The Final Future Fact

     Though I take no "credit" for preventing Hillary Clinton from ascending to the presidency

(at least for the time being), as promised I am now going to reveal the FINAL FUTURE FACT.

It is imperative that we stop this "fact" from becoming a reality.

      The Final Future Fact is:

          We will "submit" to technologically-driven tyranny.

     Clue: submit is the English equivalent of the Arabic word Islam.

Welcome to the Original Future Facts
THIS SITE IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF
DAVID BLADING (1954 - 2006)


This site will strive to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that one person has,
with unheard of accuracy, predicted highly unusual and extremely specific facts
of our future. It will further attempt to demonstrate that it is now understood that these Future Facts have been occurring for a specific reason, and that that reason has now been learned, and that this may be our last best hope to preserve our Republic.



PREFACE

This site exists for one primary reason, and regardless of what you find here, it’s
crucial that you remember this:
I can see into the future. I do not control it, but have obtained witnesses each time that it has occurred, and the visions span 35 years. I’ve learned the
reason why, and have the specific objective of preventing the election of Hillary
Rodham Clinton. By demonstrating our “ability” to change the future, we can per-
haps stop the FINAL FUTURE FACT from coming true. It’s as simple as that.
Now Hillary Clinton only symbolizes evil, and in fact there are many “enemies”
of our Republic, in office, seeking office, and in the business world. There is not a great deal that we can do about “evil” businessmen, until they are “caught” violat-
ing the law. Our “elected” leaders can be scrutinized however, and we should be
paying careful attention as to who it is that we “ask” to represent us in government.
Lately (the last half-century or so), there has been a disturbing trend. It seems too often that by happenstance or conspiracy (is it really important when the result is the same[?]), we are drifting towards a socialist state, and the disintegration of our sovereignty. One example in evidence is that the demographics of this country are changing more rapidly than at ANYTIME in the history of civilization WITHOUT THE ADVENT OF WAR.
Aspects of this complex state of geo-political affairs will be discussed on this blog,
but it is not the primary reason for this blog’s existence. Nonetheless, be warned, that our Republic is in danger, and the unusual experiences that I’ve been burdened with over the last 35 years are, I believe, tied to our nation’s destiny. To save our Republic, we will have to act in concert.
Allow me also to clarify that I am NOT one of the people who believes that the government “conspired” to attack the WTC. However, I AM one of those people who believes that for many administrations, there has been a strong element at the federal bureaucratic (and in some cases higher) level, acting with indifference to our U.S. Constitution, and a flagrant disregard for the wishes and best interests of the American citizenry.
If the good people of this country do not stand up soon, the “good” people of this
country may find themselves being charged with “domestic terrorism” by virtue of the action that may be required later. We must not let the situation deteriorate any further. We must not allow “legalities” to blur to the point where “patriots” acting because of indifference by “elected” leaders are treated as “domestic terrorists” by the very ones responsible for not following the Constitutional Dictates.
As you read this site, please remember that the federal government is by Constitutional Dictate RESPONSIBLE for defending our borders from all invasions - it does not say except for illegal “workers” - and for providing for its citizenry, a state of “entitlement”; allowing the citizen to engage in day-to-day activity confident that the persons that they are coming in contact with in work and leisure belong in this country. That’s providing for the general welfare.
Do not ever forget that we are only temporary “stewards” of this nation. We have no right to make the “command” decision to “dissolve” our borders, and God knows that we have no right to “cheapen” the value of citizenship in this country, by giving
it to any foreign lawbreaker who can “evade” detection for some indefinite period of
time.



“Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof.”
- Carl Sagan

INTRODUCTION
This is the most unique blog in existence. There are sites, backed with
corporate millions, that are fancier, or more colorful, and with an almost endless amount of information. There are sites that are filled with games and amusements of various sorts. There are other interactive sites where one can offer opinions, or search for treasure,
and probably a million and one things that I’ve never even heard of
nor imagined - but none will offer what this blog offers - a chance to change the future. I am not an “internet child”. I’ve probably spent more time in my 53 years on Earth using jiffy-johns than using the internet. It is my choice of last resort. I am however, reaching out to the internet children in general, and in the United States in particular, in an effort to help save our Republic.
As you begin to read the material contained herein, you are going to rapidly become aware of a number of things, the most significant being that during the period 1972-2004 I received a series of visions; that almost all of these visions have been documented (in a rather unique way), and that there is a purpose, a distinct reason why I have been
burdened with these “future facts”. I am going to ask the internet children to help me prove to the skeptics, the disbelievers, and even the disinterested, that every word that is entered here is true. Once the veracity of my claims can be established, and my credibility is buoyed, we can all begin to work to help preserve this Republic for the internet children of future generations.
Please note that unlike the many charlatans that use smoke and mir-rors to tell you meaningless nothings about your recently departed, or unlike the “standard” prophet who mumbles generalities concerning weather or war, disease or disaster “...sometime in the next six months...” or “...somewhere in central Asia...”, these future facts are highly specific and usually unmistakably clear. The charlatans that manage to eek out an accuracy rate of 50% or more (while collecting tidy sums from appearances and books) are quick to point out how often they are right, ignoring their inaccuracies., or, will bemoan the “difficulty” of working with tarot cards, tea leaves, numbers, or whatever gimmick they utilize.
Also, please note that I am aware of the legitimacy (on whatever level) of those kind souls who with their own “burden”, have tried to assist the police in finding lost children etc., often with success. I do not attack these well-meaning people. The charlatans know who they are, and deep down inside, so do all of us.
Most people think that being able to see into the future is a “gift”. It’s not a gift, but a burden, and one in which the weight of the burden increases in direct proportion to the accuracy rate of the predictions. My accuracy rate is virtually 100%.

One final note: As I stated, I know very little about the workings of the internet and several people have advised or assisted me in putting this site together. I thank all of them for their efforts.
There will be subsequent sections which will contain a great deal of
opinions (God knows I have them to offer), and I promise that there
will be from time to time surprises - probably when you least expect them.



Prepare for an epiphany.




“The greatest difficulty associated with a superior intellect is being surrounded by inferior minds.”
- Jeffrey M. Letter

Prologue
I first left home (ran away) when I was sixteen. I bought a ticket on a Greyhound to Tampa. My home was Ft. Lauderdale. I quickly learned
after taking my seat that the man sitting next to me was a policeman, or
so he claimed. He certainly played a convincing part based on the questions that I pummeled him with, while playing the role of a teenager traveling to Tampa to stay with my (fictitious) aunt and uncle.
I was very nervous and wondered the entire journey if perhaps my Mom had discovered my departure and perhaps “notified” the police or
the bus company that they should be on the lookout....so not surprisingly when I did get up to go to the bathroom a couple of times I
would review the things that we’d discussed. Had I said anything suspicious?
I couldn’t help notice each time I’d gone to the bathroom, that lying on the seat in the back of the bus was a young man with long hair and what one might refer to today as “Hippie gear”. Backpack, sandals, rolled mat for sleeping; even in November of 1969 for me at least, the sight of an authentic “hippie” was intriguing.
When we finally arrived in Tampa the “policeman” seemed to sincerely be trying to help me, so when he asked if I saw my relatives, I told him no, but said that if they weren’t here when the bus pulled in, I was sup-
posed to get something at the cafeteria and wait for them to arrive. He
pointed out that the bus was on a fifteen -minute break, and could he join me while waiting for my “relatives”? Continuing in the role, I told
him yes.
After we got in line, he was getting a pie and a coffee while I waited to order a Pepsi. Suddenly, I realized that the hippie-guy was standing be-
hind me. He asked me if I could spare him enough money for a coffee. He looked haggardly, but kind, and despite the fact that I had little money to spare, I gave him a quarter. I noticed that the policeman was giving me that “Officer Friday” look of disappointment, but it felt good to be able to help someone in need.
Interestingly, after the policeman and I sat at a table, hippie-guy came over and asked if he could sit with us. Officer Friday gave a disapproving look as if anticipating my response , and he winced slightly as I said yes. We discovered almost immediately that “Tom” was in fact quite polite as well as articulate.
A few minutes later the policeman had to board the bus and I could stop
“going through the motions”. I almost immediately afterwards explained to Tom that since less than five minutes after leaving Ft. Lauderdale I’d had to maintain this “front”, continuing that I’d just left home. He told me that if I had just a little more money, that would enable us to get to St. Petersburg, he thought that he might be able to find for me a place to stay, and perhaps even a place to work.


Before nightfall I was staying at a boarding house with the promise of a
job at a restaurant on the St. Pete Beach/Treasure Island border. It turned out that Tom, the hippie-guy was the son of a doctor, and had just completed the last leg of a journey around the country.
The name of the seafood restaurant escapes me, but Mimi Hines dined
there. In any case, though my stay in St. Petersburg turned out to be
relatively short, I had an experience that would never be forgotten.
One day, after the lunch crowd had been served and things calmed down, I had a lunch myself. I liked to read, and after finishing lunch on this particular sunny afternoon, decided to go to the other end of the plaza to buy a book. I went into the drugstore and in the section of the
bestseller paperbacks, was a novel entitled “The President’s Plane is
Missing”. I bought the book with the intention of perhaps reading the first chapter before returning to work.
As I walked past a bakery situated approximately halfway between the drugstore and the restaurant, I felt this “force”, this “sensation”, com-
pelling me to enter the store. I had just eaten. I was not hungry, but looked inside the window; perhaps there might be something appealing to the eye. There was nothing that interested me. Yet the force, the sen-
sation, continued, so I said to myself that I would simply go in and look around.
When I went inside the only person present was a young college-aged man behind the counter. We exchanged pleasantries and I looked through the window case and was once again disappointed to see that there was nothing that I wanted. At that moment in time the jingling of the bell over the door began to ring as it had when I’d entered only moments before.
Instinctively, I turned and saw the immediately recognizable figure. Here it was, November of 1969, when wide lapels and loud ties were all the rage, and this genius stood there in his gray, narrow-lapel suit, his white shirt, and thin black tie. No one could have been more con- spicuously out of fashion; and of course, the ever-present cigarette was in his right hand.
I turned to the merchant and asked in a stage whisper, “Isn’t that the guy from the ‘Twilight Zone‘ ”? The man at the door responded, “That’s right, I’m Rod Serling.”
“I know who you are”, I said, turning from the counter to face him. “What I don’t understand is what you are doing in Saint Petersburg of all places?”
“It just so happens that I was in town on business, and I went to college with that young man’s father”, pointing to the man behind the counter.
I began to tell him how much I loved the “Twilight Zone”, and failed to understand why such a brilliant program could have been canceled. He chuckled in a private way, and assured me that he was working on a similar program, this time in color, entitled “Night Gallery”, and hoped I’d enjoy it as well. After demonstrating my enthusiasm for his most recent project, I half-apologized, not wanting to be a “stereotypical fan”, but I was certain that no one would ever believe that I’d been lucky enough to have met him, without an autograph.
He quickly put me at ease, reassuring me that I had no need to apologize because he delighted in giving out autographs. “In fact”, he said, “why don’t you let me autograph your book?” I agreed, but was puzzled, as I’m sure his friend’s son could see by the expression on my face. When he was finished, I thanked him for the autograph and for having taken a moment to speak with me, and politely excused myself.
I could have stayed, even under the pretense of buying some pastry, but knew that my presence was no longer required even by the merchant, as they obviously would be reminiscing upon my departure.
When I left the bakery that day, I said to no one - not immediately, nor upon my return to work - that I’d just encountered someone that most people admired, so concerned was I in ensuring that I said or did nothing that would in any way make his visit uncomfortable, but outside the store, I opened up the book to read:

To Jeff,
In behalf of my brother, best wishes to you always,
Rod Serling

The book that I’d purchased only five minutes before was written by
the brother of the creator of The Twilight Zone. The sensation that com-
pelled me to enter that bakery would soon affect me again - only the next time - with a serious purpose.








THE STRAIGHT FACTS
1. “Before the investigation of the burglary at the Watergate Hotel is
completed, President Nixon will resign.”
(stated the Monday after the burglary, June, 1972.)

