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

(Last updated: May 16, 2024)
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)

PREFACE:
Despite a twelve year useless Consent Decree from the federal government, similar to Portland’s own bullshit Consent Decree, it was reported in a 1987 new York times article that the infamous school in New York for the mentally and physically disabled, the Willowbrook state school, was at last being closed.

Considering the many abuses that were going on, including rape and torture, we should ask what took our government so fucking long!

The public scrutiny began in 1965, more than forty years after it was opened, when Robert Kennedy Sr. visited the “school” and spoke out over its deplorable condition.

In a 1975 Consent Decree, signed off by U.S. District Judge John Bartell, the school was ordered to close, stating that it was grossly over crowded, understaffed, and inhumane, infested with vermin and decease. But it was a lot worse than that.

At the time Willowbrook had over 6,200 patients, even though it only had a capacity of 4,000. These were mostly children with mental and physical disabilities.

In 1971, six years after Attorney General Robert Kennedy Sr. exposed this abuse, and one year after I arrived at the school for the blind in Lansing, several Willowbrook patients were found to have been murdered. This drew the attention of Geraldo Rivera and the media. A wider investigation found abuses that Judge Bartell said “Shocked the conscious of the court,” including daily rapes and daily forms of torture, along with forced lobotomies and forced sterilization.

And there was absolutely no form of education being given to the kids at the Willowbrook State School, except the cruel discipline being arbitrarily handed out by the screws to the most severely disabled. Which sounds a lot like the ex post facto punishment being used today in Oregon by the State on severely disabled people.

The Pennhurst Institute was a similar house of horrors for people with disabilities, much like Willowbrook, posing as a school. After eight decades it was eventually closed, but not until 1987.

Pennsylvania was not only known for its inhumanity toward people with disabilities, by creating Pennhurst, it was also the home of Dr. Isaac Kirlin who performed the first forced sterilization.

In Dennis Downey and James Conroy’s book, “Pennhurst and the Struggle for Disability Rights” they documented this horrific history of how America treated people with disabilities, and how this practice continues today here in Oregon.

“It is note worthy, the first documented case of sterilization of so-called feeble minded people occurred in Pennsylvania. Prior to 1900, at least 279 involuntary sterilization procedures were performed at the Pennsylvania Training School at Elwyn. And perhaps more were performed at facilities in western Pennsylvania. Isaac Kerlin saw the procedure as necessary for the relief and cure of radical depravity.”

In 1903 a law in Pennsylvania was passed to create Pennhurst to address mental illness, and epilepsy, and by 1950 the population grew to over 3,000, even though the capacity was only 500. For more than eight decades over 10,600 people were incarcerated at Pennhurst.

Two dozen years after Pennhurst was created, Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. wrote in the Buck Decision (927), “Three generations of imbeciles is enough.”

Downey and Conroy wrote, “Public exposure of abuse and unsafe conditions contributed to the Pennhurst closure in 1987.”

However, it was first exposed in 1968 in a series of articles, six years earlier than Willowbrook, yet it would take state officials from Pennsylvania twenty years to close this facility, According to Downey and Conroy, Pennsylvania is now somehow proud of the long delayed closing of Pennhurst?

Downey and Conroy went on to say, “Pennhurst used improper physical restraints, locked in windowless closets, cages, shackles, solitary confinement, powerful medications, and other forms of sensory deprivation to control residents and assess their responses.” Sounds a lot like Oregon’s Washington County Jail, which I describe in Chapter Six.

Downey and Conroy accurately point out, ” It is worth noting that some of these common place practices predated the racial hygiene laws and youth in Asia clinics in Nazi Germany.”

In other words, America was targeting people with disabilities for torture, experimentation. and sterilization long before the Nazi’s ever existed.

Downey and Conroy said these public officials did not believe in informed consent. They explained that almost everyone was complicit in this systematic abuse, including the doctors at the University of Michigan, who in 1971 referred my brother and me to the school for the blind in Lansing.

Downey and Conroy wrote, “In times of war or peace an alliance of researchers, policy makers, including the military, and pharmaceutical companies worked with institutional supervisors and staff to test new vaccines and compounds on unsuspecting residents. The U.S. Army and public health service, as well as the fore-runner to the current National Institute of Health (NIH), were active proponents of experimentation and vaccine trials using vulnerable institution populations at Pennhurst and other places (without informed consent).”

“When the question arose, superintendents concurred with medical researchers that informed consent was ill advised. And even unnecessary to commence drug trials and other therapies. Research virologists, immunologist, pediatricians, and infectious decease specialists at prestigious universities such as, University of Pennsylvania, New York University, University of Michigan, Johns Hopkins and Princeton University, and the University of Pittsburgh, routinely worked with staff physicians in a veritable conspiracy of silence, that shrouded medical research from public scrutiny.”

Finally, in the author’s note of the 1981 best seller, “Brain”, Dr. Robin Cook tells of yet another experiment on kids with disabilities by our sick government.

Cook writes, “According to Harvard University Press, 1977, sadistic “researchers purposely injected seven to eight hundred mentally retarded children with infected serum in order to produce hepatitis.”
And according to Cook, this study was approved by the Armed Forces Epidemiological Board, among others.

Downey and Conroy concluded by saying, “The mad scientists claimed “Consent from the parents was obtained.”

But one must wonder how the consent was actually given, and whether it was informed consent. Downey and Conroy wrote, “Would a parent have allowed a mentally impaired member of their own family to be involved in this type of barbaric experiment? I doubt it.”

The Oregoonians from Oregoonia are probably the worst of all. Not to say there aren’t some nice people here, but not very many. I suppose it’s mostly the politics, the heavily divided left and right. The man-hating radical feminist, the selfish homosexuals, the righteous right-winged fascists, and worse of all, the greedy, vengeful Zionist. The pervasive thievery, the suspicious nature of the people, and the general lack of compassion toward the others , unless you’re a woman, a homosexual, or a Jew, is unmatched anywhere. That is, other than the Hollyweirdos and the “Frisco Freaks” from Jewifornia, who brought their greed and perversion up here to the Willamette Valley.

Before World War II, Protestants ran America, saying that all wealthy white men who owned land were equal. Today, Jewish people run America, and Zionist-Christians are their lap dogs, happy to get the crumbs left behind. The Jews claim that it’s a trope to say Jews run the banking system, which runs the world, but not all tropes are untrue. For example, since the Fed prints the money, and seven of the eight private banks that make up the Fed are mostly owned by Jews, it’s obvious to any reasonable person that Jews do run the world.

This is why they’re trying to pass this Anti-Semitism Bill, to allow the Jewish criminals to hide their crimes. Apparently, it’s not enough that they run the court system, the media and the crooks in Congress, but they don’t want anyone talking about Jewish supremacy, which is the real problem in America.

It may be blackmail, or it may be the legal bribes our politicians receive from AIPAC, a foreign agent working for Israel, for their campaigns. But maybe we should ask, why isn’t AIPAC required to register as a foreign agent? Maybe that’s why the widespread corruption in our government effects each of us, even if most people don’t know it.

Ever since I came to Oregon, more than twenty-five years ago, I have had to deal with ignorant people constantly saying “You’re not really blind” even though I’ve been completely blind for over thirty years. If I don’t turn on a light my neighbors call me a weirdo and a pervert, but if i leave a light on, they say, I’m faking my blindness. And it’s not just the people. The paranoid police, the ruthless persecutors, and the ignorant elected officials, are all part of the problem.

I suppose, there’s no cure for stupidity. Unfortunately, they have the power to destroy a life and take away a kids, like they maliciously did to me, telling the Grand Jury, I’m not really blind, even though I really am.

It began in Oregon a long time ago, in the 1860’s, when Chief Joseph of the Nez pierce was forced off the land where his ancestors were buried. Chief Joseph, like his father, was considered to be one of the most honorable, peaceful Native-Americans in history, who only wanted to remain on their land, like the Palestinians. But the settlers from Oregon a hundred and fifty years ago, much like the Israeli settlers today, wanted the land — the beautiful Wallowa Valley, where the Nez Perce lived.

Not surprisingly, , a few young, angry braves acted out and killed one of the settlers. Much like the brutal Zionist occupiers throughout the West Bank are doing every day, the Oregon settlers over-reacted and took out their anger on the entire Nez Perce Tribe. It was a form of collective punishment. The Oregoonians called in the army, and the soldiers were more than glad to chase down the tribe and try to kill them all, including women, children, and the elderly.

After that, the Oregonians made it illegal for Native-Americans, African-Americans, and Mexicans to own land in Oregon, and Catholics were forbidden from being anywhere in the territory. In fact in 1926, Oregon passed a law that made it illegal for African-Americans from coming to Oregon without a white sponsor.

In addition, the Salem Hospital, located in Salem, Oregon, was, and still is, one of the most infamous mental institutions in America. It was primarily used to exercise this extraordinary bigotry toward those who were vulnerable and unprotected by the able-bodied, white man’s law.

Military historian, Douglas Dietrich, stated during his radio show that during the 1940’s, the 50’s, and the 60’s, able-bodied white men, who wanted a new, younger wife, would drop their spouse off at the Salem Hospital, erroneously saying she was insane. For a small fee, there was no way out for these women, and no due process or appeal. Consequently, the abandon wives were often repeatedly raped by the staff — the screws, as they were called. And when they became pregnant, the babies were quickly killed by the staff and cremated, and put into numbered coffee cans kept in the basement, according to Dietrich.

Perhaps, to distract the public, a barely coherent writer named Ken Kesey, from Oregon, wrote a book, which was later made into a movie, called, “one Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” The book was based on a true story about a man who was put into the Salem Hospital, and lobotomized because he wouldn’t cooperate with the authoritarian’s who ran both the hospital and the State.

However, Kesey wasn’t exactly what you would call a good person himself. He formed a mischievous group called “The “Merry Pranksters,” who regularly dropped acid and went around playing sick jokes on people, often men with disabilities. And today, this still goes on in Oregon, by pranksters like John Strong, John Canzano, Bill condi, Scott Robbins, Carl Wolfson, Abe Proctor, and many, many other sick individuals, who think their funny, unless your the victim of their twisted sense of humor.

