10/3/11
I thought
about Roxanne this morning, but not just because it was October, or because the old fashioned
alarm clock in my office she likes so much fell by itself the other day. No… I
thought about Roxanne because this morning when I took the dogs for a walk, the
fog was thick upon the lake and when I stood there silent in reflection- I
noticed I could see my breath. As has been tradition of the last 30 years that
I have noted… the first weekend of October in Georgia has always suffered a cold
snap.
Now one
might not think weather is such a big thing to notice, but it is. Beyond the
fact that I have been a weather freak all my life, I owned a 30 acre horse farm
for about 15 years and when you have a farm and hay and animals that depend on
such- weather takes on a new importance.
Weather in
this case is important in establishing a timeline. Even in Hazel’s journal she obsesses
about her son needing pants the week Charley was murdered and consequently the
week Roxanne was murdered too. Why? Because Hazel said it had turned unusually
cold that first week and second week of October 1966 and her son had only shorts
to wear to school. Think about how important that small, but ever so significant that particular
after thought is within the confines of this case.
It is extremely important as
a corroborative piece, because R talks about seeing the last breaths of air
escaping Roxanne’s lips, as the four in flannel beat and strangle her to death.
So today…
for the rest of the day, I shall offer up what I do and what I think to the
memory of a young girl who never got the chance to evolve into the woman she
might have been because 4 men in Valdosta,
Georgia in 1966
could not afford her the luxury of life. They could not afford her knowledge of
the crimes and atrocities they had committed. And today, as I watch my breath in the cool
October morning… I will think of her and once again make a promise that I
will not rest until Grim, Albert Einstein and any other member of that ‘Boy’s
Club’ are taken down- publicly- without concern as to how their wive’s or
children might feel about their public humiliation; for infact the wive’s and children are not to blame.
But the men? Ahhhhhh yes, the men. Two are dead, but the one’s that remain? I will show them the same compassion they showed this
frightened woman-child, as she lay on the ground while they kicked and screamed at her, then placed their hands upon her throat and sqeezed one last time in a collective vice that sealed her fate and their place in Hell 46 years ago.
Today is for
you Roxanne…
Tomorrow is
for them.
I saw a
feather yesterday. An important message is on its way.
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