Random Experiences

Christmas Card from A Wyoming Executed Killer

2012-12-16T19:29:00.001-08:00

Investigating my family history led me to an old trunk, which was filled with loose papers and articles from over the years. My father collected everything, including clippings from various newspapers. In the bottom of the truck, we found a series of folders containing the writings and letters, and a Christmas Card from Wyoming convicted and executed killer, Mark Hopkinson. My father told me of the story, he had been communicating with Hopkinson. The papers are authentic, and have a bit of tarnish to the paper. Much of print has been preserved, since it was on the bottom of the trunk.
January 1992, Wyoming death row inmate Mark Hopkins was executed by lethal injection; which was the only in Wyoming since 1965. Hopkins was given three life sentences for the 1977 home bombing deaths of Evanston Attorney, Vincent Vehar and his family, and was given the death sentence for the 1979 murder of Jeffrey Green. Green was murdered two days before he was to testify against Hopkinson.
For several years, Mark Hopkinson and Al Hamburg exchanged letters about his case and Hamburg always believed there was something fishy about the testimony of the only eye witness against Hopkinson. Mike Hickey, who claimed Hopkinson black mailed him to bomb the Vehar home because Hopkinson knew that 22 year old Hickey and another unidentified male from Evanston, raped and killed a 15 year old girl, Kellie Wychase, then skinned the girl like she was a game animal.
Attorney Gerry Spence was appointed as special prosecutor to give Hopkinson the death sentence. Mike Hickey was granted immunity for the Vehar home bombing and plead guilty to the killing of the 15 year old girl, which he received 20 years in prison to be served in another state under a different name.
Today, Hickey, resides on his inherited family farm near Lonetree, Wyoming.
The other young man that took part in the rape and murder of Wychase was never revealed or charged with these crimes. Letters indicate that the unnamed individual was family to the local investigator.
Al Hamburg wrote letters to the Evanston newspaper, calling for justice for Kellie Wychase; hence, after the letters were published, a woman called Hamburg three times, threatening him.
At the time of the Jeff Green murder, Mark Hopkinson was in a Federal Prison in California.

The State of Wyoming claimed: Hopkinson's friend, Hap Russell, sent two men after Green and kill him.
1990, an Evanston jury convicted Hap Russell; which he was given life in prison; however the Wyoming State Supreme Court overturned the conviction; he was tried again and given life in a second trial. He died of a heart attack before beginning his sentence.
In one of Hopkinson's last court motions, for denial of due process and equal protection of the law; which stated.
"In Sept, 1979 complaint was convicted of ordering unknown killers to kill Jeff Green. The prosecution scenario used in obtaining the conviction was that complaint had hired Hap Russell to hire John Sueasta to hire unknown killers.
Unita County Sheriff, Leonard Hysell, was involved in the investigation, loading up to complainant's trial and conviction in 1979. After the trial in '79, Sheriff Hysell was in charge of the investigation of the unknown killers. In 1982, he identified the killers as Al Harrison and Joe Vilipondo. Under oath, he testified he knew who killed the Jeff Green. In which they were to be arrested and charged., the sworn testimony about the arrest of the killers was at my retrial on the death sentence in Teton County.

In 1983, Leonard Munker, the Wyoming Public Defender was allowed to look at the D.C.I. reports, which showed law enforcement could not connect Hopkinson to Jeff Green's murder or to the known killers of Jeff Green.
In 1983, Val Brinkerhoff, an investigator for the Public Defender's office, obtained evidence that Al Harrison and Joe Vilipondo were the individuals who picked up Green on the day he disappeared and was murdered.
Hysell's position as sheriff and as an individual in charge of the investigation of Jeff Green's murder required him to come forth and admit and correct his perjured testimony. Hysell, by his perjured testimony which covered for Green's killers and allowed the perpetuation of a false conviction has and is denying Mark Hopkinson due process and equal protection of the law." Wrote Hopkinson.
This was Mark Hopkinson's last motion to save his life and it failed and 20 years after his execution, the killers of Jeff Green have never been arrested.
The motions and letters from Mark Hopkinson to Al Hamburg are available for purchase. In recent years collectors of gore, ghouls, and grizzly deeds have been marketed. Here is a tidbit. If interested email me.

The Mystic of Horsetooth Mountain

2012-12-09T15:46:00.003-08:00

Traveling up the mountain West County Road 38E, just ten minutes from Fort Collins, is a place called Al's Canyon Grill. The Canyon Grill is a special place for me, it has grounded me and given me peace that I have not felt. As I drive I see the mountain scape and feel the wonders of the world that I had not felt, since I was twenty. The serene atmosphere gives me hope; which I look forward to the next week on the mountain. As I turn the bend, I gaze at Horsetooth Reservoir. It too is a wondrous sight. I finally make it to the restaurant/bar and am greeted by smiling faces and cheerful eyes.
The past years, I have worked in downtown Fort Collins. Most of the people whom hangout downtown are not so friendly. The staff at the Armadillo, which I worked, were less than hospitable. Condemning and not uplifting. I thought this was the norm for the Northern Colorado area.

Until I was introduced to the folks up on the mountain.

Most of the residents have been warm, courteous, and most hospitable. In my time of need, I was sent to the mountain to get a grip on the hostility of the situation I was living. The place I worked, Gelazzi, was not going to be around much longer. This past year, I was struggling with finding other employment and knowing the end for the ice cream shop and my job was fast approaching.

I received a call. "Hi, I'm looking for karaoke." It was a woman's voice. "For this Friday." I was unsure, I had karaoke going on at Gelazzi. Then I called her back, "OK, I will do it." I am so grateful that someone was looking out for me. I can only think my guardian angel sent me to the mountain.

I love going up to the mountain, it is soothing and a place that I like to think has welcomed me into the fold which lives up there.

It is close to Christmas and as I look out at the dark mountain at night I can see the little little lights which flicker from the windows and yards of the residents on one side of the landscape. It's little Christmas tree lights, and shapes of rain deer lit in greens, reds, and blues. This sight humbles me as I gaze at the decorations. Some of those residents may attend karaoke, some may not, but it is a peace I can feel from the whole hill side.

As I gaze up at the night sky, the twinkling of the many stars dance in the heavens. I can only wish more people can embrace the beauty and wonderment of the Canyon Grill. My two loves are now up on the mountain: Karaoke and Horsetooth Mountain.

Everything's Sugar and Spice

2012-11-25T11:59:00.001-08:00

I keep up a smile, and show no hindrance of what is to come.

The past year or more, I have had a gut feeling, that things were going to change. It is not a good thing or maybe it is? I had hoped that things would be going my way. I just need to take the punches. I have feared that I will not be able to pay my bills and end up on the street. I guess things are headed exactly there. I have sought out a different job and have only two different interviews, however, no call backs. I close my eyes and pray that something will come along, soon. It's only a matter of days before I will be out of work. Over the summer, I put in for many different jobs, and the closer to Winter came the more I have dreaded the outcome.

Many people don't understand what I'm feeling or even know, they just see the smile I project. Deep down, I'm screaming from the top of my lungs, "HELP ME!" I know they can't hear from the smile.

I watch as homeless people wander the streets of Fort Collins. I know they are everywhere, but this hits closer to home. Judy and her boyfriend are now back on the streets.  She had a job, but I don't know what's come of it. I see them, huddled together under one blanket; dreading the coming of snow. I have heard, those who are homeless, try to hang out at businesses to keep warm. Joe's Coffee Shop is one such business. While others try to keep warm in their cars, unless they don't have one. One guy says he drinks too much, because there really is nothing left. Just his blanket and the occasional dime that hinders his hand.

I read in the paper about the 18,000 people who are losing their jobs at Hostess. I really don't understand why everyone was picketing. Its hard to find a job, and even harder to be gainfully employed by a reputable business. Then I read about how the CEO's were taking the money for themselves and cutting the wages of the employees.  If someone loves a product they should protect the essence of the company and the product. It seems the machines take for themselves and leave the rest to squander in the muck caused by everyday greed.

I dread the next coming days. I know I am going to be searching for my next home. Usually, my home is my job, but I don't think I will have a home soon. I get on my knees and pray, "God send me something." Then I get an email from a job I applied, "Sorry, we are looking for someone a bit more closely related to the position." I look down and want to cry. The position was for a dishwasher at Chili's. I don't think you need a degree to wash dishes. Or maybe you do? I have washed dishes before, it's really not hard. I think about it, maybe it's the whole idea of applying for jobs by computer.  The people who do the hiring can just dismiss your application without even looking at it. They can just tell the computer, I want someone whose age is under thirty for this position. Or maybe they are seeking a person of a certain background. I really don't know what they are seeking, but I feel like I'm discriminated against. At the end of every application they ask what color are you and if you are under 40.

Two years ago, my mother, who is in in 60's at the time lost her job, due to the company wanting to hire people out of the half way house. The people were inmates and they worked for minimum wage and worked all the time. The reason they wanted to work all the time was to not be in the jail.  She has never found another job.  She went to the McDonald's to put in her application, when she asked for the app, the crew worker looked back at the manager and asked for an application and he shook his head, No!. Again, was it her age? Probably.

I thought the law states it is illegal to discriminate. However, the computer discriminates because the hiring process is not about the person or who can do a good job, it's about a certain type of quota the business is trying to balance.

I'm working on filling out applications, however, soon I will just be another lost statistic.

No Promise, No Guarantee

2012-11-14T14:01:00.000-08:00

In the midst of life, I have lived by the idea that you should treat others as you want to be treated. In that phrase, I can only guarantee that I will be me. Most people want to live by these words, but in life, there is nothing that a promise can uphold.

In the 80's and 90's, my favorite artist was Laura Branigan. She came out with a list of albums, in which I would listen to most frequently. The one song that really touched me was the Song, "No Promise, No Guarantee". This song talked of a lover whom had been hurt by another. The lover wanted to move on, but could not, for the fear of being hurt again. In the song, the lover has discovered a new life, but could not give her heart forever, so the song goes, "No Promise, No Guarantee.

This song at the time meant just that, I was hurt too by another and could not get over the pain. This pain stretched on for years; even today I feel how much that person meant to me.

I move on.

It seems there is no guarantee in life, whether it is a lover, a friend, family, jobs, or even heaven.

It takes me back to the Spring of '79. I was only a youngster then; but my mom received a call from my dad. He was going to have a visitor and he wanted us to meet her. When we finally made it to his house, we were introduced to a sister and her young child. She lived in Massachusetts and had wanted to meet all of us. Throughout the week, she slowly got to know my family. She was a half sister who my dad had never mentioned. During her stay, my father opened up and became more to us then he had before. She had sparked in him a life that had disappeared many years before I was born. My memories take me back and I can still see her playing the guitar, singing, and laughing. She had given us a promise of love, laughter, and a future that I could not see. That first year after meeting my sister, I felt a love that my household had not felt. After that, the phone calls quit coming and letters were returned to sender. I had no animosity towards her, but felt, again, abandoned. Ten years would pass and the phone calls began again. I was in my late teens and I was tickled to again be apart of a lost family members life. She gave me her address again and I would soon write, however, my first letter would only be returned. Years would pass and I received another phone call, she was excited that she had found me. I had moved to Illinois and she didn't know if it was really me. I again listened to the promises, but put no guarantee in them. My experience gave me the truth that her words were not upright. The past year I had heard more promises, photos were exchanged and even a working address and phone number were given. Maybe things really changed. I had made plans to finally make it to California and a stop with her was planned. It seemed to go well. I talked on the phone with her for several hours and she was excited that I would be coming to California. At the end of the phone tag, she exclaimed, "I really don't want anything to do with you."

"Really," I thought. After all the years of wanting to know me. "Really."