Finally, Oregon was the last state in America to abolish a program of Eugenics, in 1986. Although it’s still being used today, by family counselors, doctors, and many other atheists, who are encouraging parents to sterilize their children before they turn eighteen.

Before I came to Oregon, and the State maliciously destroyed my life and stole my kid, I grew up in Michigan, where I’ll begin.

Part One:
“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. We had been drinking and smoking. and they were dropping me off at my house, or so I thought.

Dale and this other kid from high school named Brian Saule, who Dale once said was Jewish. Although that may have been a joke, since Brian always claimed he never had money for beer or weed.

We were all pretty baked that night, 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.

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

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

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

“No way, he wouldn’t do that to me,” 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 M99, the highway that connected Eaton Rapids to Lansing. It was the road that Dale’s dad had built a house for his mother, before she was killed in a car crash, about two or three years before we met.

Fifteen minutes later he pulled into this office building parking lot on the left and drove around to the back of the building. Sitting there, under a tarp, was a car that was the same exact model 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 Eaton Rapids, 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 was missing, about $400.

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. It’s like I told them I had proof who stole the money, but I never said that.

After a week or so, I had written the money off, But I was eventually called by someone with the campus police, who said “Your friend, Dale denied taking the money.”

I didn’t think about it again, and Dale never called me. So I figured, he might of taken the money, but it was over. 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, about three weeks later Dale and his cousin Kip, or it may have been his other cousin, Kell, from Jackson, Michigan, unexpectedly showed up at my dorm room. They demanded I give back a small, black and white television that Dale had given me the previous fall when I started school. I said “Sure, take it,” even though he would have been lucky to get $10 from any pawn shop. He obviously wanted to make a point. The point that nobody fucks with Dale Norton.

Kip or Kell 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.

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 say, if I had money and a lawyer.

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 many years later, Dale was right, my sister’s boyfriend stole the money.

After she became pregnant and moved out, my little sister started dating this really creepy guy who worshiped the devil, or so he said, named “Billy Carter”. and if that wasn’t enough, I was ending an eighteen month old sexual relationship I had been having with an older, married female teacher, named “Judy Collins”.

The relationship with Mrs. Collins began when she was about Six or seven 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, which I gently rubbed. So by graduation, there was very little we hadn’t done together.

So Brent Mortimer, me, and a couple other guitar players were planning a jam session that night for my graduation party. After picking up Brent’s amp and guitar from his house, we headed back. Then for no reason Brent started swerving his car back and forth across both lanes. 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 about 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, Jim Trotsky I think, was killed in a car wreck on the same exact 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 hoped. But it 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 or twenty-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, her claims of being pregnant turned out not to be true.

A few weeks after our graduation, Dale, his snobby Jewish girlfriend, Cindy Schwarz, along with another graduate, Saule, and one of his cousins had this great idea to take me camping and canoeing in the northern part of the lower peninsula of Michigan.

I should have expected there was something suspicious about this adventure, especially since I understand Cindy schwarz is a distant cousin of Israeli propagandist anat schwarz . Anat schwarz is the New York Times reporter, who had never written anything for any newspaper anywhere, published the erroneous article in mid-December about the alleged systemic sexual assaults by Hamas on October 7th called “Screams Without Words.” But why didn’t she or anyone else publish these allegations sooner, before all the DNA evidence would have been lost?

Kevin Barrett from FFWN published a new article that thoroughly explains this deception and writes, “It should have been called Screams Without Evidence (the name of his article).”

On February 28, 2024, Jeremy Scahill and Ryan Grim from the Intercept published a story , completely debunking the Jew York Times article. However, on January 10, 2024, Max Bloomenthal published the first article at GrayZone conclusively proving that no rapes took place on October 7th. And as I said, Kevin Barrett, at KevinBarrett.substack.com, on March 21st provided a step-by-step of why this is further evidence of Jewish propaganda in our media, similar to the forty Jewish babies that were beheaded by Hamas.

Schwarz’s article played a major role in justifying the genocidal slaughter of over twenty thousand innocent children in 2023 and 2024 by the unhinged Israeli Death Squads (IDS).

When we arrived at a place where we put in the two canoes, Dale and I got into an argument over not having planned for anything, including not stopping to get fresh water. As a result, 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 more importantly, who was now missing, somewhere in the woods around there?

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 about 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 dirt road. I 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 about it? 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 jerks 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.

And 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’ 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 sort of 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 in the basement, three at a time. So we would take turns sitting on these three designated stools, plugging our guitars in to his mixing board.

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 in our high school. I told him about me and Mrs. Collins, and he thought it was pretty funny, so I liked Bill.

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 a business suit and tie, or what I would call his Sunday best.

Clink was one of these absolute, total capitalist, and his father was the same way. 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 year and a half I spent at Eaton Rapids High.

Just by listening to him talk, I learned a lot about business. And he is the one who helped me start my very first for-profit business, manufacturing toy mice. But what I liked about Bill Clink most, was that he always treated everyone with respect, no matter whether he like them or not. I remember he once said something that stuck in my mind.

“Having real strong political views isn’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 said by the infamous outlaw , Josey Wales (a.k.a. Bill Wilson), played by actor Clint Eastwood.

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, where 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 at the public schools, for a lot of us.

So writing about my childhood, and offering some suggestions, seems the healthiest thing to do…despite what’s going on in our world today.

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

Beginning 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 said it was 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 until it was too late.

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.

The real irony 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!
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 throw in the mud), 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 southern 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. I learned pretty quick that kids were becoming 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.

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.

I remember thinking , “There’s sure a real lot of viciousness in these ‘sub rats’,” a term that another friend I knew from New Baltimore called the kids who lived behind him, in the sub-division.

Some of the guys in New Baltimore liked to kick both of us in the ass during gym class, especially while we were lining up for roll call, wearing those thin shorts with this weird underwear, called a Jock strap. 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. And if that weren’t enough, Kenny Reem went on to also become the New Baltimore Chief of Police. Isn’t that funny, in a sick sort of way?

Another one of the kids who did this was 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 especially mean.

Another kid who kicked us in the ass, was a kid named Don Milner, He lived on the same canal where my friend lived. And the special lady-friend I mention below, told me that Milner had once paddled up the canal and came into her house through the back door one day while her mom was gone, and raped her.

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 and my sister formed a small pickup band, and my sister and her got to sing backup.

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). I thought she was 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 named Gale, and asked her to help me find a puzzle piece I dropped.

Since everyone knew I was half-blind and always sat in the front row (while every other kid 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. 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. It was the way she looked and smelled.

Despite she was only about twelve or thirteen when this happened, Standing there so close to her, I suddenly realized that she had grown breast. I was scared shitless, but I didn’t know why.

I remember thinking at the time that she looked way, way older, maybe somewhere around fifteen?

“Is that perfume, like my mom sometimes wears?”
I asked myself.

But 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 for acting like such a little kid.

She was wearing heels, a short skirt and a really, really tight top, that made it so that, even if you were half blind you could still see the curve of her developing breast, as perhaps was the plan. I thought about her breast and wanted to tell her, “Maybe so…”

The 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. They would hand me tools to hold…probably to make me feel useful, and I would watch what they were doing.

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 stud 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 and neighbors are continuously to vandalize my property.

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.

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.

Part Two:
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 RP that we both had, and had 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. Although 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.

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 to Jackson. But it was a long arduous trip that took a little over an hour, and got old really quick.

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 today that any family that doesn’t live together most of the year can never maintain that trusting relationship, no matter how good the parents intentions may be.

I remember this well. It was a warm spring afternoon in 1973 when I met my first blind person, Roger Houghtling.

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 I met named Mark Warchol. He 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 ‘Poll Locks’ around here?” Then he would wrap his arms around some nearby light pole, as if to have it in a head lock, and then walk away.

But here’s one of the funniest things I remember about Warchol. Back in the dorms, he would swear every day 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.

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. Best I remember, he explained it this way.

“People will feel better about using your bathroom if they think 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. And how long has it been since they sat here.”

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 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 let out a loud laugh, as if to say, “Are you serious?”

I know it pissed some people off, but 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 sense of humor reminded me 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. Our track coach, Coach Tutt, who was a national champion sprinter from South Carolina State, 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 in the 600 yeard dash. It was hardly a dash, but that’s what they called it.

Coach Tutt was a very good looking man, always well dressed and extremely physically fit. 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 kind of funny, but extremely contagious. He probably should have been touring the country as a motivational speaker, and would have probably been rich.

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 break out laughing!

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 seven or eight seconds, which has probably never happened in any track event ever (that was less than one mile).

Over the next three years 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, a year later our own teammate, 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, four times.

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.

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

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, sometimes for good reasons).

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, Warchol’s ex-girlfriend. But I should say, neither Mousseau or Chaney were completely reliable when it comes to trustworthy information. Besides, Chaney was a proud Kalvin, who believe the elite should rule over the rest of us.

Another tragedy occurred when I first arrived at the blind school in 1973. During my first year of wrestling I met one of the nicest people I’ve ever known, a totally-blind guy named Al Swain. He was co-captain of the track team and co-captain of the wrestling team, but you would never know.

While Al Swain was pretty good in track, where he held at least one school records, as a restricted runner, he was an especially good wrestler. In fact, he won an individual state title the year before I arrived.

One evening, during a home match we all began to cheer and stomp our feet. Al Swain had another pin under his belt, or that’s what it looked like. But we were wrong.

“Quiet you guys!” Someone down front yelled, So we all got real quiet, but still didn’t know what happened.

Apparently Al suffered from Sickle cell anemia, and was the one being pinned by the other wrestler. He apparently had an attack that night, and suddenly lost all control of his muscles.

After that, he never wrestled again. I remember seeing him being pushed around campus in a wheelchair by his girlfriend, Vicki Dix,but he disappeared the next year. And I never heard what happened to him, but he was the coolest guy I ever met.

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 and a ghetto blaster.

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 radical feminist waiving one of those KKKBOO hot pokers around.

