3 Americas: More Truth Than We Can Handle 01 America’s History Of Experimentation On Children With Disabilities (Like me)

(Last updated: November 9, 2021)
3 Americas: More Truth Than We Can Handle
Chapter 01
America’s History Of Experimentation On children With Disabilities (Like me)
by DR Wolfe

{As I continue a full revision, this is one of the new chapters from my revised autobiography, “3 Americas”.}

(Includes strong language and some descriptions of sex)

“Okay man, we’ll catch you later dude,” one of what I thought was my “best friends from Eaton Rapids High”, Dale Norton told me, as I got out.

It was still winter, although spring was definitely in the air. Dale and this other kid from high school named Brian Saule, who Dale once said was Jewish (although that may have just been another one of Dale’s bad jokes), and me had been drinking and smoking all night. We were all pretty baked, but Not to wasted to drive. So I know what happened next wasn’t an accident, or an honest mistake, but a very, very dangerous joke to play on a half-blind guy.

When I felt the car pull into my driveway I unbuckled my seat belt, and quickly jumped out.

I Followed the sidewalk until it ended. Then I took a sharp turn to the right and stepped on to the front porch. I carefully took out my keys to open the door when it happened.

I’ve done this dozens of times, so no big deal…so I thought. It was just two easy steps up to the front door, and then a dozen more stairs up to my bed.

But my keys wouldn’t fit! “Did my dad get angry and change the lock?” I wondered. Was he upset about my partying?

I don’t think we had stop partying since the fall, or I’m pretty sure we hadn’t missed a weekend since the New Year’s, Eve party.

As I continued to fumble with the keys, I began to wonder aloud–

“No way, he wouldn’t do that-” I think I said aloud.

Suddenly, the door burst open and I heard the voice of an angry man saying , “What do you think you’re doing!”

Using my limited vision, I could see this burley figure standing in front of me. At that moment, I remember thinking “Is he holding anything in his hand?” I couldn’t tell, so I froze.

“What the hell you doing!” He demanded to know.

“This isn’t my house, is it?” I innocently asked.

Maybe it was my puzzled look that said everything, but the man didn’t say anything else, as I stumbled back toward the driveway.

Even before I stepped off the porch, I could hear Dale’s old beater car pulling back into the driveway. And then I could hear the two of them laughing aloud, and that was all the explanation I needed..

Another dangerous stunt Dale once pulled started when he asked me if I wanted to go for a ride up to Lansing. It was early Sunday morning when we drove up along the highway that connected Lansing to Eaton Rapids. It was the same road Dale lived on.

About fifteen minutes later, he pulled into this office building parking lot and drove around to the back of the building. Sitting there, under a tarp, was a car that was the same exact model and color as Dale’s car. So Dale pulled up along side of the other car, and the two of us climbed under the tarp.

Dale pulled out some tools and began taking off the rear view mirror. About three or four minutes later a Lansing cop car pulled into the parking lot, and Dale said aloud, “Oh shit! It’s the cops.”

I stopped breathing, and we sat quietly, but the cops never stopped to check it out. And the very second they pulled away, Dale got out and quickly unbolted both of the doors, and threw them in his trunk…and we drove away. Although I didn’t start breathing again until we got back to his house, and parked around back.

Then one evening, the following winter , Dale came up to my dorm room at Michigan State University to party. I lived in Case Hall, one of the university’s three freshmen dorms. There was always a party going on somewhere. He ended up crashing on the floor and took off early the next morning. And sometime later that day I discovered my spring tuition money, about $400, was missing!

I reported it to the campus police who wanted to know everyone who had been in my room. And without me knowing, they arranged to have the Eaton Rapids Police Department speak to Dale about it. And apparently, they weren’t very nice about it.

While I had written the money off, I was eventually called by someone with the campus police who said “Your friend, Dale denied taking the money.” But I didn’t know anything else about what happened to Dale and the cops. I figured they called him, and had a conversation, and that was the end of that.

Then one evening, in what seemed like retaliation, about three weeks later Dale and his cousin Kip, from Jackson, Michigan, unexpectedly showed up at my dorm room and demanded that I give back a small, black and white television that Dale had given me the previous fall. Even though Dale would have been lucky to get $10 from any pawn shop for the TV, but he obviously wanted to make a point. The point that nobody fucks with Dale Norton.

Kip came over and put his body against mine, and pressed the pocket of his jacket against me, to let me know he was carrying something that felt like a gun. Then I was given a message, “Don’t fucking ever talked to the cops ever again.”

He obviously wanted me to think he was carrying, even though I never actually saw the gun. Although, under the law it doesn’t matter, if you think someone is threatening you with a gun, then they have a gun, whether you see it or not.

This means, According to the law both Dale and Kip should have been charged with armed robbery, but I decided to take their advice and say nothing. Even though Dale gave me the fairly worthless television (for as long as I needed it). In other words, he relinquished all rights to claim ownership later, for any reason, including revenge. He had absolutely no right to take it back.

The following summer Dale saw me sitting in a gas station parking lot with another kid I knew from the high school, Brent Mortimer (the guy who taught me most of what I know about playing guitar).

At the time I didn’t think about it, but the reason Brent probably pulled way over to the side of the parking lot, and pretended to be checking something on his car when it happened, was because someone told him to do it. In other words, Brent probably conspired with Dale to arrange this meeting. Which under the law would make Brent Mortimer an accessory after the fact, and an accessory to the armed robbery of the TV that was gifted to me by Dale. Or that’s what the law would probably say.

Before I knew what had happened, Dale came up along side of the car and reached his hand through the window and grabbed me by the throat!

he started screaming at me, “Your fucking sister and her boyfriend stole your money asshole!.” After a few seconds he let go, and walked away. Brent got back into the car and didn’t say anything, so I knew he set it up.

I found out later, Dale was right, my sister’s boyfriend stole the money. My little sister started dating this really creepy guy named “Billy Carter”. and if that wasn’t enough, I was ending a sexual relationship with an older, married female teacher, named “Judy Collins”.

I suppose you could say, the relationship with Mrs. Collins began when she was about seven or eight months pregnant with her second child. She was in charge of the Special Needs Room, which was also an ice cream parlor, where I did most of my testing and hung out.

One day while we were sitting alone in the ice cream room, after we were alone for a few minutes she asked me if I wanted to feel the baby move? Then she gently moved my hand to her swollen breast. Funny thing about our relationship, is that the daughter in her belly, when born, would be a couple years closer to my age.

A year before the incident in the car happened, , Brent, me, and some other friends who also played guitar were planning a major jam session that night for my graduation party. After picking up Brent’s amp and guitar from his house, we headed back to my house. Then for no reason Brent started swerving his car back and forth across both lanes of traffic. It was a very curvy, paved road with tall trees on both sides of the road, which meant you couldn’t see cars coming from the other direction.

Since I often road my bike along this curvy road up to the gravel pit, and I knew it was one of the most dangerous roads in the county. I instantly knew he was taking a big risk with my life by doing this, and for some reason, this time it really pissed me off!

So after telling him several times to “Knock it off”, I finally had enough and hauled off and slugged him in the side of the head.

In response, he slammed on the brakes and grabbed me by the throat, the same exact way Dale did to me a year later.

I braced for his return punch, clinching my jaw and my fist, but it never came.
Instead Brent began screaming at me, “Get the fuck out of my car!”

So I did, and walked the mile or so back to my house on Royston Road, glad to be alive.

Not surprisingly, a few months later Brent ended up crashing into a tree and permanently scarring the side of his face, after swerving off a road by his house. And a few months after that another kid from our class — the Class of ’78, Jim Trotsky, was killed in a car wreck on the same road where Brent had wrecked.

Brent was one of the best guitar players in Eaton Rapids at the time, so my campfire jam didn’t turn out to be what I had hoped for…but it probably wasn’t the worst thing to happen that day.

My sister insisted I invite this one older guy from the neighborhood named Monty to the party. And I agreed, I told her, as long as I didn’t have to invite his nasty little sister, Jane.

So this nineteen-year-old guy from the neighborhood, named Monty Parish, who I barely knew, took off with my fifteen-year-old sister sometime during the party, while I was busy playing guitar. And my sister ended up being another fatherless, teenage mom from Eaton Rapids. Not surprisingly, we never heard from Monty again after he apparently moved somewhere out west (like, maybe Oregon?).

My little sister would play this joke on most of the guys she slept with, telling them that she was pregnant, before she actually knew. But I suppose that’s the consequences for not using protection, I guess. But this one Native-American guy who lived around the corner, who I thought was pretty cool, put his fist through a window at school when she told him. Although in that case, and all but one other time, it turned out not to be true.

A few weeks after my graduation, Dale, his snobby girlfriend, Cindy Swartz, along with Saule and Kip had this great idea to take me camping and canoeing in the northern part of the lower peninsular of Michigan. After getting into an argument with Dale over not having planned for anything, including not stopping to get fresh water, I found myself lost and alone in the woods, with no water, only a pack of gum and a candy bar.

But not surprisingly, that’s what I get for going camping with a bunch of knuckleheads, and then going off to take a dump in the woods.

When I got back to the place where I thought the camp had been about twenty minutes later, My four “friends” were no where to be found.

A couple days later Dale and his girlfriend came over to my house to see how I was. They claimed they had spent an hour or two searching for me, after packing up the canoes and heading back up the river to where we had parked the car….but , there’s some good reasons for me to think some of this may not have been true.

I do know they had to contact law enforcement about Dale’s missing car, that had been towed away. So did they bother to mention anything about a half-blind kid, (who couldn’t read a street sign if his life depended on it) who came with them on their camping trip, and who was now missing, somewhere in the woods around there?

I always wondered, when they contacted the police, did they file a missing person report? And if not, then when were they planning to tell someone I was missing? Some time after my body was found in the woods?

It took abut an hour or so, but I kept watching the sun. This way I was able to keep heading southeast. And eventually I found my way out of the woods by listening to the distant sound of a nearby highway, which was nothing more than a paved country road. And ended up hitch-hiking the hundred miles or so back to Eaton Rapids, which is a story that is probably worth a chapter or two in itself.

After all of the “excitement”, I spent about a week in bed with some sort of bug (probably from the river water that I was forced to drink). I always wondered if they were drinking bottle water and laughing behind my back? It just seems strange that not one of them thought about fresh water?

But What goes around goes around. Like I said, Dale’s car was towed away. And apparently their little “joke” (to scare me, maybe just for a little while) didn’t work out so well for the four of them…but, if they stop and think about it, it could have been a whole lot worse for these four slime bags if I had died in the woods that day.

But the good news this time is that Dale got his car back, and I survived another one of his jokes.

And, for some, life goes on… and the next time this happened I didn’t get fooled again (by that same old “Let’s take the dumb, blind guy camping”!

When Dale and his friends did this to me, I still had a little vision, so I was able to follow the sun and head southeast, toward Lansing.

It’s kind of funny that Dale Norton decided to become a special education teacher. But that was pretty much how it was in Eaton Rapids.

Obviously, there was A few good people from Eaton Rapids I knew, like most of the kids from Mrs. Collins’ the special needs room.

And there was this cool, older guy I was able to get a few guitar lessons from, named Max Butler, who had a daughter I knew from school.

A couple nights a week, Max’s driveway, front porch and basement were filled with mostly guys and their guitars waiting for lessons. He would give lessons to us guys in the basement, three at a time.

Max Butler taught dozens, and probably hundreds, of us kids in Eaton Rapids including Brent Mortimer and Dale Norton, how to play lead guitar.

For only five bucks, you could get a thirty minute guitar lesson from what some said was one of the best blues/jazz guitar players outside of Detroit. I only wish I had taken more lessons, but I think I was intimidated by how many guys from school were always there, watching everyone else.

So after all these years (as I hope you can hear from my new recordings at soundcloud.com/drwolfesmusic), I’ve finally been able to effectively implement Max Butler’s teachings about using the chromatic scale into my music, on the piano and guitar.

Then there was this tall, gangly kid from Eaton Rapids I became friends with, named Bill Clink. And Bill was one of the friendliest kids I met in high school.

I always admired his courage to be different. While most of the guys were wearing jeans and t-shirts, Bill almost always dressed for school in business suits, or what I would call his Sunday best.

And Bill Clink was one of these absolute, total capitalist. On the other hand, I was from a poor Irish/Slavic family that migrated to North Detroit from southeast Ohio, West Virginia, and the northeastern part of Kentucky. So despite having some fundamental political differences, we hung out together a lot during the second half of my junior year, and most of our senior year. Just by listening to him talk, I learned a lot about business.

This is important, because he is the one who helped me to start my very first for-profit business, But what I liked about Bill Clink most, was that he always treated everyone with respect, no matter what–

I remember he once said something, and it stuck in my mind.

‘Having real strong political views wasn’t good for business’.

But despite his best efforts, I never took Bill’s advice, and pursued a life of political change. I always wanted to “set things right”, as Josie Wales might say; to fix things. Because, while I didn’t know exactly what it was, I have this haunting feeling that something had gone wrong long ago at the school for the blind, and may have actually begun for me earlier than that–

At least back there at the school for the blind most of us kids treated each other pretty good. We would tease each other about stuff, as kids do, but it never became violent or out right malicious, like it was around the public schools for a lot of us.

And that’s why I wrote “Margaret’s New Teacher.” It’s a short story available on my website (WolfeOut.com) with what I believe is a real solution for school violence. But it’s really about solving the problem with abuse and bullying that most kids with disabilities, like me, have to live through in the public school system, and maybe that’s why so many of them might want to come back some day, to ‘set things right’.

So writing about all of this, and offering some suggestions, seems the healthiest thing to do…despite what’s going on here, today–

For example, here’s why schools shouldn’t allow kids to play the game of dodge ball.

In second grade when I was only seven-years-old, and only weighed about fifty pounds, I remember Our school principal Mr. Mock knowingly allowed the other kids to smack us really little kids in the head with a ball at least twice a week, over and over for about an hour…and called it a “Fun game for kids to play!”

The object was to move when you saw the ball coming. Except, most of the time I never saw it coming…

And since we couldn’t afford new glasses, walking around with taped up frames became “normal” for me while I was attending Mr. Mock’s grade school in Roseville, Michigan.

And the real irony of this is that when I moved to Oregon, thirty years later, the one person who has worked the hardest to destroy my life is a woman ironically also named Mock, that is, Linda Mock, Administrator with the Oregon Commission for the Blind. Isn’t that a hoot!

Anyway, this is why I wrote “Margaret’s New Teacher”. And why I believe big, faceless, nameless schools promote abuse between young people. On the other hand, as my story explains, I believe smaller schools are far more likely to build trust and more close relationships, which build lasting friendships among students.

But I’m getting ahead of the story, so let me start over, and tell you about how it was growing up as a half-blind, poor, mostly Irish /Welch, Slavic Catholic kid (with a little Cherokee and Hungarian Jew ancestry to thrown in the mix), living on the north east side of Detroit.

As a child I remember being among the thousands of white-looking families who fled to the other side of 8 Mile Road following the “riots” of 1967 and 1968. As a kid, I specifically remember seeing the men carrying rifles out of my grandmother’s house, while some of the women went with them, and apparently, frantically packed up everything they could grab wile the men stood guard.

As we all watched the news every night, and watched the burning houses and cars, we were taught to be very afraid of anyone with dark skin. I know now, the jokes and stories we were told as children by the older kids and adults, were intended to re-enforce this hatred and ignorance, and the inevitable mistrust that made that part of Michigan one of the most racially divided states in America. That’s why understanding the term “Eight Mile” is so important to knowing Michigan’s racial history.

A few years later, my mom remarried into a Polish Catholic family, and then we moved even further away from Detroit, to a place called Anchor Bay, also known as New Baltimore.

Like a lot of the little towns that surround most of America’s big cities, New Baltimore was filled with families like ours who had fled the “crime” of the city for the safety of the suburb. Except, in many cases one sort of crime was traded for another, as I’ll explain. And I learned pretty quick that a lot of the kids were a whole lot meaner–

One of my best friends in New Baltimore was a guy who, to most of my classmates, was obviously “homosexual”, and they always called him, “homo”, although I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant back then.

A lot of the kids liked to pick on both of us. Me, because I was so small, and immature. And him, because of his feminine characteristics. And they didn’t hate him because he was hitting on any of them, or trying to get into their pants. In this case, it was only because he was obviously gay.

Even back then I remember thinking , “There’s a real lot of viciousness in these ‘sub rats’,” a term that another friend I knew from New Baltimore always call them.

One of the things some of the guys like to do to both of us, was to kick us in the ass during gym class, especially while we were lining up for roll call. And the funny thing about this, is that one of the kids who liked to do this to us the most, Kenny Reem, was the son of New Baltimore’s Chief of Police. I heard that Kenny Reem went on to also become the New Baltimore Chief of Police. Isn’t that funny!

Along with Reem, there were a couple other creeps from Anchor Bay who would kick us in the ass every chance they could…usually when we were wearing nothing but some flimsy gym shorts and a jock strap. Which made our assholes an easy target for Reem and the others!

One was a kid named Brad Trombley, who was from one of the military families who lived at Selfridge Air Force Base. You might be surprised to know, but Those kids were really mean.

Another kid who regularly did this to us was a kid named Don Milner, who lived on the same canal where my friend lived. The special lady-friend I mention below, told me that Milner had paddled up the canal and come into her house through the back door one day while her parents were gone, and raped her.

When she finally had the courage to tell me about this, she said it had happened a couple years earlier, when she was only around eleven or twelve. But I remember, when she told me this, I was so angry. I remember thinking, I wanted to kill him!

At the time, I adored her, and treated her like my little princes. For a lot of reasons, I always felt especially protective of her. And I always believed some day we would get married.

Until that summer, we had only kissed a couple different times, once when we slipped off to her bedroom for a minute. And once in her parents camper when her and her family drove up to our cottage on the lake for a weekend visit.

She was also my very first backup singer. One summer her two brothers and me formed a small pickup band, and my sister and her got to sing backup.

I’ll tell you one more story about the kids I knew from New Baltimore.
When I lived in New Baltimore, there was this other pretty blond headed girl from my Sixth Grade Class at Anchor Bay Junior High School, named Lynn, who sat by me (and I had a small secret crush on her at the beginning of the school year). Even though I thought she was always too serious about school, and despite that she was one of those “bossy military brats” from Selfridge, I liked her anyway.

But then one day she started mocking me in front of the whole class. I had asked this other pretty blond headed girl who sat behind her, Gale, to help me find a puzzle piece I had dropped on the floor, behind me.

