline into each of my stories and I will only put one out at a time. Some of them are long and some short, but they will explain what the story is about. My first one is the manuscript I will soon be sending out over the internet through a Christian Publication's outfit for a 6 month period. Here it will be reviewed by agents and publishers- hopefully. I am planning to send out a new one each month. Hope you enjoy this one, but most of you have already heard the basic idea for, "A Coming Storm".<br />
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SYNOPSIS: "A Coming Storm" - 22 Chapters and 878 double-spaced pages- 238,000 words.<br />
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A Christian apocalyptic thriller set in the near future, the story begins with a chronological six-year listing of significant worldwide events following NASA's startling discovery of a <i>planet-killer</i> comet. Previously undetected, it had suddenly appeared in deep space and on a collision course with earth. Impact point is shown to be Northern Thailand, setting off worldwide panic when the public is informed.<br />
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Chaos brings an end to the United Nations and now unopposed, China and its neighboring countries of Southeast, Central and Central Asia form the Oriental Alliance Pact, (OAP).<br />
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From the slums of Mexico City springs forth a new Class IX plague. No antidote can be found and nearly one-third of the world's population will succumb to it.<br />
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The Unified World Church Alliance, (UWCA), comes into being with promises of charity and pro-Christian teachings, but will soon reveal its true self to be both Anti-Christian and Anti-Semitic, and begins a reign of terrorism against Synagogues, Christian churches and their leaders.<br />
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With a collapsed economy, frightened people begin running amok and race riots cripple the United States. A Christmas morning missile attack is launched against the USA by OAP submarines. Hidden in the deep waters of the Gulf of Mexico, the OAP catches a downsized military unaware. Within 30-minutes, most of the continental United States becomes a radioactive wasteland. <br />
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Other enemies soon follow suit and nuclear, biological and chemical weapons are exchanged throughout Europe, the Middle East and South Central Asia. But with such an assault on the planet, the earth responds violently with great quakes. Once dormant volcanoes erupt around the globe and towering tsunamis spread out across the oceans, wiping out coastal areas and sweeping over whole island nations. Millions die within days, as thick clouds of darkened ash soon covers over most of the Northern Hemisphere.<br />
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NATO, now without the support of the USA, comes under invasion by Western Russia armed forces seeking to secure vital seaports and valuable natural resources. A young French officer rises up to rally the troops, saving Paris from ruin and before long, this charismatic hero has the Russians on the run. Hailed as a <i>savior </i>and with his new army in support, the man eventually becomes the First Emperor of the newly formed New European Empire. The Anti-Christ has risen and he now reveals himself as leader and founder of the UWCA.<br />
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In the Orient, where hordes of people are fleeing the expected impact zone, food and clean water is in short supply. Rumors of cannibalism begins to circulate through OAP ranks. OAP Warlords break their alliance with Eastern Russia and invade Siberia in overwhelming numbers. After conquering Eastern Russia in quick order, OAP forces readies its battle hardened legions for the invasion of Alaska and Western Canada.<br />
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With the exchange of weapons of mass destruction between neighboring Arabian and North African countries, Israel is no longer in danger of their attacks. But Israel now finds itself facing even a larger foe, as both OAP and New European Empire forces launch their invasion of the Holy Land by air, land and sea.<br />
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Chapter One identifies Fairbanks Police Sergeant Brad Sawyer, his Christian family and his non-believing Afro-American patrol partner, Scott Radley. The harsh realities of of a nuclear winter sets in, accompanied by clouds of volcanic ash, forcing the Alaskans to deal with strict food rationing and Martial Law, while the await a deadly comet and impending invasion.<br />
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Following a battle with UWCA terrorists, Fairbanks is evacuated and all the civilians and most of the military are withdrawn 90- miles to the east; to Delta Junction and Fort Greeley. Sgt Brad Sawyer becomes an Army Captain and assigned to military intelligence. He becomes a member of a three-man team and given the task of going behind enemy lines in Fairbanks. This is an assignment that will lead to his death. Officer Scott Radley is made a militia 2nd lieutenant and placed in charge of a platoon of weekend warriors, while working under a bigoted company commander.<br />
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Chapter Two tells of the Eskimo men and women of the fighting 1st Division, Alaska Defense Force and their preparations to repel the OAP army on the northwest coastal plains of Wales, Alaska. Led by Colonel Freeman and assisted by a Major Jeb Stewart, who is new to the division and assigned as the senior Intelligence Section Officer, they fortify the City of Wales. But before the invasion commences, Stewart, wounded earlier by a polar bear attack, lands a top-secret mission into Canada. Following the orders of newly appointed President Andrews, General Saunders, Alaska Defense Force Commander orders Stewart and a Captain Wayne Rogers to carry sealed documents across a closed border with Canada and deliver them to the Canadian Army Commander. The document is a proposal of an alliance between the two countries. But at the moment, Western and Eastern Canada are involved in a civil war.<br />
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Chapter Three is a show of faith, as envisioned by a Pastor James Woodway of Phoenix, Arizona. Assisted by Arizona State Police Lieutenant Ed Sawyer, (Brad-s younger brother), they lead their congregation from out of the fiery ruins of Phoenix and enter into an Exodus-like journey through a war ravaged land of the USA and into Canada. Their destination is Alaska. Enduring many hardships along the way, which include mutiny, various gun battles and fighting off a outlaw motorcycle gang, dealing with unfriendly townspeople, meeting up with an Apache Indian tribe in dire need of a doctor and finding themselves surrounded by plague and radioactive hot zones. But through their faith and miracles to follow, they will reach Alaska.<br />
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In the closing chapters, the three main character groups will join together at Fort Greeley, in Alaska's Tanana Valley, for the final battle against the OAP.<br />
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The invasion on, the enemy crosses the Bering Strait ice bridge and drives the greatly outnumbered 1st Division into full retreat across an unforgiving arctic wilderness. Northern OAP forces move into interior Alaska, while a fleet of OAP warships attack Anchorage and the Kenai Peninsula from the south. The two OAP armies later converge in the Alaskan heartland for the final battle at Fort Greeley.<br />
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Heroes will rise and some will fall, but the survivors join together for one last gallant stand. General Howard Wright of the Western Canadian Armed Forces, leads a 600-members Royal Canadian Mounted Police against the OAP southern spearhead. Believers and non-believers alike now stand shoulder to shoulder against a vengeful and starving army.<br />
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During these finale days, a miraculous event occurs, which lines up with Biblical prophecy: 24 hours of complete darkness, a strange blood red moon and the comet suddenly blows up within mere hours before breaking through earth's atmosphere. A fiery explosion of such magnitude is to illustrate how the skies were suddenly filled with a thousand falling stars- as detailed in the Book of Revelations.<br />
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When OAP forces overwhelm the perimeter of Fort Greeley and direct their fire against the civilian population, a great sonic boom drives everyone on earth to the ground, soon followed by the sweet sounds of the Heavenly Trumpet. God demonstrates His divine power by dividing the sun into two halves, with even a brighter light shooting outward from between them. From this blinding light , golden rays shoot out and cascade down to touch the horizons of the earth. Colors of the rainbow fill the skies, as these golden rays form a spiritual bridge between the spiritual realm and the world of mankind. A majestic highway is formed, one in which carries the Heavenly Host forward, to the mighty sounds of a million thunderclaps and bolts of white and golden lightening. Great and towering thunderheads begin to form at the foot of this bridge and atop these majestic clouds ride the Angelic Army of God. These warriors dressed in white and riding upon great white steeds, descend from the skies to do battle and defeat the enemies of God.<br />