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 what he was doing.

It was so interesting to watch how this totally blind guy was able to use the echo of the sound 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!

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

With one motion, Roger gracefully brought his other 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.

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, you could tell there was still an unspoken pecking order based on how much vision one had.

And so in the spring of 1973, our family began to learn about the amazing world of the blind, and about the endless ways one can almost always get around any obstacle, in a world built exclusively for the sighted.

I always liked working. At age eleven, my very first job was delivering newspapers, in New Baltimore. Michigan. And while I was a student at the school for the blind, one of the most rewarding jobs 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 championship team and highest scorer during a 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. And the clickers were controlled by a switch mounted on the wall behind each basket.

Hitting a Basket was worth three points, hitting the rim was worth two points, hitting the backboard was worth one point, and missing everything was worth nothing. Each player on 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 blind, and there was nothing anyone could do.

For decades I mostly pretended it wasn’t true. But the truth is, and I should have learned this long ago, very few people really 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 practice does not protect anyone who can’t afford a private attorney to defend their rights.

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 never completely step off the edge, into traffic.

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 bureaucrat this deadly staple, which was left behind, 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 same 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 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”.

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 homosexuals and Jews, who run most of the west coast today, can afford lots of powerful lawyers to defend their “right” to sexually, physically, and emotionally abuse people with disabilities in their homes at night, electronically (as they have been doing to me almost every day and night for more than ten years).

The torture first started under Obama, shortly after he took office. But it has continued under Trump, and now continues under President Biden. So what does that say about who is really running America?

My biological father and his entire family had all moved to the State of Washington area sometime after my Uncle Joe shot himself in the head, and I’m sure it’s only a coincidence that 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, saying that I’m not completely blind.

My Uncle Joe was very passionate about the safety of his family, and obviously very remorseful for introducing his little sister to someone like my biological father, Harold Bowmer.

According to my mom, Harold 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 hundreds of these little pieces of paper, he carefully marked and called “troops”. He would spread them around the living room while we spent the afternoon watching westerns. He would pretend the armies were going to war, and start destroying his 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, insteadlike 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 benefit, since I was eligible for survivor’s benefits because I was under twenty-one when I went blind. Since I was eighteen, I only had a little bit of ‘shadow vision’ for the next ten or fifteen 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. And now she says she doesn’t remember. 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 passed away in 2009.

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 that may not have been completely legal, after he left the army in 1962.

Before now, I assumed, and I don’t know why, that Harold and Uncle 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 remember this one fight where I hid under the kitchen table while they hurled dishes at each other from both sides of the table.

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

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.

Then we would pack a bag and stay with my grandparents while my mom worked. In fact, us three kids lived with my grandparents 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, one time Harold and his step father showed me the body of a dead woman in this underground tomb on Harold’s mother’s farm, somewhere near Port Huron!

My Grandma Clarece remarried after my Grandpa died, and married my grandpa Ernie. And the property in Port Huron belonged to her new husband, who seemed to have a lot of money. There were two homes on the property and several other out buildings, including a barn amd a saloon.

I can see why they wouldn’t tell my mom anything about anything, but Harold, Uncle 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 .

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 does know. 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.

Belle Isle was 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 this young lady, who was interested in me, a member of the cheer leading squad, but I thought she was the prettiest of them all!

I didn’t care that she happen to be half African-American and half Native-American, because it didn’t matter. I knew she was very, very smart, and she had this really long, beautiful dark black wavy hair that shined in the sunlight. And she had these dark mysterious eyes that seem to see right through me.

I don’t know why, but she was 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 when we were leaving school, I thought I saw Harold and someone else 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 around the blind school, but I never told him why.

As I thought about the things my mom had said about Harold and Umcle Jerry hating black people, 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 “colored girl”, as they would call her, if they thought we had “disgraced the “family”.

Without explaining why, I promptly ended our brief relationship…and regrettably, broke her heart.

While Harold was sneaking around, impregnating some of my mom’s girlfriends, Harold and Uncle Jerry and their two sisters, Brenda and Pat, and some of my cousins, were telling everyone that my brother and me weren’t really blind. So I thought they came up to the blind school in Lansing to watch us, just so that they could prove my mother was lying.

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.

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

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 our own biological 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 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 blacks in Detroit.

“I’m gonna go downtown and kill some coloreds,” I remember him saying. And it wasn’t the only time he said this.

From 1958 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 according to my mom, the military said he 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 my mom divorced.

As I said, Harold’s mother and step-father owned a farm north of Detroit, in Port Huron. And along with the main house, there were at least one or two two other smaller homes on the wooded property, where my cousin Rex lived with his mom, my Aunt Pat. There was 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 couple Christmas’s there on the farm, although it wasn’t really a farm, with animals, gardens, 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 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.

Even more importantly, this saloon 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 and maybe Uncle Jerry and Harold’s step-father in to this underground tomb located under the back of the bar. I was told this was the tomb of my great Cherokee 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 from getting out, but wouldn’t have stopped anyone from getting in…but who would be creepy enough to want to get in there, I wondered.

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,

Right 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 Native-American, 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, she was almost transparent, and you could almost see her bones through her light brown 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.

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

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 about that day, I’ve never gotten a real clear answer.

Until recently, I’ve always told people, including several Native-Americans at KBOO Community Radio, that I believed I was part Native-American, but I don’t know for sure if this is true. However, on October 11th, 2023, on KBOO Radio racist Native-American author, Jackie Kealer, calls white people like me “Pretendians.” She explained any white people who claim to be Native-Americans without proof should be ridiculed by using this racist word.

In fairness to Kealer, she was instrumental in forcing racist jew owner, Dan Snider, to change the name of the franchise in Washington D.C. But isn’t it interesting that the government in D..C. had for decades supported the slow genocide of Native-Americans, and this same government has been funding the slow genocide of the Palestinians.

Kealer should know that submitting our DNA to any genetics lab is extremely unwise, and potentially dangerous. And having proof that we’re not part Native-American doesn’t prove we’re not part Native-American.

Apparently it makes no difference to Kealer, whether a white person who believes this and used it to receive opportunities or benefits, or not. She believes, for any white person, just saying we’re part Native-American should be condemned, unless we have our papers.
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Because of this early trauma, going to the blind school was a great opportunity to hide away from what I was learning was a extremely vicious, violent racist world, and not all the racist were white people.

Part three:
Despite what I’ve written below, in a lot of ways the blind school was a magical place for most of us kids.

Because the blind schools gave hope to 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 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 almost two years. This was supposed to give us a taste of the university life, which was partly true.

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 wasn’t 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.

I didn’t know what to expect. But to my surprise, I discovered that U-D was a Catholic school. There were nuns who lived on the floor above us, and priests walking around the campus…at the same time we were partying like dogs!

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 of course, it wasn’t like we were taking regular college courses. For example, there was never any home work.

My first day began by meeting my first resident assistants 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 small amount of civility in the dorm. 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. And being our “friend” meant he was rarely ever around, and he only once complained about our excessive partying, after getting a complaint from the nuns.

Despite still being a minor, living below the nuns (who probably did everything not to hear, or smell anything), there was no supervision about what we were up to. Along with my former-“special” education teacher, who drove up from Eaton Rapids and stayed 3 weekends, and a twenty-something horny campus operator (who had a thirty-two inch waist and the largest breast ever), and a former-nineteen-year-old classmate, it was more of a sexual education curriculum than anything else.

Other than losing a dear lady friend, 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. Ironically, Dale Norton and I performed this song during a school assembly to honor our senior class.

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 never ask for any sort of identification, 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. We shared a suite, and 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”?

So for no reason some of the guys started calling me gay, even though I wasn’t. One time these two guys came by my window, looking for a safe place to smoke a joint, and said, “Hey, that’s where the gay guy lives, isn’t it?”

I think that was their misinterpretation of something called “blindisms”. These are characteristics that some blind men have that appear feminine. Some blind women also have characteristics that appear masculine, but it’s not as common among blind women. But often this depends on culture.

So in America, and many Latin and Slovic cultures, there is an assumption among men, because of these blindisms, that a person is gay when they are not.

Most liberals would say it doesn’t matter, but to most straight men, being called gay, really does matter because of what it implies. No woman or gay guy could ever understand this feeling, someone questioning your manhood.

Before I get back to my story about the school for the blind in Lansing, I’ll briefly jump ahead and tell you another 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 sit in one of the stair wells and play guitar, while I sang.

And since Snook said he was from Gaylord, and knew my Uncle Dan (who was a local cop), I felt like I could trust him, but actually, he may have hated my uncle. I think Snook may have used me to get back at Uncle Dan.

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, which really pissed me off. He had all these confiscated bongs lined up along his fire place. Not surprisingly, he later became a county judge, or maybe it was a magistrate.

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, whenever 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 few different pharmaceuticals for relief, but within a few months, and sometimes a few weeks, the side effects were way worse. It was as though 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 whole 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.

Sometime that winter, in an effort to find some good medicine, I gave Snook $400 I had just received from Social Security. When I turned eighteen I had filed for Social Security benefits, and when I was approved I received about $800. I put the rest of the money away for my spring tuition, which was later stolen by my sister’s boyfriend.

Since Bitch Dog was too busy that day, Snook took me half way across campus, and I gave Dwayne my money and he bought a huge bag of weed. When I tried it, it tasted and smelled great! But somehow I ended up with a quarter pound of the shittiest Indiana dirt weed ever.

I suspect Dwayne and his other roommate, Mark, had switched it out when we got back. All I know the marijuana Snook handed me when we got back to case Hall wasn’t the same bud we had smoked.

One other 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 real bright. although somehow he got into Emery Law School.

Not surprisingly, Chuck ended up being a sleazy attorney for the EPA. I began to think anybody could get into law school and be a lawyer. So I eventually decided to go back to school and study law.

Little did I know, it’s not about how smart one is or how good of a lawyer one will be. Unless one is from the right family. Otherwise if one wants to get into law school, it only matters who one knows and how well one performs, sexually for the Deep State.

