The Tragedy of Trayvon Martin

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SLIMM V. ZIMM

By now, the entire world knows who Trayvon Martin is — the unarmed 17-year-old African-American lad shot dead in his tracks by an overzealous Neighborhood Watch captain, George “Triggerman” Zimmerman, on February 26 in Sanford, Florida. Before delving too deeply into this tragedy, just what is Neighborhood Watch, and who (or what) gives people the right to shoot anyone?

Actually, the National Neighborhood Watch Institute has no authority or control over anything. According to the NNWI Website, it “was formed to supply law enforcement agencies and individual’s [sic] better tools for their crime prevention dollar.”

Basically, NNWI sells the materials, including signs and manuals, necessary for police departments to train people like “Triggerman” Zimmerman. In my opinion, whatever the police department was that trained him, they did a remarkably lousy job. While the NNWI strives to “provide excellent educational materials and products that build observation and reporting skills,” somewhere along the line, all of Zimmerman’s training went out the window with one squeeze of the trigger. Not only did the system fail him, he failed the system dreadfully.

The location of the shooting was inside the gated community of The Retreat at Twin Lakes. Zimmerman lives in that community and he’s the self-appointed Neighborhood Watch captain. Apparently, he called 911 at least 47 times between August 12, 2004 and Feb. 26 of this year. Most of the calls started the same way about suspicious persons, “We’ve had a lot of break-ins in our neighborhood recently and I’m on the Neighborhood Watch.”

George Zimmerman 911 Call History

How revealing it is that most of those suspicious characters were black, yet this shooting is not supposed to be about racial profiling? Give me a break.

I went to the scene on March 21 and spoke to several people. I took photos of the spot where Trayvon died, and I laid it all out in the pictures displayed below to give you a good idea of what went down that tragic Sunday evening.

CLICK PHOTOS TO ENLARGE

This map shows the route Trayvon Martin took when he returned.

Visiting from Miami, Trayvon walked to a nearby 7-Eleven, but when I say nearby, it was about a 2-mile hike. I’m sure, like other boys his age, he got restless inside his father’s girlfriend’s house and needed to get out to do what 17-year-olds do; they text and talk on their phones. That’s not all. He wanted to buy something for his soon-to-be stepbrother, so when he got to the store, he bought a bag of Skittles and a can of iced tea, turned around and headed back. Very suspicious, huh?

Almost immediately after Trayvon returned to the gated community, Zimmerman began to slowly tail him in his pickup truck. It’s as if he were lying in wait… lurking… ready to pounce at any moment. He dialed 9-1-1 to, once again, report a suspicious character, whose crime thus far was merely being black. When Trayvon put his hoodie up to keep the falling rain off his head, he suddenly morphed into a black thug. You see? This is racial profiling, plain and simple.

Straight ahead, between the two perpendicular rows of buildings, is the sidewalk Trayvon took to escape Zimmerman. It was the way back to where he was staying. 

 

Zimmerman has a concealed weapons permit and was carrying a Kel Tek 9mm PF9 semi-automatic handgun. Why, in God’s name, anyone like him needs to carry a gun in his capacity as a nobody with no authority whatsoever is beyond me. Today, he is a murderer in my book.

In recorded 911 calls, Zimmerman acknowledged that he was following a suspicious person. At some juncture, he parked his truck and began pursuing Trayvon on foot. In his subsequent statements to police, he claimed that Trayvon attacked him and he shot the teenager in self-defense, but here’s where his story falls apart. (Continued below the photos)

This is the path Trayvon took, looking south. Scott is on the left. Both are from a Japanese media organization. Facing me is the direction Trayvon took. Zimmerman parked his truck somewhere near the red car and pursued on foot.

This is the spot where Trayvon died, just to the left of the small tree.

Trayvon never left the sidewalk. He followed the path to where he was staying. As he approached his destination, the sidewalk went from being parallel to the street to winding around the side and backside of two rows of townhouses. In order to continue following his prey, Zimmerman had to get out of his pickup to pursue him. He had to run, too, which is clearly evident on one of the 911 recordings, where he acknowledges to the dispatcher that he is running after him. The dispatcher tells him not to do that, to which Zimmerman says “OK” yet ignores the request. Incidentally, dispatchers have no authority. They are civilians and all they can do is offer advice.

This is the scene looking south. The shooting took place on the sidewalk to the left.

This is what Trayvon last saw as he tried to make it back to safety, although it was dark.

From what I was told near the scene, Zimmerman raced in front of Trayvon and swung around abruptly to face him. Both stopped in their tracks. Trayvon was on the phone with his girlfriend at that moment. Bear in mind that Zimmerman weighed about 100 lbs. more than Trayvon. Trayvon asked Zimmerman why he was following him and Zimmerman demanded to know why he was there.

STOP! BACK UP!

Here’s where it gets tricky. If a nutbasket like Zimmerman came up to me, I’d want to know who gave him the authority to question who I am and why I’m anywhere. I’d ask him if he were a cop. No? Then get out of my face. It’s none of his business. That’s a natural reaction. Someone pushed first. It doesn’t matter who, because, in no time at all, a senseless vigilante pulled out his weapon and shot an innocent person dead on the spot. He shot him point blank in the chest. I’ve heard rumors he did it while the teenager was lying on the ground, on his back, but I haven’t heard anything official yet.

One of the people I spoke to was Sly, who lives nearby, but not inside The Retreat. He said that, obviously, Zimmerman knew all about the Stand Your Ground law, where you shoot to kill and claim self-defense. Without a witness, who’s there to contest it? Because of that law, the Sanford Police Department chose to not arrest Zimmerman, but my big question to them is quite simple — has there ever been an incident anywhere in the world where a bag of Skittles and a can of iced tea was used to threaten someone or cause death or great bodily harm?

I didn’t think so.

Trayvon was on his cell phone talking to his 16-year-old girlfriend within minutes of his death. He told her he was being followed. She told him to run. He told her he’d walk a little faster, but he wasn’t going to run. Trayvon had no idea who this dude was or what he wanted. When he walked around the corner of a building, Zimmerman zipped on by and swung around.

“What are you following me for?” Trayvon asked.

“What are you doing around here?” Zimmerman demanded.

Trayvon must have been pushed, his girlfriend assumed, because his headset fell to the ground and the phone went dead. Who pushed who first doesn’t matter. This is clearly the case of a cop wannabe. Zimmerman took the law into his own hands, as if he had the power of a real law enforcement officer. This was his goal in life — to be a cop. In one loud pop, that dream went down the drain as blood flowed from Trayvon’s chest. Trayvon’s own dreams faded into oblivion in a matter of seconds.

There’s a good reason why Zimmerman never became a police officer. What’s sad is that no one looked at him intently enough to know he was a threat to everyone’s safety; a guy who took his self-proclaimed title as captain of the neighborhood too seriously. Today, he’s nothing more than a cold-blooded murderer. He alone provoked the incident. Would someone please tell the Sanford Police Department that you cannot be the instigator and then claim Stand Your Ground self-defense?

Incidentally, police confiscated Zimmerman’s gun. He says he needs to buy a replacement to keep up his work as a Neighborhood Watch captain. Would someone please tell me this is not an insane world?

Tonight, I will try my best to join thousands of others in the National Rally for Justice on behalf of Trayvon Martin.

George & Cindy's "Charity" Website Suspended

Someone alerted me to a good-sized development in Caylee’s Fund that should have us all relieved and, possibly, perplexed. It’s been suspended! Why? I don’t know, but I’m sure it has nothing to do with a lack of funding. Purportedly, Dr. Phil paid the non-profit $500,000 to have George and Cindy Anthony appear on his show, but he only acknowledged it was a six-figure amount. Rumors have swirled for months that Casey was paid a whopping $120,000 from the fund, but I cannot show proof of any kind. 

I have said on several occasions that the possibility is real that George and Cindy Anthony made a pact with the devil in order to get their daughter out of jail. By that, I don’t mean literally. It’s a euphimism, unless you think Casey is, in fact, the devil. Just prior to the start of the trial, Cindy and Mark Lippman met privately with Casey’s attorney, Jose Baez. Lippman is George and Cindy’s lawyer. George was not invited to the meeting and this said volumes to me. It meant that Cindy and Lippman were in on the defense strategy to do a character assassination of George — one that began during Baez’s opening statement at trial — or it meant that George was conspicuously absent from the meeting to make it look like he had nothing to do with the made-up story. 

At one of the final hearings before the trial began, I was in the courtroom when Baez asked George on the stand if he would do anything for his daughter. Most of you should remember it, too. George’s reaction? Yes, absolutely, he would do anything, and he was quite vocal about it. When asked if he would lie for Casey, his answer was a resounding YES! 

This signalled (to me) that what most of us had sensed all along was true. The Anthonys were, and remain, natural born liars. With the information gathered from the mouth of George Anthony, he spoke the truth, under oath, that he was willing to do anything to rescue his grandchild’s alleged murderer. Did this include his willingness to be the fall guy? All he had to do was take the bashing because, in the end, no one in the public would believe he ever sexually molested anyone in his family, let alone do any harm to Caylee. Simply put, just deny everything on the stand, which he did, but in the end, it confounded the jury and the plan worked. George came across looking like a liar and a loser — and that’s all the jury had to see to create a semblance of doubt. George looked guilty of something.

Want more? Cindy stated under oath that she made chloroform searches at home on two separate dates, while her bosses at Gentiva Health, Deborah Polisano and John Camperlengo, testified that she couldn’t have because she was at work and logged into her work computer. They also had time cards to prove she was there. Despite their testimony, the defense still managed to muddle the evidence and Casey is free because of it. Job well done, George! Take a bow, Cindy!

There have been other rumors swirling about. A recent one was that Cindy was spotted in a community where Casey had been seen, but once again, I have no proof. The problem I have with this sort of rumor is that no one has produced a photograph of the grieving grandmother, especially when smartphones with cameras are everywhere today. To be succinct, George and Cindy have been conspicuously absent lately. There are no Kodak moments. I say, if the present mimics the past, it could mean that George and Cindy are up to no good. Somewhere.

