Open Letter: To Ilhan Omar,

Re: The Jewish Lobby and its mind-control experimentation on children and people with severe disabilities.

March 12, 2019

Dear Congresswoman Ilhan Omar:

As an advocate for those with disabilities, I am writing to thank you for having the courage to point out the real problem in America. And I believe the reason that most of the world is still at war.

Like you, I also believe the ruthless ‘Jewish Lobby’ , who has taken complete control of our American banking system (and owns everything and every one it can buy), is responsible. Thanks to their “think tanks”, they know creating war and more sick people is the fastest way to get rich–

As a person who is completely blind, half deaf, and suffers from severe PTSD, I deeply appreciate your clear vision in seeing the elephant in the room, and pointing it out to the willfully blind, deaf neo-liberals. After all, if it weren’t for the arrogance and deceitfulness of these elitist bastards, Bernie Sanders would be our president today!

In 2004, one week after calling into a right-wing talk show (Victoria Taft) to discuss my suspicions about Israel and the Jewish Lobby’s involvement in the crimes of 9-11, Clackamas County’s Sheriff and several Jewish-owned politicians, including District Attorneys’ John Foote and Bob Hermann, came after me. Not surprisingly, they were able to destroy my life, and two years later, steal my kid.

As I describe below, I’m being sprayed with poisons and shocked every day by the local police and other righteous vigilantes, based on the government’s own lies. The State Police and the F.B.I. will not investigate, even though I’m slowly being murdered with these invisible directed energy weapons, as I explain below.

The nightmare began long ago, when I was a kid, shortly after visiting the University of Michigan’s Medical Center in Ann Arbor and was diagnosed with having a rare eye condition. At their recommendation, I was enrolled into the school for the blind in Lansing, where I was repeatedly subjected to both mind control experiments and sexual abuse. The abuse continued until I turned eighteen-years-old.

So as a survivor of both psychological and sexual abuse, I feel the real problem you are attempting to expose is the same reason we have so many of these Larry Nasser’s around, preying on the most vulnerable, mostly children and those with disabilities.

I am including an excerpt from the introduction to my autobiography “3 Americas” below (see WolfeOut.com for a full version), followed by the first chapter, which describes my years of abuse at the hands of those who I know now were under the complete control of the same Jewish elite who run almost all of our universities and residential schools. Feel free to share my work with anyone that you feel would give a damn about’ what’s happening to me, and a lot of people with disabilities in America and throughout the world (who are more often killed by police than any other group of Americans).

Please know, my thoughts and prayers are with you, as you continue god’s work in the most evil, sinful city on earth today. Take my word Congresswoman Omar, you have far more supporters in America than the elitist corporate media trolls and their Zionists masters will ever admit. For our sakes, please don’t give up!

Yours truly,
Donald Ray [DR] Wolfe
[email protected]
www.wolfeout.com
503-774-3424

CC: Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez
Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib
Congressman Earl Blumenauer
Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi

“”(Last updated: March 5, 2019)
“3 Americas: Introduction”
by DR Wolfe

{Includes some strong language}

FORWARD:
In 1972, when I was twelve-years-old, based on a recommendation from the University of Michigan’s Medical Center, I was enrolled in the residential school for the blind located in Lansing, Michigan. And, along with several other blind and partially blind kids, I became part of the government’s MK Ultra Program.

Unlike most of the other kids on the floor, I was put in a room by myself. My room was at the end of the hallway, the room closest to the back stairwell, probably to not make it so obvious. Apparently, one night while I was sleeping some sort of synthetic helmet was applied to my scalp, and grew into my skull cap.

To the best of my understanding, the material they are using to create these helmets is maintained by some sort of artificial insect developed by the University of Michigan called an aneroid parasite. The skin-like cap apparently has the ability to monitor the brain waves, and it apparently has the ability to control my thoughts, emotions and behaviors.

Over the last forty-five years the artificial scalp has grown with my head, and I had no idea that it was even there…until recently. However, as anyone can see from my most recent photograph, over the last six to eight years my head has shrunk by more than an inch all the way around. The fact that my head has shrunk is scientifically undisputable. The pictures don’t lie!

Almost every night since moving into the “Southgate Death Camp” in southeast “Rotland”, I have been shocked over and over, probably 500,00 times. I’m also constantly being sprayed with some sort of poison while I sit at my computer, or when ever I go outside. And maybe this is why the artificial scalp began to peal away about eight years ago. Despite dozens and dozens of letters to both the government and the media, no one will investigate, not even the police or the F.B.I. And many of these nightly assaults are being intentionally directed at my genitals and rectum, often causing me to scream.

At the same time that this synthetic cap has been chipping and pealing away, these strange abilities, like being able to see things with my eyes completely closed, have significantly improved. As I’ll explain, I have conducted thousands of experiments.

I suspect, along with some other blind kids, the government under J. Edgar Hoover and Richard Helms began experimenting on us to determine how to make it possible for human beings (and perhaps future soldiers) to see with their eyes completely closed. I believe this was one of the themes in the original version of “Eyes Wide Shut”, (before the director was apparently murdered by the Deep State).

And I also believe the lives of thousands of American children have been, and are being, intentionally sacrificed by our government and scientists for some “greater good”, just as the victims of 9-11 were murdered to promote a greater control over the population.

So you know, the experiment was mostly successful. if a room is fairly dark, I can clearly see most of the things around me. And it seems to work best when my eyes are completely closed. I also have some other special abilities that have either develop in recent years, or that have strengthened over the last twenty or thirty years.

What ever they, or God, did to me I can promise you that at certain times, under certain circumstances, I can “see” again!

Lastly, I also believe that some of these special abilities may partly be a gift I (and some of my relatives) inherited from my great grandmother Nellie O’Boyle (who apparently loved to do the jig). As you may know, it has long been said that some Irish have mystical powers, and apparently Nellie O’Boyle was one of those.

I don’t know why this happened to me, so you can believe it or not. But here’s my story–“”

***********************

“”(Last updated: March 11,, 2019)
(Published: July 15, 2018)
3 Americas: It was Either,
the Michigan School for the Exploitation of, and the Experimentation on, the Blind,
Or Dale Norton and the Thugs from Eaton Rapids
(ironically, the same county where the Larry Nasser trial was held)…
UGH!
by DR Wolfe

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

{Includes strong language and some descriptions of sex}

“Okay man, we’ll catch you later dude,” one of my “best friends from Eaton Rapids High”, Dale Norton said, as he slammed the car door.

Graduation was only about a month or two away. as I recall. , Dale, this kid, who Dale said was Jewish (although that may have been another one of Dale’s bad jokes), named Brian Saul (who we just called “Saul”), and me had been drinking and smoking all night. We were all pretty baked, but Not to wasted to drive. So I know, what happened next wasn’t an accident, or an honest mistake, but a very dangerous, deadly joke.

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

After a quick wave, I Followed the sidewalk to my left until I got to the grass. Then as usual, I made that turn to the right and stepped up to the front porch. As I approached, I 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 up a dozen stairs to the bed.

But my keys wouldn’t fit! “Did my dad get angry and change the lock?” I imagined. I don’t think we had stop partying since Christmas, or I’m pretty sure we hadn’t missed a weekend since the New Year’s, Eve party? .

