Remember Randolph Dial?Surely yon reader remembers?
This man was in jail but “escaped” from jail with a little help from the assistant warden’s wife, Bobbi Jo Parker.
Who never bothered to escape from her captor, the charismatic Mr. Dial, FOR OVER TEN YEARS!
It seems Mr. Dial doth protest too much in the tidbit below, gleaned from the true crime newsgroup. For the gallant man is willing to admit his guilt if only they would leave poor Bobbi Jo alone.
But let’s just suppose, just for the hell of it, that Bobbi Jo Parker helped Dial escape?
Should she just walk?
Who Is Randolph Dial-HERE
In the letter, Dial wrote that he would plead guilty to the escape charge that was filed when authorities said he fled the Oklahoma State Reformatory in Granite in 1994. He would plead guilty to kidnapping Bobbi Parker should charges ever be brought, and serve five years after his life sentence for murdering martial arts instructor Kelly Hogan was complete, Hogan wrote.
The only catch was that prosecutors couldn't charge Bobbi Parker or anyone else for allegedly helping him to escape or harboring him afterward.
"My reason for offering the above terms is obvious and quite simple," Dial wrote, addressing Wampler.
"First, I am guilty of both crimes. Second ... I alone kidnapped her and immediately placed a terrible yoke of fear upon every aspect of her life for 10 1/2 years..."
Dial, now 60, left with Parker, now 43, on Aug. 30, 1994, authorities said. He had trusty status and access to a kiln in the garage of Bobbi and Randy Parker's home.
Bobbi Parker, Randy Parker - who was an assistant warden at Granite and is now warden at the William S. Key Correctional Center at Fort Supply - and their daughters should be spared the pain of being put under an investigative microscope, Dial said.
"I believe all agree the entire Parker family, especially (daughters) Robbi and Brandi, have suffered enough to last 10 lifetimes," Dial wrote.
~~~~~~~~~~
BTK-Dennis Rader-Back in the News AgainMostly because on June 28,2005 he pled guilty to ten counts of murder.
It’s interesting he is going to avoid a trial. Mostly because of his wife and family, I suspect.
Although his testimony during his plea hearing was graphic, shocking and repulsive. He described how he attacked the Otero Family, how he killed the little girl, how it took a couple of tries to strangle some of his victims.
Here’s a guy should, but won’t, be heading right to the death chamber.
God Bless You Dennis Rader. For your pride in your crimes belongs to only you. And the hot flames of hell awaiting your arrival are just for you as well.
There’s a rumor around that the lovely Mr. Rader is dying. Which is why he pled guilty, or so goes the scuttlebutt.
I don’t believe it. This is a man so involved in himself that he would actually LIKE to be dying of cancer. Brings him more attention.
FROM KSN News:
"Could that be because the alleged BTK killer is dying? A recent issue of the National Enquirer claimed the 60-year-old dog catcher has been diagnosed with colon caner and wanted notoriety for his evil crimes before he died.
The article even quoted Rader as saying: "I’ve been diagnosed with colon cancer and I’ve decided not to seek treatment."
Dennis Rader tells KSN News none of that is true. "Seeing him face to face, just two feet away across the glass, he looked much thinner. I asked him about that and he commented. I said ’you know there have been reports out there that you have cancer.’ He told me no, but there was a concerned look in his eyes." "
~~~~~~~~~~
Shasta Groene Found!Spotted by a night owl waitress at Denny’s who stands to get the $100,000 reward money.
Shasta was with a “level 3” sexual predator named Joseph Duncan. According to the police spokesperson, Duncan has demanded a lawyer and isn’t talking.
Shasta’s brother, Dylan, is believed dead although there’s precious little information coming out of that Idaho police department.
Groene Blog Post 1Groene Blog Post 2Below are two links to what are alleged to be Joseph Duncan’s web site. Imagine the man is a Blogger! People have taken to posting just what they think of Duncan and it’s not good. There’s also a link to his resume online. Both links are included below but I don’t know how long they will be there.
At the time of this writing, Sunday 7/3/05, the Blogspot link is still there (with 477 comments!) but pics and some parts seem to be missing.
Duncan’s a Blogger!His Resume
From KREM.com
COEUR D'ALENE - Shasta Groene, the 8-year-old girl who disappeared with her brother Dylan six weeks ago from their home on Wolf Lodge Bay where their family members were bludgeoned to death was found early Saturday morning a few miles away at a Denny's restaurant in Coeur d'Alene.