The person who told me about the website also wondered about the house on Hopespring Drive; that it looks vacant, but of all the visits I’ve made in that neck of the woods, it’s looked empty for a long time, even when I’ve known they were home. Just to be sure, I’ll probably take a ride down there to check it out one of these days, but in the meantime, can anyone explain why the charity site has been suspended? What was it, a misappropriation of funds? Caught red-handed?

Disclaimer: Of course, all of this is pure conjecture on my part. }}}wink wink{{{

ADDENDUM 10:00 PM:

Look here and see that this one has disappeared, too:

CAYLEEMARIEANTHONYFOUNDATION

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Zenaida's Trial Against Casey Postponed

ORDER GRANTING RENEWED MOTION TO CONTINUE TRIAL

Patience is a virtue, and we certainly did learn that from all of the postponements in Casey Anthony’s criminal trial. This time, with regard to the Zenaida Gonzalez (Plaintiff) v. Casey Anthony (Defendant) civil trial, Ninth Circuit Court Judge Lisa T. Munyon chose to postpone it until January 2, 2013. This trial had been postponed in the past for several reasons, all stemming from motions filed by the defense, but this time, both sides agreed that one more postponement was necessary. Why?

Let’s start with the basics, beginning with what’s been going on since the start of the new year. On February 29, the defense made a request to continue the trial date by filing a motion to Abate Trial Deadlines. A continuance means to postpone a date set by the court. Last week, on March 6, the judge heard the motion and the plaintiff’s objection to the continuance. Zenaida and her team of lawyers were ready to go to trial. After hearing from both sides, Judge Munyon chose to deny the defense motion that day. Jury selection was scheduled to start on April 10, 2012, with the trial slated to begin the following week in the same courtroom as the criminal trial. That would be Courtroom 23.

All honky dory, right? No, because on March 9, Zenaida’s attorneys filed a Notice of Conflict stating that they were scheduled to be in a Duval County courtroom trying other civil matters beginning on April 9. Their reasoning was solid. The Duval court scheduled that trial date before Munyon set this trial date in September of 2011. Munyon chose to go with what court had precedence. Since Duval set the date first, Orange/Osceola would have to wait. (See: Florida Rules 2.550(a)(6) - The case in which the trial date has been first set generally should take precedence.)

There’s more to it than just that, though. Judge Munyon could have ignored the request had the costs of rescheduling been too much of a burden on Florida taxpayers. After consulting with court representatives and the sheriff’s office, the grand total for a continuance would come to a mere $157.00, and that includes additional summonses to prospective jurors, printing, sorting, and mailing fees. Lest you think that’s all there is, guess again. Judge Munyon wasn’t able to secure Courtroom 23 for the week of April 10, and what that translates into is that the cost to the sheriff’s office for additional security would exceed the costs expended for the summonses. That’s because there are three other courtrooms on that floor, meaning the potential for a lot of people milling around. Okay, fine, but why so long of a postponement? It’s because Courtroom 23, the only courtroom on that floor, is in use. January 2, 2013 is the earliest time it will be available for two consecutive weeks.

So, what we have ahead of us are deadline adjustments originally set on September 1, 2011. We’re talking about 8+ months in the future now. The judge did set a two-week deadline from the date of her order (March 13) to file any notices of conflict for the new trial date. There is a hearing scheduled for March 23. The judge ordered that it remain on the docket and limited the proceeding to motions for summary judgment and all matters related to discovery, such as Gonzalez’s request for Anthony’s residential address. A motion for summary judgment, in this case, means the motion the defense filed to have the case against Anthony thrown out.

As far as I’m concerned, we should be used to it. After three years, plus this mess, we should know by now not to hold our breath. If you think this will ever end, guess again. This time it was the plaintiff’s request that did the trick.

My Trip to Gainesville, Part 3

 CROSS CREEK

Cross Creek was home to Pulitzer Prize winning author Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings for 25 years, from 1928 until her death in 1953. It’s an enchanting little hamlet you could easily picture in your head; a picturesque place with a babbling brook and quaint bridge that spans it. There’s none of the clutter you’d expect from a large town — no traffic lights, no horns blaring, and nothing to hear other than the faint sounds of birds cheerfully chirping in nearby trees. Yes, that would be a very good description. It’s a secluded community that epitomizes Old Florida. This year, though, there’s no babble in the brook that separates Orange Lake from Little Lochloosa Lake. A dry winter is to blame. Not long ago, down at th’ crick, you could catch a cooter wit a cane pole.

Of her adopted town, Rawlings often wrote of the harmony between the wind and rain, the sun and seasons, the seeds and, above all else, time. Once you enter Cross Creek, you become a part of its mystique. There’s a feeling of calm that fills the heart and you’re beckoned back to an era of bygone years, listening to Bing Crosby on an RCA Gramophone instead of Kanye West on an iPod; when the country doctor still made house calls and he’d gladly take a freshly baked pecan pie as payment. Those were the days…

Most of Rawlings’ work centered around rural central and north Florida, including Cross Creek, and in 1938, she found immense success with The Yearling, the story of a boy, his pet deer and his relationship with his father. Until it was published, most literary critics considered her to be a regional writer, but she disagreed. There’s more to writing than that. “Don’t make a novel about them unless they have a larger meaning than just quaintness.”

Rawlings grew up in the Brookland section of Washington, DC, and attended the University of Wisconsin, but years of living in Cross Creek transformed her. She felt a profound connection to the area and the land. While the locals were wary at first, they soon warmed up and told stories of their own experiences, which she diligently wrote down in notebook after notebook, along with descriptions of plants and animals, recipes, and examples of southern dialects.

The following 2 pictures are of Rawling’s house.

While doing research for The Yearling, Rawlings went into nearby scrub forests and spent several weeks with a Florida Cracker, hunting, fishing, and going on a couple of bear hunts. She convinced him that she was interested in the old customs, which was the truth. Trust me, you will never win over a Cracker by lying, and you cannot be a cracker unless you was born in the state. Crackers either accept you or they don’t and there ain’t no in between.

According to Elizabeth Silverthorne, who wrote Rawlings’ biography Sojourner at Cross Creek, Rawlings received the acceptance of her neighbors because she learned quickly about their system of morals and values. For instance, neighbors helped pick pecans from her trees in exchange for enough of the crop to last them through the winter. She became interweaved with local folks.

In every small town, you’ll find neighbors who gaze out front windows through cracks in the curtains to see what others in the community are doing. Cross Creek was no different during Rawlings’ time. Interestingly, she based a lot of her fictional characters on people who lived in the town and surrounding areas, and because of it, resentments arose, despite the fact that she never once used anyone’s full name.

Zelma Cason was, at one time, a very close friend of the author’s and her first in Cross Creek.  She was, that is, until she felt the sting of Rawlings’ pen in a portrayal of her in the book Cross Creek:

“Zelma is an ageless spinster resembling an angry and efficient canary. She manages her orange grove and as much of the village a county as needs management or will submit to it. I cannot decide whether she should have been a man or a mother. She combines the more violent characteristics of both and those who ask for or accept her ministrations think nothing at being cursed loudly at the very instant of being tenderly fed, clothed, nursed, or guided through their troubles.”

Cason took offense, so in 1943 she sued Rawlings for $100,000 for invasion of privacy. The trial became a spectacle as the struggle between the right of privacy and free speech ensued in open court, with Cason arguing that Rawlings did not have the right to publish a description of her without permission, and Rawlings countering with free speech. Interestingly, no Florida court had ever heard an invasion of privacy case prior to this one, and laws on libel were too ambiguous in those days. (Florida started its tradition of openness back in 1909 with the passage of Chapter 119 of the Florida Statutes or the Public Records Law.) 

Cason’s attorney, Kate Walton, was one of the first females to represent a client during a time when women weren’t allowed to serve on juries in the state. Sigsby Scruggs was a well-known, crafty, cracker attorney hired by Rawlings, along with Jacksonville attorney Philip May. As much as we watched the Casey Anthony trial unfold during the course of three years, the world’s eyes were on the little Florida town of Cross Creek while WWII raged on. Rawlings’ husband at the time and until her death was Norton Baskin. “I haven’t seen people around here so stirred up about anything since that two-headed calf was born over to Island Grove,” he said. [1]

From The St. Augustine Record, Monday, April 19, 2010:

The trial, held in Gainesville, drew state reporters and noisy crowds. The original trial and the appeals that followed took several years.

In the end it was a “bloody stalemate,” writes Townsend. [Billy Townsend’s great-aunt is the late Kate Walton.]

The jury in Alachua County stood by Rawlings and “laughed Zelma and Aunt Katie and J.V. out of court. It took them 28 minutes to find for Marjorie.”

But in 1947 the Florida Supreme Court overturned the verdict. It “both established the right of privacy exists in Florida and proved that Marjorie invaded Zelma’s privacy in ‘Cross Creek,’” he writes.

But the court limited damages to $1 plus attorney fees. Zelma had been “wronged, but not harmed.”

Cason couldn’t prove she’d suffered mental anguish or that Rawlings acted with malice. Rawlings failed to convince the judges that they were harming an author’s ability to write.

“They both thought they had lost,” Townsend said.

Before they died, Cason and Rawlings became friends of sorts once again.

Cason claimed that the lawyers made her do it. Townsend thinks Cason came to Kate Walton to start the suit rather than lawyers approaching her. But, now, all the people who knew for sure are gone.

As we looked over part of Rawlings’ property, Nika1 informed me that she was supposed to be buried in a different cemetery when she died, but in a twist of irony, there was a mix up and she ended up in the same cemetery as her one-time friend, Zelma, who had bought plots there earlier. When Cason died in 1963, she was buried 50 feet away from Rawlings. Quite literally, they followed each other to their graves. 

