3 Americas: The Florida Cocaine Connection


(Last updated: September 3, 2019)
(Published: March 28, 2019)
3 Americas: The Florida Cocaine Connection
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}

Like so many other snowbirds from the north, in the early 1980’s my parents left the snow and ice of Michigan behind, and became permanent residents of the Sunshine State. Within a few years, all three of us kids followed them down to Florida.

I was searching for a place to call home, but little did I know it would be impossible to leave the baggage from all those early years completely behind. The damage the State of Michigan and the federal government’s secret mind-control program did to me was deeper than I would realize for many, many decades…

Most of my years in Florida were spent living in Jacksonville. Although I also lived in Tallahassee, Orlando and Miami for a few years.

It wasn’t that I didn’t have goals and ambitions, but my sub-conscious mind had a different plan. So partying and keeping those bad memories out of view occupied most of my time.

And like any where else, I met a lot of good people, and had some great relationships, but the bad ones always seemed to out shadow, and out power, the good ones.

But when your life is deeply planted here in “Third America”, it isn’t easy to overcome so many messed up people, like:
* “Crazy Mary Dash”, who came home from the doctor one day to tell me the wonderful news that she was pregnant! To celebrate, my parents took us to dinner, and we shared the good news with everyone in the complex where we lived, located in downtown Jacksonville.

About six or seven weeks later, Mary told me she had a miscarriage, and we cried. Except, about two or three weeks later when her sister, Joan, called from Miami, and I told her the sad news, she said, “That’s impossible. Mary had her ovaries removed a few years ago because of her diabetes. Didn’t she tell you that?”;

Then there was the time I brought a friend from work named Frank home to have a couple mixed drinks with Mary and me. Apparently, while Mary was mixing the drink for us she put on her sunglasses and dropped her artificial eye into Frank’s drink…and thought it was absolutely, hilarious!

And then about nine months later, after we split up, she moved into an apartment on the west side of downtown, with the help of her new boyfriend. Then about a month or two later she called me one evening and said she had been raped. She wanted me to come stay with her, so I did, but there was nothing sexual about our reunion.

As we snuggled together in her bed, She told me what happened. She said it was some guy she barely knew, and went out with to have a couple drinks. She said he was a friend of a friend, and his name was “Joe”. She said he grabbed her wrist and had forced her onto the bed, shortly after they came back to her place.

We made love the next morning while we showered, but I never saw her again after that–

But out of curiosity, I got a copy of the police report, which mostly confirmed what she said she told the police. The copy of the report, which I still have, described him as being a white, male, approximately five foot, six inches tall, with bright red hair;

* And then there was “Lying Maria Licata”. Who, during the three week summer break in August when I went home to visit my parents, I found out later she began dating a Tallahassee bus driver and I don’t think it was an accident he began seducing her.

About a year earlier, in the presence of at least one eyewitness, I was dragged about Twenty or thirty feet down the street by one of this driver’s friends during a peaceful civil protest. I was protesting his refusal to pull into the designated lane when picking up passengers by sitting on the first step and placing my feet firmly on the ground. Refusing to move, I insisted that he have me arrested, so that I could document his failure to follow the alleged policy of his company, and the university, placing the life’s of disabled students at risk.

If you happen to know the campus, the incident I’m describing occurred directly across the street from the same sorority house where Ted Bundi had murdered four female students about a decade earlier. Just a year before my infamous protest, I learned that Florida State University had spent seventy thousand dollars installing this extra lane, that could hold up to three and a half buses. When I spoke to someone from the university, they said it was done to reduce congestion and keep students further away from the traffic, while waiting for their buses.

However, some of the drivers some of the time refused to use the lane if there was even one other bus parked there. This meant visually-impaired students, if they were fortunate enough to hear the bus, had to step off the curb and walk across the first lane of traffic to find out which bus had pulled up. This was before we had those automated bus announcers (that never forget)–

So one day when it happened once again, I had enough, and sat down and notified the driver I was not going to move,

Playing the role of another infamous Florida bus driver, Ralph Cramdon, the driver closed the door on my body and began to drive away, with my feet hanging out in traffic.

