The McHenry County sheriff’s office has concluded that a now-dead mob hit man named Larry Neumann, in all likelihood, killed two people in 1981 in the small town of Lakemoor — a long-cold case that was reopened last summer on the basis of a tip from Holly Hager, who baby-sat for the children of one of the pair back then.

Read the full Sun Times article on the Scharff/Freeman murder.

“Almost a year after sheriff’s investigators revived their efforts to solve the 28-year-old case, they announced that they believe Larry Neumann – a mob hitman who died Jan. 9, 2007, in prison for an unrelated murder – is responsible for slaying P.M. Pub owner Ronald Scharff and his bartender, Patricia Freeman.”

Read the article here.

Dennis Griffin also arranged for me to meet with Frank Cullotta. I was going to meet him the next day at a dress rehearsal for a show that he was doing. The show is the Mobster Chronicles where individuals from the Vegas era of the 70’s and 80’s provide back drop of Vegas back then and Frank would tell his story. I was to be at the Liberace Museum Plaza. That should be easy, flamboyant enough, right? Not really. It was a strange market convergence of beef jerky, energy drinks and feather boas. It was a shopping plaza with two small buildings claiming to be museums. There may have been a time where anything goes in Vegas, but I am telling you, not this bad idea. Anyway, I am late because of trying to get a cab.  The show is at 2:00, it is now 1:50 but I am there. Unfortunately, my tour of the grounds of the Liberace Museum Plaza was not concluded until 2:05, and no show.

My phone rings. It is phone number of former Las Vegas Metro Detective that Mr. Griffin was also was kind enough to arrange for me to meet. I answer and it is not the detective – it is Frank Cullotta. “Where are you at?” he says.  This is not good. “I am at the plaza.”, I reply.   “Where in the plaza?” he asks.   “At the 7-11.” I respond again.   “YOU are in the wrong spot.  You need to be across the street.” I did not want to explain nor I am sure did he want to hear that I was there getting water because I was burning up trying to hunt down where I was supposed to be. “Look for the building with the piano keys on the front, in the middle of the plaza, and it will have a 10 on the front door.   Someone will be looking for you out in front.” he says.  “OK”, I say, “thanks Frank.” I head across the street to the building with the piano keys on the front in the middle of the plaza, but there is no “10” on the door.  I move quickly. I pace up and down where I am told to be. This is not good at all. I go into the building I think that I am supposed to be at. I covered it quickly, not what I am looking for. I head out to the plaza and just start opening things and peering into them.  If my first tour of the premises did not get the people’s attention then this tour would. I was getting the attention of store owners.  “Can I help you?” they would ask.   “Are you here to greet me?”, I would ask back.   Each time they would look at me, puzzled.  “Do you know who I am suppose to meet?” I asked. “Who are you suppose to meet?” they would respond.   “If you don’t know that then I can’t tell you, I have to figure this out on my own.”, would be my ultimate response.    Then I was off,  leaving behind bewildered and concerned faces.

It was now after 2:30.  People are now showing concern about me. I needed to get out here before one of these folks call the cops. I grab a cab and head back to the hotel.  I had blown off Frank Cullotta. I went from dragging Mr. Griffin’s name through  the mud to the point that I think that it would be in his best interest to sell his Vegas home. At this point I need to look at my itinerary to see if ruining Dennis’s credibility is on there.  If so I can cross that part of the trip off as completed. Should I call him and tell him? No not yet, he is not headed back soon so I will let him think that it is ok to do so for a few more days.

I get back to the hotel and I am not happy about anything right now. I know that I need to explain how I could not handle the simple task of being where I was supposed to be. My phone rang and the number was the retired detective from Metro, but I knew it wasn’t him. It was going to be Frank. “Hey, where were you?” I explained that I was where I thought that I needed to be. “We waited for you, there were people waiting outside for you.” I am pretty sure that I could not feel worse. I blew off a former gangster, and some retired agents – and I hate putting anyone out. “Are you still going to do the radio show tomorrow?” Frank asks. “Of course I am,” I responded. “OK, I will pick you up tomorrow at 7.” I said ok and then we said bye, but before we hung up Frank piped up. “Can you do me a favor?” Ok, I just blew this man off, he is a former gangster from the Chicago Outfit, what kind of favor would he ask of me. I had no time to consider so I just blurt out “Sure, anything.” Did I mean that, “anything,” REALLY? “I need you to call me at this number at 6 to make sure that I am up.” Whew, I can handle this. “Sure, not a problem Frank.” We got off the phone and I set every alarm in the room for 6:00 AM. I set my phone, the hotel alarm and called the lobby for a wakeup call. I am not sure that the reprisal is for not getting up a former Chicago Mob figure up on time but I was not going to find out.