It was now after 5:00 pm in Cross Creek, and as the lesson in history wound down and the sun edged closer to the horizon, Nika1 and I realized it was time to eat, and reservations had already been made at The Yearling Restaurant, a stone’s throw from Rawlings’ house. From the outside, the restaurant isn’t anything fancy to look at. As a matter of fact, there’s nothing at all pretentious about it. Looking at it from the front, it doesn’t look very big, either, but once you get inside, it’s almost cavernous. Our host led us to a good-sized back room where, later, two musicians sang and played their instruments. Our waitress for the evening was a delightful young lady named Leslie. You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten fried green tomatoes, and there are none finer than what we were served. For entrees, Nika1 ordered fried fish and I got fried gator tail. Yes, you heard that right. I had eaten it before, but none was as tender as this go around.

When you’re inside the restaurant, it’s really a cozy, homey kind of place. It’s precisely what you’d expect in Cross Creek — comfort food, and I must say, the sour orange pie for dessert was fantastic!

While we sat waiting for our food, we talked about the area; not just Cross Creek, but also about Alachua County, including where Nika1 resides. It’s amazing how many people know each other even when they live 20 miles apart. It’s a close-knit community, so when she told me the story about the history of the restaurant and one of the area’s most colorful gentlemen, I found myself captivated by what she was saying. One of her close neighbors was characterized in The Yearling. In the book, he was the crippled boy. In real life, his name is J.T. Glisson, but once you know him, his name is Jake. When the original owners opened the restaurant in 1952, they commissioned Jake to paint a picture of a yearling — one that could have been the one portrayed in the book. He did, and there it hung for 40 years. The original owners closed the restaurant in 1992 and it reopened in 2002 under new ownership. When it closed in 1992, Jake asked if he could get his painting back. The owner honored his request, and today, it proudly hangs in Nika1’s house.

Jake is in his 80s now, but he’s not just a painter, he’s an author; a writer of books. I think there’s something in the air up there in Alachua County. I sense it’s where a lot of creative juices flow, and they once babbled through Cross Creek. The world is a wonderful place, and the legacy of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings lives on. Why? Because she didn’t just write The Yearling, she lived it…

“Enchantment lies in different things for each of us. For me, it is in this: to step out of the bright sunlight into the shade of orange trees; to walk under the arched canopy of their jade like leaves; to see the long aisles of lichened trunks stretch ahead in a geometric rhythm; to feel the mystery of a seclusion that yet has shafts of light striking through it. This is the essence of an ancient and secret magic.”

— Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings

(See: The Yearling, a 1946 movie starring Gergory Peck and Jane Wyman)

Next: My Trip to Gainesville, Part 4 — Micanopy, the oldest inland town in Florida.

My Trip to Gainesville, Part 2

This is a rather long article. I think the best way to handle it would be to continue publishing it in sections, so today will be Part 2, and it will cover my thoughts on the Old South and Old Florida, and the land where Nika1 lives. The next part, already written, will cover Cross Creek, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, and The Yearling Restaurant, where we ate dinner. The final part will be about another piece of Florida history, and the community, named for a Seminole Indian chief, that is believed to be the oldest inland town in the state.

OLD SOUTH/OLD FLORIDA

When I moved to Florida from New Jersey in 1981, I must admit that I brought some of my Yankee prejudices with me. To be honest, I never looked at southerners with disdain, nor did I see them as intellectually inferior because of their funny sounding dialects — funny to me, anyway — but let’s just say I was a little apprehensive because I was quite aware of their convoluted hatred for people of a different color, not to mention their resentment toward northerners. Of course, I didn’t expect everyone south of the Mason-Dixon Line to feel that way, and they don’t, but it wasn’t all that many years before I moved here that “coloreds” used different drinking fountains and bathrooms in many of those one-time Confederate states; Florida included. Even when I made my migration south, there were lingering reminders of inequality in places such as abandoned gas stations. Cobwebbed signs remained attached to bathroom doors as testaments to what they once proclaimed: WHITES ONLY. Like the old saying goes, we’ve come a long way, Baby, and so have I.

During my 31 years of living in Florida, I have embraced the South, but it has absolutely nothing to do with its racist past. It’s because of its rich history, steeped in genteel southern mannerisms; of virtuous young men politely courting delightfully flirtatious belles of innocence — patiently waiting for their coming of age — as they are introduced into the upper echelons of society. It was a romantic time, and in this respect, the South continues to maintain a unique essence of bygone days, deeply etched into it’s very heart and soul. But it’s fading fast in many areas, like Orlando, where fragrant foliage is ever replaced by the harsh realities of freshly poured asphalt and concrete, and fauna is pushed to the outer edges of what was once theirs with each passing breath. (I strongly encourage you to read: Beth Kassab: The Senator victim of Florida’s long history of neglect, Orlando Sentinel, Feb. 29, 2012)

Fortunately, pockets of the Old South continue to thrive, and throughout, you’ll find many notable plantations with antebellum homes, some still privately maintained, and others turned into historical landmarks or bed & breakfast inns. There are many towns and cities that thrive on their heritage, like Savannah, Charleston and Natchez. You’ll also find vast tracts of land that are, to this day, owned by the same families the properties were deeded to many years ago. In Florida, a lot of that land still thrives with citrus groves as far as the eye can see, and beef cattle grazing on the open range. Yes, much of it has been sold off, sometimes because of hard freezes, and other times over greed; but Florida is a good-sized state and there’s still plenty of private, pristine land around whose owners are proud of their history. They are proud to carry and pass the torches to future generations, just like it’s always been.

When I made my trek to the Gainesville area last month, I knew I was in for a special treat — one that epitomizes what I consider to be Old Florida. Of utmost importance, though, was that I would be spending time with Nika1, a lovely friend and host. Secondly, I would be visiting the town she lives in; truly a place I have a great appreciation for. I had been there once before. Also, she promised to take me to Cross Creek, and if you’re not familiar with it, it’s the little community where Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings lived for 25-years and wrote her Pulitzer prize-winning novel The Yearling. Her cracker-style home looks just like it did when she lived there in the 1930s. We were also going to have dinner at the adjacent restaurant, aptly named The Yearling Restaurant.

THE HOMESTEAD

I arrived at her homestead at 11:02 am, two minutes late. I hate that. We had a Gator basketball game to attend first, and that was most pressing, so off to O’Connell Center we went. I did a write-up on that leg of my trip in Part 1. When the game ended, we had plenty of time to spend before heading over to Cross Creek, so she took me to her old haunts, including the family farm. It goes without saying that she grew up in the house she still lives in, and it was built by her family in 1892. Trust me when I say there’s a lot of history in that home, and the interior is a testament to that.

With a moo moo here and a moo moo there, Nika1 raises beef cattle. EIEIO. If you look at the banner atop this website, those are her cows, and there are lots more where they came from, plus plenty of acreage, which you cannot fully comprehend by the images below.

I spent many years of my youth living on farms, and while some of you may find this somewhat odd, I truly enjoyed the smell of fresh grass and cow manure that wafted through the air that day. It brought back fond memories that dated back to my preteen and early teen years. It also reminded me not to step in it.

As we were leaving, an SUV pulled alongside us and Nika1 exchanged a few friendly words with the occupants about Indian digs on her property, most likely Timucua. Two mounds, to be precise. One is a burial mound and the other is ceremonial, meaning it’s a trove of pottery and other treasures offered to their gods. Both are ancient. Anthropologists from the University of Florida are carefully collecting the relics. Nika1 has discovered many arrowheads on her property over the years; some in the field across the street from her front yard. The area is rich in native American history, and that is of special interest to me. In the near future, I will publish another article on an Indian mound much closer to home, in Sanford, FL. I still have to “dig” for more information. But first, I’ve got two more parts of this story to go.

Next up: Cross Creek and how it impacted the area. Here is an excerpt from Part 3:

Cross Creek is one of those places you could pretty much conjure up in your head. You’d expect there to be a creek and bridge, of course, and not much else, and you’d be pretty much right. It’s a very small community, somewhat secluded, and above all else, a place that epitomizes Old Florida. Of her town, Rawlings wrote about the harmony of the wind and rain, the sun and seasons, the seeds and, above all else, time. Once you enter Cross Creek, you become a part of the mystery, the passion, and the oneness; and for a brief moment of eternity, time stands still. If there were ever a place on earth that beckons a creative mind, this is it.

HELP FIND FRANCO GARCIA!

UPDATE April 12: Sadly, Franco’s body was found today in the reservoir between the bar, Mary Ann’s, where Garcia was last seen, and the Boston College campus, where he had planned to stay in a friend’s dorm the night he disappeared.

Franco is a student at Boston College. So is Bruce Springsteen’s son. Some of Franco’s friends got in touch with his son and this is what Bruce put up:

From Bruce Springsteen’s Facebook page:

Help find missing Boston College student Franco Garcia. Franco is 21 years old, 5’9”, approximately 200 lbs, and was last seen wearing a long-sleeved white and blue striped shirt with jeans on February 22, 2012, around 12:15 am at Mary Ann’s Bar in Brighton, MA. Please call the Newton Police Department with any information: 617-796-2100

Jose Baez: Free as a Bird

Yesterday, The Florida Bar cleared Jose Baez of the two complaints filed against him after finding no probable cause. He will face no disciplinary action whatsoever. The decisions were sent to Mr. Timothy Patrick Chinaris and Mr. John A. Weiss, both co-counsel for the respondent.

Complaint of The Florida Bar against Jose Angel Baez
The Florida Bar File No.: 2011-30,708 (19A)

NOTICE OF NO PROBABLE CAUSE AND LETTER OF ADVICE

In the matter of last year’s sanction and $583 fine by Chief Judge Belvin Perry, Jr. for his willful violation of an order by the court to share discovery documents with the prosecution, the Florida Bar’s grievance committee “believes the failure to fully comply with the discovery orders was unintentional and realizes that Mr. Baez has expressed remorse for his conduct and also had to pay fines to the court due to previously imposed sanctions. The committee accepts the explanation that the complexity and volume of the case caused unintentional lapses.”

Please note the acknowledgement of the complexity and volume of the Anthony case.

At the same time, the committee did not let Baez get away without any form of reprimand. It added that, “Nevertheless, every attorney has an obligation to ensure that each and every court order receives full compliance. Mr. Baez is strongly advised that he should be cognizant of the need to completely comply with all orders of the court in the future.”