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These same towering thunderheads begin to produce a fine silvery mist, which showers upon all the land and all around the globe, transforming winter's ice and the desert's dry wastelands into lush greenery. The mist brings with it an instant healing for the wounded and even the dead who lay upon the fields of battle begin to rise. The sun becomes its normal self, but the silvery mist continues on, dissolving all of mankind's weapons of warfare as the land is prepared for the Lamb of God's reign.<br />
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Sorry this was a bit long, but it was a very long tale. I had originally made it over 1700-pages, then turned it into a trilogy and finally shortened it to its current length. Thanks for reading. Pass allong comments if you have any, I appreciate feedback.<br />
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God Bless!<br />
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</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-29589621304107987472011-08-20T23:13:00.000-07:002011-08-20T23:13:45.064-07:00Reading the fine print...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Miss Mona sez:<br />
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Did you ever find that you had signed up for something that turned out to be significantly more than you anticipated? Bill keeps bugging me about blogging more and today he said I should write about taking care of Mom. At first my attitude was "yeah, right", but on reflection, I think I want to try it. I shall endeavor not to sound whiny.<br />
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To begin with, I believe in the family and I do not think that God designed us to live alone. Yes, sometimes circumstances develop where we are alone and there are those who choose to be alone, but I do not think we are at our best that way.<br />
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When I say family, I do not mean Mom, Dad, 2.5 children and occasional visits from grandparents. Perhaps "tribe" is a better word? For me, a family is a group of people of various ages and developmental states bound together by blood, marriage, choice or life circumstance.<br />
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I grew up the youngest of 9 with innumerable nieces, nephews, cousins and whatnot, so I guess I am somewhat predisposed to that viewpoint by my upbringing. Go figure.<br />
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My grandparents were not in the picture as they had all died long before I came on the scene. Further along, my own parents died, Daddy when I was 17 and pregnant with Elizabeth and Momma when I was 24, right after James' birth. Bill's folks were long-divorced, both remarried and lived in the Lower 48 while we lived in Alaska. There were visits and whatnot, but distance and finances made them necessarily infrequent and not terribly lengthy.<br />
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So, along comes 1990 and a visit from Bill's Mom. We were living in Fairbanks and Bill Welch had died a couple of years prior to this(The final of Mom's four husbands). Mom was thinking about moving to Alaska to be near us and we talked her into spending a winter here before she made the leap of moving. As a life-long California girl, she had never experienced snow, not to mention a Fairbanks winter! Anyway, she closed up her house and came toodling up to Fairbanks, her Persian, Pierre, in tow.<br />
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Bill was a State Investigator, working a steady day shift for the first time in our marriage (10 yrs and counting), the kids were Micah Sue-4, Joshua-6, James-8 and Elizabeth-14. We homeschooled, were the Youth Group leaders at church, Bill played percussion for the Worship Team and this had been the summer he and Gary did umpty-jillion overtime hours together chasing down bad guys (see Bill's FBX tales for more on that). Pierre hid under the spread on Mom's bed and the kids called him The Lump. We already had two cats, Hawkeye and Margaret, and a Newfoundland named Radar<br />
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Long story short, we had 12 ft of snow that winter, Mom bought a parka and Sorels (she hated them both) , broke her clavicle falling down the stairs while Bill and I were gone for the evening (Elizabeth did a bang-up job handling the emergency) and she headed south in the spring to sell her house, pack her stuff and move back up in spite of all that.<br />
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Her original plan was to move into a senior apartment in town as she had always been a solo person, not the cookie-baking, spend-the-night Grandma type. While she was in California, her Mom died, releasing her from the only responsibility she had left (Pierre was portable, much to his chagrin). I probably should have noticed that Granny was nearly 92 and had been in a nursing home 15 years before this, somehow it didn't register... Oh, well.<br />
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A week into her time in California she called to say that even the cat was lonely and to go ahead and look for a house big enough for her, too-"This house is just too damned quiet!" <br />
So we did.<br />
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I forgot to say that Bill's father, Frank, passed away suddenly during the time Mom spent the winter. She stayed with the kids while Bill and I flew to Arizona for his services. This was among the things that influenced my willingness, heck- eagerness!-to have Mom come live with us. In my experience, parents tended not to live too long (mine were both 67 when they died, Frank was 58) and Mom was already 71. I wanted (Bill did, too, but this is my story) my kids to know at least one grandparent before she died.<br />
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So we found a house.<br />
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With customary generosity, God not only blessed us with Mom that June- we also got custody of John, age 15. First significant contact in 10 years was a letter from Nancy that the kid was aimed at jail and we needed to "take responsibility for him." Probably shoulda thought of that 10 years ago when you lied like a rug and got full custody/no visitation...But I digress.How unusual.<br />
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So, along we go...<br />
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And now, here I sit more than 21 years later, tapping on a computer and waiting for this amazing woman to die. <br />
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All through the years, I would get these sympathetic looks and comments- "Your <i>mother-in-law<u> lives with you?!</u></i>" Mostly women, but the occasional man would pat my shoulder and smile. "You must be an amazing woman!" or"I could<u> never</u> do that!" Then I'd tell them she did the laundry for us and they would try to kidnap her. <br />
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A lot of amazing things have happened along the way. She taught the kids how to play poker. The kids taught her how to hug. We learned to respect each other. We disagreed, argued, fought and made up. She went to church with us, got baptized when she was 72. Pastor asked her why she wanted to do it and she said because the last time she did it was into the Mormon church. He complied. She learned how to forgive, she learned how to pray. My kids learned to honor and respect their grandmother. She went to countless conferences and trips to villages with us. She got involved in Prison Ministry because it was something she understood. Bill's brother, Larry, was an outlaw biker who did a lot of time and she visited him there.<br />
She obsessed about the bathroom and running out of toilet paper. The first time I flushed a toilet with a bucket of water (the power was out 5 days that time) she thought I hung the moon.<br />
She always had a pocket full of kleenex, a puzzle book and packets of crackers in her purse and thought that microwave dinners were the answer to her prayers.<br />
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Went to bed with a thermos of coffee, a pack of cigarettes and cookies or a pastry on her nightstand. Always had chocolate in her drawer.<br />
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The kids wandered in and out of her room, watched endless episodes of crime dramas with her, sat on her lap and got read to. So did the grandkids (her greats). Their teenage friends were terrified of her, Micah kept threatening to dye her pure white hair purple, and she has a thing for bright colors and sparkly shoes. <br />
<br />
She learned to wear sweatpants and polar fleece vests, how to layer for warmth and never did get to where she would wear Sorels. The parka, however, still hangs downstairs and served her faithfully for many winters. We took her camping and took away her driver's license when she was 78 (she didn't speak to Bill for three days and still complained about it 10 yrs later when her vision was so poor she couldn't walk down the hall and didn't walk at all without her cane). <br />
<br />