Since everyone knew I was half-blind, and always sat in the front row (while everyone else rotated seats from back to front every week), I remember thinking that it seemed pretty mean for her to do this to me.

so that everyone could hear, “you mean you really can’t see that?” She asked, sarcastically. Then she said it again, even louder. “YOU MEAN you really CAN’T SEE THAT!”

then about a year later, when I was acting like a little goof ball, like I always did. I remember this well. Lynn came right up to me in the lunch line and seemed to trap me. She stood face to face with me, just a few inches away. She sarcastically said, “When are you going to grow up!”

I wanted to ask her what her hurry was, but I said nothing, just bowed my head. And that’s when I noticed something very different about her.

Despite she was only about twelve when this happened, Standing there so close to her, I suddenly realized that she had grown breast. I remember thinking at the time that she looked way, way older, maybe somewhere around fourteen or fifteen?

I also remember thinking to myself, “Is that perfume I’m smelling, like my mom sometimes wears?”

My back was to the rail, and there was no where to go, so I knew that unless I wanted to chance bumping into one of her breast I couldn’t move…until she was finished berating me.

I remember, she was wearing heels that day, a short skirt and a really, really tight top, that made it so that, even if you were half blind, you could still see every bit of her developing breast, as I think she planned it.

One thing I remember most about moving to New Baltimore was watching my father, his younger brother Jim, and my grandfather build our first house. I mostly did the grunt work, but when I wasn’t exploring the neighborhood with one of the neighbor kids, or working on my fort out back, I stood around and watched what they were doing. And long as I was watching, they would hand me tools to hold…probably to make me feel useful–

Since my brother is almost three years older than me, I can say today that he benefited the most from the experience. And while he has never built a house of his own, he’s bought and remodeled almost a dozen different houses since going blind.

So imagine this. With almost no help from anyone, my brother’s replaced dozens of floors, walls, plumbing and electrical systems in the process of remodeling old houses. And while I’m no where as talented as him, I’ve always enjoyed building and fixing things.

And it’s all because we spent every weekend, and at least two or three evenings per week, hanging around while this first house, as well as, some of the other houses were all being built by my dad.

So I feel pretty lucky to have been there while he built three or four complete houses from scratch, and re-modeled several others, while we were growing up.

Back then, I had no idea how much I was actually learning by just watching, until now. And honestly, There’s no doubt, those learning experiences have benefited me and my older brother in ways I can never explain, such as developing our ability to visually conceptualize the world in our minds. Layer by layer, every space became something useful, or practical. And no space was ever wasted, even if it was only intended to be decorative.

In my opinion, you can’t fully appreciate a home unless you’ve been involved in seeing a structure go up from the very beginning, when it’s just a plot of land and a few trees, and then a few months later, becomes a finished house, with all the trim.

“The secret in being a good carpenter, is knowing how to put up the trim,” my dad once said, when I showed him a messed up board that had been installed. “We’ll cover that up completely, before we’re done,” he answered.

As you can see from “Fort Wolfe Studio”, I’ve never lost the desire to constantly build, and re-build, and constantly fix things up (while almost every day my neighbors and I suspect some of the local cops are continuously vandalizing my property, as I’ll explain later).

But building and fixing things definitely helps to make me feel productive, and useful. And isn’t that what drives most of us to improve our situations, any way we can?

Here’s the irony, in a society that often sees those of us with disabilities as being a burden, and mostly dependent on others, I realize now my fierce independence has often caused a lot of distress and mistrust among the suspicious type. And the truth is, apparently in some ways I am a very unusual person, biologically speaking. As far as I know, I was ten or eleven the first time it was documented, scientifically.

It was in 1970 or 1971 when me and my older brother spent two days at the University of Michigan Medical Center. A few weeks earlier we came in for an initial exam, and they first took our blood, and told us to come back to undergo all sorts of these strange tests on our eyes and brain.

I don’t remember many of the dozens of tests and experiments they did, and made my mom wait in their waiting room, but I don’t think they were completely truthful with us. We know today that the government has known how to obtain our brain frequencies, and known how to use those frequencies to manipulate our feelings and behavior.

According to Deborah Tavares, from stopthecrime.net, a government document referred to as “Silent Wars, Quiet War” describes how scientists can use the frequencies of the brain to identify an emotion or feeling, and then program the test subject to behave in a certain way in response to a electro magnetic pause or wave and then mimic a desired emotion. I believe myself and many other kids at the school for the blind in Lansing were being used for this purpose, as I’ll explain.

And that’s why I also believe many of these “shooters” who are being rolled off the shelf are also being controlled using brain frequencies and some sort of directed energy weapon–

As I write more about later, sometime shortly after someone began shocking me every day (mostly at night), back in 2007 or 2008, I noticed my head began itching all of the time. Then a few years later it got really bad and my scalp began falling off in chunks, so I went to my doctor, Cliff Coleman from OHSU.

In the fall of 2014, I sent Dr. Coleman and a therapist I was speaking to at the time (ironically from a place called Life Works”) named Katherine Clark two separate letters telling each of them that it felt like I was being “micorwaved” in my home. This is not to say that I have any idea what it would feel like to be placed in a microwave oven. But that was the only way I could think of to describe the feeling — being shocked, burnt, poked, numbed, itched, and sometimes feeling like I was literally being body scanned while I was lying in bed.

Today, most nights I sleep on the floor to reduce the attacks, which does seem to help a little. However, so you know, tin foil hats don’t work against these weapons- Ugh!

So when I went to see Dr. Coleman (from OHSU, curiously a hospital partly known for the “study of torture”), he had two women with him (posing as medical students), and wouldn’t even touch my scalp, order a blood test, recommend a specialist, or write a prescription to help with the itching (which was driving me crazy).

Instead, he recommended I use some extra strength dandruff shampoo. Hmmm…

As I write about in another chapter, it’s what happened during surgery at this same hospital just prior to when I reported my torture to Dr. Coleman (in writing), that’s really weird–

So back to my childhood. My mom, my brother, and me returned to the medical center in Ann Arbor a few weeks following our two day intensive exam. Our doctor, Dr. Richard Lewis sat us all down, and along with another doctor, told us that both of us boys would be totally blind within ten years. And there was no medical cure for the form of RP that we both had apparently inherited–

So “They” strongly recommended that both of us be enrolled in the school for the blind as soon as possible, located in Lansing, Michigan. And that’s what we did–

The news must have been disappointing to my mom and dad. Not just because of what it meant to our future, most of our relatives lived in and around Detroit.

So they did what any good parents would do, and moved the whole family east about one hundred miles to a farm in Jackson, Michigan. They did this so that we could attend the school for the blind in Lansing.

On our small farm, We had two ponies and about twenty chickens. Oh, and two really nasty roosters,.Until my dad finally had enough and cut both of their heads off!

But living in the country, on a small farm, probably wasn’t the safest place for two overly-curious half-blind boys.

For example, that spring I decided to go tobogganing down a steep hill that ran along side of our house. I made it down the hill several times before hitting a large oak tree, head on! I vaguely remember walking to the front door, and ringing the doorbell, and then apparently passing out.

Then about a week later, I decided to take a neighbor kid up on his offer and race our ponies down our paved road. But as soon as we started picking up speed, my darn saddle slipped and I ended up with a hoof print on the side of my head.

And the emergency room staff, who all remembered me, I recall were a little concerned that it wasn’t some sort of domestic abuse. Except it wasn’t my family they should have been concerned about…

So my advice, if you’re going to race ponies or horses is to make sure you give the animal a quick bump with your knee, before giving the saddle synch one last pull. Ouch!

Looking back, we probably should have stayed in New Baltimore because me and my brother ended up going out for track and wrestling, and ended up staying over night during the week at the school during the track and wrestling season. In fact, we often stayed at the school on weekends too, if their were any matches or meets scheduled.

But the idea was for us to be able to come home at night since the state provided a special cab service. But it was a long arduous trip that took a little over an hour, and got old really quick. And it’s the same reasons busing kids never worked!

A year later we moved to a town just south of Lansing called Eaton Rapids. By living closer to Lansing, it was possible for the family to come up to the school for sporting events, as well as concerts and plays we were involved in-

But truthfully, not being together every night at the dinner table changes a family. I would argue that any family that doesn’t live together most of the year can ever maintain that trusting relationships that make the family unit different, and special. No matter what the parents good intentions may be.

I remember this well. It was a warm spring afternoon in 1972 when I met my first blind person, Roger Houghtaling.

I was soon to learn that Roger was a varsity wrestler and track star for the school, and held at least one school record in track and field, for awhile. That record was later broken by a funny, gregarious, new polish kid named Mark Warchol, who was from Hamtramck, the same small, mostly polish city where one of my great grandmothers also lived. And, in case you’re not from the Detroit area and didn’t know this, Hamtramck is a small city that’s located inside of the city of Detroit, surrounded by Detroit on all sides.

Mark always had a good sense of humor and Usually picked on himself, rather than any one else. Like, he would come up to me and say in the most serious voice possible, “Hey, have you seen any ‘Pollocks’ around here?” Then he would wrap his arms around some nearby light pole, and then walk away…

But here’s one of the funniest things I remember about Warchol. He would swear to the benefits of drinking a cup of hot water first thing in the morning, he said to keep him regular.

So from time to time He would go into these long rants early in the morning, trying to convince us guys to start doing this now, while we were still young, and still healthy. His serious tone and approach to the whole subject of keeping ourselves “regular” always made the entire conversation completely hilarious!

You see, since we had coffee or tea, and all the cream and sugar we ever wanted, available any time we wanted it, most of us thought Warchol’s advice, insisting that we drink hot water, with nothing else, was extremely and completely nutty!

But actually, if we consider how poor the country of Poland was, as compared to most of Europe, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that this was a practiced passed down to Warchol from an earlier Polish generation. A people who probably couldn’t afford coffee or tea, let alone cream or sugar–

Another reason I liked Warchol was because he was always up for a friendly, political argument about anything, like which way you should put the toilet paper on the roll and so, sometimes for fun some of us would intentionally take the opposite point of view, whenever we overheard him defending aloud one thing or another, which he seemed to liked to do. But it was usually just to get him fired up over nothing, on those long bus rides to Springfield, Illinois or Madison, Wisconsin.

Like one time we started debating whether the toilet paper should roll out from the back, or over the top. Warchol insisted that the toilet paper should roll off the back of the roll, so a person couldn’t see the end of the roll.

Of course, being raised by a poor Irish mom, and a hard-working Polish step-father, I took the practical point, saying that at the moment when you need it most, a person needs to be able to quickly reach out and grab it. Rather than having to search around the back of the roll, looking for the end of the paper.

But Warchol didn’t see it this way. He insisted that when someone else needs to use your bathroom, they sub-consciously didn’t want to see the end of the roll while they were sitting there, waiting. He explained it this way.

“More than anything else, people will always better about using a stranger’s bathroom if they have a brand new roll of toilet paper.” He went on to explain, “Even if it’s not really a brand new roll. It helps people to feel more relaxed if they believe no one else has ever used this roll, because it helps them to believe no one else has used this toilet in quite a while. Which makes them feel better about using it”

“You see, sitting there in a stranger’s bathroom, and seeing the end of the roll, only makes a person think about one thing. Do you know what that is,” he asked.

Before I could answer, he went on to say, “What happen to the missing toilet paper? Which tends to make a person think about who sat here last. Which usually makes a person sub-consciously visualize what the stranger who was sitting here last was doing when they tore off that last square of paper off the roll.”

Then profoundly, he added this one last thought on the subject. “While they’re sitting there, people just don’t want to see the end of the roll. It makes them uncomfortable. And, it doesn’t matter if it’s the front or back, the more toilet paper that’s hanging off the end of the roll, the more uncomfortable people will feel-”

So how does a rational person argue with that sort of logic?? Has any university ever done a study about this, I wonder…

But that’s how Warchol was. Those who took him too serious., would claim Warchol was kind of arrogant because he would never surrender his position in an argument, no matter how illogical it sounded.

I remember how he had this real funny way of throwing his head back, as he turned away. Then he would cover his mouth and let out a loud laugh, as if to say your argument doesn’t even deserve a verbal response. I always thought it was funny, the way he would blow some people off by doing this right in the middle of a heated debate.

Warchol was about a year older than me, and probably the smartest guy in his class (unless you asked Paul Cutler, one of his classmates). It was the blind school’s “stoner class” — the “Class of ’77”.

So It was always a fun and interesting debate when we argued during track or wrestling trips. I suppose, in a lot of ways, when I was away from home, his odd humor reminded me a lot of my step-father, who is also Polish.

I was just starting ninth grade, and it was the third or forth week of school. And we were all sitting around together in this big circle after track practice, as we usually did. Coach Tutt, who was a state champion sprinter from South Carolina, began talking. We could tell, he was especially excited that afternoon. The team had returned from its first weekend of competition and one of our team mates had broken a national record..

Coach Tutt was an extremely good looking man, always well dressed and well groomed. He reminded me of one of the sprinters in this Norman Rockwell poster I had on my wall. But his best quality was his animated way of speaking, in which he would sometimes end a sentence with this low growl, emphasizing the last syllable of the last word. It was extremely contagious. He probably should have been touring the country as a motivation speaker, although I would say he was a great track coach.

So this one Monday, at the start of practice, the coach began asking aloud, over and over, “Mark who? Mark who? Mark who?” And every time he did that, which went on the whole week, we would all laugh aloud!

The previous weekend, Warchol came out of no where to break the school, NCASB (our conference), and the national record for all of the blind schools in America in the 600 yard dash by almost eight seconds, which has most likely never happened in any track event ever (that was less than one mile)–

Over the next three year the record was broken at least a half dozen more times, by Warchol and a number of other restricted runners from across the country. Then as I recall, two years later our own teammates, Bobby Blakes, broke Warchol’s school record.

To be a restricted runner, a person would have to have either very little vision, or almost no peripheral vision. The 600 yard dash, as it was called, required that runners keep one hand on a guide wire (except when they turned around) while they ran 75 yards, back and forth, twice.

the only other blind student who had accomplished this level of success in track and field was our student body president, Percy Latham. Latham held the school, conference, and national records in several events, including I believe both the fifty and seventy-five yard dashes, the standing long jump, and maybe even the triple jump.

There were a lot of great sprinters in our conference. While I don’t remember all their names, I do remember there was Wheaton from Illinois, Bennett from Indiana, and this guy named David Cathy, a sprinter from Wisconsin. Caathy was a black Albino who had these long white dreadlocks that flew straight out behind him when he ran, He look like some kind of ancient barbarian warrior, charging into battle.

Our best sprinter, Percy Latham, was liked by almost everyone, and usually made it a point to keep his nose out of other people’s business (unlike his best friend and fellow co-captain, Ed Chapman, as I’ll explain).

Apparently a few years after he broke the national record, Mark took his own life, according to Brett Mousseau, who was told by Cathy Chaney, Worchol’s ex-girlfriend. But I should say, neither Mousseau or Chaney were completely reliable when it comes to trustworthy information.

Cathy Chaney, who always like to wiggle her butt for our English class when she eraised the chalkboard, used to go around school telling everyone she was still a “virgin”. But I suppose, that depends on how one defines one’s “virginity”, doesn’t it?

Nevertheless, I feel pretty lucky that me and my brother got Roger as our guide at the blind school that first day, because I remember feeling afraid about going blind, as was our prognosis. Roger’s professional, joyful attitude set a standard for blindness that I never forgot.

I remember thinking, his shoes were so cool! He had these metal tabs on the heels. And using the sound they made, as it echoed off the buildings, made it possible for him to travel around the campus without a white cane, even though he was completely (100%) blind!

I discovered there were several other completely blind students who were able to do this, just as well as Roger. Bobby Blakes was probably the most convincing totally blind traveler I ever saw walk around without using any sort of assistive device, other than a pair of dark glasses.

While partials often wear dark glasses to protect their remaining vision, and to reduce the glare that comes from all forms of light (making dark glasses an assistive device), most totally blind people who wear dark glasses do it for esthetic reasons…and to avoid a ‘stick in the eye’ (or some west coast raging feminist waiving one of those “KKKBOO hot pokers” around, as I’ll explain in another chapter).

During our visit to the school, Roger explained that he had memorized all of the sidewalks and buildings, and that was his secret. But I could tell there was more to it–

It was so interesting to watch how this totally blind guy was able to use the sound as it echoed off the buildings to guide him away from, or toward, approaching buildings. He was also able to know exactly when to turn along the sidewalk, which was amazing to watch, because even then I could tell it wasn’t just his memory.

Although at one point, I thought they were going to have to postpone our tour, or get us a new guide–

At full speed, as fast as we could all walk, Roger was leading the way. But then all the sudden, I saw he was heading directly toward a flight of cement stairs going straight down!

Before any of us could say anything, I watched Roger’s foot suddenly disappear off the edge of the top step. Obviously, he didn’t hear are warning in time! and we braced for the inevitable crash…

I remember feeling horrified at that moment, on my first visit to the school for the blind, watching his tall, muscular body fly off the first step and hurl itself through the air! How could this have happened to us, I asked myself at that moment.

With one motion, Roger gracefully brought the same foot squarely down on the second step. Without ever pausing, or missing a beat. We all watched in amazement as he quickly skipped down the rest of the steps ahead of us, pretending as though he hadn’t heard anything we had just said–

And what was even more surprising, he never once paused his verbal presentation…saying, “And off to your left is the school cafeteria. can you smell it? Any one feeling hungry yet?” He confidently asked.

A few months later, my brother and me were enrolled in a summer camp at the school. And for the first time ever, I met a lot of other kids who were either completely blind, like Roger, or partly-blind kids, like me.

The kids who could see a little called themselves partials. And the kids with no vision, other than light perception, called themselves either “totals”, or “blinks”. And while there was no out right effort to discriminate against totals, and there were a few totals who would never put up with it, there was still an unspoken pecking order based on how much vision one had–

And so in the summer of 1972, our family began to learn about the amazing world of the blind, and visually-impaired…and about the endless ways one can get around any obstacle, in a world built exclusively for the sighted.

At age eleven, my very first job was delivering newspapers, in New Baltimore. Michigan. While I was a student at the school for the blind, one of the most rewarding job I ever did was working with a kid who was severely visually-impaired, and also had the challenge of muscular dystrophy. Every day we went to the athletic building to play and work out. But I soon realized my real job was keeping him alert, and getting him to feel enthusiastic about what ever we were doing.

At the same time I organized and ran an annual arm wrestling tournaments for the students. I remember one kid, named Juan Vasques, who was paralyzed on one side of his body. All three years I ran the tournament, Juan always won the left handed competition for boys in the upper division (which was based on the length of their arm).