At 6:00:10 AM the number that Frank gave me was ringing. Frank answered. “Good Morning Frank, it is 6 o’clock.” “Alright, I am on my way to pick you up.” “OK, Frank I will see you then.” We hung up but now I am confused. Did he say that he was on his way? Does that mean at 7, like we originally planned or he is on his way now? Frank is going to help me make sure that I mess something up. I still had some corresponding to do, get showered, shaved and dressed. I am thinking that he will be here at 7 because we did not have to be at the radio station until 8. I go on with my business and get online.

I post the link to the radio shows live feed on Facebook. I still can’t mention that I am doing the radio show with Frank. I can only speak about it after it happens. I finally work my way into the shower. I am finishing up my shower and I start to feel guilty. I hop out of the shower butt ass naked and look at the phone. Frank had called almost 10 minutes ago. I called the number back and apologized that I just got out of the shower. Frank was ok because the radio studio was right up the road and we were very early.

I met Frank out in front. In the book Cullotta, Frank reveals that he has a weakness for nice cars. I don’t think that he is cured of it. He picked me up in a fine luxury automobile. This is the first time that we have ever met in person. I introduce myself and shake hands with Frank. He looks me dead in the eye, “I want you to know that I did everything that I could so your father would not have gotten killed.” I was a little taken aback by this because this was a fact that I understood. I told him “I know.” We had plenty of time to get to the radio station so we drove around a little bit. The first place we go to, The Liberace Museum Plaza. At 7 o’clock in the morning I did not think that Frank wanted to get some beef jerky or a feathered boa. We were going to get to the bottom of the yesterdays major failure. We pulled directly in front of the suite that I should have been at. “See it is in the middle of the plaza and there are piano keys on the front of the building,” Frank said. I then pointed 90 degrees of us to the building suite that was in the middle of the plaza with piano keys on the front of the building. We both laughed or really he laughed first then I laughed. I was relieved, one because I hate to have anyone think that I was disrespectful of their time. Two, it looks like Mr. Griffin can come back to Vegas and enjoy his home again.

Frank and I then drove around where he showed me where his old restaurant, the Upper Crust, use to be. This is the place that Larry Neumann received that phone call from his ex-wife that made him decide that he was going to back to Chicago to kill my father. We also had some other very interesting conversation. He talked to me about my father’s case. He has background information that only he would have. I will leave it at that for now. For me it was very insightful – more than any other conversation that I have had to date. Plus, Frank would tell me a few stories about Vegas back then and some of the players of the times. I enjoyed listening to them because I was being told by someone who was there first hand.

Now it is getting close to be heading into the radio studio. We pulled up and started to look for which studio we should be at. Frank called Dennis Griffin to get the address to the studio itself. I knew but I figured I have not been so good at being where I was supposed to be so I will let Dennis get this wrong instead of myself. Dennis was correct in the address he gave Frank because we are now shaking hands with the producer of the Heidi Harris Show.

Frank and I sat in a room outside of the studio. He had a couple of calls to make and I was texting away with someone. By the way, texting is overrated and I can’t stand it. I have a phone thingy that is better at making calls then allowing me to efficiently text. In other words, PLEASE DON’T TEXT ME. Heidi Harris came out while for a commercial break. She was very gracious in meeting me and saying hi to Frank as she has interviewed him before.

We are now on the radio with Heidi. In the interviews that I have done, I never know what they are about until I hear them later. I spend the time sitting there, not talking to me, not talking to me, not talking to me, talking to me, talking TO ME, TALKING TO ME, and try to answer things intelligibly. However there were a couple of times where I stopped to listen.

I am familiar with all of this stuff like you would not believe. There is nothing that I have not heard at least three to four times already. But I stopped to listen to Heidi ask Frank “Tell us about the Jerry Lisner killing?”  If you are unfamiliar with the story, this was murder that Frank committed himself.

Jerry Lisner was going to take down Tony Spilotro (The Chicago Outfit’s enforcer in Vegas and Frank’s boss) and Frank Cullotta by working with the government. Tony gave Frank the order to kill him. However, this task became easier said than done.  It was a story that sounded more of a comedy scene in a movie rather than a real murder.