She was terrified of nursing homes and consumed with guilt that she could not stand to care for her own mother. I had trained as a care provider, worked in homes mostly but a short stint in a nursing home. Nursing homes are like hospitals- sometimes you have to be there, but it is not the best thing to have to stay there.<br />
Bill and I promised she would never have to be in one, I have the skills and we have a large and supportive family and a good church family to call on.<br />
<br />
We are by no means the first or only family to do this. We may get points for longevity, but that is about it. To me, this is a fact of life. At the beginning and at the end, people need to be cared for and I have never felt the job should be turned over to strangers, no matter how skilled or well-meaning. She is a part of my family, for better or worse, in sickness and in health.....<br />
<br />
And she is my friend.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
With love-<br />
Mona</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-538045697696653852011-08-18T11:39:00.000-07:002011-08-18T11:39:31.989-07:00Moose Pass Journal/Fairbanks/ 8-18/2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Bill Says: It is an early Thursday morning. I was up before 7 a.m. to find thick clouds hanging low like fog and our area temperatures holding in the high 50's. Though it feels like Fall is upon us and even the plant life is behaving as such, it is still only Mid-August. I tossed out the remains of my prized stale popcorn, ( yes, I like old popcorn, but can only eat so much of it), upon the driveway and far quicker than I expected, some 11-black and white camp robbers descended upon it to feast. These have to be the noisiest birds in God's creation. They drive my two small dogs crazy, send them running in circles in their vain attempt to catch one and cause Jeremy to grasp his lethal BB gun in hand, so he can hopefully get some sleep. The birds love to taunt our cats and as soon as it is daylight, which comes at 5:30 a.m. right now and these highly intelligent birds begin their harassment of any of my cats still outside. They have now become an unwanted alarm clock. My neighbor has her own method of dealing with these troublesome birds. She lures them into her garage, catches them with her huge salmon net and beats them to death. These birds of prey have stolen far too many of her chicks and she has set the dogs of war against them.<br />
<br />
I am watching the talking heads of morning news and observe our stock market plummeting yet again. Everyone is blaming everyone else. But it seems to center on our two major political parties painting the blame on the other side for our troubles. They seem to have forgotten who they work for- US! I have come to the decision that with so many people unemployed, so many people homeless and so many people hungry, that we should sincerely think about doing away with so many, ( see how many times I can use "so many" in a sentence- count them and win a prize!), stupid government programs and use the funds to help so many of our people here at home. Why should we be giving money to so many people who hate us? Why should we be providing funds for foreign governments to expand their economy, when our own economy is failing. Our own President goes out on a bus tour, using a multi-million dollar bus built in Canada. Why isn't he using an American built bus. I am sure we could've used our tax dollars to build an armored bus and just how many times will this huge RV be used? I won't even get into the gun deal our country's leaders made with the cartels to supply them with 2600 automatic weapons- who's campaign chest got paid?<br />
<br />
Well enough on politics and human interest. Back to cases.<br />
<br />
While conducting my investigations, I entered into one such case involving Mr. Edward Dilley. This man was the biggest licensed Operator in the state and taking home about $10 million a year from assisting dozens of charities with his pull-tab sales from some two dozen outlets around the state. Inspecting one outlet in Fairbanks I noticed that his retail space in a strip mall was quite large and he was selling all kinds of tourist stuff, clothes and toys, along with a set up small stand for about two-dozen pull-tab jars. I became suspicious and began inspecting his leases from these various malls and discovered that he was billing the charities the whole amount for the rent of these locations, including labor and utilities. That's when I opened my case and had an accountant in Anchorage help me out with the numbers part. It became a 6-month long investigation and involved my traveling around the state to collect copies of rental agreements, interview employees and gather additional evidence. When this case was completed, I and the accountant, Joe Koss, were able to provide enough evidence to pull Dilley's operator's license from him. I was also able to find an old felony conviction for him concerning a kidnapping/assault case in Oregon and a Bad Conduct Discharge from the military for AWOL.<br />
<br />
To say the least, this man no longer considered me a nice guy. Though he did try to bribe me twice during the investigation. Once with a 1st class plane ticket to Juneau and back, and a collector's Indian motorcycle. Both of which I immediately reported to my boss. Dilley had acquired a vast fortune over the years by bleeding funds from these charities and he blamed me for taking it away from him.<br />
<br />
I had to go by his home/business building one day and when I came into his private office I found him sitting in his chair, behind an ornate desk, fingering the trigger on a commemorative Marine Corps .45 caliber machine gun- though it was only semi-auto. He had an intense and angry glare upon his unshaven face and I decided to make the meeting shorter than planned.<br />
<br />
Dilley moved to Nevada and attempted to open a legal brothel. But I sent my investigation on to Nevada and this prevented him from doing so. I don't like to be threatened.<br />
<br />
During another investigation, Gary Wing of the ABC Board and I set up a sting operation in Fairbanks. We had picked up information of how the liquor stores in town were selling booze and pull tabs to minors. So, we had the 19-year old son of the North Pole Police Department Police Chief assist us by making buys of both liquor and pull tabs. We ended up burning all but one liquor store in town, which really surprised us. We used the same young man to bust an after hour joint, operating in a warehouse. Assisted by Fairbanks Police Department personnel, our young man went in wearing a wire and recorded what we needed to have to stage the raid. We went in and busted some 30-people for charges of illegal liquor sales, illegal gambling and prostitution. The young man eventually became a police officer and was later killed on duty, saving the lives of two of his fellow officers. He was a great kid!<br />
<br />
Gary and I assisted Fairbanks Police Department many times. During a burglary of the Fairbanks Curling Club, we happened to be out on our own patrol and ended up on the scene. We gave chase of the suspects and closed off their retreat in a residential neighborhood and kept them in their cars until a patrol car showed up. The suspects labeled us with the title of "Batman & Robin", and all night Gary and I argued who was who. My argument was that I was taller than he was, so I should be Batman. His argument was how he was the smarter, but I wouldn't buy into that one. Though his wife was my doctor and she used needles...I really have this fear of needles and the whole Batman and Robin thing eventually faded away. Well, we still got kidded some when we came into the police department.<br />
<br />
We then pulled a summer of surveillance work for FPD. Setting up in three different hotel rooms over three months of weekends and pretty much on our own time, we provided extensive camera work on the trouble areas about town. From the second floor of the Motel 8, the 11th floor of the Polaris Hotel and 4th floor of the Northwood Building, we had radio contact with FPD and dispatched them to hot spots. We worked with a joint Army/Air Force/State Trooper/FBI and FPD task force to stop the violence in Fairbanks. At the time, this mainly involved B Company on Fort Wainwright. When it was all said and done, B Company was completely disbanded and the men not involved in a court martial, were sent across the globe. The camera work Gary and I did helped display the violence, where even automatic weapons were discharged as locals and military squared off. It was fun meeting with the Army general and having him call on Gary and I for suggestions. I'd never had a general ask for my advice before and he took it, which was more surprising.<br />
<br />
I became involved in numerous forgery and embezzlement investigations and I really enjoyed squaring off with the lawyers. In one such case I had found a hidden account set up by five of these lawyers and I still remember their shocked expressions when I met with them to reveal our knowledge of their activities. I never went to college, but I knew criminal activity when I came across it. Joe Koss did a major assist in that case as he worked the numbers. Though I knew criminal activity, adding two plus two was still an effort.<br />
<br />
As a result of that case, pretty soon I was handling a lot of the gaming annual financial reports for North Alaska, really stretching my brain power to the limit. But through this, I exposed a lot of fraud going on in the charitable gaming program. They just needed someone looking past the numbers and into what the money was being spent for.<br />