2. “Something will occur, concerning the upcoming resignation of
President Nixon, on May 10th, 1974.”
(stated first half of November, 1973.)
3. “Before five players depart the team (Boone, Bowa, Carlton,
Maddox and Schmidt), the Philadelphia Phillies will win their first
World Series in history.”
(stated in the Spring of 1976.)
4. “Failure of the APWU to accept the offer made by President Carter
will be a major mistake, and one that will backfire ( in the faces of
the union leadership).”
(stated circa February, 1977.)
5. “Senator Eugene McCarthy will endorse whichever Republican is
nominated for President.”
(stated circa April, 1980.)
6. “Reagan will not only win in a landslide, but his victory will
prove to be the first wave of a conservative movement not seen in
this country for nearly a generation.”
(stated -repeatedly- starting in late Summer, 1980.)
7. “The fighting will not stop (Iraq/Iran War), until it involves naval
vessels of both the Soviet Union and the United States, but not
necessarily in combat with one another.”
(stated September 25, 1980.)
8. “Not only will the Berlin Wall fall in our lifetime, its fall is
Imminent.”
(stated in mid-August, 1989.)
9. “By 1992, a third party will rise up and challenge (in the President-
ial race), the two major parties.”
(stated late Summer of 1989.)
10. “In the end they will say, that it was SHE, who was the evil one.
(stated November 4, 1992.)
11. “In the 21st century, your greatest asset, after your health, will be
your anonymity.”
(stated circa 1994.)
12. “When President Hillary Clinton, declares martial law, some
members of the media will respond to the effect - ‘Well, it must be
necessary; after all, everyone knows that she’s a liberal’.”
(stated circa Spring, 2000.)
13. THIS FUTURE FACT WILL BE REVEALED ON NOVEMBER
5, 2008. IT WILL BE THE FINAL FUTURE FACT.







THE WITNESSES


One of the elements that separates this blog from any “similar” blogs (i.e. sites or blogs concerned with predicting the future), is my unique manner of documentation. Because of the unusual sensation that I’d felt that day in 1969, when I’d had the encounter with Rod Serling, I knew that it was something that I could never have forgotten. When the first “vision” occurred, accompanied by that same sensation, which I now recognized had within it, a sense of “assurance of purpose”, I knew that I must secure witnesses.
Most of the times that I shared these visions with the various witnesses, I would say something like it may sound crazy, but I’m not asking you to judge; simply remember that on this day, I came to you and asked you to remember (the specific vision).
In most cases the “witness” would more or less comply, and at the appropriate time in the unfolding of this story, the specific variants will
be pointed out. Most of the witnesses were only told the vision that they
were being asked to remember, and many of the witnesses are totally unaware that there was ever more than one vision. A couple of witnesses
were asked to remember more than one future fact, but don’t know most of the other witnesses. No one person was asked to “remember” all of the future facts, but the one person who was a primary or secondary witness to more visions than anyone else is my (ex)-wife of twenty-six years.






In some cases, the witnesses and I have not spoken for decades, and I’ve long since lost track of them. With the computer savvy of the internet children combined with useful “clues” that I can provide to help track them down, any internet child who decides to participate will be able to help locate those witnesses with whom I’ve lost contact.

Let me explain. Below will be a list of names with corresponding numbers. Those numbers are the number(s) of the future facts listed that that particular witness(es) was/were asked to remember. The truth is that some of the witnesses do have ongoing contact with me, but many do not. The person who actually makes contact with the witnesses will be able to “report” back to this blog the confirmation that in fact these sharing of visions did take place. They’ll be able to share with me and all the readers of this blog the reaction of the “witness”(today) after the witness learns that there were many visions, and that they apparently served a purpose beyond anyone’s anticipation, including myself. Remember, these are people who, for the most part promised that they would remember (the sharing of the vision), so that if sometime in the future, they would be asked to verify that which I’ve claimed, they would.
When our internet-child “reporter” explains that there have been many
visions, and that it has all come to serve a larger purpose, the response
from the original witnesses is what our “reporter” will want to take note of; and we will post on this blogthe report turned in. So be sure to
take good notes or to utilize a tape recorder in order to capture the
authentic response to this revelation.


COMMENTARY #1

In October, 2004, a number of newspapers throughout the state of Florida, and throughout the country were given a similar opportunity
to verify the veracity of my claims, and in fact were given similar information so as to assist them in my quest to “warn America”. Not
one of them chose to respond (presumably because they “saw” no story
of merit). These included, but were not limited to:
THE MIAMI HERALD, THE SOUTH FLORIDA SENTINEL, THE
TAMPA TRIBUNE, THE JACKSONVILLE SUN, THE PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER, THE NEW YORK TIMES, THE WALL STREET JOURNAL, THE LOS ANGELES TIMES ETC.

IN THE CASE OF THE SOUTH FLORIDA SENTINEL, I SPECIFICALLY WROTE TO A COLUMNIST, GARY STEIN, AND
APPEALED DIRECTLY TO HIM, SUGGESTING THAT HE BEGIN
WITH DAVE BLADING, BECAUSE, UP UNTIL THAT TIME, THE
STORY REVOLVING AROUND VISION #7 (IRAN/IRAQ WAR), WAS THE MOST DRAMATIC, AND DAVE BLADING COULD HAVE BEEN EASILY REACHED, INASMUCH AS HE LIVED IN
NORTH LAUDERDALE, A SUBURB OF FORT LAUDERDALE
FLORIDA, WHERE THE SOUTH FLORIDA SENTINEL (FORMERLY CALLED THE FORT LAUDERDALE NEWS AND SUN-SENTINEL) IS PUBLISHED. MR. STEIN, OR SOMEONE AT
THE NEWSPAPER MADE THE COMMAND DECISION NOT TO FOLLOW UP ON THE LEAD THAT I GAVE HIM. I AM NOT ANGRY THOUGH. THAT IS BECAUSE GARY STEIN HAD DEMONSTRATED KINDNESS AND CONSIDERATION IN TWO SEPARATE COLUMNS THAT HE’D WRITTEN ABOUT ME DECADES AGO. IT IS WITH REGRET THAT I NOW INFORM MR. STEIN THAT HE PASSED ON WHAT MAY TURN OUT TO BE THE STORY OF THE CENTURY.
IN ONE LAST ATTEMPT TO “ALLOW” THE TRADITIONAL NEWS COMMUNICATION SOURCES TO “BREAK” THE STORY,
I SENT SIMILAR INFORMATION TO THE ST. PETERSBURG TIMES, A PUBLICATION THAT I PERSONALLY DETEST, BUT READ DAILY. IN THIS CASE, NOT ONLY DID I PROVIDE ALL THE INFORMATION OF THE PREVIOUS GROUP OF LETTERS
SENT (WHICH CONTAINED THE FIRST 11 FUTURE FACTS ONLY), BUT IN A REGISTERED LETTER ADDRESSED TO MYSELF, AND SENT TO THE DOWNTOWN OFFICE OF THE “TIMES”, AND PUT IN THE CARE OF SHARON OTTS, SECRETARY FOR THE MANAGING EDITOR STEPHEN BUCKLEY, WAS THE 12TH VISION.
FOR MORE THAN TWENTY-NINE MONTHS, THEY’VE HAD THE OPPORTUNITY TO EXPLOIT THEIR RESOURCES, HUNT DOWN THE WITNESSES AND LEARN THE EXCITING TRUTH; AND DESPITE MY GENERAL DISLIKE FOR THEIR EDITORIAL POSITIONS, I GAVE THEM MORE INFORMATION THAN ANY OTHER NEWSPAPER PREVIOUSLY CONTACTED. YET THEIR INFERIOR INTELLECT AND JOURNALISTIC INSTINCTS (I TRY NOT TO LAUGH), HELPED THEM TO DECIDE TO IGNORE THIS AMAZING STORY.
EVEN AS THIS IS BEING TYPED FOR PLACEMENT ON THE INTERNET, THE ST. PETE TIMES IS SPECULATING ABOUT THE BAHAMIAN BURIAL OF SOME NO-TALENT “STAR”, NAMED ANNA NICOLE SMITH. PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT THE 12TH VISION HAS BEEN IN THE POSSESSION OF THIS WEAK EXCUSE FOR JOURNALISM CALLED THE ST. PETERSBURG TIMES, SINCE JUNE 10, 2005. I APPEAL TO THE INTERNET CHILDREN TO DEMONSTRATE THE USELESSNESS OF SUCH ORGANIZATIONS AS THE POYNTER INSTITUTE (RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ‘TIMES’ PUBLICATION). DO WHAT THEY REFUSED TO DO. SEEK OUT THE TRUTH - IT IS OUT THERE....THEN REPORT BACK WITH WHAT YOU HAVE FOUND.

GOOD LUCK !



PRIMARY WITNESSES VISION #

CPO James Reebuck 1
1st PO Roger A. Diebel 1
2ndPO Ricardo Valdez 1
3rd PO Robbie 1
CWO (Chief Warrant Officer) 1

Julie Grinke 2

Sylvie Anne Letter 3,10,11

Bill Sullivan (Pres. of APWU local) 4

“Mimi” 5

Pete Gannon 6,9

Dave Blading 7

German Tourists 8
Pete Gannon 9

Steven Swinscoe 10
Claudine Swinscoe 10
Sylvie Anne Letter 10
Manuel Thome 11
Matthew Letter 11
Sylvie Anne Letter 11


Tracey Sperry 12
Charles McNees 12
Laura Adams 12


In addition, there are many secondary witnesses for some of the future facts, either by intent or because of inadvertent developments. Remember, this may sound like fun, but the truth is that this IS NOT A GAME. THE VERY FUTURE OF OUR REPUBLIC MAY HANG IN THE BALANCE.


Future fact # 1 : I entered the Navy in Feb., 1971. I took boot camp at Great Lakes Naval Station, in Waukegan, Ill. and trained at Bainbridge, Md., Radioman “A” School. Though I began working at The Atlantic Fleet Weapons Range War Game Center, at Roosevelt Roads Naval Air Station, at Ceiba, Puerto Rico, by June of 1972, I had volunteered to learn how to become a drug and alcohol rehabilitation counselor, a part of the larger “People Programs” initiated by the late, great Adm. Elmo Zumwalt, CNO of the USN (1970-1974).
I only went to the tenth grade, and I was going to be working with officers and non-commissioned officers, some of whom were college-
educated, and all of whom were many years older than myself. The last thing that I wanted to do was to say something so stupid that those responsible for the division might suggest that I was perhaps “not right” for the position.
When the burglary occurred, the San Juan Star printed a small three-paragraph story somewhere in the middle of the newspaper. The morn-
ing after, I had my first vision (with the recognizable sensation ), and since the sensation communicated an “assurance of purpose”, I knew that I must obtain a witness. I decided over breakfast that I would raise the subject at work during our morning meeting.

Each morning, we would have a meeting in which the responsibilities of the day were divided and explained. It was the Counseling and Rehabilitation Effort (CARE), until the so-called charity of the same name threatened legal action unless we changed ours. We were ordered to change the name - and became the Counseling and Assistance Center (CAAC). We had a 24-hour hotline, and a thirtyday out-patient counseling program. We would screen clients (recommending on occasion that a particular client needed more serious treatment), and work with various “cutting-edge techniques” in an effort to assist as many sailors (and a few waves) as possible, whether they arrived voluntarily, or in an effort to keep them from being discharged from the service.
If I came off as some kind of loony tune, I might lose my position, so I waited for the right moment, took a deep breath, interrupted the meeting (at an appropriate juncture), and said, “I have an announcement to make.”
“By all means, make it,” responded the CWO, the senior officer in the room.
“The burglary at the Watergate Hotel...”
“What about it?”, asked the CWO.
“Before the investigation is over, President Nixon will resign.”
Silence.
After the silence, guffaws. They were falling out of chairs, they were laughing so hard. The CWO came over and put his arm around me,
and said, “Son, don’t you know that in all of American history, only one man has ever been impeached, and he was acquitted?”
“I don’t need a history lesson,” I said, while twisting my upper body in a manner that indicated that I’d prefer he remove his arm. “I stand by what I say. You can laugh if you want to, but in the end Nixon will resign.”
The laughter continued.
“Just remember that I was the one that told you.”

Right now let’s discuss what we know about these witnesses. It should
be noted that the two most important witnesses in this tale are James Reebuck and Roger A. Diebel.
Chief Reebuck was married to a teacher, and had a little girl. He drove
a Camaro. I believe he stayed for the entire career, so you probably can locate him through the Bureau of Naval Personnel (BUPERS). He might belong to a CPO organization or affiliated with some military lodge. A tall, rugged man, he was generally soft-spoken, and he did play some guitar. One last thing - he is an airplane pilot.
At the time of the announcement of the first vision, Roger A. Diebel called Minnesota home. He played guitar often, and I believe may have
toiled in bands. I believe that he was a storekeeper just as I was a radioman. Roger was also married, and like Jim, their good-looking
wives were both tall. Roger was still working with me (in August, 1974),
when President Nixon resigned. I presume that he too made a career out
of the Navy, and that Bupers might be a logical place to start.
Of course it should be obvious that these men were stationed at Roos. Rds. in the early 70’s.
Ricardo Valdez was from Puerto Rico. As recently as 1974, he may have
been living in Carolina (a suburb of San Juan).
Robbie got out of the Navy a short time after I began working at the center. I believe that he lived in New Jersey.
The CWO officer was a 30ish tall black man with a simple name. I know that he was married, and I think that he had three children.