The story begins with Frank shooting this guy six times in the head while this guy is running around the house. Frank was really upset with these bullets he was using. They were half loads to deaden the sound of gun fire but they were “Loud as Hell.” Throughout Frank telling his story he shaped his hand in the form of a gun. He would look at his hand when he talking about the shooting. “What do I have in this thing blanks?” After Frank emptied the gun into Jerry Lisner’s head, Jerry almost escaped out of the garage when Frank closed the garage door and chased him around the house some more. He tried grabbing a knife but he could not reach it. He grabs the electric cord from the water cooler and tried to strangle Jerry Lisner but when he wrapped the cord around his neck he broke the cord. Frank’s lookout ran into the house with more bullets, because he counted the shots and knew that Frank was out. They converse quickly about any cops etc. and grabbed Jerry Lisner.  The lookout and Frank grabbed a couple of pillows and placed in the front and the back of Jerry’s head placed four more shots in his skull.

Jerry Lisner is finally dead.

There is blood all over the place. Frank was not wearing gloves. He could leave his prints in Lisner’s blood. They wrap Jerry in a shower curtain and dump in the pool out back. Later it is reported that Lisner was found shot to dead floating face down in a pool at his home.

Afterwards Frank ran into Tony Spilotro and Tony asks about this Jerry Listner thing. The outfit does not like publicity about their business. “Frankie, did you have to be so dramatic?” Believe me when I say I am missing the essence of Frank telling this story. Heidi asked a follow up question. “Do you feel any guilt or remorse for that killing?” “No.” “Not at all.” “The guy was a piece of.”  Frank ended the sentence just like that.  We were on the radio. “The world is better place without that guy, let’s put it that way.”

There was one more question that Heidi Harris asked Frank that took me by surprise. “Frank, what is it like to be in the same room as a victim?” “Honestly… a little uneasy at first.” What?! Oh, I gotta hear this, so I pay attention. “I warmed up to the kid, but it was uneasy.” I am almost 40, and he called me a kid. Frank is doing good so far. He continued to say that he really felt bad that this had happened and he wished he could have done more about it. This is the second reference that he made that day that showed a level of compassion to me and for what had happened to my father and Patricia Freeman.  I was just balancing this all out. I just heard the Jerry Listner story. Granted from what I was recently made to understand, the guy was a piece of shit and that the world is better place without him. But there was no remorse. But he showed compassion to me. Was that conflicting? No, not at all. I think he really felt compassion for what happened on June 2^nd, 1981, and he also thought that Jerry Listner was a piece of shit and the world was a better place without him. What Frank showed was sincerity. I always respect that of anyone.

Frank and I left the studio and went back to my hotel after doing what I thought was a great and interesting interview. Heidi Harris does a great job.  We pull up to my hotel and Frank asked “Are you hungry, do you want to get breakfast?” I was hungry.  “Yeah sure, I think that we can get something here, “I said.  We pull up to the valet. He hands over his car to the valet, “Name sir?” Frank gives a name that I did not recognize. Oh yeah, thats right -  I am under cover in Las Vegas with Frank Cullotta. I guess we are banking on these folks not having TV’s. Frank has been on the Biography Channel, Nightline, and many other channels. But I will go along with it, I am not gonna blow our cover. Having breakfast with Frank was just like I thought it would be. Two guys having breakfast.

I want to thank Frank for everything that he has done for me and my family. He also picked up the tab for breakfast. I had a great time. That was Frank and Me.

We get to the funeral home and it is a very sunny day. The sun for whatever reason took away some of the darkness of the day or at least for a little while. The energy at the funeral home is different today. It has been real slow and somber previously. Today it was more fluid and about logistics. I remember the funeral director, a friend of my uncles, was telling him how the day would go. The priest will come in to say a prayer; we will bring the hearse out back, then to the church, and finally the cemetery. It seemed like too much praying and dragging this thing out from my perspective. I wanted to get this day over with so I could begin to figure things out.

The priest came in and led in prayer. They led everyone out of the viewing room except for us. We watched as they loaded my father in the back of the hearse.  I did not like this. I felt like my father was more like cargo then my father.  After what seemed like a long discussion we figured out what vehicle we were supposed to be in and started lining up for the procession.  I don’t know how they handle funeral processions today but back then every car was given a purple cross decal that they place in the front window of their car. Everyone reminds everyone to have their headlights turned on. When you ride in a funeral procession, you do not stop for any lights or stop signs. This is great for Chicago-land traffic but I was in no rush for anything. I just wanted this over with. We finally arrive at the church for my fathers service.

