Brownstonelit's Blog

10/19/10

The more I begin to plug in all the holes of this case, the more I return to Hazel’s journal with fresh eyes. There is so much information contained in those pages if one is able to get beyond the protective veil of motherhood. Very careful to couch what could be harmful to young eyes, she was equally as transparent with other details necessary for me to follow. It is almost as though she knew that someday someone with different eyes would understand the shorthand of her intentions. She knew he was murdered and yet she knew nothing of the debauchery of why he was murdered and I cannot think that it may have been a blessing in disguise.

I have a huge project to do for a professor in Psychology and for my subject matter I have chosen the movie, The Vanishing. And it wasn’t until just now that I realized why it affected me so much while watching it. First let me explain the premise of the film.

A man decided to conduct a personal experiment based on an incident in his youth. Curious about his own thought process; he crawled to the outer ledge of the upper balcony of his home and stood there debating if he should jump to the ground below. He kept waiting for some internal safety –mechanism to kick into gear and stop him from doing such a risky stunt. When it did not materialize- he jumped, breaking his arm.

Decades later on a vacation, his daughter spotted a child drowning in a pool beneath their hotel balcony. Without hesitation, he jumped from the two story hotel balcony to save her- crediting his experiment at the age of 15 for his ability to jump without hesitation. His daughter and wife branded him a hero for his courageous behavior. In his mind he had attained the highest reward of his wife and daughter’s admiration. Seeing this as the pinnacle of goodness- saving a life, he then wondered if he was equally capable of the opposite end of the spectrum- the pinnacle of absolute evil-taking a life.

After experimenting with chloroform and testing different approaches of abduction, he decides that his best approach would be by appearing weak and not strong. Mimicking his adolescent injury, he approached a would-be victim as a man with a broken arm seeking assistance. He baits a woman at a local gas station, asking for her help with the glove compartment in his car. After a few moments she becomes suspicious and bolts. When this attempt proves unsuccessful, he goes into the gas station restroom to vomit and reassess his technique. Throwing the fake cast and sling into a garbage can, he vows to derive another more successful approach. Before leaving the station, he stops to buy a cup of coffee for the ride home. While he considers what to do next, he notices a young woman nearby having trouble with a vending machine.
The woman, whose boyfriend is waiting outside in the parking lot for her to use the restroom and get a drink, is trying to get a vending machine to take her crumpled five dollar bill. After the machine spits it back three times, she innocently asks if he has change for a five. He makes the change and as he is counting out the singles, she notices and admires a piece of jewelry on his wrist. She asks where she could buy one; he lies and tells her he is a jewelry salesman and can sell her a sample piece from his car. She follows and becomes suspicious; but seeing a photo of him, his wife and child on vacation together glued to the dashboard, assumes he is an honest family man and lets down her guard.

Minutes later with chloroform in hand he abducts her. Her boyfriend is left in the parking waiting, then begins searching frantically when she does not reappear. The perpetrator spends the next three years watching as her fiancé desperate for information about her, spends his life’s savings on placing ads in newspapers and plastering pictures of her everywhere begging any and everyone to help him find out what happened to her. When the fiancé finally meets another girl and tries to move on; the perpetrator enters the second phase of his experiment. He goes to the young man, produces a personal belonging of the girl and tells him he will tell him everything that happened to his girlfriend… if he will agree to go through everything she did in order to know the truth.

The question there was, would the boy’s obsession to know what had happened to the girl he loved greater than his sense of self preservation? In the end- the young man agreed to the proposal, leaving behind his new relationship- following the same path of abduction and torture in order to know the truth of what had happened to her. Of course there was much more to the film, but I will not spoil it for you.

The end result of the experiment was twofold:

Yes- the man was as capable of absolute evil as he had been of absolute good and the young man’s obsession to know the truth of what had happened, superseded his sense of self –preservation.

I think often of Hazel and how tortured her remaining life must have been. The endless nights spent trading her soul with the devil, pleading to know the truth about what had happened to Charley. Her depression and frustration over never knowing the truth. Never knowing where her marriage might have gone. Never knowing the truth about why he had had not come home… never knowing who he saw in between the time he left her and the two days after when they finally allowed her to view his clothed body in the morgue. Never knowing if G had really placed two wedding rings in his casket… never knowing who was telling her the truth and who was on the take. Suffering insult after injury, home invasions and death threats…and the constant fear that those that killed Charley would come after her and her children if she did not stop asking questions.