At an 11 a.m. press conference Captain Ben Wolfinger said that initial information - which has yet to be confirmed - was that 9-year-old Dylan "may be deceased."
"Unfortunately we do not believe that Shasta's brother Dylan is alive," Captain Wolfinger said.
~~~~~~~~~~
Latest in ArubaYesterday the Aruba Three were taken to the beach where they allegedly left Natalee Holloway.
On some Blog I saw them referred to as “Urine, Sixpack, and Hashish”.
I like it.
Supposedly, according to Fox, the boys, Urine, Sixpack and Hashish, are going to show investigators where they left Natalee.
Who wanted, so Urine says, to stay on a dark beach by herself.
~~~~~~~~~~
More True Crime Updates HERE
The New Food Network StarAs reality shows go, especially the few aimed at would-be cooks, this recent series on Food Network has it down pat.
It wasn't overdone with endless weeks of hype. Although as a cable network such as FoodTv presents the same show about five thousand times during any one week.
Still, this past Sunday night, 6/26/05, the finale of that network's "Next FoodTV Star" efficiently presented eliminations from four, to three until the final two. Both of whom were then turned over to the viewing audience for the final winner.
In between all this action, we had Eric, a lovable roly-poly black fellow, who made what appeared to be a wonderful seafood platter he called "Kissing Cousins". The dish included lobster, scallops and much more but with the first two ingredients I was sold.
Susannah, the would-be "cooking-lite" guru, too prepared what appeared to be a delicious dish no mind the missing calories. Hers was a Thai chicken dish.
The challenges were quick and creative. The remaining four contestants by this final night, included Hans, Susannah, Dan & Steve, and Deborah.
Deborah, who ended up in second place, was a personable and pretty black woman who would mysteriously instruct viewers to add some of "Daddy's spices" during her food preparation. She also made a serious faux-pas during one challenge when asked how long to cook pork chops. She failed to give a set amount of time, but instead kept insisting they should be cooked until "they're done".
The finalists had what was called a "market challenge". Their mission was to prepare a meal from the contents of a market basket. The contestants also had to cook while answering questions from the press and all had a guest appearance in a cooking show with another celebrated chef.
Eventually it came down to Deborah and Steve and Dan.
Steve and Dan, it must be explained, are out-of-the-closet homosexuals. Indeed I text-messaged my own vote in for this unusual duo.
They work well together, cook with a flair, bring along a smart and cocky comic routine and hey, admit it, this is a premise that is certainly different.
Had I chance I would have phoned up Susannah, the diet cooking guru, and told her early on she didn't have a chance.
The woman resembled Rachel Ray entirely too much. There was no way she would win that competition although I'm speculating. Having two Rachel Rays on one Food network would simply not do.
As for Steve and Dan, their new show is scheduled to premiere in September of this year. It will be called "Soup to Nuts".
I wish them luck and have every intention of tuning in.
This post is also available at
Blogger News Network.
Review-“I Want to be a Hilton”-6/28/08 EpisodeAh, the good life.
The contestants on NBC’s “I Want to Be a Hilton” were treated to an afternoon of Polo at the Hamptons in this past episode on Tuesday, June 28, 2005 in this year of our Lord.
Said polo match viewed by the likes of Russell Simmons and David Lee Roth. Who the star-struck contestants got to meet.
On to business and this week the contestants were challenged to hold both a “pink ribbon estate sale” and an auction.
To no one’s surprise, especially this viewer, the two Hilton daughters showed up on the scene. Certainly the public would not have tolerated this Hilton series without the infamous Paris to help things along.
It was then required that the contestants go to some sort of nightclub, all to aid in “publishing” the coming charity events.
Which was for the benefit breast cancer. Kathy Hilton informed the contestants this was “giving back”.
An interesting term. And one used often by the wealthy and lazy to help justify their existence.
“Giving Back” is the term popularly used when those of means contribute to, or coordinate, a charitable event. It’s certainly not a bad thing and it’s perhaps mean-spirited to call those giving back the “wealthy and lazy”.