John Smith, the bus driver was arrested, although the charges were later dropped, they said because of his wife’s heart attack.

That September Maria told me she was pregnant, but never mentioned her brief “affair” with the bus driver. The following May the baby, Raymond Urilli, was born in the parking lot of the local hospital (and apparently, couldn’t wait another second). And the following day, when a nurse came in to her room to fill out the birth certificate, she sent her away. When the nurse came back later, after I had left, Maria decided to leave my name off the birth certificate.

Just after she left the hospitol, she blocked my telephone number, making it impossible to contact her. And when I showed up at her apartment a few days later, loaded with baby clothes and toys, she refused to answer the door. she also Apparently called the cops on me that day, although I had already left when they showed up, (and obviously, had done nothing wrong other than to attempt to visit a child who I believed at the time was mine);

And if this weren’t enough, as I wrote about in the next chapter, I successfully filed a discrimination complaint against Florida State University with the U.S. Department of Education, Civil Rights Division in 1992. In that complaint I outlined nine violations of the law involving the accommodations that were not being provided to myself and other students with disabilities who were current, or former-students of the university.

As I wrote about here, eight of the nine issues I raised were determined to have merit, and in each circumstance, the university was required to make specific changes to their programs, practices and procedures.

One funny part about this story is that a female FSU student, named Cindy something, who was supposed to be the student government’s disability representative (and who herself was partially-sighted), according to the records referred to me during the investigation as being a “parasite”–

Unfortunately, the one claim I did make involving the university’s failure to provide accommodations to nursing mothers with disabilities was denied. And months later, when I received a copy of the interviews conducted by Marcella Thomas and her associate, I learned that Maria had told them that I had fabricated the information about her not being provided with these specific, outlined accommodations to nursing mothers with disabilities.

Not only was I surprised by her selfishness in not considering the consequences to other future mothers with disabilities. Her complete dishonest about what she herself had told me, made it impossible for me to speak wit her ever again…although I have spoke to Raymond since then–

* And then there’s this really weird story about someone I met at a bar I used to hang out at in the Arlington neighborhood, in Jacksonville, Florida. I learned about this years later from an old friend i knew from that neighborhood that I apparently had probably met, and almost slept with, serial murderer , Aileen Wuornos.

It happened at this local Jacksonville pub I used to hang out at. “Aileen”, as I knew her, one night offered to come home with me.

The Jewish producers of Hollyweird (similar to how they kept the evidence against Israel out of Oliver Stone’s movie, “JFK”) appear to have intentionally made this next scene appear very different than what really may have happened. So I’ll tell you about that night in Jacksonville, Florida:
One night after we had been drinking for awhile, Aileen and me left this pool hall, called “Mut and Jeff’s. Ironically, it was owned by a couple rotten Jacksonville cops, who may have set this up, and paid her to come home with me-

So, after finishing our beers, we headed through the back alley toward my apartment which was about a block away. Then for no reason, she slapped me in the chest with her hand, which was apparently holding a twenty dollar bill. She laughed and told me she had stolen the money off a guy I knew who was sitting by us at the bar, who may have been an off duty cop.

When she refused to return to the bar, and give him back his money, I stupidly tried to take it from her and a struggle broke out, which, as I said, was not surprisingly inaccurately featured in the movie “Monster”.

When we walked out of the bar, you can believe this or not, but I had no idea Aileen [Wuornos] was a sex worker, and it’s possible the guy, who I barely knew, gave her the twenty bucks to sleep with me. It wouldn’t be the first time a “friend” had offered someone money or drugs to have sex with me.

What I do know for sure, is that is who I likely got into a physical confrontation with that night, according to this former-neighbor. The incident involving me happened a few years, when she was hanging out at this same Jacksonville pub (conveniently located just off the freeway near Jones College), before Wuornos began killing her male clients up and down the I-5 corridor.

If you watch it, the movie suggests that it was a fight she had with a “client” over money she was being cheated out of that motivated her to begin her killing spree. And this may be partly true, except if it were me, I didn’t know I was a customer when it happened?

I remember, we sat together at the bar, maybe once or twice before this happened. That night we had talked and drank for a few hours.