Did Hazel’s obsession to know the truth about Charley’s death ever supersede her sense of self preservation or that of her children? According to a story once told J, the possibility loomed. Once on a winter’s night after bundling two small children in heavy coats, the family car careened down a curvy mountain road, late at an alarming rate of speed…. the option to end it all had tempted. But because she chose not to end things that way, it is as much for Hazel that this case be solved as it is for Charley, Rox, the MOT and now possibly another young girl named Jessica.

Like the transcript from R’s first reading with Charley, the journal becomes more revealing the more you know. The cast of characters she concentrated on are more peripheral in the sense that they were obviously part of the cover-up, but perhaps not as intimate with the murders leading up to and after Charley. Their attempt to feign ignorance of it all however flogs me, which is why I see their potential for guilt as greater than Hazel could ever have imagined. No one is that stupid- that greedy perhaps… but not that stupid. Their silence was bought and paid for some deceased and by some now reading these blogs by moonlight. Those few men waking each night now in a cold sweat, changing their pee stained sheets out of fear that they will finally be fingered for their crimes.

In one portion of her journal, Hazel refers to “the other thing that Charley was working on”. She says this in relation to that fateful night. When I go over the events that happened to her after, it only adds fuel to my fire to look more closely at these men. Men like Charley’s partner who we now know lived in the same apartment complex at the young female energy known as Rox. There was the matter of a $10,000.00 advance that was never returned by this man that now begs more questions than answers. Where did this money go to… or to whom and why did his superiors not demand its return? How was all this explained away and why was he suddenly transferred out of state after Charley’s murder?

If Charley was murdered because he knew too much and indeed it has been said that three or four people came to the plate, so to speak and offered to “take him out” as he was presenting a problem… think my dear friends… what constitutes such dire consequences? Each story, regardless of truth or fiction has what we writers call the high conflict; the pivotal moment when the protagonist overcomes some great obstacle or barrier to becoming the hero again and reaching his destined goal. So let us ask the bigger question.

What was Charley’s high conflict?

Was it the alleged affair with G? Is this what he was murdered for? Because G had several men on her pate at the time beyond Charley. All law enforcement men, including the energy known as LT. I now know who that is, but at the time some of the clues did not make sense to me. I misinterpreted them. Think my friends… go back to the beginning. Re-read the first session with R. The energy known as LT was described as the socio-economically older gentlemen who G was ‘double-dipping’ with. In that same session, R described an object related to that entity that was like a judge’s gavel, but not to say it was a judge’s gavel. Well, guess what? It was a judge’s gavel she described and to think it only took another 5 months to find that out through the innocuous ramblings of another man who thought he had little to share. See this is what I love about this process.
As they say in theatre… there are no small parts, only small actors. It is the same for this process… there are no small clues… only clues whose significance is yet to be gleaned.

Until later then…

10/18/10

Today marks day 45. For those of you in the know… you know what that means. For those of you outside the circle…
Patience… patience… and all will be revealed in time!

10/17/10
Whoever had the medium sized black dog was at both murders… Charley’s and Rox’s. Did he belong to the shooter or to the two other law enforcement individuals who were always present? The one whose sleeve is covered with the blood of Charley. The one whose finger swipes across his forehead cannot be denied. The one who draws the car on the shoulder and not in the road…

The “fort” was an old restaurant at the corner of Patterson and Ashley- right near the Ashley Daniel Hotel were the MOT’s body was found after he had been intimidated and died. His death certificate said something about “quarantined”; but could this be because a cardiac arrest doesn’t usually come with signs of being beaten all to Hades?

The letter was written by a female with red fingernails- red fingernails gouging in the backsides of men during intercourse. Red fingernails on the hands that took the coffee grounds and strew them all over the kitchen the week after Charley was buried. Woman’s hand that took Charley’s house keys from his key ring- from inside the house. The red fingernails belong to G.

Rox- the young girl who was used for “entertainment” by certain law enforcement agencies- she was intimate with 3 of the 4 who murdered her that night. It was autumn- you could see the breath escaping through her thin lips as she lay there on the ground being beaten. They say she drowned, yet there was no water in her lungs… but they should have been looking at her throat.

The one who kicks and beats wears camouflage. He likes his boots and swears to protect the brotherhood. Beware the man who bears a tattoo of a dragon on his arm. Is this the POW of months ago I could not trace? This is the man whose association with the woman whose name begins with a B is well known. He likes seafood…

There is much already known and much to learn yet, but I am fast approaching the tipping point where the scales of justice will soon find their momentum to pursue.