Future Fact# 2: In the Autumn of 1972 I began dating Julie Grinke. Julie’s father, Commander Grinke was an officer of considerable importance at Roosevelt Roads. We were dating about a year when I told her the story about the prediction that I’d made in June of 1972.

After telling her the story, I told her that I’d selected her to be the one for a second vision that had occurred to me. This vision was the simplest
of any of the visions, and the only one that was a date. I told her that
“Something concerning the upcoming resignation of President Nixon
will occur on May 10, 1974.” She suggested that we check the news-paper on May 11th, 1974.
Unfortunately, we had a falling out in February of 1974. The edition of
The San Juan Star on May 11, 1974 was:

“RUMOR SWEEPS D.C.; RESIGNATION NEAR”

In 1974, Commander Grinke was transferred to NAS Pensacola in Florida. Julie was listed in the Who’s Who of High Schools in the
United States. She might be a member (past or present) of MENSA.


Future Fact# 3: In the Spring of 1976 I had a vision that was actually an
image. The image was what appeared to be a “celebration” of some type
on what appeared to be a baseball field. Although there was movement,
the image itself was restricted to about two seconds. The key to this vision, was that I was able to make out five player’s names: Boone, Bowa, Carlton, Maddox, and Schmidt.
The vision was quite clear. “Before (these) five players would depart the
team, the Philadelphia Phillies would win their first World Series in his-
tory. At first, I hadn’t planned to share this vision with anyone, but a
funny thing happened on the way to my date with destiny; I met a woman who eventually became my wife.
Later will be the complete story, and it is the most amazing story
of all, but due to its length and complexity, here I’m simply sharing the
facts surrounding the experience. I shared with this young foreign-born
woman, the vision, and it was extremely difficult because of her total unfamiliarity with baseball.
As our relationship blossomed (I’m embarrassed to say), many of my love letters to her were not much more than the progress of the Phillies
in 1976. In addition to that, I kept scrapbooks for three years, recording every story, photo, box score and standings; all while courting, marry-ing, and starting a family with Sylvie Anne Scharf, of Strasbourg, France.
By 1979, We were married, with one child and one on the way. The
Phillies (the all-time worst professional team in the history of profes-
sional sports anywhere in the world; to put it in perspective, the Chi-
cago Cubs are the second all-time worst team), had won their division
three years in a row, and three years in a row lost in the playoffs.
I actually went to my wife and told her that my visions had never been
wrong, so it must be me. I explained that perhaps I wanted the Phillies
to win so badly, that perhaps the image was simply the team celebrating
a lesser event such as the Division championship. I told her that I was withdrawing the “vision”.
This came as a relief to her. There’d be an end to newspaper piles (scrapbook cutouts) and endless talk of baseball. We were growing as a family, and a change in priorities was in order. In 1979, I kept no scrapbooks, and forgot about my “vision”. The Phillies finished fourth that year.
In the Spring of 1980, I again had the “sensation” yet no new message.
It is the only time that I experienced the “assurance of purpose” twice
for the same vision. Trying to be sensitive to my wife’s feelings, I promised to make only weekly updates.
For those of you who are not familiar with baseball, the Phillies did win in 1980. They were the last of the original Major League Baseball teams still in existence to win the World Series, and have to this day only done it once.


Sylvie Anne Letter lives in Lyon, France. (Hint: The name Letter is extremely rare even in the United States).


Future Fact# 4: Twice in the series of visions the vision came while I was engaged in conversation with someone. On this particular occasion, I was speaking with the APWU local President of the main processing facility at Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Newly elected President Carter had
just given a speech (shortly after his inauguration), and I wanted to ex-
press support for the President’s request of us.
Our postal union, along with the letter-carriers association, was negotiating with postal management for a new contract. The President
had requested that we accept the offer given in an effort to assist him in
implementing his economic policies. I suggested to our union President,
Bill Sullivan, that we support the President, and “make the sacrifice” for him. I had voted for Sen. Eugene McCarthy in 1976, but felt that
Carter deserved our support. That’s all that I wanted to say. His
response however, floored me.
“What do you know”, he growled, “you’re just a PTF!”

A PTF (normally a recently hired worker - part-time flexible), is only
just starting out, usually with little or no knowledge of the work, not
to mention the history of management/labor relations, and the general
desire of the rank and file. I was no different, but I thought that it would be a good idea to give him a chance. Besides, the APWU gave
Jimmy Carter their support when he was running for office.
At that moment I felt the “sensation” and the words simply poured from my mouth. I said, “The President doesn’t realize it, but he’s dealt the union aces. He says that he needs us to tighten the belt, and be the first to make a sacrifice. I don’t have faith in his economic policies, but if we make the “sacrifice” for our President and his policies do work, we’ll be the heroes, having been the [first] to sacrifice for our President. If his economic policies fail, the union will be totally united as never before. In either scenario the union wins, because we’ll be renegotiating our contract when he’ll be running for re-election.”
“I’m sure we’ll take our chances with arbitration.”
“And you’ll be making a big mistake. Look, we’re not rich, but we’re not exactly poverty-stricken either. The contract that he’s offering will be for three years, and when it expires he’ll be running for re-election.
If you go to arbitration, there’s no guarantee that you’ll end up with a
three year contract. “
I continued, “Bill, you can have all the credit. Take the idea and call it your own; it’s a strategy that can’t lose.”
“I’m sure the ‘big boys’ will go with arbitration,” was all that he would
say.
“Just remember, I tried to warn you.”
This took place on the floor of the main post office in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. As recently as 2004, Bill Sullivan was some sort of mid-level union representative, working in Tampa. This guy is a weasel. When you question him, it’s important that you be prepared:
a) ask Bill if he remembers the above conversation at the end of January/early February of 1977. When he says no;
b) ask if he remembers in 1981, just before the “big meeting” (next contract), Jeffrey M. Letter’s pleas to help Lech Welesa. When
he says no;
c) ask if he remembers when Jeffrey M. Letter (inspired by
M.A.D.D.), proposed one or two “weekends” per year with no alcohol
served at the union hall. When he says no;
d) ask if he remembers using his position as union president to “walk the (workroom) floor”, ruthlessly defaming my character. When
he says no;
e) ask if he remembers when the union attorney “advised” closing (temporarily), the union hall (it was closed for two years). By this time
it will not matter any more what he says, but;
f) ask if he remembers when a representative of the union and one
of management were caught conspiring against me (collusion).



Future Fact# 5: I was introduced to Presidential candidate (1980) Phil
Crane (R-Ill.) in April, and it’s the only link that I have to the fifth vision, which was that Sen. Eugene McCarthy would support whichever
candidate the Republicans would nominate.
The link was that when I met the congressman I apologized for having
supported McCarthy in 1976. He told me that there was no need to apologize because Gene and he were friends, inasmuch as they were both teachers. He went on to say that in fact Gene was a lot closer on current issues to the Republicans than the Democrats.
He said nothing else on the subject that day. It was still several days
before the vision. When it happened, I decided to share that vision with my sister, “Mimi”.
In this one case, I request that the internet children NOT seek out this witness. That is because she is literally caring for our fragile mother.
I contacted her a couple of months ago and queried her about the in-
cident....the results of which I’ll slip in after 50% of the witnesses have
been located (I do not want to prejudice the outcome of your research).


Future Fact# 6: This was the first time that I started calling my visions
“Future Facts”. I was always vocal, but at this time, I was becoming al-
most brazen. Most of my co-workers were Democrats (as I had been, until 1980), and the news media had been trying to brainwash us for weeks that at the very best, Ronald Reagan might just squeak by with a victory....I stated to anyone and everyone that “Not only will Reagan win in a landslide, but that it will be the first wave of a conservative movement not seen in this country for a generation.”
My primary witness is Pete Gannon. Pete lives in Margate, Florida.
There were other “primary witnesses” such as Rick Kirkpatrick, Ed
Glintz, and even Dave Blading, but Pete and I have had ongoing contact
over the years. Generally, anyone who worked in sections 33317 and 33314 inside the main processing center in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, would have some remembrance, plus Carol Nardjowski, Jim Fuller,
Jim Woods, Barney and other(supervisors circa 1980).

Future Fact# 7: On September 25, 1980, two days after the start of the Iraq/Iran War, I sought out David Blading, as I wanted to share with him my latest Future Fact. I recognized Dave as extremely intelligent, and this was such a bizarre vision (the second to be only an image), that I needed someone of his intellect.
Long story short, after I explained the vision to him, he became very
agitated (his major was Military History), said that I was an a-hole, and
that he never wanted to speak to me again. He did not speak to me for an entire year; and at that time we came to an understanding. As with the story of the Phillies, the story is so complex, that it will be explained a little later.
There were many secondary witnesses because of Dave’s dramatic de-
parture from where we were working that night when I shared the vision. Again, any worker in the 33317 or 33314 section would be a likely candidate. Perhaps they overheard the argument. Perhaps Dave sat next to them that night, retelling (in anger) the exchange. Perhaps it’s someone who simply learned during the course of the year in which we did not even make eye contact, why he was avoiding me.
I had awoken that day in September, with an image in my head. The best way to explain it would be for me to ask you to think of a time that you saw a picture which “reminded” you of an event that HAD ALREADY TAKEN PLACE. The image in my head “reminded” me of an event AS IF it had already taken place, and I was simply remember-ing it (because of the image).
The image itself was that of two ships whose darkened silhouettes made it difficult to distinguish their nationalities. Behind them were large clouds that billowed and were very wide as well as tall, filling the sky.
It caused me to “remember” that “The fighting (could) not end until naval vessels of both the Soviet Union and the United States (were) involved (in the Iran/Iraq War), but not necessarily in combat with one another.”
Dave Blading died a year ago last August. No one knows exactly when because he was not discovered for several days. It’s breaking my heart to finally put on-line the truth, and why I hold the media in such low regard.
Pete Gannon is a secondary witness, and may be able to guide you towards people who were there that night, or somehow picked up ad-
ditional perspectives. It will be much more clear after the full story is told.

