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INTRODUCTION:

Welcome to BobKat's Lair ®™

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A lair is a home; A castle; A burrow; A haven; a place where one should feel safe. To ensure our safety especially in one's lair, we have laws. And some laws cause more harm than good!

This is a good place. There's lots to see and do. It's apolitical while providing non-partisan news about politics, which we can't escape.

Regarding compliance with EU standards, I use no cookies, tracking devices or programs or other personal devices that may be banned in other countries. I will note however that my blog is hosted by Google and I am not responsible for any of that.

My goal is here... to present topics which highlight the plight of people. Why, 2000 years after Caesar Augustus, are we still a people being hurt? With all our advancements in technology, medicine, communications, why are we a people still being hurt? Human nature hasn't changed much, but that doesn't mean it isn't time now for that to happen, and it is undoubtedly happening - hard to see however. This blog is part of that change and a witness to it.

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My blog is dedicated to my family, friends, mentors, and all others whom I am grateful to, and love(d).

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NOTE: Nothing included in my Blog is intended to advocate behavior illicit in nature, or in violation of man-made laws where harm to a living person, animal or the environment is involved. Person's under 17 probably shouldn't be here, though there is far worse out there. Just saying.


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February 17, 2010

THE LONGEST ROAD - PART TWO

It was true... John had thought long and hard on graduation, about how well he knew his fellow students, and realized he felt nothing, and no interest in participating. It was becoming a familiar theme to him... not joining groups. He just didn't fit in. He knew that.

His parents expected him to go to graduation, he knew that. The fact he had to go to graduation made it repulsive. His yearbook was filled with "best wishes"... and he liked some of the women, had the normal fantasies, although what few attempts he'd made to date, ask them out only made him feel worse. So John said "no", to the biggest event in one's youth. He spent his time in his upstairs lab, where he had his chemical laboratory, which back in 1972 wasn't unusual... nerdy, but chemical supply houses dealt with lots of amateur chemists. John also had a complete electronics lab... what did he need people for?

Then there was the draft... it was the spring of1972, the Viet Nam War was going strong, although there was talk of "ending the war". But there'd been talk of ending it for years, and it was obviously hopeless - the politicians couldn't do the right thing, and find a way to end it. Back then there was a draft... a draft-lottery, and he'd had the unfortunate luck of drawing a very low number - in the teens, which meant, come the fall after he turned 18 he'd be be going to that war. Those friends he had, of course they all drew high numbers, so wouldn't go. Just his luck.

The summer of 1972 was a blur. He had a job, at a discount department store... he worked evenings, went full time to school. He dated a woman with dark hair, a very attractive slender figure, that was the cousin of a co-worker of his. John got together with her on the weekends usually. Yet years later there was little to remember about what they had done together. He remembers only the time they spent on her couch, kissing, laying on top of each other. But she wouldn't "french-kiss"... and John really wanted to experience it with her. "Due to a past relationship", she'd said, a guy who she'd been seeing and had dumped her, "no french-kissing". What's worse, laying there on the couch with this vital, attractive woman,  he could feel all her firmness and softness through her sweater, but no skin. He tried, for 3 years he'd tried...

He had a 1969 Ford Mustang then, with a V8-289ci engine - one of the best Ford engines ever made. He loved that car... his father had helped him pick it out, get him his first loan, and it had a 3-speed standard transmission. Chrome wheel's and lettered tires, hood-locks and fog lights. He loved that car... even was able to go off road with it the engine had so much power and torque. He thought he loved his girlfriend too... but at that age had no idea what he was suppose to do? The road-map he'd grown up with suggested he was suppose to ask her to marry him... and then they'd be french-kissing. As naive as he was, and he was plenty naive, that just didn't seem like a good idea.

On John's 18th birthday he had plenty to celebrate! The draft had actually ended August 31, 1972... it had come about completely unexpectedly. Ahhh, what a sign of relief that was! He'd had to consider things prior to that declaration like moving to Canada, cutting off a finger or toe - saying he was gay; well, that wouldn't fly - back then better to cut off a finger than say one was "gay". But now, he was free.... he didn't need to worry about the draft, or the war. Of course he was to begin college. He wasn't sure he wanted to do that. A break would have been nice... but it was expected, and his parents were paying for him to go.

But in 1972, John was also able to legally drink alcohol at age 18. Most states at that time were the same. He remembers spending his 18th birthday in a bar, alone. Yes he was still seeing that attractive brunette... and where she was that night will forever be a mystery. They still saw each other for at least another fun-filled year, but this night that John turned 18... he did it with the bar tender and other strangers there. The important thing was, he was now an adult.