10/16/10
Forced to return to those clues which remain unvested, I try to piece the strangling threads together in a plausible way.

Clues like these:

1177 Turn…something- an envelope with a letter inside to this address and the name on the front of the envelope reads Mr. Ronald C… something. The hand writing it has bright red finger nails

A letter from a woman in Tampa…
The decorative plate with the palm tree on it…
December 17…
The man standing at the carved fence who will talk…
The 4 in flannel…
The shovel…
The compass…
Beware of the man with the dragon tattoo on his arm…
Three sets of hands on her throat while the soft spoken one, who knows it is wrong watches…
Jessica…
The woman in the home who has an injury to her ankle- she will talk…
The woman whose name begins with B has something to say- she wears necklaces made of beads…
She appears from under water…
The small white dog…
The necklace with a V engraved in it…
The fort…

Many of these clues have led me to Rox and many more will lead me to what happened to Jessica. On October 23rd, I shall reconnect with the proper authorities and establish their level of interest in re-opening this case. On October 24th another package goes out to someone else whose keen interest has been steadfast and patient. Today I shall send an update of what I have learned since I sent the first package. Monday I meet with others who I think will have to concur that a blind eye can no longer be turned towards such a travesty of justice as this.

Learn the shorthand of the dead, Jessica… I am here. I will listen.
Charley, Rox and the MOT will show you the way.

10/15/10

Today is a day of great personal importance to me. I ask that you all send a measure of positive thought my way. Committed to solving the entirety of this now very possible series of murders connected with Charley’s death takes more than just patience, intuition and research; it requires evidence. Grant me your trust for the day that what I am attempting to parlay will help move this process forward by stronger wheels than I can personally employ. I will place my trust in those who have guided and mentored me this far and trust that the larger picture they can see before me is the right picture for what it is we are trying to achieve. Today I seek wisdom to know what the right path will be.

Beyond that, let us return. There was a reason why Rox kept appearing to R from under water. At first we thought perhaps that she was stuck; reliving her murder over and over and could not move on. This was further complicated by the introduction of the compass and the shovel… but it became apparent that neither tool was necessary for where they left her. So why the presentation of a blood stained shovel… or a compass?

Seldom do they introduce something… or someone without segue or reason. And now the name Jessica appears over and over. Jessica has something to do with the shovel and the compass and the “fort” and December 17th has something to do with…

Did I ever tell you History was one of my favorite subjects???
Unless we understand history… we are doomed to repeat it.
They did not understand history and so they did repeat it. Again and again and…
Shame on them!

10/14/10

It is important that I be clear about what I am about to say, so that you know that this is not for hype or for sensationalism. This is for the sheer purpose of venting my fears and my posture about this case. In the past year and a half, but more intensely these past 10 months since contact with Charley was first made, the unfolding of this case has been both gradual and haunting. With each step I have been awed at the capacity equally for a man’s compassion and regret and for brutal cruelty by others who must ultimately carry the mantle of guilt over his death. No longer as a curiosity or a vehicle by which I might catapult my own literary career… this case has become a very personal matter of consequence to me. In investigative reporting that normally would be considered the worst thing that could happen- because then the reporter becomes the story and not the story itself. But I feel confident that Charley meant for this to become personal. That he calls upon me to become fully vested so as to drain every amount of hesitation or fear of self effacement from my stance and propel me in my focused approach.

To date I believe I have discovered the identity of his shooter and the evidence necessary to prove my findings. With help I have learned the identity of Rox and of her possible resting place. Now comes another name… and the tools perhaps by which she may have become another victim and my heart is pained at the depth of depravity of those both dead and alive that were involved.

From the inception, I have often pondered over the high stakes of this case. What constitutes the necessity for murder? Of course in the mind of the debauched and depraved, there comes a myriad of motives and yet…what constitutes the necessity for such a broad umbrella of lies that they must be promulgated, supported and maintained over a span of decades by handfuls of people? Further still, why such a task of discovery would fall to me?

As I touched on the other day, we are brought to our destiny sometimes kicking and screaming and sometimes with the calm of a newborn lamb ignorant of the process of social slaughter. This case- this journey has been fraught with both personal and professional blessings and curses. It has provided distractions when distractions were beyond necessary. It has provided a broader understanding of the ethereal and the corporeal and in doing so; it has grown me in capacities I could have never anticipated. I have a new path in life- a new passion with which to feed my soul and my gratitude for such is boundless. I have purpose and to those who seek and flounder in shallow waters searching for same- you know the comfort and the confusion of finding your designated reason for existence rippling about your ankles.