<br />
I flew out to Savoonga on St Lawrence Island for an investigation. I wanted to know how a community of 250 people were doing 2.5 million dollars in gaming per year. An interesting thing I found out there was how they continued to make use of a personnel check. I found one check with over 50-names on the back as it continued to change hands in the place of cash. By the time I got it, no bank would have ever accepted it. Their bingo room floor was several inches deep in pulled pull-tabs. But a bar in Nome was even worse; their pull-tab area was up to three feet deep in pulled pull-tabs and boy, what a mess.<br />
<br />
In 1994, I retired from law enforcement on disability from injuries I sustained while on the Seward PD. I decided it was time I learned to become a writer- which I am still working at after 17-years and 6-completed manuscripts.<br />
<br />
In my next entries I will be listing the synopsis's for these manuscripts in the event one of the publishers or agents I am contacting happens to check out this blog. It will also provide you with the basis for my stories and you can offer up an opinion- choose wisely, my friends......God Bless!<br />
<br />
</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-26608295826639235322011-08-15T11:14:00.000-07:002011-08-15T11:14:32.162-07:00Moose Pass Journal/Fairbanks/ 8-15-2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Bill Says: As I have previously stated, I worked a lot of investigations for the Gaming Unit and some of them involved some pretty hot items at the time and concerned influential people in the state. Of course, some of these cases got me in some pretty hot water too.<br />
<br />
In one case, I was investigating after hour joints in the Fairbanks area and one part of the case centered on a an abandoned downtown building. I had learned that this place was once used by key people in the state's political realm. I was given a call from my main boss in Juneau, who advised me he had just been visited by the State of Alaska Commissioner of Public Safety, who wanted my investigation of this location to cease because of the particular names involved. My boss told me to go ahead, but then the Commissioner of the Dept of Revenue, our really big boss, stepped in and I was ordered to cease and I did... in a round about way. I began to gain a reputation for finding ways around key people's wishes and still keep my job.<br />
<br />
Twice the Lt. Governor of Alaska tried to get me fired for my investigations concerning his use of illegal gambling proceeds for his political campaigns and my union saved me from joining the unemployment line.<br />
<br />
During one of my biggest investigations, I was after a particular individual who was attempting to obtain a gaming license for Operator. This status of Operator would give him the state's permission to conduct legal gaming for charities holding gaming permits. Now this could involve millions of dollars for the man every year. I had heard this man had connections with an organized crime family in Seattle and ironically, this was the same family I had investigated in while I was with the Dillingham Police Department in 1981. We had learned of the Seattle Family's money laundering operation and were trying to get the federal authorities involved in the family's scheme through use of the fishing industry. We had it all laid out for them, but they would not assist us and I've always wondered why- who was being paid off. For years the various small police departments around the state tried to show the approach of organized crime in Alaska and no one in federal law enforcement or even the Alaska State Troopers wanted to listen. But it was after I conducted this lengthy investigation, when I obtained the Governor's support, did they begin to acknowledge the presence of organized crime.<br />
<br />
Only in Alaska, where the population is so small for the area, can a single investigator obtain the information that would change so many minds and afterwards, I had a lot of help. Eventually my investigation was forgotten, but organized crime no longer had an open door to Alaska and I had the satisfaction of being part of the force who slammed that door on them.<br />
<br />
Now to obtain an Operator's License in Alaska to represent the various charities, the man or woman must have no criminal record of any felony offenses or misdemeanor convictions for theft or other acts of dishonesty. Unfortunately, this man's record in Alaska was mostly crime free, but I began a search of his Washington record and the door opened. I should mention he was a prime suspect for Murder in Alaska, but the case couldn't be pushed forward because the witnesses left the state. The man also had a cocaine problem, but no arrests for same. Ironically, he had formed a friendship with the Governor and lifted weights with him in Anchorage, when the governor was in town. They worked out in the Captain Cook's weight room, which the governor owned. When I completed my investigation and copies were provided to the Governor, he ordered the state troopers to keep the man away from him and I got an e-mail thank you from the Governor.<br />
<br />
My case really came down with finding someone in Washington State who would help me and after some lengthy series of phone calls I located a very kind older lady who worked in the state's criminal records department. She actually conducted a hand search for me and I had a lengthy felony record on my man, who spent 10-years in prison for offenses he committed while he worked for the organized crime family. He began young and after release from prison, he was then shipped to Alaska, to work on gaining a foot hold in the state.<br />
<br />
For a while there, all my time went into this investigation and it took some wild turns and eventually led up to a face to face interview with my person of interest. I'd say suspect, but this wasn't a criminal investigation. My only powers in this case was to work toward getting him denied an Operator's License.<br />
<br />
During my investigation I was led to an extremely influential political figure who was running for Governor under the democratic ticket. He was leading in the polls at the time and my investigation led to his demise as a political figure. I showed his association with my man and his usage of cocaine. He also owned a race horse he was failing to mention and sadly, he was a wife beater. He had hospitalized his wife 7 times. She always went in under a false name but everyone knew who she was.<br />
<br />
The sad part of this part of the investigation was how it was taken away from me. My Divisional boss just happened to be Juneau's campaign chairman for Tony Knowles; the other democrat trying to be Governor of Alaska. When he learned of my investigation involving this other figure, he ordered me to release my investigation to the Anchorage newspapers. He knew the effect it would have. But I refused, explaining how it involved a bigger investigation and didn't want this released because I wasn't finished. So, my direct supervisor flew from Juneau to Fairbanks to take custody of the particular pages of my report dealing with the political figure. I was forced to release it to him and he flew to Anchorage to hand it over to some reporters.<br />
<br />
Now at the time, I wasn't aware that one reporter was also conducting an investigation. He had some stuff I didn't have and I had some he hadn't found. The newspaper article released covered two pages and the candidate we investigated sunk in the polls like a rock. Tony Knowles was elected Governor.<br />
<br />
Well, I continued my main investigation and provided to the state a three inch thick binder, having enough information and photographs to prevent my man from ever obtaining an Operator's License. A copy of the report was provided to my partner, Gary Wing of the ABC Board and this ended up preventing the man from gaining a liquor license. So now the man operates two underage strip clubs in Anchorage and Fairbanks, where GI's can come in at 18 yrs old to watch the ladies, but no alcoholic beverages are consumed. I still believe he is laundering money in these location for the Seattle family, but I am retired now and its someone else's job. <br />
<br />
More to follow. God Bless!</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-43026847135077716052011-08-13T23:05:00.000-07:002011-08-13T23:05:27.868-07:00Moose Pass Journal/ Fairbanks/ 8-13-2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Bill Says: In early January of 1990, we packed up our truck with kids and animals, and left Troy & Leslie's house on the Kenai Peninsula for our return to Fairbanks. I had gotten a new job with the State of Alaska Games of Chance and Skill Unit. I was hired on, after a lengthy process, as an Investigator III. This was a great job, with some really nice benefits, my own office/secretary and brand new take home car. Who could want for more? I should also mention my supervisor worked in Juneau, so I was pretty much on my own.<br />
<br />
There had been a lot of snow that winter so far and driving north, we counted more than 100 moose on the sides of the road. After a 100 we quit counting. I should also mention our first night in Fairbanks a car slid through a stop sign and nailed the side of our new truck. But I did get to meet a long time member of the Fairbanks Police Department, who came out to conduct the investigation. We would end up having a nice friendly working relationship over the next four years, as I worked with Fairbanks Police.<br />