So often these things are merely social events; forays where the moneyed can see and be seen. The nobility of the cause is of far lesser value than the chance for the social set to be regarded as the caring and kind people they may not be. At least as The Wise I sees it. Although acknowledged that it’s no mind the impetus, if worthy charities received needed funds than I must suppose it’s win-win.
There was a bit of drama in this past episode in that all of the female contestants were invited to raid Paris’ closet for suitable clothes for the night out. An invitation greeted eagerly by the contestants. Except for Latricia, a big lady who would not fit into a thing Paris Hilton wears.
Latricia sent the other contestants on their way, assuring them that she was fine. They begged her to come along but Latricia had nothing suitable to wear one must assume. Latricia teared up a bit but later informed the ever present camera that the whole gang of them were getting on her “very last nerve”. How I know the feeling.
Before the gang could take off, Kathy Hilton appeared and cajoled Latricia to go along. Which Latricia did, lamenting that the gang had sicced the “big guns” on her.
Said drama was supposed to assure us that the Hiltons did indeed have big hearts and would not think of excluding Latricia of the improper dress. I don’t for a minute think any of this would happen in the Hiltons’ “real” life.
The next day, despite pouring rain, the estate sale and auction went off as planned. Both the sale and auction items included items contributed by the Hiltons, including Paris’ sweet sixteen dress and a treasured tiara she wore on her 21st birthday. Paris nicely wore the tiara as demonstration, saying that everyone should have a tiara on their birthday. While The Wise I has never had a tiara for her birthday and wouldn’t wear it had one been given.
But that’s just me.
The auctioneers as designated by each team were telling.
Johnny, the contestant eliminated this past week, seemed a natural choice for the job on behalf of the Madison team. Handsome Johnny demurred for fear he would slip in too many cuss words. I am NOT making this up.
So Ann took the job and she was awful. Ann had some idea that she should upbeat and perky, once laughing to the auction crowd that “we’ve got to get rid of breast cancer”.
A very odd way to put it.
For the remainder of the auction she pranced amid the audience, making silly remarks about the items for sale, sometimes demonstrating their use in a very un-artful manner.
Rashad was the designated auctioneer for the Park team. He did a fine, sober job and indeed the Park team ended up raising the most money.
So someone on the Madison team had to go. At which point the audience was treated to a rather bizarre session with Yvette and Johnny tattle-telling on each other. Seems the two had romance intentions for each other except Yvette thought it far more serious than Johnny.
Johnny was sent home.
In this last episode I gained a new appreciation for Latricia. A focal character in this series although I’m not sure how long she’s going to last.
For Latricia has no more business being in this contest than, well, me.
She’s a big lady with a tough exterior covering a tender heart. She’s street-smart and world-wise. My guess is that she’s the contestant featured so predominantly as she is the antithesis of everything Hilton. Latricia would be a perfect candidate for transformation from bag lady to socialite for the series’ final “reveal”.
I wish the big lady luck if this is what she really wants. If nothing else, Latricia, I hope you win the money.
Latricia, you’ll make a lousy Hilton. And by me, this is a good thing.
This post is also available at
Blogger News Network.
More TV Reviews HERE
The Ghost of Independence Day "And I'm proud to be an American,
Where at least I know I'm Free,
And I won't forget the men who died
Who gave that right to me," The country-western voice of Lee Greenwood droned in the background as I peeled my eleventh crab and sipped my fifth beer. I was surrounded by a group of guys that, until today, I had never seen before in my life. And we were having a wonderful time.
"I tell you," Joe McNeal said, as he artfully snapped open a crab, removed the "devil" and tore into the backfin. Joe was the only other person in our group who was a native Marylander and this was most reflected in his ability to deftly open a crab. "The Internet is great. But to be here in person, ah...there ain't nothing like it."
Joe grabbed his beer mug with Old Bay encrusted fingers and took a long swig at this wisdom.
Gary Barowski wiggled his fingers ostentatiously to remove the flecks of crab meat, then grabbed his beer for a toast to the sentiment of Joe McNeal. As Gary called out a "here, here", the rest of us grabbed our beers to join the toast, not that even a comment on the weather wouldn't have prompted a boozy honorarium.
The weather was beautiful indeed, that sunny July 4, 1998 that found me there in The Crab Garden with almost twenty fellow web-surfers, list members, newsgroup afficionados and email pen pals.