It seems small to some—this bit of chaotic history that has taken over my intellect and my life and yet what more noble deed can I do than to help right a wrong and save from eternal anonymity the souls of those who suffered for another’s demented folly? It cuts me to the very core to think that these girls- for indeed, those just on the cusp of womanhood are little more than overgrown petticoats at play on a playground in which they do not fully understand the rules of the game- became the pawns in this pathetic game. I have girls and so my heart bleeds with empathy. I cannot imagine the terror they must have felt at the hands of men who treated them like so much chattel in the wind. As objects of entertainment, to be exploited and then discarded without regard for their right to live long and useful lives, creating and raising daughters of their own.

It is my solemn vow as a once daughter, a mother and as keeper of the promise to Charley that I will keep searching for you. No matter how many… no matter how hard they try to keep your faces hidden… no matter what the personal cost. I will listen, I will follow where you lead in order to give you voice. You will not be forgotten and those who have left you behind will know that one day… one day… they will answer for their crimes against you.

No spouse, nor grandchild—innocent as they may be, will go to their grave remembering these people who murdered other innocents as the good and noble soldiers they have painted themselves to be for the last forty four years. You will go to your graves (Grim and those who helped you) naked, wrapped only with the truth of what you have done. Though it is wrong to wish for another’s demise, I will wish for then for this:

That you live long and haunted lives. That the faces of the men and woman you murdered never fail to invade your slumber. That you come to know the pain and the fear you inflicted on others- and like green kindling upon your deaths, you burn slow and steady in the fires that brought you forth that you might become more intimately acquainted with the measure of Hell you forced upon others. Rest assured your prayers for forgiveness fall to the ground unheeded, as you have shown no remorse for your infractions. No church can harbor you… no sanction protect you… neither cover of lie, nor fostered margin of blame will keep you safe enough from my prying hands.

You can run, but you can no longer hide.

10/12/10

And so night falls and while I have enough to keep me occupied with work and homework, it seems as though that may not be enough, because someone posed the question to me this evening:
How many other young girls went missing around the time of Charley’s death?
Are there more?
Is this why they keep showing the name Jessica?
Another victim?

Dear God, have you no soul Grim?
Eyes vacant…
Absent of heart…
Lack of conscience…
You seek only to destroy…

Is this how you earned your name- preying on young girls and plotting their deaths for your boy’s club? Where is your coin tonight Grim? Shall we flip it and see what will it show… heads or tails?

10/11/10
Ok… back to being me. Now, other than the personal epiphany which came to me in the silence of my thoughts yesterday- I came away from the trip with some very interesting information. Because I am exhausted from work and school, but felt the need not to abandon you too long, I will share some things with you.

I spent some time while there researching a few things that have bothered me of late. Things like shovels and compasses…death certificates and special fences that have things carved in them. I thought about faces and motives… heard things, saw things… felt things. I went to the old shack- just to enjoy the view from the deck. I heard it might be an old favorite of a few folks- maybe even Rox’s. Though, come to think of it…I bet that’s one place she and Jessica would love to forget. Then I went one lake up to where her body might have been found. Now, we all know what really happened to her, but suppose you wanted folks to think she’d drown. Wouldn’t you want to make certain you could prove she had water in her lungs? See… that’s the bad thing about working with dead people. They just won’t freaking follow orders. I mean, if you told everyone she’d drown- the very least she could have done was not just lay there all bruised and battered without water in her lungs- pretending to be strangled. If you drown- you have to have some water in your lungs. It’s just that simple, right? Gosh… at the very least, you should have a death certificate and an obituary written about you to back you up…
But that silly little girl, she didn’t bother to get any of it right. No water in the lungs, no death certificate or obit… That’s why the four in flannel just couldn’t work with her anymore! She just wouldn’t cooperate.

So they hauled her off and drove to….

Well… course you didn’t really think I was gonna tell you now- did you? I try to leave all the really important stuff up to Grim to tell. Like, if he had wanted anyone to know where and when and how she died- he’d have told you, right? And how about silly other little details like…where he bothered to bury her. And who helped him? But you know old Grim…

Always a suspense freak! He just hates spoiling a surprise ending. So, since he didn’t tell you, I bet your thinking your guess is about as good as mine…right?