Before pulling out the casket, they pulled out this accordion like device with wheels. It is used to move the casket if it was not being carried. It repulsed me and it was strange with all that was going on that this “casket carrier” would evoke such strong feelings from me. I could only think that this reinforced for me that he was now like cargo. Not my father,  but cargo. I don’t remember much but I do remember the church had Jesus on the crucifix in the front of the church. I recognize the inside of this church once on TV because of the Jesus on the crucifix. That was the biggest Jesus on a cross I had ever seen.  Then another priest led us in prayer again. If we were not so redundant with all this praying, we could be done with this already. The reality was that there was no amount of praying that was going to bring my father back, so what was the point of doing it more than once?   Now we have to load my father on that horrible contraption, and wheel him back to the hearse for the trip to the cemetery.

Queen of Heaven Cemetery is very large cemetery in Hillside, Illinois. It is off of Wolf Road and is across the street from another cemetery, Mount Carmel. I have family in both cemeteries. One of Mount Carmel’s infamous residents is Alphonse Capone. Al Capone is one of the first leaders of the Chicago Outfit (the Chicago mob).  Other than being the most famous gangster known, he was also very responsible for the Chicago Outfit being a single hierarchy or one leader. He simply killed all those that did not share this philosophy. Across the street at Queen of Heaven Cemetery there are other Outfit members buried there. If you are familiar with the Chicago Outfit then you will be familiar with Anthony “Big Tuna” or “Joe Batters” Accardo, and Joseph “Dove” Aiuppa. Both were gunman for Al Capone and later each became the lead man in the Outfit. Anthony Accardo got his nickname “Joe Batters” supposedly from Al Capone. After he smashed a couple of Outfit traitors heads in with a baseball bat, Al Capone responded by saying that kid was a real “Joe Batters.” Both of these men ran or influenced the Chicago Out fit all the way into the late 80’s and early 90’s. They also can boast what most gangsters can’t – they each died of natural causes. Sam “Mad Sam” DeStefano and many other Outfit members are also buried at Queen of Heaven. “Mad Sam” is considered to be one of the most violent members in the history of the Chicago Outfit. He would torture most of his victims and he liked to use an ice pick. Here’s the irony.   He was also the mentor (and was later killed by) another gangster buried at Queen of Heaven -  Anthony “The Ant” Spilotro. In Martin Scorcese’s movie Casino, Joe Pesci played the character of Nicky Santoro. Nicky Santoro was based on the real life Tony Spilotro.  Tony Spilotro was Frank Cullotta’s boss during the Las Vegas days before Tony was killed in 1986 by the Chicago Outfit.  Frank Cullotta was the boss of Larry Neumann and Larry Neumann is the killer of my father.   That’s right – the ultimate “boss” of the gang that killed my father is buried in the same cemetery.

We took my father to the chapel at Queen of Heaven.  The chapel is powerful and overwhelming in its conveyance of the Roman Catholic faith. You feel naked before God there.  I was alright with that though, because I felt miserable and God knew it; everybody did. The priest came to lead us in prayer.   I guess this was just in the case the first two sessions of prayer earlier in the day did not take.  Someone has given me a rose. I can’t remember who actually gave it to me – but I remember a few of us had them. I remember my mother and my uncle had their roses. We all placed them on my father’s casket one at a time. The man in the box was my dad. I would never see him alive or dead again. It’s sinking in, he is gone. Oh, I am hurting now, the awfulness of this is now being realized in this moment. I am not the only one. My mother and my father’s brother are literally holding each other, in tears. I never seen my uncle cry. I lost it, I am bawling, I can’t take this “FUCK EVERYBODY and EVERYTHING!” Why did this have to happen.  Why? No one should be ever made to feel like this, especially a little boy. My life was circumvented for what. The pain is so bad that I give in to my anger. This is the first day of emotional recognition. I am fucking angry!

I remember that we lagged behind as we always did. I remember my uncle talking to someone at the chapel. They were either from the funeral home or the cemetery. They wanted to make sure that my father did not have any exposed valuables. My uncle said that he didn’t and now I understood why everything was put inside his jacket suit pocket. So my father is not even safe in death. What an ugly fucking world. Why is there so much out there to make me hurt – to make me angry. The young boy who was care free and loved life just days ago is gone forever. I have never seen him again since. This is too bad because I liked that young boy and I miss him very much.