I could only think about the time she came to Wyoming and our first meeting. The day we drove her to catch her flight, she'd sang to us. This song I would hear for years. My dad recorded it on his tape recorder as we went to the airport. I didn't know if it was a message to him; which was the song by Kenny Loggins, "Please Come to Boston." It has always been a memory, I'll never forget. As the years passed, it became more diverse. At the end of the song, it ended "Please come to L.A." The end of the song was another place in which she was living, out in California. I always thought I'd go see her. As fate would have it, no such meeting. I had the promise of the song, being by the seaside, looking out over the ocean.

Time to move on.

Love of family is supposed to be a guarantee, but the love of your life is a shot in the dark.

Once a lover told me we would be forever. I remember desiring the love of another, but again fate would break my heart. As we watched the geese late in the afternoon, we embraced in the stillness of the warmth of the Wyoming sun. I asked if we were to be together, and the promise was forever. The promise really doesn't mean much. After a few years of one soul and togetherness, it became a tearing of my heart. To cry for another human being is worthy of heaven. Isn't it?

Promises are always just that, Promises. They really don't mean much. I was promised that moving from a place that I considered heaven, would be a great change. The promise has turned into hell. I know Fort Collins is a place considered to be the number one place in the U.S. However, the dream of prosperity has been smothered by the false promise. I watch as the homeless wander the sidewalks. I often wonder, will that be me? The jobs are almost Nil and prosperity has almost withered into oblivion. The place I work is up for sale, but I don't know if it will be. So I wait, wonder, and grind my teeth. I have sought out other opportunities, however, the last interview I had, had 150 people on the roster. I don't know what my chances of finding work is, but I am not holding my breath. I wanted Obama to fulfill his promises of American Jobs, but again, empty promises. I was always told that if you work hard there would be a job for you. I guess that's not true anymore.

All that is left is the promise of heaven. The promise for a better life is almost sucked away, so all that I have is the promise of God and Heaven. Will God allow me to be in heaven? I don't know; but this is the only hope I have left. God and the promise of heaven.

Again, there really is no guarantee.

Through Eyes of Angels

2012-10-22T16:03:00.000-07:00

Our lives seems to be connected in some way. We meet people that help us along and when times seem rough, those whom we meet are a reflection of who we are or to become. We should cherish those whom we meet, for they may only be a part of our existence for only a short time.

September 2011, Unknowingly I decided to road trip to Denver. It was exciting to go down to the city and hang out with my friend, Vin (aka Ravina). Vin was a second cousin that I had met the past spring. I had found her through my family history search and decided to contact her to check with her family if she had any photos or stories that she may have. She too, was interested in genealogy and our family lines. I did not know if the address I obtained on the Internet was a valid one, but I wrote her any way. We had hung out several times of the Summer and texted. In one text, she wrote, "How's my beautiful, cousin." I was grateful to have found Vin, she had a few stories that I could put down and had her grandmother's photo album. Our grandmothers' were sisters. I had hoped to have found a photo of my grandparents in here album, but no luck on that end. I exited off 84th Ave and drove toward her home, I parked in the King Soopers parking lot off of 84th and Pecos. I began texting, "Hey Vin, I'm in Denver and would like to come see ya?" I sat for a few moments, and a reply came. "Sorry Hon. I don't feel well. I just got out of the hospital." The cancer, which had been in remission was back. She had been dealing with the cancer, but the fight was now on the disease's side; which had now spread throughout her body. "Okay," I replied, "Maybe some other time, I'll be back down."

I sat in the parking lot for a few moments. I felt a sadness which over came me, I had hoped to laugh again with Vin, but as fate would have it, it was not meant to be. I looked up at the sunset which came through the scattered clouds. The red hughes over came my thoughts, and a few drops of rain began to fall. I turned on the radio and a ragga version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" began to play.

"There's a land that I've heard of; once in a lullaby."

Tears began to streak down my face. I texted back, "I'll be sending you good thoughts." Her reply was, "Thanks, Hon."

I sat until the song was over and I could compose myself to drive. The announcer came on shortly after and told of a stand off in Reno. A couple of biker gangs at a rally in Reno had began a shoot out in a casino. The Nevada National Guard were called in and police were at a standstill with the out of control members. I turned off the radio, and thought, "This world is crazy." I went back thinking good thoughts for my cousin.

2012 rolled in and I was thinking about her on New Years. I again texted, I had hoped maybe she could come out and celebrate the New Year's at a bar downtown Denver. I never heard back, I received word from her sister on Facebook, Vin went into a coma on New Years Eve and passed away on her birthday, Jan 4. I was saddened by the news, but still wished I could talk to her again. I got a call from her Aunt, and we agreed that it was best the suffering was over.

A few months rolled by and I had never forgot about Vin. I would see her photo on Facebook and wish she were still here. I began to delete all my friends on FB, and when it came down to Vin, I said goodbye. I then said, "Thank you for everything," I continued, "but how could have you left me here on this planet." I cursed her for leaving. I don't know why I became so emotional over a person whom I only recently met. "I love you," I continued. After my moment of grief, I received a phone call. The voice on the other line said, "Hi Mike, this is your cousin, Claudia." Claudia was another cousin that I noticed on Ancestry.com in another tree. She was my grandmother's sister granddaughter from another line. I replied, with "Hey."

I could not believe that I was upset with Vin and in that same evening I get a call from another cousin. Who would believe? Maybe Vin was looking out for me, or maybe an angel had put us together. Who knows how the workings of the Universe gives us what we need. I needed a friend at that moment.

Several months passed and we had been chatting on the phone. Claudia suggested that I come out to California. I was hesitant with such a trip, but I decided to fly out and meet the cousins that I had met on the phone the previous year. I did not know what to expect, but they were willing to entertain me while I was there. I had made plans with Vin for this trip, however, she went with me in spirit.

As I stepped on the plane, my heart was pounding. I was reluctant to go on this trip. Maybe it was going to be a disaster. I had made alternative plans if things did not work out. I was going to grab the next greyhound, back to Colorado. In the back of my mind, however, a voice told me everything was going to be okay. I closed my eyes and told myself just that, "every things going to be okay."

I heard that song again. "...When you wish upon a star..."

I had been greeted with smiles and excitement. Cousin Ernie picked me up at the airport and at the moment I climbed into the jeep I knew I didn't need my alternative. The whole weekend with as if we had known each other for years. Claudia had driven from California to pick me up and she too met cousins that she did not know. It was an impromptu family reunion of distant relatives, but also meeting of new friends. I told Ernie about my hesitancy and he replied, "I was really looking forward to this meeting."

Driving from Reno to California was full of laughter. Claudia and I laughed all the way. It was as if, again, we had been friends forever. It seems someone was watching over me. The week flew by, I had accomplished most of what I needed to do. I collected many photos, many many distant cousins, and visited great grandpa's headstone. In the years past I visited great grandma's headstone in Gering, Nebraska, but never thought that I would get the chance to visit with great grandpa in his residence at the Stockton Cemetery. In previous times in Gering, I always asked great grandma to help me in my quest for answers and it seems she has always delivered. I know a little about the past and have met many relatives along the way. Now I had the chance to ask great grandpa.

The rustle of the leaves seems to be the whispers in the graveyard. The Stockton Cemetery, however is lined with palm trees. Much care has been taken on the upkeep of this cemetery. The grass is always trimmed and the headstones are well kept. Claudia and I visited great grandpa and also her grandmother and grandfather, Lydia and Samuel.

As we sat by out great grandparent's headstone, we brushed away the soil from the marker. She told her story from the last time she was in Reno. She went to Reno for a convention and was staying at a casino hotel with her husband. While her husband was napping in the room, she went down to play some slots. The casino was full of bikers and patrons of the hotel. She had heard shots between the dings of the slot machines. The whole casino was under fire from one biker gang shooting at another. During the commotion, she and fellow patrons turned over a blackjack table and hid behind from the spraying of bullets. At that moment, she said, she didn't know what was to happen. Feeling fear she could only pray to get out of there. Many of those trying to flee were shot as they tried to get away.

Claudia's sister-in-law witnessed as a man was shot to death. He fell in front of her hiding place. The casino was filled with the sounds of terror; beneath the sirens and bells of the slot machines. The 18 hours of fear ended as the lead biker blew his head off in the skirmish. Claudia made her way over to her sister and discovered the bloody lifeless body of the man and touching his hand, to see if he were still alive. This night changed her life.

This moment linked us together, which may have been a subtle overtone, but somehow, my prayers for Vin reached the Universe and may have helped Claudia. Maybe it was just a random event, but maybe those who are watching looked out for the three of us. I am uncertain of that which may lie beyond the physical realm, but I can feel that certainty of the great beyond.

The day I flew back to Colorado from Sacramento, Claudia thanked be for doing my family research. It had brought us together. We may only be distant cousins, but in our hearts we are siblings. "We may only have the phone," she said, "but we will have this memory."

"Where happy little bluebirds fly, why oh why, can't I." The song continued.

Al Hamburg of Wyoming

2012-08-03T11:33:00.000-07:00

I have heard for many years how horrible my father is by the community of Torrington, Goshen County, Wyoming. However, he is a great man. He cares for other people, loves his family, and helps those in need. I have always had to live with his antics, sometimes his actions made sense and sometimes they did not. Oh well, I say. He's my dad.

Al Hamburg was born in Gering, Nebraska in 1932 to German Russian immigrants, Conrad and Margaret Hamburg, one of 18 siblings. Growing up in Nebraska during the Great Depression was a struggle for his family. The family farmed outside of Huntley, Wyoming and lost the family farm during that time. They returned back to Gering to continue to live impoverished and hungry. The family house Hamburg was born was built by Heinrich Hamburg which was located on 4th street in Gering, just Cati cornered from the Lutheran Church, which was also built by Great Grandpa. Heinrich and his family came to America in 1903, including his wife, Mary; two older sons, Heinrich, Jr., and John; daughters, Margaret, Mary, and baby Lidia; in which they traveled from Ellis Island to Winnipeg, Canada, from there they traveled by train, south, to Hastings, Nebraska. By 1910, the family had grown to include, Ester and Victor. Grandma, (Margaret), worked at the cigar factory, until she became pregnant, at the age of 13, by the owner of the company. In those days, there were no child labor laws and people took advantage of the poor immigrants which had no rights. Her first son, Henry was born in 1915 and she married her first cousin, Conrad, to keep him in the country. By 1920, the family moved to Gering, to be closer to Margaret's parents, whom lived in Gering. Her father, by trade, was a carpenter, he built the Lutheran Church, the three houses on fourth street, and a wide variety of furniture for the German community. Some say he made money off the other German Russian immigrants in which he would sponsor friends and relatives to come to the US for a price.

The 1930's were especially tough, not much work was available, providing food for the family was increasingly tough. As a young child, Hamburg, needed to find food where ever he could. Most of the men in the U.S. were out of work. Those who could joined the service, all of his older brothers had already left home and were somewhere in the branch they were serving. Hamburg, thought about his brothers, wishing, he were older and in the service. He'd go to the nickel show at the Gering Theatre and watch all the war movies. Telling his friends about his older brothers and wishing he were somewhere with them. The money he'd earn was from picking up coal along the rail which had fallen off the trains. The going rate for a bag of coal was 25 cents, which took most of the day walking up and down the tracks. On one occasion, he took a bag over to his Uncle Vic's home, which he was paid the quarter. When Victor went out to the shed, he found that his bag of coal was missing. He thought that he got a deal for the coal, but just paid for his own sack.