Wrong!
Until later then…sweet dreams, Grim.

10/10/10
The numerical power of this day is enormous- remember it as all things begin to change from this moment forward. This morning I drove away from Valdosta, a bit confused as to why I thought Charley needed me to be there so badly this weekend. Clearly it had been my decision to go and I understood J wanted me there to share the anniversary of his death and I did get information. Which of course is always a plus. Yet, I could not get out of my mind the feeling that somehow I had missed something while I was there. When I ran a mental checklist, it all added up- but felt incomplete. I had met with most of the folks I needed to- learned a great deal of the periphery information I had wanted to and even found a new lead or two. Still, there was a void. Some part of me felt empty and so with sunshine and the blush of color amongst the tree line, I sallied forth into the last day of the weekend thinking about homework and deadlines and what I might have missed. With tank full, coffee hot and cautious heart, I left J to the McDonald’s parking lot to find her way home alone.

Somewhere after Tifton I began to parse the merits of the trip in my head. As radio station after radio station faded in and out, I began to grow weary of the static in both the airwaves and my life – all the while keeping a keen eye on the time. I went over the clues left unvetted and noted Charley has never left me before to wander aimlessly without segue. For that I have always been grateful and yet it is that precedent that told me I had left some stone unturned- some clue unheeded. As I drove further, I asked each of the three I have come to have a personal connection with as to why it had been so important for me to be there; aside from the obvious sentiment of the occasion. I cleard my mind and they began the shorthand of the spiritual. But it was not until the clock approached the bewitching hour of 10:10 on 10/10/10 that I consciously surrendered to listen.

This may come as a shock to you all. After all, blog after blog has been relentless, borderline obsessive and bloodthirsty for the why’s and the wherefores of Charley’s murder… and in truth, I have not lost the passion to bring the story full circle. But suddenly I realized that as important as that is, that was not what this trip was supposed to be about and if I had been more open and less tunnel visioned… I would have understood in the dark last night what Charley was saying from the light.

For those of you who like movies, I often quote from them as gifted writers abound everywhere and when their words ring true- the music is so sweet to the soul that one never grows somnolent at their mention.

One of my all time favorites is, the Field of Dreams. So much so, that I have dirt in a canister from the field in Dyersville, Iowa where it was filmed. I have a T-shirt somewhere, a dehydrated corn husk and an article sealed in plastic about the filming on location… all this to say, that the premise of the film is the premise of what I learned today.

“If you build it, he will come. Ease his pain. Go the distance.”

Now, I have not constructed a baseball field outside my brownstone- nor plowed under a ridiculous amount of acreage in order to right some childhood wrong… I do not expect Charley to bargain with other deceased friends for some unsanctioned baseball team to clutter my lawn. But what I did do almost two years ago when he was first brought to my attention, was ask for guidance. My own father had passed and lost, I found no internal compass able to guide me anymore. My parents had always been my true North, without them I could no longer find the rising star of my being.

Ok… I can hear you now. What the devil is this crap? What happened to Rox, the MOT and Charley? What about the murders and the porn… and the- this, and the- that????? It’s all still there, my friend and I am in no way finished with what it is I need to right… and to write. But what I wish to share with you right now is the epiphany of what it was I learned today.

“I built it. He came and together, we have gone the distance.”

Why? Because it wasn’t his pain, or J’s, Rox’s or even the MOT’s he was trying to alieve. It was mine. He came to me, to ease my pain and keep me from making a similar mistake. The mistake of half -life.

Charley died in half-life, but more importantly– Charley was living in a half-life the night he died. One foot in and one foot out. His whole world was in a state of flux, but most importantly his relationships. His job was secure, but his personal alliances were not.

R reminds me constantly that it isn’t always about the information those who have passed are giving to us, it’s about the journey they provide us to find it. But I have been so concentrated on the chaos of his death for the last 10 months, that I lost sight of the beauty of his life. The message he was trying to send me was so simple, but because I was looking for things more complicated- I refused to listen to the message he wanted me to hear.

Today at 10:10 A.M., I finally heard and even more,  I finally understood what this journey was meant  to teach me.  I suddenly saw in my mind all the people I have become connected to; both dead and alive and the role they have all  shared in bringing me to this point.