Future Fact# 8: This particular Future Fact will probably be the most difficult to verify. This one involves a number of German tourists who spoke with me in a shop in August, 1989. Those of you who are very adept at utilizing the internet will be most likely to unravel this mystery.
It is only because of the “shocking” nature of this Future Fact that it will have “secured” an indelible memory amongst these particular tourists. In order to be assured of finding the right people, one or more of the persons contacted will have to recall the city, the type of store (I wouldn’t expect them to remember the name of the store, but they should be able to remember the type), the number of “tourists” in the
group; being able to identify the number of women and men in the group would be a “plus”.
Looking again at the Future Fact, one should note that though only
one of the tourists did all the talking, the others, obviously understanding English, gave rapt attention. This was the second “fact”
that occurred to me even as I was in the middle of our conversation
(the other one being #4), and when the words of the fall of the Berlin
Wall came out, the Germans were clearly nonplussed. After a moment
or two of silence, the primary spokesperson, “reminded” me that Ger-
many was where they lived (the implication being that they know a
little more about the history and conditions of [West] Germany than
some American), “...and if the Berlin Wall is going to fall, it certainly
won’t be in our lifetime.”
“Happily for you,” I responded, “you are completely wrong. Not only
will the Berlin Wall fall in our lifetime, it’s fall is imminent.” Naturally,
this response “angered” the group, and they departed shortly after, with
them discussing (in German) my comments, though my lack of knowledge of German made it impossible to know exactly what they were saying to each other.
I fully expect this Future Fact to be the last confirmed (if ever), but re-
member this, particularly those of you too young to remember the fall
of the Berlin Wall. It symbolized the division of East and West. It had been erected decades before, and at the time of the vision (as reflected in the comments of the German), the generally held belief in 1989 was that
we were no closer to its destruction than the week that it had begun construction. The wall fell less than three months later, and there is no doubt in my mind that this “conversation” that had taken place was “retold” by one or more of those German tourists again and again. If you have knowledge of German yourself, you obviously will have an advantage in “hunting” for these tourists.
Remember: the person that you make contact with MUST be able to
identify the city, the type of store, and the number of people in the group. Anything less will be unacceptable. Since we want you to act as
“reporters”, when you do make contact, recording (in writing or verbally), their “reaction” to seeing the Wall fall so soon after the con-
versation is invaluable.
The only secondary witness is Sylvie Anne Letter, who was “informed”
of that incident later that day.
Future Fact# 9: This Fact was shared with Pete Gannon, of Margate,
Florida. Please note that earlier I wrote that my accuracy was virtu-
ally 100%. This Future Fact is the only one that was not exact. If you
check the “fact”, you’ll note that I’d stated that “...a third party would rise up by 1992 to challenge the major parties in the ‘92 [presidential contest].” In actuality, Ross Perot ran in ‘92, as an independent; the Reform Party itself was not created until after the ‘92 election.
This is the only Future Fact (of those that have already come true), that
was slightly off, but garnering twenty million votes as an independent was no small accomplishment.
Future Fact# 10: Now we’re getting into serious territory. Just as future fact # 3 transcends the entire list of Future Facts (and this will be more
clearly understood when the entire story is read later on), this Future Fact started out (in November, 1992), as the MOST puzzling of the predictions. Now, due to recent events, it has become the KEY to
unlocking the secret behind why for three decades, it has been my burden to endure the ridicule, sarcasm, disbelief, mockery, as well as fatigue (on the part of those in my closest circle of family and friendships). Oh, yes, and the visions.
As if one who’d just completed a jigsaw puzzle in which all the pieces were blank we now turn this completed puzzle over, where we discover a WELL DEFINED, CLEARLY SEEN FUTURE, AND IT IS NOT PRETTY. Even in the time passed between October 7, 2004 (when I wrote to Gary Stein), and March 7, 2007 (the date that this is being typed), many questions have been answered, and back in October, of ‘04 I was damn close already.
On November 4, 1992, less than twenty-four hours after William
Jefferson Clinton had been elected President, I called my brother-in-
law, an American living in the south of France. I had spoken to him
in the past about my “Future Facts”, and was now asking him to be-
come a witness. In his particular case, I asked him to remember VERBATIM, “In the end they will say, that it was SHE, who was the
evil one.” First, please note that the emphasis indicated in writing above
is an accurate reflection of the inflection communicated in the originally
stated prediction. Second, please note that when I awoke with the now quite familiar “sensation”, that there was, in addition to the vision, an unmistakable understanding that the witness be able to “mimic” the
inflection if and when asked to do so. This was the ONLY time in more
than three decades, that “my source” of these visions - whatever it may be - communicated that I should request this of a witness.
Because of our relationship, initially, and on not a few other occasions
over the course of many years, we discussed this particular Future Fact
precisely because of its unique and enigmatic qualities.
It was noted that there was no doubt that it was Hillary Rodham Clinton (and Steve volunteered immediately that it was her), but this was incredible! We could not think of ANY First Lady that had ever been defined in that manner, specifically acknowledging that even
Nancy Reagan had “won” the grudging respect of what is now referred to as “the drive-by media”. We could not imagine what this First Lady-elect could possibly do to be so noted.
The second problem was the word evil. Evil is a powerful word, and in today’s climate, one not to be tossed about arbitrarily; if the word were to be applied, it must be in the proper context. It was agreed that she would not be an Antichrist, and it certainly did not seem that this woman who was soon to be the wife of the President, could be compared one-on-one with a Hitler, a Mao, or an Amin.
The only way that it could possibly make any sense at all, would be IF
she were being compared to Bill Clinton. At the time, that seemed al-
most as implausible as the evil leaders mentioned in the previous para-
graph. Yet, I recall that that had been agreed to as the most logical
of the explanations.
In late January, of 2007, Hillary Clinton was having a “conversation”
with some folk in Iowa, when a gentleman inquired as to her confidence
in herself as president to be able to deal with “...evil and bad men...”. Her response (“What in my background equips me to deal with evil and
bad men?”), struck me as if by a thunderbolt. I almost immediately called by brother-in-law, still living in France.
After explaining what I’d heard he agreed, that if true, it would make
sense out of a mysterious prediction from fifteen years before. We had already come to an agreement that it must be Bill to whom she would be compared, but we LACKED A CONTEXT FOR COMPARISON. We no longer lacked the context. In other words, we could never come up with a scenario in which THE GENERAL PUBLIC would even have a reason to compare Hillary to Bill with respect to who is MORE EVIL.

Now that SHE had delivered that “cutesy” remark, which had ‘em
laughing at her sly allusion to Bill (the stated belief of attendees and
press alike), SHE had set the stage - with her own words no less - to
make this vision another soon-to-be confirmed Future Fact.
Steve and Claudine Swinscoe live in Le Houga, France. As stated
before, concerning Sylvie Anne Letter, the name Letter is extremely
rare in France.



Future Fact# 11: The three persons that are primary witnesses are Man
uel Thome, last known to be attending the University of Lille (France)
as recently as 2000; Sylvie Anne Letter; and Matthew Letter, currently
residing in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
Please note the irony of the Future Fact in question. As I have ex-
plained to at least one of the “traditional” communication institutions,
if there was anyway to accomplish this and remain anonymous, I would.
To overstate the obvious, that, for me, is no longer a realistic possibility.
Future Fact# 12: Here we are. This is the big one. Or should I say the
big three. This Future Fact is actually three predictions in one:


a) “When President Hillary Clinton...” is the first of the three. There
is no doubt that this prediction, first declared in mid-2000, indicates
that Hillary Clinton will be the President of the United States.
b) “...declares martial law...” definitely indicates that under her “rule” a police state would come into being, ensuring that most people
would agree that she was more “evil” than Bill.
c) “...some members of the media will respond to the effect - ‘Well,
it must be necessary; after all, everyone knows that she’s a liberal’.”
Wow! When I think of the various predictions that had been made,
covering political events, sports, union contracts; and now, the third
part of this prediction is about the media itself.

Without a doubt this is the most complex of the Future Facts, and it
is THIS prediction that finally (and especially after the “Hillaffair”
in Iowa), completed the puzzle that began being assembled the weekend after the burglary at the Watergate Hotel in Washington D.C., in June, 1972.
Laura Adams and Charles McNees live in Clearwater, Florida.
Tracey Sperry was, as recently as 2006, living in the Syracuse, New
York area.


COMMENTARY #2


At this point I need to clarify a few things. Over the years, I’ve heard
from time to time, usually by a close family member(s), that I really
need to curtail my ego. At the very beginning of this site is a quote of
mine, “The greatest difficulty associated with a superior intellect, is
being surrounded by inferior minds”. I know that that sounds arrogant.
It certainly IS intended to grab one’s attention. It certainly is not an at-
tack against the “average Joe”, of which I consider myself to be a proud
member, complete with patriotic fervor.
The persons to whom it speaks to are the “leaders” on local, statewide,
and national levels; our educators, both at the rudimentary, and at the collegiate level (which today is often awash in remedial courses). There are our modern writers, including but not limited to screenwriters of television and the film industry. There are the businessmen, and
when I say businessmen, think:


a) businesses hiring illegal immigrants;
b) CEO’s that run companies into the ground, and then are reward-
ed with generous severance packages;
c) closed factories and transferred work to foreign countries, especially China;
d) businesses (primarily restaurants and farms) that continue
to successfully lobby for and obtain exemption from the minimum wage
laws;
(This is particularly ironic for me personally because I do not believe
in the worthiness of the minimum wage law - elsewhere on the blog is
additional explanations of my reasoning - but if there is to be one it
should include waitresses and farm workers.)

There are also religious leaders (for my purposes, with respect to dom-
estic religions, I do write elsewhere on this site specifically for Christian
leaders as I am a Christian; I make no pretense of “right” on my part
to speak about other religion’s practices in detail). There are youth
leaders, neighbors, and most importantly, parents. That’s right, parents.As in this society will not survive without intact families willing to carry on in the well trodden tradition of, you know, REPRODUCTION. Abortion, plus illegal immigration, equals NATIONAL SUICIDE.
I mean, if you want your kids, (those of you who have families), to have
a society that hopefully resembles what - for me, at fifty-four- is be-
coming a rapidly fading memory, wait no longer. When one considers that we are referring to what is unquestionably the single greatest
nation ever to exist in history (on so many levels that it’s difficult to cal-
culate), and the oldest existing continuous republic, the imperative to “preserve” our nation cannot be overstated nor its preservation be considered anything less than paramount.
Because of my unique, life-long burden of clearly seeing the future,
often years before it is “an accepted real-time reality”, I have spent
many an hour reading, in search of knowledge and understanding,
and have formed what I believe are sound ideas that, if implemented, would go a long way towards helping our country to rapidly evolve
into a society where the frail would be at ease, fear of crime would rap-
idly decline, where our police would have widespread community sup-
port, and where we once again would produce more tightly-knit, co-
hesive neighborhoods; communities where our children could once a-
gain engage in benign, reckless abandonment.
So for the purposes of this commentary accept at face value for the moment that elsewhere on this site is enough supportive information to justify my addressing our leaders in all aspects of society so indignantly. They are killing us, literally, by the poor choices they’ve been making, in ever-increasing numbers, as the many of you shaking your heads in
agreement already know.
We hear people from coast to coast crying out for someone who has the ability to not only understand the problems we face, but to be able to both define them in a way that all can understand, and propose solutions that would produce a more tranquil, free society. I believe that if you take the time to read this blog in its entirety, that you will agree that not only am I qualified to run for the Presidency, but that my imperfect past is littered with one documented example after another in which I have unselfishly given of myself, even to the point of risking 20 years imprisonment for a principle which, would not even have benefited me. I would humbly suggest that that would be, except for the sacrifice of one’s life for another, about the most altruistic act an individual might offer any group of people.
It isn’t as if I’ve had no political experience at all. In 1984, after
dedicating my feeble efforts to the memory of George Orwell, I sought
the nomination from the Republican Party (in Fla. Dist. 88 - land of
the now-infamous “butterfly ballot”), where in my short, low-budget
campaign, I championed a platform of deporting illegal aliens, mak-
ing English the official language of Florida, and legalizing marijuana
(to tax it and use the revenue raised to fight the importation of the
more dangerous drugs), and I was the “religious candidate”.
Against attorney Jeanne Faiks, a politician who had deep roots in the
community, and was running for this office a third time, I managed, with my GED in hand, a respectable 40% in the primary.
In 2003, I attended the Libertarian convention in Orlando, Florida,
where I announced my intention to seek the nomination for the United States Senate. Already, ten days after I announced on a national radio show that I’d “...waited twenty years to go toe-to-toe with you Bob (Graham, incumbent Sen. [D], Fla.), and I’m going to beat you, beat you in a third-party, and with the slimmest budget of any victorious senatorial campaign in ‘04”, the co-author of the Patriot Act “shocked” the political world not only by suddenly announcing his intention to run for the Presidency, but the manner of the delivery of his announcement baffled his closest supporters. He vociferously declared that “I’m not here to tell you that I am running for President, I’m saying that I will BE the next president.” If you’re not a Floridian, and not familiar with “the most popular politician in the history of Florida”, then you can’t possibly know how UNCHARACTERISTIC of him that was; but the manner of his delivery was suspiciously similar to my delivery when I challenged him on the radio show. In addition, when his closest advisor of 35 years was asked how long the Senator had been considering a run for the Presidency, this intimate aide said flatly, “It’s news to me.”
Another thing. Sen. Graham was Chairman of the Senate Intelligence
Subcommittee. He had access to records that most Congressmen can’t
even get near. He knows who I am, and why I was so anxious to write his political epitaph. I defy the Senator to state otherwise.
If you accept at face value that which I claim, but believe my ego is
too enormous for one human being, fine; find someone who has pro-
posed the kinds of workable solutions that I have (stated elsewhere on
this site), and I will be the first in line to offer my support. On the
other hand, twice in the past I have stepped forth to offer my un-
selfish service to my country, and twice I have been rejected. I will not “ask” again. If there are those of you out there who would use
the internet to create a widespread movement to “draft” me, with
enough participants to make it a worthy endeavor, I would be both honored and humbled that you would entrust in me, such a grave responsibility as seeking the most powerful political position on Earth.
Short of that, the best that I will be able to offer is my “Warning to
America”, born in the Future Facts, and developed with the help of
several decades of (informal) study.


Future Fact# 13: This is the most recent and FINAL Future Fact. When
I felt the “sensation”, I understood that there will be no more. That is a
fact. Short of battling the forces of evil directly, in a head-to-head com-
petition with the very symbol of “evil” herself, the best that I can hope to accomplish is to help stop Future Fact # 12 from coming true.
The point of gathering the witnesses is to buoy my credibility, so that
in combination with my history of taking the “standard” and leading
the charge, enough people might be convinced to help to “change the
course of ‘future’ history”; if we can stop Sen. Clinton (who symbolizes
the forces of darkness, meaning those who would destroy our sovereign-
ity), then the forces of light will have demonstrated that they can stop
the final Future Fact as well.
On November 5, 2008 (GMT), the final Future Fact will be revealed.
Presuming that I do not get “drafted”, our best hope will be to stop
Hillary, and those (of both parties) fostering evil. If we fail, there is
no doubt in my mind, that once the final Future Fact is revealed, it
will weigh heavily on the consciences of every American who failed
to heed the call.