<br />
Mona and I had left Fairbanks after getting out of the service and looked forward to returning. We first lived in Sophia's Station hotel for a very short time and soon had rented an a nice house up on Red Fox Road. Grandma came to live with us there and soon after, so did our son John Leroy. I add the middle name since we now have two John's in the family. We found a nice family church with Lighthouse Christian Center and would spend the most of 13-years with them.<br />
<br />
When I got hired I needed to spend a week down in Anchorage working with the investigator there to see what my job actually involved. He was quitting and I was about to find myself as the only investigator in the state for this unit, which had another 9 members. These were accountants/clerical staff and my boss. I learned real quickly that my job involved a lot of travel and most of it by very small itty-bitty airplanes. Pilots loved to stash me into their planes, along with the sled dogs, Cosco food supplies and then laugh at the way my knees were stuck up under my chin. I flew from to Southeast Alaska to St.Lawrence Island, Nome to Bethel and Dillingham. Visited Kodiak and made a road trip once a year to cover the length of the highway from Fairbanks to Anchorage, on to Cantwell and Tok and back to Fairbanks. This involved something like nearly 2,000 miles and in the process I hit nearly every bar, bingo hall and pull-tab store. ( I could see Russia from the St. Lawrence, not that I knew anyone over there or that I thought about visiting.). I met all kinds of great people, got to see the finish of the Iditirod Dog Sled Race in Nome twice and ended up working some important investigative cases during my 4 years. I worked 750 investigations, the number always stuck in my head and I had to turn in monthly stats to the boss. Now most of these were 1-2 day quick cases and others involved 6-8 months to work. I investigated criminals, organized crime people and politicians. A lot of my cases were what is termed Whiter Collar crime and this involved fraud, embezzlement, theft and forgery. They sent me to a top Federal school in Georgia for training in these areas. I was also sent to the State of Washington Gambling Academy and immediately realized Washington had a whole lot better handle on the criminal side of of gaming then we did.<br />
<br />
My main assignment was to regulate the 250 million dollar gaming industry conducted in Alaska. This was your pull-tabs, bingo, raffles and such. The man I replaced did just that. But they made the mistake of hiring a former police officer for this job and I went about changing things. The way I looked at it, if I was to enforce the gaming laws, I should also be investigating all those people violating the gaming laws by illegal gambling. No one had really investigated illegal gambling in the state, turning sort of a blind eye to it. So, I hit them pretty hard because they were not suspecting it. I closed down a lot of illegal operations, busted after-hour party houses and came down really hard on fraternal organizations for illegal gambling, (American Legion, VFW, Elks, Moose, Eagles...etc.).<br />
<br />
I worked with the Alaska State Troopers, US Coast Guard, Office of the OSI, ( Air Force) and CID, (Army), FBI and most of the municipal police departments in the state. Mostly though, I worked with the Fairbanks Police Department. I was given a radio and a state call sign, ( 32D-1). They would back me up if needed and on several occasions I backed them up, when they were so busy and only had one unit to respond to a dangerous call.<br />
<br />
I also worked the State Alcohol Beverage and Control Board, but this was mostly with Investigator III Gary Wing, who became a very close friend and my partner in crime. We really got into a lot of trouble together. So much so that his bosses in Anchorage ordered him to stay away from me, but we were both deaf at the time. We did a lot of stakeouts together, made arrests and did some undercover work where we were not known. Gary's Wife, Mary Wing, was also our family doctor and the best one I ever had. Gary would later leave the ABC Board and take a job with the Alaska Railroad as their Investigator. Mary would retire and we were off looking for another doctor.<br />
<br />
My secretary was named Nancy and I shared her duties with my office partner, Dick Swangbank, State Geologist and an Englishman with 12-years in Alaska and he still carried his accent. Nice guy. We got along pretty well and drove Nancy plain crazy with having to type up our reports and the two of us having such an extreme difference between our work. She'd be typing up about Gold deposits in a section of Alaska one moment and then typing up an interview I had done with exotic dancer during a lengthy investigation I was doing against two bar owners. Nancy really hated my interviews, especially these nasty ones filled with profanity and I did 200 dancer interviews over 6 months. She would often shout out, "I hate you, Bill!", but she was a great typist and felt sincerely sorry for these ladies.<br />
<br />
Soon, our little unit grew in size, we took on two more investigators, one in Juneau and one in Anchorage, more accountants and I got another boss, Chief Investigator Gary Dodson. We became the Gaming Unit Division. We were only one of a few divisions in the state showing a real profit, but we were also creating waves the politicians didn't like.<br />
<br />
Next, I'll get into some of my political cases. God Bless!</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-61253418965063703392011-08-10T11:10:00.000-07:002011-08-10T11:10:43.464-07:00Moose Pass Journal/ Whittier/ 8-10-2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Bill Says: Riots in England, snow already on the ground in Cantwell, a plummeting stock market, variations of the movie "The Birds" happening in my backyard and Jeremy running around with a BB gun to defend the homestead, I still can't find my Mickey Mouse t-shirt, and a President who doesn't know how to make decisions- is this a sign of the End Times at hand or what?!<br />
<br />
On to Whittier: During my time as Public Safety Director/Police Chief I had some pretty good volunteer supervisors working for me in the areas of Fire Chief/EMS Supervisor/Search & Rescue boat skippers and in the beginning some 22-volunteers. But I lost most of these people to Exxon and VECO after the Exxon Valdez parked on a rock and spilled millions of gallons of crude oil into the Prince William Sound. Had someone been brave enough to make a decision to fire bomb the ship right away, ( after the crew got off of course), the damage would've been minimal. But no one did.<br />
<br />
During this time period I had a rather poor relationship with the Alaska Railroad. Whittier was the HazMat port for Alaska and here the Hydro-Train was brought up on barges to off load onto the railroad tracks and become- trains! A deal was made with the ARR so that these hazmat cars would not remain in town past 24 hours, but they often broke this agreement and left these nasty train cars in our community for up to and over 7-days. I was constantly on the phone or in someone's face about getting these train cars moved and rarely did I win the argument, so I found ways to get my point across. These train cars were filled with deadly acids/fluids of all sorts and dynamite. I had cars hooked together with ammonia nitrate/dynamite/fuel. Had a car gone up, it would have initiated a chain reaction that would've simply removed Whittier from the map and all its people.<br />
<br />
During one movement of cars, a hazmat car flipped on its side and blocked one of my road intersections. I promptly called out my volunteer fire department, cordoned off the area and prepared for the worst. I had gone through the Crown Point episode, where a hazmat train car began leaking an unknown gas and dozens of people suffered from it in one form or another, and several homes were left deserted for years. I was nearly 21-miles away from the train car, but when the cloud passed over Seward, I was on patrol and it caused my eyes to water for several hours. One of the state troopers who handled a roadblock, during darkness, was sunburned from the vapors.<br />
<br />
The ARR was rather upset with me because a news helicopter appeared overhead and it became one of the local news stories as the ARR rushed to get the car upright. It took them hours and they requested I pull back my fire department, guaranteeing me everything was safe. I declined and kept my foaming machine ready. The minute the car began to leak, I was going to foam the whole thing down. I also provided my volunteers with prime beef sandwiches for lunch.<br />
<br />
We had other run ins with the ARR over the summer, but these were always with their supervisors. I finally got the ARR HazMat officer to come to Whittier and give a class to my people. I learned right off how the ARR had little concern for the people of Whittier and I did my best to change their minds. They tried to bring pressure against me through the city council, but at the time I was in the council member's good graces for the way I was handling the oil spill. So I was allowed to keep my job.<br />
<br />