And I remember this about her. She was funny and made me laugh. I really did like her, and when it happened I just figured we were a couple friends who were hooking up for the night–

So we ended up wrestling to the ground for a minute or two- Then after struggling to her feet, Aileen pulled away from me, breaking my grip, and ran back toward the bar.

Almost immediately, I began to imagine what she was telling everyone in the bar, and how I had tried to assault her! So I decided it would probably be better to go straight home. Thankfully, I never saw Aileen [Wuornos] again after that, and found a different bar to hang out at…

Hopefully, this incident once again documents to the reader just how hard it is for anyone with a significant disability to survive for long in the “party life”. Especially for a guy who was already almost completely blind, with no car or money, or wealthy [Jewish] family to lean on… And who doesn’t want marijuana legal, which would protect vulnerable Americans like me, who would, if possible, choose to self-medicate rather than putting any chemical made in a lab into our bodies–

So out of the many stories I may or may not tell about my crazy days living in Florida, I’ll start with telling you about the two years I spent living in Orlando. And how I was kicked out of the dorms at the University of Central Florida for smoking a joint in my room (even though I know for a fact there were hundreds of other students doing the exact same thing as me at that very moment — 9:30 p.m., on a Friday).

Why was I singled out by the university of Central Florida? Especially over marijuana? It didn’t make sense since I knew about several of the university’s employees who were snorting and selling cocaine to other employees on the clock (and never being drug tested)?

So, here’s how the Orlando nightmare began, and maybe why I was I was once again being targeted…

One evening, while sitting in my dorm room on a Friday night at UCF an uninvited quad Leader walked into my room and didn’t ask, just ordered me to put out my marijuana cigarette. I was sitting around the corner, by the window. Which meant, she was unable to see me until she had walked completely into the room, even if my door was partly open, as she claimed. And I would agree that it would have been reasonable for her to politely ask me to close my door, even though it was Friday night and the library was still open, if needed.

So, since I knew, or felt, it was an illegal search, since she didn’t knock; and since I already had two qualifying conditions that forced me to make this choice between these two perceived evils; and since she was being such a bitch about it, as politely as possible, I refused.

So the Jewish elite who run this “public” university (and almost every other state university in America), decided to kick me out of the dorms for using marijuana, medically, in my own room, out of public view.

But really, the nightmare at UCF began that first night I stayed in the dorms.

Suddenly, I was woke up in the middle of the night by the feel of something, like a stick, poking me in my genitals. I instantly jumped out of bed and yelled, “HEY! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!”

At this time in my life I was completely night blind, so I would have had to find the light switch or search the room in the dark. And frankly, I didn’t know if he had some kind of weapon, so I decided to just get back into bed and deal with it in the morning.

My first roommate that summer was a guy from Africa. He seemed normal, and he spoke pretty good English. And, until then, we seemed to get along well…

So when it happened, and I felt something touching my privates, and I yelled, he never said a word. Obviously, he heard me, but still didn’t respond.

After giving him an angry warning about ever touching me again, with anything, I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Except, about an hour later it happened again. This time I was awake, and I knew for sure it was some sort of poll or stick he was using to touch my butt!

I quickly got out of bed, and called campus security. When they came to my room, I explained what had happened, twice. This was clearly a sexual assault, yet the campus police seemed unconcerned–

And of course, my roommate pretended he had no idea what I was talking about.

When it happened, I called the quad leader on duty, who also came to my room. And because of my insistence, she quickly moved this guy to another room…and it was the last time I was around him, as far as I know. And I’m pretty sure this was the same quad leader who busted me eight or nine months later for smoking weed in my room!–

And, if this weren’t enough, that same fall, this want-to-be mobster kid from New York named “Joe Benardo” (No relation to the former-New York organized crime figure with the same name, as far as I know) came into my room (with his “partner”, “Butch”) and stole my new roommate’s parking sticker.

Apparently, my new roommate left it on his desk, and Benardo, who I had just met a few days earlier, decided to stop bye my room. When he came in the room he, or his friend, must have grabbed it off my roommate’s desk.