I think that everyone went to Uncle Joe’s and Aunt Cherrie’s house. They lived nearby the cemetery and we always wound up there after a family funeral.  Nothing was going to comfort me. Not family, not food, nothing. I felt like I was so alone in this world. No one can hear me, no can understand me. I was now on my journey. I did not know where I was going to journey to, but I was on a path.  All I knew was it was not going to be a good one, but I am forced to walk it all the same.

How am I going to cope with all of this?

I am usually the first up – which means shortly all my cousins would be up trying to keep me quiet so as to not wake my aunt and uncle. Not this time though. I wasn’t in the mood to play or screw around. I was just up. My cousins were up too. They all wished me a Happy Birthday. They did not shout it at me but just let me know that no matter what it was still my birthday. I didn’t feel it then by I do feel it now; I am glad that they did that.

You know how when your birthday is coming up you spend the weeks prior thinking about all of the things you want?   The big thing for me this year was a tape recorder. My friend Eric had one and we would play with it at recess.  I really wanted one. It was on the higher end of things that I wanted back then, but that is what I really wanted this year.  All the adults wake up and they bring me my birthday present. Guess what? It was the tape recorder. But not just a tape recorder.  There were three blank tapes and two music tapes. I would later use the blank tapes for music and to tape Saturday Night Live when Holly would babysit me. The other two tapes were AC/DC‘s “If You Want Blood You Got It” and “Let There Be Rock”. Kick ass!   AC/DC was not only going to be my first favorite band but they were going to help save me. I had no idea at the time the role that music would play in my life but it was one of the biggest coping mechanisms that I had. It is still a coping mechanism I use today.

Anyway, I needed a little bump in my life and I got one.  Until I see that my brother Mike had a bunch of presents that looked just like mine.  Sure enough, he is getting the exact same things.   My immediate thought was “it’s not his birthday, but then again his dad was killed.”  Then he opened the two tapes he got.   Beach Boys … not too cool! It wasn’t his birthday after all.  What happened was that my cousins knew what music I liked, but Mike was only 8 and they had no idea what to get him.   So Uncle Bill got him The Beach Boys. That sucks for him. I was coping to lyrics like “BLOOD on the streets”…”BLOOD on the rocks”…”BLOOD in the gutter, EVERY LAST DROP, YOU WANT BLOOD you got it!!!!!” Poor Mike had “Lets, go surfing now, everybody’s learning how, c’mon a safari with meeeeee.” How are you supposed to work out your emotions around your father’s death with that shit? Poor little fella!

If you know me, then you know I love music.  Now you know why.   It helped me a lot during this time.

We have to get to my father’s wake. It is in downtown Chicago on Harlem Avenue. This funeral home is owned by my father’s family friend, Salerno and Son. We found out from my uncle that they were going to try to have an open casket viewing. They just weren’t sure – but they thought he looked presentable. It was a little bit of a ride from Romeoville to Harlem Avenue but we got there soon enough.  When we got there someone had to look at my dad. I think it was my uncle first – then my mom. They decided to have an open casket. It was important to us to have an open casket but we were given a large caveat. If I recall correctly my dad’s right temple was missing and was made of wax.   As a consequence, we were told that no one was to touch my father.

The parlor had four viewing rooms.   One was occupied by my father and the other by an elderly woman. The woman was survived by her husband and he was the only one there. My family went over to visit with him and signed his wife’s prayer book.

About prayer books:  I always sign them but I never leave an address. I watched how many cards my mom had to sign and mail. I don’t know – maybe it’s just me – but I don’t want to make anyone grieving feel like they needed to write me a note.

Before they opened the viewing room for my father, my uncle took me aside and walked me to the front of the viewing room from the right side.  When were a few feet from the coffin, he told me “Look, your father may not look like you remember him.” He then went on to tell me what they had to do prepare him. He was right. When I saw my father he did not look the same. He always had a five o’clock shadow but he had no shadow at all. His skin didn’t look natural – but nobody does when they are dead. Throughout the wake my father did come back to me. Thank God.  My initial view of my father shocked me and I did not want that to be the way I remembered him.  I realized at this moment that I felt I was forgetting who my father was.  It was getting hard to remember. I also remember the feeling that this would get worse – and it did.   I felt like my father was oozing from me and I could not stop it.