The idea came when Joe, who I only knew as a co-member of the newsgroup "alt.joke.tasteless", put a post on his Birdchat list inviting anyone in the Baltimore/DC area to come on down to Charm City for a Fourth of July crab and beer party.
The invitation went out on many threads and over many servers. By the middle of June, there were ten committed and five un-sures. By July 2, the expected attendance had swelled to over twenty. Then, on July 4 and in the city of Baltimore, there were over thirty computer geeks enjoying the traditional crabs and beer without which the Fourth of July would not be the same. Since most of the attendees, not that I personally knew many of them, were from around the Maryland area, the group was comfortable and could find their way easily around a steamed hard crab.
Except for the fellow sitting three people up the table and across from me. I watched as he held a crab in his hand and twirled it round and round as if examining it for specie identification. Wesley Smythe, a member of Joe's garden newsgroup, came the farthest, and he was only from Pittsburgh. I couldn't imagine why the fellow, whose name I could not remember as I watched him painfully regard the crab, seemed so confused by the food before him.
"And I'd gladly stand up
Next to you
And defend her still today
For there ain't no doubt
I love this land
God bless the USA" The voice of Lee Greenwood continued with this patriotic song so appropriate on that patriotic day. Along the length of our table, the sounds of mallets and crab shells intertwined with talk of computers, sports, email, list owners, spouses, children and the Internet.
"Man. I'm glad that's over," I heard a voice next to me comment when Greenwood finished his jingoistic lyrics.
I snapped a crab claw in exactly the right manner to extract a wad of perfectly formed claw meat. "You don't like country-western?" I asked of my seat mate who I only knew as Harold and that he had some connection to the Internet.
Hal pulled the back claw of the crab and tugged in that gentle but firm way that Marylanders know will result in a huge extraction of snowy-white backfin meat. He shook the claw with its luscious bounty as he explained.
"I like country-western okay. It's just the lyrics of the thing. Heck, it's all the patriotic songs and all the patriotic lyrics. They just don't make sense anymore. There was a time when the marching music and rousing songs had a purpose. Like World War II. When it was important to gather some form of solidarity. When there was an enemy."
Hal placed that crab claw in his mouth and looked to be in orgasmic bliss as he sucked the backfin meat off its claw holder.
"You saying we don't have enemies anymore?" I asked Hal as I tried the back claw trick my own self. The problem with doing this, it doesn't always work. Sometimes you snap that back claw off and rock it to and fro then give it a tug....arrrrrgh, the leg snaps off void of any backfin meat. Which is just what happened to my pathetic excuse for a crab.
"Count to three. Rock the claw and count...one thousand one, one thousand two....at three...snap gently. Voila!"
My seatmate , of course, saw my pitiful attempt to coerce the backfin, and, of course, also had to demonstrate just how it was done. And I was the Baltimore native there!
Hal did manage to get some backfin meat from my crab's other leg, which he generously handed to me.
"Oh we got enemies," he said as he turned his attention back to his own crab, "but small time. Saddam Hussein. Some of the terrorist groups. Sometimes Pierre Salinger is our enemy. But no big bad Russia, about to run us over with evil communist ways."
"And now with the Internet, it's almost as if countries didn't exist," a voice from across the table offered.
Hal and I both turned our attention to the owner. He was a small, kind of geeky guy I had been introduced to earlier but forgot who he was.
"I mean everyday, you click a button...boom, you're talking to people in Sweden, France, Australia, England. And they are just people, like us. After a while, you forget that you're an American and become just another cyberfreak. The Internet is doing away with national boundaries and songs like that Greenwood thing will soon be considered politically incorrect."
The geek across the table ended his short speech, wiped his hands of crab seasonings and was taken from the conversation pool by his seatmate. Then Hal got into some talk with the fellow next to him. I opened my crab with this window of conversational peace to ponder the concept of eliminated national boundaries and politically incorrect patriotic songs.
The whole thing made sense to me.
Not that I didn't love America as much as the next guy. I had even served a four year stint in the navy right before I met my wife and settled down to a life of teaching ninth grade English and surfing the net.
I was thirty-five years old the year of this Internet Independence Day party. I was too young to have been drafted into the Vietnam war, but I was old enough to remember it. I certainly remembered the Gulf War, if you could call that pitiful exercise a war. My father was in the marines during WW II and I was quite acquainted with this war.