After dropping out of Michigan State later that year, I joined several garage bands over the next two years. Eventually I moved to the rock and roll capital of the world, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Chuck was from Holland, which was only a few miles away frp, Grand Rapids, Chuck would often stop bye to party when he was in town. He never brought any weed, although he sure liked to smoke everybody else’s.

After one of my beeper ball games, that Chuck Attended, we were invited to dinner by this classy blind couple, named Richard and Sheryl. I met them through the Telephone Pioneers’ Beeper Ball League.

Beeper ball is a game that’s based on the game of baseball, with batters and fielders. Except in beeper ball, the pitcher is on your team and tries to pitch the beeping ball, about as big as a soft ball, right where you can hit it, in the sweet spot.

If you hit the ball in bounds, the fielders will try to catch the ball and hold it up before you make it to first base. You either score a run for your team or make an out. And like baseball, there are three outs before the teams switch sides.

So During this game of monopoly, ironically, Chuck stole an entire brand new 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, since we figured it must have fallen out of my pocket. Chuck swore he didn’t take it and said, “I wouldn’t do that to a friend.”

So I left that night believing this totally-blind couple, who had invited us over for a home cooked meal, had stolen my smoke. I had been to their home once or twice before, so I didn’t know them well. And Chuck and I had been friends for several years, and he had never stolen anything from me before this, so who should I believe?

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

I got real quiet, and eventually he admits he had stolen the weed from me so that I wouldn’t smoke so much, so fast (without him).

“You understand, right?” He asked.

After getting my weed back, I made him drop me off on the interstate and I hitch-hiked the rest of the way back to Grand Rapids. He tried to contact me a few times, but I wouldn’t take his calls. But really, why would I ever want to trust someone 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, which is almost funny.

I remember one interesting bullshit story Chuck told me while we were attending Michigan State, that says everything . (And they wonder why no one trusts the government, but look at the sort of people they hire).

A few of us were sitting around drinking coffee in the cafeteria. I was a sports addict back then, so this story caught my ear and I never forgot it.

Chuck began telling us about how a few weeks ago him and another guy were walking along the sidewalk on campus, and they saw Magic Johnson and another player coming toward them. Chuck said he stepped off the sidewalk onto the grass, and his friend moved all the way 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 stupid like this to a white 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. At the time, Johnson was about a year older than me.

Magic and his girlfriend, Cookie, were on the television or in the paper every week. And it just didn’t sound like him, the Magic we knew, who was always smiling and joking around with these sports reporters.

There were over 45,000 students on campus, and the main campus, where the dorms and most of the classrooms, was about two miles square. I would guess there had to be no less than a dozen eyes locked on Magic every time he stepped outside and wanted to walk around.

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 would have 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.

Just crooks being crooks, like Chucky Charles Rooks.

I’m getting way, way ahead of this story, about how it works here in 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, along with our parents, were encouraged to consider returning to the local public school system, which I decided to do in the spring of 1977.

There were many who said mainstreaming was all about the money. Since the legislature changed the law, every school district that had a kid who attended the school for the blind or school for the deaf, which was located in Flint, was required to reimburse the state for the cost of our education. And apparently, that cost had been increased, considerably.

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 explored.

Most of the sidewalks were really wide, which made the campus seem like it was part of an amusement park — perhaps, “The Village 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 like a small city, with a candy store, a medical center, library, and almost everything else a kid needed, including a swimming pool, bowling alley and a gymnasium that turned into a roller skating rink at night. The gymnasium had speakers and flashing lights mounted in each corner so that if a person were blind or partially sighted they would know when to turn.

The bowling alley was really cool because it wasn’t automated. There were three lanes, and pins had to be set manually. Which meant for every bowler there was a pin setter.

Each time the bowler bowls, the pin setter would first lower the mechanical pin grabber so that it would grab all the remaining pins. The pin setter then yells out how many pins were knocked down, by subtracting the number of pins in the pin grabber from ten.

Then the pin setter would crawl around and grab the pins knocked over and put them in a rack, and send the ball back. After the pin setter hopped onto the wall, they would push the buzzer to let the bowler know they were ready for the next ball.

For some of the little kids it was probably a little dangerous, but no one was ever hurt, as far as I know.

The campus was completely separated from the outside world, surrounded by a ten foot fence. And 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 would sometimes line up for these outdoor ceremonies, when it was warm enough. And when it was warm enough, the school band got to play for the ceremonies. If you had a good imagination, and most of us kids did, the sprawling campus was a great opportunity to create almost any world you could imagine.

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

For example, with the help of our English teacher, Mr. Graef, me and three other students revived an old idea called “Campus News”. We produced a weekly campus radio news show which they played over the PA system every week. It was pretty cool to hear my voice echoing from every direction when it was played.

Since hardly anybody else wanted to, I must have wrote over a hundred articles for the school paper. And once, as a challenge to myself, 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.

When I was a kid, 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 kind of flattered when this popular African-American girl, Beverly Millsap asked me to dance. She was probably more than double my weight, but I didn’t think much about it, I just wanted to dance with someone. That is, Until the very first time she gave me a smack with her massive hips and I went sprawling across the room. Every time she saw me, she broke out laughing. And she didn’t stop laughing about it for weeks.

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, “Because I only need one event.”

As I said, Beverly was 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 conference record in the girls shot put.

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, Edie Justice, and Fran Caldwell (and a half dozen other really good athletes), dominated the girl’s division in track and field every year, winning at least one conference championship.

For a brief time, my older brother dated the co-captain of the girl’s team, Fran Caldwell. And 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 spring, 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 1973-74 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, 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, where people have put at least a dozen mice through my windows).

And what’s even more interesting about our 1973 week long sell out performance was that Mark Warchol’s girlfriend, Kathy Chaney, played the completely uncivilized part of a young Helen Keller to a tee, almost a little too well.

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 best female athletes, and maybe not the prettiest cheerleader, Coleen Hamm was definitely one of my favorite people.

My first two years at the school, 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 I never knew exactly how much she could see, I especially liked to watch the way she would swing her head back and forth when she talked.

While there was a lot of 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.

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 everyone knew he wasn’t interested in her. I always admired the way she never gave up, and always flirted with him, which sometimes made him mad.

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

Coleen Hamm 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 something usually totally ridiculous.

this is the point in my life when the sexual abuse began, and then later continued at Eaton Rapids High School. This trauma and abuse, along with some sort of “brain-washing” techniques that were being used on some of us kids, may be the trigger that forced my brain to begin to change in these strange ways.

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 weighed just over eighty pounds, and stood about 4’10”. And since I sounded like a girl, and was still waiting for my very first pubic hair, I became a target for teasing from most of the older guys, and even a few of the girls who would watch us swim through a crack in the door…like Beverly Millsap, who I really hated 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 “colored people” weren’t supposed to act 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 down there?” 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 like no naked boys with hair down there, because it messes up the drain.”

Another time, Beverly was coming down the stairs from the dorm and saw me standing there, and couldn’t resist the opportunity. 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, and she laughed. She apparently had been watching us naked boys in the pool with the Coach and his son that day, 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 over what was done to us.

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. on the other hand, I did respect Beverly for at least speaking about the unspoken, aloud.

Everyone else chose to say nothing to me. Or just maybe, they were programmed by our society not to say anything, about the fat white coach who was touching the little white boy in the pool?

Our track coach and assistant wrestling coach, Lou Tutt (who had perfect vision), probably figured he 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 or 1974, 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 made him out to be an accessory.

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

According to some of his murderers, who boasted of this later, he was beaten and then dragged in front of a street car, where he was run over and killed. Although the cops claimed a healthy forty-year-old man simply stumbled on the tracks and was run over, and the bruises on his body must have been from some erlier altercation.

But we must ask ourselves, how fast did street cars move in 1937? And we are supposed to believe Earl Little fell down and was unable to get out of the way, a healthy man?

He must have been knocked unconscious, after stumbling onto the tracts, because I would imagine in 1937 you could hear one of these street cars from a mile or two away.

Coincidentally, this happened a few weeks after Reverend Little was warned he was living in a “whites only” neighborhood. So being the good white neighbors they were, they told him, “You probably ought to move, Mr. Little.”

Not surprisingly, no one was ever arrested for Earl Little’s murder, and today some flim-flam writers, like Les payne, are trying to still claim it was an accident.

So it’s no wonder that Coach Tutt decided the next year, my Ninth Grade year, to no longer coach wrestling. And who could blame him? As far as I know, 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 on the team, in the presence of thirty other minors.

Maybe he should have pulled the Coach aside and said something like, “Do you know how sick this makes us both look, when you’re just laying on top of Jake, grinding your hips into him!”

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 push down 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, who worked as the assistant coach for one year, or Coach Rappaport, who took over as assistant coach my Ninth Grade year, never said anything, as far as I know.

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 African-American kids? Is it too politically incorrect for me to say that, as one of the victims?

Part four:
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 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 touch some of us young boys.

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

We would hold hands and run around campus every day. It was strictly platonic, because I didn’t know there was any other kind of relationship. At this age, I really didn’t like most girls my age, who were really bossy. Maybe this was because I was so small, and they could push me around. Diane was different, so we hung around that summer and had a great time.

Diane Pastrick changed her name to Diane Rose, and moved to Nashville. She got a job providing regular reports back to a country western radio station in Detroit, and I was real proud to say I knew her.

About ten years after I graduated high school I had a chance to visit her in Roseville, while she was home visiting her parents. I realized that the girl so many years ago I looked up to, literally, stood only about 4’10”.

I believe this psychological and sexual abuse at the school for the blind in Lansing first began sometime under the George Romney administration, during the early 1960’s, while Stevie Wonder was a student.

It was very likely that Ted Hull was used by 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 experiences, 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 the year 2001?

Maybe 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, it was a reward for not spilling the beans when he finally figured out he was being used, 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, sexual molestation, I have to ask, Did Stevie Wonder ever suspect anything like this was going on at the blind school in Lansing, or didn’t he care? And is it fair to ask, in light of his comment at the 1980 Grammy Awards, did Stevie Wonder ever have sex with anyone that he knew was underage, since we know birds of a feather usually stick together?