For two years, I also formed a “ten shot” basketball league for us kids, and was able to hand out ribbons to the winning teams during one of our school assembly.

For those who don’t know, ten shot was a game we often played in gym class. after dividing into teams, with four or five players on each team, each player would attempt to make a basket from the free throw line.

There was a hoop at each end of the court, and each basket had a clicker mounted just behind the rim. The clickers were controlled by a switch mounted on the wall behind each basket.

Basket were worth three points, rims were worth two points, hitting the backboard was worth one point, and missing everything was worth nothing. Each team got ten shots, and the team with the most points at the end won the match!

So, other than a few sick gender-impaired people, the Michigan School for the Blind was in many ways a magical place for a frightened little kid who was told by his doctor that he would soon be going completely blind, and there was nothing anyone could do about it…

For decades I mostly pretended it wasn’t true. But the truth is, and I should have learned this long ago, very few people care much about the struggles of the disabled, especially the blind. Even if they do give us a little lip service from time-to-time.

As people with disabilities, we need to understand this one thing. Our current version of capitalism is designed to maximize the profits for the wealthy, at all costs. This ruthless financial system does not protect anyone who can’t afford a private attorney to defend their right not to be sexually assaulted by the police every night while they try to sleep (as the government continues to do to me every day here in Rotland)–

Consider this–

Every sidewalk at the blind school had these really cool raised ridges along each edge of the walkway, that looked kind of like a cement waffle. It was made so that a person could close their eyes while they were walking and almost never completely step off the sidewalk.

On the other hand, here in one of the most “liberal” cities in America, most of our sidewalks are cluttered with hundreds of deadly, knee-breaking fire hydrants, and dangerous utility poles, covered with jagged, rusted staples pointing straight out!

As a result of this lazy practice, I have a wicked scar across my nose where I was once snagged by one of these harp, wicked staples (recklessly left behind).

You see, I would imagine in the thoughtless mind of some small-minded government official (who used our money to order someone to create this dangerous problem), this deadly staple would no longer hold somebody’s flier. A flier that very likely included all sorts of subversive thoughts and ideas. and information about where to “gather” with like-minded people…who might share these subversive beliefs about our American “injustice” system–

But on the other hand, wouldn’t you think the idiots that the city hired to rip down each and every one of these “unauthorized” fliers would also be instructed to pull out the staple that held it? You know, to protect its blind citizens (and any unsuspecting young children) who just might try to squeeze pass this extremely narrow space along 82nd Avenue, just north of Powell, rather than walking into the busy street and being killed?

In my opinion, today no group of Americans is more often verbally maligned in public discourse than those with limited or no sight…and ironically, mostly by those claiming to be “compassionate liberals”, such as Discover Magazine.

In December of 2015, Discover published a report from Knox College of Illinois, which surveyed mostly college-age women about what they felt was “creepy”.

According to Discover, all of the top ten characteristics the report claimed that most Americans felt were considered to be the most “creepiest” involved having one or more disabilities. And at least four of the top characteristics directly involved having a visual impairment.

Rather than saying the truth — that most Americans feel what is truly creepy is for a grown man, who thinks he is a woman, to want to use the same toilet seat used by little girls, the “science” magazine (curiously also located just outside of Chicago) claimed that having: “droopy eyes”; “crossed eyes”; being unable to color coordinate your clothes; having uncombed hair; and licking your lips often or having “bulges under the eyes” (which are common symptoms for those who use some medications), ” to be more creepy than a grown man wearing a dress, and going into a women’s restroom, according to this “scientific study!”

The fact is, the blind are not a wealthy group of Americans, and probably could barely afford a sandwich, even if we all chipped in together and could ever agree about what kind of sandwich to get–

On the other hand, the wealthy Asian and Jewish Americans, who run most of the west coast today, can afford lots of powerful lawyers to defend their “right” to sexually, physically, and emotionally abuse me in my home at night, electronically, as they’re doing to me almost every day and night.

So, as I feel my head shrinking — as every inch of skin on my scalp and feet slowly peel away, it seems like I’m starring in one of these Stephen King Hollyweirdo horror movies (that I used to love so much), as I’m slowly being murdered by our own government.

The new F.B.I. Director, Christopher “X-Ray” (just like Hoover, who I suspect help coordinate the experiments being done on some of us kids at the school for the blind in Lansing), obviously doesn’t give a shit about any of us “useless cripples”!

Meanwhile, these same sick bastards from the media who are out here with the cops, shocking me and spraying me with something almost every day and night (a totally blind guy)! If you can believe this about America, they are electrocuting my crotch and rectum with some kind of weapon every time I try to rest or sleep! It first started under Obama, shortly after he took office. But it has continued under Trump, so what does that say about who is really running America?

Meanwhile, I can hear some dirty Portland pig outside my window laughing, saying, “Guess he’s having a real shitty day!” (Which was something a local cop told one of the local papers after a disabled man was assaulted while using the bathroom.

According to the article, a gang of righteous Portland vigilantes (probably some of the local soccer fans) tipped this port-a-potty over while this guy was using it. Not surprisingly, none of the hooligans were arrested by the cops.)

And one of the cops who investigated, told the local newspaper about the guy inside, “I’ll bet he’s having a shitty day.”

But make no mistake, all this sickness coming from the mouths of our snarky media and the police, has a very long-term deadly price that we’ll all have to eventually pay.

My own Uncle Joe was found dead in the garage with an alleged self-inflicted gun shot wound to the head thirty years ago.

Around the same time, my biological father and his entire family had all moved to the State of Washington area sometime after it happened, and I’m sure it’s a coincidence that now, someone is trying to kill me!

According to my mom, her ex-husband and his family hated my Uncle Joe, as well as her and us kids…and ever since I came to Oregon someone has been doing everything they can to destroy my life–

My Uncle Joe was very passionate about the safety of his family, and obviously very remorseful for introducing his little sister to my biological father, Harold (who apparently liked to drive around the streets of downtown Detroit with his younger brother, Jerry, pointing guns at people, Including my mom and us kids. But mostly the “coloreds”, which was one of the words they used to describe anyone with black or brown skin.)–

One of the odd memories I have about Harold, was how he would often have to take his “medicine” (for his bad back) and stay home with us kids, while my mom worked.

I remember how he would always play this one game where he would make hundreds and thousands of “troops” and spread them around the living room while we spent the afternoon watching westerns.

So you know, the “troops” were actually little pieces of paper Harold would cut up and fold in half, and then mark with a pen. Then he would pretend the armies were going to war, and start destroying the soldiers one-by-one.

So we learned pretty early, don’t ever mess up Harold’s battlefield, or he might go to war with one of us, instead (like he sometimes did when he ran out of “medicine”).

Sometimes I would set up my own little paper army way off in one of the corners, but I do remember how my brother and little sister usually would stay far, far away from him when ever he was “playing”–

Then a few years ago my mom called me and told me that Harold had died, and that I ought to file for his social security benefits, since I was eligible for survivor’s benefits because I was under twenty-one when I went blind (other than having a little bit of ‘shadow vision’ for the next ten years).

At the time, my mom said she saw it on the Internet but never did explained exactly why she was searching for his name. This probably isn’t all that unusual, an ex wanting to know where their violent spouse is now living. But it’s also possible some one from their past told her about it. Never the less, she was correct, SSA confirmed that Harold had recently died.

However, based on the amount of survivor’s benefits I receive, around $200 per month, I would assume Harold must have had some other source of income for all those years, after he left the army in 1962 (that may not have been completely legal).

Before now, I assumed, and I don’t know why, that Harold and Jerry never actually shot or killed anyone when they were doing this crazy stuff, but I’m not so sure about that anymore. As I mentioned, I can’t forget some of the extremely violent fights my mom had with him when I was around six-years-old…

I realize now, he may have been a whole lot worse than I ever knew, as I’ll explain.

As I mentioned, I knew he was taking a lot of pills for his back and sometimes went into these violent rages over money. And then he would disappear for several days, and sometimes a lot longer.

So then we would pack a bag and stay with my grandparents while my mom worked. In fact, us three kids lived with them during my entire third grade year–

I have to ask the question, did my Uncle Joe know something about one of their possible crimes. For example, I explain below how one time Harold and his brother showed me the body of a dead woman in this underground tomb on Harold’s mother’s farm, somewhere near Port Huron!

I can see why they wouldn’t tell my mom anything about anything, but Harold, Jerry and my Uncle Joe at one time were apparently very close friends. And my mom obviously found out about some of this crazy stuff Harold was doing from somebody, since, for years and years she talked to me about a lot of it —

Once I had to hide under the kitchen table during one of these violent battles, seeing dozens of objects, mostly dishes, being hurled back and forth between them. I could feel the broken slivers of glass striking me in the face and head, as I huddled against the back wall and waited for the battle to end.

Following his alleged suicide, I was told that my Uncle Joe had left a brief cryptic note behind that said something like, “I can’t ever go through this again-”

My mom said she didn’t know what he meant by this, but I think there’s somebody out there who knows what this means. I have to wonder, did Harold or Jerry force my Uncle Joe to shoot himself, if he wanted to protect his family and keep their secret a secret?

If true, not only would this be a even more horrible tragedy than it already was, but it means my aunt and cousins may have been unfairly deprived of his life insurance money, which I know they desperately needed at the time.

On a brief side note, this may be the best place to tell you how growing up around all this racial animosity effected me, throughout my life.

when I started at the blind school, in eighth grade I met the most amazing young lady, with the most beautiful golden brown skin. It reminded me of the caramel ice cream that us kids used to get down on Belle Isle, a small amusement park inside what was a wild life preserve located on an island in the Detroit River, between Detroit and Windsor, Canada.

So not only was she a member of the cheer leading squad, but I thought she was the prettiest of them all!

At first, I didn’t care at all that she happen to be half African-American and half Native-All I knew was that she was very, very smart, and she had this really long, beautiful dark black hair that shined in the sunlight. And she had these dark mysterious eyes that, when she looked right at me, seem to see right through me.

I don’t know why, but she became very interested in me. I remember, she wrote this great poem about me and even had the courage to publish it in the school paper!

But then one day I thought I saw Harold and Jerry sitting inn a car in the parking lot between the high school and the Health Center, and it scared the shit out of me. It was the only place where someone could park their car within the inner circle of the campus, and easily watch us kids coming and going, without appearing too suspicious. I remember asking my brother if he had ever seen Harold, but I never told him why why I was wondering that–

As I thought about the things my mom had said about Harold and Jerry, I began to imagined what would happen if they ever saw us holding hands. And I began to imagined what they might do to this pretty little “colored girl”, if they thought we had “disgraced their “family”.

So without explaining why, I promptly ended our brief relationship…and regrettably, broke her precious little heart–

So while Harold was sneaking around, impregnating some of my mom’s girlfriends, Harold and Jerry , and their two sisters (and some of their kids), were telling everyone we knew that my brother and me weren’t really blind!). And they may have even drove up to the blind school in Lansing to watch us, just so that they could prove my mother was a liar!

I can’t say if Kyle Bowmer formally with the Associated Press, or a student from Portland State with the same last name who once sent me a strange E mail, and then disappeared, are behind any of the daily abuse I’ve been experiencing (maybe to protect Harold and Jerry, or any property Harold accumulated after returning to the Northwest). But curiously, I have no doubt someone has been specifically targeting me since I came to Oregon, and maybe it’s been happening to me a lot longer than that?

Imagine this. All These people in positions of power (including the police and the Oregon Commission for the Blind) keep claiming that I’m faking my blindness. And this same exact ignorant shit has been happening to me ever since I moved back to the Northwest in 1998, where I was born [Tacoma, WA 9/20/60]–

However, biologically speaking, I no longer have any retinas left. And it is absolutely impossible for anyone to “see” without retinas!

So anyway, while we were slowly losing our vision back then, very often my brother and me had to also deal with this sort of bigotry from the indifferent, and sometimes sick, sighted world — including sometimes hearing it from members of my own “family”. If you can imagine that?

Hopefully, there’s some retired Detroit cop who may be willing to look into any unsolved murders of African-Americans who were shot or killed by two white looking men during the 1950’s or 1960’s. Seems like it would be fairly easy to find out what make and model cars they were driving back then, and see if it matches any unsolved murders. Because that’s exactly what Harold always talked about doing to the …

From 1957 to 1962 Harold was stationed at the military base in Tacoma, where me and my sister were born. However, in 1962 my Grandma Soltis had to come out to Tacoma to help my mom bring my brother, my sister and me back to Detroit since Harold had disappeared and was no where to be found.

And here’s one last strange story about my biological family, since I believe they may be the ones behind much of what has been happening to me since Harold and mom divorced.

Harold’s mother, who I thought of as my Grandma Clarece at the time, along with her new husband owned a farm somewhere north of Detroit. Along with the main house, there were at least two other smaller homes on the wooded property, and a pretty good size bar, with a dance floor and small stage. Which always seemed strange to me, since it was out in the middle of no where.

We spent a few Christmas’s there on the farm, although it wasn’t really a farm, with animals or anything like that-

I remember, Aunt Brenda and Aunt Pat, and there kids were always there. There was this huge broken down gazebo our cousin Rex, who lived on the farm for a time, showed us. It was way out in the middle of the woods. So after that, we always went out there to play when ever we visited.

And even more importantly, Ernie’s bar out back was the very first place where I got to sing on stage. So I always thought Grandma Clarece’s farm was a very cool place to hang out! Until one day something very strange happened…

I remember being taken by Harold, Jerry and Ernie in to this underground tomb located under the back of the bar to view what I was told was the tomb of my great aunt. I can’t remember if my mom or older brother were with us, but I do know my little sister wasn’t there, or she would have screamed bloody murder!

But no matter who else was or wasn’t there, I sure wasn’t prepared for what happened next–

I remember, we went around back, down this really steep hill. And at the bottom, there was this thick wooden door at the entrance, with a large metal bar holding it in place. Although if you think about it, it seems like that would only help to keep someone inside, but wouldn’t have stopped anyone from getting in…but who would be creepy enough to want to get in there!

So after going in, we went down a few steps and walked down a very short, dark hallway, before entering a fairly small room, about the size of a kid’s bedroom.

And there she was! Laying out in the open…covered with a blanket,

There in front of me, there was this dead woman who was laying there, in some sort of home-made casket–

I was told, she was one of my “Great Aunts”, on Harold’s mother’s side–

They said she was a full-blooded Cherokee woman, which would explain her brown skin. I remember, you could almost see through her skin!

Apparently, it was her birthday, and they said we were there because we all needed to wish her a happy birthday. But all I could think about was seeing how her light brown skin was so thin, and made her look like she was covered in wax paper.

But thankfully, there was no awful smell, other than that it was really musty down there and I wanted to leave.

I also can’t seem to forget this one really odd thing about her dead body. Her white hair and white nails had apparently kept growing, apparently even after she died…and were really, really, really long.

To say it was absolutely and completely horrifying to a five-year-old kid would not fully describe how I felt at that moment. And strangely, whenever I’ve tried to ask my brother about who she was, or his own memories abut that day, I’ve never gotten a real clear answer from him–

And maybe that’s why I felt in the beginning, because of this early trauma, going to the blind school was a great opportunity to hide away from what see like a very ugly world.

Despite what I’ve written below, in a lot of ways the blind school was a magical place for most of us…where every visually-impaired kid could bring their ideas and imagination together, along with a good helper, and “watch” our dreams come alive!

I feel the blind schools gave hope to a group of kids, who were mostly outcasts from the public school system. So having this hands on experience in learning so many different things, enriched the lives of every one of us. Just knowing that there was a way to get most things done, even though we were visually impaired, I believe gave us hope that we would have otherwise never have had–

and it wasn’t all bad, other than my ignorance that summer in losing the dear friendship of a very sweet lady friend I had known for almost half my life (and who was the first girl I ever kissed).

Despite all of this, I was able to attend a summer program in Detroit and meet up with some old classmates from the blind school I hadn’t seen for years. This was supposed to give us a taste of the university life.

That summer I stayed at the University of Detroit for six weeks to prepare for college life. Because, in two months I would be starting my official college career at Michigan State University (and be using its segregated toilets).

Despite all the partying, I wouldn’t deny the training was helpful, since that’s where I learned to read Braille with my fingers (rather than my eyes), and began to learn to properly use a white cane. On the other hand, it may have been too much of an “educational” experience for some of us…

I didn’t know what to expect. But to my surprise, I discovered that U-D was a Catholic school. There were nuns and priests walking around the campus all of the time…at the same time we were partying like dogs almost every night!

Apparently, for the last several years the University of Detroit had been hosting these annual pre-college program for blind and visually-impaired students who lived in Michigan and were planning to attend a college or university in the state that fall. Although, the program itself was sponsored and developed by the state agency for the blind and we weren’t taking regular college classes.

My first day on campus began by meeting my first of what would be many “resident assistants” [the RA]. If you don’t know, the RA is a term to describe the student who gets a free dorm room in exchange for “maintaining” a little civility on the floor.

He told us he was an exchange student from Iran and was glad to be our first Iranian friend, since none of us had ever met anyone from Iran. Who knows, maybe this is what he meant by being our “friend”, since he was rarely ever around and only once complained about our excessive partying (apparently after getting a complaint from the nuns upstairs)–

So despite being a minor, and living in a dorm just below a floor of nuns (who I’m sure did everything not to hear, or smell, what we were up to), my former-“special” education teacher (3 times), a twenty-something campus operator (with a thirty-two inch waist and the largest breast I have ever “seen”), and a former-classmate (who had already turned eighteen, all slept with me that summer in my University of Detroit dorm room!

So I have to admit, other than what I mentioned earlier, in a lot of ways it really was a pretty “Great Summer”…which was the title of a song I wrote and played for my high school graduation. Dale Norton and me performed it during a school assembly to honor our high school graduation–

I got one of my very first paid solo gigs that summer, playing guitar in the University’s student pub– “The Rats Cellar”, conveniently located in the basement of one of the classroom buildings. Good thing they didn’t ask for ID, since on the nights I sang I got all of my drinks free!

As I mentioned in the introduction, and two other chapters, living in the dorm at Michigan State University wasn’t quite so accommodating.

For example, this RA I had at Michigan State arranged to put me and the only other severely disabled student on our floor in a room together, sharing a suite (and more importantly, sharing a toilet) with apparently the only two (openly) gay guys on the floor…almost as if to segregate us (and our toilet) from the “normal” guys?

Before I get back to my story about the school for the blind in Lansing, I’ll briefly tell you another little story about my adventures at Michigan State University.

While there, one of the biggest crooks I ever met, was ironically a guy named “Dwayne Snook”.