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

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

Suddenly, the door burst open and I heard the voice of an angry man screaming, “DON’T MOVE!”

Using my limited vision, I could see this burley figure standing in front of me, but I couldn’t tell if he was holding any kind of weapon, but remember thinking about it.

“What the hell you doing out here!” 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 headed back toward the driveway.

Even before I stepped off the porch, I had heard Dale’s old beater car pulling back into the driveway. And then hearing the two of them laughing was all the explanation I needed….

The following fall, Dale came up to my dorm room at Michigan State to party. He crashed on the floor and took off early the next morning. Sometime that day, I discovered my tuition money for the next quarter, about $400, was missing!

I reported it to campus police who, without me knowing, arranged to have the Eaton Rapids Police Department speak to Dale about it.

While I had already written it off, I was told that ‘your “friend” Dale denied taking the money’.

Then one evening, in retaliation, Dale and his cousin Kip, from Jackson, Michigan, unexpectedly showed up at my dorm room and demanded that I give back a small television that Dale had given me the previous fall.

Before they left I was given a message, and I believe it was the real reason they came up to East Lansing. Dale’s sleazy cousin Kip made some subtle threat to me about what would happen if I ever talked to the cops again. As I’ll explain, Kip obviously wanted me to think he was carrying a gun, even though I never actually saw it. So you know, under the law it doesn’t matter–

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 else…until now- Can you guess what job Dale Norton ended up doing for a living? You won’t believe it!

You see, since Dale clearly gave me the television (for as long as I needed it), he relinquished all rights to claim ownership later, for any reason and had absolutely no right to take it back.

Secondly, at some point Dale’s cousin walked across the room to where I was standing. And then for the purpose of intimidating me, he intentionally bumped me with the side of his chest so that I could feel that he had his hand in his pocket (as though he were holding something). That’s when he said something threatening to me about ‘ever talking to the cops again’, although I don’t remember exactly what he said–

Then, if that weren’t enough, 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 lead 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 arranged this meeting. Which under the law would make Brent Mortimer an accessory after the fact — an accessory to the armed robbery of my TV while I was in my Michigan State University dorm room, with the door closed, when Dale and his cousin unexpectedly walked in, apparently carrying a concealed weapon–

This time when it happened, Dale quietly came up along side of the car and reached his hand through the window and quickly grabbed me by the throat!

he started screaming at me, “Your fucking sister and her boyfriend stole your money asshole!.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised by this, but Mortimer didn’t say or do anything to help…although he claimed years later that he had suddenly found “God!”

I always wondered if Brent had ever asked for god’s forgiveness for letting a creep like Dale Norton get away with this, pretending to be friends? And while I may have thought Brent was one of my best friends in high school, in a lot of ways he wasn’t all that much different Than Dale Norton, Brian Saul.

A year earlier, Brent, me, and some other friends who also played guitar were planning a major jam session that night for my graduation party. After picking up Brent’s amp and guitar, we headed back to my house. Then for no reason Brent started swerving his car back and forth across both lanes of traffic. It was a very curvy, paved road with tall trees on both sides of the road — 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, curiously, the same exact way Dale did to me exactly one year later (apparently, after stealing my tuition money, and coming back for the TV he gifted to me ‘until I no longer needed it’).

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 scarred his face, apparently after swerving off a similar paved road near his house. And a few months after that, another kid from our class — the Class of ’78, was killed in a car wreck on the same exact road–

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

My sister insisted I invite this one guy to the party. And I agreed, I told her, as long as I didn’t have to invite his nasty little sister, Jane. So this nineteen-year-old guy from the neighborhood, named Monty Parrish, who I barely knew, snook 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?)–

As I wrote about in another chapter, in 2008, shortly after I began volunteering in the newsroom at KKKBOO Community Radio, a guy ironically named Sam Parrish, which was also Monty’s little brother’s name, began terrorizing me, for no reason. Along with a lesbian named Ani Haines (who was the station’s volunteer coordinator), the two of them began a campaign to “run” me off.

It all began when this large African-American man named Ron began following me around the station. Every time he saw me, he would slap me. Including once in the presence of the News Director, Jenka Soderberg, who casually told him to “Ron, don’t do that (to our token “cripple”).A

About a week later, he did it again, unexpectedly punching me in the arm wile I was working on the computer in the “news” room.

So here’s a blind reporter, wearing headphones, working at the computer in the newsroom, and he unexpectedly gets slapped in the back of the head with a newspaper by someone (who happened to be on parole from Clackamas County at the time), and neither Jenka (a Stanford University fellow), Ani Haines, or the Station Manager had the decency to remove this man from what had obviously become a “hostile work environment” for a severely disabled volunteer. And make no mistake, the only reason he wasn’t removed was that he happened to be black (and therefore, slightly higher on the political latter than us disabled men, in the neo-liberal world).

Then about a week later a group of mostly Native-American women (and a Jewish guy named Rolf) put on this skit where they duct taped a man to a chair and then slowly, and viciously, poked out each of his eyes (so he would be blind too) with a hot poker while myself and the audience listened in terror, as he screamed for his life, over and over!

According to an E mail I received from Rolf, apparently, this was acceptable for the public air waves on a “community radio station” because the man had been accused of an alleged sexual indiscretion by three women, and we all know, women never, ever lie. Coincidentally, this scenario is very similar to what happened to me a few years earlier. This accused man (who, like it or not, was innocent until proven guilty in a court of law, without the benefit of any sort of coercion) never got a trial, or an opportunity to face his accuser, or confront any of the evidence against him, before he was summarily executed by these three vengeful women…just like “they” did to Douglas Adamson, a man I once met, a year earlier.

Later that summer, another KKKBOO thug — a local Jewish professor, Abe Proctor told the listening audience “I [he] would slit the throat of a baby ten seconds before birth if I [he] knew it had Downs!”

Since I had recently voiced my support on air for all unborn life, especially those with disabilities, I suspected Proctor’s comment may have been directed at me, personally. The fact is, as I mentioned at the time, most honest scientists know the earth is probably capable of supporting around twenty-two billion people (not to mention an entire boundless universe, just waiting for us war-mongering humans), if the “elite” wanted it that way. Instead, Proctor and the “stupid left” is brainwashed into believing it’s better to encourage abortion, as being a right to privacy, among the “useless masses” rather than pay for their “little snakes” (as the Israelis would say) [see “Two For One” t-shirts]–

So back to all the bigots and thugs I knew from Eaton Rapids (located in Eaton County, where ironically, the infamous Larry Nasser trial was held).

A few weeks after my graduation, Dale, his stuck up girlfriend, Cindy, along with Saul and Kip had this great idea to take me camping and canoeing in the northern part of the lower peninsular of Michigan. After getting into some argument over not having planned for anything, including not stopping to get fresh water, I found myself lost and alone in the woods, with no water, only a pack of gum and a candy bar. But 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 they all 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 I know, this wasn’t true.

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

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

It took abut an hour or so, but I kept watching the sun. This way I was able to keep heading southeast. And eventually I found my way out of the woods by listening to the distant sound of a nearby highway, which was nothing more than a paved country road. And ended up hitch-hiking the sixty or seventy miles 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).

But like I always say, ‘What goes around goes around. 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 it could have been a whole lot worse for these four slime balls if I had died in the woods that day–

The good news is that Dale got his car back, and I survived another one of his jokes.