During the oil spill one of my duties was processing the dead animals coming in to Whittier. These were mostly sea lions, ducks, bears and sea birds. I disliked this chore but it had to be done. I once had a seal brought in and the people in Valdez in charge of this part of the operation refused to acknowledge I had a seal and they continued to tell me I had a sea lion. But once I fully described the animal, they replied, "Wow, you really got a seal!" Apparently it was the first dead seal and no one thought seals were actually swimming in the Prince William Sound. Big news!<br />
<br />
Three helicopters flew over from Valdez to inspect my seal and they took it back with them. This explained how so much money was spent on the spill. I mean they could've come over in one helicopter! I once saw Exxon fill a 45-foot trailer with brand new office equipment, Zodiac boats with engines and misc equipment. They dug a hole, put the trailer in it and crush it was a large dozer. I requested they give my Search and Rescue squad one of the Zodiac boats and they declined. They later buried the crushed trailer and probably filed for insurance. I really never understood that operation or even all the money they gave out that summer. People came from all over to stand in line when the money man from Exxon came to town. He set up a table in my fire hall and wrote out checks all day. I watched as people I knew would stand before him and told him lies of all the money they lost due to the spill. I tried to intercede, but the money man told me it was okay. In the end though, it was the guy at the gas pump who paid for all of this.<br />
<br />
They harbor people brought me 5- 55 gallon drums filled with crude oil and supposedly dead critters. So, I got on my yellow slickers and spilled out this peanut butter like crude oil on to a large tarp and ...found nothing. No dead animals and I had a real mess to clean up. Again, I was not happy and expressed my feelings to the harbor folks. <br />
<br />
Then one day I had this older gentleman come running into my fire hall shouting, "They're all dead!" He could only tell me of how there were bodies all over the western shore of the Prince William Sound. So, while I left him in the hands of VECO employees to calm him down, I jumped into my patrol vehicle and raced out to the shoreline with lights and siren, only to find thousands, if not millions of dead miniature shrimp! I soon learned that this happened every year or so and probably had nothing to do with the oil spill, but I reported it to the Valdez office anyway. And man, were the sea birds happy. Hundreds of them filled the skies and descended upon the shrimp. so I got out of there. Remember, I'd seen the movie "The Birds".<br />
<br />
But one day, while I was sitting in my office, a very large barn owl landed out in the intersection in front of my station. It simply stood there and refused to move as cars went by. I grabbed a very large animal carrier used for airplanes and went out to scoop it up. I'm still not sure why I had this massive animal carrier in the fire hall, but it now came in handy. The owl had porcupine quills in its face and crude oil on its right wing. I brought it back into the station and gave it a dish of water. It had its back to me and then its head and only its head, turned around, like out of a scene from the "Exorcist". This was a weird thing to see up close. It also had three inch talons, so I was really careful when I placed the water dish in the carrier.<br />
<br />
I called Mona and she brought the kids down to see it. Then I called Valdez and they sent a helicopter over to pick it up. They later called to advise they had cleaned the owl up and released it back into the wild.<br />
<br />
I learned a lot in Whittier; how to write up grants, handle the executive side of law enforcement, hire and fire employees, work out multi-thousand dollar leases and keep from losing my cool with elderly city council members. But I wouldn't have been able to stay in Whittier without having my life partner with me. Mona was my mainstay, my right arm and I just couldn't have done it all without her. I also had my wonderful children to encourage and bring a smile to my face on those stressful days.<br />
<br />
<br />
But I can't close out Whittier without mentioning my ride in the high rail ambulance as a patient. Because of my prior injury in Seward, I was popping like 16 Aspirin a day and eventually suffered a GI Bleed as a result. I ended up losing 5 units of blood and was on a medivac to Anchorage. Mona was my EMT and I spent 9 days in the Hospital. Officer Mark did a great job filling in for me and he is now the Police Chief for Craig, Alaska and loves it there. Note: I no longer take handfuls of Aspirin.<br />
<br />
I ended up resigning from Whittier when the City Council could not match my terms for another year's employee contract. They would agree with the monetary side, but not with my desire to have two full time patrolmen. They wanted the department to go back to one chief and one Indian and I wouldn't work that way. Impossible to take a vacation under those terms. So, we left Whittier and were soon on to Fairbanks.<br />
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Next to come; my time as a senior investigator for the State of Alaska Gaming Unit.</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-49501998880932217992011-08-08T14:55:00.000-07:002011-08-08T14:55:59.349-07:00Moose Pass Journal/ Whittier/ 8/8/2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Bill Says: First off, a very Happy Birthday to our son, James Arthur Lee Casselman and our grandson, Tariq Leroy Casselman. Both born on this date, but James was first by a long shot.<br />
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Secondly: We have already had our first signs of termination dust on the mountain peaks and this is very early- even for us. Termination dust for you people who are not aware, is first snow, which melts pretty fast and signals the termination of summer. Our flowers and other plants are also signaling the end of summer and it is of course as you know, only the 8th of August. This makes Mona and I wonder what kind of winter is ahead of us and how much wood we might need to keep this place toasty. We average 10-12 cords for a winter and this is a lot of wood, but thankfully we do not have the extreme expense of fuel oil. We also have a propane stove, so if the power goes out from avalanches or wind, we still keep warm and eat hot food. Sadly, the microwave won't operate on wood or propane. Someone really needs to think about that.<br />
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Now to Whittier: During the 1988-89 winter, Alaska was struck hard by extreme harsh temperatures, high winds of hurricane force and lots of heavy snow. Newspapers called it the Big Freeze and it really felt like it. Whittier received 30 feet of snow that year and only Valdez beat us out with their 33 foot snowfall. We had people jumping out of second and even third story windows into soft fluffy snow and then having to tunnel their way out to the parking lot. We only had one massive front end loader for the whole town, so it often took time before everything got plowed out before the next snowfall. Most vehicles were not running because of the extreme cold, but we had our two patrol vehicles parked inside the fire hall to keep them nice and warm and ready for use.<br />
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During this time, the US Military had decided to hold their arctic winter war games and had received permission to use Whittier for one of their staging points. Overnight, my fire hall and police station were transformed into the headquarters for a company sized component of the 6th Infantry Division, ( Buffalo Soldiers), out of Fort Wainwright. I had barbed wire strung out all around my building, machine gun nests and my entryway was sandbagged nearly 7-feet high. Guards were posted all around and I was quick to advise them I would not play the pass word game. I had a badge and my gun shot real bullets. They agreed.<br />
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I allowed the army to have use of one section of the fire hall to set up their mobile kitchen and moved my secondary ambulance into the Alaska Railroad Warehouse to make room for them. But the weather turned sour all too quickly, bringing the wind chill factor down to minus 122 degrees (F). The US Coast Guard cutter was in Whittier to record the weather and decided to leave after their wind device was blown off their vessel. They were the ones to give us the -122 degree chill factor, so I didn't make it up. We had a raging blizzard going on and only I and one of my officers was out in it to continue checking on the town.<br />
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One wind blast actually brought my new Dodge Ramcharger patrol car to a halt and a second time I was brought to a sudden stop and struggling to open my door against the wind, I made my way outside to find a massive snow berm had formed right in the middle of roadway and was now blocking me. Not that I could see much and was mostly acting from memory as I drove about.<br />
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The soldiers were eating their MRE, Meals Ready to Eat, but they were being cooked by this mobile kitchen. I had to laugh when I saw how the military had not changed all that much since my days in Viet Nam. The assigned cook had brought with him a lot of cheap white bread, the stuff that dissolved in your mouth, and cases of Skippy creamy peanut butter. Made me wonder how our boys would do in the field without peanut butter. Even our old C-rations had peanut butter in it, but it sure wasn't Skippy! You could lube a car with the peanut butter they issued. Thankfully, thoughtful parents sent jars of peanut butter to us and we were saved.<br />