Later we got hungry. My cousins rounded up my brothers and me to go to the restaurant across the street. We were told to be on our best behavior, there may be some people eating there. “Some people”, I knew, meant the Chicago Outfit or the Chicago mob. It did not bother any of us; it’s just meant that we needed to behave. I don’t know if there were any Outfit Guys there or not but we had a good lunch, I was hungry. They would not bother us if they were there any way. It was the first time that I ate something without being told I had to eat something.

We headed back to the funeral home. The parlor had two big floors – an upstairs and a downstairs. I spent a lot of time moving between them whenever I wanted to change the environment. Upstairs is where the viewing rooms were, and where families would meet and exchange condolences.  Downstairs people drank a lot of coffee, smoked cigarettes and engaged in lighter conversation that did not include murder or people being killed. I drank coffee. It was really the first time that I would drink a whole cup of coffee (or two). I was pretty jacked up for a while and didn’t feel very good later on in the day.   To this day, I still really don’t drink coffee.

As the night would go on, more and more people showed up. The later it got the more people that were there. People were shoulder to shoulder up and down the stairs.   The funeral home never had that many people in its history. I knew a lot of the people but there were many I didn’t know. Everyone seemed to know who I was. Half the time I was referred as “Little Ron,” I didn’t mind. Everybody said the same things. “I am so sorry for your loss …”.   I was frustrated by this statement. Unless you killed my father what were you sorry for? I did not want to lash out at anyone. I came to realize that if there was anyone more uncomfortable then me in that room, I was probably looking at them. I felt like I had a responsibility to all these good people who came to pay their respects to my father didn’t know what to say other than “I am so sorry for your loss …”.  My responsibility was to be gracious to these good people. It was my job to make them comfortable. It also gave me a sense of purpose. I wish I would have learned that earlier in the day, I might have been a little less awful to some people.  I would not say “Sorry for your loss,” at a funeral for years after this day.

The biggest funeral home cliché if you are the eldest son is “You are the man of the house now”.  That would always be followed by “make sure that you take care of your mother;” and that would often be followed with “Your mom needs you now more than ever”.   Then, of course, there is always “take care of your brothers – they will be looking up to you”.    All of these were drilled into my head over and over that night.  While these all might be true, I don’t think you want to place that much responsibility on the shoulders of a grieving 11 year old.

Surprisingly, I did not cry that much. It’s not that I wasn’t hurting – I was just still so disconnected to what was actually going on.   I learned that I needed to help others get through this. I did not cry much but that doesn’t mean others didn’t. I remember kneeling at my father’s coffin and praying with my cousin Dagmar. She cried and I learned that your tears turn black if you are wearing makeup. I think I cried with her. I remember my Aunt Helen was making her way towards my father’s body. You could tell what was about to happen from across the room. She was going to drape herself across my father. I did not know what to do; nobody was to touch my father. My dad’s brother saw her coming too and intercepted her before she could get to my father.  I felt myself beginning to be horrified but my uncle stopped her. Good, now the day can go back to be just fucking horrible.

It has been a real long day. I greeted literally hundreds of people, I don’t really know how many but it was shoulder to shoulder and they kept on coming. The funeral home never had that many people before and they have had some predominant people use their services. I am overwhelmed, really tired, and still have to go the funeral tomorrow. As I expected, not really a good birthday.   Maybe next year…

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes…

I think that I am in a state of shock. It has been about twenty-four hours since I learned that my father was killed. I sense darkness in my life. The world is new to me again and I don’t like it. Whatever parallel my life had to the Brady Bunch was gone for sure now. I knew the world was a rough place and I was very disconnected from my old life or even my new life. I was concerned about it because I did not want to worry others with strange behavior.  I could not help it. People would talk and I would hear them but I could not tell you what they just said to me. I don’t know if anyone noticed that I was struggling because I tried to hide it. I believed that I would be connected again but I was scared to think what I would be connecting to.

I went outside to eat a sandwich; I wanted to be by myself. As I sat by our front door, a couple of joggers were jogging by. The one commented to the other, “In that house, that is the lady whose husband was shot at the bar.” Didn’t those fuckers see me? They damn near pointed right at me. I knew my new world was going to get tougher, now that I understand that we are now a novelty for having lost my father. This was only my first lesson in how insensitive people would be. Everything is getting darker.