Snook was the roommate of another student I mistakenly thought was a friend, named Brian “Bitch Dog” Cook. Cook wanted to learn to play base guitar, so sometimes we would smoke a joint and then both of us would sit in one of the stair wells and play guitar, while I sang.

And since Snook said he was from Gaylord, where he said he knew my , who was a local cop, I felt like I could trust him, but I was wrong–

Dan was married to my Aunt Sandy, who was my step-father’s sister. I remember this one visit when Uncle Dan showed my father his collection of bongs he had confiscated from the local teenagers while on patrol. He later became a county judge, or maybe it was a magistrate.

Even then, I wondered if some of the young people he had taken the bongs from were using it to self-medicate, like me…

As I mentioned earlier,for the first seven years I lived with my biological father who would regularly drink and pop pain pills. I remember how this one time he rushed into the room and pointed a gun at my mom, while us kids were sitting on the couch together. No one said a word, as we listened to him scream.

For reasons we still don’t completely understand, marijuana is a very effective drug for those suffering from PTSD, regardless of the person’s age. However, the Lane County DA, Alan “Grave-Gardner”once claimed that only “corporate” war heroes can get PTSD.

I know he’s wrong. As a victim of abuse, I know this isn’t true. And I know first-hand the benefits from using good marijuana (when you could get it).

Despite my young age. Sub-consciously my brain knew this, and I believe has been driven to seek out this particular medical relief, whoever possible (especially now, wile I’m being tortured every night by agents of the government)–

Regrettably, back then I also often used alcohol, excessively, to self-medicate. And I have briefly used a powerful pharmaceuticals, but within weeks of using it, I found the side effects became worse than if I had been using cheap vodka every night to medicate.

As I tell you this next part I realize, some would say I got what I deserved. But that’s okay, because one day the world will know the truth about this amazing plant, and why the government and corporations don’t want it to be legal, and readily available–

In an effort to find some good medication later that winter, I gave this creep, Dwayne Snook, about half of the money (abut $400) I had just received from Social Security (since I was saving the other half of the money to pay my spring tuition), as I mentioned earlier.

As I was advice to do by my state vocational counselor, I applied for SSI a few weeks before turning eighteen (the previous September), and received a lump sum of $800 back pay around February of the following year.

Since Bitch Dog was apparently too busy that day, Snook took me half way across campus to the dorm room of someone he knew, and I gave Dwayne my money and he bought a huge bag of weed. When I smelled it, it smelled great, but I ended up with a quarter pound of the shittiest Indiana dirt weed you could ever find.

I suspect Dwayne (and both of his roommates) had stashed this shitty stuff back at his room, and made the switch right when we got there. All I know for sure was that the marijuana Snook handed me when we got back to case Hall wasn’t the same bud we had just smoked across campus.

And if this weren’t enough, in 2004 when my wife and her mother decided to blame me for their own crazy sexual “practices” when she dropped me off after the Ford Foundation Luncheon and I threatened to expose them, I wrote to my Uncle Dan and asked for some advice about what to do–

To my disappointment, I never heard a word back from him. Although, my mom told me that he did get my E mail,…but decided it would be better, since he was planning to run for judge that fall to not get involved. And you can’t blame him, since Being associated in any way with anyone who is put on this “death list” , let alone show any sympathy, would be political suicide, guilty or not.

Because of it, Christel and her mom, and all their powerful lovers, were able to easily steal my kid and destroy my life, forever–

Speaking of sleazy government lawyers, another sleazy character I met at Michigan State University, was a guy named Chucky Charles Rooks. He was in two of my classes, same as Dwayne, but didn’t seem very bright.

On the other hand, Dwayne was an asshole! And he liked to argue with Dr. Cey and Professor Pepper, usually over nothing to do with class. The Bakke Decision had just been handed down by the Supreme Court, and it was the topic that entire semester.

As I’ll explain, Chuck ended up being a sleazy attorney for the EPA. Although since he was a graduate of Emery Law School, I kind of felt like anybody could be a lawyer for the government, so I eventually decided to study law. Little did I know at the time, it’s not about what you know, being a lawyer in this country.

After dropping out of Michigan State University, joining a rock and roll band, and eventually moving to the rock and roll capital of the world, Grand Rapids, Chuck would often stop bye when he wasn’t in school to party.

So once we both went to the home of this classy blind couple who I met during beeper ball practice, Richard and his wife. And so during this game of monopoly, ironically, Chuck stole an entire bag of weed from me. I had left it out, thinking I was among friends.

When it disappeared, we searched everywhere. We tore the living room and bathroom apart looking for it. Chuck swore he would never do that to a friend, and so I left that night believing this totally-blind couple, who had invited us over for a home cooked dinner, had stolen my smoke

About a week or two later Chuck and me were riding back from Lansing and he whipped out this joint. Obviously, I was shocked because Chuck had never had weed during the entire two years I had known him. We always smoked either mine, or someone I knew. But never, not even once, did we ever smoke Chuck’s weed.

So I get real quiet, and he admits he had stolen the weed from me so that I wouldn’t smoke so much so fast…(without him)! “You understand?” He asked.

After getting my weed back, I made him drop me off on the interstate and I hitch-hiked back to Grand Rapids.

He tried to contact me a few times, but really, why would I want to ever trust a guy like this.

After moving to Atlanta in 1992, I found out he went to Emery and now he’s a lawyer for the government at the EPA…that’s almost funny–

I remember one interesting story Chuck told me while we were both attending Michigan State, in the fall of 1978. (And the government wonders why no one trusts them, but look at the sort of people they hire.)

I remember, a few of us were sitting around drinking coffee. I was a big sports fan back then, so this story caught my ear, and I never forgot it.

Chuck began telling us about how him and another guy were walking down the sidewalk on campus, and they saw Magic Johnson and another player coming toward them. Chuck said he stepped on to the grass, and his friend moved over to the edge of the sidewalk, when this happened.

According to Chuck, Magic Johnson, for no reason, shove his friend off the sidewalk, into him!

Since Magic went on to win a national championship for Michigan State that year, it seems strange that he would risk his future by doing something like this to another student in public.

Ever since I was a freshman in high school, we all knew about the kid from Everett, who kept winning state championships. He was about a year older than me.

Magic and his girlfriend, Cookie, were on the Lansing news at least once or twice a week, during basketball season. And it just didn’t sound like him, the Magic we knew, who was always smiling.

There were over 45,000 students on campus, and I would guess there had to be no less than a dozen or two eyes locked on him every time he was outside, walking around campus.

I would suspect, an alleged assault by any black player against a white student (which would appear to be racially motivated), would have been hard to keep quiet, and certainly threatened Magic’s eligibility…but apparently it was never reported by anyone, not even the alleged victim. Hmmm…

But just like the crap he had told me about my blind friends from beeper ball stealing my weed, and how he knew for sure that they must have stolen it, It was more of the same bigoted crap, just like what we little people almost always get today from most of these government lawyers, whether it’s the persecutors or the Injustice Department.

But I’m getting way, way ahead of this story, about how it works here in this third America. So let’s go back to the part about why I eventually left the school for the blind.

By the late 1970’s, the population of the school for the blind in Lansing, and throughout the country, within just a few years dropped by more than half. This happened because of a program known as “mainstreaming”, in which many of us kids who attended the blind schools and our families were encouraged to consider returning to the local public school system, which I decided to do in the fall of 1976.

Many said it was all about money, since every school district that had a kid who attended the school was required to reimburse the state for the cost of our education. And apparently, that cost had been increased, considerably. So in January of 1978 I started school in Eaton Rapids.

The first amazing thing I discovered about the school for the blind was finding dozens and dozens of unlocked buildings, and obviously, each and every one of them had to be completely searched.

Most of the sidewalks were really wide, which made the campus seem like it was part of an amusement park — “The City of the Blind”. So in the evenings, sometimes we would wander around and around, and around the dozens of walk ways, that looped around and around, and then around again.

The campus was sort of like a small village, with a candy store, a medical center, library, and almost everything else a kid needed, including a bowling alley and a gym that turned into a roller skating rink at night.

The campus was completely separated from the outside world, surrounded by a ten foot fence. There was a road that ran along the inside of the fence. This two lane road circled about 80% of the campus and served as an artificial border between the back of the buildings and the inner walkways that I mentioned above.

Along the interior of the campus, there was a track and field area, almost a hundred planters, a playground area, a natural garden we studied in Mr. Burnett’s science class, a flag pole, where we sometimes line up for outdoor ceremonies, and the school band got to play!

Because of the sprawling campus, if you had a good imagination, and most of us kids did, there was a great opportunity to create almost any world you could imagine.

And if you needed them, there were lots of dedicated teachers and other adults there who you could tell really enjoyed making our littlest dreams come to life. Funny how you never notice when you’re in the moment–

For example, with the help of our English teacher, Mr. Graef, me and three other students revived an old idea called “Campus News”, and produced a weekly campus radio news show. And truthfully, it was pretty cool to hear my voice echoing from every direction when it was played for everyone on campus.

Once a week on Wednesday I would drop off the cassette tape at the administration building, where it was checked for quality, but not content. At least, I never received any negative feed back or blow back about any of the stories we covered. And I remember, and I remember, a few of them were about the Vietnam War and Watergate, and a little controversial.

So then, at high noon every Thursdays, the campus operator would play it over the school intercom system. So you can imagine it, there were about forty or fifty different buildings, and about a hundred of these outdoor speakers they had mounted on the top of poles, everywhere on campus!

Since hardly anybody else wanted to, I must have wrote over a hundred articles for the school paper. I remember, once as a challenge, I wrote nine separate articles for one issue.

And if you can believe it, one year I even served as one of the two photographers for the school yearbook, even though I couldn’t hardly see anything through the view finder.

Once, in what would have been a great picture I took of our two track teams riding on the bus to the school for the blind in Springfield, Illinois, where I had everyone leaning into the isle. I had no idea at the time, but I was cranked by my school nemesis, Beverly Millsap, who stuck her finger up her nose!

Way back then, a dance called the “Bump” became popular . If you don’t know, two people would dance next to each other, facing the same way, while bumping their hips together. Everybody was doing it!

Since I was a new student at the school, I was flattered when Beverly asked me to dance. She was probably more than double my weight, but I didn’t think much about that- Until the very first time she gave me a smack with her massive hips and sent me flying across the room! I remember, she didn’t stop laughing about it for days…

Beverly was also one of the stars of our girls track team, and only competed in one event. And that was because, as she put it, “I only needs one event.”

Beverly was also a very large girl (with a mouth to match). And usually backed up what she said. by setting, and then repeatedly breaking, both the school and NCASB record in the girls shot put. She may have held the girl’s national record in the open shot put class, as well.

Unlike the guys team, that always finished in the top three or four, the girl’s, led by Beverly, Debbie Wilson, Sheila Chastine Renee Walker, and Fran Caldwell (and a half dozen other really good athletes), dominated the girl’s division in track and field every year, winning several championships while I was there–

For a brief time, my older brother dated the co-captain of the girl’s team, Fran Caldwell. During my Eighth Grade year Frannie, as I called her, became like a big sister to me.

In fact, she played the role of my older sister in the school play we did that fall, about Helen Keller’s teacher called “The Miracle Worker.” Un like the Christmas play I was in earlier that year, where I was made to ware girl’s clothes and pretend to be a gay male elf called “Elfendorf” (see the 1972-73 Yearbook), I never got to be on stage during my performance as “Jimmy” in the Miracle Worker.

If you’ve never seen the movie or play, or read the book, I’ll tell you about the real-life character Jimmy. While the movie showed visual flash backs, in the play he was only a memory in Annie’s mind, ironically played by “Frannie.” When Annie Sullivan was a young girl, the two of them were put into an orphanage, where Jimmy died. Apparently, as she wrote about later, She remembered waking up in the morning and seeing her younger brother’s body being eaten by rats (which is amazingly ironic, given my current circumstances).

And what’s even more interesting about our 1973 week long sell out performance was that Mark Warchol’s girlfriend played the completely uncivilized part of a young Helen Keller, and (not surprisingly) she played the character to a perfect tee!

As I said, Frannie Caldwell was like a big sister I never had, but there was another older girl from my brother’s class who also touched my life in a very special way. And while she may not have been one of the very best girl athletes, Coleen Ham was definitely one of my favorite athletes on the girls team. My first year we often sat together on the bus when we traveled to track or wrestling matches out of town. While I know she had a small amount of vision, her animated way of talking with her body and hands, while she was constantly moving around made her fun to watch. Although it difficult to know exactly how much she could see. Not that it really mattered to most of us–

While there was a lot of really good people at the school, both students and teachers, Coleen Ham was one of the nicest, most interesting people I ever met during the three and a half years I spent at the school for the blind in Lansing.

Not surprisingly, Coleen’s personality really shined during cheerleader competition–

She was two or three years older than me, and I remember, she had a massive crush on my older brother, but he wasn’t interested. But I always admired the way she never completely gave up on the possibility, and always flirted with him anyway.

You might say, Coleen Ham was kind of the Gilda Radner of the school: Funny, outgoing and always happy .
Her super long, crazy black curly hair would fly everywhere when ever she would quickly spin around in these half circles while she was talking, first one way, then the other direction. Without pausing, all the sudden she would freeze in position and look right at you…and wait for you to laugh!

You could tell Coleen liked to make people laugh, because it was so comical to watch her prance around and around, while she was carefully explaining something in the most serious voice possible, that was usually totally ridiculous!

So other than what may have happened to me when I was much younger, and so far, I’ve only had some very strange dreams about it, this is the point in my life when I know for sure the sexual abuse began for me, in Lansing, and then later, in Eaton Rapids.

And this same sort of trauma, along with some sort of “brain-washing” techniques that were being used on some of us kids at the school, may be the trigger that forced my brain to begin to change (in strange ways that I can hardly describe) to survive.

I was twelve when I was enrolled in eighth grade at the school for the blind in Lansing, Michigan. But I looked more like a sixth grader (and probably acted like it), since I only weighed 83 lbs. and stood about 4’10”. And since I still sounded like a little girl, and since I was still waiting for my very first pubic hair, I instantly became an easy target for teasing from most of the older guys in my class, and even a few of the girls…like Beverly, who I really hated back then, because she never held anything back. Funny thing is, today, she would be my hero!

“How dare she just blurt out the truth!” I used to think.

You see, where I came from — the other side of 8 Mile, “those black people” weren’t supposed to behave this way toward “white people”. So along with everything else that was going on, it was a real shock meeting someone like Beverly Millsap at the school for the blind, who constantly, with no reservation, broke all of the societal rules I learned growing up.

“Donnie, When you gonna get some hair?” once she asked me in front of our whole 8th grade class.

Maybe I should have answered, “Never Beverly, because I like to swim. And Coach don’t really like no naked boys with hair down there in his heated pool!”

“Another time, Beverly was coming down the stairs from the dorm and saw me standing at the bottom of the stairs, alone. I’m ashamed to say, it’s the only time I ever hit a girl (or any woman) ever…other than the scraps me and my sister got into when we were growing up–

“Donnie, I see the coach really likes you a lot,” she said one day, after watching us naked boys in the pool with the coach and his son, being touched. I knew exactly what she meant, and reacted in anger. But sadly, just like my step-daughters did to me, we, as victims of abuse, usually get angry at the wrong person for what happened.

Let’s be honest, it wasn’t as though Beverly Millsap was saying this because she gave a shit about what the coach was doing to me, or anyone else. on the other hand, I did respect Beverly for at least speaking about it aloud. Everyone else chose to say nothing. Or just maybe, they were programmed by our society not to say anything, about the white coach and the little white boy?

Our track coach, Lou Tutt (who had perfect vision), probably couldn’t say anything about it because he was having an affair with our extremely attractive, young, white French teacher. And even though it was 1973, he probably figured that the (almost completely white) police department in Lansing, once they learned about his secret affair with this young, white woman, would have painted him out to be a “accessory or accomplice”?

It was only a few decades earlier when a mob of whites from Lansing, Michigan, about a mile from the blind school, murdered the father of Malcolm X, Earl little. He was beaten with something like clubs or sticks that left bruises on his shoulders and arms, according to family members who were asked to identify the body. Although a severed leg was determined to be the cause of death.

ccording to his murderers, he was dragged in front of a street car, where he was run over and killed. This happened a few weeks after Reveran White refused to move out of a “whites only” neighborhood. And not surprisingly, no one was ever arrested for the crime.

So it’s no wonder that Coach Tutt never said anything — Coach Tutt didn’t tell anyone in authority how he had been witnessing an obese, white coach repeatedly simulating anal sex with one of the smallest, white wrestlers, in the presence of thirty other minors.

In my mind, there would be some truth in saying that Coach Tutt had some complicity in what was going on. And being a black man in Lansing, Michigan, as well as his secret relationship with Miss Maston, was probably the reason that he couldn’t speak out.

Maybe he should have pulled the other coach aside, and said something like, “Do you know how sick this makes us both look! When you’re just laying there on top of him, like that?”

During my entire Eighth and Ninth Grade year, I knew Coach Tutt was usually sitting just a few feet away from me, watching this huge white wrestling coach grind his hips into my ass, as I was laying face down on the mat. Despite that this happened more than a hundred different times, I always wondered why Coach Tutt never said anything about it, as far as I knew.

He could have said to me “Jake, does it bother you when he does that, laying on top of you like that?” But regrettably, he never did–

Maybe that’s why none of the teachers or students at the school would say anything about it, other than Beverly Millsap, was because it was always these white queers who were only molesting young white kids, mostly boys…but none of the black kids? Is it too politically incorrect for me to ever say that, as one of the victims?

I remember that first summer, in 1973, one of the counselor’s at the school’s summer camp, Mike Geno, wouldn’t stop touching me (including often resting his hand on my butt), wile always reminding us boys that he was one of Stevie Wonder’s best friends (as though this gave him the permission he needed to molest some of us young white kids, with impunity)?

It wasn’t all bad, that first summer. I was also befriended by a tall girl, about my age, named Diane Pastrick.

I remember, we would hold hands and run around the whole campus. It was just platonic, and really didn’t like most girls. Like Lynn from Anchor Bay, they were all kind of bossy. Maybe because I was so little.

Diane changed her name, and ended up moving to Nashville. She got a job providing regular reports back to a country western radio station in Detroit.

The funny thing, when I was around twenty-four I had a chance to visit her in Roseville, while she was home visiting. I realized that the girl so many years ago I looked up to, literally, stood only about 4’11”.