Future Facts; the (nearly) Complete Story

The story begins innocently enough on May 6, 1961. On that day my father gave me a nickel
and asked me to go to the street corner to purchase a newspaper. I walked the short distance to
the corner, past the movie theater that we lived next to on Chelten Avenue in Philadelphia, the
city of my birth. I plunked the nickel into the newspaper dispenser and pulled one copy out.
Upon returning home the first thing that my father asked me as I came through the front door
was, “What’s the headline say?”
“What’s a headline?”
“It’s the large print at the top of the page.”
“It says Philadelphia Daily News.”
“Below that.”
The headline read: SHEPPARD ORBITS EARTH
I read the headline aloud. Long after the congratulations that my father offered me for taking a
step forward had been forgotten, the image remained in my brain. I began to notice the headlines more and more. I confess that I was the kind of kid who would take his “new” reading book at school (think John, Jean, and Judy), and look up the words in the glossary at the rear, so I’d know in advance what new words we’d be learning. I love words.
SIDEBAR # 1

When I was young, I went to Catholic school. I prayed often. It was a part of the curriculum.
I come from a large family. Dutifully praying on my knees, and asking for blessings for the principles
in my life, numbering as many as they did, resulted in a daily discomfort that was accepted by me as another obligatory experience of Catholicism. When I was about seven, I became aware of how
dismally bad my favorite baseball team (Phillies) really was. They are to this day, the all-time worst
professional team of any sport or league on Earth.
Considering how uncomfortable I was there kneeling on the wooden floor, reeling off the names
of my brothers and sisters, asking for their protection, I began to rationalize petitioning the Lord
to “allow” the Phillies to “win the pennant”. Considering my devotion, I hoped that he’d listen. I
probably did that all through the ‘62 season.
Note: I realize that this incidental seems irrelevant, and there will be subsequent “observations” that also will appear puzzling with respect to their inclusion. In order to tell a lengthy story in an abbreviated manner, I will employ this technique.

I was living in Troy, Ohio, on November 22nd, 1963; it was a day that would change me forever.
Of course, I had no way of knowing that, that Friday morning. I only knew that it was my mother’s
birthday. I would never look forward with equal zeal to her birthday again. The impact of the event
(and subsequent murder of the primary suspect), was not lost on me, and immediately, I began
to read the newspaper daily, in order to more clearly understand the events of the day, which swirled
around me in an ever-growing crescendo of discordant voices.
By June of 1968, we were living in Plantation, Florida, and the Rev. Martin Luther King had already been killed. My brother Bob, had roused me from my sleep, because he was removing the pillow from under my head. He coaxed me into the living room with an unbelievable tale of murder, and as I stood in the middle of my living room at 3:00am, watching the blood flowing from the back of Bobby Kennedy’s head, I made a vow. I promised myself that no matter what course my life would take, I would always stand up for those incapable of doing so for themselves, whether it be because of their weakness, their fear, or their ignorance; I would not tolerate injustice in my “sphere of influence” irregardless of sacrifices that I might be required to make.
I reasoned that these were good, if imperfect men. As long as someone would be willing to take their place in the fight against evil, then this country’s existence would remain valid; but should we
become intimidated by those who foster evil, then we’d no longer be worthy of the title, “American”.
It was about eighteen months later that I would experience my first “sensation”, that led to the
unusual encounter with Rod Serling.
(This is not an autobiography in the strictest sense of the word. There is an interesting series of events that occurred in the Spring of 1970. In reference to that time period, I often say that I spent
a “lifetime in Detroit one Spring”. There is a technically minor event that indirectly relates to the main theme. However, I’m not going to spend five pages writing, simply to “note” one minor point. It will be addressed elsewhere at a later date).
When I went into the Navy, I was trained as a radioman and stationed at the War Game center
at Roosevelt Roads Naval Air Station. It was, at the time, the largest naval base that we had in the
world. I say had because, as many of you already know, this was the military base where people such
as Ricky Martin and Danny Glover protested about the bombing (of Vieques) as a part of the military exercises. It’s only fair that you know that (as usual), the “media” did a horrible job of explaining the importance of this military base as a strategic element of our preparation for war.
The base consisted of eight-thousand (8,000) mountainous acres, and in addition to that, a thirty-
five-thousand (35,000) square mile underwater submarine tracking range, in which, a series of land, sea, and air exercises were conducted. The Puerto Rican Trench (the deepest part of the Atlantic, and which lies just north of the island of Puerto Rico), was perfect for that which was required. In addition, were the islands of Culebra and Vieques. I was more familiar with Culebra as a support facility, though I imagine some amphibious assault training was conducted there. Vieques was used (though it was in theory restricted to the unpopulated side of the island), for various types of bombing exercises and amphibious assaults. In order to put in perspective as to how remote an area this was, the film, “Lord of the Flies” was produced here.
It should be understood that these war games were not restricted to the United States’ Navy. Navies from all over the free world would participate. In addition was an airport, a hospital, and
a variety of other services and facilities. I remember one event shortly after the “liberals” succeeded in pressuring the government to stop the bombing. The Governor of Puerto Rico called then-Defense Secretary Rumsfeld to explain that no one was asking the government to shut down the base (which provided many civilian jobs for the locals in Ceiba and Fajardo), only to stop the bombing. The Secretary’s response was, “Mr. Governor, with out the [war games] there is no need for the base”. I only hope that Mssrs. Glover and Martin were able to help those that they put out of work.
While stationed at Roosevelt Roads, I volunteered for an “experimental” program initiated by
the Chief of Naval Operations, Adm. Elmo Zumwalt. The aspect for which I volunteered was drug and alcohol counseling. In my studies and training, I went to NAS Jacksonville, the University of Miami, and even Thomas More College in Covington, Ky., though in the end I was only a mediocre counselor. To begin with I was only 18, and had dropped out of school in the tenth grade. I still had not even a General Equivalency Diploma.
I started in mid-Spring of 1972, and it was very important to me that I fit in. Most everyone that
I worked with was many years older than I was, and some had been to college. I wanted to be able
to demonstrate that I had talents that I could offer the clients at this 24-hr. crisis center and out-
patient treatment facility. So it was especially disturbing to me when I felt the first “sensation” that
was also accompanied by a “vision”.
The “sensation” I immediately recognized as the same as that day in St. Petersburg, back in 1969.
Imagine if you will that your entire body senses physically what one would describe visually as
a glow. That is the most succinct way to describe it. Distinct, yet soft. Pleasant, yet not overwhelming.
Most importantly, was the additional understanding that associated with this “vision”, was a sense of “assurance of purpose”. The “sensation” and “assurance of purpose” has been uniformly similar
for each of the Future Facts up to the last. This description shall not be repeated.
At first, when I awoke that morning, I thought of telling one of the guys that I bunked with, but
the more that I thought of it, the more that I realized that most of the guys that I was hanging out with were as young as me, and usually not as mature. After I traveled to the other side of the base,
I stopped to have breakfast at the Mariposa (Cafe), and while eating realized that this was too im-
portant for bunkmates; this would have to be shared with someone of significance. It was June, 1972. The burglary had occurred on a Friday in Washington D.C. and I read about it that weekend in a small article around page thirteen, perhaps three paragraphs at most. When I awoke on Monday, the (upcoming) resignation was ALREADY something that I was “remembering”.
When I would think ----President Nixon resigned---- I was remembering his resignation as IF IT
HAD ALREADY HAPPENED. In virtually every case (image or print) the “memory” aspect is the
same, with two exceptions. Those will be discussed later. In this case, it was words, as stated above.
It usually was words. Twice there was an image. What I’ve not been able to understand, is how I have been able to extrapolate complex ideas from a few words or an image. I can only suggest, though inexact, that as is the case with “memory” of the vision itself, it’s already “imbedded” in my mind for “recall”.
So I had made up my mind to reveal the experience at our morning meeting on that Monday. As
best as my memory can recall, there was a CWO, Chief Reebuck, Roger Diebel, Robbie, and Ricardo
Valdez. There may have been someone else there, though I can’t remember anyone else. Understand
that there were a few others who either worked there at that time or joined us a short time later. At the appropriate moment, I spoke up (as indicated in Section I-C).

SIDEBAR #2


At this point it’s necessary to review my “extra-curricular” activities while serving in the Navy:

a) when in boot camp it came time to take the GCT/ARI (a test designed to help determine what work we would do), I cheated. In the mechanical section I answered several questions incorrectly on purpose. I did not want to work with “grease” nor “blueprints”. What happened was that out of more than sixty men, all of whom themselves had at least a high school diploma (except me), some even having graduated from college, I finished second, and only four points below eligibility for OCS (Officer Candidate School). Interestingly, we were permitted to retake all or any portion of the test, but only once. After I realized that I was only four points short of OCS eligibility, I was tempted to ask our Company Commander Mr. Stant, to retake that one portion of the test. There was only one problem though. Mr. Stant was a Machinist’s mate, and a Chief Petty Officer. I honestly didn’t want to explain to him that I had no intention of engaging in what was his life’s work. I respected him too much. Hell, I wrote the words to our identifying Company cadence.
b) When I was stationed at Roos. Rds. we experienced the first “energy crisis”. Noting the size
of the base, in an effort to promote better health and save energy, I lobbied (through the chain-of-
command) for bicycle paths, to be built around the base. Many miles were laid, primarily in the
housing section.
c) One of my duties was to give indoctrination lectures to new arrivals. When I was first selected
for this assignment, I wrote up an indoctrination lecture, in which all the particulars were noted. Our hours of operation, our mission, a non-judgmental approach, new era in the Navy etc., these
were all spelled out and at first, one of the senior “responsibles” would monitor my lecture. When
they were confident that I would perform as expected, they allowed me to lecture unmonitored. I
took it upon myself to take the “lecture” a step further. I explained that I was aware that many of
the men were away from home for the first time, and that there would be temptations that they might be exposed to that were new.
I suggested that we were there at the facility if needed, but though I was NOT endorsing the use
of illicit drugs, I volunteered that rather than go to the “big parties”, they might want to consider
finding two or three friends to share activities with, so that if it did involve illicit substances, they
would be limiting their vulnerability to such detection (this was before widespread drug testing).

Naval Investigative Service apparently got wind of this. One day “Howie” became a roommate of
mine. He worked over in one of the hangers, he told me. In actuality, he was a “narc”. After Howie had been bunking with me for some weeks, he casually asked one night how it was that I could work with people that had alcohol and drug problems, and myself smoke pot. I told him that I didn’t have a problem with it; that it did not affect me in a negative way. You can imagine the exchange and after several minutes of discussion, he asked if I could go a month without smoking pot.
“I’ll go you one better , Howie. I’ll go a year without smoking pot.”
And so it began. At first Howie would invite other guys into our room (our newly built barracks,
another gain made under Adm. Zumwalt, were designed similarly to college dormitories). They’d
get stoned while I would read, offering me some. I would politely decline. I read more than normal that year, and I’ll never forget that my favorite selection during that period was Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath”. After many weeks had passed, Howie wanted to talk.
“ I’m convinced that you don’t have a problem”, he told me. “You’ve won the bet (it was a gentle-
men’s bet; no money was involved).”
“No.”
“No?”
“I told you that I would go one year without smoking pot, not three months”.
“But I’m satisfied. I believe you”.
“But I’m not satisfied. Now it is a question of principle.”
Well, he agreed to “monitor’, but expressed his satisfaction just the same. At the end of the year I
threw a large “celebratory” party complete with Howie’s blessing, something that soon would take on a larger significance.
Some months later, Howie sat me down. He wanted to explain something to me. I wasn’t entirely
surprised when he explained to me that he was a “narc” who’d been assigned to my room in order to
bust me; he did suggest that my ego not grow too large, because he was working on other cases si-
multaneously. He went on to explain that he’d grown to respect me (I was the kind of guy who had
political collages on the wall next to my bed, not centerfolds), and went on to say that he was under
a great deal of pressure to “bust” me. Not only did he tell me that after my yearlong demonstration
of discipline that he’d decided not to bust me, NOW he was there to tell me exactly WHEN there
would be a raid. That had never happened to me before, nor has it ever occurred since, but it cer-
tainly was an act of kindness that I’ve never forgotten.

d) When it came time for me to be transferred to the L.Y. Spear, a submarine tender out of Norfolk,
Va., I fought all the way to Congress for the right to stay at Roos. Rds., and in fact I had my bags
packed and the airline ticket in my hand when the orders superceding my transfer arrived. I’d re-
peatedly said that the reason that I fought all the way to Congress was because I thought it unfair that the government spend all that money training me only to return me to radioman duty. The truth was that I wanted to still be working at the drug counseling center when Nixon would resign.

e) Because of my “activism” (it got to the point near the end that I had been at the base longer than anyone except the civilians), the base newspaper ran an article about my activities, which at that time
included the formation of a non-profit educational organization, The Roosevelt Roads Bi-Centennial
Committee.

f) It was near the end of my tour (late ‘74), and a short time after that article had been published
that I got a call from the base radio shack. I went over and the guys there handed me a copy of a
message from the new CNO, Adm. Holloway. This message, which was sent to all bases said that the
old navy was back, and all the “material advances” obtained under Adm. Zumwalt were about to be
withdrawn. The sailors asked me if there was anything that I could do.
I drew up a thirteen point petition and went through the barrack’s three buildings, and over
a four-hour period asked 222 men if they would sign it. 221 agreed; the one person who refused ex-
plained that he wanted to make a career out of the navy, and worried that signing something like that might jeopardize his future. I told him that I respected his decision. Please remember that this
was the end of 1974. Nixon had just resigned, the war was coming to a close, and morale was at what
must have been close to an all-time low.