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

A few years back, my former-grower offered to take me hunting and drinking in the woods. He wouldn’t take me anywhere with him, fishing, or even into a convenience store.

But then suddenly, after being visited by the Milwaukie Police Department he wanted to take me hunting out somewhere in the Coastal Range — stumbling around the woods with a bunch of loaded guns.

Wisely, I didn’t go, but I suspect they were planning to have a “hunting accident” in the woods. But maybe they were planning to just leave me out there, to die.

Unlike 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.

Except, I haven’t had any useable vision for over the last twenty-five years, other than this extra-ablism, so the outcome, had I gone hunting, would have very likely been very different–

And who knows, maybe that’s why Dale Norton decided to become a special education teacher in Grand Ledge, Michigan, since this way, he could continue to get away with abusing people with disabilities in a state, much like Oregon, that doesn’t give a shit about us!

But that was pretty much Eaton Rapids in a nut shell. Of course, there was A few good people I remember, like most of the kids I knew from the special needs room.

And there was this one guy I was able to get guitar lessons from, named Max Butler, who had a daughter who I thought was one of the pretties girls in our school. A couple nights a week, his driveway, front porch and basement were filled with mostly guys and their guitars waiting for lessons. While Max was giving lessons in the basement, three of us “guys” at a time, his daughter would sometimes keep us company while we waited.

Max Butler taught dozens, and probably hundreds, of us kids in Eaton Rapids how to play lead guitar; Everyone I knew in Eaton Rapids who could play electric guitar learned from Max Butler, including: Brent Mortimer; Dale Norton; Warren Davis; an arrogant prick (who ran the school’s music room) named Mark Miller; and his friend, Daryl Orr; and the only decent kid I knew among them, Scot Blackman.

For only five bucks, you could get a thirty minute guitar lesson from one of the best blues/jazz guitar players outside of Detroit. It took me years to process everything I learned in Max’s basement. After all these years, now I’m able to fully appreciate his skills, as both a guitar player and teacher.

Then there was this tall, gangly kid I met, named Bill Clink. Bill was one of the friendliest kids I met at Eaton Rapids High, and I always admired his courage to be different. While most of the guys were wearing jeans and t-shirts, Bill almost always dressed for school in business suits, or what I would call his Sunday best.

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

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

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

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

But despite his best efforts, I never took Bill’s advice, and pursued a life of political change. I always wanted to “set things right”, as Josie Wales might say; to fix things. Because, while I didn’t know exactly what it was, I have this haunting feeling that something had gone wrong long ago at the school for the blind, and may have begun on the main floor of the administration building. And it’s a little ironic, apparently that’s the only building the State of Michigan left standing….apparently, for “historic reasons”–

Despite that there is still a few of the kindest people I ever knew still living there today, I will probably always remember Eaton Rapids as being a small town with to few good people, and a whole lot of bullies, thugs and back stabbers…

Sometimes I would think, ‘At least back there at the school for the blind most of us kids treated each other pretty good. We would tease each other about stuff, as kids do, but it never became violent or out right malicious, like it was sometimes around there, in Eaton Rapids-‘

And that’s probably why I wrote “Margaret’s New Teacher.” It’s a short story with what I believe is a real solution for school violence. But it’s really about solving the abuse problem that most kids with disabilities, like me, have to live through in the public school system, and why they might want to come back some day, to ‘set things right’.

In second grade when I was only seven-years-old, and only weighed about fifty pounds, I remember Our school principal, Mr. Mock, and the gym teacher would let the other kids smack us really little kids in the head with a ball, over and over…and called it a game!

They said it was called “dodge ball”, and the object was to move when you saw the ball coming. Except, most of the time I never saw it coming…

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

And the real irony of this is that when I moved to Oregon, thirty years later, the one person who has worked the hardest to destroy my life is a woman ironically also named Mock, Linda Mock, Administrator with the Oregon Commission for the Blind. Hmmm…

So I was really surprised to hear one of the local corporate neo-liberal pressitute, named Sheila Hamilton (whose husband had committed suicide), came on the air (Alpha Media’s KXL Evening News) and insisted her kids had the right to play dodge ball in school, and the state did not have a right to deprive them of the “enjoyment” they get from smashing the little, half-blind kids in the face with the ball!’ Ugh-

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

But I’m getting ahead of the story, so let me start over, and tell you about how it was growing up as a half-blind, poor, mostly Irish /Welch Catholic kid living on the 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. I specifically remember seeing the men carrying rifles in and out of my grandmother’s house, while all the women frantically packed up everything they could grab.

As we all watched the news every night, and watched the burning houses and cars, we were taught to be very afraid of anyone with dark skin. I know now, the jokes and stories we were told as children by the older kids and adults, were intended to re-enforce this hatred and ignorance, and the inevitable mistrust that made that part of Michigan one of the most racially divided states in America.

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 surrender most of America’s big cities, New Baltimore was filled with families like ours who had fled the “crime” of the city for the safety of the suburb. Except, in many cases one sort of crime was traded for another, as I’ll explain.

One of my best friends in school was a guy who, to most of my classmates, was obviously “homosexual”, and they always called, “homo”, although I had no idea at the time what that meant. But I know a lot of the kids liked to pick on both of us. Me, because I was so small, and him, because of his feminine characteristics. And it wasn’t because he was hitting on any of the guys at the school, including me, There was a sort of viciousness among many of these “sub rats”, as another friend called them, that’s hard to understand.

One of the things some of the guys like to do to both of us, was to kick us in the ass during gym class, especially while we were lining up for roll call. And the funny thing about this, is that one of the kids who liked to do this the most, was the son of the local Chief of Police (who I heard later went on to also become the New Baltimore Chief of Police). Go figure… Ugh–

There was this pretty blond headed girl from my Sixth Grade Class at Anchor Bay Junior High School, named Lynn. Even though I thought she was a little too serious about school, I liked her any way. But then one day she starting mocking me in class when I asked another pretty blond headed girl who sat behind her, named Gale, to help me find something I had dropped on the floor, behind me.

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

then about a year later, she came up to me in the lunch line while I was waiting for some fries, and for no reason angrily said to me in front of everyone listening, “When are you going to grow up!”

I wanted to ask her what her hurry was, but I said nothing.

Despite she was only about eleven or twelve-years-old, I remember thinking she looked like she was way older, around seventeen or eighteen. Along with wearing heels, a really short skirt and a tight top, that clearly showed her developing breast, she was covered with make up and jewelry.

Today, I have to wonder if she wasn’t being sexually abused by someone older, and because of how she was dressed that day, resented me because I wasn’t yet ready to “grow up” and “act like an adult”, as she put it?

One thing I remember most about moving to New Baltimore was watching my father, his younger brother Jim, and my grandfather build our first house. I mostly did the grunt work, but when I wasn’t exploring the neighborhood with one of the neighbor kids, or working on my fort out back, I sat around and watched what they were doing.

Since my brother is almost three years older than me, 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, the other houses were all being built.

So I feel pretty lucky to have been there while my dad built five or six complete houses from scratch while we were growing up.

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

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

“The secret in being a good carpenter, is knowing how to put up the trim,” my dad once said, when I showed him a messed up board that was already installed.