Complaint of The Florida Bar against Jose Angel Baez
The Florida Bar File No.: 2012-30,171 (19A)

In a letter from The Florida Bar addressed to Jose Baez’s legal representatives, “the Nineteenth Judicial Circuit Grievance Committee ‘A’ unanimously found no probable cause for disciplinary proceedings in the above-referenced case. The vote was 7 to 0. The committee is comprised of both lawyers and nonlawyers.”

This complaint was filed over his neglect to correct the mistake over Casey’s probation period being served while incarcerated. Judge Stan Strickland alerted the court after the trial ended that his order was specific about Anthony’s probation being served after her release, if ever. Due to a court mistake, the order was not made clear, but in the end, Strickland and Perry asserted that attorneys are bound by their profession and obligated to clarify and rectify any and all errors. Baez claimed he overlooked it and it was not done intentionally.

In it’s response to this complaint, the grievance committee stated that it had “thoroughly reviewed all the court records and documents and conducted several interviews. The grievance committee is cognizant of the fact that the case involved a complex fact situation and many months had passed since the probation order at issue. Your client indicated to the grievance committee that his representations to the court were not made to mislead the court but were made based upon his understanding of the context of the question. The grievance committee has concluded that there is not clear and convincing evidence that the conduct violated the Rules Regulating the Florida Bar in this matter. Therefore this case is now closed.

“For the reasons set forth herein, our file on this matter has been closed. Pursuant to the Bar’s records retention schedule, the computer record and file will be disposed of one year from the date of closing.”

Well, there you have it. No more Casey, no more complaints. Whatever your opinion in the matter, the case is closed and Jose Baez is free to fly south or anywhere else he chooses. Time to move on.

To view the documents, please click on the images to enlarge. The bottom links are the PDF files.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Complaint of The Florida Bar against Jose Angel Baez
The Florida Bar File No.: 2011-30,708 (19A)

Complaint of The Florida Bar against Jose Angel Baez
The Florida Bar File No.: 2012-30,171 (19A)

My Trip to Gainesville, Part 1

This is a story about my trip to Gainesville on February 4. It’s going to have to be split into 2-parts because it is not just about the Gator basketball game I attended, it also encompasses the tragic crash 0n I-75 at the end of January. That’s in this part. The next one will be about Old Florida - Cross Creek and Micanopy. While this will touch briefly on Cross Creek, it won’t say anything about Micanopy, which is the oldest inland settlement in the state. This post will be heavy with photos. Most can be enlarged.

HISTORY AND THE OLD SOUTH

Ever since I was a young boy, I’ve had a keen interest in history. Growing up in New Jersey, it was impossible to miss because the area is rich with stories of days gone by. Much of the Revolutionary War was fought in my own back yard, for instance, and before that was the French & Indian War of the 1750s.

While libraries are teeming with books on history, my affection for it lays somewhere else, deep within my mind. I seek the presence of history. I like to sense it all around me. Although not an obsession, I often wonder, as I walk about, who took the same steps one hundred years before me; a thousand and more years earlier, and I yearn to learn, because I can only guess as far back as our history books tell us. I know there’s more than that.

Growing up, it was easy to explore our heritage. Where I lived was just northwest of Princeton, and that made it somewhat simple to visit historical sites and museums from Philadelphia to New York City and everywhere in between. Every so often, I’d hear news about the skeletal remains of a Redcoat and his musket being discovered in the rafters of an old house while it was being renovated. I lived in several homes that dated back to a generation or two before the Revolutionary War. The church where my late grandfather preached was established in 1733.

Some of you may find me morbid for this, but I’ve always liked to walk through old cemeteries. I’d look at the names and dates on the tombstones and wonder who they were in life. What did they do? Were they friendly? Who did they leave behind? In my own hometown of Flemington, there is a small tract of land up the street from where I lived known as the Case Family Burial Ground. Several members of the Case family are resting there, along with a Delaware Indian chief named Tuccamirgan, who died in 1750. The grave was dug deep enough for him to be placed in a sitting position, facing east.

While I am quite intrigued by my humble beginnings, I am just as fascinated with the American Civil War. Of course, being a Yankee and all, I never could get a firm grasp on the Confederacy until I moved to Florida. We were never taught to hate southerners, but we were aware that many southerners were raised to hate northerners — so we thought. It wasn’t all that many years ago when the ‘colored folk’ used separate water fountains and bathrooms in the south. When I moved to the Orlando area in ‘81, I didn’t know what to expect. To me, the Civil War ended over a century ago, so there was nothing more to it than history. Every so often, I’ll hear about how the war has never ended and that the south will one day rise again, but for what reason? To what end? Instead, I like to focus on the rich culture of the south, and that’s something I was never taught in school. It’s not anything that could be taught in school. You must live it in order to feel it.

I’ve been in central Florida for 31 years now, longer than I lived up north and I’ve got to say, I like it here. No, that doesn’t mean I’d ever give up on my home town or state, and Orlando’s not known as a bastion of Old Florida, but there’s definitely something romantic about pockets of the south. I guess you could say the bug caught me during a screening of Gone With The Wind during my freshman year of high school in, of all places, New Jersey.

There was a land of Cavaliers and Cotton Fields called the “Old South.” Here in this pretty world, Gallantry took its last bow. Here was the last ever to be seen of Knights and their Ladies Fair, of Master and of Slave. Look for it only in books, for it is no more than a dream remembered, a Civilization gone with the wind…

- From the opening of the film Gone with the Wind (1939)

While I don’t sense anything genuinely historical about Orlando, I have found the ‘Deep South’ — through north Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana, and Mississippi — to be both mythical and mystical. There’s no way to explain it in a sentence or two. It’s something that has to grow on you. The bug next caught me when I flew to New Orleans on a private jet back in the early 90s. I felt something tragic about the city but I could never pin it on anything. As festive as the place was, an innate sense of sadness always seemed to be right around the corner, on the other side of the wrought iron gate.

I’ve since been back to New Orleans, but I’ve also traveled to and visited other towns from here to Houston. One of my favorite stops was Natchez, Mississippi, rife with tales of the Civil War. This story, however, is not about the war between the states, this is about one state, and it’s called Old Florida, home of majestic magnolias, stately live oaks and cypress trees jutting up from the water. However, there are two issues to cover first. 

Many of you are familiar with Nika1. She is a frequent contributor on my blog and a good friend. About a month ago, she asked me if I’d be interested in going to a live Gator (University of Florida) basketball game with her. Yes! Of course I would! I’ve been to several football games, but never basketball, something I’ve always wanted to do. I first went to see Nika1 in late September of 2010, when she invited me up for a football game. While there, she took me around the neighborhood. That included the rural area where she lives, and where her family has lived for many generations. Once again, I sensed the old south, but in this case, it was Old Florida, and its roots were deep in history.

Three weeks ago, on February 4, I drove up to the house she shares with Ali Rose, her beautiful Australian Shepherd. She had plans for me, too. After the basketball game, we were going to go to Cross Creek, made famous by The Yearling, the 1938 novel written by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings. She won the Pulitzer Prize for it in 1939. Fascinating, I thought. Very much so.

ANATOMY OF A TRAGEDY

Almost a week before my drive, a terrible accident happened on I-75, in the middle of Paynes Prairie. 11 people died. To help you understand Paynes Prairie, it is generally a swampy area, but the weather has been exceedingly dry in Florida, and in this state, droughts breed brush fires, and lots of them. Many burn out of control.

Burned Brush in Background

On the way up to the game on US-441, Nika1 told me what happened. 441 is east of 75 and they run parallel to each other. The fire started east of 441. The first series of accidents began just before midnight, on January 28. Smoke and fog wafted west across the highways and the first 911 call came in at 11:53:14 from I-75 to report the heavy smoke and fog. Moments later, another 911 caller reported hearing accidents. Then, another one came in saying they saw the accidents. Moments later, all traffic was stopped.

Those accidents were not fatal, but it prompted the Florida Highway Patrol to shut down the interstate by 12:45 am. At 3:21 am, the decision was made to reopen it, and the rest is history. By 4:00 am, you couldn’t see past your nose. Heading southbound, a semi had stopped in the right lane and a Dodge pickup truck plowed into it, followed by a Ford Expedition. The two Ford occupants were able to escape through the back just before it burst into flames.  The occupants in the pickup truck were on their way to a funeral, but sadly, all three family members perished.

By now, frantic calls were coming into the Alachua County Communications Center. Of course, when troopers, sheriff’s deputies and emergency vehicles arrived, they couldn’t see, either.

In the northbound lanes, two church vans were heading to Georgia. One van crashed into the rear corner of a semi stopped in the middle lane and it sliced through the van, killing five family members. One 15-year-old girl survived. The occupants of the other van survived. In front of the semi was a Toyota Matrix sandwiched between that one and one in front of it. The young couple in the Matrix died.

Meanwhile, another semi had stopped in the middle southbound lane. It was hit by a Dodge pickup and the driver was able to escape with minor injuries. Then, a Pontiac Grand Prix smashed into the back of that pickup and the driver died.

Had the drivers of those semis pulled off of the road instead of stopping in the lanes, would lives have been saved? You bet, but it will be a long time before the investigation into this tragedy is sorted out. That includes why FHP decided to reopen the interstate after it was closed.

What surprised me was that the fire burned east of 441. Nika1 told me another person died on that highway, but it didn’t make headlines like the big one.

The above photo represents what Paynes Prairie would look like during normal weather conditions.

GO GATORS!

As much of a horror as the accident was, there was a basketball game to attend, and the Gators intended to win it. This was, after all, why I took the trip to begin with, not including my visit with Nika1. The team was playing Vanderbilt. We had gotten there in plenty of time to nestle into our seats, where brand new t-shirts were nicely folded for spectators. Yes, FREE! Blue in color, the back had the Texaco logo and some type, and the front said “ROWDY yet refined REPTILE” with the Gator green and orange logo. It was a great game to watch and it was made better by the Gator’s victory. The final score was 73-65. The pictures can do the talking…

The first photo is the University of Florida Century Tower in Gainesville. Begun in 1953, it is 157 feet (48 m) tall.