I believe this psychological and sexual abuse all began under the George Romney administration during the early 1960’s, while Stevie Wonder was a student there. It was very likely that one of George Romney’s Deep State “friends” from the school who recommended a tutor named Ted Hull to the superintendent, Dr. Thompson, who recommended him to Stevie Morris and his mom.

I would argue that Hull was very likely used, without his knowledge at first, by the Romney Administration and the Deep State to spy on MoTown.

And that’s why I believe Hull had to wait thirty years before writing a book about his experience, long after Wonder’s career as far as producing hit records had ended. Had Hull written this book during the 1970’s, when he was broke, he would have sold millions of copies, yet for some reason he decided to wait until 2000?

I believe Ted Hull feared possible repercussions from the African-American community, if they read his book, “The Wonder Years”, and figured out that he was also working as an informant for the government. Perhaps, as a reward for not spilling the beans when he finally figured it out, Hull ended up with a financially-lucrative position with the government, as head of the Western Division of the highly corrupt Florida Department for the Blind.

So, as one of the victims of this mind-control (sexually molestation program, I have to ask, Did Stevie Wonder ever “see” anything strange going on at the school.

It’s very possible that his new tutor was working for the FBI, spying on MoTown. Specifically, did Steve Morris suspect anything?

Sidney Gottlieb, Joli West, J. Edgar Hoover, and Richard Helms were running these sort of “Nazi experimental programs” on disabled kids all across America. Including the school for the blind in Lansing, with apparently the help of Michigan Governor George Romney. We know his son, Mitt Romney, is a neo-con with close ties to the C.I.A., the Deep State, and the Global mobsters from Israel.

Here’s another story about some of the very odd people who worked at the school, including a few student interns I met who came from Michigan State University that I’ll tell you about later.

There was this little German, lady “eye doctor” who was barely five foot tall. Twice a year, she would examine all of us kids. She barely spoke English, other than a few words.

And at the end of every examination, she would come right up to us, within a few inches of our face, and look us in the eye, and say this one exact thing, every time, “Ah…I see, you are blind?” And then, quickly turn around and walk out of the room–

And while it was very charming, and got to be a funny joke around campus, it was also a little creepy.

Regardless of who this doctor was, or wasn’t, the State of Michigan had no right to allow a grown man make a group of visually-impaired boys take off all of our clothes and force us to get into a well-lighted, heated pool, with no other supervision, other than his teenage son, who may have also been a victim…

And the State of Michigan had no right to let this “Larry Nasser coach” put his hands all over our bodies, pretending as though he was teaching us to swim. Hahahahaha!

Another ironic part of this story is that about a year after graduating high school I was befriended by the family of another wrestling coach, Larry Bates, who coached DeWitt’s team. I remember, the wrestling coach at the blind school would often talk about him.

Larry Bates was the first wrestling coach in Michigan to lead his team to three consecutive undefeated seasons, and was finally inducted into Michigan’s Sports Hall of Fame in 2018.

Coach Bates, or “Master Bates”, as his youngest son would sometimes jokingly call him, was not only one of the most successful wrestling coaches in Michigan history, he was also a real nice guy! And while Eaton Rapids wrestlers often dominated Class B, Coach Bates and DeWitt High School completely dominated Class C wrestling in Michigan. All three of Coach Bates’s sons, Larry, Harry, and Hughie went on to win individual state championships for DeWitt.

Apparently, shortly after Hughie graduated high school, Coach Bates moved his family to Lansing and took a more lucrative job with Oldsmobile, where my brother also worked at the time. And just by coincidence, my younger sister, who was living with my older brother at the time, met and then began dating Hughie Bates, and we became friends. For awhile, our band would practice in his garage, and I would often crash there.

Funny thing about this story is that I was supposed to wrestle against Hughie during my sophomore year. Except, I began growing like a weed, and by the end of the season I was forced to lose about ten pounds for every match in order to make weight. Not surprisingly, I was unable to make weight for our match against DeWitt, which was scheduled for late in the season. Although, I would have to admit it may also have been partially psychological, since as I recall Hughie Bates ended up pinning my replacement, John Reude, who had wrestled varsity in the past for us (and was a pretty good wrestler), in about twenty or thirty seconds. Truth is, I don’t think I would have done any better against the youngest Bates, had I been able to make weight that night.

Unlike Jack Provencal and the coach at the blind school, I know Coach Bates was one of the really good wrestling coaches in America, and I’m positive he never abused any of his wrestlers. But there are a few things he said that, given the long over due scrutiny of coaches in America today, which could easily be misinterpreted.

For example, when ever we wrestled his team, according to our coach he would say something like, “So your boys are going to fight my boys this week?”

And often when I would come by the Bates house to hang out, Coach Bates would come up to me and whisper in my ear, “Don, incest is dandy, if you keep it in the family.”

Since he had four attractive daughters, and because of what had happened to me when I was in school (two of the daughters were still under eighteen), it probably wasn’t a real smart thing for him to say, as their father. Although, on the other hand, back then no one suspected there were so many sick coaches in Michigan like, Jack Provencal and Larry Nasser.

I should mention, I had a big crush on Coach Bates’s second oldest daughter, and, along with Hughie and my sister, we went on one date. After a night of dancing and drinking beer, and after making out half the night on the couch (while her mom was sleeping upstairs and her dad was working), I thought for sure we were going to become a couple. Except, the next morning when me and Hughie were leaving she came outside to say good bye, and said she was on her way to “Charlie’s house” — her “her “boyfriend’s” house. Obviously, she broke my heart that morning, and I’m pretty sure we never, ever spoke again after that–

So back to the blind school–

There were dozens of these massive lights under the water (along with a few hidden cameras I suspect). And if the water was always well lit, as it was, anyone watching, including Ms. Brunger and Ms. Gingery (the girls two lady coaches), I suspect they could clearly see everything that was going on, both above and below the water.

That’s why I know there’s no way that at least some of my fellow classmates didn’t see something odd going on in the pool with me and the coach, like Eric Dietz and David Conrad (who both could see a whole lot better than most of us).

and there was another guy ZI met that first year who was in my class, named Mike Bear. About two years later, Bear could legally drive and would often drive to school from his home in Jackson, Michigan to north side of Lansing, where the school was located.

While I was holding on to the paddle board, I have know doubt Bear could see the coach constantly touching me both above and under the water. I remember this one time when the coach was talking to Bear, who was standing right next to us in the pool. The coach was rubbing my naked ass, round and round, right there in front of Bear…who said nothing!

And if you can believe this, at the same time the coach is telling Ms. Brunger and Ms. Gingery, who were coaching the cheerleaders, to not sing this great cheer they wrote called “Go Bananas!” According to the cheerleaders, the “wrestling coach” told the girls coaches that the cheer was “Too suggestive for his boys.” HUH!

As I recall, at one point during the cheer the cheerleaders would bend over and spin around in a big circle while they slapped the floor, and excitedly chanted the infamous words:


In my opinion, it wasn’t the words or the visual effect that made it such a good cheer, but more because of how loud it was–

Parents and kids from the other school we were wrestling that night would often fill our bleachers during most of our home matches. Most of them also came to see the blind school’s amazing “blind cheerleaders” perform–

Before each home match, the girls would do this one cheer that would catch everyone’s attention. They formed a three level pyramid, with one of our best lady-sprinters, five-foot, one-inch, Renee Walker at the very top. I remember seeing her up there; Her tiny head was about fifteen feet off the ground.

Then all the sudden, everyone would gasp, as Renee began to tumble forward, helplessly falling through the air!

Every time she did it, it appeared as though she had lost her balance, until the moment she landed squarely on her feet, and every time the audience would stand and applaud.

But as far as the coach’s concerns about our morality, you notice often it’s those (mostly men with power) who scream the loudest about how the little people behave! Like some these dirty Oregon DA’s, who apparently don’t go after cops who traffic cocaine or cops who commit other crimes, like Josh Marquise, Bob Hermann, and Douglas Harcleroad, who I have written extensively about here at my blog — WolfeOut.com.

So when there is an alternative choice on our ballot, which is very rare in Oregon when it comes to voting for judges or DA’s, we find out later that the other person is usually just as corrupt and dirty as the incumbent.

Meanwhile, in one of his last interviews, Josh “Luger Marquise” is telling “The Alpha Lard” that “We should trust the district attorneys in Oregon,” simply because they are “elected by the people,” rather than being appointed, like they are in every other state America.

What about Michael Simon, Anna Brown and the other federal judges in Oregon who are appointed? does this mean we shouldn’t trust the federal judges, Josh?

Besides, Oregon is also the only state in America that doesn’t require an unanimous jury to convict a person of a felony. And

remember, Oregon was also the last state to officially end the practice of eugenics, allegedly, in 1983. However, apparently Oregon never stopped practicing eugenics, since, along being shocked fifty to one hundred times every day, my testicles are being electrocuted at least once every day by someone who is with, or protected by, “law enforcement”…

So, knowing the whole truth, and how truly deceitful this remark about “electing good people” is, I have to pause for a moment, and puke!

For example, I would say we haven’t had a truly honest person on the presidential ballot since Cynthia McKenny, in 2008. And if you study it, America has one of the most vulnerable voting systems anywhere, thanks to the electronics, yet the courts and politicians do nothing to change it–

But this book isn’t about the corruption in America, but rather how those of us in third America deal with it. And maybe how sometimes life itself will intercede, when men and women fail in their eternal responsibility to god and the universe…

One of the other “adult exploiters” I was befriended by while attending the school for the blind was a guy named Mark Martin.

As I mentioned earlier, when I was twelve I attended a summer program at the school for the blind. This was just prior to my first year. And one of my counselors was a guy named Mark Martin, who stayed with us in the cottage that summer.

Martin, along with an overly-friendly guy (with overly-friendly hands) named Mike Geno (who said he was Stevie Wonder’s “close friend”), were responsible for “supervising” twenty of as younger boys. My older brother was also there, although he was assigned to a different cottage.

I was specifically befriended by Martin, as though his friend and supervisor, Mr. Graef, may have planned it that way…based on something that happened years later…

Martin and me stayed in touch, even after he moved to Flint later that summer, where he operated a vending stand at one of the local post offices.

About a year later, Martin moved back to Lansing and got an apartment a few blocks from the school. Martin and his roommate, Richard McKinley, began inviting me over to stay the night, From the moment I got there, we began smoking massive amounts of pot! Sometimes we drank beer, and other times we didn’t–

The funny thing about this, just like Eaton Rapids High, it seemed like everyone at the school knew about a lot of this, but no one said anything; no one thought it was strange a twenty something blind guy was inviting this fourteen-year-old kid over to party and spend the night. My house parents should have smelled the marijuana on my clothes, since they always did our laundry every week?

And if they knew, or suspected, I was using “drugs”, the school should at the very least invested. They knew exactly where I had been when I was wearing the clothes with these strongest smell–

All I know is that I would usually wake up in Mark Martin’s roommate’s bed (wearing only underwear, or nothing at all) not remembering anything about what had happened the night before.

By the time I got to Eleventh Grade (and was apparently too old to hang out with), Martin and I rarely spoke. And that was the fall I decided to transfer to Eaton Rapids, the local public school.

Shortly after I graduated from high school, and while I was in town visiting my older brother, I decided to take the bus over to Martin’s new house to say hello. But strangely, he wouldn’t let me come in. And he wouldn’t say why—

But just then, a lady-friend I knew extremely well from the school for the blind, who helped me produce the campus news program and who I had fooled around with once, myself (and was about a year younger than me), appeared at the door. We said “Hello”, and Martin said nothing. But he didn’t move either, and obviously still didn’t want me to come inside…

Since I knew she was still under age, and he definitely wasn’t, it was obvious something inappropriate — something sexual, was going on here. Then all the sudden, much like my conversation with Miss Gingery, as I’ll tell you about in a moment, everything became perfectly clear….

At that moment I had to admit to myself that my friend, Mark Martin, was just another one of the adults from the school who was using their influence to take advantage of us blind kids–

And here’s the really weird part. The only girlfriend I had while I was attending Eaton Rapids was a girl named Kim Williams. She was the star of both the girls volleyball and softball teams, and we dated for about three months (which really pissed off Mrs. Collins).

Once I stayed over night at her house and her parents allowed me to sleep in her bedroom, while she slept on the couch. We were leaving early in the morning for a volleyball tournament out of town.

She set the alarm for 5:00 a.m. And when she woke up, she put on some coffee and started frying some eggs for us, before she came in to her bedroom to wake me up.

Needless to say, her eggs burnt, which set off the smoke alarm, which of course, woke everyone up–

But here’s the weird part. Kim, along with her new husband, Ed, had moved into the exact same duplex in Lansing where Mark Martin was living…and was apparently molesting this underage girl I knew, which brings me back to this conversation I had with Miss Gingery, about the real problem involving sexual abuse at the school–

Sometime late in my sophomore year I got in trouble over a girl. So I was called to the office of the Assistant Dean, Ms. Gingery, who was promoted around this time. When I showed up, she vaguely began talking about knowing boundaries and making sure to get some sort of consent every time, no matter what went on the time before, or the time before that- Looking back, I think my fellow sophomore was on her period and I was to dumb to get the hint…and she was too shy to say “it”.

However, because of something she said to me, I think her brother Michael was the one who was forcing her to do things she didn’t want to do–

But just like Coach Tutt, Coach Rapaport and Coach Hetherington, who seemed to want to look the other way, when I started to bring some of “it” up, she said she didn’t have the “time to “get into all of this now,” so I let it drop.

I think that’s the moment when I started seriously thinking about transferring to the public school, just as my brother (and a few of my friends) had done over the last couple years.

But if Ms. Gingery had once also taken a quick peek at us naked boys, as was rumored, and really did make a joke about it in front of several of the girls about our “cute little butts”, it would explain why she seemed to get a little nervous when I changed the subject and didn’t want to “get into it” (anything else) that afternoon about the coach…and a few others, including Mark Martin and his roommate —

For trying just to get back to second base, I was prohibited from staying in the dorms for the remainder of my sophomore year. Yet, on the other hand, an African-American classmate of mine, named Lonnie Woods, had pulled one of my female classmates into the bushes one night and, according to her boyfriend, forcefully raped her. Except, since Lonnie was Coach Tutt’s second best sprinter, Woods was never arrested by the police or even suspended by Miss Gingery or Principal Tutt for what he did.

But just like Oregon, apparently the seriousness of the allegation makes no difference. It only matters who you are…and who you know (and what you can do for them)–

But what I knew back then, and what Beverly Millsap and Ed Chapman knew, and what a lot of adults should have investigated (including an assistant wrestling coach from Michigan State University named Rick Rapaport.
Coach Rapaport was a paid intern, who I know witnessed some of this ongoing sexual abuse), is that there was something very, very odd going on at that school, involving a lot of us kids. Apparently it began some time during Governor George Romney’s administration.

As I mentioned earlier, as far as I knew, it was always the younger, white-looking kids who were “selected”.

Think about this, Governor Romney spent over a hundred million dollars on the school for the blind during his time in office, including “re-modeling” the heated pool (including putting in an underwater camera.

Yet Governor Romney hardly spent even one dime on re-investing into the Detroit and Flint schools. So isn’t it curious that the governor of Michigan thought that it would be a great idea to put the kids from Detroit on a bus for two or three hours every day.

In other words, by doing this the kids would be removed from the care and protection of their parents (for a couple more hours every day), just like what was happening to us kids at the school for the blind.

And, who knows, maybe that’s why today, the son of George Romney, Senator Mitt Romney, is going after President Trump, on behalf of the child trafficking Deep State criminals, who promote the normalization of pedophilia, homosexuality and endless wars (and cannabis without THC).

Remember, the Romney’s are from Utah, who is the number one state in America for the consumption of pornography, including child porn.

And perhaps that’s the real reason George Romney moved his family from Utah to Mexico to continue his sexual perversions on little Mexican and Mormon boys, and to avoid being scrutinized by federal authorities who first began investigating the Mormons for the wide-spread practice of polygamy and pedophilia around this time, during the 1930’s and 1940’s.

And why I wouldn’t defend Donald Trump for a lot of what he has said and done. After all, let’s face it, he’s kind of an American mobster. But do you want an American mobster, or a global mobster? That’s the real question, in 2020.

We should be thankful he has exposed the Jewish controlled corporate media, the Democreep Party, and the Deep State child traffickers (even if the Injustice Department is protecting them).

I do feel he is doing all of us straight men with disabilities a big favor. Because today, if you’re male, white-looking, straight, you are the enemy of the neo-liberals, who have taken over the Democreep Party, even if you are disabled.

The Republicans are saying, “Help yourself”, or get your family to help you. It’s not our responsibility.

So which one’s better, to be left alone, or to be hated and castrated by the Democreeps?

So it’s not surprising that Senator Linzy Grahm, Ron Wyden, and Mitt Romney are all attacking the President for rocking the boat and exposing the useless pressitutes.

Governor Romney’s comment on a late night television show about being “brainwashed” is considered by most as being either his biggest slip of the tongue, or his most honest remark. It was definitely one of the most interesting public comments ever made by a sitting governor. The Republicans would say, it was his greatest political blunder since it cost him a chance at being the 1968 Republican presidential candidate.

So the first time I was exposed to this organized form of child abuse and mind-control began early in the fall of 1972. I was required to attend these counseling sessions with one of the school’s two shrinks in the Administration Building. I don’t remember his name, other than remembering how truly creepy he seemed- As probably every student who attended the school for the blind knew, They were both like characters you would see in one of those Alfred Hitchcokc movies.

The first, or maybe it was the second time, I met with him, I remember he began swinging this shiny metal object in front of my eyes and told me to watch it, “very, very carefully”.

I do remember this, it wasn’t one of those big watches, like in the movies, but I don’t remember anything else about it or him…I seem to only be able to remember going up to his private office a bunch of different times, and then being taken to another room in the back, with a couch…

The funny thing about this, and this strange man, is that I can remember almost every other detail about the school for the blind and almost every person I ever met there…but I can’t remember anything about this strange man or what we talked about, except his shiny object swinging back and forth–

And there was this really friendly, good-looking teenage guy named Jim Gates, who wasn’t blind, but always hung out at the school for the blind. Nobody knew much about him, or where he lived or went to school.

Some of the girls would literally throw themselves at him, wrapping their arms around him as though they were lovers at the beach. This included Mark Warchol’s “girlfriend”, who once surprised me by climbing into my sleeping bag one night on a camping trip…and making out.