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 the cops continue to vandalize my property, any way they can)…which 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 permanently suspicious. And the truth is, apparently in some ways I am a very unusual person. 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 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 particular 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–

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

I sent Dr. Coleman and a therapist, ironically from a place called Life Works”, named Katherine Clark letters telling them that it felt like I was being “micorwaved” in my home. This is not to say that I have any idea what it would feel like. But that was the only way I could think of to describe the feeling — being shocked, burnt, poked, numbed, itched, and sometimes literally being body scanned while I was lying in bed. Most nights I sleep on the floor to reduce the attacks, which does seem to help a little. However, so you know, tin foil hats don’t work- Ugh!

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

So my mom, my brother, and me returned to the medical center in Ann Arbor a few weeks later, and said we would both be totally blind within ten years. And there was no medical cure for this rare form of RP that we both 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was soon to learn that Roger was a varsity wrestler and track star for the school, and held at least one school record in track and field, for awhile. That record was later broken by a funny, gregarious, new polish kid named Mark Warchol, who was from Hamtramck, the same small, mostly polish city where one of my great grandmothers also lived. And, in case you’re not from the Detroit area and didn’t know this, Hamtramck is a small city that’s located inside of the city of Detroit, curiously 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 ever seen a ‘Pollock’ around here?” Then he would wrap his arms around some nearby light pole, and then walk away…

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

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

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

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

Another reason I liked Warchol was because he was always up for a friendly, political argument about anything– 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. And I admit, it was usually just to get him riled up over something, on those long bus rides to Springfield, Illinois or Madison, Wisconsin.

Those who took him too serious., would claim that Warchol was kind of arrogant because he would almost never surrender his position in an argument, even when everyone listening believed he was wrong.

I remember, he had this real funny way of throwing his head back as he was turning away. Then he would let out this loud chuckle, as if to say your argument isn’t even worth a response. I always thought it was funny, the way he would blow some people off by doing this right in the middle of some really heated debate (with a couple of the stoners from his class) over which way was the correct way to position the toilet paper on the roller.

Warchol was about a year older than me, and probably the smartest guy in his class, the “stoner” Class of ’77 (which wasn’t really saying a whole lot).

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

I was just starting ninth grade, and it was the third or forth week of school. And we were all sitting around together in this big circle after track practice, as we usually did. Coach Tutt began yelling, “Mark WHO? Mark wHO?” And every time he did that, which went on the whole week, we would all laugh aloud!

The previous weekend, Warchol came out of no where to break the school, NCASB (our conference), and the national record for all of the blind schools in America in the 800 yard dash by almost ten seconds, which has most likely never happened in any track event ever (that was less than one mile)–

the only other person, has far as I know, who had accomplished this level of success in track was our student body president, as well as being the co-captain of both our track and wrestling teams, was a guy named 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. And for the most part Percy kept his nose out of other people’s business, unlike his best friend and fellow co-captain, Ed Chapman (if he thought he had a good reason to speak out). Maybe that’s why he seemed to become the best at almost everything he did–

I’m sad to share this news. But apparently a few years after he broke the national record, Mark took his own life…

Ironically, it was said to have happened in the same cottage where I stayed during my first summer at the school for the blind. I was told by one of his classmates that this apparently happened shortly after breaking up with his long-time girlfriend, who I wrote a little bit about later in this same chapter.

So, for a lot of reasons, I feel pretty lucky that me and my brother got Roger as our guide that 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, he was able to travel around the campus without a white cane, even though he was completely (100%) blind! I discovered there were several other completely blind students who were able to do this, just as well as Roger. Bobby Blakes was probably the most convincing totally blind traveler I ever saw walk around without using any sort of assistive device, other than a pair of dark glasses–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, other than a couple sicko’s, the Michigan School for the Blind was a magical place for a frightened little kid who was told by his doctor that he would soon be going completely blind, and there was nothing anyone could do about it…

You might say, it was a sort of magical cure. But not in a demonic way, like Kyle and Linda Cox, who thought it would be funny to start a window blinds company, based on the “magic” that his magicians can perform for you (install),

according to Kyle’s WEB site, called “Blindster.com”.

I imagine Kyle and Linda had just finished another bottle of some very expensive wine when it happened? And the name probably came out of some bigoted idea [joke] in response to one of their primary competitors, called “Monster Blinds”.

In one of their new commercials (in response to my E mail), the Cox’s claim the word “Blindster” came from the word “blinds” and the word “ter”. Although I think it should be pretty obvious that Kyle is lying, and the name was supposed to be a “creative” abbreviation for “blind monster”.

Even creepy Kyle’s own ads prove he’s just another ugly, wealthy American bigot (like his favorite radio host, Rush Limpbutt, where you only need to enter the code word “pedo” and you get half off his product).

To most able-bodied people, this may seem petty. But the truth is always in the details, and maybe that’s why our minds are being trained to be intellectually lazy. But for those who give a shit, we know the truth will set us free!

For example, in every ad Kyle Cox can be clearly heard distinctively pronouncing each syllable as, “Blind-ster”, and not “Blinds-ter” (Which would sound really stupid, wouldn’t it?)–

And you have to admit, isn’t it ironic that the government can say it’s wrong for a group of Asian musicians to call their band “The Slants”, because it may be offensive to some Asians. But having a company called “Blindster” is apparently okay, even though many blind people would feel it is an obvious slur against blind Americans.

So, why didn’t Kyle and Linda Cox spell it “Blindsster”, with two “s’s”? But in my opinion it’s too late to do that now. This company’s name ought to be disallowed, as restitution to all blind Americans.

Think about it, would using a name such as “Jewster” be okay for a business in America, if we were only selling exotic juices? And it probably wouldn’t matter how you spelled it, some snarky, smart ass Jewish lawyer (like KXL’s Marc Abrams) would likely be offended by it, and sue the owners (for at the very least a few million bucks)–

So, where is the equity for the little people, when we’re offended by the wealthy elitist pigs and their media trolls?

Ask yourself, who are the real “offenders” in this country, who almost always get away with what ever they do to the least of us, living down here in third America…

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

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

Consider this–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, as I feel my head shrinking — as every inch of sking on my scalp and feet slowly peels away, it seems like I’m starring in one of these Stephen King Hollyweirdo horror movies, as I’m slowly being murdered–

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

Ironically, according to a couple of the Alpha Dope [Alpha Media] witches (including the News Director, Rebecca “snow cone” Marshall), Hollyweird recently came out with it’s own ‘blind monster’ movie, where the monster can only find you if it can hear you! According to Kristi Turnquist, Larry Wilson’s “movie expert”, “IT’S the SCARIEST MOVIE EVER!”

Well, at least this time Kristi and the Hollyweirdo’s didn’t try to sell the blind monster a dead bird, although I’m sure that would have been really, really, really funny!

But just so you know how truly sick Larry Wilson and the corporate media is, and why they constantly attack the most vulnerable members of our community — why they regularly attack those with disabilities, and call it humor, here’s a little more background.

Two years ago, sometime during one of two consecutive ice storms that hit the Portland area, Rebecca Marshall told her co-host (and the audience) she was going to get a “snow cone” for lunch. Even if you believe she wasn’t actually referring to a term used by several pop singers to describe performing oral sex on another person’s rectum after having sex, it seems pretty sick to joke about something like this, knowing that a baby (belonging to a homeless couple) had froze to death during this same storm!