Part 2 will come next week and it will take you through Old Florida and a Michael J. Fox movie. Mostly, it will be a selection of photographs I took.

Odds & Ends and Odd Endings

JOSE BAEZ

By now, most of you are already aware that Jose Baez is no longer affiliated with the client who turned his name into household fame. Cheney Mason made that clear a month or so ago when he stated that Baez severed all ties with her right after sentencing. It’s now official:

By clicking on the above image, you can inspect it at a much larger scale. Very revealing are the lines drawn through his name, his affiliation with the client and his work number, that signify his departure. Scan all the way down to the bottom left and you’ll also find that a Notice of Withdrawal [of] Attorney of Record was filed on 2/21/2012. 

There hasn’t been much said about it until now, but it’s most likely what I assumed since it was first reported. First of all, Casey Anthony is an ingrate. She only thinks of herself, which is something most of us will agree on. I can’t say for sure, but my guess is that it was one of those “I quit!” moments, followed by a typical response from an ingrate, “You can’t quit! You’re fired!”

While I am not offering any sympathy or line of defense for Baez, I do look at it from a rational point of view. After the trial, logic dictated that he didn’t need her any longer. He won the case and garnered one heck of a lot of publicity. He’s set because of it, no matter what anyone may think of him. He’s not the first criminal defense attorney to clasp a client from the clutches of the executioner’s claws, nor will he be the last. Think of Johnnie Cochran and OJ, but the world didn’t go wild when he was found not guilty of two counts of first-degree slaughter, and Cochran’s legal practice and notoriety gained significantly in the wake of that trial.

Here’s one little detail I’ll bet you’re not familiar with. Baez was the lead attorney on another murder case while the Anthony story was taking center stage. Contrary to what some may think, attorneys do work on multiple cases at a time. Speaking of time, please take time to watch the video below. It will open a number of eyes because, clearly, this client was not guilty, contrary to what the prosecution thought.

Back to the famous fall out. What Bob Kealing reported on Tuesday, in a nutshell, was that Casey was quite upset that her attorney didn’t land her a big dollar TV interview; something her parents were able to do for their charity, and trust me, I use that term loosely. In any event, so what? The man spent the last three years of his life eating, breathing, and… well, never mind, all things Casey. He was attacked from the left and from the right; from the front and from the back, but lest you think I’m being too kind, I am not. He knew what a strain it would be, but he also knew what the end reward could be and, in the end, he gambled correctly. The best possible thing for him to do was to stop affiliating with her. In a thunderous flash, she became toxic. Now, I’d venture a guess that he’d disagree with me publicly on what I just wrote, but that’s the way I see it. Like it or not, because of the outcome of the Anthony trial, he’ll have speaking gigs and new clients for years to come. That is, as long as he keeps his license to practice law, and I expect him to do just that, whatever the outcome of the Bar complaints filed against him. In other words, I don’t think they are significant enough to disbar him if he loses.

JEFF ASHTON

There’s a little bit of a situation unfurling with former prosecutor, now candidate Jeff Ashton, over his decision to represent his son in a Seminole County DUI trial. Clearly, there are two brains of thought. It’s understandable that any attorney would come to their child’s defense. I’ll give him that and add that no matter what, we can look at his worth as a caring parent and not argue the point. At the same time, he is running for the office of Ninth District (Orange/Osceola) State Attorney. If elected, he would be responsible for prosecuting people in the same boat, so was it a wise thing to do? In a later press conference, he said he had a problem with voters who couldn’t understand what he did as a father. Like I said, he’s loyal, but I read a lot of comments on Hal Boedeker’s Orlando Sentinel television blog and many of them were firmly against his decision. Some of them added that he’s just another typical lawyer and no hero after all. Do I agree with that assessment? No, but I will say that, in my opinion, he could have saved himself a lot of votes had he cashed in some of his courthouse chips and asked another attorney to handle his son’s affairs. Now, word comes that he’s defending his daughter, according to Seminole County court records. She was charged with driving without a license and for failing to show proof of insurance. 

While I refuse to blame Ashton for the Casey Anthony loss, at least not to a large extent because it was a team effort, he failed to win his son’s case. If he loses his daughter’s, too, his odds of winning the Democratic primary for state attorney will begin to deteriorate, but not enough to harm him beyond hope. However, it’s a tough road ahead any way he looks at it. Lawson Lamar has a huge political machine in Tallahassee and throughout the state, and lots of powerful friends, not to mention a much larger campaign chest. There’s also the old idiom, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Obviously, he doesn’t see it that way. 

That leads me to Linda Drane Burdick, but first, a little more information. When asked if she would support Jeff in the election, she said that she couldn’t do that in a Democratic primary because she a registered Republican. However, a month or so later, she donated $100 to Lamar’s reelection campaign. Incidentally, two other candidates are in the race. Ryan Williams, also a Democrat and former assistant state attorney, entered the race in September of 2011. And recently joining the fray is Orlando criminal defense attorney Joerg Jaeger, a Republican hellbent on defeating Ashton. He told Orlando Sentinel Senior Reporter Anthony Colarossi that, “I don’t think Jeff is fit to be state attorney.” And he’s made that point exceedingly clear.

JUDGE LINDA DRANE BURDICK?

Back to Miss Linda. In case you haven’t heard, the lead prosecutor in the Anthony trial threw her hat in the ring, along with 22 other applicants, to fill the bench left void when 9th Circuit Judge James Turner was removed for violating several judicial principles, including hugging and kissing a court clerk. This was also reported by Anthony Colarossi in the Feb. 13 issue of the Orlando Sentinel. If I could vote for her, I would! 

LAST WORDS

There have been many changes since the end of the Anthony fiasco. Judge Strickland retired at in December of last year and I don’t blame him. He had an outstanding career on the bench and it goes without saying that we wish him all the best. He is right where he wants to be at this stage in life and all is well in the world.

I also want to wish Jeff Ashton continued success in his career, including the upcoming election, but like Drane Burdick, I won’t be voting for him, either, but not for the same reason. You see, I live in the 18th District, and that’s Seminole County. If you want to learn more about him or contribute to his campaign, read HERE.

Thank you, and hopefully, I won’t have more to say about ‘you know who’ until the date of her civil trial filed by Zenaida Gonzalez - the real one, with no Fernandez in her name.

Just As Important As President's Day

More on the Josh Powell Fiasco

This is really a response to BMan’s comment on my last post, and I felt it was worthy of a new post. He put a lot of thought into it and I put a lot of thought into my response.

When we go to Nostradamus’s quatrains, they can be interpreted in any number of ways to suit the person or group that’s trying to prove a link between him and the event. For instance, Hister became Hitler, but in actuality, Hister is the Latin word for Danube. Sure, that’s in Germany, but no reputable source lists any support for the claim that it was a prediction of war brought on by Hitler’s Nazis, nor was it a war forged against him by the Allies. That’s but one example and we all know they are legion, meaning lots and lots of interpretations to fit the mood du jour.

In “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance”, the dialogue between the newspaper editor and the hero, Senator Rance Stoddard, played by Jimmy Stewart, was pretty much the way it was when bad guys roamed the west. By that, I mean John Ford, who directed many westerns from 1939-1965, pretty much wrote the script for what we now perceive was the true old west. In real life, it wasn’t. To be blunt, almost every town had prostitutes, but not Shinbone, for example. Anyway, what the editor said as his interview with Stoddard ended was, “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

It came near the end of the movie after Stoddard explained what really happened to villain Liberty Valance, played by Lee Marvin. Stoddard said that he wasn’t the town’s hero, it was Tom Doniphon, played by the iconic John Wayne. Doniphon shot the bad guy.

That’s how legends are borne, and the name Nostradamus is legendary.

If we pay heed to the Mayan calendar the way some read Nostradamus, then yes, the world will end this year, but that’s not at all what the calendar infers. The Mayans created a long count calendar to document past and future events. They also had a 52 year calendar, but the long count calendar spans 5,126 years, beginning in the year 3114 B.C and ending on Dec.21, 2012 if, and only if, it’s based on our Gregorian calendar. Dec. 21 is also the beginning of the winter solstice for the Northern Hemisphere, so if you live in Australia, you won’t die that day.

Here’s where the interpreters got it all wrong, and that’s why the ‘end of days’ predictions are way off kilter. As I said in the prevoius post, there are no such things as predictions, although educated guesses may work based on factual information that supports the propositions. In other words, A conditions B; if this, then that could happen – only there’s nothing to base the prediction on because it would mean the earth was formed in 3114 B.C. And it will end 5,126 years later, in 2012. But guess what? The earth is a lot older than 5,126 years and, therefore, the 2012 date is rendered meaningless. There’s nothing to base the hypothesis on. It does not compute.

As for Josh, yes, it could have been established that he was a risk, but first we have to address the issue of what separates a “person of interest” and a “suspect.” During the Bush administration, it came about, in a round-about, straightforward sort of way, if that makes sense, as a means to classify terrorists. It soon trickled down to law enforcement. The main difference between POI and suspect comes in the form of constitutional protection. If someone’s name is plastered all over the news as the suspect and it turns out law enforcement goofed, all sorts of lawsuits can be filed. Look at the case of Richard Jewell, the first named (and only) suspect in the Centennial Olympic Park bombing during the summer of 1996. He was completely exonerated, but by then, the mess had turned into a huge fiasco. He filed a series of suits against media outlets that libeled him, including NBC, Tom Brokaw in particular. He settled that suit for $500,000, but bear in mind, Jewell was sued by some of the injured while a suspect and it complicated things further. His exoneration came later that same year by a US Attorney; unprecedented at the time.

What we’ve learned is that you’d better be sure before you name someone a suspect because it could open the floodgates to potential legal problems.

Okay, fine, but what about Josh Powell? Certainly he was a suspect from Day 1, right? Yes and no. No, meaning there wasn’t any evidence. Nothing. Nil. Nada. Just that his wife didn’t come home and he took his very young sons out camping in sub-freezing weather. Very suspicious. Utilizing the “person of interest” euphemism instead of the direct finger pointing nomenclature of “suspect” for Josh meant there hadn’t been enough evidence to do much of anything, and it most likely meant that the Utah police department investigating the case had little to share with their Washington counterparts. It also meant they had nothing to keep him from leaving the state with his sons.