Thing is, Gates wasn’t interested in any of them. Apparently, none of the girls ever realized, even though he never slept with any of them, that he was only there to recruit young blind boys into “the governor’s program”, or at least, that’s what he called it–

So at the same time I was apparently being hypnotized (without my parents consent), I also became the favorite target of this two-hundred plus pound sexual predator, who coached wrestling at the blind school. Along with some other nasty things he did to me and one other boy I know about, he liked to get all of us young boys naked in the pool at the blind school, and touch some of us younger ones, inappropriately , while pretending to teach us to swim. While his own kid, Jeff, stood watch!

Not to mention there was this crack between the doors in the weight room, where the girls who could see well enough could easily watch us naked boys being taught to “swim”…

At first I complained about being forced to swim naked, although I didn’t say why. I remember I was told by the former-wrestling coach and school principal, Joey Hetherington, that it was because the threads on our trunks would damage the filtering machine. Except, some of us boys would peak at the girls when they were swimming, and I always wondered why their suits didn’t also clog up the filters and why they didn’t have to swim naked?

It didn’t help that I was twelve and very small for my age when I started eighth grade at the blind school in Lansing when “they” decided to pick me for this “programming”. Although there was at least one other boy who I know for sure was also probably being victimized by the coach and his son.

One day I came in to the locker room, and this kid was sitting on a bench and crying, and his shorts were pulled part way down.

When I first came in, I remember the coach was sitting in his office, and no one else was any where around the locker room except the three of us.

I paused for a moment to ask this kid if he was okay, who was about a year younger than me, but saw his shorts and decided I didn’t want to know. For some reason, I just decided to just keep walking until I got to the varsity locker room, which was located in the very back. And I never said anything else to anyone about it, until now–

So because of this, I strongly suspect the coach (and maybe some of the administrators) may have been secretly video taping us boys, while we were naked in the pool, to watch later.

The coach had this stack of unmarked video tapes on one of his bookshelves, that seemed a little strange. I know this, because I would often sit in his office before practice and look around, and I remember all of the other tapes were clearly labeled, “Take Downs”, “Free Style”, etc..

And if he was video taping us without our knowledge and parents consent, as I think he was, this would make every boy who was forced to get naked and get into the pool with him, also a victim.

But sadly, unlike the charges against Larry Nasser and Michigan State, where all the “victims” were young girls, it’s unlikely that anyone in Michigan will give a crab about what this coach (or any of the other queers running around there) did to any of us blind boys.

When wrestling practice began that first October, this coach would always insist on using me as his eighty-five pound practice dummy in front of the entire wrestling team. At first, I was proud to have been selected to perform this duty. While the other wrestlers were resting, I was still working hard…or that’s how it began–

Except, I was always in the down position, and just by chance, he was always the one on top. If he were demonstrating a move from the standing position, he would always pick one of the bigger guys to play the dummy.

So when ever I was the wrestling dummy, He would always end up laying on top of me, while my face was being jammed into the mat.

This was probably the most embarrassing part of this sort of public, sexual abuse, which I know Lou Tutt and the high-partial wrestlers must had also seen. While he was laying on top of me, the coach would sometimes use his knees to slowly spread my legs apart while he was on tp of me. At the same time, he would be wiggling his hips around, as though he wanted everyone to think that he was only working another “wrestling” move–

Thing is, I knew Coach Tutt better than most of the kids, and I know he was a good man, not withstanding his affair with Miss Maston. So why didn’t Coach Tutt ever jump up and grab this pervert by the throat, like both Dale and Brett did to me, and slam him against the wall? There’s no doubt that he was strong enough to do it?

As I think about it, maybe it had something to do with being raised, as a young black man, in the State of South Carolina.

I lived in Northern Florida and Georgia for a decade, and I learned a lot of interesting things about the relationships between blacks and whites living in the post-slavery south.

First, other than the large cities, I noticed that most African-Americans would behave extremely politely when in the presence of any one who was “white-looking”. Based on my experience growing up in Michigan, this always puzzled me, and made me uncomfortable.

While I lived in Jacksonville I had a friend named Charles. We worked together at a local restaurant. One afternoon I was hanging out on his porch, when another African-American stopped bye. He seemed pretty friendly, so I was surprised by what Charles said when he left. Here’s how it went, as far as I can remember.

“There goes another South Carolina Negro.”

“What’d you mean?” I asked.

“Well, he was a little too friendly, wouldn’t you say. He don’t usually act that way. You see, he should have been a little more suspicious of you , being a white man. No Offense, but he don’t know you. He don’t know your not a cop or informant.”

“But he does know what’s been going on around here for the last four hundred years, and he should have been a lot more careful about what he’s sayin’. Telling you about all that stuff, about getting in trouble, like he knows you.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I know you, and I know you’re cool, but he don’t. See what I mean. It’s kind of like he’s snitchin’ to the man, just because your white.”

Re-examining the history of South Carolina would help to understanding why Coach Tutt didn’t feel strong enough to speak up.

Along with New Orleans, Charleston and Savanna were the primary slave trade capitals in America. For almost four hundred years Jewish and Dutch slave traders brought Hundreds of thousands of shackled men and women to one of these three cities to be sold to mostly, wealthy white land owners.

This well-established cast system, which placed Jewish and Dutch slave traders, along with wealthy white land owners, at the top, and all persons of color at the bottom, became part of the southern culture. This was never more true than in the area around the three slave trade capitals in the South.

And if you look at the evidence, one could argue that this cast system is still in place today in the State of South Carolina, more than any where else in the south. For example, the only black Republican in the Senate, Senator Tim Scott, is from South Carolina. And Senator Scott is talking about being grateful that his family is no longer picking cotton. Except, they’re still shooting unarmed black men in the back for being defiant (to the commands of the white master), who has the gun.

So perhaps as a victim of this “code of silence”, here’s some strong evidence to support my argument that Coach Tutt couldn’t say anything, even if he wanted to.

U.S. Senator Linzy Grahm, the other senator from South Carolina, along with Oregon’s Senator Ron Wyden, have openly, and repeatedly, pushed the interests of Israel and the Jewish lobby, as though they were serving the interests of the Jewish slave traders. Including pushing bills and amendments that would completely silence the First Amendment rights of any Americans who would dare to speak out against the policies and practices of Israel, a “Jewish State” (while they’re openly murdering unarmed children and those with disabilities).

In addition, after taking office President Trump appointed South Carolina former-Governor Nikki Haley to be the U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations. Immediately after her appointment she also began using her position to push the agenda of Israel. Rather than the human rights of the peaceful, unarmed Palestinian protesters (who continue to be openly butchered by the Israeli Death Squads in Gaza and the West Bank).

So, if you can stomach it, imagine this. Four at least two or three times at every practice, for almost a minute or two,this two hundred pound man would lay there on top of me, while my face was buried in the matt. He slowly explained the move he had just performed, while he was jamming his hard on up my ass…(while everyone who wasn’t completely blind) watched!

And, for those who remember, he always wore these really baggy shorts. Can you guess why?

Since he would do this sick stuff to me at almost every practice, even in front of my own fifteen-year-old brother, who, like the other kids, probably didn’t know what to do…and were themselves victims, for having been exposed to this outwardly, “homosexual” behavior at every practice. In a way, they were all being groomed by the coach who made them watch.

But I still wondr, why didn’t I ever say anything about it, to anyone, ever? Maybe it had something to do with my memories of having my biological-father, Harold, pointing a loaded gun at my mom and me…although the gun could have been unloaded…

About a year later a wrestler named Ed Chapman — one of the toughest guys I ever knew, got a group of almost a dozen wrestlers to walk out during practice, and they never came back. It wasn’t the reason they gave for doing it, but about a week or two before this happened Chapman came up to me after practice and stuck his finger in my chest, and said, “Why the fuck do you let him do that shit to you!”I didn’t what to say. After a moment, he just walked away. I don’t think we ever spoke again after that–

Obviously, I didn’t have the balls to join them. And if you can believe it, about a week later I wrote an article in the school paper about what a great guy the coach was. Ugh–

Meanwhile, around this time my academic counselor at the blind school took me and a friend, Tom Crisp, to Troy, Michigan one weekend for a baseball card convention.

That Friday, I stayed over my counselor’s house that Friday night and we picked up Tom the next morning and drove to Troy. While I was there, I had a chance to meet both my counselor’s wife and youngest daughter, who was very pretty.

The next morning we picked up Tom, who was co-publishing a monthly magazine with me for the “Capitol City Card Collectors Club”, and we headed to Detroit.

Later that day, while me and Tom were working our table for the CCCC club, our academic counselor, Phil Marshall, showed up with a strange woman, and they were holding hands) (and she wasn’t his wife). When he dropped me and Tom off at my grandparents home in Roseville that evening, we talked about it and agreed that the two of them probably wouldn’t be sleeping alone that night?

I remember feeling very troubled and confused learning that this man, who I admired wasn’t who I thought he was–

As an adult, I realize that it’s possible that the cot I slept on the night before in Mr. Marshall’s basement, may have been where he normally slept. So if the Marshall’s were already “separated”, and only pretending to be a happy couple for my benefit, then it’s probably no one else’s business, including Tom and me, who they sleep with.

But what bothers me about it, is that Mr. Marshall could have easily kept his secret from us — two half blind kids, if he had wanted to. He could have kept us from knowing and not brought her to our card table, and introduced us to her.

At the time, I could barely recognize someone standing ten feet away from me, unless they spoke. And Tom’s vision was only slightly better than mine.

We were only fourteen or fifteen at the time. So, as impressionable young men and students under Mr. Marshall’s authority, I always wondered why he wanted Tom and me to know about her? Maybe he believe in his heart-of-hearts she was going to be the next Mrs. Marshall, and wanted us to meet her first, before it became just another one of those “ugly rumors” floating around the school? Or maybe there’s another reason he didn’t care if we knew about his affair.

Similarly, I remember feeling devastated when I learned that our track coach, Lou Tutt, was divorcing his wife, who I knew well, and marrying the French Language teacher, Gale Maston.

Miss Maston (along with Mrs. Ryan, who was the school’s Activities Coordinator), was one of the most attractive teachers in the school. Everyone knew that, even the totally blind kids.

She usually spoke, looked and dressed like a fashion model who I sometimes imagined came from New York or Paris just to teach us blind kids French.

She also worked with the multi-disabled younger kids, who had their own separate classroom building, with a dormitory up stairs. I would guess, that’s where she first met Coach Tutt, working with the multi-disabled kids.

On the other hand, Mrs. Ryan had long wavy blond hair and big blue eyes that sparkled when she spoke. I always thought she looked and sounded like an actress from one of those California beach movies. And she was always smiling and laughing, always trying to get everyone involved in some activity.

Every kid loved Mrs. Ryan!

On the other hand, I was very fond of the first Mrs. Tutt and it was difficult for me, as a fourteen or fifteen-year-old to understand why they had separated. Along with staying over night a couple different times at there apartment in East Lansing, and participating in a local track club with Mr. Tutt (held every Saturday during the summer), Mrs. Tutt would bring her junior high school students to the blind school for tours once or twice a year. And because we were friends, Mr. Graef arranged it so that I got to skip school for a couple hours, so I could be their tour guide. So I became friends with several of Mrs. Tutt’s students, and we stayed in touch even after the Tutt’s separated.

As I soon learned, there was a lot of this sort of monkey business going on among some of the adults who worked (or just hung around) the school for the blind.

When we were Explorers, Miss Fowdy and Mr. Burnett would hide in a sleeping bag in the corner. While several girls climbed into my sleeping bag and started making out, during several of our overnight camping trips.

And one of our dorm parents, Mrs. Hunsacker, would often sneak a quick look at us young, naked teenage boys while we were in the shower. The other house parent, Mrs. McCluellen, was about fifteen years older than Mrs. Hunsacker and probably couldn’t see well enough to see our naked butts. But there’s no doubt Mrs. Hunsacker saw all of us more than once!

A couple of the boys in my class, Brad Bollenbach and Bob Rickert, got really, really upset with her when she did this (as they had every right to do), they would start screaming bloody murder as soon as they saw her head appear from around the corner of the shower stall…but she kept on doing it, while pretending to write something down on her clipboard.

So back to the “coach” and how it was for me, always having a 200 lb., chubby grown man lying on top of me during wrestling practice, a small half blind boy.

So you know how little I was back then, I wrestled in the 88 pound division in the North Central Association of Blind Schools’ tournament during both my eighth and ninth grade year. Other than the NCASB tournament, where I wrestled at 105 pounds and finished third, I wrestled at 98 pounds my entire sophomore year, winning almost thirty matches that year. And you may be surprised to know, all but three of those wins came against sighted kids from the local public schools.

Then in ninth grade the coach encouraged us to try and wrestle with our local public schools during the Christmas break — to stay in shape over the break. Most of the students at the blind school went home during the holidays, and that always put us at a big disadvantage come January as compared to the public schools we wrestled against.

So that December I called the local school and spoke to the coach at Eaton Rapids, “The Great Jack Provencal”, as he was once described in the local paper, and set it up.

When I showed up, Coach Provencal had one of the wrestlers take me to the locker room, where I changed in to my practice gear. Then we walked to the cafeteria, where the Eaton Rapids wrestling team was warming up. I also notice there were lots of girls sitting on the front of the stage, watching the wrestlers practice, which was very cool, so I thought…in the beginning–

Our wrestling room at the school for the blind was pretty small, and only a few extra people could fit into the extra area.

A few minutes later, Provencal divided us into small groups of four and started the regular practice.

When we started doing calisthenics, it soon became obvious to everyone that I wasn’t nearly in shape enough to compete with the wrestlers from Eaton Rapids High School, so Coach Provencal began punishing everyone when I failed to meet the team’s “high standards”.

And so, a short time later we broke into our wrestling groups, then Coach Provencal, the girls on the stage, and most of the other wrestlers watched these two future “state champions”, Dorr Granger and Rick Davis, begin to kick the shit out of me.

It began with just a couple kicks, now and then. Then suddenly, it got real vicious when another future Eaton Rapids state champion, Jeff Houghten, began openly cheering them on…so they kicked me even harder–

Apparently, Houghten, who wrestled varsity at 98 lbs. for Eaton Rapids at the time, usually wrestled in the group I was assigned to. Obviously, as Eaton Rapids varsity wrestler at 98 pounds, he was the best wrestler in this particular group. However, my presence meant Houghten would have to wrestle with the heavier (and better) wrestlers throughout the Christmas break. And apparently, he wasn’t happy about it and was determined to make me not want to come back (apparently, instead of seeing this as a good opportunity to improve his skills)–

I felt like that character they all sarcastically called “Gomer Pyle” from the movie, “Full Metal Jacket” (ironically, a movie directed by Stanley Kubric, who also directed “Eyes Wide Shut”, a strange coincidence which I’ll tell you more about in another chapter).

Fortunately, a real hero from Eaton Rapids, named Luke Fagen, who was the other member of our group, pulled me away from Granger, Davis, and Houghten. After that, I asked Fagen to walk me back to the locker room, where I quickly got dressed and called for my ride.

Not surprisingly, I decided to never go back after that first day of “practicing” with Eaton Rapids and the legendary Coach of Eaton County, Jack Provencal.

For some reason, two years later, when I transferred to Eaton Rapids, Coach Provencal became my academic counselor, so I decided that fall to give wrestling another try. Then one day the following September Coach Provencal overheard me and a friend I played guitar with talking outside of his office about how the special education teacher, Mrs. Collins, had begun “doing me” that summer, even though she was married with two kids, and about fifteen years older than me. In fact, her younger daughter, who was born that spring, was closer to my age than she was–

When school got out that day, coach Provencal took me to the wrestling room, since me, Granger, Davis and a few other wrestlers who didn’t play football were practicing to get ready for what would be our senior year. Except, strangely enough, no one else showed up for practice that day. I realize now, that was the plan, arranged by Coach Provencal. Here’s why–

After stretching, we began wrestling. But then, it got real weird. Provencal didn’t say hardly anything, just began throwing me up against the padded walls and beating the shit out of me as though I were responsible for being screwed by one of my teachers (who happen to be a good friend of his)!

In fact, several times she parked her little car in a corn field which was just a few hundred yards away from Provencal’s back door, on Royston Road.

Did Provencal offer her, perhaps in her mind, some extra protection, because she knew what she was doing was wrong? Did he tell her about “roughing me up, like the way Granger and Davis did a couple years earlier, while he watched?”

But Provencal wasn’t the only adult protecting her. There was this one evening during a high school basketball game while we had been doing it in the back of the special ed room/ice cream room, Assistant Principal Overland walked in on us (while we were getting dressed). He nervously apologized (twice) and then quickly left, but never reported the incident to anyone, as far as I know.

So after getting beat up, I really did never go back to Provencal’s wrestling practice again, and I got a new academic counselor. And Granger, Davis, along with three other wrestlers (Jeff Houghten, Lynn Ball, and somebody named Brooks), and the entire team all ended up becoming both individual and team state “champions” that year.

Here’s an interesting fact that shows you who the real Jack Provencal is, and how these people protect each other.
While this so-called “academic counselor” and wrestling coach was winning his first state “championship”, there were at least three different school employees I know about who were either definitely having a sexual relationship with students, or suspected of it, at Eaton Rapids High School.

One of my female classmates ended up marrying their seducer/English teacher, who was ironically named, “Johnson”.

And our English Literature teacher, who always carried a bible around the school, left the State of Michigan in a big hurry for somewhere out west, following our graduation. That spring, rumors began to spread around the school that he had been molesting at least two of my fellow female students in a group home for girls where he and his wife lived, as house parents.

So, while I would never challenge the dozens of individual championships any of the wrestlers from Eaton Rapids won that year, one has to question the legitimacy of any of Provencal’s dozens of state, regional and league championships. Was it really fair to the tens of thousands of other wrestlers in Michigan who played by the rules?

Under state law, all high school wrestling coaches know they are prohibited from holding any sort of organized practices before October (So students have enough time to focus on their studies,). And, as one of the school’s two academic counselors, Provencal obviously knew this, since he kept telling us guys when we first started practicing something like, ‘This is all your idea. Right you guys? Remember, if any one asks, practicing was your idea, and I just happen to show up.’

Except, the fact is that it was all Provencal’s idea to get an early start on the season. I know for sure that he was the one who had asked me right after school started if I wanted to join them while I was in his office.

This was a really weird day. Sometime that year, Mrs. Collins arranged for me, Jack Provencal, and her to all spend a day together in Detroit.

the Detroit Renaissance Center was hosting a conference on the opportunities and technology available to students with disabilities. I remember that day well, since I ran into several of my old friends from the blind school who were there. But it was also a very intense trip, especially driving there and back.

In all honesty, a part of me wanted to ask Provencal if he knew about our relationship, just to see how he reacted. Although, who knows, maybe he would have pulled the car over and started beating me up again? Especially if I had put it to him, something like this.