Memories are like waves, which come go, as the water reaches the shores and dissipates with the tide. The first memories Al has is looking into the coffin of his grandmother, Mary. She had been sick for a long time and passed away in her home. The mourners from the community came to the house and viewed her body, before she was sent to the Fairview Cemetery. He was only two years old and his mother was holding as she made her peace with her mother. He often refers to this as his first memory, and wishes for the love only a grandmother can give. In '37, he overheard a heated argument with his mother and grandfather. He was upset that Conrad, (his father), had cheated the church. Using old paint and only coated the church with out priming it. Once the minister confronted Conrad, he then assaulted the priest. "I told you not to marry him," great grandpa stated. Margaret was up set and could not answer her father. A five year old listening to this could only imagine the worst. In the conversation, he also referred to the child as the devil.

The ghost of yesteryear always bring back the times of his grandpa, pitting Al against cousin Marvin. He'd remember the times of being hit by his cousin as the grown ups watched. Heinrich, (Grandpa Hamburg), would yell, "hit him Marvin.' He was also his grandson, why didn't he feel as much for Al as he did for Marvin. I guess, because, Marvin was the only true Hamburg in his eyes. Conrad was the son of his brother. The brother that went to war with the Russian Army fighting the Japanese in 1905, held captive and escaped the POW camps, however died from starvation and the cold Russian Winter.

Winter in Gering was blistery cold. Not much to do except get into trouble. He and his cousins would always hang out downtown, or head over to the North Platte River. In winter the water would freeze and become a skating park for the local children. Toward the beginning of March the ice began to thaw. The locals would still be trying to get out on the ice. Al and Marvin still wanted to feel the ice beneath their feet; however, Al fell through. He could hear the ice crack and he went under. Bobbing up and down, he went under the icy shelf. He looked through the sheer ice and thought he saw his cousin laughing. Panic stricken, he did not know what to do. However, Uncle Vic came to the rescue, pulling him out from under the ice.

Rooshian (Russian) Town is what Gering was known. Most of the residents were poor German Russians whom were discriminated against by the town folk of Scottsbluff. It was as if these two communities were separate countries. The people of Scottsbluff never ventured over the bridge to Gering and the Gering residents were not welcome on the other side. The Town of Gering had it's own businesses for the residents, a bakery, the local grocer, movie house, a newspaper (The Gering Courier) and taverns. It wasn't until the 1950's that the mix of people became evident. Most of the residents whom made it to the Scottsbluff side of the river lost their identities and never associated with their Gering Brothers. Indoor plumbing and electricity was only available to the Scottsbluff side, too. Cousin Velma Ruth told how she still used the outhouse in the cold winter, while her cousin across the river had an indoor toilet and a large bath tub to bath. Her nights were spent by the coal burning stove and read by candle light.

After Uncle Vic moved away in '45, Al had lost his support of any family members. Conrad was abusive and his mother Margaret was in denial. He then turned into the local thug, robbing and stealing what he could to survive. He was sent to Boys Town, Nebraska, to serve his time in a correctional institution for young boys. There he was abused by the Nuns, whom ran the facility. Every night, they would come and beat the boys, saying it was what God wanted. Lashings from whips, rulers, and the occasional paddle would keep the boys in line. One Sister beat one boy for having too many pimples on his face, she stated, "pimples were the cause of masturbation." After doing his time in Boys Town, he returned to Gering, where he started where he picked up. The judge asked if he wanted to be sent to the big house in Lincoln or join the army. He then enlisted to fight the Koreans and Chinese; where he earned several medals including a purple heart.

After finishing his tour of duty, he returned home to find his wife and two children disappeared. Apparently, she had run off with another man and moved to California. He had no clue, however, in the mid 1960's he received word that his daughter, Joanna, had been hit by a car and was in the hospital. He then drove out to see his little girl. However was greeted by a shotgun from his wife's father and boyfriend. He only wanted to see Joanna. Since Anna had left, he began a new life in Nebraska. He had a new wife and two children, Loretta and Albert.

The thoughts of his other family never strayed from his mind.

The news of Vietnam was all the headlines. Al wanted to feel the glory he once had in Korea; however he was over the age of enlistment. He then enlisted as his brother, Howard. Howard lived in Minnesota with his family and never knew any of this occurred. During the conflict, Al had saved his platoon from annihilation. The news hit every newspaper in the U.S. The Star-Herald reported that Howard Hamburg fought bravely and aided in the troops in victory in the skirmish. Mrs. Hamburg read the paper and knew that it was not Howard, but Albert over in Vietnam. She reported this to the Army. Al never forgave his mother. After he finished the tour, he returned home and the Army imprisoned him for impersonating his brother.

After he served his time, he returned home to Torrington, Wyoming to his wife and two children. There he lead a life as a house painter and father. He would then have three more boys, Michael, Raymond and Russell.

During the 1970's, he began a campaign to run for office. He ran for Wyoming Senate and Congress. He would blast candidates in articles he would write to every newspaper in the state, stating that the elected officials were corrupt and on the take from corporations. He would attack these constituents with every word he could muster. One such representative was Dick Cheney. Cheney had become Hamburg's arch nemesis. Cheney wrote a paragraph about him in his autobiography. I remember meeting Cheney and his family in the 70's. They were at a 'meet a candidate' picnic on a rainy Sunday in Goshen County. I remember being locked in an outhouse by Mary as we played hide-n-seek that morning.

The Ronald Regan era came into play. I remember watching Ronald Regan on TV. Americans were losing jobs and all the President was concerned about was the "Star Wars" project. He wanted to have a missile defense that would thwart off an atomic attack from the Russians or was it Aliens. It seemed the presidency was run by the big corporations. We all learned later he had Alzheimer's and could not run his own brain or even the country.

The Air Force had come to Torrington to inform the county that Minute Man Missiles would be installed all over Wyoming. Hamburg was upset about the idea that Wyoming would be the target of any missiles coming from the Soviet Union. In protest, he attended the meeting. When the Air Force representative would speak he would blow a duck call. He was escorted from the conference, however, the news of this reached every newspaper, making him a hero to Americans who didn't want a missile in their back yard.

Dad has run for office many times, but never won.

He always said bad publicity was good publicity; people will always remember. An article came out in the "National Enquirer"; about Cars for Stars. The article was about how a man in Wyoming was suing a woman for not completing the required amount of stars. That story was about Al, he had made a contract with a woman for a car. She would have to do so many sexual favors for the title of the car. She did not finish and so he took her to court. The court ruled that she did not need to finish this contract and it was null and void. She got the car. This story reached across the country and many were amused by these antics.

During the 1990's a letter from Belgium was received in the mail. It was from a soldier from Belgium whom served with Hamburg in the Korean War. He sent a letter, telling him that he recently found Hamburg and wanted to give him a medal he received from the Belgium Government for Valor during the conflict. He had saved not only his platoon, but the lives of other soldiers from other countries. The Medal was sent to him as well as the letter of heroism. His friend had accepted the honor and vowed to find him to give him the medal.

Dad turned 80 this year. He has had a heart attack, lived through two wars, and is still kicking. He is running for Senate again this year. He says he made it to eighty and that is just gravy on the whole thing called life. He never thought he'd make it this far, but life keeps him going. He sits outside his house in Torrington thinking about yesteryear. At night he sits in front of his old manual typewriter and plucks out articles to send to the newspapers in hopes, maybe, they will be published.

Tears for Serenity

2012-03-30T12:25:00.001-07:00

"God, Grant me the Serenity..."

Looking up at the night sky, the 1/8th moon had risen about a quarter of the way, just below Venus with her twinkling eye shown ever so bright and Jupiter was following her. I could only think about how beautiful the sky seemed, I had not noticed the shining gems for many years; however, I now could see the beauty once again. Everyday existence has become harder and harder to bear, I too, have lost the hope that I secretly desire. I yearn for the days when I could see the colors of the rainbow or the twinkling of the night sky. The universe, with all it wonders, seems to repel my magnetism. As with the planets around our sun, they orbit and dance around, some keeping time and others slow to move. Just as with the stars and planets, people move in a similar fashion. They move around each other, some are magnetized towards each other and sometimes, repelled. The slow moving Venus has no magnetic pull; she just travels slowly, with the occasional meeting of a comet. My own magnetism seems to work ever so slowly, with the occasional meeting of minds.

Days are spent working and trying to make my world a better place, I long for the connections from other people. Some come in and chat a bit, while others just come in to browse. None seem to inquire about me. So I watch and wait for the next connection. When business is slow, I periodically gaze out the window of my fish bowl. On goers pass by the window without a hint of interest. Sometimes wishing I could be out in the world instead of circling my sunken treasure and wrecked ship. When no one is around, I will say hello to the people out on the street, even though they can't hear me through the glass. Not much to dream about when I eventually go home to slumber.

"...to Accept the things I cannot Change."

The rut I have dug myself into, has given me dread for the next day. I would like to just sleep. So before I leave for the fish bowl, I ask the universe and God for a little help to get me through the day. "Please make my day just a little better, please send me some kind of change." I say my prayer and drive off to work. I have a smile on my face, just knowing something is gonna come along that will make things just a bit better. As I make it through the day, I realize, I just made it through. Nothing really to tell, but I know I will be soon home and ready to start all over.

Last Thursday, I felt really good, I knew something different was to happen. After I finished work, I decided I needed a pack of smokes. I waited in line at the counter at the Mini Mart. The fellow a head of me decided to wait a moment as I left the counter. "May I buy a cigarette from you?" He asked as he handed me a quarter. He asked then if I could give him a ride home. He said he only lived about a few blocks from the store. I really wanted to just say no, but something inside me said I would be alright. "Sure!" I exclaimed.

We drove the distance and I put the truck in park. "My name is Gary," he stated. I looked at the time on the clock on the radio. "Would you like to drive around for a bit," he continued. I thought about it for a second and he explained that he lived in a house of death. His mother, had MS and his Aunt was taking care of her. He said that he really didn't want to go into the house and feel the sickness that was over the house. Everyone was waiting to die and he just couldn't take it. I too felt the same, I wanted to get out and just be in the company of someone who understood, and to feel alive again. He said, "I'll be right back." Getting out of the truck and returning with a guitar. "This is my baby." Holding the instrument close to his chest. He began strumming the strings of it. "I traded my AK 47 for a guitar." He added. Gary had served in the Marines during the first Gulf War, he said he didn't want to talk about it.
A couple hours past and Gary and I had struck up a friendship; it had been a long time since I had bonded with another human. We talked about politics, his girlfriend, my orientation, and about music. Mostly about music. We had similar tastes, he and I both agreed that Annie Lennox was the bomb. She had the most beautiful instrument, her voice. He said, "those 'Idol' bitches never sing Annie. They never have the range that she has and I doubt any of them will."

He began to perform with the guitar again. Singing some George Michael covers. He stop for a minute to tell me more about his own music, and began to play again.

This was kind of nice, I thought. I was sent a friend to chat with. He didn't care about me being gay, just that I was a friend. He too had some things he talked about that might make people feel uneasy, but I didn't feel that. The past is the past I told him.

Gary began dancing around, saying how he loved looking at the stars. I was intrigued and reminiscent about the situation, but I needed to get home. Let's go, I told Gary. As we got back on the road, he said, "you are my friend, Mike. I think we are gonna be friends for a long time."
"I think so, too." I replied.
Once we returned to Fort Collins, he said he wanted to show me something. He had me pull behind the bank on College Ave. He said to point my headlights around the lamp post. When he didn't see what he was looking for, he jumped out of the truck. He said to get out. We walked over to the area he was talking about. He stated there was a memorial with flowers planted around the post, but someone has taken them away already. The memorial was for a friend of his whom committed suicide a few days earlier. He said he was 24 years old and had laid down on the tracks. The train had severed his head from his body. He didn't know if he was drunk or on something, but if he was sober, he had more balls than anyone he knew. From what he understood, people watched this young man do this to himself and didn't have the courage to stop him. It didn't even appear in the local paper. Gary suggested that he was going to make a new memorial for this fellow and put it back where it was placed earlier.
When I got him back to his house, he said that he wanted my number. I was honored that anyone would call me. We exchanged numbers and said to make sure we kept in touch.