He left the bar that night with one 8oz. beer for the next night, to drink at home after work. The 8 oz beer in a can back then were called "pony-beers", half the size of a regular can of beer.

John is looking back... in fact, this story is all about him "looking back". Growing up, it was no surprise that John would look forwards to finishing high school, turning 18, becoming an adult. But what he had at 18 wasn't much the way he figured it. He'd read a lot of books, managed a C average, enjoyed science classes, but had spent the majority of his time dreading school, fearing the constant bullying, and other than an "intense one week going steady with a girl in 8th grade", he knew nothing about male-female relationships. The next "step" after college was to get a good job, get married, buy a house and have children - for his mother who wanted grand-children. That was his road in life. That was the only road... and although he questioned it - there were no alternatives.

He opened that "pony-beer" after work that night while watching Star Trek... the original Star Trek. He sat in the family room on the couch with his beer and potato chips. All was going well, until his mother entered, saw him drinking a beer and told him in no uncertain terms she would tolerate No Drinking, despite being of legal age to drink. Not like they didn't drink their Manhattans! He tried to remind her that the family rule was "...if it was legal it was okay". That's the rule they lived by, or that's what he'd always been told. But she would have none of it. She made him dump the remaining 4 oz. of beer, and he vowed he'd move out as soon as possible after that.

Next time - Divine Intervention...

February 13, 2010

THE LONGEST ROAD...PART ONE - a John Miller Story - Fictional; based on True Experience

John Miller woke up to the Friday morning he'd thought would never happen. HS graduation! He was 17, and he not only couldn't endure another regimented day, but he had ideas. Ideas that really made no sense. Ideas that encouraged him to find his own way...  It was an idea he often discarded. But it didn't matter, not anymore.

None of it mattered... he realized... within a week he'd graduate. It'd all be behind him, and in the fall, he'd turn 18, he could drink, beer, he was an adult.

Today would be the rehearsals, a school assembly in the auditorium... followed by special guest appearances...

Graduation...

One of the last rides on the school-bus he had to tolerate, and the shuffle by many to run through the doors. Like they had that much desire to get to homeroom? Then the school arranged a couple actual classes to remind us children we were still in school.

The rehearsal assembly, there were two things that stood out in his mind. The first was how he felt so out of place. He was herded in with the rest of his classmates, but it all started to look not right. A thought he put aside, as he had for years... many thoughts. Now he had two new impressions - one's that would stay with him for life:

They had gotten the class president to do the honors... he gave a speech, told a couple jokes, and suddenly onto the stage the school custodian walks on. His name is Elmer, middle aged... what happens becomes a blur for John, as Elmer is booed off the stage... though he didn't do anything wrong. It was his job. No one became a janitor! No one.

And the second thing?

A "special guest speaker"... a man from NYC... a "junkie"... "started with marijuana and naturally needed harder drugs until he got hooked on heroin. The day that changed his life was atop an apartment house in the Bronx, injecting heroin, several needle in his hand, and the police raiding the scene. He told how to avoid arrest he'd had to swallow all those needles.

Based on everything else John knew about drugs, that pretty much settled, then in 1972. No way would he succumb to the madness of drugs.

John was raised to know... "marijuana was bad, very bad". He even had a cousin twice removed who'd done marijuana an leaped out a window.

John never made graduation... the assembly was required, graduation wasn't.

February 07, 2010

VICTIM'S ADVOCATE - Part Four

In my last post I discussed - "Victims and Agents". I did so rather briefly, considering the scope of the subject. In most cases we have more than one, or two choices... and quite obviously doing nothing is always a choice. So that makes three choices we have, in general, when confronted by life and all it's opportunities and surprises. And tragedies...

It's the internet that changed things for me, and many others - for good and bad... it is the internet which is why I'm here, to state the obvious. What isn't obvious is what things were like prior to the internet. I came of age in 1974... it wasn't until 1992 that I had access to a computer, and the internet. Prior to that, I may have written editorials for newspapers, but I didn't. I find it ironic that within my lifetime I am given the opportunity the WWW has given to me. Ironic in the sense it's frightening... because never before in human history has communication on such an immediate and world-wide scale existed. Yet now it does.

In this, what is probably my conclusion for this series, I wanted to describe some of my own personal experiences as well as tragic cases I followed in the past that led up to my involvement in two real-life cases as a "victim's advocate".