We had a lot of family over at the house. Good thing because somebody had to eat all of this food. There was tons of food and I remember thinking that it was a shame that I did not have an appetite. There were a few relatives that I would look for around the house to pass my time. My cousin’s Debbie, Dagmar, Mathias and my Uncle Ricky. My cousins were the children of my father’s oldest brother. My uncle was my dad’s youngest sibling. My cousins and I would fight for my uncle’s attention. He was the cool uncle. When I was younger I would like to draw pictures. I have a pretty good natural ability to draw or sketch and so did my uncle. When we would draw together, I felt like I had my uncle to myself and all my older cousins could not compete. I recall my uncle back then not because we drew anything together on those days but how important it is to implement life lessons. Two months exactly to the date of my father being killed, my uncle would be killed by a drunk driver on August 2nd of that year. No matter what is going on; Always say the things that have to be said. I digress.

The family and I are waiting to head down to my Uncle Bill’s house in Romeoville, IL for the wake and funeral. I remember that my father’s wake was delayed. We did not know if we could have an open casket or not. My father was shot in the head at the temple. The McHenry County Sheriff took part of his skull for evidence. The funeral home had a lot of work to do if we were going to have an open casket. The funeral home was Salerno and Son’s. The family that owned the funeral home was friends of my father. They all knew each other from the neighborhood they grew up in Chicago. My mother was finally able to make arrangements but we were not going to find out if my father was going to have an open casket until the last minute.  Now we are off to my father’s brother’s house for the wake and funeral.

I really can’t believe that tomorrow is my birthday.

My life drastically changed from one day to the next on June 2nd, 1981.

I was born and grew up in the Chicagoland area. As early as I can remember, my father was business owner and my mother was a homemaker. My first home was in Romeoville, IL but I don’t remember it. The house that I first remember was our house in Lisle, IL. It was my mother’s parent’s house and she grew up there. My father at that time owned a tavern in Brookfield, IL. It was off of Ogden Avenue and I think Grand. The name of the bar was called Cousin’s Corner. My father opened the bar with his cousin Butch.

In 1973 my brother Mike was born. The tavern was doing well because in 1975 we moved to a new house in Downers Grove, IL. Finally, in 1977 we moved to what I call my home, McHenry, IL. This is where most my memories come from. It was a great place to grow up. We lived in this middle class neighborhood that had some real nice amenities. The neighborhood was called Val-Mar Estates. It was named after the two daughters of the developer who lived across the street. All of the houses were large houses on 1-acre parcels in this area. Our house was one of a few houses that wrapped around a horse pasture and barn. If you lived in our neighborhood you could have a horse, but we never did. I never appreciated it at the time, but it is nice to wake up and see horses in your back yard. The best thing for us is that since we did not own a horse we never had to rotate barn duty. Off to the right of the barn from back yard, we had a recreation house and pool. I loved it! It took my cousin to threaten me to move to the deep end but after that the pool and recreation house was mine. We had a diving board, which is a major luxury these days because of the insurance required. I would do front flips and back flips, off the board or from the side. My friends and I would jump our bikes in and throw patio furniture in the pool. I don’t know why we did it. Who am I kidding – it was fun!

My best friend growing up was Shane. We did everything together. His grandfather owned a gravel pit in Lakemoor, Illinois, which was pretty close to my house. I could ride my bike on the trails and get there faster then we could by car.

Shane had a brother that was the same age as my brother. We all hung out and played in the gravel pit. The pit was an ever-changing landscape of mounds of dirt and sand, and a lake that only got bigger and deeper. We liked to play war a lot. We were happy kids. I was a happy kid. I received bikes and train sets for Christmas. Everything was good.

The only rough spot that I had was that I would be shortest kid in the class if my neighbor and friend Gary grew at all. Gary helped me shoulder the responsibility of being the shortest kid in the class until JR high. I hated it when Gary grew over the summer.

In 1978 my brother Steve was born (it’s Stephen on his birth certificate but he goes by Steve).

June 2nd, 1981
Today is a very exciting day. I am ten years old, There is a half day until summer vacation starts, and in three days it is my birthday. School is going to be fun today because it is going to be recess all day long with people making plans for the summer and signing autograph books. The day has gone on with lots of laughing and playing.

Shane and I were walking back into the school when we saw our friend Danny crying. We asked him what was wrong. He said that a friend of the family had died. Her name was Pat. Shane and I were walking to the cafeteria to buy some ice cream. We bought Danny one to try and make him feel better.