"The Courage to Change the things I can..."

Looking up to the stars makes one seem so minute; does the order of the universe affect every detail or is it just random. Events that transpired with another friend unveiled themselves in the next day. Nick, had decided he too did not like the way the world had treated him. With an overdose of his medication he was going to leave this world and his friends behind. I could not believe he had done such an act. His life was just starting over again, he had a new job, friends, and more of a life to look forward.

I sobbed, "Why would you leave us behind?" Again, the Universe in all it's randomness, has no answers. Maybe the new friend was sent to replace the loss of another.

Needing to find solitude from the chaos, I invited Gary to hang out. "Where do you want to go?" Asked Gary. I really had no plan, but he suggested we go to Denver. On a whim I drove that direction. The sun was shining and a good day was about to unfold.

Strumming away my pain, the music man played for a bit. More notes came out and he began to sing. The guitar was a bit of out of tune, he mentioned it, but played anyway. As we drove, we came to a point where the Rocky Mountains were the most glorious. The tops were covered with snow pack and the view was simply the best. Gary retrieved his cell phone and began taking videos of this journey. He mentioned what a wondrous day and how the universe seemed to be aligned. He moved the cell phone to point my direction and directed me to say something. I of course keeping my eyes to the road, waved to the camera and said, hi. After putting the cell phone away, he picked the wooden instrument up and continued plucking. "Let's play karaoke in the car," he laughed, "name that tune." He played a tune I remembered from back in high school, the tune came out and he started to sing. "That's 'Careless Whisper', by Wham." I blurted out. He laughed and commented on George Michael and all the news he had about his lifestyle. I replied, I liked George Michael's older stuff, but did not care for the newer. Gary resumed to play.

Notes began to flow once again. I recognized the song, but could not grasp the title. As he sang it took me back again to my youth. As the lyrics flowed, I smiled. "So help me if you can..." I could almost feel the sadness and the joy. "...Count all the bees in the hive, chase all the clouds from the sky's..." The song was a Kenny Loggins tune, 'Return to Pooh Corner.' "....back to the days of Christopher Robin..." He sang.

We made our way down to Colfax in Denver. The street was full of people making their way to the destinations they were heading. He pointed to the church in the distance, park there, he said. The church was fenced off, and a sign read the church was under construction. I felt a little leery about being in this part of town, which I stated. He reassured me that nothing was gonna happen. He then told of two Lakota that wanted his jacket and he fended them off. He said, he lived here on the streets for sometime and he had earned the respect of the locals. It seemed as if he wanted to show me a part of his life that he was proud. He survived! Living in the muck of hopelessness and insanity of Colfax. I asked, "How do you still have hope?" I could see the bleak and misery in his eyes. "You have to have hope in order to survive." I too struggle with hope. He looked at me and said you have to have faith, and faith is hope.

We journeyed to a place he frequented. It was a tavern on the other side of Colfax across from the church. We went in to see bar lined with souls. He talked to a man, who asked him to sit down and have a drink. He said we were here so I could see where I could get mugged. The man replied, "it's daylight, you have to wait til sundown." Gary laughed. We exited out the back and into the alley. He then motioned for us to go back across the street, he wanted me to meet someone. Again, leery of the situation, I followed. We made our way to a building behind the church. Upon looking it seemed to be an Eden in the muck of Colfax. We made our way to the locked door. He pressed a button and revealed to the tenant that it was Gary. The door buzzed and we went inside. It was an old folks community. The front room was filled with the elderly. Most were chatting amongst one another. He told the people working in the front he was going to wait for Bill to come down. He scanned the group and went and shook hands with another elderly man. The man was tall and dress to the 9's in his best 1970's vintage purple tuxedo. Gary explained that he was waiting for Bill and he wanted to entertain the group while we waited. The man followed and we went to the fourth floor of the building. There was an old piano, waiting in the corner of the room. The old man introduced himself as Phil and that he was just waiting for the mail to arrive. We all sat in the room and Gary began to play. He twinkled the keys as if they were stars. His fingers were as solid on the ivory as they were on the strings. He chuckled for bit and began to play "Careless Whisper" again. That's just a joke he remarked to me. Then he began to play one of his tunes. The song made Phil come to tears. He remarked on what a talent Gary had been blessed with and asked if he played professionally. Gary replied with, he used to. I sat in awe at the talent that he had been given. I was amazed with the beautiful notes being played on the keys. Bill finally arrived and we departed from Phil, he again remarked that he needed to wait for the mail to come.
Bill was another elderly gentleman who had taken to Gary. Gary used to visit him when he lived in Denver. The apartment was filled with a lifetime of photos and memories. I noticed a photo of the man's wife, she must have passed many years ago, however, he probably still retained much of her memory as he could. Gary and Bill chatted for a while, he just wanted to let Bill know that he was still alive and living in Fort Collins. We departed and headed to the next destination, a barber shop about a mile or two up Colfax.

Weaving in and out of traffic, Gary said the shop was just a bit up the way on the left side. He said that I could stay in the vehicle while he went inside. It was only going to be a minute. We came to a stop, the traffic was congested. As I looked up I saw a man stumbling around in the middle of traffic, I turned and Gary was out the door. He took the man by the hand and guided him to the sidewalk. I saw him give him a smoke and say something to him. I just felt as if there is no hope. I had never noticed such tragedy.

The barber shop was in a run down block part of Colfax. There were three barbers working in the shop. I was introduced to a man called Black Jack, the other two I was not introduced to; however, they all had their qualities. The woman who was working there was sitting on the couch with her girlfriend, the other barber had to leave. So I waited as Gary talked to Black Jack. Black Jack was also a musician. He had hidden behind a screen some equipment that he played. Gary had sold him his keyboard and was in the process of picking it back up. Black Jack was concerned, he had sold the keyboard sometime in December, he said he had not heard from Gary in a year and figured he was dead. On the wall of the shop were photos of young African kids with neat designs in their hair. Black Jack designed figures for the kids to give them something cool to show off in school. Gary said that without hope, these kids were going to be living a life of hell and it gives them a bit of hope when they go to school. Gary again, performed for the group in the barber shop. His guitar was his life and performing seemed to give him the hope that is so desperately needed. The song he played on the piano he played for the barber shop audience. The lesbian, took out her cell and recorded the whole song. Gary figured she probably was going to put it on YouTube, the caption would probably read, White guy performs in African Barber Shop. Our last stop was also up the street at Bob's Music.
Bob was another friend of Gary's. Bob also looked out for him while he was on the streets, he probably had taken him in for awhile. Bob's Music was filled with pianos and organs of every make and model. I was impressed to see a Baby Grand in the front. Gary sat and played on the grand. Bob came out and began conversing. Gary said, "You know I went to jail." Bob looked down and replied, I know. I shook Bob's hand when Gary introduced us. I then said, "I like your shop." The response I received was, "It's like owning a De Soto dealership". The instruments were dusty and many of them old, even though they were still new.
Sitting on the piano bench, Gary began to tear up. He said, "I have never told anyone this, but I was in Desert Storm. "I killed a girl with my AK 47. I just can't get this out of my mind." Just another instance of Collateral Damage of war.

At that moment, I knew I could see the pain in this man's heart. I wish I could help.

Bob told Gary he needed to straighten up and quit drinking. Gary had agreed, but actually doing that is a feat in itself. "Just use your brain, you have so much talent." I think there must have been much hurt between Gary and all the people I met. Bob, I think, could not bear to see Gary again. He wanted to leave the shop, he was making excuses to get him out of the shop. Gary said, play me a song before I go. Bob replied, "You're the piano man, you play." Bob soon agreed, and went to the organ up on the pedestal overlooking the other instruments. He asked, "what do you want to hear." I replied, "Amazing Grace".

"...And the Wisdom to know the Difference."

The Universe is a cruel and unloving place. Everything lives and dies, which includes the stars. Eventually the sun will expand and devour all the planets in our solar system, then go super nova, sending all matter deep into space.

Does anything really matter at that point? Probably not; but the existence of today matters to me in this lifetime.

I hope Gary is out there playing his guitar, somewhere. I don't know why I was given the opportunity to meet him or listen to his music; but if the universe could send out a break, I hope it is to him.

An American Ghost Town: Hawk Springs, Wyoming

2012-02-28T15:54:00.003-08:00

On Highway 85 heading North from Cheyenne, just past Bear Mountain, a sign reads, Hawk Springs, Population 50. The sign proves to be out dated and a string of small buildings are located along the corridor. Some of the houses lay in shambles, but a few have trimmed yards with some residents living in them. It is just one of the many small towns in Goshen County that have vanished. Much of the history on these communities have died along with its population. Stories and photos have neither been passed down or have been disregarded with the passing of time. Photos from Hawk Springs past could be out there, with the descendants of those who lived there. Many of whom, probably have no clue to where they came from.

Thinking back through the years, I remember walking the streets of Hawk Springs, Wyoming and dreaming of a time that once was. I could imagine the streets filled with people on horses, carriages, and on foot, making their way to the local stores, train depot, schools, or to the neighbors. Those days, however, had come and gone even before my time. I grew up in Hawk Springs, even then, there was the Longbranch Saloon, a gas station, and even a garage. Even now those things have gone. Now the town sits with a few residents, but the businesses have all closed.

Most of my days I spent wandering the old town, playing in the park, or visiting with some of the elderly residents. I would chat with the Whites, Koneshs, Gregorys, Minnie Hill, or the Marlatts. These folks lived in Hawk Springs since they were kids. Walt Gregory had a plaque on his wall which stated he graduated from the Hawk Springs Kindergarten class. I too had the same plaque. I guess I was the last class of kindergarten. Walt was probably about 70 years old when I talked to him. He ran the gas station on the highway, it was called Walt's station, but the old sign said Standard Oil.

Right next to Walt's station was Mr. Baker's Garage, the old faded sign read, DeSoto. The building was the old DeSoto sales and garage. Inside the garage smelled of gar and oil, but the interior looked as a museum. On the walls were photos of the old Desoto building, old Desoto photos and a pin up calender from 1945. The Calender had a portrait of a young lady with a car behind her.

Across from Mr. Baker's Garage was a park. I remember back in 77 there was the train depot, but it was moved to Cheyenne, Wyoming and turned into a house. Right by the park was the main street, and on the other side was an old restaurant/hotel, fire department, post office, a vacant structure, old grocery, and a couple of vacant lots. Up a couple of streets was the old lumber yard, about another block or so was the old church the community building which was the old elementary school, caticornered was the old high school and about another block was the old truck stop/Sally's Cafe/Longbranch. Heading back down to the main street was another old gas station. Not much really to speak about, maybe except for the memories of the old timers which lived there.

Mrs. Konesh would always be in the yard with his husband, planting flowers, tilling the soil or burning old branches from the enormous trees which engulfed the yard. They would offer lemonade as I would make my way down the street. I'd sit with the couple and they would tell me about the days when Hawk Springs was a busy little town. The couple owned the pool hall/bar which was located in one of the empty lots on main street. Many of the men would come play pool and drink in the 40's and was a gathering place for the residents. The old Hawk Springs Bank was located next door to the hall. These two buildings had burned down in 1954. I was enthralled with the idea this was once a vibrant town. I could only wish the school was still there so I didn't have to ride the bus for two hours to get to the school I went to school over in Yoder or maybe have a friend to associate with. Mrs. Konesh also remembered as a child that this was not the original site for the town. She remembered the people packing up their stuff and rebuilding the town. The waters of the Hawk Springs Reservoir have since covered the town. A dam had been built to create the water district for the farmers. They had used the original site for the lake and the cool waters enveloped the town. Under the water lay the old cemetery and all the headstones still lie beneath. Many of the original structures had been moved to the new Hawk Springs site. She remembered the men dragging the old church to it's new site. The residents all rejoiced when they finally opened the church again.