The message was so clear. As the numbers on the clock rolled over to the 10:10 on 10/10/10, I threw my arms in the air and in a somewhat reckless act of trust– I took my hands from the steering wheel, both literally and metaphorically. Closed my eyes for a second and pardon the pun… gave up the ghost. Transparent in my sincerity, I asked for guidance once again- only this time I meant it- for everything. And the message came through-no more half life. No more half hearted living. If I can’t be all in, then I must learn how to navigate my world from all out, until I can find my way back in again. I cannot play at life and think that I can always make-up for things tomorrow and accept that some times in the dark, we take a step and we never return.

Now… don’t worry. Tomorrow I will be back at pounding the metaphorical pavement to bring his murderers and Rox’s to justice. But for today- on this special day of 10’s, I urge you all to walk out into the brisk night air at 10:10 P.M.- throw your arms to sky and promise yourselves not to live a half -life anymore. Whatever half-truths you tell others or yourselves to get by, let them fall behind you now. Be honest with yourself. Be present in your world- all in or all out- but be decisive and for sixty seconds before the clock rolls over to 10:11 P.M. and the universe begins a new course…set yours too and commit to living a full life with a full heart and follow your dreams.

Until later then…

10/9/10
Just like my dream… the road bent and bowed with little illumination once we made it out of town. The stars were thin and the crickets thick as they played back-up to the whispers from the trees as we sped along the Clyatteville –Nankin Road. There we were, counting the miles and adjusting the minutes retracing his steps from that night each mile at a time. Only this time Charley wasn’t at the wheel- I was. It was a pilgrimage necessary for us both. She the daughter… I the writer- both needing to be there at the hour appointed to know and see for ourselves how black the night- how still the heart and how deafening the silence. All day long we had made distractions of our own; research at the Historical Society, interview after interview- conversations upon conversations all to fill the anxious hours before tonight.

J read from Hazel’s journal before we headed out as reminder that there was more at stake than just the rumor of a girl and a cup of coffee. It was 8:58 P.M. when we got on the road for the second time to where Charley spent his final moments. Mustang revved- top down and nothing but the wind to keep us company we drove quiet for the better half of the drive, passing a fence that now appears to be of special interest as it has been mentioned twice in R’s readings. As we reached the spot we slowed to a crawl and turned off the lights. The deep velvet of the night folded in around us and I could not imagine a more hopeless setting. Even with the stars above, the earth swallowed itself whole and you could not see two feet in front of your face. Fearful as we approached the second bridge, we cut the lights back on and inched our way forward to a stop. J got out of the car and walked in front of me down the side of the road, navigating the slim shoulder and then asked that I turn the lights out once more to embrace what her father must have experienced.

Checking both side and rear mirrors for other vehicles, finding none, I complied. Again- even once your eyes adjusted there was nothing but the unrelenting pitch. In silent vigil we each cast our prayers into the void and bid her father freedom from pain. “He would have been dead by now, I think”, she said. Neither star nor human blinked a tear at the statement. No ghost exercised…or demon fought… just the night, the two of us and the endless silence.

I do not know what I expected of such a trial- or that I expected anything at all. But there we were- the three of us, caught somewhere between 2010 and 1966 and there was nothing but the night to act as segue… and nothing but the dawn to look forward to.

It has been a long day filled with introductions and unexpected blessings and information. We spent many hours talking and listening… trying to engage others to our cause. I thought about Charley throughout it and Rox too, not trying to forget that Hazel too shared these last hours with him- not knowing if the marriage would last or fail… not knowing if the coffee would still be warm when he returned. And the children… how they slept in their beds unaware that the world would come crashing in all around them before the last rain drop fell.

It is now 11:53 P.M. and approximately the same time of night that the second set of witnesses (boys from Florida who had passed the crime scene, made the infamous phone call to the Lowndes County Sheriff’s Department) now might stand at Sam Daily’s store waiting for the call back to rejoin the Deputy Sheriff at the scene. It is also not long since J and I have returned from 44 years ago. The minutes will continue to click by as we recount the hours and the events that carried the beginning of lies through the night and decades beyond. We could have easily stayed away- returned to the hotel and dug in for the night and let the moment pass from where we were… but that would not have made either of us happy. W each had made a promise, for better or worse to be there for that hour when Charley’s world had come to an end and taken with it the infrastructure of a family.

May this trip, and his death not have been in vain. I read something on a church sign as we drove back from the spot earlier in the day I wanted to share with you. I thought it poignant.

“Nothing ruins the truth like stretching it.” I will bear that in mind as I strive to tell his story without interjecting my own.

Goodnight Charley…