In addition to his musical success, there’s no doubt Stevie Wonder supported many admirable causes and gave countless benefit concerts during his career, and many would say he is beyond criticism. Nevertheless, I was surprised and disappointed by his comment, since I would assume most African-Americans celebrities knew this about the Muslim leader from Chicago, Illinois.

Although this video appears to have been scrubbed by the Deep State cyber-trolls, in 1980 at the Grammy Awards Wonder said, “I would like to give thanks to the honorable Elijah Muhammad,” as though Elijah Muhammad were a god himself, or the actual 6th Century Muslim Profit.

There’s no doubt that Islim is one of the world’s great religions, and anyone who can live their life as a true Muslim is surely honorable. But Elijah Muhammad was anything but honorable, and here’s the proof.

More than fifteen years before Stevie Wonder made this comment, Malcolm X said that he knew Elijah Muhammad was having extra-marital affairs and engaging in sex with underage girls. In his autobiography, Malcolm X said Elijah Muhammad wanted him dead for telling his followers about what he called “indiscretions against god”. And as he predicted, he was murdered soon after his autobiography was published (With the help of the New York Police Department and the FBI. These dirty persecutors and police protect wealthy and influential pedophiles, like Bill Clinton, Father Israel Bien and the Cornell Science Department. So maybe we should ask, did this proponent of climate engineering, a true mad scientist named Douglas Macmartin, from Cornell, ever visit Pedophile Island? And is he part of the Deep State’s plan to geoengineer the entire planet?).

Author Les Payne confirmed this fact about Elijah Muhammad in his 2020 book, “The Life of Malcolm x”, saying that had impregnated seven underage girls and fathered ten children out of wedlock. This means, Elijah Muhammad was repeatedly raping them for many years,impregnating some of these young girls several times. But he wasn’t alone.

In Bob Spitz’s 2021 book, “Led Zeppeling: The Biography”, he writes “The Band was having sex all the time with girls who were fourteen, and some of them were a lot younger than that.” Spitz also included the following fact, Robert Plant began working on one song, although he later changed the lyrics, “You’re thirteen baby, but you’re already over the hill.”

According to Spitz, just before she turned fifteen, Jimmy Page broke up with long time girlfriend, Lori Maddox, Who was by Zeppelin standards “over the hill”.

Several books about the band Led Zeppelin describe in great detail how drummer John Bonham had attempted to violently rape two different women, a reporter, and a flight attendant. Bonham, “The Beast”, was used to getting what he wanted, and most groupies didn’t object, apparently even when the encounter was violent or extremely forceful.

But we know Zeppelin wasn’t unique in their sexual assaults against children during the ’60’s and ’70’s, pianist Jerry Lee Lewis and Rolling Stones’ basest Bill Wyman were married to thirteen-year-old girls. So maybe we should ask, how old were these girls when the sexual relationship began? But Hoover and law enforcement never pursued these crimes committed against children by celebrities or the elite.

Has anything changed, since we know Jeff Epstein’s named and unnamed co-conspirators, such as Bill Clinton, Bill Richardson, and the Cornell Science Department, are not being pursued by law enforcement?

so maybe all these celebrities and rich people are pedophiles, covering for each other, while the press, the courts, their wives and the FBI all look the other way. For example, in the trial of Eric and Lyle Menendez, who gunned both their parents down, the California jury rejected their claimed that suggested the parents and their gay, Jewish friends from Hollyweird were molesting them. However, today a cousin of Lyle and Eric Menendez confirmed that the two boys were in fact being molested by their parents and friends, yet the courts have denied all appeals, which should tell the reader something about our injustice system and the media in America. And why none of these Jewish pharmaceutical billionaires are going to prison for using our doctors to pedal opiates to their patients and killing a half million people.

And if there was any actual justice in America, Elijah Muhammad and the band Led Zeppeling should have all been sentenced to prison for at least a hundred years for their sex crimes against young girls. Not surprisingly, this began sometime in the 1960’s, apparently under Hoover’s protection.

We know Sidney Gottlieb, Joli West, John Edgar Hoover, and Richard Helms were running these sort of “Nazi experimental programs” on soldiers, prisoners, minorities, and disabled kids who were institutionalized, rather than being mainstreamed. This included the school for the blind in Lansing, with the help of Michigan Governor George Romney. And most of us theorist against criminal conspirators know George Romney’s son, Mitt Romney, who ran for president in 2012, is a neo-con with close ties to the CIA, the Deep State pedophiles, and the Global mobsters from Israel (who run the IMF and the world banks). This is probably why he called America in one of his campaign releases, “Amercia”, which sounds kind of diabolic.

Mitt Romney made his fortune from buying companies and stripping them down to nothing. then when they looked attractive to buyers, because of their lean, mean performance, he sold the companies off. With no regard to the loyal employees and their pensions,.

The companies usually fell apart pretty quickly, because the cuts made by Romney, which he always hid from the buyer, were not sustainable. Most of the companies Romney sold off soon collapsed, but it was all legal, thanks to the cons in Congress, who also gave Big Pharma immunity for any injuries caused by their vaccines. In fact, according to Robert Kennedy Jr, over the last ten years the four major vaccine companies have paid out over thirty-two billion in damages, And now they want to vaccinate six month old babies with this experimental drug? (For more information, watch this 2022 historical speech by Robert Kennedy Jr. from the Lincoln monument at: https://childrenshealthdefense.org/defender/rfk-jr-speech-defeat-the-mandates/)

We’ll get back to Mitt Romney in a minute, but at this point John Edgar Hoover’s behavior is also worth examining further.

For example in Anthony Summers 1993 book, “Official and Confidential: The Secret Life of J. Edgar Hoover” he quotes Susan Rosenstiel’s allegation that Hoover was a cross-dresser who liked to be called “Mary”. She claims Hoover and her husband Lewis Rosenstiel had raped two young boys in her presence. And this is probably the real untold story of child sexual abuse in America, perhaps more than Nasser and Epstein’s rape of young girls, which is now finally being told.

Rosenstiel goes on to say Roy Cohn, Donald Trump’s mentor, a known homosexual, had witnessed both of these crimes, the rape of two young boys. Summers claims Hoover never went after the mob because they had blackmail on him, such as this. And Cohn, who served as council to the whack job from Wisconsin, Senator Joe McCarthy, is said to also have had ties to Meyer Lansky and the mob.

According to Ronald Kessler’s book, “The Bureau: The Secret History of the FBI”, Hoover had blackmail on most of the people in Washington D.C., thanks to the FBI’s illegal wire tapping. Curiously, According to the book, throughout Hoover’s career he also had political connections to dozens of politicians from Michigan, who all defended Hoover and his criminal behavior.

Here’s another story about some of the very odd people who worked at the school, including a few student interns from Michigan State University.

For example, there was this little German eye doctor who was barely five foot tall. Twice a year, she would examine all of us kids, and became a joke around campus. As far as we knew, she barely spoke English, other than a few words.

So at the end of every examination she would come within a few inches of our face and look us in the eye, and say this exact same thing to all of us, every time, “Ah…I see, you are blind?” And quickly turn around and walk away.

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

But the State of Michigan had no right to do this to us. That is, allow a grown man to force us to take off our clothes and get into a well lit, heated pool, with no 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 were 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 the DeWitt High School’s wrestling team. Before I met Coach Bates, the wrestling coach at the blind school would often talk about him, and his gruff style of coaching.

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. An honor long over due.

Coach Bates, or “Master Bates”, as his youngest son, Hughie, 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 several individual state titles 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. And just by some strange coincidence my younger sister, who was living with my older brother, began dating Hughie Bates. As a result, we briefly became friends. And for awhile, the garage band I belonged to would practice in his garage and I would sometimes crash at his house.

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 in about twenty seconds, John Reude, who was a pretty good wrestler.

Unlike Jack Provencal and the coach at the blind school, I know Coach Bates was a good guy, and one of the best wrestling coaches in Michigan. I’m absolutely positive, he never abused any of his wrestlers. But there was a few times when he said things that could 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?”

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 two of his youngest daughters were underage, it probably wasn’t a real smart thing to say. 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, Valerie, and, along with Hughie and my sister, we went on one double date. After a night of dancing and drinking beer, and a night of making out on the living room 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 “boyfriend”. She broke my heart, and I wished I had asked her to come with us. Maybe things would have been different, but I don’t think we ever spoke again after that.

So back to the coach at the blind school.

There were dozens of these massive lights under the water, along with a camera. And the water was always well lit. Anyone watching through the crack in the door, including the girl’s coaches, could see everything, above or below the water.

There’s no way that some of my 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. There was another kid who could see really good named Mike Bear. The following year, Bear could legally drive and would often drive from his home in Jackson, Michigan, to downtown Lansing, where the school was located.

While I was holding on to the paddle board I would imagine Bear could see everything, and he probably saw this.

This one time, when the Coach was talking to Bear, who was standing right next to us in the pool. he was rubbing my naked butt as though it were perfectly normal to do this.

And if you can believe this, at the same time the Coach is telling Coach Brunger and Coach Gingery, who were coaching the cheerleaders, to not sing this great cheer they wrote called “Go Bananas!” According to the cheerleaders, the Coach told the girls coaches that the cheer was Too provocative. He apparently wanted something that was more “gay”.

During the cheer, the cheerleaders would bend over and spin around in a big circle while they slapped the floor, and excitedly chanted those infamous words:
“GO BANANAS! GO, GO BANANAS! GO BANANAS!”

Parents and kids from the other schools we wrestled would often fill our bleachers during most home matches. Many of them came to see the amazing blind cheerleaders perform.

Before each home match, the girls would do this one cheer that would catch everyone’s attention. They formed a four level pyramid, with one of our best lady-sprinters, five-foot Renee Walker, who was at the top of the pyramid. You could barely see Renee. 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. 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.

One of the other “adult exploiters” I met 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. One of my other counselors was a graduate of the school named Mark Martin. Martin, who was totally blind, stayed in the same cottage with us that summer.

It seemed as though Martin knew I had been specifically picked out, as though his supervisor, Mr. Graef, may have planned it that way. I feel this way because of something that happened at his home years later.