Even though there was no other explanation as to what happened to the parking sticker, the useless campus cops, did nothing to Benardo or his friend. But instead, I apparently became a target for the campus cops (for smoking weed in my dorm room)–

Ironically, about a year later an employee I knew from the UCF’s IT Department, Jim (a former-army clerk who often boasted of ripping off everyone, every chance he could), took me over to his cocaine dealer’s house to get some weed. It was a guy from Orlando named Roger Bisblinghoff, and they ended up injecting me with cocaine!

Luckily, I wasn’t infected with anything. But it’s interesting how and who these public universities (who receive public funding) enforce their “rules” against, when you consider the long-term consequences of these arbitrary practices, when it comes drugs and crime–

At the end of the following semester, after I had lost my final appeal to stay in the dorms, Jim had helped me get into an apartment just below his. We had met a few months earlier in the UCF computer lab where I was working, testing out the university’s new Hulet Packer talking computer (which even back then, in 1985, was better and more stable than any talking computer available today). Jim had smoked a couple joints with me after work, and I quickly became part of his inner circle after moving off campus.

If the “pharmajews” who run the state of Florida really wanted to slow down the opiate crisis they would immediately legalize marijuana for everyone, so they wouldn’t have to ever associate with people like Bisblinghoff.

Other than a few knuckleheads, posing as Florida sheriff’s, everyone knows the the “gateway drug theory” has been completely debunked. Although, forcing casual marijuana users to seek out cannabis on the black market, only helps to perpetuate the use of harder drugs. I remember, they took me into the bathroom, and Jim held down my arm wile Roger carefully inserted the needle into my vain…

Instead of making any reasonable distinction between these two very different drugs, Florida currently has some of the nation’s strictest laws against the casual use of cannabis and one of the worst medical marijuana laws in the country.

Consider this- newly-elected U.S. Senator Rick Scott was elected to be Florida’s governor twice, shortly after his company was accused of “stealing” nine billion dollars from Medicare. And when the former-CEO was questioned under oath about the case, over a hundred times he answered, “I don’t recall”…

Although I didn’t figure this out until later, similarly, Roger Bisblinghoff was providing a lot of the universities employees with cocaine, and like Senator Rick Scott, apparently he was being well protected. And I think that’s why, after I moved into a house a little further from campus (and away from “Jim the Jerk”), someone at the university sent the campus cops after me–

But I’m getting ahead of the story, and the Florida connection about why today I’m being tortured and slowly murdered by the government. But, being kicked out of the dorms was an immediate death sentence for me, as far as getting an education from the University of Central Florida went. this is because there were almost no sidewalks anywhere off campus. In fact, I was told, from time-to-time actual alligators could be seen wandering around the neighborhood.

So this nasty little Jewish administrator (who was the Dean of Students at the time), and a handful of specially selected righteous assholes from the Student Government, posing as a jury of my peers voted to throw me (an almost completely blind student) out of the dorms for smoking a joint in my room!

I explained to them, that because of my near blindness I would not be able to safely travel to and from campus, and they were putting my life in danger by doing this, it didn’t matter to them (who not surprisingly, mostly Jewish kids from south and central Florida).

I barely had shadow vision at that time… But it didn’t matter, since I didn’t play ball, like Shaquem Griffin, and had no wealthy relatives to build them a library or buy me a degree (or put me on the rowing team).

I have known several people who were in, or had been in, the ROTC, so I think it’s a good program. I wouldn’t want to claim that all ROTC programs are similar to the one at UCF, but here’s when I think I became a target and where the problem might have begun. And when I became a target of the ignorant anti-marijuana bigots of Florida (who never saw a bag of cocaine or pill they didn’t like.

HEADLINE (Dateline, July 2019)

Shortly after I came to UCF, I would run a few miles around the school track every morning, real early, It was located near my dorm, so I took advantage of the opportunity, because there were very few people out and about.

I would go running usually some time around dawn. So the only ones ever out there by the school track that early besides me, was the ROTC students.