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One of my chores during that winter was to rescue soldiers. These frozen men were manning their posts several hundred yards from the station and couldn't get back in because of the wind, so Officer Mark and I were out picking them up. We actually had to handle a few of the men to get them moving again and into the safety of our vehicles.<br />
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The very next night we had to break up a fight, right smack in the middle of an intersection outside my fire hall and between 3-locals. They had gotten drunk in the bar across the street from my station and decided to take it outside to see who was the toughest. No one could see much of anything because the blowing snow was so heavy it was like making your way through a pillow factory, right after someone let all the feathers loose from the bins and added a giant fan for effect. And it was so cold, I threatened to leave the combatants out there to freeze to death. But we towed them bodily into the station to warm them up with blankets, hot chocolate and peanut butter. I had the army medic look them over, not wanting to call the EMTs out in this nasty weather. <br />
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My utility bill nearly quadrupled while these soldiers were here, burning up the hot water to keep warm and I should've billed the Army, but I didn't. I mean these poor guys had to sit through hours of my telling old war stories and that was a thankless task on their part. At least I could give them some hot water and electricity for their stoves.<br />
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I had never seen Alaska like this in all my 34 years in our beloved state and hopefully never will again. It was miserable, almost like an end of the world event... maybe that's too strong. But it was like bathing yourself in ice cream and then walking into a freezer. Ice cream? That did it. Now I'm hungry!<br />
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Eventually, the military closed down the war games for fear some of the men and women might freeze to death. The 6th Division prepared to leave, taking their sandbags and wire with them. I tried to keep a machine gun, but they caught me and I just told them I was kidding and checking their security. Not sure if they bought it, but they still presented our department with a beautiful wooden plaque, which displayed a charging buffalo and their thanks.<br />
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But this wasn't my only dealings with the military while in Whittier. No, I was visited that spring, right after the Exxon Valdez went on the rocks and our little town was jumping. Two civil servants and an officer, representing the military from Fort Richardson and Elmendorf Air Force Base, (both in Anchorage), had come to pay me a visit concerning the government's tank farm in Whittier. Barges were coming in all the time to keep the tank farm filled with fuel for the Air Force and Army's aircraft and it seems the tank farm had found itself on a possible terrorist target list. Now this was long before 9/11, but the terrorists were out there and making themselves known.<br />
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The civil servants had the Whittier Police Department down as a first-responder in the event of a terrorist attack. Sort of a hold them, while the Army got their special forces en route. So, they wanted to know what kind of weaponry and man power my department had to carry out this job. Really, I tried hard not to laugh. I mean, I had four officers at the time and the only serious weapon I had outside our pistols and two shotguns, was a single AR-15, ( semi-auto variation of the fully auto M-16). I guess they were surprised I had no hand grenades, flame throwers or tanks hid out in the pucker brush. I was seriously beginning to doubt the intelligence of my military. But I was the host, even gave them coffee and explained that I was putting together a Disaster Preparedness Plan for the City and would add a section concerning our response to any attack on the tank farm. I also had to add a section concerning a possible terrorist attack on any cruise ships tied up to our docks. Believe me, I was tempted to add some real sci-fi into these parts, but didn't and when I finished, my operational plan for handling earthquakes, nuclear attack, tsunamis, major fires and whatever, was eventually accepted by the city council- though I doubt they read any of it. Much like our current congress and the submitted bills.<br />
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I'll get to my problems with the Alaska Railroad folks in the next blog- God Bless!<br />
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</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-80306531826840222212011-08-05T00:23:00.000-07:002011-08-05T00:23:58.467-07:00Moose Pass Journal/Whittier Cases-8/4/2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Bill Says: I had a good chat with our son, John Leroy on the phone today. He was calling from Dillingham and letting me know what was going on there this summer and his heavy workload. It brought back so many memories of 30-years ago, when we lived in Dillingham and I worked for my first civilian police department. So many thing have changed there, yet all too many things haven't. It is still the wild and woolly west and cops there are more or less simple town tamers.<br />
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But on to Whittier- ( first off I might point out how so different my blog entries are than my wife's. You get the more intelligent, medical, a touch of philosophy and a dash of mental illness awareness, Christian and parenthood values from her and from me, you get police stories, humor and whatever else is left in the bag).<br />
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In Whittier was had our fair share of town characters and this multiplied by 10 with the oil spill. Whittier was suddenly booming with people wanting to go to work on the spill. VECO had set up a boat clean-up station in our harbor and Exxon wanted to use the town's huge waste furnace to burn oily rags from the beach clean-up. But along the way, someone forgot to close the gate to the looney bin and they made a mad dash for our little town.<br />
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I had this one gentlemen come in to my office, a real friendly guy and he asked me if he could use the fire station's shower room. He'd already applied for a beach job and was awaiting word from Exxon/VECO to see if he landed one. I told him to go ahead and take a shower, not knowing he planned to be in it for 4-hours. I was busy and forgot all about him until the VECO employee brought me his application, with a look of dire concern written all over her face. I then noticed the man was still in the shower, draining my hot water tank and steaming up the back area of the fire hall. Not to mention adding to my limited utility budget.<br />
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Now this guy was my size, but several years younger than I and on his application he had applied for the not listed position of gravedigger. I knew right then I was going to have a problem with this man and ordered him out of the shower room. While I had one of my officers keep an eye on him, I went and ran him for warrants and didn't find anything. But after a brief conversation with him, where he advised me he thought all the Exxon employees should be put on a barge and then sunk in the Prince William Sound. I asked him to move along and kicked him out of the fire hall and told him Exxon and VECO had no future job opportunities for him and he should think about returning to Anchorage on the next train.<br />
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He stayed around town though and began to create a series of problems for me and my men. He never went so far as to break a law, so I couldn't arrest him and he never got drunk so I couldn't place him under welfare hold. But he began to frighten people by his bizarre statements and actions. The City Manager demanded I throw him out of town, but explained this man was the type of character to cause real serious legal issues for the city if I didn't handle it right. But then he made a real stupid mistake, he upset my wife!<br />
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Mona was working at the Whittier Clinic as receptionist and he showed up. He wanted to know where all the spare body parts were kept, or maybe it was bodies. I can't quite recall now, but she telephoned me and I was up there pretty quick. Officer Mark came along to ensure I didn't go ballistic on the man, because he could see how upset I was. No one messed with my wife!<br />
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I calmly escorted him out of the clinic, walked him to the elevator, ( we were inside Begich Towers), and once the doors were closed I not too gently placed him in handcuffs and placed him under a police officer's 72-hour mental hold. I drove him to Anchorage, which at this point in time meant driving my patrol car onto an Alaska Rail Road flat car for the shuttle out to the highway and then on to Anchorage about 50 some miles away. Officer Mark accompanied me to ensure this dude didn't go rowdy on my and force me to lose control of the car. We didn't have cages in our car back then. Along the way he entertained us with numerous stories, which completely displayed his severe mental problems. He wanted to kill me and talked about all the different ways he was going to do it. He also talked about posing for Play Girl or something like that and was really upset with Joe Namath for wearing nylons.<br />