And when Linn County, Oregon announced they would no longer be serving hot breakfasts to accused defendants who couldn’t afford bail, Marshall went on the air, apparently under the direction of the station’s CEO, Larry Wilson, and sarcastically said, “WAH! WAH! WAH!”

Just nine days after the November 2015 bombing in Paris, which killed over 130 people, mostly pre-teenage girls who were attending the Ariana Grande concert, “Snow Cone Marshall” told the sports update guy, Judah Newby, about how excited she was when one of the players charged the mound and punch the pitcher “square in the face!”

And just so you understand how little these Alpha Dopes really care about any of us, a week earlier (just a few days after the Paris bombing) Newby told the KXL listeners about how excited he was now that the hockey playoffs had begun, because there’s more violence and fighting.

And this was just seconds after Marshall and her co-host had been discussing the French tragedy, pretending to give a shit–

Every week during the fake ball season this station’s sports talk moron, Judah Newby, does his picks of the week in which the easiest pick is referred to as “stealing candy from a baby!”

First no one should ever be giving this plastic poison stuff they now call “candy” to a baby, or anyone else! But really, ask yourself, doesn’t it seem kind of creepy to joke about stealing anything from a baby?

I’ll tell you who, the same sick bastards who are out here shocking me (a totally blind guy) in my crotch and rectum while I’m trying to rest or sleep!

While the dirty Portland pigs laugh about it, and say something like, “Guess he’s having a real shitty day!” (Which was something a local cop told one of the local papers after a man was assaulted while using the bathroom. According to the article, a gang of righteous Portland vigilantes (some local soccer fans) tipped a port-a-potty over. Not surprisingly, none of the hooligans were arrested.)

But the good news is that the local soccer team, the Portland Mortgage Candlers, made it to the soccer championship once again this year [2018]! You go Hanky Paulson! And who says crime doesn’t pay–

But make no mistake, all this sickness, which mostly comes from the mouths of our snarky media, has a very deadly price-

For example, recently (in October of 2018), Rebecca Marshall explained to the listening audience, in her most serious voice, how the country of England is able to effectively count all of its squirrels without re-counting any of them. In her typical bigoted fashion she went on to say, “Oh, there’s the one with the lazy eye!”

Knowing her history of out-spoken bigotry, I was waiting for Marshall to say, “And there’s the one with the cripple leg. Oh, and there’s the one with the missing ear…”

Ironically, a few days later a man named Bob Bowers went up a place called Squirrel Hill and killed eleven Jewish “worshipers” in their place of “worship”. Given that Alpha Media, and most of the American media, is owned and controlled by Jewish billionaires, you have to admit it is a rather curious coincidence that Mr. Bowers, who was himself disabled, drove all the way from the state of Ohio to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to
apparently, “set things right”…

And lastly, following the first major snow storm of 2018 to hit the midwest, which grounded over 1200 planes, Marshall asked her audience, “Are you wondering why you can’t get rid of crazy Uncle Joe?”

While I’m sure Rebecca and her sick boss, Larry Wilson, had no idea that my own Uncle Joe was found dead in the garage with an alleged self-inflicted gun shot wound to the head thirty years ago. And I’m sure mentioning my Uncle Joe was just a coincidence, even if my biological father and his entire family had all moved to the State of Washington area sometime after it happened, and now, someone is trying to kill me!

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

But so you know, my Uncle Joe wasn’t crazy, just very passionate about the safety of his family, and obviously very remorseful (For introducing his little sister to my biological father, Harold, who apparently liked to drive around the streets of downtown Detroit with his younger brother, Jerry, pointing guns at people (Including my mom and us kids, but mostly the “coloreds”, which was one of the words they used to describe anyone with black or brown skin.)–

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

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

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

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

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

Then a few years ago my mom called me and told me that Harold had died, and that I ought to file for his social security benefits, since I was eligible for survivor’s benefits because I was under twenty-one when I went blind (other than having a little bit of ‘shadow vision’ for the next ten 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. This probably isn’t all that unusual, an ex wanting to know where their violent spouse is now living. But it’s also possible some one from their past told her about it. Never the less, she was correct, SSA confirmed that Harold had recently died.

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

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

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

As I mentioned, I knew he was taking a lot of pills for his back and sometimes went into these violent rages over money. And then he would disappear for several days, and sometimes a lot longer. So then we would pack a bag and stay with my grandparents while my mom worked. In fact, us three kids lived with them during my entire third grade year–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So after going in, we went down a few steps and walked down a dark hallway, before entering a small room, about the size of a bedroom. And there she was, out in the open. Only covered with a blanket, I could clearly see this dead woman who was laying there, in some sort of home-made casket– apparently, my “Great Aunt (somebody)”–

Apparently, it was her birthday, and they said we were there because we needed to wish her a happy birthday. But all I could think about was seeing how her skin was so thin, and looked just like wax paper.

And to this day, I can’t seem to forget how you could actually see her bones through her skin! Thankfully, there was no smell that I remember, other than that it was really musty down there.

I also can’t forget seeing this one really strange thing — I remember seeing how her white hair and nails had apparently kept growing after she died, and were really, really long.

To say it was absolutely frightening (especially to a five or six-year-old kid ) would not fully describe how I felt at that moment. And strangely, whenever I’ve tried to ask my family about it, I’ve never gotten a straight answer from anyone–

And maybe that’s why I feel, because of this early trauma, the blind school was a great place to hide away from an ugly world.

In a lot of ways, it was a magical place for most of us…where every visually-impaired kid could bring their ideas and imagination together, along with a good helper, and “watch” a dream come alive!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I’m getting ahead of the story. So let me go back to the part about why I left the school for the blind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unlike the guys team, that always finished in the top three or four, the girl’s, led by Beverly, Debbie Wilson, Sheila Chastine and Fran Caldwell (and a half dozen other really good athletes), dominated the girl’s division in track and field every year, winning championship after championship.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fact is, the State of Michigan had no right to allow a grown man make a group of visually-impaired boys take off all of our clothes and force us to get into a well-lighted, heated pool, with no supervision. The State of Michigan had no right to let this “pre-Larry Nasser coach” put his hands all over our bodies, pretending as though he was teaching us to swim. Hahahahaha!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So back to the blind school–

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

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

and there was another guy in my class named Mike Bear — who could legally drive, who I have know doubt could also see the coach constantly touching me under the water and rubbing my naked ass!

Sometime late in my sophomore year I sat down with Ms. Gingery in her office, who had been promoted to assistant dean, to talk about the very subject of sexual exploitation. But when it became clear, just like Coach Tutt and Coach Hetherington, she didn’t want to ‘hear anything about it’, I began seriously thinking about transferring to the local public school, just as my brother had done a year earlier.

But if Ms. Gingery had once also taken a quick peek at us naked boys, as was rumored, and really did make a comment in front of the girls about our “cute little butts”, it would explain why she didn’t want to hear anything from me that afternoon about the coach…

What I knew Beverly Millsap and Ed Chapman knew, and what a lot of adults should have investigated, including a volunteer wrestling coach from Michigan State University named Rick Rapaport, is that there was something very, very odd going on at that school with a lot of us kids that began some time under Governor George Romney’s administration.

And not surprisingly, as far as I can tell, it was almost always the younger, white-looking kids who were “selected”.