“So Judy, think Jack would mind if we borrowed his corn field again this Saturday? How bout it Jack, would you mind?”

And if all of this wasn’t enough, here’s something really weird, which is why I ended up transferring to the local public school a few years later (where I first met Mrs. Collins).

Almost immediately, from day one, the wrestling coach at the blind school started calling me “Jake”, At first, it made me feel honored to have been given a nickname. except then I found out a little later, I wasn’t the first kid he nicknamed “Jake”. Then I began to wonder if he did this sick stuff to the first Jake, who was about five years older than me?

And what’s even more creepy about this whole “two Jakes” part of the story, is that our first and last names were spelled identically the same, except for the very last letter–

As you may already know, Stevie Wonder was the most famous graduate of the Michigan School for the Blind. He graduated three years before I arrived,

Here’s a few more inside details about the school and Stevie Wonder that his tutor, Ted Hull, didn’t mention in his 2004 book, “The Wonder Years”, and that I’m sure you’ll find very interesting.

Along with Lucy Carner, there were dozens of other great teachers at the Michigan School for the Blind who all played a major role in Stevie’s education, not to mention what they did for me and the hundreds of other blind and visually-impaired students who passed through this remarkable residential school, located a few blocks from downtown Lansing.

Along with a piano tuning department and a caning class, where you could earn pretty good money caning chairs and tuning pianos. We had access to this incredible industrial shop. It was a massive work shop where Mr. Anderson and Mr. Richards taught us to build all kinds of stuff.
For example, we learned to rebuild and repair small engines, which gave us a chance to earn money by repairing lawn-mowers for the people in the neighborhood.

We learned to wire lights, switches, plugs and door bells. We then learned how to wire a small circuit board in both parallel and series. We also wired an electrical heating coil from scratch, and eventually turn it into a hot plate.

And, so you know, Mr. Richards and Mr. Anderson always spent a good amount of time teaching us to safely use all sorts of electrical tools, like soldering guns, drills, and even a couple different table saws!

But don’t try this at home, if you’re blind. While I feel confident I could learn to safely operate most electrical tools, we started out by learning on equipment that had specially designed guides and shields to protect our hands.

As far as I know, no one ever got hurt working in the school’s shop. However, this one time this kid named Jim Moffett got his leg caught in the side of the freight elevator, he was riding up and down. And you can bet, they completely chained that elevator up after that happened, so no one else ever got hurt, like that, after Moffett broke his leg.

It took them almost an hour to get him out. And I’ll never forget how high he was because of something they gave him for the pain, just laughing his ass off the whole time they were loading him into the back of the ambulance–

We also build transistor radios; made signs out of molded plastic and Styrofoam; and we could build almost anything we wanted out of wood. So one year, I built a miniature baseball stadium with artificial grass and miniature wooden bleachers.

We also had a canoe building shop, where the students could build (and sell) canoes. These canoe builders were the camping group known as the explorers.

From time-to-time, we would take the canoes to the school pool to test them out. Which was fun, until Mr. Burnett decided it might be a better idea for us visually-impaired kids to test one canoe at a time. oops!

Back then, the medical transcription program was probably the most lucrative vocational training available, and most of the female students pursued that particular career program, as I recall. Although there was no gender restrictions, and other than piano tuning, most of us kids pursued several different occupational programs, at the same time (along with the required academics).

When I arrived at the school in 1972, the ratio between boys and girls was about two to one. However, by the time I transferred into the local public school in January of 1976, the ratio between boys and girls was about five to one.

So you know, in the general population, boys are two times more likely to have poor vision than girls. As you may know, color-blindness is almost exclusively a male trait.

The home economics class was one of my favorite. There was this large room with three separate kitchens that ran along one wall. We also had a fairly large dining area.

Along with perfecting the art of making pizza and brownies, we learned a lot about washing and repairing clothes with these self-threading needles, we spent time reading and understanding recipes. We also learned to keep track of things by writing grocery lists, based on a budget, and keeping track of other household records, like bills.

If you ask me, those were the wonder years at the Michigan School for the Blind (during the 1960’s and the 1970’s); when we all believed there were lots of opportunities for blind people to earn an honest living in America. I’m sad to say that, despite the advanced computer technology, this seems far less likely today than it was thirty or forty years ago.

There were about a dozen different teachers and instructors at the school for the blind who also had some sort of visual impairment. Specifically, I had two completely blind instructors who were very gifted educators.

Jack Chard was the first of these amazing totally blind teachers I met at the school–

Along with giving us individual lessons, he was the school band teacher. He also conducted the school’s amazing bell ringing ensemble, that made our annual Christmas performance legendary (and a can’t miss for anybody who was anybody in the Lansing area, apparently including the governor).

Along with teaching me a little piano, Mr. Chard also taught me most of what I know about playing trumpet. Although once I started playing guitar, I lost my interest in playing any other instruments and quit the school band after my ninth grade year.

What I realize now, now that my hands are a lot stronger, is that back then my hands were really small (and fairly weak) which made it impossible to hold the bar chords long enough. So because of my hands, I found playing mostly lead guitar and using (two fingered) semi-chords worked best for me, rather than playing rhythm guitar. So if you want to play guitar well,constantly exercise your hands, wrists, and fingers, any way you can.

My music “career” started out playing the French horn in fifth grade, until I realized that the case was bigger than me, and a whole lot stronger! So I gave it up and switched to the trumpet, and like I said, then a few years later, switched to guitar. Although, I have always played piano or keyboards, whenever I got the opportunity.

It was Mr. Chard who gave me my first formal piano lesson. It was a small piano that he said Stevie Wonder would often play when he came into the music room, which also served as Mr. Chard’s office.

I recall, the late-Jack Chard would carefully placed each of my tiny fingers on each of the appropriate keys, and I began to learn how to form the chords and their corresponding melodies,

I can still remember hearing Mr. Chard tell me about all of the wonderful things Stevie Morris [Wonder] had done to create this amazing music program at the school for the blind in Lansing. He apparently bought dozens and dozens of different high quality instruments, just for us kids to play–

Specifically, There were three guys from the school band who benefited from Stevie Wonder’s generosity I want to tell you about.

First, there was this guy named Mark Tompkins, who held the school record in the open high jump and was one of our best long distance runners. He was also a percussionist in both the school and the jazz band, and he played the xylophone like nobody I ever saw or heard!

Mark would hold four of these wooden mallets in each of his hands and bounce them up and down along the metal keys. I was the third string trumpeter and sat a few feet away, and I remember watching him play. His hands were so fast, it looked and sounded incredible. And today, that’s often how I try to play the guitar or piano, constantly attacking the keys or strings.

There was also these two African-American saxophone players in the school band, and they also played together in the school jazz band, named Willie Jones and Willie Brown. Obviously, they had been playing together for awhile, since they had this routine where they would stand next to each other and weave back and forth in rhythm, while they were wailing away!

So not only were they both great sax players, right when there was a break in the song, every once and a while Willie Jones, who had some vision and wore these cool black framed glasses, did this thing where he would throw his head back and give Willie Brown this look of shock right at the break in the song!

And even though Willie Brown was completely blind, right at that moment, he would also give a little nod, as though he were acknowledging an invisible, secret message that had been sent between them at that moment. It always cracked me up!

The school jazz band was the best of the best of the musicians from the blind school in Lansing. and while I never actually had the chance to hear him play, apparently from time to time the jazz band included a musician and former-student named Stevie Wonder.

The school jazz band consisted of about ten or twelve musicians, who practiced with Mr. Chard in the evenings. Often I would stand outside the building at night in the freezing cold and watch them practice through the window. It was one of the best bands I’ve have ever heard, as everyone in Lansing who heard them play knew…

The first time I came to watch, they were playing a great version of the Steely Dan song, “Do It Again.” After the song, a few of the musicians would switch instruments, which was even more impressive.

I was surprised to see one of my classmates and fellow wrestlers, a percussionist from the band named Bobby Blakes playing both the bass guitar and keyboards one evening. And Blakes wasn’t just playing the bass, he was owning it!

I knew a few pretty good bass guitar players growing up, but I never heard any one play the bass like that–

Bobby was also one of our best wrestlers and track stars. And during our sophomore year, Bob Blakes was my primary contender when it came to earning total points for the team. B;lakes was the only wrestler on the team who had earned more points than me that year, going into the state finals (where I failed to make the designated weight of 101 pounds, and was unable to wrestle).

Since Blakes wrestled one or two weight classes above me, at 105 or 112 lbs., we often wrestled against each other during practice. And so naturally we became rivals on the mat, if you call avoiding being pinned, a rival?

I remember he had the strongest hands on the team, and if he could get a grip on you the match was over. So, thanks to wrestling Bobby Blakes in practice every day, I learned to use my speed to keep away from him, although breaking complete contact during a match with any blind wrestler, to presumably gain an unfair advantage, was against the rules, as I’ll explain.

In most wrestling competition blind wrestlers are allowed to use a rule called “the touch technique”. With one hand up and one hand down, the two wrestlers are instructed to touch the tips of their fingers in the center of the ring at the start of the match.

It is also a term that is used in mobility training. In the mobility context, It refers to the process of swinging a white cane back and forth, repeatedly touching the edge of the sidewalk with the tip, while walking.

However in wrestling, by using the touch technique it meant any time contact was completely broken, even if the wrestlers weren’t out of bounds, the official would stop the match. Then position the two wrestlers in the center of the mat, with only their fingertips touching before starting the match again by giving the whistle a short blow.

Or in some cases, if one wrestler still had control, the match would be re-started in the up down position, where the touch technique isn’t necessary.

So, by ninth grade, when I first began wrestling varsity in the 98 lb. weight class, I figured out one way I could use this rule to my advantage. At that time, I still had enough vision to see the white line that marked the out of bounds, even without my glasses.

So whenever I was on the bottom, in the down position, rather than working for a reversal, I would do everything to break loose and run away from the other wrestler as fast as I could–

If I was on the bottom, I knew in order to earn a one point escape, I would have to break all contact with the other wrestler before going out of bounds. Similar to how a receiver must catch and have control over the ball before crossing the out of bounds marker to be awarded with a complete pass.

I noticed when this happened to other wrestlers, more often than not, both wrestlers would be returned to the center of the mat, and the wrestler who went out of bounds would be placed in the down position and usually given a warning for stalling, rather than an escape. The second time the same wrestler was warned, they would be penalized one point.

However, I discovered that when I did this, most of the referees would award me with the one point for an escape. In fact, I don’t think I ever got penalized for stalling, not even once. This was probably because I never stopped moving around, back and forth, bouncing up and down.

The instant I heard the whistle blow, if I weren’t able to immediately break free, I would go in one direction, then another, and then another, until I was no longer in their grip. Then the instant I felt their grip loosen, even just a little, as fast as I could I would take off for the nearest sideline.

Following the escape, both wrestlers are placed into the standing position in the center of the mat. Then the referee would raise one finger, and I would automatically be awarded one point for the escape.

As long as I was able to avoid a take down before time ran out, I would always win the period, 1-0.

In this case, being small was an advantage since I was always moving and often able to brake free from the grasp of the other wrestler and ran away before they ever realized it.

Another idea I got from somewhere was making sure I always ran back to the center of the mat after going out of bounds, as fast as I could. It didn’t matter whether I had earned an escape or not. And I found this really messed with my competitors mind, since, once again, they weren’t expecting it.

In fact, I remember one time looking back at this wrestler who was reaching out to help me up, presumably to help this “helpless” blind kid back to the center of the mat. Except, I was already gone, running back to the center of the mat. I would often be down on my hands and knees in the center of the mat, before the other wrestler even realized it. It was kind of hilarious, since this exact same thing happened several different times!

By my sophomore year, another idea I came up with for catching my opponent by surprise went something like this–

At the beginning of the match, in the standing position, right when the whistle blew, I would instantly charge forward directly at the other wrestler, who would almost always be shocked by this sudden move from the blind kid! Along with getting a take down, more often than not after the take down, this unexpected advantage would lead to a quick pin.

I think whenever this happened, and I was able to catch an opponent unprepared, I always imagined that the other wrestler had been thinking about how they could best take down this “blind guy” without hurting him to much…which was a big mistake that ended up giving me at least five or six pins that year that were all under thirty seconds. Including one fourteen second pin I got against a kid from Breckenridge, and an eleven second pin I got against a kid from Iowa during the NCASB tournament.

But one of the funniest things I ever did during wrestling matches was arranging it so that during warm ups I would wrestle with our massive heavyweight, Dwight Norwood.

While I barely weighed 98 lbs. when we started doing this during my ninth grade year, Dwight weighed well over 320 lbs. Or that’s what was recorded, since that’s as high as our scale would measure!

Once I remember they took him to some local butcher shop and weighed him on a meat scale, and said his actual weight was about 365 lbs. And that’s probably why so many of Dwight’s wins came from forfeits, which usually happened shortly after the other heavyweight got a good look at him during warm ups.

So sometimes before our matches, especially when we visited some of the public schools, Dwight would take the down position and I would grab his elbow and try to wrap my arm around his waist. After getting somewhere behind him, in the “up position”.

When I asked, I was told by Ms. Fowty, Becky Simmet, and a few of the others who regularly came to our matches that they could barely see me back there, behind Dwight. So I tried even harder to hide behind him, which made it look more funny than it already was–

Then we would get someone to blow a fake whistle and I would start bouncing back and forth over the top of his massive back.

As he would reach back and try to grab me from below, each time he would barely miss, the audience would burst out laughing!

To my good fortune, he usually was unable to catch me, although I did have to take off running a couple times (and hide behind the chairs).

There was this one time, when he did get a good grip on me and pulled me off of his back and down to the mat, below him. Than he “tried” to pin me (as if there were any way he could avoid it). So there I was, trapped there under this 400 lb. weight!

I truly thought I was going to suffocate! I remember, hearing some people in the audience screaming, as I felt my breath slowly draining away…

And I always wondered if some of the ‘stalling calls’ Dwight got against the smaller heavyweights, was partly a result of them watching me do everything I could to keep away from him during warm ups,. as though my life depended on it (and it really did)!

So, who knows, maybe they were more afraid of being trapped underneath this mountain of a man than being called a “coward” by their teammates? And who could blame them?

The most amazing picture I ever remembered seeing before I lost my vision was taken for our school yearbook by one of Ms. Fowty’s photographers. It was a pic of Dwight Norwood and Lee McDonald standing side by side in their track uniforms, surrounded by a group of smaller guys, including one of my former-roommates, Jim Kilmartin, Daryl Castner, and one of the school’s best sax players, Willie Brown.

What made the pic so cool, was that Norwood and McDonald’s heads were even with the tops of some trees that were set off in the background.

Either, Wilson Simmet Jackie Burgess, or Wyatt Clark set up this great shot. It was angled up to make these two massive giants, weighing in at a combined weight of over 600 pounds, seem even larger than they already were. Even bigger than the trees!

On a side note, I feel the military missed a great opportunity by not lifting it’s band on hiring people with disabilities and recruiting Jim Kilmartin, whose socks became legendary around the dorm (for their deadly potency). Put it this way, while we were roommates Jim and I never had to worry about mice, no matter how much food we left out–

And while it may already be obvious how I feel, Bobby Blakes was the most all-around remarkable totally blind person I have ever known, one of my favorite completely blind teachers, who taught all of the math courses at the school, was a man named Fred Neuman.

Mr. Neuman taught some of us, who were interested, how to use the abacus, a wooden device made of a row of metal rods filled with beads. Once you master the mechanical process of adding and subtracting, a person could easily multiply or divide six or seven digit numbers without ever thinking about it. As long as you could multiply nine times nine, you could multiply any two numbers together without ever thinking about it, no matter how big the number (you only needed a few more abaci.

I remember once watching a competition between a group of blind students from the math club using only an abacus competing against some local sighted students (using calculators), and the blind students easily won.

So despite all of the stupid, bigoted jokes I’ve heard from the twenty-four hour sports talk morons, the first abacus, a group of stones or shells strung together on a piece of twine, was the very first hand held computers on earth. And imagine this, it was being used by mankind thousands of years ago, long before batteries and buttons were ever invented.

Mr. Neuman also ran the math club, that sponsored all sorts of math competitions. One of the smartest people I ever knew was a member of the math club, named Joe Sontag.

So, every month Joe and the group would hold this math competition in which one person, usually Mr. Neuman, would ask a string of math problems in a row, without breaking. And this time, the abacus was not allowed.

Using a double elimination bracket system, two students at a time would STAND UP AND compete in the best two out of three matches. This way, everyone got at least two chances to compete for the championship before being eliminated. The entire competition took about an hour. And I noticed every month the crowd seem to get a little bigger.

The winner ( which was usually, but not always, Joe Sontag) was the player who gave the correct answer the quickest after hearing the word, “ANSWER!” However, giving the wrong answer meant an automatic victory for the other player, so this way we were being trained that being right was more important than being first…as every mobility teacher and blind traveler knows–

Being in the math club, was a great and fun way to practice using only our mind to develop our ability to calculate, mathematically.

During class, Mr. Neuman would often tell us about his younger days as a champion long jumper from the Perkins School for the Blind in New York.

But the truth is, Mr. Neuman always had a good inspirational story to tell us about how the blind kids from the Perkins School would compete against and often kick the ass of the kids from the public schools in wrestling, track and even football!

While us kids from the Michigan School for the Blind, wrestled against both the blind schools and public schools, our track and field competition was strictly limited to other blind schools from our conference, the NCASB.

During the late 1800’s schools and institutes for the blind, such as the Perkins Institute of New York, began competing against each other in a variety of sporting events. During the early to mid 1900’s, the United states was eventually divided into four regions.

The other states that made up the North Central Association of Schools for the Blind, along with Michigan, included, Iowa, Nebraska, Kansas, Missouri, South Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky. Those of us who made varsity were lucky enough to travel to most of these states at least once for a wrestling tournament or track meet.

And Mr. Neuman always had a good story to tell about the Perkins Institute or his early life in New York, with a little encouragement…instead of doing any math–

And there were dozens of other great teachers at the school I don’t have time to tell you about, but I would say this about them. They all taught us one thing. They taught us to ‘always be brave and courageous in whatever you do, no matter what’. Just like Stevie, I have always tried to live by this.

So let me begin this section by saying, Ted was sure right about one thing. Dr. Robert Thompson, the school for the blind’s superintendent, was one of the kindest, most decent people I’ve ever met!

His whistling “s’s” grew to be a legend us kids strained to hear every chance we could, and then imitate. Sometimes a group of us boys would march down the sidewalk, side-by-side, doing our best impression of Dr. T barking out greetings that always began with a sharp whistle on the “s”, followed by the word, “Say”…as we marched by his residence.