I submitted the petition up the chain-of-command the following morning. Normally, it might take
from 3-5 days for it to climb the chain. By one o’clock that afternoon I was sitting in the office of
Capt. Rasmussen, and no one was smiling. The Captain asked me if I was aware that I could “...be
charged with leading a mutiny, be court-martialed, and sent to the brig for 20 years at hard labor and then be discharged dishonorably?”

I thought of the blood flowing out of the back of Bobby’s head. I said, “I realize that taking this course of action is a risk, but that anything worthwhile is worth the risk. I went on to plead that this was not an act of mutiny, but instead was a desperate attempt on the part of the men to communicate
the seriousness of the situation”.

No charges were filed, and in fact, I learned some months later after I got out of the service, that
there were many improvements at the base.


At this point, we can return to the story. While stationed at Roos. Rds. I met Julie Grinke, who
was the daughter of Commander Grinke. We began seeing each other and in fact were an item for
about a year or so. In November, of 1973, I had my second “vision”, and decided to share it with her. I had explained to her about the first, and told her that I wanted her to be my witness for
this one. This one appeared to me as a date (the only one of the Future Facts that was), and I under-
stood the link. I shared it with her, and we agreed to check the newspaper on May 11, 1974.
As luck would have it, I was still pretty immature, and in January of 1974, I took off for a month,
and didn’t think of writing to her. I didn’t mean any harm, and state publicly that I didn’t have a girlfriend back in Florida. Still my insensitivity cost me a wonderful relationship with one of the most
intelligent women that I’ve ever known, to this day. When I returned in February to the base, she handed me my “walking papers”. Sorry, Julie, but I wasn’t unfaithful, simply stupid.

SIDEBAR #3

There was another event that occurred in December of ‘73, but to include it here would only con-
fuse the matter. Suffice it to say that elsewhere on this site is a true, and most difficult to believe story.

I was saddened when Chief Reebuck was transferred, and replaced by Lt. Bruce Coats. Chances
are that he doesn’t remember me, but I could never forget him. If he does have a memory of me, it
most likely would be a negative one because of a comment I made (against the system) which I be-
lieve he thought was aimed at him. It was not. I had the utmost respect for this gentleman, and I
strongly suspect that he was the son or perhaps nephew of retired Congressman Dan Coats (R-Ind).
though I never took the time to ask or “investigate”. Perhaps it was because he attended Rice Uni-
versity and was Student Council President of the Southwest (portion of the) United States; maybe it
was the time that he flew to Washington D.C. to attend a function in which he was to escort the
daughter of Carl Albert, who, with Agnew having already resigned in disgrace (bribery charges
associated with his having been Governor of Maryland), was the Speaker of the House, and now was the second most powerful person in the country.
He instilled in me a greater respect for architecture, Japanese culture, and history, in ways that
would be too lengthy for me to explain here. He may have been a “secondary” witness to the orig-
inal “vision”, but it would have required one of my co-workers relating that exchange from the Monday after the Watergate burglary. I never mentioned anything to him. The last that I saw of him (1974), he was planning to go to Japan to work.
When I was discharged from the Navy, I worked for several months in a retail outlet, and then
took a civil service exam with the hope of being hired by the Postal Service. It should be understood
that several members of my family (some to this day) have worked as clerks or carriers. In fact, after
the Palm Beach Post ran a Sunday feature that centered around my brother John (Letter), Ripley’s
Believe It or Not featured my mother Vera, and her four sons, all working for the Postal Service at
the same time, with such a rare last name. It didn’t take long though, for me to be (quite frankly)
angry as hell, and this I WILL explain. I could be wrong, but when I went to work at the “big house”, the name we affectionately used when referring to the main processing facility, Mr. Bolger
was the Postmaster (Ft. Lauderdale). I was a PTF (part-time flexible), which basically meant that
until I was a “regular”, I was subject to be given any schedule, any number of hours work per week,
and little or no recourse. That was fine, until during the second week of employment, I was called into the Postmaster’s office. Now I was scheduled to be working all night, so when I was given
an appointment to see the Postmaster, it was at !:30 pm. or the equivalent of waking up in the middle
of the night for this meeting.
After the initial niceties, Postmaster Bolger changed his demeanor, asking me why I neglected to
“include” the “fact” that I’d been arrested for marijuana possession while in the Navy. Before giving
my response, allow me to explain what he was referring to, and why it angered me so.
When I worked at the Atlantic Fleet Weapons Range (war game center), I worked inside a mount-
ain. Our radio shack was lined in lead, but more significantly was that this structure was originally
built for the King and Queen of England (although technically, the King had abdicated). Had England been invaded, the Royal Family would have resided here. It was unlike any other military building that I worked in during my four years in the Navy.
Now there was a room that served as headquarters for the various exercises (think of the film War Games), in which the various components (land, sea, and air), were tracked. There were all kinds of various black lights and other items in this room, and one night after my boss Steven Miranda (3rd class petty officer), and his bunkmate Ron Shoop left me in the radio shack alone, I did something that I’d never done before (or since). I abandoned my post. There was supposed to always be someone in that radio shack, and these guys would “often” leave me alone, and take off to do God knows what. Except on this particular night I “followed” them, however briefly, long enough to see them loading stolen equipment from the war room, onto one of our pick-up trucks. It was stuff they wanted to use in their room.
A few weeks later, there was an “inspection” in the barracks (with drug dogs), and apparently,
the “authorities” found the equipment in their room. The walls were SO thin that we could hear the
NIS agents browbeating these guys into “giving someone up” (or else), and even as I heard what I did, it didn’t give me enough time to “retrieve” 3/4 of an ounce, that, though belonged to me, was in
a common “area”. It hadn’t been spotted initially, but the squealers told the agents where they could
find it - and that it belonged tome. So immediately, the agents returned, and walked directly to the shelf, pulled it down and placed it under my face, despite the fact that there were two other men liv-
ing in the room.
When I was brought in for questioning, I was told that I had a choice; I could submit to a courts-
martial, in which I would be “put on trial”, in accordance with the UCMJ (Uniform code of Military
Justice), and the results would be OFFICIAL, or I could accept a Captain’s Mast, which would be UNOFFICIAL, and further, of which there would be NO Official record (in-house punishment). I
knew that it would be “difficult” for them to “prove” that that was my grass, because they never caught me with it in my possession, but it was mine, and I didn’t want to get my roommates involved.
I opted for the Captain’s Mast. I was fined $400.00 (one month’s pay), reduced in rank from E-3
to E-2, and given thirty-days extra duty. I worked so hard on my “extra duty” that my Chief, E.M.
Abernathy told me (during the final week) to sit in his office and read magazines. Thanks Chief!
The allusion that I made above to Lt. Coats was that if I would only sign a piece of paper - 2 years
later - I would be automatically “promoted” back to E-3. I explained that my motivation to “ad-
vance in rank” had been destroyed. All kinds of reasons were put forth why I should “simply sign”,
but when I shot down every reason, Lt. Coats explained that it reflected poorly on him. I responded,
“Now you’re starting to catch on.”
However, I didn’t intend it to mean what it sounded like; it was my protest against “the system”.
I was willing to take on any responsibility that I was given, but refused to advance in rank. So I’m
sorry about the misunderstanding Mr. Coats, I really did like you, but you just happened to be my
immediate superior at the time.
Now here I was, half-asleep sitting in the office of the Postmaster in Ft. Lauderdale’s main branch, when suddenly I was startled to hear the Postmaster grilling me as to why I had “neglected”
to mention this “infraction” in the “appropriate” spaces on my original application to work for the
Postal Service. I WAS INCREDULOUS! “I didn’t include the information in my application be-
cause I didn’t HAVE to include it, any more than if it was something that I’d done while I was a
juvenile”. He belatedly acknowledged that I didn’t have to include it (though I suspected that he
realized it ONLY after I’d pointed that fact out). He tried to backtrack, saying that my brother had
been there for many years, and was a good worker, and he “hoped” that I would be a good worker
too.
I wasn’t impressed. I told him that it was insulting to me that he would drag me out of my home, in-
terrupting my sleep, just to “inform” me that I’d filled out my application correctly. I suggested that
of the scores of people they’d just hired, I seriously doubted that anyone else had been called into his
office to be harassed. This was the beginning of a tumultuous relationship that spilled over into my
personal life, and continued for years, them systematically harassing me until it reached the point that I actually caught management AND union conspiring against me. I caught them red-handed, but I’m getting ahead of the story.
I endured the abuse for close to ten years...

In the meantime, it was the Spring of 1976, and two girls were staying as guests of the landlord
where I lived. I had spotted them by the swimming pool, and began talking to them. When I learned
that soon they’d have to “move on”, not wanting to wear out their welcome, I told them that they could stay at my place. Naturally, there were “looks” exchanged, but I quickly reassured them that I
worked at night and slept in the day, so sleeping arrangements were not going to be a problem. It
didn’t hurt when they learned that I owned a brand new convertible MG, and so it went.
Sylvie Anne took more of a liking to me than Genevieve, so it wasn’t long before Sylvie Anne and I were “going out”. Now I do love baseball and this girl, born in Eastern France (Strasbourg), knew
nothing about the sport. I wanted to introduce her, and took her over by the Executive Airport in
Ft. Lauderdale, Spring Training home (at that time) of the New York Yankees.