Think about this, Governor Romney spent over a hundred million dollars on the school for the blind during his time in office, including “re-modeling” the heated pool (and maybe putting in a camera to film the little blind boys for George, Pierre, and the rest of their pedophile friends).

Yet Governor Romney hardly spent even one dime on re-investing into the Detroit schools. So isn’t it curious that the governor of Michigan thought that it would be a great idea to put the kids on a bus for two or three hours every day. In other words, Romney knew they would also be removed from the care and protection of their parents, just like what was happening to us blind kids (so we could be molested right under his dirty nose by the friends of Pierre Trudeau). Hmmm…

It is a well-known fact around Michigan that Trudeau, the former-prime minister of Canada, was suspected of raping dozens and maybe hundreds of little boys (and maybe a few little girls) in both Canada, and whenever he would make one of his regular visits to the capitol city to visit his good friend, and who I believe was a fellow pedophile, Governor George Romney.

This is well documented. Trudeau is known to have made dozens of visits to Lansing between 1960 and 1973. And coincidentally, George Romney was the governor of Michigan from 1960 until 1972.

As I mentioned, many Michiganders from both sides felt Romney was more responsible than anyone else for the 1967 and 1968 uprisings in Detroit, which were considered to be some of the most violent confrontations in America between police and African-Americans.

It was Governor George Romney, father of former-presidential candidate and Stanford graduate, Mitt Romney, who signed a waiver in 1968 that allowed federal troops to “Take back our city”.

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

But what isn’t being told by either the corporate controlled media or the neo-liberal press, is the link between Trudeau and Romney, homosexuality, pedophilia, and the MK Ultra Program being run out of the University of Michigan Medical Center and other American universities by the CIA and the Deep State.

Having grown up in both Detroit and Lansing, and knowing what I know about both Romney and Trudeau, and what we know about the victimization of both Cathy O’Brien and Brice Taylor, these following two facts about Pierre Trudeau should not be surprising.

Which, on a separate note, makes me wonder if there’s any connection between the Arch Bishop of Oregon, Alexander Sample, and the fact that he came to Oregon from the same state as one of America’s most famous child sex slaves, Cathy O’Brien. She also included allegations in her testimony of abuse by individuals connected to the catholic church in Michigan. She can hear this for yourself in several of her deeply emotional testimonies you can view online.

As I wrote about in one of the articles posted here at WolfeOut.com, Alexander Sample knowingly looked the other way when he learned an Oregon priest, Israel Bein, was suspected of planting a camera in the church bathroom and was filming young alter boys wile they were urinating. For over thirty days, Sample allowed this sick priest to continue having contact with his victims, and then apparently looked the other way again when the priest told Sample he intended to leave the country to visit a relative who was ill (and never return),

I believe Arch Bishop Alexander Sample committed a crime by protecting this priest, although I can promise no charges will ever be brought against him in Oregon. Even though Sample didn’t bother to notify the police of his employees intentions to leave the country.

So are you surprised that neither Bein or Sample were ever charged with any sort of felonies, despite clear evidence of their possible collusion in producing child pornography in Oregon. We know now, Father Bein bought the exact same camera found in the church bathroom just weeks before it was found by one of the victim’s and his father. And Sample knew everything, even before the police found out…
[Read my article “Year Passes Since Bob Hermann Monster Let Filipino Priest Skip the Country After Being Caught By Victim Producing Child Porn in Sherwood Church Bathroom”]

Who knows, maybe this is where U.S. Senator Lamar Alexander’s Chief of Staff was getting some of his child porn (which was being passed out to all the perverts in Washington D.C.)?

And as I mentioned, not surprisingly Pierre Trudeau was a “champion” for homosexual [gender impaired] rights (apparently, this included their right to come to the State of Michigan and rape little blind boys, and apparently, a few little girls too). And maybe that’s why Pierre Trudeau married a woman with a boyish figure who was thirty years younger than him…who bore him a son named “Justin”!

So these sick bastards, whose kids now run both America and Canada need us little people to blame for the sick shit their doing to us and our children. Not only are they stealing them from schools and bus stops, they have been stealing kids from disabled parents here in Oregon for decades. Unless of course, their not sterilized under Oregon’s eugenics program by the Board of Protection (which was allegedly abolished in 1983), but actually merged with the “Board of Medicine”, as Oregoon and its gay governor continue to sterilize its disabled citizens!

So the first time I was exposed to this organized form of child abuse began early in the fall of 1972. I was required to attend these counseling sessions with one of the school’s 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 knows, he was like a character you would see in one of those Alfred Hitchcokc movies.

I would say, He was one of the strangest people I had ever met!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When wrestling practice began that October, this same coach would use me as his ninety pound practice dummy in front of the whole wrestling team, and would lie on top of me.

He would just lay there, on top of me, sometimes for a minute or two (and try to jam his hard on up my ass)…while everyone (who wasn’t completely blind) watched and listened to him explaining some bullshit move while he was doing this!

And he would do this sick stuff to me at almost every practice, even in front of my own fifteen-year-old brother, who, like everyone else, probably didn’t know what to do. Although about a year later a wrestler named Ed Chapman — one of the toughest guys I ever knew, got a group of almost a dozen wrestlers to walk out during practice, and they never came back. I didn’t have the balls to join them…and if you can believe it, about a week later I wrote an article in the school paper about what a great guy the coach was. Ugh–

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

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

I was only about fourteen or fifteen at the time, and I’m pretty sure she was a junior in high school. I couldn’t see much, but I remember first seeing her really long hair and thinking how much she looked, through my pop bottle glasses, like Marsha Brady. She was a character from the 1970’s television show “The Brady Bunch”. Back then, I had a big crush on her when I was growing up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

While Ms. Maston (and Mrs. Ryan, who was the Activities Coordinator), was one of the most attractive teachers in the entire school,

However, I was very fond of the first Mrs. Tutt and it was difficult for me, as a thirteen-year-old boy, to figure out why they had separated. Along with staying over night a couple different times at there apartment in East Lansing, and participating in a local track club with Mr. Tutt (held every Saturday during the summer), Mrs. Tutt would bring her junior high school students to the blind school for tours every year. And I always got to be their tour guide. So I also became friends with several of Mrs. Tutt’s students, and we stayed in touch even after the Tutt’s had separated.

So back to the “coach” and how it was for me, having a chubby grown man lying on top of a small half blind boy. I wrestled in the 88 pound division in the North Central Association of Blind Schools’ tournament during both my eighth and ninth grade year. Other than the NCASB tournament, where I wrestled at 105 pounds and finished third, I wrestled at 98 pounds my entire sophomore year, winning over thirty matches.

You may be surprised to know, all but three of those wins came against sighted kids from the local public schools.

Then in ninth grade the coach encouraged us to try and wrestle with our local public schools during the Christmas break — to stay in shape over the break. Most of the students at the blind school went home during the holidays, and that always put us at a big disadvantage come January as compared to the public schools we wrestled against. So that December I called the local school and spoke to the coach at Eaton Rapids, “The Great Jack Provencal”, as he was once described in the local paper, and set it up.