1) ~1964: I was with my family - sister and parents in San Francisco. My father was there on an all expense paid convention. I've mentioned this before, so to make a long story short, I was 8 years old and i left a dept store, thinking my parents had gone back to our hotel... an 8yo walking alone on the streets of SF. I bumped into a guy dressed in a black trench-coat... he showed me a badge that said he was "secret service"... since I was lost, I trusted him, and he got me to my hotel. It just so happened there was a convention of Supreme Court Justices also. So he really was SS.

2) ~1968: HS was rough on me - I was an easy target for bullies. To help boost my confidence my parents thought karate classes would help. I had just earned my yellow belt, and soon after a class i was downtown waiting for the city-bus. A man asked me if I could use to make some money helping him move into his apartment - at the Boy's Club. Full of Confidence and totally nieve I said sure... I walked up the street with the guy bragging about my karate skills... ended up in a one room room, to have him lock the door behind us. There was nothing to "move"... but during the walk he's admitted to working as a counselor at my town's public beach, and with children. I rushed out with an excuse to leave, unlocked his door and entered a corridor with identical looking doors. I had no idea which door was the stairwell!!! I found it, my heart pounding... and made it home. When I told my parents they didn't believe me. It was 1968 afterall.

3) ~1982: I was living in a rooming house in the Boston MA area... I was a recent resident... a small town guy in a big city. I was so lonely... drank a lot. One night, quite unexpectedly I bumped into a fellow rooming house roomy... seemed decent enough and he said, "hey, want to go to the Chelsea strip club, have a few beers - I'll drive", and I said "sure", scared of nothing. I got in his car and we started driving... it seemed odd the way we were going to Chelsea, but I was busy talking too. Suddenly, and it was sudden, we were driving through the area in Boston where I90 turnpike starts - I forget the name of the area, but it was downtown Boston, and suddenly a half a dozen or more Boston police cruisers converged on the car I was in. We were at the side of the road in less than 10 seconds, the guy driving, that i was with was ordered out of the car, the 38 cal hand-gun stuffed into the back of his jeans was removed, and I was told by the police to "leave".

Yes, I had met my first serial killer and I had been his likely target. No drugs were involved - unless my being intoxicated counts as a drug.

It took me several years to shake off the fear that event caused me...

As far as those victims stories I found that further encouraged me:


1) Martha Moxley: Wikipedia Link ... October 30, 1975 - she was 15 years old. Murdered in her back-yark... her neighbor was convicted many years later for her death. I read: Mark Fuhrman's 1998 book, Murder in Greenwich. 


2)The Butts family Murders: Butt's Family Murders ; Gerri Faye Butts, 29, and her daughters, Jessica, 11, and MacKenzie, 3. Ironically this case which I could only read about and do nothing, ultimately led to a friendship with Glen, one of the Texarkana investigative officers... whom I met while helping in the Brianna Maitland case. He is now a prominent criminal profiler and works for the US military.


3) Dru Sjodin - 2003: Dru Sjodin - this is the first case I felt I was "involved in... she was missing for almost a year... it was widely publicized. You might say I had a feverish need to help... and with Google Earth and all I succumbed to a form of assistance that has a name, and has actually been researched by the US ARMY - it's called "remote viewing", a psychological ability to see things from afar. Admittedly, i was no help, although I e-mailed in my ideas. I never did hear from anyone, and they did find Dru. It was extremely tragic, and a short time later... I read where two persons within hours of me had disappeared.

I ask myself now, as I did then... why get involved? I was fortunate to hear Pres. George H.W. Bush say at a college... "it's okay" to want to help those less fortunate than ourselves, victims... even though there's a selfish sense of feeling good from doing so... I say fortunate, because I felt "guilty" or like I was" in the way" offering my assistance. See, there's no hero's when it comes to solving a missing person case. They either aren't solved, or when solved, it's not pleasant. It's not a troop of boy scouts you've led on a rugged camping expedition, or saving someone's life... because in both cases I found myself involved in, foul play is very likely, and the families involved are suffering in the worse way possible.



 I'll conclude with an experience I had Memorial Day 2005... it was a beautiful Spring day, and I went metal detecting in the area in Woodsville, NH, where Maura Murray "had her accident". By then i was also spending a lot of time on her family forum, as Sherlock. Where she disappeared was a hour or so from where I lived - much closer than Brianna Maitland. I had let the family know I'd be there. Got their okay.

It was a nice drive to the location. I parked, legally off the road. I got my gear and looked around. There was a open forest across the road, then next to my car a small field. Seems like 100 yards further in all directions was private land. Unless you walk further east, across a road and there's lots of wilderness. So this is what I did for several hours that day.