Unfortunately, if someone is named a POI, their life will change, but at the same time, if someone is named a suspect, it could ruin an innocent person’s life for years to come. There’s always that stigma. If you look at Dale Smith II, in the missing Michelle Parker case, if it turns out he is not responsible for Michelle’s disappearance, he could possibly file lawsuits. However, that does not mean he’ll win, but the odds are much better than if he were just named a person of interest.

Do I think the Washington police were keeping their eyes focused on Powell? Of course they were, but their hands were tied by law. It was the court’s responsibility, but it could only be based on what was presented to the judge in the first place.

I can tell you some interesting stories about legal custody cases and how the state is extremely particular about how they handle each one. Surely, the case worker knew about Josh’s problem in Utah, but she couldn’t really base any court testimony on what he did –- or may have done –- out-of-state. The court would have called her on the carpet for it. It was second-hand information garnered from newspaper clippings, radio, and watching the news. Oh yes, and the Internet. If she contacted Utah authorities, what could they have told her other than he was a person of interest?

So, in the interest of keeping lawsuits in check, her hands were tied. Many police departments will call an almost suspect “a person of interest” for a very good reason, but the results of the psychological evaluation Josh had last October should have sent sirens blaring. If the court felt it was necessary to examine him further by administering a psycho-sexual test, why allow him to see his children at all, especially now that they were aware that anime child porn was found on his computer? In my opinion, he shouldn’t have been allowed to see his sons until he passed that one. Surely, there should have been concern over the polygraph test, too, because he would have been probed about the disappearance of his wife.

Despite the fact that all of the visitations between Josh and his sons were supervised, it wasn’t enough, obviously. The thing the judge could have done would have been to be much more prudent. Yes, it’s nice you moved away from your perverted father, but we found some pretty sick stuff on your computer, so until the results of your psycho-sexual test are in my hands, you will meet your children on neutral ground or not at all.

Ultimately, no one else but Josh Powell was to blame. He plotted this course and if it meant blowing up a McDonald’s PlayPlace, he would have done that, too. Judges sometimes base their decisions on how the person handles themselves in the courtroom, or they take it into consideration. Powell was really good at lying and crying. He was a real wolf in sheep’s clothing, alright, but wolves don’t usually eat their young. Who knew he would be capable of doing such a horrible thing?

I’m sure his psyche will be studied for a long time by many professionals, but will it stop other people like Josh from doing the same thing if there’s nothing to “suspect” because they are merely “a person of interest” in another state? I just don’t know.

Predicting A Coward's Way Out

There seems to be a recurring theme when it comes to murder, especially when children are involved. In cases of filicide, when a parent unceremoniously ends the life of their own child — or children, questions are raised about why no one saw it coming. Certainly, we heard it over and over during the course of three years, from July 15, 2008 through the trial and sentencing of Casey Marie Anthony. Why didn’t George and Cindy see what kind of monster their daughter was? Why didn’t they stop her? Today, many in the public still blame them for Caylee’s death.

Then, there’s Alyssa Bustamante, who was sentenced to life in prison this week for brutally murdering her 9-year-old neighbor, Elizabeth Olten. Bustamante was only 15 at the time and her only motive was the thrill of watching someone die by her own hands; to see for herself the eyes of a young and vibrant life fade into a vacuous void. Bustamante not only saw death, she felt it. Night after night, she will wake up from recurring dreams caused by the hellish storm she created; ones that will drown her soul in flash floods of blood gushing from every corner of her mind. Why didn’t anyone see this coming? Surely, someone else is to blame, too, for being so naive.

It seems to be a daily ritual anymore; a rite of passage or something. Horror stories of missing and murdered children pop up in the news and each time we promise ourselves we’ve had enough, but is that really true? Hardly. We are very sensitive creatures, for sure, but sometimes we thrive on the pains of others. Not in a bad sense, mind you, but think about it. We hate accidents, yet whenever we approach one on the highway, we slow down to gawk. Oh my, we think to ourselves, I hope and pray they’re alright. And then we go home to watch it on the news.

What happened to Susan Powell and her sons was a travesty waiting to happen, but did anyone see it coming? Should it have been predicted years ago?

Michel de Nostredame was born 509 years ago. We know him by his Latin name, Nostradamus. The first edition of his most famous book The Prophecies was published in 1555, eleven years before his death, which he never did predict. Today, he has a strong and loyal following that credits him with predicting many worldwide events. Whether true or not remains a source of great consternation, but one thing is plain and simple. Every one of his quatrains is so tenuous, at best, they are rendered useless. In other words, and to be quite blunt about it, every single one of his “predictions” aren’t interpreted until after the fact. Hitler? Oh yes, ol’ Nostrie predicted him over 400-years-ago, but no one knew it until long after the head Nazi was dead. Osama bin Laden and the World Trade Center? Yup, that too.

So what’s my point? Even Nostradamus didn’t truly consider himself a seer; a prophet, and no one has yet to predict something before it happens. Not Nostradamus, nor anyone else for that matter. No one can predict the future any more than someone could ever predict a murder, not counting serial killers. Sure, there are predictions based on similar instances and scientific fact. Rick Rescorla predicted the attacks on the WTC, but he based it on evidence of past atrocities, such as the 1993 bombing. That it remained an easy target was as plain as the nose on his face.

In the case of Josh Powell, what do we know? So far, a rush of information has been gushing and, once again, we have a major problem discerning truth from fiction. But now, after the fact, I “predict” a heavy dose of psychiatric and psychological discussion and diagnoses, but I base it on prior evidence — cause and effect, or causality, in which an action or event produces a certain response. Because of this, then that, only it’s always based on ’after the fact,’ and sometimes the ‘that’ becomes a blame game. I also “predict” this will go on for years.

Josh Powell most likely murdered his wife in 2009. I say this because of what we already know about the night Susan Cox Powell disappeared. Josh took his young sons camping in the middle of a harsh winter night — unfit for most people, and certainly small children. Who gets up in the middle of the night, yanks his kids out of bed and says, “let’s go camping?” Conveniently, he forgot where he camped, too, but the most important part was that Susan was never seen again. 

Authorities in Utah, where the Powell family lived at the time that Susan went missing, have investigated her disappearance as a murder case for at least the past six months now, but without a body, it’s a tough nut to crack. Publicly, they held out hope that she would be found alive, but did they believe it? Seriously? No. Josh moved his sons less than a month later from West Valley City, Utah, to Puyallup, Washington, south of Seattle. That made the case harder to work on because he wasn’t around to cooperate.

Does any other evidence exist? Aside from the late December night camping trip being so absurd, there was a damp spot found on the floor of their home. What was it? No one is saying.

On Monday, following the explosion that took the young boys’ lives, their grandfather, Charles Cox, spoke to the media. When the boys first arrived, they were emotionally distant, but recently they had opened up. He hoped that one day they would be able to remember what happened the night of the camping trip. The boys never did, but Cox then told the story of what Braden had said almost two years ago. Braden was the younger brother. During the summer after Susan went missing, he drew a picture of a van while at a day care center. Three people were in it. The four women in charge asked him what the drawing was.

“That’s us going camping,” he responded.

Who is in the car, one of them asked.

“That’s Daddy, that’s Charlie, that’s me.” Then, he added, “Well, Mommy’s in the trunk.”

If Mommy was in the trunk, why was she there?

He didn’t know, but then he said, “We stopped somewhere and Mommy and Daddy got out and Mommy didn’t come back.”

While this is certainly important, it means virtually nothing to law enforcement. Is the statement of a 3-year-old something that would hold up in court?

§

Josh had a tumultuous relationship with his father, Steven. He moved into his father’s house when he left Utah, and they lived together until September of last year, when Steven was arrested and charged with 14 counts of voyeurism and 1 count of child pornography. Prosecutors said that, for at least ten years, he secretly spied on and shot videos of women, including his daughter-in-law, Susan, and two young neighbors as they bathed and used the toilet. Bail was set at $200,000, something he was not flush with, and he remains in jail, but Josh adamantly denied having any knowledge of the pornography. Unfortunately for him, because it was kept in the home they shared, he lost full custody of his sons that month to Charles and Judy Cox, the boys’ maternal grandparents — but there was more to the story than just Steven the Sicko.

Ironically, Josh moved his family to Utah to escape daddy dearest, yet in a September 2011 interview, Steven Powell claimed that he was in love with Susan, and that his son was fine with it. As a matter of fact, she was in love with him, too.

In truth, Susan couldn’t stand the guy. She despised him, she thought he was a creep and she told her friends he was weird and disgusting. It was her idea to move out of state.

Last Wednesday. February 1, Josh was back in court. He had left his father’s place and moved into a house down the street. Surely, this would mean he’d get his sons back, but remember, there’s more to this story. Before we go into those details, let’s take a quick look at what state law is regarding children and families. States bend over backwards to maintain the family core. According to the Washington state Family Law Handbook:

Generally, the government does not interfere in family matters, but there are laws that allow the government to step in to protect a child from harm within the family. Sometimes this will result in  a legal action called a “dependency.” A dependency proceeding is usually, but not always, started by the state after an investigation by a Child Protective Services social worker. The goals of such legal actions are safety of children and reunification and preservation of families.

States seldom like to get involved, and in the case of Josh Powell, the state never intended to completely sever the relationship he had with his sons. Initially, the questions over Steven’s pornography and the safety of the children were the issues. Should the state case workers have insisted that Josh meet his sons on neutral ground? Yes, and initially they did.

When Josh went back to court Wednesday to argue over custody, the issue his in-laws had so adamantly fought over, he made a declaration that he was the best and safest person to raise his two sons, saying he had proven himself to be “a fit and loving father.” In documents filed with the court, he wrote that it was unfair for his sons to be removed from his care based on what his own father had done. During supervised visits, two times a week for three hours each, he demonstrated his love of the boys and his competence as a caregiver. When Child Protective Services completed their investigation on November 30, 2011, he was cleared of any negligent treatment and he should, therefore, be reunited with the boys. “No child wants to be taken from their parents and it is not reasonable to continue this process.”