During the 40's and 50's, the Hawk Springs school always was a rival for the LaGrange School. The people would support the schools and come out to watch every game. When the Hawk Springs Hawks would play the LaGrange Longhorns they would have a full stadium. Next to the old high school was a baseball stadium with it bleachers and diamond mound. The structure is no longer there, however, the ghosts of yesteryear can be heard in the Wyoming wind as it blows across the area. The team was comprised of the Marlatt brothers, Walt Gregory, and the star pitcher was Doug Yates. Mrs. Konesh could remember watching every game played. She had even wished she could go out with the boys and play on the field.

Marlatt once opened the building next to the post office. It contained some of the memorabilia from the school. The pennants of the Hawk Springs Hawks was stored on a shelf, the yearbooks were stacked and a large assortment of stuff from the school were collecting dust.

About a half a block from behind the post office is a pit. The old pit I remember was used for burning rubbish. The smoke would fill the area. I would sit at the edge of the pit. The residents used to tell the pit was the basement for the old movie house. The old building had been burned down several years before the bank. However, they could remember seeing some great classics. When the old Chapman grocery store caught fire in the early 80's, the contents of the store was dumped into the old pit. I remember rummaging through and finding old wrapped candy. A case of pop rocks was still in it's package. The Valentine brothers lived in Hawk Springs at the time and we split the case.

The Valentines moved to Hawk Springs with their mother to be close to her parents, the Lemasters. The Lemasters were Cal and Virginia who owned the Longbranch. The Longbranch was located at the old truck stop along the Highway 85. The longbranch was built on the old site of Sally's Cafe at the truck stop. The old cafe was an old trailer. I remember the booths were red leather and at every table was a red phone.

Cindy Bath, was a waitress at the stop. I remember going in and ordering pancakes. I also remember the cafe burning down. It seems the town has had a lot of fires to it's local businesses. I guess the sign of times means fires occur frequently. The Longbranch was built and a bar was added to the site. The cafe was in the front and the back housed the steak house for the evening customers. The other side of the cafe was the old motel which had been there before Sally's Cafe. I remember reading an article from the Torrington Telegram, the Longbranch burned down, again, in about 2004.

The 1970's the town was a place for travelers to stop and fuel up and head north or south, which ever one might be headed. Some on the way to Cheyenne or up to South Dakota. Interstate 25 was not the way people took. Highway 85 was the main road either direction. August was a especially busy for the area. Bikers from all over would stop at Hawk Springs and camp out on the way to Sturgis. They would make camp in the park and drink the night away at the Longbranch. Teen girls of the area would come to town, if they wanted a bit of excitement; even some of the house wives would partake in the biker festivities.

As a child I remember we had a visitor, a middle aged man came to our door. He asked if he could come in a chat for a bit. He told he had grown up in the house we were living. He had said the house had not change much. His father had built the front part of the house and the row of trees in the back were planted by his grandfather. He could remember his grandmother telling him the house was once the Hawk Springs dance hall. The floors were carpeted in red, but we tore up the carpet and found the old woodblock.

From Beyond The Grave

2012-02-08T14:49:00.003-08:00

Sometimes I think, dreams are communications with relatives gone to the great beyond. As a child I would dream I was on a train, and met a man who asked me to find him. I woke to find myself startled and upset. I could not find anyone, for I didn't even know where I was. For many years, this dream would haunt me. I could see his face, he was wearing black, including a cowboy hat. This dream began to change setting as I got older. I was in a cemetery looking at headstones. The one headstone was of my great grandmother and the second was of my great step grandmother. I eventually told my mother about my dream and she dismissed me as if it were a tall tale. Later, she would reveal my findings as fact. The names on the stones were of my great grandmother and my great step grandmother. The old man in the dream I had asked him if he were my grandfather, Henry. The response was; "No, I am Jacob." I had no clue of this name, but when I revealed it to my mother, she said, "Jacob, is grandpa's dad."

Grandpa never really talked about his family. All We knew was that great grandpa had smacked great grandma in the head with an iron skillet. They said she was a dreamer and would not fix the nightly supper for great grandfather. He would come home and find her day dreaming. The roles of husband and wife were quite defined back at the turn of 20th Century. The husband would work the farm and the wife would cook and care for the children. There really was no time to sit idle. If she didn't start baking in the morning, supper would not be ready for that evening. From what I understand, the family committed her to a hospital in Norfolk, Nebraska.

Many years have passed since my grandfather died because of an explosion in his trailer. I never really knew the man, except for what my mother told me about him. She always said he was a drunk, who had another life, that she was not a part. She can recall all the times grandpa would get drunk and then disappear for months at a time. She can also recall the times when he sobered up, he would find some kind of job and everything would be fine. Going through the photo albums I can see some of the good times. Mom seems to not remember those times, but you can see it in her eyes that she loved the old man.

Times have come and gone, but I still feel the lingering effects of the past. The past only gives me an insight of who I am. I am a descendant of a California Gold Rush participant, a Volga German immigrant, and a whole list of lives that once occupied this heavenly planet.

Starting a journey in finding my ancestors was not difficult. I began searching on Ancestry.com. I plugged in my grandfather and grandmother and it seemed to take off. I spent many months tracking census information and birth and death records. After so long, it becomes a bit meaningless. I truly needed more. I found that visiting cemeteries, from Nebraska to California, which gave me a little more information. I connected with each headstone, touching the soil and the marker. While visiting, I ask about other relatives, which are in the great beyond, photos, or stories. It seems, my questions are always answered. I soon began meeting distant cousins who are in search of my same questions. I only visited the Cemeteries in Nebraska and South Dakota, but my search sent me to Findagrave.com to find the distant headstones. Most of the relatives were not listed in the data base, I then became a contributing member, seeking photos of my dear ancestors markers.

Connecting to cousins is a great experience, they might have a bit more of the puzzle that is missing from the tree. A hidden photo that might be hidden in an old album a letter sent many years ago stuck in the bottom of a box, or the family bible. It might still be there. I have connected with many cousins that might have information that is relevant to my quest, or maybe they know someone else that does. My dear cousin Vin is one such cousin, she and her family still had great photos and connected me to other distant cousins who had more photos and family stories. My grandmother on my father's side had no such photos, but to find her sister's line with photos was a wonderful find. After meeting Vin, I was able to meet cousin Ernie. Ernie, had obtained photos from his father. He also helped in my quest. He drove up and down Northern California to speak to other cousins. He obtained a photo of my Great Grandparents and a photo of my grandmother at 5 years old from another cousin. In his search, he discovered the family bible, which had been lost since the 1950's. In a story he told, great grandfather Henry Hamburg, passed away in 1952. On the day of his funeral, Margaret Kinsvater, his niece on his wife's side had taken the family bible. The family began looking for the bible and could not find where it was located. A few years later, it was discovered that she had taken this bible.

It had caused much family trouble between the families. Great Aunt Millie had begged for it's return, however, Ms. Kinsvater would not deliver. My Aunt Lucille, who was living in Washington State decided to do her own research on the family. She contacted Ms. Kinsvater and she agreed to bring the bible to help with her research. As Aunt Lucille was looking at the bible, she ripped out the pages that were needed, with Ms. Kinsvater

There still are more photos out there. I will find them when the time comes.

I obtained a lead Jacob was buried somewhere in South Dakota. The summer of 2011 I went searching for this mysterious cemetery out in a field somewhere by Martin. This cemetery was down a dirt road about ten miles, take a cow path east five miles, turn at an old farm house, take another cow path and on the top of the hill is Gamble Cemetery. These directions will not get you there, but it was a trek that I took my cousin and aunt on. We were in my all terrain vehicle; there would be no other way to get down these cow paths, with all the bumps, potholes and pastures. We finally made it to the cemetery. It was gated with a bob wire fence. As we approached, I didn't know if we were at the right place, the sign was old and faded. The only way to tell was by some of the residents markers. As I photographed the whole cemetery, I noticed, Jacob was not there. It was not a waisted trip. Many of the headstones were needed by some of the FindAGrave members. There were also headstones there that were not recorded. Many of them were from children that passed in the 1920's an 30's.

My Aunt commented on this, "There are a lot of children buried here."
On our way out of the field we noticed an on coming truck. We followed this vehicle out of the cow trails and finally stopped to talk to the owner. It was an elderly lady and her daughter. They were out visiting the rural cemeteries. It turned out, her Aunt was my grandfather's cousin. She had been searching for her Aunt Innis for almost 50 years. The family would not give the family the info needed to find their relative. Cousin Innis was on my list and she was buried in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. The family could rest after 50 years of searching. I guess I was not supposed to find Jacob, but to give information to another seeker.

I have found much information on my ancestors, but to help another seeker is a great feeling. I have been asked by other seekers if I have any more information on lines, but I only have what I have been given.

The dream puts me on a train, I never saw a train on my journey to Gordon, Nebraska, but there once was a train that would pass through there every day, bringing goods and folks to the area. The tracks have been ripped up and the whistle has not blown in over forty years. Maybe my grandfather and great grandfather rode that train.

Reflecting on Cancer

2012-02-02T14:23:00.001-08:00

2012 was to be my new awakening; I had planned on changing my life and begin a new. On New Years Eve, I smiled a bit more, believing everything good was to come with the new year; texting everyone on my cell, including Vin. That night cousin Vin went into a coma and a few days later she passed away. I did not know Vin, except for the few times we met, text and emailed. She was a distant cousin that I recently met. We had the same interests and had a few tales that we shared. That was enough to call her friend. We both had been doing family research and I happened upon a site called the Art House Coop. Ravina was her given name, but went by Vin. I tried to contact her through the Art House Coop, not knowing if she still used it. On her profile, she stated that she was diagnosed with cancer and was fighting the battle of her life. I googled her name and found that there was an address for her in Westminster, Colorado. I had no clue if she was at that address or if she had passed. I then wrote a letter, to my delight, I received a response in two days, receiving an email stating that she was living in Colorado, and asked where I was. She also stated that she had many photos of her family line which I could get copies sent to me. I was grateful that she was still alive and in a few communications she told me that she was in remission and was living a vegan life. We soon met.

"I could not believe someone had written me a hand written letter," Vin exclaimed. Not many people use the US Postal Service anymore, especially to write letters. Our meeting was a great day. When I texted Vin, I asked if she and her mom would meet me at the Mexican restaurant on 77th Ave. They both agreed. When I finally made it to the area, Vin texted that her mom was not feeling well and that it would be just herself. I thought that was okay. I did want to meet her mother, but Vin also stated that I could come up to the house to meet her mom. I went to the restaurant and waited until the two arrived. When they walked in, they were astonished to see me. They knew who I was by the way I looked. They said that they thought they had seen a ghost. I guess I resembled her Uncle Norman. When we finished at the restaurant we went back to the house where we sat out on the patio, chatting about photos, family lines, and people I might be interested in talking to. Velma Ruth, Vin's mom, was just as lovely as she could be. When I left the house, Vin said that I had a place to stay if I needed it, and that I was always welcome. A month later, I was working in Denver at a event, selling ice cream. Vin and her friend Debbie came down to the event. I just enjoyed talking about our interests. It was nice to have someone to talk about my hobby. Another month or so, I received word that the cancer had spread.