Martin and me stayed in touch, even after he moved to Flint, where he operated a vending stand at one of the local post offices. Sometime later, Martin moved back to Lansing. Before he moved, Martin and his roommate 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. In other words, no one thought it was kind of weird that a twenty something blind guy was inviting this thirteen or 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, but never said anything.

And if they knew, or suspected, I was using “drugs”, one would think the school should have investigated further, but never did. They knew exactly where I had been when I was wearing the clothes that reeked of weed.

I would 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.

Sometime after I graduated, I was in town visiting my older brother. And I decided to take the bus over to Martin’s duplex, to say hello. But strangely, he wouldn’t let me come in. And he wouldn’t say why-.

But just then a younger lady friend I knew from the blind school, who helped me produce Campus News. It was awkward, since We had once fooled around a little bit.

She appeared at the door and we said hello, but Martin said nothing, and he didn’t move either. Obviously, he didn’t want me to come in.

Since I knew she was under age, about two years younger than me, it was obvious something inappropriate had been going on. Then all the sudden, much like my conversation with Coach Gingery, everything was clear.

At that moment I had to admit to myself that my friend, Mark Martin, was just another adult from the school for the blind who was using their influence to sexually exploit 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 a couple months during my senior year, 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, and this was more convenient than picking me up at 5:00 a.m.

She set the alarm for 4:30 a.m., and when she woke up, she put on some coffee and eggs. Then she came in to wake me up, but we got distracted.

Needless to say, the 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 other side of the duplex where Mark Martin lived. And was apparently molesting this underage girl I knew, which brings me back to this conversation I had with Miss Gingery, about sexual abuse at the school for the blind.

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 same 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 she didn’t want to be touched. I was to dumb to get the hint…and she was too shy to say anything..

Although because of something she said, 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 Rappaport and Coach Hetherington, who seemed to want to look the other way, when I began to bring up some of what had been happening to me, she became real nervous. She said she didn’t have the time to get into it now. So I let it drop, and I never went back. I suspect there was a whole lot more going on involving sexual abuse at the school then I knew.

That was probably the moment when I started thinking about transferring to public school, like my brother and a few other students I knew.

But if Ms. Gingery had also taken a peek at us naked boys, as was rumored, and made a joke to several girls about our “cute little butts”, it would explain why she became nervous when I tried to tell her about what happened to me.

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 name Rick Rappaport, was obvious.

Maybe that was because Coach Rappaport was a closeted homosexual, and he didn’t mind the Coach simulating anal sex with one of his wrestlers. Coach Rappaport died of AIDS in 1985 at the age of 31. Curiously, the blind school in Lansing was closed the following year, in 1986.

All of this sexual abuse (by these male homosexuals) seemed to begin at the school for the blind some time during Governor George Romney’s administration, and here’s the evidence that Governor Romney knew about it.

As I mentioned earlier, as far as I knew, it was always the younger, white-looking kids who were “selected”, and maybe that’s why Coach Tutt never said anything.

Think about this, Governor Romney spent over a hundred million dollars on the school for the blind during his time in office. They re-modeled the heated pool, including putting in an underwater camera. Yet Governor Romney didn’t spend hardly 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.

By doing this the kids would be removed from the care and protection of their parents for a couple more hours every day, where they could be easily exploited, 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 run the Injustice Department and promote the normalization of pedophilia, homosexuality, abortion, and endless wars. And let us not forget, promoting cannabis without THC.

Remember, the Romney’s are from Utah, the number one state in America for the consumption of pornography, including child porn. Not to mention, the cover up of the Mountain Meadows massacre in 1857 by Brigham Young, who many say was the one who ordered the massacre on this wagon train of innocent settlers from Arkansas.

The Mormons murdered almost a hundred women and children from an Arkansas wagon train, and then hid the evidence. They claimed they did it because some of the Arkansans insulted their profits, including Joseph Smith.

“It was an act of God on behalf of Zion,” they claimed. And interestingly, Zion refers to the Zionists, who today defend the Israeli terrorists. This is what happened.

A group of Mormons recruited the local Native-Americans, the Paiute Tribe, to attack the wagon train. When the Arkansans agreed to surrender, believing the promise that their lives would be spared, the Mormons divided them into three groups and began the death march.

The first group consisted of two wagons, filled with the injured and small children. The second group consisted of women and the older children. And the third group consisted of men and older boys. The three groups were separated by some distance when they began the march, so perhaps the Paiutes wouldn’t see what the Mormons were doing.

The Paiutes were ordered to attack and kill the men and boys, which they did. The Mormons, dressed as Indians, attacked the other two groups, killing the injured, the women, and any children who appeared to be older than six.

The Mormons assumed the younger children wouldn’t remember, or wouldn’t be believed. But the surviving children said they saw the Mormons removing their war paint and were not fooled.

Eventually, the massive graves were uncovered and the truth about the Mountain Meadows Massacre became known. As a result, a massive backlash against the Mormons occurred, which lasted well into the Twentieth Century.

And perhaps that’s one of the reasons why George Romney moved his family from Utah to Mexico in 1937, where perhaps he could continue to sexually abuse women and children without interference from the government. This way they could avoid being scrutinized by certain 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.

But here’s the question we need to ask.

I wouldn’t defend Donald Trump for a lot of what he’s said and did, since he’s kind of an American mobster. But do you want an American mobster, or a global mobster? That’s the real question, in the 2020 election, or perhaps, in the 2024 election.

Q-Anon is right about one thing, this international Zionist mob doesn’t care anything about America, and since Trump cares mostly about himself and his family. And since we know he’s an American, do we have any choice? You might say, our presidential elections are now the choice between two evils.

But you notice Q-Anon never attacks the pedophiles on the right, as if this weren’t a widespread problem on both sides of the isle, including perhaps Donald Trump. And it’s not the act of pedophilia itself that is the problem, as horrific as it is. It’s the way all of our leadership is being blackmailed into another endless war with Iran, while the FBI and Injustice Department look the other way.

Despite this, maybe we should be thankful Trump has exposed the Zionist controlled corporate media, the Democreep Party, and the Deep State child traffickers. Even though federal officials are obviously protecting them. For example, credible allegations of sex abuse were made in 1996 against Jeff Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell to the FBI, including threats to kill the witnesses and their family, but nothing was ever done until 2006.

At this point, the prosecutors claimed the fourteen-year-old girls were acting as “prostitutes”, and said Epstein was simply soliciting their services, rather than what he was really doing, raping children. So the useless U.S. Attorney, Alexander Acosta, gave Maxwell and the other co-conspirators complete immunity, and gave Epstein a slap on the wrist, or it may have been the bottom, depending on his preference.

We have seen how this wide-spread cover up of child trafficking works, and how the blackmail is used by MOSOD and Israel to protect these useful predators. In the Maxwell trial, the prosecutors aren’t asking the witnesses to name names. And you notice the national media is only talking about Covid and vaccine mandates, and isn’t covering hardly any of the trial. Maybe that’s because one of these witnesses just might reveal the identity of one or more of these other wealthy and important co-conspirators (who run our government and media).

So most Americans are asking, will our government go after the tens of thousands of men, and a few women, who also sexually abused these young girls, like Bill Clinton, Prince Andrew and the Cornell Science Department (the same school that pedophile Leo Frank attended)?

Or will they start another war with Iran on behalf of Israel, while continuing to harass poor men who never got a real lawyer and can’t buy their way off this Deth List, claiming they are protecting children?

Governor George 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 1973. 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 Hitchcock 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 movie, like a metal medallion, 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, sharp-looking teenage guy named Jim Gates, who wasn’t blind, but always hung out at the school for the blind, on his ten speed. Nobody knew much about him, or where he lived or went to school, but he always seemed to be hanging around after school.

Kathy Chaney and some of the girls would literally throw themselves at Gates when they saw him, wrapping their arms around him as though they had been lovers. Funny thing is, Gates wasn’t interested in any of them. None of the girls in my class knew Gates was gay, and actually was there to recruit young blind boys into something he called “the governor’s Club”.

At the same time this was going on, I was being hypnotized by one of the school’s shrinks, without my parents consent, I also became the favorite target of this two-hundred plus pound homosexual predator, who coached wrestling at the blind school.

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 pool’s filter. Except, some of us boys would peak at the girls when they were swimming, and I wondered why they didn’t have to swim naked. Wouldn’t their suits also clog up the filter? Especially, since there was more fabric in girls’ suits, than boys’ suits.

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 it was decided that I would be pick for this “program”. I know there was one other boy who was being victimized by the Coach and maybe 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 came in to the locker room, I remember the Coach was sitting in his office, and no one else was around except the three of us.

I paused for a moment to ask this kid if he was okay, who was about two years younger than me.

But when I saw his shorts pulled down I didn’t want to know anything, Like most of the students there. For some reason, I just kept walking until I got to the varsity locker room, which was located in the back. And never said anything to anyone about it…until now.

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. The Coach had this stack of unmarked video tapes on the top shelf, that stood out. I know this, because I would often sit in his office before practice and look around. And I clearly remember, all of the other tapes were clearly labeled, “Take Downs”, “pins”, “Free Style”, and other video tapes related to wrestling.

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. Including maybe Stevie Wonder.

But sadly, unlike the charges against Larry Nasser while he was a sports doctor at 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 male homosexuals) 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 seemed. 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. Otherwise, it was always me.

So when ever I was the dummy, He would always end up laying on top of me, while my face was being pushed 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 have 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 top 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 kids, and sometimes I hung out at his apartment and watched basketball with him and his first wife. So I know he’s a good guy, not to say his affair with the French teacher was okay. But I always wondered, why didn’t he 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 Coach Tutt, if he had the nerve, was strong enough to do it!

Maybe Coach Tutt’s inability to say anything, had something to do with being raised in South Carolina, a Zionist stronghold. South Carolina has a long history of African-Americans doing what they’re told to do by their masters.

In 2020 it was the black Democrats in South Carolina who overwhelmingly voted for Joe Biden in the primaries, which more or less knocked Bernie Sanders out of the 2020 race. Or at least that’s what the corporate media told us.