The case worker in charge was a woman from a company contracted by the state to supervise visitations. Sherry Hill is a spokeswoman for the Children’s Administration at the Department of Social and Health Services in Washington. She said that state authorities work very closely with the courts to determine whether supervised visits should be allowed and held at either a parent’s home or a neutral site. In Josh’s case, the move away from his father’s house demonstrated that the safety of his children was of utmost importance, and there was no need to keep them from the new home. Everything looked good.

“If there had been any indication of suicidal thoughts, or anything that we would have thought there was an intent to harm the children, we would have taken immediate action,” Hill said. “If we had thought that, we would have done what we could. I don’t think there’s anything else we could have done.”

Remember, generally, the government hates to interfere in family matters, and with his compliance, Josh fully expected to regain custody of his children that Wednesday. He wasn’t. Why?

There was one peculiar issue over his own morality, so the judge ordered him to undergo a psycho-sexual testing and evaluation. What’s that, you may ask? Let’s just say it’s not something I would enjoy, but I will never be in a situation where it could possibly arise. If you are interested, you can read here. Or, from the Rosenberg & Associates website, a more palatable explanation:

A psycho-sexual assessment is an evaluation that focuses on an individuals sexual development, sexual history, paraphilic interests, sexual adjustment, risk level, and victimology. It also includes a full social history, familial history, employment/school history, case formulation, and specific treatment recommendations. The evaluation greatly assists attorneys and courts (prior to sentencing for adults), foster care and social service agencies that work with sexually reactive children or children who have been sexually abused, and others.

Paraphilia is a biomedical term that describes sexual arousal to objects, situations or individuals not generally associated with typical standards of stimulation. Need I say more?

Why the judge ordered this test is quite simple, very important and legally valid. It was based on something brought to the court’s attention: the results of the psychological evaluation Josh had last October. Keep in mind that Charlie and Judy Cox were given custody a month earlier. Upon completion of the evaluation, “the psychologist received information from police in West Valley City, Utah, about undisclosed materials found on his computer during a search in 2009. That material prompted the psychologist to recommend a psycho-sexual evaluation before Powell be given custody or expanded visitation rights.” (See: Could More Have Been Done To Save Charlie And Braden Powell? )

[Since the writing of this post, news surfaced that Josh was also ordered to take a polygraph test, and it meant he would have had to answer questions regarding the disappearance of his wife, including the matter of her death. Did he kill her?]

§

Up until the day of the explosive fire, there seemed to be no cause for alarm. Although frustrated and depressed over his latest round in the courtroom, Josh seemed to be of sound mind — sound enough that no one in the courtroom had qualms about Charlie and Braden visiting their father at his home instead of a neutral location. The visits were, after all, supervised. He could not be alone with his sons.

Later, Charles Cox said he didn’t really think there was anything more the court could have done legally to protect the boys, but he wasn’t quite comfortable with only one supervisor. “We suspected that if [Josh] had the boys in his control, with him, and he felt the police were closing in, he was capable [of doing them harm.]” He didn’t think the lone female supervisor could have stopped him, and he was right.

Earlier that day, the boys told their family that they did not want to go to their father’s house because they wanted to stay and play with their cousins instead. They needed to go see their father, they were told. They would have plenty of time to play with them again.

When the boys arrived at the house, they ran up to the front door, ahead of the social worker. By the time she got to the entrance, Powell had let his sons in but pushed her out, locking the door behind him.

“He pushed her out. He blocked her out,” Pierce County sheriff’s spokesman Ed Troyer stated. “The whole thing was planned.”

Minutes before, Powell sent an e-mail to his attorney, Jeff Bassett. It was three words. “I’m sorry, goodbye.”

The rest we know. Two days after his court hearing, Josh Powell set in motion his final plan. The children’s toys were donated. He took $7,000 out of his bank account to settle his bills. No one saw it coming. No one at the bank, no one at Goodwill, and no one in his own family. Last August, he told ABC news that he would always protect his boys. “The people who know me know that I’m a good dad,” Powell told Good Morning America. “I work hard. I put my sons first. I was a good husband. I took care of my family.”

He took care of his family, alright.

There will be lots of investigations, from the top on down in Washington state. Despite Josh Powell’s death, Utah police will press on until they find the truth about Susan. Justice has come for Josh. He will never be reunited with the boys he so loved and fought for. Hell has no place for children.

§

To randomly place blame on this person or that agency is wrong. No one got up that morning and asked themselves if this was the day Charlie and Braden would die at their father’s hands. No one expected it in court last week. Except Josh. When agency after agency, including the court and judge, finish blaming each other, we may find out why things fell so out of place; somehow lost in the system. But remember one thing; while we complain about too much government interference, all it takes is something like this to do a complete about face. Then, there isn’t enough. Why is that?

Nostradamus never predicted this tragedy. He never predicted the end of the world, either. Nor did the Mayans and their calendar. As for murder, predicting it is as, well, predictable as pulling petals from a dandelion. I kill you, I kill you not. You decide what is real and what is an illusion, but in the end, I predict we will all be wrong, and that’s my predilection. You can’t guess a coward’s way out.

Bustamante Gets Life

Photo courtesy of Columbia Missourian

Elizabeth Bustamante danced around a trial by pleading guilty to second-degree murder in the death of 9-year-old Elizabeth Olten in October 2009. For sure, no trial saved the state of Missouri a lot of money. She had been charged with first-degree murder but the January plea deal did more than just that. It avoided the possibility of life in prison with no chance of parole.

On Monday and Tuesday of this week, the prosecution and defense argued over her sentence. Tonight, Cole County Circuit Judge Pat Joyce rendered her decision. Just prior to sentencing, Bustamante stood, faced the victim’s family and said, “I really am extremely, very sorry for everything. I know words… [long pause]… can never be enough, and they can never adequately describe how horribly I feel for all of this.”

Later, she said, “If I could give my life to get her back I would. I’m sorry.”

How many times have we heard that?

During the sentencing hearing, prosecutors repeated, over and over again, what the disturbed teenager wrote in her journal on October 21, the night of the murder:

I strangled them and slit their throat and stabbed them now they’re dead. I don’t know how to feel atm [at the moment]. It was ahmazing. As soon as you get over the “ohmygawd I can’t do this” feeling, it’s pretty enjoyable. I’m kinda nervous and shaky though right now. Kay, I gotta go to church now … lol.

A short time later, she went to a youth dance at the Mormon church her family belongs to. 

Tonight was no dance. The judge gave her the maximum sentence allowed for a second-degree murder conviction. — life with the possibility of parole and a consecutive 30-year term for armed criminal action, stemming from the knife she used to slit Olten’s throat and stab her body. To make sure she was dead, she strangled her. 

According to the ColumbianMissourian website, under state guidelines, “Bustamante would have to serve 35 years and 5 months in prison before she is eligible for parole,” according to Missouri Department of Corrections spokesman Chris Cline. “It’s possible that the more than two years Bustamante spent in jail while awaiting her sentencing could be counted toward that time.

“After spending several weeks at a diagnostic prison, Bustamante could be placed in either one of Missouri’s two female prisons or sent out of state. Cline said department officials also would evaluate whether Bustamante should be kept separate from other adult female inmates.”

The now 18-year old was 15 when she committed the murder.

See: Emo Screamo Helter Skelter

And then there were none

Florida's Post Primary Election Headline...

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Emo Screamo Helter Skelter

“Today is my 18th birthday. I’ve sat in jail for over two years now. On October 21, 2009, I fulfilled my deepest desire to watch someone die by my own hands. I wanted to know what it would feel like to kill. It was fun! First, I slit the 9-year-old’s throat. Then, I strangled and stabbed her in the chest. Yes, yes, I watched her die with utter fascination. There’s nothing in the world like it and I found out there’s no higher rush than watching vibrant eyes slowly dim. The gasping and gurgling sounds in her throat were real turn-ons.

“Some people called me an emo. I don’t care; call me what you want, it doesn’t matter. I am a cold-blooded murderer. I was only 15 when I slaughtered Elizabeth Olten. My name is Alyssa Bustamante.”*

Three weeks ago, on January 10, Bustamante stood before Cole County Circuit Court Judge Patricia Joyce in a Jefferson City, Missouri courtroom and pleaded guilty to second-degree murder and armed criminal action. She was originally charged with first-degree murder. Her trial was set to start on Monday, January 30.

Judge Joyce asked her if she understood she was giving up her right to a trial. She said yes. Staring straight into the judge’s eyes, she admitted everything, “I strangled her and stabbed her in the chest.”

“Did you cut her throat, too?” the judge inquired.

“Yes,” Bustamante responded.

The reduced murder charge is due to her plea in lieu of a trial, which will save taxpayers a small fortune. On the plus side, the plea does not include any agreement on a reduced sentence. In other words, no deal was made, so she faces 10 years to life in prison for the murder charge, and no less than 3 years for the armed criminal action charge, defined by Missouri law as:

571.015. 1. Except as provided in subsection 4 of this section, any person who commits any felony under the laws of this state by, with, or through the use, assistance, or aid of a dangerous instrument or deadly weapon is also guilty of the crime of armed criminal action and, upon conviction, shall be punished by imprisonment by the department of corrections and human resources for a term of not less than three years. The punishment imposed pursuant to this subsection shall be in addition to any punishment provided by law for the crime committed by, with, or through the use, assistance, or aid of a dangerous instrument or deadly weapon. No person convicted under this subsection shall be eligible for parole, probation, conditional release or suspended imposition or execution of sentence for a period of three calendar years.

What prompted a young girl to commit such a crime? Was it something inherent in her DNA? Was she destined to be a murderer or was she merely conditioned by outside influences; a product of her own culture and upbringing?

No doubt, Alyssa Bustamante could readily be classified as an emo, but what are emos, and where did the term come from? Clearly, I am not a stereotypical stereotyper. I believe that we are mostly responsible for our own actions, with few exceptions. Certainly, if provoked by a serious threat to our well-being, a defensive reaction would be necessary, and that could include killing a perpetrator. In the case of Elizabeth Olten, Bustamante schemed to kill this child. Whether Olten was the intended victim all along, I don’t know, but they lived very close to each other in St. Martins, a small town just west of Jefferson City.