SIDEBAR #4
In 1973, when I was stationed at Roos. Rds., I read in the newspaper one June morning, that the
Philadelphia Phillies would be hosting the New York Mets the next day at the recently built Veterans
Stadium. I went to Lt. Coats and asked if I could have a couple of days off. It seems that the match up the following day would be Tom Seaver vs. Steve Carlton. Now anyone familiar with baseball knows what a great pitching duel one could anticipate, but I’d never had the privilege of seeing these two in person, facing each other, and incredibly, I’d never been either to Connie Mack Stadium nor at the Vet.
For those unfamiliar with baseball, these were two of the finest pitchers at the time; in fact, only the year before, Steve Carlton had done something that has never been duplicated to this day. He
won the Cy Young award (the award given to the best pitcher of the league; usually a pitcher that
helped his team win the pennant), while pitching for a team (Phillies) that had finished in LAST place. Carlton was 27-10 (in a year when the team won only 69 games out of 162), had a 1.97 ERA, which meant that for every nine innings pitched, he surrendered less than two runs, and threw 310
strikeouts. Still, it seemed that he always lost to Tom Seaver. It was no different in June of 1973.
Lt. Coats offered me five days off, and I called my father who happened to be living in Phila-
delphia at the time. He met me at the airport and we drove immediately to the ballpark. We got there
in the middle of the second inning, and true to form Tom Seaver and the Mets, beat Steve Carlton
and the Phillies; but that’s not why I’m telling this story. The story that I want to tell began the
next day.
The next day there was to be a doubleheader, and though I asked my father if he wanted to go, he
declined, so I went alone. The Phillies won both games handily, and I’ll never forget that early in the
second game, the Phillies were already winning 8-1 or something, and as the relief pitchers were trying to get ready to enter the game, a few of the Phillie’s fans were tossing lit firecrackers into
the Met’s bullpen. After it was announced on the P.A. that failure to stop would result in a forfeit
of the game it ended, but not before the reaction of 70,000 fans “response” was “noted”; the entire
stadium was vibrating from the noise of voices and the stomping of over 100,000 feet.
In the first game, around the middle, a relief pitcher for the Phillies was brought in. His name was Ken Brett. He was the brother of George Brett (the Kansas City Royals slugger), who in my mind, was the last person to have a credible chance of hitting .400 in a single season. When Ken Brett came to bat (that’s right, American League fans; in the National League pitchers actually bat in the game), he hit a homerun. In the second game, much to my astonishment, Ken Brett was again brought in the middle of the game to pitch, and when he came to bat, he hit a homerun again. That was exciting enough, but then it was announced on the P.A. that “Ken Brett (had) just set a National League record, and tied a Major League record for the most consecutive homeruns in appearances at
the plate as a pitcher, with four.”
Now, let’s return to the story. When Sylvie Anne and I arrived at (little) Yankee Stadium - it being before the era of widespread terrorism - though no game was even scheduled that day (Ft. Lauderdale Yankees), we were able to waltz right in unchallenged. As we approached the field from the first base side of the park, I began to explain the basics, pointing out foul lines and bases, the outfield fence, the pitching mound and other noteworthy things. Suddenly, emerging from the first base dugout, which was now directly below us, was a player in Yankee pinstripes, and across his back was K. Brett.
I then remembered, having read only a couple of days before, that Ken Brett had been traded to
the Yankees. I wanted to “impress” this girl as to how “cool” baseball was, so when Brett started running wind sprints in DEEP centerfield I shouted out, “Hey, aren’t you Ken Brett?”
Nothing. I might as well have been talking to air. Trying again, I screamed (sarcastically), “Didn’t
you use to play for the - arnk - Phillies?” It was as if he were determined to ignore me. Finally, want-
ing to impress this foreign girl I’d just met, I said very loudly, and very clearly, “Ken, I know that’s
you. I saw you hit your third and fourth homerun in consecutive appearances at Veteran’s Stadium during a doubleheader in June of ‘73 against the Mets.”
He stopped on a dime. He turned, and began “trotting” over towards us until he came to a stop at
the top of the steps of the first base dugout, looked up and asked, “You saw that?”
“Yes sir, I did. I’m a lifelong Phillies fan.”
“You are?”
“Yes sir.”
“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come on down onto the field and run wind sprints with me.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice. I don’t care what anyone else says or believes. Even in this day of
overpriced mediocrity, and unbridled greed (think extra commercials inserted between half-innings -
which artificially extends each game by about an hour - boy, does that suck or what), baseball, the
most statistic-driven sport, still ensconces a special relationship between player and fan. That is, in my opinion, because baseball is not a sport per se, but a way of life.
Well, it was about this time that “vision” # 3 had occurred. Originally, I hadn’t intended to share
it with anyone, but I decided that I would share the vision with this young woman. As our relation-
ship began to blossom, I’m embarrassed to admit, many of the “love letters” that I sent to Sylvie Anne were little more than updates of the Phillie’s progress. Sylvie Anne returned the following year
and by late 1977 we were married. Our apartment at times had a tower of papers, as often I would
fall behind in keeping my “scrapbooks”, hoping to have the entire “season” captured when they would finally win their first World Series, fulfilling my prediction.
For 3 years I faithfully kept those scrapbooks (which I have to this day), and for 3 years the Phillies won their division, only to be defeated by the Western Division winner. PHRUSTATING!
In 1979, I did something that I’d not yet done. I went to my wife and suggested that somehow I must
have misinterpreted the “vision”, and I was “withdrawing” the prediction. That year the Phillies
finished fourth.
The following year, I had the ‘sensation” - but no “additional” information - and drew the conclusion that in fact the Phillies WOULD win (the five players that needed to be with the Phillies were still with the team). Of course now we were married and we had two children, so I promised
not to go “overboard” with scrapbooks; I’d limit it to weekly updates. Ironically, although I’ve re-
tained the scrapbooks from ‘76, ‘77 & ‘78, I’ve lost track of the 1980 weekly updates. I attribute
that to the many times that we’ve moved over the years.
So the Phillies beat out the Montreal Expos, (to the unfamiliar, they are now called the Washing-
ton Nationals), by one game, then “struggled” against a determined Houston Astros (who them-
selves had to win a 163rd game that year against Los Angeles). The series between the Astros and the Phillies turned out to be one of the most dramatic playoff series in MLB history. After the first game, every game required extra-innings to determine a winner, and after this gut-wrenching highly controversial series was over, the Phillies had won the pennant. The collapse of ‘64 (oh, thought I’d forgotten that one, huh?), the three-year divisional triumphs crushed by opponent’s superior skills (and luck) in post-season play, and all the lackluster years in between were distant memories as the Phillies rushed towards their “destiny”.
By the time that the Phillies and Kansas City Royals had played five games, I couldn’t stay in
Florida any longer. In 1979, the Shah of Iran lost his power, becoming an international refugee of
sorts, and Americans were taken hostage at the American embassy in Tehran. As luck would have it,
I was trying to raise money to buy a house for my young family, and with the cooperation of my sup-
ervisor Carol Nardjowski, I was permitted to work 61 out of 62 days consecutively. One of my co-
workers hung a sign on the large LSM (letter-sorting machine) that said “Jeff Letter held hostage”
with the appropriate number of days worked consecutively written below.
By the time that that fifth game had been played, we were in our house, but we were not yet
unpacked, and I had barely two nickels to rub against one another. Still, I knew that I MUST go to
the sixth game, which was to be played in Philadelphia. The starting pitcher would be Steve Carlton. I had to go! I applied for a couple of days vacation, and was offered five. I borrowed money and contacted my cousin Sissy Cannon in Philadelphia, asking her to help coordinate my brief stay there.
SIDEBAR #5
It’s time that I speak about my life-long hero, Steve Carlton. “Lefty”, unbeknownst to him, has
probably influenced me more in my life than any other person on Earth. I wrote earlier about his
sensational 1972 year in which he won the Cy Young award while pitching for the last-place Phillies.
It’s much more than that. When the season was over, Carlton, upon reflection on his 27-10 win/loss
record stated that, “Next year I’ll win thirty”. He didn’t. In fact, in 1973, the year that I flew from San Juan to Philadelphia just to see him pitch against Tom Seaver, his record was 13-20, and
though he threw a respectable 223 strikeouts, his ERA climbed to 3.90.
The press in Philly was merciless. It got to the point where a sports cartoonist was making fun
of his unique approach (which included oriental-style meditation, martial arts, and a workout that
even the Phillies physical trainer could not keep up with). The cartoonist drew a picture of him sitting on the pitcher’s mound meditating, while balls were flying all over the place. Phinally, “Lefty” had had enough. One day, after a game, Carlton informed assembled reporters that he didn’t need their “...help to win Cy Young awards; from now on there will be no interviews.”
One of the things that Carlton had done after being traded to Philadelphia (from St. Louis), was
to ask management to obtain the services of Tim McCarver, his battery mate with the Cardinals. Mc-
Carver has on at least a couple of occasions publicly thanked “Lefty” for extending his career. He was Steve Carlton’s personal catcher. When Carlton reached the point that he would no longer grant
interviews, McCarver became his “spokesman”. If the press wanted to ask Carlton anything, they had to go to McCarver, who in turn, would pose the question to Steve, and so forth.
I can remember in the early 80’s there was some sort of televised event for charity, in which Tim
was a host, and at one point, there was McCarver, microphone in hand, speaking to Steve Carlton,
and they openly joked about face-to-face “interviews”. Carlton never gave another reporter an in-
terview through the end of his baseball career. However, it has been stated that when Steve Carlton and Tim McCarver die, they’ll be buried 60 feet, 6 inches apart.
Carlton’s hostility towards the media forced me for the first time to look at the press in a dif-
ferent light. It was also at this time that I was beginning to become aware of a disturbing “trend”
in the media, that at the time, I couldn’t put a finger on, but years later , began to more clearly un-
derstand; it goes much deeper than simply coming up with a catchy headline in order to sell newspapers (or obtain ratings on television). Carlton’s devotion to baseball (and discipline) also in-
fluenced me to the point that I spent ten years helping to build adult baseball teams in France, and
helped to promote the sport there in a variety of ways. Thank you, Steve. Thank you for everything.

So I left my wife and kids in our new house, with the still unopened moving boxes scattered around inside, and took off for Philadelphia. I was met at the airport by my cousin Sissy and I
stayed with her, though I also visited with “Pop”, my grandfather on my mother’s side, who still
lived in Center City. The morning of the game, I went EARLY down to the Vet. I was standing on
the sidewalk out front for less than five minutes, when two guys pulled up and asked if I was interest-
ed in a pair of tickets. Skeptical that they could be counterfeit, I checked at the window and was told
that these were “excellent” seats, on the field ( extra seats installed specifically for post-season play).
Still, the face value for the pair was $50 , and they were asking $250. I explained my situation and said that the best I could offer was $125 for one. They discussed it for several minutes, and then de-
cided to deal.
I went over to Pop’s and had some lunch, then returned to the stadium where I got in line a full
three hours before the gates opened. Almost immediately, a young woman got in line behind me, and
I was struck. This girl was the most beautiful girl that I’d ever seen. She had green eyes and straw-
berry blonde hair. Her skin was like porcelain, and she had a handful of freckles which were lightly
sprinkled across the middle of her nose and face. She was about 5’6”, and maybe, maybe weighed 120lbs. She was bright, and witty. A Catholic, she was a dyed-in-the-wool Phillies Phan and dem-
onstrated that with her knowledge of the Phillies (players) past and present. We really hit it off.
More than three hours passed breezily as we spoke about our hope to see the Phillies win the World Series. At some point I realized that this was the person that I was meant to marry, if only because she was a woman that wouldn’t tire of baseball. In any case she’d shared with me that she was in the nosebleed section above left field, and I would be seated on the field behind third base.
We’d been lamenting over the fact that we’d be sitting so far apart during the game. She told me
that at the hotel across the street there would be a post-game party, and I could find her there. I was
thinking about that possibility when suddenly, crossing my path from right to left was the very guy
that had sold me the ticket that morning, and it occurred to me that if I took her ticket, and $50, I
might be able to bargain for that second ticket, if he even still had it.
Just as quickly, the thought flashed through my mind with such intensity, that it could not be ig-
nored. I wasn’t there to go to parties, nor was I there to sit with this girl. I was there to see my life-
long hero help the Phillies win their first World Series and nothing else. I chastised myself, re-
minding myself that I HAD a family, and though this girl was wonderful, I was married. I contin-
ued the last several minutes to speak with her as we had been doing for hours, but I was now simply
going through the motions. The gates opened, I said goodbye, and never saw her again.
Though she may have been a human being, as ordinary as you or me, I’m convinced that it was a
“test”, and in this case, I’d passed. I’ll explain that in a couple of paragraphs down. I took my seat
and a short time prior to the start of the game, a balding blonde-haired bespectacled gentleman sat
down in the “other” seat that I’d been offered. He got it at the last minute for face value.
Carlton was particularly effective that night, giving up only one run on four hits; and none
of them were hit down the third base line. There were some heart-thumping moments near the end,
when twice, Tug McGraw stopped the Royals from scoring, even though the bases were loaded, but
in my mind, it was “Lefty’s” night.
There was a tremendous celebration downtown the next day, and I savored every moment (by
television - it seemed a better way to remember the celebration - as opposed to “street level”). A couple of days later I returned to Florida with a stack of newspapers from Philly, New York, and New Jersey. After going through the entire stack, I was admittedly disappointed that there wasn’t a single picture of me (even as a dot in the crowd) that I could have as a souvenir.
A couple of weeks later, long after the exuberance had died down, I was casing letters when “Cookie”, a woman I knew, came to me with a copy of a newspaper from a couple of weeks before.
She’d been working in the “flat” section. It’s there that magazines, newspapers, and so forth are sorted. It was the Times Herald of Norristown (founded 1799). The date of the edition was October 22, 1980. In large red letters the headline read “Phillies Champions to the Wire”. Underneath the headline was a large picture of an unidentified Phillies fan declaring his team # 1. It was me. My initial shock produced stars before my eyes, and sitting next tome was the guy. It dawned on me that if I’d been there with the girl, particularly if we would be celebrating together, it might be a picture that I’d have had to hide for the rest of my life.
Don’t tell me there is no God. And what in the world would I want with a picture of a Pittsburgh Pirate for, when I have the greatest souvenir that a baseball fan could want? Am I right Cub fans?
Sylvie Anne and I were married for about 26 years. If it were up to me, we’d still be married.
As indicated earlier, tracking her down in Lyon, France should be relatively easy.
I voted in 1976 for Senator Eugene McCarthy. He didn’t win. Jimmy Carter did. If memory
serves me correctly, the very first speech that he gave beyond the Inaugural ceremonies contained
within it, a request of the employees of which I now was a member; the U.S. Postal Service. Since
early in the seventies, the clerks and carriers had obtained collective bargaining rights.
I had been a registered Democrat since I’d been old enough to vote, though I was unimpressed
by this former Georgian Governor with the Cheshire grin. Still, I’d served in the military, and con-
tinued to view the President as (my) Commander-in-Chief. I’d decided to approach our union presi-
dent with a comment that was supportive of President Carter, and nothing more.
When I approached Bill Sullivan, our union president, I’d been working with the postal service
for less than 2 years. Most of the verbal exchange was written earlier, and will not be repeated
here. Still it must be noted that on only two occasions (this being the first), the “sensation” came
to me while I was in the middle of a conversation. I was not “prepared” to lecture my union presi-
dent, and in fact was slightly hesitant in offering my opinion at all. I felt duty-bound to explain that
I thought that it would be a good idea to give our newly-elected leader a chance to “guide” the nation
on it’s path away from the somber memories of the previous years just passed.
(For those of you too young to remember, our fifteen-year involvement in Vietnam had only re-
cently concluded, and the resignation of President Nixon, as well as the conviction of the former
Attorney General - and others in the Nixon administration - were still fresh in the minds of all of us).
Bill Sullivan’s response, however, was uncalled for, and I almost recoiled. Then the “sensation”
swept over me, and I found myself uttering words that I not only had no intention of uttering when I
approached him, the thoughts themselves had not occurred to me prior to that instance. When I told him that he could take full credit for the idea, that had as much to do with my own (internal) admit-
tance that it wasn’t my arguments that I was putting forth as well as an honest intention of helping
him to be the one to inject “sound reasoning” into the discussion that was already taking place among our union leaders across the country.
His conspicuous lack of respect for a dues-paying member would never be forgotten. I would, in
the future continue to respect his position as union president, but as a person, well let’s just say that
my opinion of him only grew worse as the years went by.
The warning that I’d issued, that we SHOULD accept the President’s offer fell on deaf ears, and
when the union went to arbitration, we ended up not only with the amount that Carter offered, but
over 4 years instead of 3. I’d specifically warned that going to arbitration was a mistake -that the 3
year offer would mean that no matter whether his (President Carter’s) economic policies failed or
succeeded, we’d have the upper hand. But what did I know. According to Bill Sullivan, I was only a
PTF (part-time flexible); the lowest of the low on the occupational totem pole. When the time came
for our contract to be renewed, President Carter was history, President Reagan was the new Presi-
dent, and the PATCO air-traffic controllers had already been fired. Reagan suggested to the national
union leaders that if they went on strike, their fate would be the same. In fact, he specifically said to
the union leaders, “Go ahead, make my day.”
A funny thing happened on the way to the next round of contract negotiations, though. There was a burgeoning labor movement in communist Poland, led by Lech Walesa. When it came time to have a meeting to decide what our rank and file wanted to do, out of respect for HIS OFFICE, before the
meeting began, I approached him (and Vice-President Al Mohl) to explain that I was “disturbed” by
our national leadership. One of our national union leaders had been quoted in the Miami Herald as having said that “...just as the workers in Poland were fighting against an oppressive regime, we also must not be afraid of those...” who were trying to oppress us.
I suggested that our union leadership was making it sound as if the two struggles were inter-
twined. I told Mr. Sullivan that it was my intention to request that one-half of 1% of whatever our
wage increase would be, be (from members of our local union) earmarked to support the growing labor movement in that communist nation. He told me that he felt that that would be insulting to the Jews that were in our local, perhaps not realizing that I, myself, am a descendant of Jews. I suggested that he simply allow me to make the request, and I’d trust the judgment of the thousand or so as-
sembled union members.
The media was not permitted into the union hall for the meeting. When the time came, and I put
up my hand to make my proposal, I was ignored until such time as one of the union stewards raised
his hand and requested adjournment. The meeting was over, and I was furious. Outside the hall, I was trying to speak with Al Mohl (who knew what I wanted to do) about what had happened when
some know-nothing television reporter (for the local NBC affiliate) approached me, requesting an in-
terview. Twice I told her to go away. Twice I told her that there was no point in speaking with me as
it appeared that my point of view (under existing circumstances - not even allowed to speak at my
union meeting - I doubted seriously that I would strike), was in the distinct minority.
She continued to insist even if my opinion was in the minority, it was worth hearing. I naively
believed her when she said they’d be willing to broadcast my point of view. Of course, Al Mohl, and
not a few others warned me that I was not “authorized” to speak to the media, but of course at this
point, I wanted someone to listen.
(Now I admit that my on-camera “performance” was not “polished”, but I basically said that
which I’d indicated to Bill Sullivan; that if our national union leaders want to equate our struggle
with that of the growing labor movement in Poland, they should stop exploiting the struggle of a
people who get on their knees and thank God that they have the right to organize, unless they would be willing to demonstrate in some concrete manner, assistance, most notably, with financial help).
The only thing that I received for my effort were death threats and to be ostracized; it certainly wasn’t what the reporter wanted to hear. I could tell by the look on her face. I forget her name, but remember that shortly thereafter she was offered a position in Cleveland, Ohio. Of course, the national leaders caved in, the cowards. What’s funny is, that if Bill Sullivan had taken my advice
four years before, they might not have had egg all over their national leadership images. But what
did I know - I was just a PTF!
William Sullivan, last known to be in the Tampa area, should be considered a “hostile” witness;
still, I’d love to hear his response today.....and unfortunately, his name will surface again in this story.
The next “vision” (they were not yet referred to as “Future Facts”) occurred in 1980. 1980 was
a fertile period. there was the “sensation” that inspired me to restate the one about the Phillies, and
I was about to have another political vision. During 1979, I’d grown so disgusted with President Carter that despite the fact that my family had been Democrats for three generations, I decided to
re-register to vote as a Republican. I was a little older, and despite my “appearance” (long thick ,
curly black hair, well below my shoulders, and about two feet “wide”), I was growing rapidly more
conservative.
I had gone to the Bahia Mar in Ft. Lauderdale to listen to a candidate for President in 1980, and
was blown away by the articulate nature of Congressman Phil Crane (R-Ill.). I hadn’t heard anyone
so inspiring since John F. Kennedy. I became a volunteer of the lowest level, but the Chairwoman of
Broward County for his campaign, a religious woman named Jean Hansen, recognized my spirit and
enthusiasm, and to make a long story short, I eventually received an introduction to Congressman
Crane. I was genuinely impressed.
A short time later, I received the next vision, which was that Sen. Eugene McCarthy would sup-
port whichever Republican was nominated for president. I decided to share this “vision” with my
sister “Mimi”. This was the only time that I ever shared any of my Future Facts with one of my
brothers or sisters. There was a special reason why I chose Mimi. That is because of an incident
that took place on December 3rd, 1973.