Back at my car later, I was just finishing the small field next to my car a second and last time. I started to pack up and a Woodsville police cruiser pulled to a stop on the opposite side of the road, and the officer was watching me.

I love America. I got in my car, thirsty and tired, and the cruiser followed. All right, i thought, i know where this is going... so a half-mile or so down the road there is a country store. I pulled in there and parked. So did the officer. I went over to his car!

"Hi" I said as he got out of his car, and he voiced similar in response. I said, "I noticed you are following me".

Considering it was a holiday, many people were out enjoying themselves, I was rather annoyed, yet curious.

He asked me what i was doing, and for my drivers licence. I told him and gave it to him. I explained I was helping the Murray family find their daughter, Maura, missing in the area.

He smiled and said - "haven't heard of the case - but then I'm new here". He gave me back my license and drove off. I went into the country store unable to miss the Missing Person's Poster for Maura Murray tacked to the door.

And that's what a "Victim's Advocate" does... we shake our heads a lot!!!

Not really, but there are those moments.

February 04, 2010

VICTIM'S ADVOCATE - Part Three

Subtitle: AGENTS and VICTIMS...

More on why and how I became a "victim's advocate"...

There's a new tv commercial for insurance that's been airing for awhile now... can't quite get it out of my head. It features not a gecko, nor a foxy cartoon femme fatale, but rather it stars a very amiable, attractive woman who can't not smile and can't not suppress her enthusiasm as she asks potential buyers questions, and generally pops back with -"Discount, Discount, Discount!"... Ahhhh.  Reminds me of my early years, 17 - 21.Only in my case it was "Victim, Victim, Victim!"

It seems in so many ways we are a society of victims. Our earliest colonists were "victims", in so many ways... many died ... many suffered, many went crazy... but here we are today, still in many ways "victims" of one sort or another. And it's true, we can be victims in so many ways. 

Back to my early 20's... sometime around 1974 I got stoned on marijuana. After all the horror stories I'd heard I was certain I would die soon after. My brain would melt, or I'd go crazy and within a week would be injecting myself with heroin.

Ironically, I was fine... in fact, I was more than fine. ... it was divine intervention... at a time in my life where I was near the end.

Back then, I did what most other middle class boomer's did after graduating HS, we went off to college. No break... had to keep the conveyor moving... what John Lennon of Beatles fame called "the Merry Go Round" ... well, I had to get off. 

Given the proper way I was raised as a child into being a teenager, I'd love to be able to say, like so many talented people say, "I'm sorry, I used and it was a big mistake". But I won't do that. See... prior to using, yes, I was enrolled in a college to become a physicist, or a teacher.  But seriously, not being a "man from Mars", I was not good with math, and I was a loner. Why would I want to teach a classroom of students still shell-shocked from HS? So, no, things were not going well at all.

Until I got stoned... do you know that a lot of people really are beautiful, that nature is alive, the earth is a great planet to live on, that silence is a symphony and art is divine? Where I had been settling into adulthood, which began at 18 back then, with anger, resentment, mindless pursuit of an education I may have been interested in, since I've loved electronics and chemistry my whole life, I really wasn't that person. 

Almost overnight I realized my life's dream... I wanted to be a writer. I didn't want to hate people, and feel vengeful... I wanted to discover people... I wanted friends. I wanted experiences... I wanted to face my fears... and write.

And a short-story I'd read at age 8, "R Is For Rocket", the short story within called "Frost and Fire", came to mind... I realized what i needed to do to become all that i could become would be "to work among the scientists", those who would now be called professors. With a community college in town, I realized the one way I could do that was to get a job as a custodian. Honestly, I don't know how I knew that, I just did. I figured three years... I vowed that whatever it took, if I had to sit at the entrance to the HR dept, I would get that job. By then i had quite college... sold my car, moved near campus, and loved to walk and ride my bike. I submitted an application, and as you should already know, I got hired within a very short time. I was the 3 - 11 custodian, at the fine Arts center at the college. My life exploded with friends, knowledge, and hope.

But first I had to understand what it was to be a victim. Because that is what i was... in so many ways. The answer came a year or so into the job when I became friends with an English professor. It all came down to two things - was I a victim, or was I an agent?  Being a victim is a part of the human-condition. Being an "agent" is something we can learn to be to overcome being a victim.

However, in some cases the victim cannot be an agent. They may need an advocate to help. And many years later... that is where I found myself. With years of experience with people of all kinds, experiences both very scary, yet others so very beautiful... I found myself unable to resist the urge to help....

Next time... the stories of persons that were victims, of serious nature, and my eventual participation in two missing person's cases.