So I certainly knew that America had enemies and there were some people on this planet who only understood force.
Still, as I opened another crab, I could also understand the sentiment as expressed by the geeky guy across from me. This guy, whose name was Eric I learned later, couldn't have been older then twenty-two.
When I looked at the thing from his age angle and life experiences, I could full well understand his viewpoint. He's never had to go to war with any of the people with whom he communicates on a daily basis.
I attempted another unsuccessful snap to obtain a backfin-filled claw and again with no luck. While I was thus preoccupied, the fellow down the table and whom I had noted for his lack of crab picking ability, sat down on the vacated bench next to me.
"What's the matter? Don't you know how to pick crabs?" I asked, eager to find out why.
"I don't care for crabs is all. I had one. It was enough."
He seemed a quiet man. I'd have guessed him to be in his mid-twenties. Unlike the other celebrants, John Soldier wore plain clothing and sported a very short haircut.
"No kidding....your name's Soldier?" I asked when John answered my request for his name.
"Yeah...it really is."
"And what do you do on the great big Internet, John?" I asked mostly out of politeness. Guy seemed kind of boring to me.
"Oh....I don't know computers. Never even seen one."
With this revelation I was required to set my crab down, wipe my fingers and take a few sips of beer. I also now had to pay close attention to this strange one.
I regarded him solemnly over my beer stein and as the liquid soothed my throat now irritated by flakes of Old Bay. Finally I set the beer glass down with a thud .
"So what the hell you doing here with a bunch of computer geeks, John? I mean you're welcome here and all. We're all a bunch of strangers anyway. But, however tenuous, we all do have participation in some forum on the Internet in common. You just see us and decide to join?"
I flashed John a friendly smile and retrieved my beer for more fluid. Heck, after the first two beers, I didn't care who came along. I could converse with all these other folks I didn't know, I could converse with this John Soldier guy.
"Something like that," John said quietly and shot me a quick grin. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with ...Hal, is it?" John said, pointing to the fellow on my left. I nodded.
"And Eric?" John asked again, nodding in the direction of geeky Eric who was now down the table and loudly discussing the merits of Unix over Dos. Again, I nodded that Eric was the other conversation participant.
"Do you really think it would ever be politically incorrect to love your country? Do you really not believe that America is the greatest country on earth?"
I stopped swallowing beer in mid-sip at the vehemence of John's tirade. Whew boy, I thought, guys a patriotic nut whose last name probably was NOT Soldier. Feeling the generosity of the beer, I decided to go along.
"So much has happened in the past one hundred years. Electricity was once a luxury. Telephones had four numbers. And the only computers around were big mainframes used by the Department of Motor Vehicles. Now, electricity is a necessity. Heck, everyone has a telephone plus one in their pocket and one in their car. And computers! Even rednecks are getting computers!"
I grabbed a pitcher of beer and filled a glass in John's vicinity. I pointed to it as indication that he should drink . John picked up the glass, took a quick sip, then set it down seriously upon the table. I knew I would have to get a few beers in him so he would loosen up.
"Why does any of this mean that patriotism is dead? Or that America isn't the greatest country on earth?"
Well now, when he put it this way. I put my beer down and studied my crab. I guessed I was going to have to do some more explaining.
"Patriotism isn't dead. We all love America. Just like we love the Orioles. Or the Ravens. Like Wesley Smythe loves the Steelers. But the concept that America is better than other countries, well, other than maybe Botswania or something, it just isn't like that anymore."
"Why not?"
This John Soldier certainly was a curious fellow.
I cracked open my crab, cleared out the devilish lungs, ran my finger around the lid of the crab to scoop up some mustard and plopped it in my mouth. While thus engaged, I considered why not.
"Well, I guess the philosophers would say that closer you get to other cultures and nationalities the less strange they get. While the Internet doesn't let you get familiar enough to breed contempt, it does tend to blur the concept of borders and jingoism."
I then broke off the back claw of my crab, counted one thousand one to three then gently tugged. The claw came off and a large morsel of backfin was attached to it. As I stuck this morsel in my mouth, I looked at my buddy John Soldier, amazed at my verbosity and wisdom. I set the crab down and grabbed my glass of beer. Before I could bring it to my mouth for a sip, I went on a monumental coughing jag. I coughed so hard that several of those around me patted my back and shoved glasses of beer in my face. Even John Soldier patted my back solicitously.