When I showed up, Coach Provencal had one of the wrestlers take me to the locker room, where I changed in to my practice gear. Then we walked to the cafeteria, where the Eaton Rapids wrestling team was warming up. I also notice there were lots of girls there, watching the wrestlers practice, which kind of surprised me, and was kind of cool…until later–

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

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

It soon became obvious that I wasn’t near in shape enough to compete with the wrestlers from Eaton Rapids High School, so Coach Provencal began punishing everyone when I failed to meet the team’s “high standards”. A short time later, Coach Provencal, and most of the other wrestlers, watched these two future “state champions”, Dorr Granger and Rick Davis, kick the shit out of me! And another future state “champion”, Jeff Houghten cheered them on!

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

Getting the shit kicked out of me like that, made me feel like that character they all sarcastically called “Gomer Pyle” from the movie, “Full Metal Jacket” (ironically, a movie directed by Stanley Kubric, who also directed “Eyes Wide Shut”, a secret which I’ll tell you more about in another chapter).

Fortunately, a real hero named Luke Fagan, who was the other member of our group, pulled me away from Granger, Davis, and Houghten.

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

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

When school got out that day, coach Provencal took me to the wrestling room, since me, Granger, Davis and a few other wrestlers 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 have to wonder, was that the plan, arranged by Coach Provencal?

After stretching, it got real weird. Provencal didn’t say anything, but he began throwing me against the walls and beating the shit out of me as though I were responsible for being screwed by one of my teachers (who happen to be a good friend of the coach)!

In fact, several times she took me to a corn field a few hundred yards from Provencal’s home on Royston Road. Did Provencal offer her, perhaps in her mind, some protection.

I know there was this one evening during a high school basketball game while we had been doing it in the back of the special ed/ice cream room, Assistant Principal Overway walked in on us (while we were getting dressed). He nervously apologized and then quickly left, but never reported the crime 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 Michael somebody), and the team all ended up becoming state “champions” that year.

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

One of my fellow classmates ended up marrying their molester/English teacher. And another one of these molesters, who always carried a bible around school, left the State of Michigan for California when rumors began to spread that he had been molesting several female students in a group home for girls where he lived and also worked.

So, while I would never challenge the dozens of individual championships any of the wrestlers from Eaton Rapids won, won 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 that students have time to focus on their studies, Jack!). And Provencal knew this, since he kept telling us guys when we first started practicing something like, ‘This is all your idea, right?

Except, the fact is that it was all Provencal’s idea to get an early start on the season. I know he’s the one who asked me in his office if I wanted to join Granger and the rest of them…just like the afternoon he decided to rough me up (apparently, for taking Mrs. Collins up on her extremely generous offer to help me with my “homework”).

Or perhaps, did he beat me up actually because I had told another student about it?

This was really weird, but sometime that spring, 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 well, it was a very tense trip. Maybe I should have just started talking about our ongoing sexual relationship in front of Eaton Rapids’ favorite academic counselor, just to see how he would react. Although, he might have just pulled the car over and started beating me up again (the Eaton Rapids way), especially if I had said this–

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

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 proud. except then I found out a little later, I wasn’t the first kid he nicknamed “Jake”. I always wondered if he did this stuff to the first Jake, who was about five years older than me? And what’s even more creepy about this whole part of the story, is that our first and last names were spelled almost identical, except for the very last letter–

As you may already know, Stevie Wonder was the most famous graduate of the Michigan School for the Blind. He graduated three years before I arrived, but here’s a few more inside details about the school and Stevie Wonder that his tutor, Ted Hull, didn’t mention in his 2004 book, “The Wonder Years”.

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 residential school, located a few blocks from downtown Lansing.

Along with a piano tuning department and a caning class, where you could earn pretty good money caning chairs and tuning pianos. We had access to this incredible industrial shop. It was a massive work shop where Mr. Anderson and Mr. Richards taught us to rebuild and repair small engines, including 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. I learned to wire a circuit board in both parallel and series, and build a heating coil from scratch, and then attached it to 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 massive table saw!

And I’m pretty sure no one ever got hurt. Other than this one time this kid named Jim Moffett got his leg caught in the side of the freight elevator. But they chained it up pretty good after that, so no one else as far as I know 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, just laughing his ass off the whole time they were loading him into the back of the ambulance–

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

We also had a canoe building shop, where the students could build (and sell) canoes.

I was a member of the Explorers, a campus camping club that almost every older boy on campus belonged to, along with a handful of adventurous girls (a few of whom would secretly slip into your sleeping bag in the middle of the night, and make out, while Mr. Burnett and Miss Fowty were either too busy, or pretended not, to see anything)!

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

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

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

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

Despite being a male student, I will admit the home economics class was one of my favorite classes. 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.

There were at least a dozen teachers at the school who also had some sort of visual impairment. And so I had two completely blind instructors who were very gifted educators I’ll tell you about.

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

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

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

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

It was Mr. Chard who gave me my first formal piano lesson a piano that Stevie Wonder had often played, he said.

I recall, the late-Jack Chard would carefully placed each of my tiny fingers on each of the appropriate keys, and I began to learn how to form the chords and their corresponding melodies, I can still remember hearing Mr. Chard tell me about all of the wonderful things Stevie Morris [Wonder] had done to create this amazing music program at the school for the blind in Lansing, Michigan, for us kids–

For example, there were three guys from the school band I want to tell you about.

First, there was this guy named Mark Tonpkins, who was also a great long distance runner. For awhile, he held at least one school record, as I recall. He was a percussionist in both the school and the jazz band, except he also played the xylophone (which is almost impossible to spell). It kind of looks like an open piano laying on its back, with all these tuning forks showing, that acted like the strings on a guitar or piano…since that’s where the sound came from–

Mark would hold three or four of these wooden mallets in his hands and bounce them up and down along the metal keys. It looked and sounded amazing!

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

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

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

The school jazz band was the best of the best of the musicians from the blind school in Lansing. I never heard him play with the jazz band, but apparently from time to time included a musician named Stevie Wonder.

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

So I was surprised to see a percussionist from the band named Bobby Blakes playing both the bass guitar and keyboards. And Blakes wasn’t just playing it, he was owning it!

By that time I had already known a few pretty good guitar players, but I had never heard anything like that before–

Bobby was also one of our best wrestlers and track stars. During our sophomore year Bob Blakes was the only wrestler on the team to earn more points than me.

Since he was just two weight classes above me, at 112 lbs., we were kind of rivals on the mat. 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”, a term that is also used in mobility training. In the mobility context, It refers to the process of swinging a white cane back and forth, repeatedly touching the edge of the sidewalk with the tip, while walking.

However in wrestling, using the touch technique meant any time contact was completely broken, even if they 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 giving the whistle a short blow.

Or in some cases, if one wrestler still had control, the match would be re-started in the normal up down position.

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 usually see the side lines.

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–

To earn an escape, a wrestler would have to break all contact with the other wrestler before going out of bounds. Similar to how a receiver must catch and control the ball before crossing the out of bounds marker to be awarded with a complete pass.

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

However, I discovered that when I did this, most of the referees would award me with an escape. In fact, I don’t think I ever got penalized for stalling, probably because I never stopped moving around.

The instant I heard the whistle blow, if I weren’t able to immediately break free, I would go in one direction, then another, and then another, until I was no longer in their grip. Then 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.