“The race is over!” They gleafully said.

The African-Americans voters supported Biden even though he, along with Bill Clinton, sponsored the Crime Bill twenty-five years earlier, which tripled the prison population in America. And curiously, these new prisoners were overwhelmingly African-American.

So maybe there’s something historic about African-American men raised in South Carolina, home of the Jewish slave traders.

Dutch and Jewish slave traders were responsible for about 70% of the slave trade in the United States and almost every Jewish family living in the south owned slaves. In addition, Jews dominated the slave trade in Brazil, where there were more slaves then any where else in the Americas. This is probably why Lindsey Lady Graham, the closeted homosexual senator from South Carolina, is calling for the murder of every Palestinian in Gaza.

Unlike most white Democrats, who seem to be obsessed with abortion and promoting homosexual and Transgender rights, African-Americans can never forget economics. This is the real problem in America, and why the CIA and the Mosodomites killed Dr. King and Malcolm X when they began talking about economics rather than race.

While there probably isn’t enough money on earth to compensate African-Americans for the two hundred and fifty years of slavery. Not to mention the seventy-five years blacks lived under Jim Crow, where a black man was hung almost every week for almost fifty years. And this happened in America after the black man was presumably set free.

Maybe we should begin the racial healing by putting our nation’s money where our mouth is and stop funding foreign wars and bailing out corporations, and compensate the descendants of slavery for their ancestors labor.

We, as Americans, are all responsible for this debt, whether our ancestors were slave owners or not. So providing $350 per month for poor African-Americans, similar to survivor’s benefits, would go a long way toward healing our nation biggest scar. And if you haven’t noticed it’s a jagged scar that runs from coast to coast.

The sad truth is that most of us were never taught in school about the injustices of our nation toward people of color, especially blacks and Native-Americans. The history books we used when I was growing up never included a word about the massacres of East St. Louis, Tulsa, or Arkansas, where over seven hundred African-Americans were murdered by white, racist mobs.

We never learned the truth about fourteen-year-old Emmett Till, a black boy from Chicago who was murdered by a white mob because he whistled at a married, white woman. The photographs show Till’s body was badly mutilated by the white mob, before it was thrown in the river. According to his mother, Maymie Mobley, who wanted everyone to see what they did to her son se wrote, “One of his eyes was resting on his right cheek, and his other eye was missing.”

J. Edgar Hoover, a sick homosexual pedophile who coincidentally ran the FBI, said about Till’s mother, “She is only trying to make money off her dead son.” This is according to Till’s cousin, Reverend Wheeler Parker Jr. in his book “A Few Days Full of Trouble.”

Parker wrote, “Nixon’s use of the term Law and Order in the 1960’s. The real meaning in the coded language of racism was Order and Law, maintaining a social order for the use of the law. Law that either intentionally discriminated, or simply ended up discriminating, because of how it was enforced.”

We never learned in school about how thirty years earlier a white mob had beat and dragged the father of Malcolm X in front of a streetcar, which caused his death. This happened just a couple miles from the blind school. Apparently the Little family moved into an all white neighborhood, and were told to move just a few weeks before Earl Little’s murder. And the all white Lansing Police Department felt there was nothing coincidental about these two incidents.

From the time I was born until my mom divorced, when I was eight-years-old, my biological father put the fear of god into me about what he called, the “Colored people.” He said, “you seen those Tarzan movies. If the Coloreds catch you alone, they’ll put you in a pot and eat you!”

I grew up in Northeast Detroit and there wasn’t any blacks in our neighborhood. And when the blacks began to move in we moved further north, to the other side of 12 Mile Road, well past the same 8 Mile Road that M&M made famous in his movie.

So in Eighth Grade when I attended the school for the blind in Lansing, it was a real shock. Almost a third of the students were black, and it kind of scared the shit out of me! But I was never put into a pot or ate by anyone, despite what Harold claimed. It was the white homosexuals I should have been warned about.
Because of people like Harold, African-Americans never forgot Tuskegee And hopefully never will. Four almost forty years, doctors at the University of Tuskegee intentionally failed to treat black men with Syphilis and other STD’s, as part of an experiment. The men were lead to believe they were completely healthy, or were being treated, as the decease slowly and quietly spread throughout their bodies.

So most Black people believe, and I agree, the experimental vaccines are nothing more than another scam by the drug companies. African-Americans know from experience the media and the wealthy doctors are in on it. Kind of like over prescribing opiates or anti-biotic’s. Or apparently the newest fad, “doucheing your nose”. What’s next, a douche for the butt?

So 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 as he was jamming his hard on up my ass…while everyone who wasn’t completely blind, including my older brother, 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. My fifteen-year-old brother, who, like the other kids, probably didn’t know what to do, but he never said anything. On the other hand, my brother was a friend of Jim Gates, who would hit on the younger guys, so maybe it didn’t bother him.

I suppose we were all victims, being exposed to this overt homosexual behavior at every practice. In a way, the other wrestlers were being groomed by the Coach who made them watch.

I ask myself,why didn’t I ever say anything to anyone, ever? Maybe it had something to do with the trauma of remaining completely silent, having my biological-father pointing a loaded gun at our heads.

About a year later a wrestler named Ed Chapman, who was 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. About a week or two earlier Chapman came up to me during school and stuck his finger in my chest, and said, “Why the fuck do you let him do that shit to you!”I didn’t know what to say. After a moment, he just walked away. I don’t think we ever spoke again.

Obviously, I didn’t have the balls to join them. And if you can believe it, about a week or two later, when Chapman and the other wrestlers walked out, I wrote an article in the school paper about what a great guy the Coach was.

Part Five:
When I was in Ninth Grade, my academic counselor at the blind school took me and a friend, Tom Crisp, to Troy, Michigan one weekend for a baseball card convention.

I stayed over my counselor’s house that Friday night and we picked up Tom the next morning and drove to Troy.

While spending the night, I had a chance to meet both my counselor’s wife and youngest daughter, who were both 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, Mr. Marshall, showed up at our table with a strange woman, and they were holding hands) (and she wasn’t his wife). So when he dropped Tom and me off at my grandparents home in Roseville that Saturday evening, we agreed that Mr. Marshall probably wouldn’t be sleeping alone.

I remember feeling very troubled and confused learning that this man, who like Coach Tutt, wasn’t who I thought he was.

On the other hand, 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 who they sleep with. But it was a shock.

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, probably even the totally blind kids, like Brian Rupp and Bobby Blakes.

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 times at there apartment in East Lansing, and participating in a local track club with Coach 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. 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.

As Explorers, we would go camping for the weekend and Miss Fowdy and Mr. Burnett would hide in a sleeping bag in the corner. To my pleasant surprise, several of the girls, including Kathy Chaney, climbed into my sleeping bag in the middle of the night and started making out.

And one of our dorm parents, Mrs. Hunzeker (or maybe 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. Hunzeker and probably couldn’t see well enough to see anything. But there’s no doubt Mrs. Hunzeker could see everything, and looked at our naked butts while we were showering, more than once!

A couple of the boys in my class, Brad Bollenbach and Bob Rickert, got 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 you know how little I was back then, I wrestled in the 88 pound division in the NCASB tournament during both my eighth and ninth grade year. Other than the NCASB tournament during my sophomore year, where I wrestled at 105 pounds and finished third, I wrestled at 98 pounds my 9th and 10th Grade year, and in 10th Grade I won thirty matches. All but three of those wins came against sighted kids from the local public school.

In my ninth grade year, the Coach encouraged us to try and wrestle with our local public schools during the Christmas break, since the blind school was closed. Most of my fellow students 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.

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.

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

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, 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 began to kick me in the head and ribs, even harder.

Apparently, Houghten, who wrestled varsity at 98 lbs., usually wrestled in the group I was assigned to. Obviously, as the varsity wrestler at 98 pounds, he was the best wrestler in this group of four I was assigned to. 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.

In other words, he was determined to make sure I would never want to come back, instead of seeing this as a good opportunity to improve his skills against the bigger wrestlers.

Fortunately, a real hero from Eaton Rapids, named Luke Fagen, who was the other member of our group, pulled me away from Granger and Davis. 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 “practice” 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 next 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 a relationship that summer, even though she was married with two kids, and about fifteen years older than me. In fact, her youngest daughter, who was born that spring, was closer to my age.

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 his good friend.

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 having sex in the back of the special ed 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 winning both individual and team state championships 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 of many state championships, 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 was sleeping with our English teacher, ironically named, Johnson. although they ended up getting married.

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. Remember, if any one asks, practicing together was all 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 asked me, while in his office. He asked me if I wanted to join them after school in the matt room.

This was another 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.

Part Six:
As you may already know, Stevie Wonder was the most famous graduate of the Michigan School for the Blind. He graduated three and a half 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 2001 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, a small engine repair shop, and a caning class, where you could earn pretty good money caning chairs, fixing lawn mowers, 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 and face.

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 it happened, so no one else ever got hurt, 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, while he was flippin’ us off.

In the shop, we also build ourselves a transistor radio; 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 I mentioned before 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 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, most of us kids pursued several different vocational programs.

When I arrived at the school in 1973, 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 1977, the ratio between boys and girls at the school was about five to one.

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

I have to admit, 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 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 it was a can’t miss performance for anybody who was anybody, in the Lansing area, apparently including very often 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 instrument.

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 place 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 several dozen of different high quality instruments, that were hanging on the wall. And he did this so that us kids would always have an instrument to play, unlike it was for him, growing up poor in Detroit.

Specifically, There were three guys from the school band who benefited from Stevie Wonder’s generosity.

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 across 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 down.

Willie Jones would stand, and Willie Brown would sit next to him in a chair. As they played, they would weave back and forth together, in rhythm. The whole time 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 the break. 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 ever heard.

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, then they would play it again.

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. Blakes was the only wrestler on the team who had earned more points than me that year, going into the post season, where I failed to make weight.

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 want to 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 before 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 using a white cane to touch 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 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 wasn’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 before they ever realized it.