But the coughing wouldn't stop and I had to excuse myself. I ran to the men's room where I immediately threw up.
As I wiped my face clean and swallowed huge gulps of tap water to rid my mouth of the sour taste, I happened to look in the mirror. John Soldier stood behind me and soberly watched my wretchedness. At the sight of his reflection I grabbed a paper towel and attempted a return to physical normalcy. I wasn't feeling well at all.
"America is the best country on earth. Tonight you will find out why."
After stating this, John Soldier...well, he disappeared.
I finished wiping my face and hurried out to the crab feast. The group of cyber-friends were still swilling beer and eating crabs. My eyes searched the faces for John Soldier. He was nowhere in sight.
By this time, and no mind the disappearing Soldier, my stomach was as queasy as if on a seriously rocking sailboat. I pulled a bill out of my pocket and informed Joe McNeal, the celebration's quasi-host, that I must bid adieu.
"Hey, don't forget tomorrow. We're all going to meet at Fort McHenry. 1:00 in the afternoon. You'll be there?"
At that moment I only cared to be laying on a stationary bed in the hopes that my stomach would follow the bed's example. I promised Joe that I would indeed be at Fort McHenry the following day. I had no intention of showing up.
I had quit the crab feast a little after 8:00 pm. When I finally made it home, I found the note that informed me that my wife and kids were out shopping. With the promise of peace, I climbed into the bed and fell asleep, not to awaken until the following morn.
My wife told me that I slept very restless that night. When she came home, she removed my shoes , then pulled the covers over me. So I know I was in my bed that night, at least according to my wife.
The strange thing is that sometime during that night, I visited Greece, England and South Africa. And my guide was none other than John Soldier.
When he appeared at the foot of my bed, I still felt woozy enough to inquire about the meaning of his presence in a most polite manner considering this was my bedroom and in my house.
"Just who the hell are you?" I asked to my imagination.
"I am the unknown soldier," the apparition that looked liked the fellow I had just conversed with earlier in the eve, responded.
"Sure," I sneered, "And I'm going to be beamed up to Hale-Bopp."
"I am the unknown soldier and I am going to show you why America is now, and will always be, the best country on earth."
Now with this beer hangover and queasy stomach that objected vehemently to that last crab no mind the backfin, I was in no mood to engage in midnight debates with whatever or whoever this was. It was to come, however, that I would have no choice.
For before I could acknowledge my stomach's distress, I found myself in ancient Greece.
At least that's where John Soldier said we were. And you could have fooled me, because it was some sort of strange square filled with men in women's garb and reading hand-written journals.
"They are engaged in the earliest debates on democracy and the freedom of the individual," the unknown John Soldier whispered in my ear. "This is the cradle of civilization. The lessons and philosophies of these men are still seriously studied and held in high regard." John then pointed to a man across the way who was seated on a large boulder and engaged in an animated discussion with the youths seated around him. "That's Aristotle," John whispered.
Sure that's Aristotle, I thought, although I admit that ancient Greece's weather agreed with my illness. I felt as if I hadn't a beer in ages and never ate that bad crab.
Before I could comment to the Soldier guy that Aristotle didn't have any leaves on his head, I found myself in some sort of courtroom filled with men wearing white wigs.
"This is an early English courtroom," John whispered in my ear. "Those gentlemen are barristers and they are arguing some of the finer points of the Magna Carta."
Oh please Mr. Soldier, I thought; although I was kind of enjoying this strange journey and it sure beat battling a hangover and the effects of bad crab. And before I could make a wisecrack about men who wear curly wigs, I found myself in some sort of jungle place. There was a small building and a long line of black people snaked down the entry sidewalk and around to the side.
"This is South Africa. Those black people are registering to vote for the first time in their history."
I didn't have much sarcasm for this. There must have been over a thousand people in line, many of them elderly and infirm. It amazed me that some of them had almost lived their entire life before they were finally granted freedom to vote. I remained silent at this sight.
My head began to reel again and my stomach reminded me of its nauseousness. I opened my eyes with a start and realized I was back in my own bed. John Soldier, however, was still standing by the stead and he had some more to say.
"Now do you understand?" he asked. "Do you understand why America is the best country on earth?"