Shortly after that the school principal came to my classroom and asked for me. He told me that I wasn’t in any trouble but I should go with him. He asked my teacher for my report card to take with us but I interjected that I would be in school tomorrow to get it. He said that it was ok and I could have mine now. We started walking and he told me that we were going to get my brother Mike. Our principal reviewed our report cards and commented that we were both good students. My brother and I looked at him a little surprised. As if we had another choice other than to do well! When we made it to the principal’s office, we saw a family friend that we had not seen in a long time. It was Kurtis and he was going to take us back to our house. We hadn’t seen Kurtis for a couple of years but that could be decades as far as a kid is concerned. We were very excited to see him and he seemed happy to see us too. It was a short ride to our house and when we got there; my Aunt Faye was at the house. We asked Kurtis to stay but he told us that he had to go. We said goodbye and went inside the house with my aunt. We had not seen our aunt for as long as we had not seen Kurtis. This was turning out to be a very exciting day!

As I walked into the kitchen, I noticed that the window screen was knocked out of the window. I asked my aunt about it, and she told me not to worry about it – that it would be fixed. Minutes later, my aunt’s husband, Uncle Tom, showed up to the house. He had Hostess Snowballs for my brother and I. Unfortunately, I don’t like coconut – but I thought it was a nice thought nonetheless.

I asked my Uncle Tom if he knew what happened to the screen on the window. He told me that he had to get in the house through the window because the door was locked. It seemed odd and I wondered why my aunt had evaded such a simple explanation. Surely she had seen Uncle Tom climb through the window.

I looked out front to our U-shaped drive way. I saw a series of big cars pull up . My mother’s Lincoln was the second or third car among the Crown Victoria’s and similar type of cars. My mother got out of one of the other cars. I do not remember who was driving my mother’s car, but I was surprised she had allowed anyone else to drive it. She was coming back from bowling and had my brother Steve with her. My brother Mike and I ran out to meet her. As we ran out to greet her we found her noticeably upset. She looked at us and said “Your father was k…” She did not get the full sentence out before we all hysterically started crying. I remember my brother Steve who was 2 ½ at the time, did not know what was going on but started to scream and cry. He started to run off heading down the hill of our yard. A few of us ran after him. I do not remember who caught him but somebody did.

My day and I turned dark black.

Since the case was reopened in September of 2008 it is unclear if we are on track or not to get this closure. I was in contact with NBC News Chicago in September and we agreed to a television interview at the beginning of November. We did the interview as scheduled but NBC was very interested in getting a statement about the case from the McHenry County Sheriff’s department. The Sheriff’s department requested that we delay the airing of the story for two weeks so that they could prepare a statement and possibly an arrest. NBC complied. At the end of the first two week delay, the Sheriff’s department requested an additional two weeks to prepare a statement and again NBC honored their request. Finally, NBC aired the interview in December with a statement from the Under Sheriff stating that they expected to make an arrest and finally close this case.

It is now almost May of 2009 and no arrests have been made. We have confirmed with the Sheriff’s department that the number of investigators on the case has gone from 20 in December of 2008 to only two. We have not received any updates about progress on the case during the last three months. Needless to say, this concerns both my family and the members of the Freeman family. We were victimized back in 1981 by the death of our loved ones. It appears we were victimized a second time by going 27 years without the case being resolved when the evidence seemed to point strongly to one man – Larry Neumann.

All we are asking is that we don’t become victims a third time.

We have two very simple goals that we would like to accomplish this year:

• We would like Larry Neumann named officially as the killer of my father and Patricia Freeman.
• We would like to know why this case was not solved 26 or 27 years ago when the evidence seems so compelling.

I get asked a lot by people like you about how they can help. The best thing you can do is educate yourself and your friends on the facts we have around the case. Decide for yourself whether they make sense. Then help us keep it visible so that we can achieve the two very simple goals listed above.

We are focused on making all of the information we have about the case available to you. There are currently two places we are keeping updated. The first is the McHenry County 1981 Facebook Group, where you can join and help us show the number of people who really care about the resolution of this case. We also have a web site, http://www.mchenrycounty1981.com, where we are making all of the information available to those not interested in joining Facebook. You will also be able to subscribe to updates via Twitter. In the coming weeks, I will begin posting additional details around my memories at the time of the murders, as well as updates on the status of the case and suggestions on how you can help.

Until then, the best thing you can do to help is to educate yourself. Read the material we have available. Tell your friends. Post links to the case where you can to educate others. Help my family and the Freeman family by making sure the case does not fall out of the public eye again.

Thank you all for your support – and we’ll be talking soon.

Paul