I needed to search within myself to feel the anguish knowing another family member had cancer. My sister, a few years before, had also been treated for cancer. The long hours we spent in the waiting rooms at the chemo treatment center. My mother would drive my sister to Fort Collins every other week to be injected with the hazardous fluid. The room was filled with men and women from all over the Northern Colorado and Southern Wyoming areas. One patient was only a teen and another was over 90 years old. My mom always stated, why is there so many people with cancer? I really don't know the answer to the question, but many people say it's because of the food we eat, the pesticides on and in the ground, and maybe it's because of cell phones. Vin said she went vegan, for she believed it was in the food. I really don't know. However, if I was diagnosed, I really would not put myself through such misery as chemo.

I recall a statement my grandfather had told my father my years ago, that we were put on this earth to suffer. If this is the case, I don't want to prolong an existence which is riddled with more suffering given by God.

Thinking about life, I wonder, is my life given to me already planned by some mystical god, or am I in control of my own fate. Throughout the years I have tried to make my life go in one direction, however, that road is always blocked. I try to go around, but am never able to get past. Maybe I need to let go of everything and just hide from the world. At times, I seem to be invisible. No one even notices that I exist.

Maybe one day I will be seen.

Reflecting on the past, I can see moments in time that I would like to hide forever in. A time of love: I would like to be on the lake shore in Cheyenne, Wyoming, watching the geese at sunset. A time of prosperity: I would like to be in Lingle, Wyoming, running the newspaper or working at the TV station in Rockford. A time of friendship: I would like to be in Rockford with my friend Sherry, or the day I spent with Vin. These moments in time are locked in my mind, each memory makes me long for those moments. I know I can never go back, but maybe the best is yet to come.

Life with Dynamic Karaoke

2011-12-10T20:07:00.001-08:00

Meeting new and different people is the key to understanding what karaoke means to me. I have had the pleasure of mingling with some great and beautiful individuals, whom have brought joy to my life. Often times joy also brings pain. Karaoke is more than just a place to be, or a song to sing. It is an attitude. Some people think it's about competition and making the less talented person feel inadequate. It is about having fun and enjoying the company of those who share in the same experiences.

I can't imagine life without karaoke.

After 9/11, I had lost lifelong dream of working in television, (refer to my blog, 9/11 The Day the World Stopped), I then began working at the Ground Round restaurant in Rockford, Illinois. It was a wonderful place, I met some great people. My friend Sheri, was the manager. Going out every Tuesday and Thursday to a local pub with other co-workers, who would participate in the fun of karaoke. It was more than just singing some popular song, it was about finding what songs you liked to sing. Some songs were often harder than most, but the joy of singing together was the main part of entertainment. We would laugh, talk about what songs we thought each other could or were willing to sing. We not only made time for each other, but made time for the new comers who came in. I remember we were more than friends, we were family seeking each others acceptance. As a group, we would practice the songs that we wanted to sing, sitting out in the cars before karaoke would begin and practice. As loud as we could we'd sing that song that we were going to showcase for the evening. I'd be in my car, Sheri would be in her van, and Reese would be in his car. All our radio's would be blaring and we'd try to match each song, note for note. We'd then go in and socialize with the group. After the night would end, we'd plan on what we were going to sing the next group session of karaoke. Always going through the book to see what was available. Many times I'd pick a sad song, however, sad songs were looked down upon. "That will bring the fun down in the bar," said a frequent bar goer.
Sheri often said, it was my choice and not to listen.

During the week, we'd go down to Sheri's basement. She had a karaoke machine set up with large speakers and a sound system her husband had bought for Christmas. We'd practice new songs. We also made trips to Chicago to buy new CDGs at a small karaoke store; which stocked many disks and karaoke equipment. The owner was always happy to see us, for we'd spend hours going through his music and often asked what he could order for us. He was always willing to find what we wanted; then take the disks back to Rockford and rock out in the basement. I enjoyed spending time with my friend and her twin daughters. This group of friends became family.

October 2003, we sold the house and moved back to Colorado. I really was hesitant about the move, I had found friends and a life that was rich and rewarding. A sad day was leaving the great town of Rockford. I wish I could go back and stay. However, you can't go back. My friend Mike had wanted to return to be close to his family and went back to the old job he hated at the Mexican Restaurant he previously worked. The owner suckered him into returning and sticking him in Fort Collins. On the way back to Colorado, I was under the impression we'd be returning to Denver. I had made plans to revisit old friends that lived there. We had a house lined up in Denver and a whole new life planned in the city. Once we arrived, we were stopped at Johnson's Corner along the interstate. Mike called Louie and he said that the house fell through. I was a bit upset, I really wanted to be in Denver. Mike was on the phone with Louie and he stated he wanted him up in Fort Collins, instead. I bit my tongue on this one. I really wanted to say, No, but I agreed.

November rolled around and I was missing my life in the Land of Lincoln. I went to a few karaoke places that were available in Fort Collins with some of my co-workers. I had not found the kinship that I once had. I was insulted, taunted, and ridiculed by local patrons and staff of these places. I made a performance of Billy Idol and was told by the KJ, that I could not sing or even dance. Hence, I began my own karaoke business. I had shows in Longmont, Aurora, Greeley, and Northglenn, which I was happy with how things started to take off.

Many of the people I had met were the foundation of what I really wanted. I wanted friendship, understanding, and the ability to perform without being discriminated. I met many wonderful people, many of whom needed the same things I was looking for, they gave me back the family I had lost. Some of my new found family came to enjoy the festivities, and others came to drink. I didn't care who came, as long as they had a good time. I grew fond of each person that passed through the door. I have a group of handicapped friends that has enriched my life. They've shown me, karaoke for them was about being understood and accepted. I have always treated them with great kindness. They are my family too, and this group has given their love for Dynamic Karaoke and for me. No one is discriminated.

Many times, the drama of people with their own personal agendas has come up. I don't like people bringing down the house with this kind of childish behavior, so it's best to keep it out. I like to smile and have a good time, I thrive on good energy, however, negativity is viral.

I too get down, but I try to keep it out.

Most holidays I try to dress up the karaoke. I wear flashy holiday ties and try to decorate for the season. During Christmas I get out the red table cloths and keep the spirit up for the season. 2004's Christmas season was a bit stressful. On the 18th I was headed to Aurora from Cheyenne. About ten miles from the state line I encountered a whiteout. The drive was a bit nerving, I couldn't see. I slowed down to be safe on the roadway, the black ice still made it difficult to go on. In my rear view mirror I could see a semi truck speeding up from behind. I thought to myself, someones' gonna get hurt. The semi pulled around me and passed, a second semi was behind him and six cars sped around. I couldn't believe this. About two miles had passed and the ground blizzard almost made the drive a crawl. I kept thinking that I needed to turn around, however, also thought the snow was going to let up over the next pass. I looked more intense through my windshield. Making out in the distance a dark line. As I got closer, the shape became more clearer. The two semi's had jackknifed on the interstate and the cars following had slammed into it, one trailer standing on end. I could see the cars piled up in front of the trucks. I eased on the brakes and tried to slow, skidding a bit before I came to a full stop. Looking up reminded me of watching the Twin Towers on TV. The one truck had it's trailer standing up in the air and the other trailer was on it's side. My stomach was a bit queasy. I got out and went over to the cars. I could count my blessings that I had not been part of the dog pile of metal. I could hear a lady in the bottom vehicle. She was screaming and sobbing, "Is anyone out there? Help!" I rushed over and replied, "I'm out here." I didn't know what to do. I had no phone and I did not see anyone else around. "I'm gonna get help." I was thinking I was gonna get back into my car and drive around the mess. I didn't see anyone else around. I turned and looked behind me and realized there was another wave of cars coming. A vehicle was speeding and braking. I could see in my mind's eye I was gonna be hit by this car. My life flashed for a bit. I then saw the car hit the back of my car and it slammed into the car with the lady trapped inside. "Oh God!" I cried.

I looked back again and saw two semi's coming up the road. They were in both lanes. They were slowing down and creating a barrier for the incident. For the next few hours we were out in the cold waiting for the tow trucks to clear up the interstate. The other travelers from the vehicles were all out of their cars and huddled on the other side of the accident. No one was hurt, but I still can hear the lady in the Taurus.

Many of the regulars and staff heard about the accident. They called to check to see how I was doing. Whether, they were in Aurora, Longmont or any of the other venues across the front range we were family. Caring about one another. I went back the next week to find everyone wanting to hear about the accident.

Sometime after Christmas, I received a call from the manager of the Aurora location. One of my karaoke family was found in her garage. She had strung herself up. I had no idea why. I had just seen her the night before. She and her friends had come in for our weekly night of karaoke fun. She had been in good spirits and I could not believe what she had done. Lauren was her name and she was hanging out with Lee and his girlfriend. At the end of the night, she asked if I would sing with her, one of her favorite songs, "Picture" by Kidd Rock and Sheryl Crow. This was the last song of the evening and the last song she sang. When I took the call, I was frozen. I could not believe she would do this. I heard from her friends that she was depressed, fore she was dealing with another friend who was shot and killed in the Aurora mall.

June 2008, the restaurant was filled with karaoke haters. The staff always hated to be working karaoke. They would grumble and tell everyone how they really wanted to not have the regulars there. They would refuse to serve and just try to run off my regulars. They said they didn't tip enough, or they didn't drink enough. I had a group of people go to the bar and no service was given. I complained, but the staff were never changed out. The new management said, not everyone likes karaoke. That doesn't mean, they didn't have to do their jobs, serve the paying guest. I just became frustrated and after a drunk patron violated another patron, I put my two weeks in. I even recommended another KJ for my position. I just can't see being somewhere to make the establishment money and they can't get staff to clean tables, serve drinks and food, and keep the guests in check. The staff went as far as refusing to serve my handicapped guests. They usually came in and would spend $150 in food and finish off the evening with drinks.

I officially retired.

A few months later, I received a call from my friend Joey. "Mike, we need you to find a place for karaoke." Joey and her group had been to other places and went back to the Mexican Restaurant. The special needs group had found they were not being treated with kindness anywhere else. I thought about it for a bit, and replied, I will try. After a few weeks, I discovered a place in Old Town Fort Collins, the Gelazzi Italiano Cafe. The little gelato shop was a great place to bring some of my regulars back. The cafe served alcohol, coffee, and gelato. It might really be a good place.

Many regulars have come and gone. I enjoy seeing new faces and the familiar ones as well. I always smile when they come into Gelazzi and have a great time. I think about all the times that I smile and that is when old friends come see me. I miss a lot of people that have decided they like the bar scene much better. However, they are not the reason I enjoy it. I love to feel the spirit of karaoke in the respect each one has for each other. They accept each other as family and bring joy and not drama to my soul. I see the smiling eyes of my karaoke family and it brings light to my existence. At times I ponder, what will happen to these people if my show will close. Sometimes the regulars have forgotton that I'm trying to create goodwill, some have become selfish and use my show for their own cheap entertainment. Please buy something, it keeps the show going.

Since, the past few months, I deleted the Karaoke at Gelazzi Show. Gelazzi will soon be no more and I am seeking other employment. I helped manage the place and produced some of the best gelato, I have awards to prove this. I have found another place called the Canyon Grill up by Horsetooth Reservoir. It's a nice place and all of the regulars are welcome to attend. This place finds time to accept my long time friends, Joey and Friends.

They will go on.

The dynamics of Dynamic Karaoke is people who want to have fun and enjoy the company of others. No Drama, Please.

Don't Feed The Squirrels!

2011-12-03T20:13:00.002-08:00

Rockford is one of those towns that make people think they had gone to heaven. The streets are not paved in gold, but are lined with immaculate green yards, complete with gardens. Each yard could be identified by the floral and the distinctive trees that ornate the roadside. I had moved to Rockford two years prior, and had moved into our first house the end of the previous summer. I had not noticed the garden until the following spring. The perennials began to come up at the end of April, to my surprise was a cherished treasure of greens, reds, purples, pinks and whites. Living out west I had not had the experience with what wonders the garden's of Illinois would pleasure me. By the middle of May, my garden had come into full bloom. I looked at each flower and plant with great anticipation. Hidden in the bountiful garden was a row of strawberry plants and next to that, raspberries.