Yet, as great as he was, and I’m sure he’s resting somewhere comfortably with the other angels, in my humble opinion he made two serious mistakes while he was superintendent.

First, he allowed a gym coach at the school to regularly undress many of us young boys, take us into the heated pool (without supervision), and then fondle some of us while pretending to teach us to swim!

There’s no where on my body where I wasn’t touched by him…and there were lots of people who knew it, and did nothing–

The second serious mistake I believe Dr. Thompson made was recommending Ted Hull to MoTown to be Stevie Wonder’s tutor, rather than a fellow African-American young man (or woman) with similar credentials (and a little more ‘street cred’ for the MoTown crowd).

If that’s how it happened — if Ted Hull was really selected by Dr. Thompson. But before I write about my suspicions about Hull and the government, let me begin with this part of the story.

When he was a student at the school for the blind, Ted Hull was a clean-cut, loyal boy scout. And I believe in the beginning he never intended to share any information about MoTown with anyone, especially the federal government.

But it’s obvious that’s what began to happen, since Ted could have made millions if he had published this book any time during the 1970’s…even though him and his wife were broke at the time?

Maybe it started out being a few brief questions about who he saw hanging around MoTown, and who was using illegal drugs around Stevie. But Hoover had a way of slowly leading his sheep to slawter…and it’s very likely Ted was just another easy patsi that was used by the ruthless American intelligence apparatus.

But if there was a way it could be done over, and it were up to me, I think a young African-American couple (as long as one of them had a degree in special education) would have been the perfect choice, given the circumstances. The job was mostly about being Stevie Wonder’s tutor, house parent, and personal manager while he was on the road. And to keep him out of trouble, or dangerous situations.

I don’t blame Ted Hull for any of this, he was who he was. That would be like blaming Ted for being a straight-laced, white guy? But merely his presence at MoTown placed Stevie Wonder at great risk, having someone that many would consider to be a “narc” as his tutor.

Despite what some “educators” may say, it doesn’t really take a whole lot to be a good teacher of the blind, just a lot of patience and a little creativity. I think there are many people could teach the blind, it doesn’t take a genius, although many think so.

Annie Sullivan wasn’t all that special, although many consider her to be a “miracle worker” for teaching Helen Keller to read. In fact, today Sullivan would probably be charged with abuse for some of the things she did. Not to say communicating with a deaf-blind person isn’t challenging, but hardly a miracle (unless of course, you’re a Sheriff from Oregon).

To his credit as a businessman, Ted Hull had negotiated a contract that paid him $8,000 per year for his services, when they only planned to pay him $5,000. Regardless of this, there’s little doubt that from the beginning Ted Hull was viewed by many African-Americans as being a snitch for the government. True or not, Stevie Wonder’s early career paid the price, as I’ll explain.

Here’s the first proof of this. At almost the very instant Ted was dismissed by MoTown Stevie Wonder’s career suddenly took off. For example, a year after he graduated from the school for the blind He was invited by President Nixon to Washington D.C. to accept an award for his contributions to all people with disabilities. Curiously, Hull wasn’t invited to share in this celebration, and when he showed up at the hotel where the award ceremony was being held, he was told to go home.

Obviously, when Hull was hired a lot of important things weren’t made clear to Dr. Thompson about the situation. For example, it wasn’t just a tutoring position, as it may have first been presented. It was also a personal assistant and business manager position too. Perhaps, the need to hire someone quickly, and solve this dilemma as quickly as possible, so Stevie could continue to travel and perform. And maybe this was the reason nobody may have completely thought it through.

For example, did anyone think about whether or not it was a good idea to place a white guy inside of MoTown during the 1960’s? Did Dr. Thompson ever imagine that musicians would be smoking marijuana, and did he consider how Ted Hull would deal with this situation? Obviously, any mention of drug use around Stevie Wonder would be viewed unfavorably, but I think that’s exactly what happen.

However, had this been foreseen and discussed more thoroughly, I suspect in all his wisdom Dr. T would have recommended an African-American tutor who could drive. If he thought about it, I suspect if he thought more about it, he would have recommended a fully-sighted tutor who could look out for Stevie, rather than a person who happened to be partly blind, and could prove to the world that the blind could teach the blind. But there would be other opportunities to educate the world about what blind people can do. Besides, Stevie Wonder would have many blind students at the school who could serve as incredible role models, like his good friend JJ Jackson, and many others.

But here’s another problem with this relationship most people may have never considered; here’s the problem with having a partially sighted person being given significant control over the life of a completely blind person.

While I’m sure few people would see a problem with this arrangement, and may even think it’s a positive thing, kind of like the story everyone’s heard about how the one-eyed-man has to always be the king over the village of the “helpless” blind people.

However, the authoritarian way that many “partials” (a term used to describe those with some vision) seem to naturally exercise their dominance over most totally blind people, is not uncommon. Except, to most of us totally blind people, as I learned later in life, it’s just another form of short-term slavery.

“Can you slow down a little,” I asked the woman who offered me an arm when I entered the grocery store’s parking lot.

“you want to get there don’t you?” she answered, just before running me into a cement pillar at the Clackamas Win-Co. Ouch!

So, did Stevie Wonder ever express this feeling of resentment toward Ted to other musicians at MoTown, a feeling that almost every blind person has felt at least once in the company of a partially-sighted, over-controlling guide? Especially after running into something the that the other person missed seeing, intentionally or not.

Having lost all of my useable vision, I have had to assume both roles, so I know the resentment Stevie must have felt from time-to-time toward Ted, regardless of Ted’s good intentions.

So the fact that Ted was also “white-looking” when this happened, and we know it did, I suspect only further enforced the impression among most of those associated with MoTown that he was nothing more than Stevie’s “white overseer”. Even if Ted did get it right most of the time. His position of power, and his white skin, I would suspect almost certainly made this a completely unwinnable situation right from the beginning for Ted Hull.

The politically correct crowd might pretend it was good for race relations — the black kid and the white tutor. However, the circumstances made it impossible for both Stevie and Ted…because it wasn’t ever going to be a private relationship, and as I said, any sort of discipline or friction would likely be misconstrued by anyone watching them interact.

It wasn’t a secret within the black community Dr. King had been sent a letter by the FBI, telling him that knew about his affair and he ought to kill himself. And so everyone at MoTown knew the government had tried to infiltrate every organization that was promoting the interests of African-Americans. So based on my research, I suspect there were many of those at MoTown who believed right from the beginning Ted Hull was an informant for the government, and it probably began with Ted reporting to Dr. T that marijuana was being used in Stevie’s presence by certain musicians.

I’m sure, if a black tutor were approached by the government and asked to inform on what was going on at MoTown during the turbulent 1960’s, they would have most likely said “FUCK NO!” Or maybe, they might agree, only to provide the FBI, or some other agency, with false information. Or at least that’s how the black musicians would have seen it.

So, given this, it’s very possible Ted Hull was chosen because he was white, and therefore, they probably figured would be more likely then a black tutor to provide some information to the government. If true, neither Dr. Thompson or Ted Hull may have ever known about this plan, and Hull may have actually been recommended by someone else from outside of the blind school who already had a list of candidates in mind, who they felt would be more likely to cooperate with the government.

I’ll bet it was someone who wanted a loyal, clean-cut guy, just like Ted, to help them keep an eye on MoTown, even if Hull didn’t realize that’s exactly what he was doing. They may have even decided that if someone connected to MoTown found out and killed Ted (or his wife) because of it maybe they’re thinking, “That would be even better. We’ll bring down all those uppity Negroes in Detroit!”

Remember, the F.B.I. was under control of an extremely deviant man, who was regularly blackmailing people, named J. Edger Hoover. So I wouldn’t be surprised if we learn someday that Hoover’s real plan was to “destroy” MoTown! And Ted Hull was just another useless pawn, in one of Hoover’s sick games…along with maybe filming the naked, blind boys swimming around a very expensive, heated pool.

You see, we know the superintendent of the blind school was required by law to report everything that was going on at the school directly to the governor’s office. Most states are set up in this same way, where the state agency and the schools for the blind were both directly under the supervision of the governor, or a special board selected by the governor of the state, rather than the state’s vocational rehabilitation agency, as it is done here in Oregon. Which means, there is no real supervision in this inside game, and Annie Sullivan and the rest of them can do anything they want.

At that time, George Romney was the governor of Michigan. Which begs the question, did George Romney know us younger blind boys were being forced to swim in the nude, and being touched (and probably filmed) by the school’s wrestling coach?

I always wondered why the school had a set of bleachers and a underwater camera in the pool area since the school for the blind had never participated in any sort of swimming competition, as far as I know.

So if there was a camera running while we were swimming in the nude, as I suspect there was, then how can the State of Michigan justify making any of us blind boys, including perhaps Stevie Wonder, who graduated a few years before I arrived, get undressed and get into the pool (with the “Coach”)?

And more importantly, did George Romney and the State of Michigan have aright to let any adult ever touch us blind boys, for any reason, while we were naked? Now, do you wonder why, just a few miles away from the school, Larry Nasser apparently got away with this same sort of stuff for so many years. It almost seems like there’s a pattern and practice of sexual abuse in the State of Michigan, doesn’t it?

As I explain better down below, many of these same people, who were suspicious about Ted Hull, began also openly questioning Stevie’s blindness, which only added to the paranoid environment around MoTown.

But was that the plan? Was the government hoping someone would assume he was a rat and kill Ted Hull? We now know at this same time “they” wanted Dr. King to kill himself, so how far would “they” go to break up the amazing MoTown machine? Although if you can’t beat the Deep State, then perhaps moving to Hollyweird and joining the rats is the answer?

From Hull’s book, we know many of those associated with MoTown actually began to mistrust Ted long before Stevie’s graduation, and they were no longer hiding their resentment.

For the record, to date I only have found circumstantial evidence to suggest that Ted Hull was working as an informant for the government at the same time he was tutoring Stevie Wonder. But it wouldn’t surprise me that we would eventually learn that he had been at the very least privately questioned by the government (more than once) about what he observed, in the company of so many of these “radical” black musicians from MoTown, especially after reporting the use of marijuana in Stevie Wonder’s presence.

Did they tell him something like, ‘You need to be a good American and tell us everything you hear’.

So Ted may have had no idea about the government’s plan when he began tutoring Stevie Wonder. One person who may know more about some of this, if anyone’s interested in investigating this angle further, is one of the school’s greatest wrestlers, a black man named Stanley Wray.

During the 1960’s, while Stevie Wonder was a student at the school for the blind, Wray won three consecutive state championships against the public schools kids in Michigan. After graduating, he would regularly come to our home matches, and often hang out behind the team during the match.

I tried to talk to him once or twice, but he made it pretty clear that he didn’t really like talking to most of us white-looking wrestlers. Except I did notice he really liked Ed Chapman, who was part Native-American.

But the truth is, I was really dumb about any of this stuff back then, but now knowing the real history of Detroit, who could blame him for not trusting us white people. That’s why I also think the Flint water fiasco is more than a little suspicious.

So I suspect Stanley Wray, who was a friend of Stevie
Wonder’s during the 1960’s, either knew, or suspected, Ted Hull may have been working as an informant for the government.

for example, here’s one of the things that really trouble me about Stevie Wonder’s tutor.

Shortly after their formal relationship ended in 1969, Stevie’s career really took off. Meanwhile, Ted admits in his book that he was completely dirt poor at the time, and felt he had been cheated by MoTown when his contract ended, only receiving a $1000 severance pay.

So why wouldn’t he write his tell-all book immediately rather than waiting thirty years, even if it took a couple years to write it? It was a book that definitely needed to be written, a lot sooner than it was.

If you’re interested in African-American history, and American music, it includes many very interesting stories about black history and America’s musical scene during the 1960’s.

So I have to ask, was it because many blacks associated with MoTown believed Hull was working as an informant for the government, and may have also believed that Ted Hull played a part in the death or imprisonment of some of their friends. Would Ted be placing his family in danger by writing any worthwhile book about MoTown.

And after all, does it make any sense that the FBI wouldn’t try to recruit Hull during this time. In 1967 and 1968 there were hundreds of incidents involving racial violence, not to mention the killing of Dr. Martin Luther King Jar and Robert Kennedy. The Deep State needed to blame the African-American community for all of it, unless they could frame some white southerner, like James Earl Ray. Or some Arab-American, like Sirhan Sirhan. It’s the real blame game, Alan.

So here’s this white guy, Ted Hull, who felt he wasn’t being treated very well by some of the African-Americans involved with MoTown. And many of the black musicians smoked weed, which was a problem for Ted. In many ways, Ted Hull was in the perfect position to inform, and in fact he so-much as admits that he had ratted out two of the musicians at MoTown for once offering to smoke some weed with Stevie. No big deal, so they thought.

J. Edgar Hoover didn’t give a crap about Stevie Wonder, or anyone else. But he learned that a child was being offered drugs by an adult inside of the MoTown Studios, and it was the perfect opportunity to use this as a pretence for infiltrating this popular African-American business.

In his book Hull reveals that he kept Dr. Thompson informed about all of his experiences, in great detail, both good and bad. He provided quarterly reports that probably made their way to FBI and CIA agents, who were targeting the African-American community.

So we can assume the FBI likely knew, perhaps maybe through the grapevine and not Dr. Thompson himself, that Hull was very unhappy with many of the blacks at MoTown. And that’s the reason Ted Hull had to be seen as being the perfect informant. Knowing what we know today about these sort of government programs which target groups, such as MoTown, it simply seems unbelievable they wouldn’t have at least tried to solicit Ted’s help, given all the racial strife around Detroit.

If Ted wasn’t an informant, and never informed on MoTown or its black musicians, wouldn’t it seem natural that he would want to tell someone how he felt he was mistreated by some of these blacks, and maybe eve say, it was only because of the color of his skin. Surely he must have known that white America would have loved a book like this, at this time in history. Not to mention that Stevie Wonder was one of America’s most popular singers during the 1970’s.

So maybe, despite the tons of money he could have made back then, Ted knew he had informed on Stevie Wonder and other African-American musicians and didn’t want to draw any added attention to himself or his family, until many, many years later…when any possible retaliation would be far less likely.

So back to why the great Dr. T., and I mean that sincerely, picked Ted Hull, a white, partially-sighted guy, to tutor Stevie Wonder”. Maybe the greatest mistake Dr. Thompson ever made.

Being from Tennessee, I suspect Dr. Thompson wasn’t aware of the tremendous racial tension that existed throughout the Detroit area during the 1960’s, where Hull and Wonder would be spending most of their time together.

Regardless of race, I also suspect most Michiganders could have predicted this. But Hull’s ignorance and arrogance, as a white-looking outsider, quickly began to cost Stevie his opportunities.

When he first began hanging around MoTown studios, everyone loved “Little Stevie” at MoTown. But after Ted Hull became his tutor, many of the other MoTown musicians and song writers would no longer give Stevie Wonder their best songs or performances. In addition, the black promoters stopped offering Stevie Wonder contracts, according to Hull’s autobiography.

Ted describes how during one Christmas party, at the end of his contract, he was dissed. While the other guests were opening presents and bonuses from MoTown, Ted got nothing more than a “thank you” note from Gordy. He describes how no one would speak to him or his wife at this party, but can’t figure out why. So he blames it on his partial blindness.

But perhaps this next story explains why no one at MoTown liked him. Once while he was riding in a car with Stevie’s manager, who was driving, and Stevie was riding in the back with two other ladies from MoTown. Suddenly Stevie asked them to turn down the radio because he had an idea for a song. The driver reaches for the radio to turn it down, and Hull reaches over and stops him. He says, “No.”

He goes on to say, “Stevie you need to learn how to respect other people’s rights, including our right to listen to the car radio.”

And at that moment, the idea was gone forever. It may have only been a passing dittie or B side selection, or it may have ended up being the greatest song Stevie ever wrote. But thanks to Ted, we’ll never know.

I almost crapped my pants when I read this in Ted’s book. Because as a artist I know how you can get that muse, and then just as quickly lose it, forever. But were not talking about a guy who plays in a garage band, like me. How dare Ted Hull think he can take this opportunity away from a top recording artist, in order to teach a lesson about sharing the car radio. Fuck the radio! And fuck Ted Hull!

When I read this, I thought what an arrogant bastard, to think he can take away an opportunity like this, to create an original composition from America’s best young song writer. It’s not like he can write it down, and come back to it in a few minutes. Besides, isn’t this how Ted gets paid, by Stevie’s creativity? I guess Ted wasn’t smart enough to figure that out. But that’s why they say, those who can do, do, and those who can’t, teach.

It would be unfair to say Stevie Wonder didn’t receive a good academic education from Ted, but academics aren’t everything, especially to those who face discrimination and bigotry every day from white people. This is why so many severely disabled people become great musicians, artists, and writers, and not lawyers, banksters and politicians.
As his book proves, Ted Hull’s inability to truly understand the struggle of the African-American community at the time, which led to the birth of MoTown, was a disaster for Stevie Wonder’s early career. Ted’s inability to compromise, not surprisingly came across as being controlling and racist by many African-Americans, and Stevie paid the price.

Rumors about Ted’s real role, being a possible informant for the government, slowly gained traction around MoTown and the African-American community in Detroit. That’s probably why Don Hunter was brought in when he was, to be Stevie’s road manager.

As a result, Wonder was being blackballed by much of his own community for five or six years during the 1960’s. Which began shortly after Ted Hull became his tutor.

However, when their friendly relationship ended, around 1968, Stevie Wonder’s career had a sudden rebirth, followed with a string of top ten hits, including what I feel was his best song (so far). It was a song partly based on the rumors that were being spread around MoTown about Stevie and Ted, called “Superstition”.

What’s funny, is that this song is partly about how many of the same people at MoTown who resented and mistrusted ‘Ted the tutor”, were also going around telling everyone that Stevie Wonder wasn’t really blind. Not surprisingly, this eventually spread to the media and fans. But the fact is, Stevie Wonder was completely blind from birth, because of having been given too much oxygen.

And it wasn’t an accident. This was a common remedy for pre-mature babies at the time and doctors swore it was the right thing to do. Kind of like most doctors are saying today about the Covid-19 vaccines, even though we are learning that natural immunity for a otherwise healthy person is thirteen times more effective, according to Israel.

As you read my work, and learn more about my Extra-Ablism, you would have to agree that it’s a mighty funny coincidence that the cops, the correction creeps, the media, and a few of my backstabbing “friends” and neighbors, have done the exact same thing to me, based on their ignorance about blindness.