Another idea I got from another wrestler, 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 head a little, 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 realized it. It was kind of hilarious, since I often was awarded with an escape.

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 flinch, being 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 Minnesota 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 super, massive heavyweight, Dwight Norwood.

I weighed about ninety-five pounds when Dwight and me started doing this during my ninth grade year, Dwight weighed almost four times as much.

Our school scale only went up to three hundred and twenty pounds. So once they took Dwight to a local butcher to weigh him, and the coach told us Dwight weighed almost Four hundred pounds!

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.

Sometimes before our matches, especially when we wrestled against 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” someone else would get in front of us and pretend to blow the whistle.

When I asked, I was told by Ms. Fowdy, 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, this little guy wrestling against this massive heavy weight.

When the fake whistle blew, I would start bouncing back and forth over the top of his massive back, He would reach back with one hand, then the other, and try to grab me. But each time he would barely miss, and the audience would burst out laughing and applaud!

To my good fortune, he usually was unable to catch me. And when I got tired, I would take off running and hide behind the chairs.

Although 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, underneath him. Then he proceeded to pin me, as if there were any way to avoid it.

There I was, trapped under this four hundred pound man!

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…until he let me go.

The most amazing picture I remembered seeing before I lost my vision was taken for our school yearbook by one of Ms. Fowdy’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 normal size 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 almost 700 pounds, seem enormous, 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, other than the gender-impaired, 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 or cockroaches, no matter how much food we left out.

the other amazing totally blind teacher was a man named Fred Neuman. Mr. Neuman taught math, and he taught those who were interested how to use the abacus. The abacus is a wooden device made of a row of metal rods filled with beads that can be used to do math or just store numbers.

Once you master the mechanical process of adding and subtracting, a person could easily multiply or divide six or seven digit numbers without hardly thinking. As long as a person could multiply or divide up to nine they could multiply or divide any two numbers together. No matter how big, 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 abacus is an amazing tool. The first abacus was made from stones or shells strung together on a piece of string, and it was the very first hand held computers. It was used by early Chinese thousands of years ago, long before batteries and buttons were 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 totally-blind guy named Joe Sontag.

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 a pause, he would say, “Thirteen plus thirty-two, divided by three, minus two, times seven, ANSWER!”

The first student to respond with the right answer (91), would win. And this time, the abacus was not allowed.

Using a double elimination bracket, two students at a time would STAND UP AND compete in the best two out of three problems. Everyone got 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 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 trained that being right was more important than being first…as every blind traveler who has almost been run down knows.

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, the same school that Helen Keller and her tutor, Annie Sullivan, attended.

He 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.

There were dozens of other great teachers at the school, but I would say this about them. They taught us one thing. They taught us to use our imaginations, and always “be brave and courageous in what ever you do, no matter what.” And it was our superintendant,
Dr. Thompson who instilled this attitude in every student.

Just like Stevie Wonder, I have always tried to live by this rule and never give up.

Dr. Robert Thompson, the school for the blind’s superintendent, was one of the kindest, most decent people I 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 in front of his house, which was located on campus, doing our best impression. We would barking out greetings that always began with a sharp whistle on the “s”, followed by the words, “Say son.”

Yet, as great as Dr. T 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 selected a white guy, Ted Hull to be Stevie Wonder’s tutor. And second, 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.

Part Seven:
Recommending Ted Hull as Stevie Wonder’s tutor was a big mistake. A fellow African-American young man (or woman) with similar credentials would have had more street cred for the MoTown crowd.

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 his book any time during the 1970’s. But Ted didn’t do that, 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 the slaughter…and it’s very likely Ted was just another easy patsie that was used by the ruthless American intelligence apparatus, like Oswell.

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 ideal 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 “snitch” 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 who 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 DA or 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, long before he began snitching. True or not, Stevie Wonder’s early career immediately paid the price when Hull became his tutor, 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, after he graduated from the school for the blind in 1969 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 Hull showed up at the hotel where the award ceremony was taking place, he was told to go home by Stevie’s handlers from Motown.

Before Hull was hired, a lot of important details weren’t made clear to Dr. Thompson about the nature of the job. 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. It’s possible, the need to hire someone to solve this dilemma as quickly as possible, so Stevie could continue to travel and perform, is to blame. 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 the other musicians would be smoking marijuana, and did he ever consider how Ted Hull would deal with this situation?

Obviously, any mention of drug use around Stevie Wonder would be viewed unfavorably, especially by Hoover’s FBI, 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. I suspect if he thought more about it, he would have recommended a fully-sighted tutor who could look out for Stevie and who could drive, rather than a person who happened to be partly blind, and could prove to the world that the blind could lead the blind, like Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller.

Stevie Wonder would have many blind students at the school who could serve as incredible role models, like his good friend JJ Jackson and his brother.

Here’s another problem with this relationship most people may have never considered, and 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 elbow, and I accepted, when I entered the parking lot of the grocery Store about ten years ago.

“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 totally blind person has felt at least once in the company of a partially-sighted, over-controlling guide? Especially after running into something that the other person missed seeing, intentionally or not.

This may surprise most people, but the partially sighted individual is much closer to a fully sighted person, then they are to a person who is totally blind. In other words, the experiences are much more similar between the fully sighted and the partially sighted individual, then they can ever be with anyone who is totally Blind, or a Deaf-Blind person.

I know as a person who was once partially-sighted, we feel altruistic, real or imagined, when we are leading a blind person. The blind person must surrender all control and take an elbow, because it is faster or more efficient. But it is difficult for anyone who has any sight to imagine how this total surrender by the totally-blind of one’s sovereignty, to travel freely, to any person whether they are fully or partially-sighted.

And by totally blind, this would include persons with only light perception or minimal shadow vision. A person may have enough shadow vision to travel in familiar territory, beyond their own home or yard, without a white cane or guide dog, but I wouldn’t consider them to be totally blind.

Having lost all of my useable vision by my early thirties, 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 intentions, whether they be good or bad.

So the fact that Ted was also “white-looking” when this happened, and we know it did happen, 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, as being racist.

It wasn’t a secret within the African-American community that Dr. King had been sent a letter by the FBI, telling him that they knew about his affairs with other women, and that he ought to kill himself before his wife finds out. But someone should have told Hoover and the FBI that these affairs are between his wife and himself, and nobody else’s business. After all, these were adult women he was having consensual sexual relationships with, and not children he was raping, like the Director of the FBI.

So everyone at Motown knew how dirty the FBI was, and continues to be to this day, going after parents at school board meetings who object to this Jewish, homosexual agenda to mask and vaccinate every kid, and quietly transition them into the “gay lifestyle”.

Today we know the FBI only targets dissenters, such as this group of conservatives white men in Michigan who opposed the governor’s vaccine mandates. Even if that means, falsifying evidence and erroneously charging them with serious crimes (so maybe they’ll take a plea bargain and there will be no trial, and we would never know). The dirty FBI’s field agent in charge of the Michigan false flag, was transferred to Washington D.C. Which is why the January 6th prosecutions appear to be the same sort of Deep State shenanigans they always pull, since the police killed two , and maybe three, unarmed people and have never been prosecuted for the crime. But the victims were white so the corporate media can ignore these crimes, not that they really care about black people being killed by the police. I think it’s almost all fake news, with these painted, plastic paid actors reading the script and looking concerned. But the truth is, they don’t give a shit about any of the little people here in Third America.

By 1970, the Black Panthers and almost every African-American knew the government had tried to infiltrate almost every organization that was promoting peace in Vietnam and the interests of African-Americans, so why wouldn’t Motown also be targeted?

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, like who was smoking weed, they would have most likely said “FUCK you!” 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 if Stevie’s tutor were black.

So, given this, it’s very possible Ted Hull was chosen because he was white, and therefore, the government probably figured would be more likely then a black tutor to provide some useful 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 the blind school, 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 considered the possibility that if someone connected to Motown found out Ted was a snitch and killed him or his wife, that would be even better. “We’ll bring down all those uppity Negroes in Detroit!” Hoover says.

At the time, the FBI was under control of an extremely deviant man, who was regularly blackmailing American citizens. 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 useful pawn. Along with filming Stevie Wonder and the rest of these naked blind boys swimming around a very expensive, heated pool in Lansing.

The coach would pretend to teach us swimming by grabbing us around the waist as we held onto a kickboard. At the same time he would drape his arm over us and brush his hand against our genitals. This way no one could see what he was doing.

The superintendent of the blind school, Robert Thompson, was required by law to report everything that was going on with the students at the school directly to the governor’s office. And most states are set up in this same way, where the state blind agency and the schools for the blind are 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 or some other department.

That is how it is done here in Oregon as well. Which means, there is no real supervision in this inside ball game, and Annie Sullivan, Lynda van Doren, the coach, and the rest of the handlers, like our governors, can do anything they want with impunity.

George Romney was the governor of Michigan. Which begs the question, did George Romney or anyone in his administration know us younger blind boys were being forced to swim in the nude, and being fondled (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, get undressed and get into the pool?

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 involving its coaches, 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.

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.

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. 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 Jr. 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, rather than this vicious book from America’s dirtiest lawyer, Alan Douche-o-witz.

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 go out back and 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 during the 1960’s.

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, doesn’t it?

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 write a book and tell everyone how he was mistreated by some of these blacks at Motown, and maybe even say, “it was only because of the color of my 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.

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 the studio, 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, his wife and him were disrespected. 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 in his book 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.”

Ted 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 Stevie can write it down and come back to it in a few minutes, when Ted’s favorite song is done playing.

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, or sighted 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, or the totally blind community, 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 ultimate 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. And things slowly began to change.

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 saying that Stevie Wonder wasn’t really blind. Not surprisingly, this eventually spread to the media and fans.

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 the Israelis.

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.

Helen Keller, a supporter of eugenics (except not for her), once said, “I would rather walk with someone in the dark, rather than walk alone in the light.”

But for most deaf-blind people, like me, wouldn’t you say it is much better to be alone, then around people who would be so unusually cruel? Growing up in Michigan, I learned quick how viscious kids can be to each other.