Along with the garden came the inherited creatures that lived in the trees and in the foliage. We were clipping the enormous rose bush out by the garden's gate. The branches had not been clipped for a few years and the dead limbs overhung the fence. Mike and I had taken on the task to make the garden a place of tranquility, again. Mike bent over to find a plastic looking toy crouched by the bush. It lay there, still. He reached over and was startled when the toy began to move. It crawled from under the bush and dashed underneath another. Mike was startled, he had thought the spider was a toy. The size of the spider gave him the willies. The neighbors came over and he told his encounter with the spider. A yellow and green spider, with the ability to move very quickly. The neighbor laughed and said that was a banana spider and not to touch. It was a very poisonous arachnid. At night, bats could be seen in the air. The neighbors on the other side were out in the backyard, the young girl was throwing a ball in the air. The bat swooped down and tried to catch the ball. After a few tried the bat decided to go for the girl and was then tangled in her hair. I remember she was laughing, then all of a sudden a scream was heard, as the bat dived towards her head. The trees also housed the ever so friendly family of squirrels. Many of them could be seen hoping branches and running along the fences. They would chase each other and seem as if they knew the backyard garden better than anyone else in the neighborhood. What a wonderful sight, to watch these critters as they live their lives in heavenly Rockford.

We had decided to put up a small bird house and feeder for the red robins and other birds in the area, and put out a feeder for the squirrel family. We'd filled the bird feeder with the various seeds they loved to enjoy and ears of dried corn for the squirrels. We put loose corn around the tree and in the beds of perennials. Sitting out on the porch I'd watch as the critters would come and feast on the seeds and corn. What a wonderful life, I would think to myself. As I looked over the fence, and toward Irene's house, more wonderful creatures would populate the neighborhood.

June rolled around and a new squirrel come into the garden. He was not the average friendly resident that had been in the garden. He was an older male, with gray on his back and head. He was also missing one of his hind feet and tail. This one must have been in an accident or was caught in the motor of a vehicle. Watching him, he seemed to hiss as he climbed the tree to make it to the corn trough. I eyed the new resident, he was not my friendly neighborhood squirrel. I felt sorry for the little creature, he must have a rough life using his front paws to climb the tree. Day after day, he would return, snacking on the ears of corn he would retrieve from the area, sometimes he would take a cob and climb up the tree with his two muscular arms.

Each morning, my little puppy would hurry downstairs to go out the back door. As he exited, he would howl his little beagle voice, chasing the residents of the tree. They would scamper up the trunk and to the high branches. Xander would continue howling until he realized they were not going to come down. He then would sniff about the yard, waiting for the next critter to unveil itself. After about an hour he would return back into the house, feeling exhausted by the excitement of the garden. The residents then would return to the harvesting of the corn.

The end of July came and our family of squirrels had grown. There must have been twelve to fifteen of them in the back yard, waiting for the ears of corn. They waited and watched me as I would open the back door to go outside. It was a bit funny, I would watch as I would throw the loose corn. They all moved with my hand, not knowing which side I was going to throw. Back and fourth they would move. Even Xander was a bit cautious of the behavior of the residents. I didn't think much about the behavior, however, they became quite used to my presence and had no fear. I walked out on the back porch and the large number of critters rushed Xander

"Speak to me, God."

2011-10-27T13:12:00.001-07:00

"I laughed so hard I thought I'd die," a poem I read as a kid from the Hodgepodge Book. This poem makes me laugh every time I think of it. However, it has real meaning.

In the Summer of '85, I was a young teen with ideas and dreams. Most of my days were spent dreaming of a way to get away. I lived in Hawk Springs, Wyoming, a small rural town with nothing to do, except dream. At the time there were a few other kids my age living in town. There was Steve from up the street and Tom who lived in the next house over. We were not the best of friends, but we sometimes would hang out. We might head over the junkyard or over to turtle pond. Most of our days were spent thinking about getting away. The year before, we took our bikes and rode until we reached the next town over. That was an accomplishment, it was almost fifteen miles away. When we got there we went over to Gary's house, Gary was one of our classmates. We then talked about going further to the next town over from there, Torrington. We never did finish that feat. However, in '85, we seemed to go in different directions, Steve was more interested in hanging out with an older guy named Larry. Tom was busy mowing the lawns, and I was left with either hanging with my grandfather, who was living in the trailer behind the house, or hanging with my brothers. Neither one of those options suited me. I was then beckoned to hang with the older neighbor. At the beginning of the Summer, the neighbor would entice us to hang with him. He would drive us to Torrington, to hang out with some of our classmates that lived there. We'd need to come up with money to pay for the gas. The neighbor would always want to go to town, but had no money. He'd always provide the transportation if we had the money.

August 1st, "I did die."

That afternoon, the older neighbor came over to my house. He was wanting to go into Torrington. He said we could go to the drive-in and hang out with some of my friends. I enjoyed hanging out and having a good time. I didn't have enough money, so he suggested to check with Steve and Tom. I made my way over to Steve's and found he was leaving with Larry to go to the Bluffs and Tom was out mowing the front yard of his Uncle's house and said he was told not to hang out with Pete anymore. That was the deal breaker. I then went over to grandpa's and he had given me ten dollars.

Leaving a few hours later, we'd talked about what we going to do that evening, planning on cruising main and heading over to the drive-in. All the excitement of what the evening might bring, resolved the fear that I had in the back of my mind. I didn't like going to Torrington without Steve and Tom, but Pete reassured me that everything was going to be fun. Once we arrived in town, we drove up and down main street, searching out people we might know. Pulling into the Mini Mart, he stopped to talk to a man in a white Impala. The man had blond long hair and seemed to know Pete quite well. He motioned to me that we were going to cruise around with him for a bit. I made my way to the back seat, which was upholstered in red leather. The fuzzy white dice hung over the rear view mirror, which swung back and forth with each turn. After riding around for a bit we made it to the top of the hill over looking Torrington. I could see the swimming pool and the houses which lit up the area. I gazed over the row of lights and could see Dj's house. We had hung out with her the time before and I longed for that day to return. I wanted to walk on down to her house and call home so my mom could come get me. I thought for a bit, and asked myself, what would she say, I was going to the show, and I was not there. The man in the Impala returned us back to the car. The car was an 1959 Oldsmobile, with different colored panels and missing the hood of the engine. I climbed back in the car, it was getting late. I laid down on the torn seats and closed my eyes. When I woke again, it was raining. The downpour stalled the motor of the car. I asked him to take me home, he insisted that once the rain stops that we will head back to Hawk Springs. He finally got the motor started and he kept on driving around. We passed Dj's house again and went passed the ball park. I kept thinking that I should get out and walk to her house. I closed my eyes again.

Some weeks later I woke in the hospital. My mom and dad were sitting in the room, watching and waiting for me to wake. I could feel the painful catheter inside my bladder. The halo around my head was screwed into my skull with four large bolts, the doctor said that I had broke my neck and referred to it as the hangman's break. I could not believe where I was, tied to a bed with all my junk showing. I was told that I was in an accident. The '59 Olds' top had been sheered from the automobile, the motor had been savagely smashed into the passanger side. I had been slumped under the motor and the dash. Shards of glass shattered and embedded on to the seat and into my flesh. I still have shards working their way out of my body, at times. When Winter rolls around I can still feel the pain shoot through my neck and body.

Pete was arrested but nothing really ever happened to him. The neighbors, never came up to visit me in the hospital and always blamed me for the accident. I was not the one driving, and I certainly was not the one who decided to drink. If only I would have listened to the voice in my head.

Maybe god spoke to me?

I always ask God, why didn't you take me that night?

The ongoing poem continues, "and they buried me."

Update: Pete was again caught drunk driving in Torrington, WY. He had no license to drive and only received three months in county jail. WTF

The Girl With Bloody Hands

2011-10-21T14:56:00.001-07:00

In the Winter of 1978, my family lived in Hawk Springs, Wyoming. A small town between Torrington and Cheyenne. This town had not much to offer small children, it had it's bar, post office and an old abandoned school. I had to be bussed an hour or so to the next town over to attend classes. Every once in a while a family would move into town with kids, but most of the time it was just my brothers and I. The residence of Hawk Springs were aged folks who had spent most of their lives in the community. There once was a restaurant, a DeSoto dealer, a couple of gas stations and a movie house; but all had dried up long ago.

That year was quite chaotic. My sister had broken up with her boyfriend and had moved to Wheatland with a man we called baggy pants. There was a cartoon back then which was called Baggy Pants and the Nitwit, and we always referred to them as so. Mom would laugh when they would come to the door, for the song would always get stuck in her mind. It wasn't too good for her, we had to go to Wheatland and rescue her from Baggy Pants. She had come home one evening from working at the Brown Derby, a local restaurant, and found him passed out in the chair. He had a shotgun and was waiting for her to return. She then called mom and we quickly drove to Wheatland, on the back roads through Chugwater and over to Wheatland. When we arrived, we found that he had also removed her tires off the car. That day she left and never returned. From then on he was referred to as Drip.

Most nights were spent doing homework and watching television. I never missed any of the shows on CBS. We only could get two stations and sometimes when the sky was cloudy we could get a third. As most of the winter was cloudy we could get good reception all winter long; even with the rabbit ears. Mom always said that when we get some money we could get an antenna for the house so we could finally see what was on the the third channel.

I was a latchkey kid, my family had split up when I was very young and mom never remarried. She hated dealing with the stuff that goes on with a violent family life. After school, I'd return home with my brothers and we'd sit and watch TV until my mom or older brother came home. It was quite good watching Star Trek or some of the shows that came on after school.

On a very cold evening, we were all home. Doing the usual, watching whatever came on CBS. It could have been Dallas, or some sitcom, Alice or the Jeffersons; when we got a knock on the door. It was a strange teenage girl. She stood in the doorway. I recognized her from the park earlier in the day. She and her family had been hanging out in the Hawk Springs Park, right across from the post office. I yelled for mom. Mom sent my older brother to talk to her. She asked if we wanted to get rid of one of the puppies that our dog recently had . It sounded crazy, but when my brother was talking to her, she implied that she didn't want the puppies; but the mother dog. I remember crying and saying that they couldn't have my dog. Mom then sent us downstairs so they could talk with out the noise from the little kids. I could hear them trying to take Misty from her area by the porch. I could hear her growl and fight with whoever was trying to lead her away. Misty would not go.

Once the car drove off, I and my smaller brother ventured back upstairs. We were upset that they were going to give away our dog. It all turned out that she would not go, so instead took one of the puppies. Mom was upset from the whole situation as well, she didn't trust anyone and tried to be calm about the whole matter. My brother then told us the girl had blood on her hands and they feared what might happen. They were trying to get whatever the girl and the people wanted and get them away from the house. Ben, had went outside to talk to the people in the car when the mother dog would not go.

Every weekend, my brothers and I would go to Torrington to visit with my father. We'd always get into the white International truck and head on down the road. The truck had no radio, so my sister had sent one to my brother as a birthday gift. The little black radio we'd listen to on the way. We'd always hear the latest news. On one such occasion the news anchor reported that a headless naked body was found in Wheatland. That news had hit the playground like a storm that following Monday.

2008, I had gone to my 20 year reunion. We had dinner at the Little Moon Lake Supper Club and spent a little time with my old classmates. I liked seeing everyone; they had grown and most had families that seemed to be ready to graduate from school. I stayed with my brother that weekend in Torrington. The following morning, as I prepared to leave, my brother asked me if I remembered the incident with the girl who wanted our family dog. I replied, Yes. He stated that he went out to the car and remembered the men in the vehicles. He told me to Google, Henry Lee Lucas. He said he would never forget that face of that man in the car.