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Now I had called the Anchorage mental unit to find out if they had ever heard of this guy and they advised me they hadn't. He had come to Alaska from Wisconsin to work and that's all we knew. But when I drove up to the hospital and pulled him out- it was old home week for him and all the patients standing around outside. I was not happy! Had I known he was a former patient, I could've talked with his doctor and might not have had to place him into custody. But no, they claimed ignorance.<br />
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I marched him inside and explained to the nurse and then another nurse and finally after an hour with a doctor, what this man had been doing in my town. I also explained I was placing a 72-hour hold on him. By the time I left, the doctors explained they would hold him for 30-days to get him back on his medications. They told me he was quite charming when medicated and I said great- then I left.<br />
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30-days later, I looked up from my desk and guess who I see standing across the street glaring at me with outright hatred in those pupils. Oh yes, he was back. I warned the officers, I had four of them now, to keep an eye on him and this lasted about 34 hours. I got an early morning call that our man had caused some problems in one of our two bars and got himself beat up by several locals. They heard him bragging about how he was going to kill me and believe it or not, several of my local hoodlums actually liked me. Anyway, the man was now walking in circles, wearing a trench coat and talking to himself down by the water's edge. He had really spooked my officer and he needed back-up. But like I said, the man was my size.<br />
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When I drove up, I found him sure enough walking in circles, hands shoved down deep into his coat pockets and refusing to acknowledge me or my officer's existence. Seeing how he was behaving and how I couldn't see his hands, and remembering his threats, I pulled out my pistol and ordered him to withdraw his hands. He refused and began to glare at me. So, while my officer held his pistol on him, I approached him, whipped him around so that I was behind him and stuck my pistol in his right ear. I ordered him to his knees and again ordered him to pull his hands out. He refused. I holstered my pistol and quickly tripped him to the ground, and one at a time brought his hands out of his pockets, while my officer held his pistol about three inches from the man's nose. We were not going to take any chances with this guy. Too many cops get killed by mentally disturbed people who are off their medications. On their medications they are normal like anyone else, but off their medications they can be just plain dangerous.<br />
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Turns out he was holding a black comb. He he whipped that comb out too fast, I probably would have shot him. Had he told me all he had was a comb, I would've allowed him to bring it out real slowly. But he didn't. So, I placed him in handcuffs and under another 72-hour mental hold and promptly transported him to Anchorage on the first train. This time he didn't speak at all, but hummed a lot. When I took him to the doctor, I explained that if this man showed up in my town again this summer, I would bring him back to Anchorage and arrest him, the doctor, and ensure that he and his patient would share the same cell in the Anchorage jail.<br />
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After 90-days of treatment, the doctor called me to let me know the man was being flown back to Wisconsin for long term treatment. I was so pleased.<br />
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But there were others and I'll probably get to them later. God Bless and keep John Leroy in your prayers.</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008172953759952050.post-59381453964707858092011-08-01T16:20:00.000-07:002011-08-01T16:20:42.450-07:00Once more into the breach, dear friends...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Miss Mona sez:<br />
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I hear the voice of the Lord...<br />
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Over and over in the Word that phrase precedes some heartcry. Over and over the people (God bless them!!) respond by trying to kill the speaker.<br />
I feel like the Monster Shouter in Stephen King's, "The Stand", marching up and down the streets with his sandwich board.<br />
I am being called back into intercession and I am terrified. Last time it nearly killed me, put me into a 10 year clinical depression and my family had the ever-lovin' crap beat out of it. Not my fondest memories.<br />
But I can't resist. I don't know how to tell the Holy Spirit to go away and leave me alone.<br />
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There was a teaching out of MorningStar by Ray Hughes about 12 years ago,"On Becoming Warhorses." Powerful stuff. He talked about the horses that pulled the firewagons, comparing them to intercessors. Always fascinated me.<br />
So, here I am, standing in my stall, waiting for the harness to drop down onto me...<br />
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(I hope this doesn't come out whiny, that is not my intention. This is more stream of consciousness and me thinking out loud. The responses I have gotten have been helpful and encouraging, btw.)<br />
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Last time I was asking myself why/who is this written to. The answer is, mostly to myself but I also believe there are so many others "out there" who hear and understand my mental meanderings and hopefully, this will be of benefit. Or not.<br />
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My brother said that I am a refiner, it is in my DNA. That is a good description. I tend to think of myself as an untangler( think of a mass of yarn a puppy or kitten has gotten hold of) or a puzzle-sorter (think of spilled puzzle pieces from more than one box). As this will be read by others, I find myself defining my terms for those of you who are not inside my head (and if I were you, I would try to stay out of there- it gets messy). <br />
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I listen to all the stuff- TV news, people talking, commentaries and comedians,books I am reading and Facebook posts, and then I try to sort the pieces out and find the ones that belong to my puzzle. More like a mosaic than a puzzle as so many pieces are broken or badly damaged, I try to bring them into a cohesive whole and then I grab my Bible and begin to pray. Yesterday afternoon I ended up on the floor in front of the stage of our incomplete church.<br />
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The thing is, I am unclear as to the reception of prophetic intercession in our church. Our old church was theoretically receptive but in practice, somewhat leary of that which did not line up with the world-view of the leadership. I suck at being understood, it seems and regularly have had things misconstrued. It always made sense to me, just not to "them." And now I am in a position of having been "away" from church for nearly a year. And I am not always the easiest person to receive from. And I smoke, which is, of course, sin of the highest order. Not to mention the whole diagnosis of mental illness...(which, by the way, I think is BS).(So there)<br />
Did I digress? ;-)<br />
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Hell, my own family has a tendency to roll their eyes and try to change the subject, why wouldn't other people raise an eyebrow?<br />
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Anyway...<br />
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It feels like the whole world is on fire and the popular topic of discussion is whether or not cursive should be taught in grade school in this technological age. The Congress and our President are too busy covering their individual asses and pointing a finger at the other party members as the root of the problem while our economy is in the process of total meltdown. Feels like a bad sci-fi where the "good guys" are the ones who caused the imminent disaster and are busy trying to throw the hero under the bus instead of admitting they screwed up and trying to save a few lives. And in the end everybody dies. What the hell?<br />
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What does it take to wake us up?<br />
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I don't feel done but I don't know what else to say right now, so you may end up getting Part 2 later on.<br />
Until then, I think my wisest decision would be to go and take a nap...<br />
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Loving you,<br />
Mona<br />
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</div>Mr. Bill and Miss. Monahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01237265744826612100noreply@blogger.com2