What, exactly, is an emo?

I guess it’s rather difficult to describe exactly what an emo is because no two people are alike. I am a product of the 60s, and there’s no single definition for a hippie. Some were peace-loving draft dodgers. Others were pot smokers. Some dropped acid and some just dropped out of the mainstream thinking of the masses at the time. You know, a counter-culture philosophy of eschewing the establishment. Peace. Right on. Out of sight, man.

I imagine we could look at Charles Manson as a prime example of a message gone awry. The Beatles song “Helter Skelter” had nothing to do with racism in America, serial killings or hatred of all things pig; as in da fuzz. Cops. Dirty coppers. Paul McCartney wrote the tune as a response to The Who’s Pete Townsend, who wrote the single, “I Can See For Miles.” “Helter Skelter” was inspired by a spiralling amusement park ride and it was intended to prove McCartney’s critics wrong for accusing him of only writing ballads.

Unfortunately, Charles Manson interpreted it as a perfect opportunity to wage a war between blacks and whites, in which racism was  more pronounced then. Power to the People and all. By killing wealthy whites, society would blame blacks, as they were called back then, and retaliate. Racist upheaval! What a concept.

What’s strange was that Manson literally had power over his people, called his “Family” members. Sex was rampant. Through drug-induced orgies, he brainwashed his Family into committing horrible crimes; murdering and slashing a quite pregnant actress, Sharon Tate. That’s just for starters, of course, because more people were slaughtered, but my point is merely that some people are more influenced than others. Despite my involvement in the culture at the time, I was more of a follower of John Lennon, who sang about giving peace a chance. That and my religious upbringing.

Emos are in another world, cleaved from the counter-culture of Punk and Indie rock music.  While the term emo can be traced to the mid-80s through music, it didn’t come into its own until after 9/11. According to Andy Greenwald, author of Nothing Feels Good: Punk Rock, Teenagers, and Emo:

“The media business, so desperate for its self-obsessed, post-9/11 predictions of a return to austerity and the death of irony to come true, had found its next big thing. But it was barely a ‘thing,’ because no one had heard of it, and those who had couldn’t define it. Despite the fact that the hedonistic, materialistic hip-hop of Nelly was still dominating the charts, magazine readers in the summer of ‘02 were informed that the nation was deep in an introverted healing process, and the way it was healing was by wearing thick black glasses and vintage striped shirts. Emo, we were told, would heal us all through fashion.”

Today, emos are generally considered to be emotional, sensitive, shy, introverted and/or angst-ridden; angst meaning a feeling of insecurity, anxiety and apprehension. They can be nervous wrecks on the inside. Sometimes, they harm themselves by cutting their arms and wrists, and occasionally, they take it beyond that by deciding suicide is the way out. Bustamante cut herself, but she took a different path by killing someone else.

Hannah Bond was a wrist-cutting emo living in Kent, UK. In September of 2007, she hanged herself in her family home. On the evening she died, she had argued with her mother over spending the night at a friend’s house. Losing the argument, she said, “I feel like killing myself.” An hour later, she did just that.

Both her mother, Heather Bond, and the coroner blamed emo music for her death at the official inquest. It seems that some emo music glamorizes suicide. Apparently, she had been part of an Internet “emo” cult and her Bebo page contained an image of an emo girl with bloody wrists. At the inquest, it was also learned that Hannah discussed, online, the glamorous part of hanging herself after showing her father her cut wrists, a ritual, which was part of her emo initiation. (See: Emo Girl — Hannah Bond)

Heather told the inquest that she had studied the emo phenomenon since Hannah’s untimely death. “There are websites that show pink teddies hanging themselves,” she stated. “She [Hannah] called emo a fashion and I thought it was normal.”

Little did she know.

We may never know why Alyssa Bustamante chose to murder Elizabeth Olten instead of taking her own life, which she attempted to do in 2007. During the sentencing hearing, set for February 6-7, Cole County prosecutor Mark Richardson and public defenders Donald Catlett and Charles Moreland will present evidence for Judge Joyce to consider before rendering a final decision. Will Bustamante speak on her own behalf? Will she blame herself or something else? I don’t know, but until then, here’s something for you to ponder… What does this picture remind you of? Whose name do you associate it with?

Murder is a strange thing. Sometimes, you get away with it. Sometimes, you don’t.

*Not a direct quote

Once Upon A Time...

NOW

At my 40th class reunion in November 2011

 THEN

My high school yearbook photo

I know, I know… WHAT HAPPENED!?

This Psycho-Babble Takes the Case

‘ABLOWING’ HIS OWN HORN

There are good shrinks and there are bad shrinks. We look at Drs. Danziger and Weitz as being good ones, right? Dr. Keith Ablow, however… well, let’s just say I have a problem with his analysis of Ms. Anthony; certainly no mother-of-the-year back in 2008. Read the entire article Ablow wrote for FOX NEWS. Then, if it suits your fancy, come back (here) and offer up your own opinion. Say whatever you want because I really need to know if I lost my senses…

What Casey Anthony’s psychiatry records tell us — Did Casey really kill Casey?

Personally, I think the world is full of psychotic nuts… er… or maybe I should say nutty psychiatrists. I don’t know, I’m still stunned right now. I think I am, therefore, I am, I think. Or am I?

Leafy Things... with a Dash of Dirt

I’m sure you know there’s more than one explanation for the word leaf.  The Dictionary.com website describes it as “one of the expanded, usually green organs borne by the stem of a plant” and “any similar or corresponding lateral outgrowth of a stem.” It’s safe to say that leaves grow on trees. It’s also true that a leaf could be a two-sided page in a book.

Speaking of trees, I really wanted to write about a tree today, but the book on that is closed at the moment. This was no ordinary tree, mind you, because it was older than Moses and quite majestic. Until several issues are resolved, the tree story will have to wait. In the meantime, I will tell you about a leaf or two in a couple of books.

The winner of the autographed copy of Jeff Ashton’s book, Imperfect Justice, has been notified. While keeping this person’s identity as close to the vest as possible, I will tell you it was Charlee, who lives in Texas. Like I promised, I put all entries in a hat, although I really used a big kitchen bowl instead, and my mother picked the e-mail address while it dangled above her head, sight unseen. Interestingly, today is Charlee’s birthday, so it couldn’t have happened on a better day. Congratulations Charlee, and Happy Birthday!

I think most of you are aware by now that I was mentioned in Ashton’s book. Not only did he reference me as Dave Knechel and Marinade Dave, he even managed to spell my last name correctly. Trust me, Knechel is not an easy one. Of course, I personally thanked him for the acknowledgement and for getting it right.

The second one was brought to my attention by someone you know from my blog and elsewhere around the Internet, Karen C. She told me about a book, From Crime Scene to Courtroom, written by famed forensic pathologist/lawyer Cyril H. Wecht, MD, JD, and noted true-crime journalist Dawna Kauffmann. Subtitled Examining The Mysteries Behind Famous Cases, this book examines the mysteries behind Michael Jackson, Casey Anthony, Drew Peterson, Brian Jones, and more, as the cover asserts.

When Karen told me about this book, of course, I had to order one. While it showed me in a positive light, it managed to get my name wrong. Oh, Knechel was right, but I’m not David L. Knechel, as the book states on page 68 and in the index. I’m David B. Knechel and I have no idea where the “L” came from. Okay, it’s a small mistake, but I did call the publisher this morning to request a correction in subsequent printings. I made it a point to say I was not complaining. As I am well aware, all editors hate mistakes.

In the book, I am described as “an Orlando-based writer, graphic artist, and barbecue aficionado, whose website is called MarinadeDave.com.” Granted, a marinade does not a barbecue sauce make, but back when I was manufacturing and selling it, several of my friends purposely asked me, “Hey Dave, how’s your barbecue sauce doing?” knowing full-well it was not a barbecue sauce.

It only took me a few times of quickly correcting them: “It’s a marinade, not a barbecue sauce!!!” that I finally grasped their only intent — to upset me.

I remembered from years ago how one of my closest friends got exceptionally angry when we asked him how his condo was doing.

“It’s not a condo, *&^*#%^&*()*!! It’s a townhouse!!!” Trust me, I got over the barbecue/marinade joke very early on, and when they still tried, I answered them calmly and ignored what they called it.

On page 75 of the book, I am mentioned again. “The press corps was out in full force for the Anthony trial. Attending some, if not all, of the proceedings were national figures like Nancy Grace, Jane Velez-Mitchell, Jean Casarez, Beth Karas, Geraldo Rivera, Greta Van Susteren, Ashleigh Banfield, and Diane Dimond of thedailybeast.com, as well as local print, television, and radio journalists — among them blogger ‘Marinade Dave’ Knechel, who covered the case for Orlando magazine.”

Trust me, I am highly flattered. Yes, of course, I became part of this case, and there’s no denying it. Fortunately, none of the real and true investigators and authors have implicated me in any way, shape or form of scheming to take down Judge Strickland. That was only the fodder of simple-minded people, including a blogger who shall remain nameless for now.

In any event, I did lay out my plans with a book editor today. I was told it was a good concept as long as it also contains facts about the actual case, along with the sordid details. I know if I do, names will be exposed, including two people who claimed to be in the courtroom daily during the trial when they were not there. One “reported” on a blog and the other is mentioned in the above list. Sorry, I guess you’ll just have to wait.

Discernment

To everyone who’s not following the Michelle Parker/Dale Smith case, this post will be meaningless.

But for those of you who are, these may help a little by showing the entire white van.

Inside his garage is a red pickup truck. That is the everyday vehicle. Notice that it is a two-vehicle garage and on the day Michelle was last seen, the white van was parked in the driveway and then on the street. It could mean nothing if he needed to move it out of the way to go out in his pickup. The photo of the camera is the one watching the entrance, looking out toward Goldenrod Road.

All photos taken with 16mp camera with 15x optical zoom. These three images reduced in scale from originals. Free to use.