Then one morning, after I had been running for a few weeks, some knucklehead from the ROTC group, who I suspect often saw me taking a little puff before I would run. deliberately parked his (or her) motorcycle in the first lane of the track where I was running (maybe to get that “pot head”, and be the “good little tin soldier”). It sure didn’t seem like an “accident”…

Needless to say, on the next lap around I ran face first into his bike and cut myself up pretty good. I hit the bike so hard, I knocked it down. Yet, not one of these want-to-be military bastards came over to see if I was okay. Hmmm…

I can honestly say, the MMJ sure came in handy that morning–

I did slowly get back up and, despite that my legs were bleeding from several places, finished the lap. As a result, I decided to never again run on the university’s track, which until then, was the safest place for me to run.

So, when UCF kicked me out of the dorm for using medical marijuana, later that year; and when the ROTC creeps from UCF tried to break my leg; and the University’s IT Department decided to inject me with cocaine; and one of my suite mates (the Student Body President) stole a $300 PA speaker from me; and after the University cops illegally raided my off campus home (and stole most of my medicine which was stashed in my back bedroom), my feelings about UCF changed significantly, and decided to get the hell out of Orlando before one of these thugs from UCF tried to kill me…but apparently they never gave up–

So when I heard some of these local sports talk morons from the northwest say how wonderful this institution must be for helping a football player like this, with a physical disability, get threw school is a little sickening, given my own experience–

For example, while I worked in the cafeteria, the school quarterback, Dana Thyson, used to sometimes walk around with a broom in his hand. A couple friends from Indiana who worked with me used to joke about how Thyson would have all these hours on his time card, even though he was hardly ever around (pretending to “work”).

Not that this is all that unusual, and most disabled students who need a significant amount of accommodations know this, but the lady who ran the disability office at the University of Central Florida was a complete FREAK! Like the lady out of that Stephen King movie, “Misery”, played by Kathy Bates.

When I was 23-years-old, I decided to transfer to UCF. Except, I also decided to no longer use a white cane, and depend entirely on my shadow vision to get around. This was probably a big mistake, but here’s why–

There is almost always an automatic response that almost all Americans have when they speak to a person who is holding a white cane, and almost every blind person has heard and felt this subtle discrimination, and knows exactly what I mean-

So, despite the protection it provided, I struggled with this dilemma every day, yet refused to given in.

A couple days after I arrived in Orlando that first summer, the disability lady offered to take me to get some dinner when she got off work since the cafeteria was closed and there were no restaurants within walking distance. It really was a complete commuter school back then.

When I got in her car I noticed it was really hot. So after we pulled away I waited for a few minutes to see if she would turn on the air conditioning. It was early June I think, and it had to be about ninety-five degrees outside. But when she didn’t turn on the air I took upon myself to roll down the window. Then just like in the movie, she starts screaming at me, telling me not to touch the window!

And why in the world would she act this way, you ask? Well, she explained ‘Because it was going to mess up her hair!’ So I quickly rolled the window back up, and as I recall (since I’m not Rick Scott), we only said a few things to each other after that…

Knowing the power these “support people” have over the lives of those of us with disabilities, I did what she asked, Since I was now a prisoner in her car and couldn’t get back to the dorm by myself even if I had wanted to. It’s so surprising how many times this has happened to me throughout my life, being held captive by the threat of others, implied or otherwise–

So, rather than sitting down somewhere and enjoying a hot meal in the fine city of Orlando, and giving me a chance to pick her brain about my new environment, she took me through a drive through and then quickly dropped me back off at the dorm. And so, this was how my second day on the campus of the University of Central Florida went.

When I mentioned all of this to another disabled student, I remember they laughed, and said something like, ‘Her hair is so short you couldn’t mess it up with a leaf blower’. I always remembered this funny comparison, because I remember I could hear someone nearby, who was using a leaf blower.

I suppose this is why, when I heard about the disabled football player from UCF being drafted by Paul Allen and the Seattle Seahawks in the first round, I felt it was important that the record was set straight about Orlando’s University of Central Florida (ironically, also the home of my sick friends from Disney, who I also wrote about). I wanted to make sure history knew that this is not how “they” normally treat people with disabilities at UCF, unless they can get something out of them, like they apparently did with Shaquem Griffin…who is obviously, a great athlete, who happens to have an impairment–