I figured, as long as I was able to avoid a take down before time ran out, I would 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 knew it. I think most of the kids I wrestled were caught off guard. I could tell by their extra tight grip, they were concentrating really, really hard on hearing the whistle blow. However, before most of the wrestlers could react to the sound, I was almost always able to instantly break their grip and sprint for the sideline, before they knew it. As I recall, this strategy worked at least twenty or thirty different times–

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

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

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

But one of the funniest things I ever did was arranging to wrestle with our heavyweight, Dwight Norwood, during our warm ups.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The most amazing picture I ever remembered seeing before I lost my vision was taken for our school yearbook by one of Ms. Fowty’s photographers. It was a pic of Dwight Norwood and Lee McDonald standing side by side in their track uniforms, surrounded by a group of smaller guys and the tops of some trees off in the background.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t blame Ted Hull for any of this. That would be like blaming Ted for being “white”, whatever that means? But merely his presence at MoTown placed Stevie Wonder at risk, as I’ll explain.

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 some creativity.

To his credit, Ted Hull had negotiated a contract that paid him $8,000 per year for his services. And while it may not have been real easy to live on this amount for two people, it would have prevented us, the true American music fan, from losing what may have been five or six years of Stevie Wonder’s best music, as I’ll also explain.

This is what I’m saying. There’s little doubt that Ted Hull was viewed by many African-Americans as being a snitch for the government. True or not, Stevie Wonder’s career paid the price.

Here’s the first proof of this. At almost the very instant Ted was dismissed by MoTown Stevie Wonder’s career suddenly took off.

Obviously, a lot of important things weren’t made clear to Dr. Thompson about the situation. For example, it wasn’t just a tutoring position, as it may have first been presented. It was also a personal assistant and business manager position too. Perhaps, the need to solve the problem as quickly as possible, so Stevie could continue to travel and perform, was the reason nobody may have completely thought it through; did anyone think about whether or not it was a good idea to place a white guy inside of MoTown during the 1960’s?

However, had this been foreseen and discussed more thoroughly, I suspect in all his wisdom Dr. T would have recommended a tutor who could drive, legally. And I suspect he may have also given more consideration to recommending a fully-sighted tutor/assistant for Stevie Wonder, especially for those occasions when things became unsafe for this young, popular singer and song writer, who happened to blind.

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

While I’m sure few people 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 remember asking.

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

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

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

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

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

Also, remember it wasn’t a secret within the black community Dr. King had been sent a letter by the FBI, telling him to kill himself. And so everyone at MoTown knew the government had tried to infiltrate every organization that was promoting the interests of African-Americans. So based on my research, I suspect there were many of those at MoTown who believed right from the beginning Ted Hull was an informant for the government.

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

So, given this, it’s very possible Ted Hull was chosen because he was white, and therefore, they probably figured would be more likely then a black tutor to provide some information to the government. If true, neither Dr. Thompson or Ted Hull may have not ever known about this plan, and Hull may have actually been recommended by someone else from outside of the blind school who already had a list of candidates in mind.

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…

And they may have even decided that if someone connected to MoTown found out and killed Ted (or his wife) because of it maybe they’re thinking, “That would be even better…”

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

You see, we know the superintendent of the blind school was required by law to report everything that was going on at the school directly to the governor’s office. Most states are set up in this same way, where the state agency and the schools for the blind were both directly under the supervision of the governor, or a special board selected by the governor of the state, as it is done here in Oregon. Which means, there is no real supervision–

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

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

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

And more importantly, did George Romney and the State of Michigan have aright to let any adult ever touch us blind boys, for any reason, while we were naked? Now, do you wonder why, just a few miles away from the school, Larry Nasser apparently got away with this same sort of stuff for so many years…

If you don’t know, many blamed Governor George Romney for creating the plan to forcibly bus all the kids in the Detroit area, allegedly to create racial equality. But as I had mentioned earlier, it didn’t work.

So by the time he left office in 1970, almost everyone in Michigan, other than the Mormons, pretty much hated George Romney and blamed him for both the “white flight” and the growing violence in Detroit during the 1960’s. Obviously, there was some good reason to feel this way, since his forced busing plan didn’t work, as the racial divide grew significantly wider during his three administrations.

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

But was that the plan? Was the government hoping someone would assume he was a rat and kill Ted Hull? We now know at this same time “they” wanted Dr. King to kill himself, so how far would “they” go to break up the amazing MoTown machine?

From Hull’s book, we know many of those associated with MoTown actually began to hate Ted Hull, and were no longer hiding their resentment, so who knows…

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

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

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

During the 1960’s, Wray won three consecutive state championships against the public schools kids in Michigan. He would regularly come to our home matches, and often hang out near the team during the match.

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

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

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

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

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.

So why wouldn’t he write his tell-all book immediately rather than waiting thirty years? It was a book that definitely needed to be written, a lot sooner than it was. If you’re interested in American history, 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, and the government needed to blame the African-American community for all of it. So here’s this white guy, who they knew, as I will explain, wasn’t being treated very well by many of the blacks involved with MoTown. In many ways, Ted Hull was in the perfect position to inform, wouldn’t you say?

In his book Hull reveals that he kept Dr. Thompson informed about all of his experiences, in great detail, both good and bad. We can assume even if he waited decades to write his book, he admits saying some of this same stuff about MoTown in his reports to Dr. T.

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

If Ted wasn’t an informant, and never informed on MoTown or its black musicians, wouldn’t it seem natural that he would want to tell how he was mistreated by these blacks, and maybe eve say, it was only because of the color of his skin. Surely he must have known that white America would have loved a book like this, at this time in history. Not to mention that Stevie Wonder was one of America’s most famous singers during the early 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 “Little 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 of their struggle, as a white-looking outsider, quickly began to cost Stevie his opportunities among not only many of the other MoTown musicians, but among fans, the black club owners and the black promoters. As Ted writes about, stopped offering Stevie Wonder contracts. In addition, during this same time, Ted tells how Stevie Wonder was no longer being given the best music to record by MoTown, and its best song writers.

Ted describes how during one Christmas party, while the other guests were opening presents and bonuses from Berry Gordy and MoTown, Ted got nothing more than a “thank you” note. He describes how no one would speak to him or his wife at this party, but can’t figure out why?

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 have faced discrimination and bigotry. This is why so many severely disabled people become great artists, and not professors or politicians.

As his book proves, Ted Hull’s inability to truly understand the struggle of the African-American community, and the subsequent birth of MoTown, was a disaster for Stevie Wonder’s early career. Ted’s inability to compromise, not surprisingly came across as being racist by many African-Americans, and Stevie paid the price. Rumors about Ted’s real role — being a possible informant, slowly gained traction around MoTown and the African-American community in Detroit.

As a result, Stevie Wonder it appears was being blackballed by much of his own community for five or six years during the 1960’s, which began shortly after Ted Hull became his tutor. however, when their relationship ended in 1969, 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 — a song partly based on the rumors that were being spread around MoTown about both Stevie and Ted, “Superstition”.

What’s funny, is that this song is partly about how many of the same people at MoTown who resented and mistrusted ‘Ted the tutor”, were also going around telling everyone that Stevie Wonder wasn’t really blind.

so as you read how these same sort of ignorant rumors have so significantly damaged my own life for so many years, simply because I’m more capable than most blind people (same as Stevie, a lot of other blind kids I have known).

As you read my work, and learn about extra-ablism, you would have to agree that it’s a mighty funny coincidence?””