Brownstonelit's Blog

5/20/10

I know you are anxious…
I know you are anxious for me to name the shooter. Very often I too have been as anxious for Charley to help me name his shooter, but this is a process. And if nothing else, I have learned that process and product are not the same thing for a reason. If I had figured out the shooter from the very start, I would have missed too many other important clues along the way. Clues as to who Charley was as a man and a father. Clues that while random and seemingly disconnected to you, carry a small silver thread for me that links them one to the other in an endless stream of information and historical reference. My real job teaches me how to guide with clarity and purpose. It also teaches patience and that all things come to those who wait. It is a process by which every move is orchestrated and built upon. This case is much the same. Each movement of those involved was carefully choreographed by one lead. One cautious and careful soul who calculated every move, and whirled those about him as so much chattel in the wind to divert and detour energies. They were but small pawns in a chess game that remains at check…
In the meantime…I have plenty of other threads to unravel and another book to promote.
It is important that you come to understand that this murder, while it took only minutes to execute—took ever so much longer to cover up and years to maintain. Think about the fact that Hazel lived 19 years after Charley died and each day, each week, each month and year was dedicated to solving the mystery of why and who would want Charley dead. Would that those involved in the investigation had been just as curious and dedicated to her cause. I commend her though. She was in a far different space than I am now. She was there everyday. In that house. In that town–a private specter, held in suspension for a captive audience. Constantly under the eyes of those who could not afford her enthusiasm for the truth to spill over. Friends who cast solemn glances and held back certain compassions, lest they be seen as encouragement for her to continue the good fight. Enemies who held court in shadowed rooms and took turns with silent vigils whilst she slept or ate or went to the grocery store. Children who grew and flourished without your permission to do so. How tired you must have all been, racking up the countless hours of fear and yet she never strayed from her duty to the truth.

Oh you feeble folk of Valdosta. How could you have not come to the aid of one of your maidens? Even I, of no relation and little consequence see the crime for what it was and applaud her noble due diligence.

It begs the larger question then. Why does man take himself so serious? Forty four years later you still tremor in your boots at the thought of discovery. Look about in the world and come to know your place. For even a dog comes to know the bite and limitations of his own collar and leash. Shackled by our own fear, you are already defeated and Charley has won. There is a reason we as a species did not appear until a minute before midnight on the evolutionary clock. We are that insignificant and that glorious all at the same time. But there was no glory in what happened to Charley. No glory for the victim- no glory for the shooter either. That is not to say that no one knew who you were… it is to say that no one found your deed of ego worthy of notation. Others have called this a crime of passion. I do not see it that way and I doubt those who had to clean it up saw it that way either. What I’m sure they saw was sloppy inconvenience and a disruption to their Sunday night regimen. But what of Charley’s family and their view?

What did they see? For Hazel, another 19 years filled with an endless parade of questions and conjectures as to how their marriage might have really ended or perhaps found a new gentrification. For the children… the loss of a warm hand large enough to cradle their every fear and a shoulder strong enough to boost them high enough to reach their dreams. For me? I have no dog in this fight, other than my conscience. But Charley chose me for this fight. Why I have no idea, but I will continue to honor his faith and his daughter’s trust and choose my chess pieces very carefully for the next move is mine.

Until later then…

This entry was posted on May 21, 2010 at 4:06 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.