Volga German

2011-10-20T14:13:00.001-07:00

The past few years I have been dabbling in the family heritage. My father was born here in the US, however, my grandparents are of German Russian decent. I never knew my grandparents, but as a small child I met them. They lived on fourth avenue in Gering, Nebraska. My father took me to meet them. On that occasion, I was frightened by meeting these strange people. My grandfather, Conrad, was sitting on a chair in the kitchen and my grandmother was making strawberry preserves on an old wood burning stove. I can remember them. My grandfather with his large nose and his face was hidden by the shadows of the brim of his hat. Grandmother was stirring her preserves. I stayed close to my father, fearing the strange new people we were visiting. My father, said, stay away from the corners of the counter. They did not talk to me, however, they talked to him. They were speaking a language I had never heard before. My father later told me it was German.

A month or so later, I was back in Gering, attending a funeral for my grandfather. I remember my father tell me, don't cry. The day was rainy and all these strangers were huddled around a casket. I never even knew him.

Many years passed and I still remember the day in my grandmother's kitchen. I often wondered if she thought about me in her last days. Did she want to know me, or even care to love me? I think she did. As I have visited them in the Gering Cemetery, I have asked them questions. Many of those questions seemed to have been answered in my quest. I have found distant relatives; which have sent me photos and told stories of the life and times of the German Russians.

9/11 (The Day the World Stopped)

2011-09-01T11:45:00.001-07:00

The Tenth Anniversary for 9/11 is upon us and I think back through that time and I feel sad and still angry. I remember the day vividly, and still wish things would have been different. I have heard things since then about our government and how things could have been averted. I ponder, still there is no solace.

I was working for WREX channel 13 in Rockford, Illinois, as a local television photographer for the newsroom. I had responsibilities to gather footage for the 5 and 10 O:Clock broadcasts. Many times they'd send us out and gather bytes for the reporters and sometimes the reporters were to busy to interview, they'd have us get what we could for the packages. I was happy doing all this, I had dreamed this was just a foot in the door for what was to come. Maybe CBS, ABC, or NBC. I'd be working along side some heavy hitters, like Peter Jennings or Dan Rather. Heather Pick, the news anchor for WREX, was the one person I'd looked up to. She at the time was pregnant and had gone into remission from her cancer. She told me that I had what it took to be in the news business. On one assignment, I helped her get the info that she needed for her package. She told me to question the doctor in the locker room she was doing the feature on, she said, he might not talk to her because she is a woman and he may talk to me.

On the Morning of 9/11, I was woke by the shrill of the phone. It was Maggie, the News Director. She stated, have you not been watching TV? I replied, no what's up? The phone went dead for a moment. In a panic voice. The Twin Towers have been hit by a plane. I could not believe what I was hearing. This was a moment that I could never have dared to imagine. I went to the television and turned it on. I could see the plane and the anchor on the morning program, saying the second tower has just been hit by a second plane. Oh, what horror. What disbelief. I could not quite comprehend the situation. I heard the voice on the other end. "You need to get down to the station, now."

The day seemed to go by quite fast, I was sent out to the airport to get shots of the planes landing and to get bytes from the passengers stranded at the airport. Flights had been suspended throughout the country and the planes in the sky had to land where they were. I heard that flights coming from overseas were diverted to Canada, while planes in the US landed at every airport available. The Rockford airport was one of those, usually the tarmac was empty, but planes filled the runway.

Maggie was trying to get people out to Chicago to O'hare and get footage of what was happening. The National Guard had been called in and the airports had been a stronghold in the wake of this disaster. A live truck had been sent and could only get about a mile from the airport. Fear still loomed over the country that another plane was going to hit Chicago at the Sears Tower. Then I heard another plane was downed in Pennsylvania. The passengers had overtaken it and it had crashed in a field. She still wanted footage from inside the airport.

Jerrod, the reporter and I were sent to the airport by bus. The buses were still running, picking up people stranded at O'hare. She charted one of those buses for us so she could see what was happening there. We took the buss and made it inside Chicago's main airport. As the buss pulled in we could see the uniformed men with their guns making their rounds. I could feel the tension in the air and feared the worst was still to come. It reminded me of a Russian spy movie and we were in Gorky Park, waiting for the soldiers to start shooting. The bus driver stopped the buss and we exited off the buss. Jerrod, was asking some of the soldiers questions about the day. The answers we got were that we could not get any footage of the happenings at the airport. This did not look to promising for a story.

The sun was going down and the country was in chaos, not knowing what tomorrow would bring. I was assigned with Maurice to do a live shot at 10 at a church. The church was a Christian Church that was the main church for Middle Eastern Christians. We had been out getting bytes from locals when we were sent there. The day had been long and I had not stopped for any kind of break. We made it to the church, I needed to find a spot to set up the truck to send out the feed. As I was seeking the place to stop, I heard a crash. The forks on the top of the truck had smacked the overhang of the church. The loud crash distracted me and I smacked the side of the church. What a loud bang it must have sounded inside. The parishioners must have thought they were being targeted, a few of them popped out to see what was going on. I radioed back to the station of my situation. I could hear Maggie in the background, there goes our live shot. A second truck was dispatched, however it was not a live truck. The other truck was on it's way to Ground Zero, with Heather and her crew.

We had to make the best of this candle light vigil. I took some great shots of everyone there and even got some bytes for the 10 O:Clock. It wasn't as good as a live shot could have been.

NYPD, the NYFD, and the President telling us that he was going to get Bin Laden. The world felt as if it stopped turning.

I was unable to keep my job, the times a head were tough and going to get tougher with the recession in play.

In November 2008, I heard about a job at some local television station in Oregon. I needed to have a tape of my work. I found Heather in Ohio. She was working as the morning anchor at a Columbus station. The bio on the station gave her email. I emailed her; however, received no response. It was just as well, I thought. Two months later I found that she had passed away. The cancer came out of remission and she fought it til the very end. I watched her on You tube, reliving her moments with cancer. She passed the same month that I emailed her.

The Old Man in the Camper Trailer

2011-07-31T11:04:00.002-07:00

Recently, I was at the Elder House's drive to help raise money for this nonprofit organization. They help people who are handicapped, elderly parents and even veterans, who need to be somewhere, while the family is working. While there, I was reminded of my own grandpa.I really didn't know my grandpa, he was someone my mom used to visit. We'd spend afternoons at his blue and silver striped camper trailer in the Traveler's Court on the south side of Torrington. Usually, grandpa would kick us boys out of the trailer, and my brothers and I would hang out by the North Platte River. We'd go watch the raging water flow from beneath the bridge. Once in a while, we'd see a fish or two flopping around the shallow area. Sometimes, we'd hang out in the trailer. I'd watch grandpa doodle with his crosswords, or just sit there with his beer. He always had beer in hand, and he would sometimes let me taste it. The cold salty taste always made me want more. I'd watch the beer foam up as he poured salt into the glass.On rare occasions, grandpa would be a different sort of person. Sometimes, he'd have out his banjo, or his violin and would play a song. Other times he'd get out his junk jewelry and tell us that these gems were very precious and were worth a lot of money. While on other occasions he'd just talk about people who I had no clue about.He really didn't talk to us. He just talked.I'd go lay down in the back room and look at the cartoons he had pasted on the wall above the bed. One was a man with a forked tongue and it read, White man speaks with forked tongue. I really didn't know what that meant at the time, but it was a peculiar thing to have pasted on the wall. Grandpa would always tell us he was an Indian. Mom would always laugh and tell him, "no your not, dad." Grandpa had grown up outside the Pine Ridge Reservation in Martin, South Dakota. Mom said he could speak the language and used to have a lot of friends there. However he was not native. He was raised around the res. He always said that he remembered Chief Sitting Bull being paraded around town.The longer we stayed at the trailer, the drunker grandpa would get. At times I really didn't want to be there. He would have to say something mean to my mom before we'd leave. I always thought to myself, why do we come over to this place. Mom would always manage to say something about that she needed to take care of him. On one visit, grandpa had a record on the phonograph. The record was of Lawrence Welk and his band. Grandpa sat there listening to the album. During the middle of one of the songs, he remarked. "I wrote that song." I really didn't listen to anything he'd say, but this caught my attention. He continued, "yes, I used to play with the Lawrence Welk Band, but they tossed me out for getting drunk, all the time."

I could see a tear begin in his eye. I never forgot that moment, it was the first time he'd showed any real emotion about anything.Once he talked about, how he never could remember his mother, when he was about 7 years old, his dad took a frying pan and smacked her in the head. The only photo he had of her, was the wedding photo from 1902, but he left it in one of the motels the family had been staying in back in the 40's. She was sent away to the hospital and never returned. He was raised by his dad part of the time and an Aunt in Souix Falls, South Dakota, Aunt Anna. I really had no information on her, until recently. That is where he would have met the band.I always thought he was raised in Gordon, Nebraska. However, that is just where his dad's family were all located. He never had much to do with them. Just probably on an occasion when his dad went to visit his brothers.Going through old photos, mom would always tell us what they were, or who they were. One was of grandpa on a train. She'd say he used to be an engineer for the railroad and another photo was of grandpa with a car and she'd say he was a body and fender man. I really didn't know what he did, all he ever did was sit in the trailer and drink.On my search, I came across Cousin Rose. Rose is my grandmother's sister's daughter.

All she could talk about was Hank. Hank this and Hank that. Hank is what everyone in the family called my grandpa. She told a story of hardship for my grandmother and the no good person my grandpa was and how cruel he was to my mom and her siblings. Rose told that one winter, somewhere in the 40's, great grandma received word that Midge, my grandma, and the kids were on foot somewhere in Iowa. Great Aunt Nelly and cousin Rose got into the car and headed toward Iowa, seeking her older sister. Rose said, they found the family on foot somewhere by Omaha. She said that grandpa had left the family in Souix

The neighbor kids would come by the house and go to his trailer. Not for his company, but I think he was giving them beer. I don't know, but when I went over, he would have nothing to say.On a Friday, I went to the skating rink in Torrington. I usually went there to meet up with my friends and skate. On that night I got a call at the rink from a friend of the family. She said that grandpa was in an accident. I asked, and the little camper trailer had blown sky high. Grandpa was messing with the gas pipes to the stove and blew himself to kingdom come. He had to be airlifted from Torrington Hospital to the Denver Burn Unit. On the way to Torrington, he had told mom and the ambulance drivers that he was going to make it and he really didn't need to go to the hospital. He would doctor himself up with some absorbing jr.I remember, he had lived a few days at the Burn Center. We went down to keep him company while they fixed him up. When I saw grandpa, I held his hand. He was completely pink. They said that they had removed all the burned tissue and he was burned 70%.

Mom stayed with him until he passed. I remember him shaking and mom in tears, we are with you dad. You are going to make it. We love you. Ruby is here, and all the boys are here. Laying under the chairs in the waiting room, wishing that day would end. I could feel mom's pain. I loved mom and knew she loved this old man. When grandpa passed, the TV show Dallas had just begun. All I could remember the first scene when Pamela finds Bobby in the Shower. As that scene came on the nurse came out and said grandpa had passed away.I asked mom a few years later what grandpa had said to her in the ambulance and she said that he said he was sorry for treating her and her mom the way he did and that she was his daughter. However in my research mom said he didn't say that and that she just really wanted him to say it.Grandpa is not buried anywhere. There is a joke about having canned grandpa. His ashes are still in the can sent by the mortuary and is still in my mom's closet. I asked her if she wanted me to take it to his grandparents in Gordon, she told me no. Grandpa will always be with her.