In fact, I did not. Although I would have argued with the apparition that I thought America the best country on earth mostly because I lived here. But I saw no connection to the powdered wigs, ancient Greeks and blacks in South Africa. Given the unrelenting queasiness of my stomach, I almost asked Mr. Soldier to take me on some more trips.
"This is the best country on earth because it is the YOUNGEST nation on earth. America has the benefit of all the trials, errors and victories of the human spirit that occurred long before America was conceived much less your wonderful Internet. From the ancient Greeks who offered their philosophies... to the English who drafted the Magna Carta long before any American fashioned a constitution... to the South Africans that suffered the failure of a social system that would cast as outcasts its very natives....from all this...America has the benefit."
I finally found myself able to sit up without fear of fainting. I remained mute with the unknown soldier's narration.
Although John Soldier didn't seem the sort to be a technophobe, somehow he managed to play a newsreel and use my mind as the projector screen. In a five minute time span, images flashed through my mind that could only be explained by the presence of this weird Soldier at the foot of my bed.
From an aerial view, I saw flashes of New York's Chinatown, Baltimore's Little Italy, a Greek Orthadox wedding, a young Jewish boy's Bar Mitzvah, a German Octoberfest and the St. Patrick's Day Parade. As the images sputtered through my mind, an American flag always flew proudly in the background.
The movie of my mind stopped and the unknown soldier again spoke.
"America brings the knowledge and experiences of many civilizations. Being a "melting pot" of cultures, races and creeds keeps this country strong, healthy and diversified. No Internet can change that."
Physically, I felt fine after the newsreel. Mentally, I was just a bit confused. From then on, the night was black and dreamless.
"Hey, we've been here almost an hour! Glad you could make it."
Joe McNeal held out his hand for a re-introductory handshake, and introduced several other males in the vicinity. As Joe rattled off over ten names, I noted that none were named John Soldier. None of them looked like him either.
"Well, I think we've waited long enough. If anyone else shows up, they will have to find us." Joe McNeal said, then turned to walk up the incline of the Fort McHenry hill that led to the park's information center. Like many of the national parks, a movie was offered that would describe the history of this birthplace of America's national anthem. As a Baltimore native, I had been to Fort McHenry before. For several of our out-of-town visitors, this visit was a first time treat and experience. I sat down in the chair to watch the movie I seen at least five times prior.
My mind wandered during the movie narration. The events of my prior night seemed very real to my boozy mind. Here, in the light of day no mind the movie-darkened room, I realized that the dream of John Soldier with trips to the past and across the country was just that, a dream caused by too much beer and bad crabs. I would put my concerns to rest.
Sitting in the darkened theater and just to my right was the geek Eric. I knew that he saw me speaking to John Soldier yesterday. I whispered to Eric if he knew the identity of the strange guy with the short haircut.
Eric denied having seen any such person, much less my own self engaged in conversation with him. I then tapped the shoulders of all those around me to inquire if they had seen, much less knew, the fellow who called himself John Soldier at the crab feast and the unknown soldier in my dreams. All denied seeing him at all much less in my presence.
The movie was now at an end. Even though I should have been prepared, I was as surprised as the rest when the National Anthem began to play. Then the curtain to the right of the auditorium opened to the most magnificent sight on earth and even after six times in attendance, it still took my breath away.
As the powerful strains of the National Anthem played, the curtain that covers the entire glass side wall of the auditorium was opened. Just outside, the largest American flag in the world fluttered to the strains of its song.
We all stood as the anthem began. I heard the gasps of the crowd as the flag was revealed.
I stood stock still and listened to the strains of the National Anthem, here in that place where the song was written. I watched the huge flag billow and flap at the wind's slightest suggestion. From deep within me, a burst of pride bubbled forth.
As the flag flapped and flew, perhaps it was only I who could see the Bar Mitzvah then the Greek wedding then the Irish parade. From the deep blue of the star background, images of bewigged gentleman flashed briefly, than changed to a scene of ancient Greece.
Just as the final stanza of the song began, I am sure it was only I that saw the lone grave superimposed upon the large flag. The grave was decorated with a vase of flowers and a small American flag. The name on the tombstone indicated that buried below was the unknown soldier.
I'm positive that, as the final notes of the anthem performed their decrescendo, only I heard the soft words of John Soldier as he left my life forever:
"America IS the Internet.... in the form of one nation."
More Smashing Fiction HERE