SIDEBAR # 6

On December 3rd, 1973, I was sitting in my barracks at Roosevelt Roads, P.R., reading a book
at around one o’clock in the afternoon, when I HEARD a voice. This was NOT a vision, this was a voice. And it was not just any voice. It was the voice of my grandmother (on my mother’s side).
She called out my name. I clearly heard HER voice. She said, “Jeff, I’ve died, but I’m happy. Please don’t be upset. I just wanted you to know.”
It was so apparent, so certainly her voice, that I actually called out her name. There was no re-
sponse. It was about one o’clock in the afternoon. I noted the time. I “knew” that if Mom-Mom had died, someone would let me know. I returned to my reading.
I was not able to go home for Christmas that year, but treated myself to a Christmas Eve call home. When I called, Mimi answered. “Merry Christmas”, I exclaimed.
“Jeff”, she interrupted, “I have something to tell you”.
“No, wait”, I fired back. “I have something to tell YOU.”
“What is it?”
“Grandma died.”
“Who told you?”
“Wait. She didn’t just die. She died about three weeks ago, right?”
“How did you know? Who told you?”
“I’ll wait until another day to tell you that.”
After that we fell back into holiday greetings, and I had the opportunity to speak with my mother
and a few of my brothers and sisters.


So I’d gone over her house and was discussing various things. At a certain point, I told her that I
“knew” that Sen. Eugene McCarthy was going to support whichever Republican candidate would be
nominated for president. She asked if that included Ronald Reagan. I said of course. Then she went
maybe not ballistic, but near-ballistic. She accused me of saying outlandish things (McCarthy sup-
porting Reagan for President) simply for “shock value”. She suggested that I do this sort of thing on
purpose just to be different.
As stated earlier, she is caring for our mother, and I sincerely request that no one contact her. When some of the reports begin getting posted, I will, having contacted her recently to see what she
could remember about that day, report what her reaction was to my inquiry.
How many of you remember the Autumn of 1980? The “experts” in the media continually
told us that according to their “scientific polls“, that at the very best, Ronald Reagan MIGHT slip by with a “narrow” victory, but that was no guarantee. I remember, because I’d had a “vision”, which for the first time I began to refer to as a Future Fact. Because I was so sure about the outcome of the election, it was something that I was practically shouting from the rooftops. If located, there are probably 25-50 people at the “big house” in Ft. Lauderdale who would remember that I’d made this declaration.
I remember one conversation that I had the last two weeks before the election in which a female co-worker, screaming at me (so close that spit sprayed on my face) asking, “How can you say
such a thing when EVERY POLL SAYS DIFFERENTLY?”
“Easy”, I said, taking a deep breath, “I can smell it.”
Of course, those of you old enough to remember, will recall the embarrassment that members of
the media felt, and how they were “apologetic”, and promised to re-examine their methods to see
where they erred. They weren’t just wrong, they were completely wrong. It WAS a landslide!

OBSERVATION #1


Has it ever occurred to you that despite the fact (in this politically correct society) that we are
constantly “reminded” not to be prejudiced, that even the best-intended polls are based on the very
prejudices that we are told not to possess?


About six weeks before the election, a fresh Future Fact came to me. I sought out one of the most intelligent people that I worked with at the time to share this most interesting prediction. Let’s put things in context. Many of those that I worked with were listening to me declare Reagan’s coming victory; I’m about to move into my new house, and soon I would be traveling to Philadelphia for the World Series’ sixth game. A day or so after the Phillies would win their first World Series, Sen. Eugene McCarthy would “stun” the political world with his announcement of support for Ronald Reagan.
I sat next to Dave Blading. I explained to him that which was going on for close to ten years now.
I actually used the term Future Fact for the first time in a conversation. I explained that I’d had
another Future Fact occur tome, and I wanted to share it with him. He asked me to explain.
I told him that usually there are words that will appear to me, and from those words I am able to
understand the “code” and interpret it. Since it had been occurring, I’d been finding “reliable” wit-
nesses so that if some day it ever made sense, I’d be able to go back and recall the witnesses for what-
ever reason this was all about. I tried my best to emphasize that even after 10 years, I still had no idea why it was happening to me. That was one of the main reason that I sought out intelligent people to assist me. I now wanted him to be my next witness. He urged me to continue.
I said that on this particular occasion it was not words, but an image. The image was of two ships,
and that I was certain that it had to do with the war that had broken out two days before between Iran and Iraq. I told him that despite the fact that I was unable to determine from the image itself (the reader will recall that the image of the vessels were silhouetted against a bright sky), I was
certain beyond doubt that it meant, “Before the fighting between Iran and Iraq will come to an end,
the war will involve BOTH American and Soviet naval vessels, BUT not necessarily in combat with
one another”. He asked me a number of questions, particularly with respect to combat (between the
Soviets and the Americans). I told him that it was theoretically possible that it would involve combat
between the Americans and the Soviets, but HIGHLY unlikely, which is why it was phrased in the
manner that it was.


OBSERVATION #2

You’ll recall that I never stated that President Nixon would be impeached; he would resign. Now,
I’d indicated that it would be the Americans and the Soviets; not the “Russians”. Even after all these years I’m amazed at the wording of these predictions. In the case of this Future Fact, it should be noted that after seventy years, the “Soviet Union” dissolved, but not until this Future Fact had become a reality.


After Dave seemed satisfied with all the questions and my responses, he had me confused when he completely unloaded on me. Of course this conversation was taking place while working, and our conversational tone was relatively quiet. Suddenly, Dave’s tone changed, and he said to me (almost like a “Dutch Uncle”) that now he wanted to tell me something.
He told me that he had studied at the University of Florida (in Gainesville), and that his major was Military History. I didn’t even know that one could “major” in so narrow a discipline, but
I continued to listen. He told me that he was extremely familiar with the two nations, and in fact, was
aware, that considering the size of the respective armies, the level of disposable ordnance, and the
topography of the theater of war, there was no way that the war could last more than a year.
He had asked me just prior to his remarks how long that I thought the war might continue, and I
said that it might last a year, or it might last 10 years. Looking back on the conversation, I imagine
that that was for him the “final straw”. I had started to remind him about the significance of the two
naval vessels, but he cut me off. His anger grew. He started raising his voice. He said that he’d list-
ened to me, and now he wanted me to listen to him.
He started to speak more quickly, the speed of his words increasing as his voice grew louder and louder. It was quickly becoming embarrassing. People a few feet away were beginning to look over at us. He said that I was always coming up with these outrageous statements (remember, this is at a time when I’m declaring to anyone and everyone that Reagan - despite what the polls were saying to the contrary - was going to win by a landslide), and that he for one was growing weary of it all. He stood up, and pointing to some letter cases a few yards away, said that he was going to take his mail (that he’s sorting), and move to one of the other cases over there. He continued that he didn’t want to hear anymore of the nonsense that I was spewing.
He began to curse at me, calling me a f------ a------, a know-it-all, and a s---head. By now, his voice
was extremely loud, and his face was growing red. He continued that he didn’t want me to speak to him anymore about this or any other subject, so ignorant was I. At this point I tried to bring the con-
versation back to a more reasonable level, to explain that I knew that it sounded incredible, and that
that was the reason that I’d come to him, hoping that he’d understand. But it was too late. Now he was walking away with his tray of mail, yelling that he didn’t want to talk to me ever again. He stopped. He turned around, and with at least a half-dozen people watching him, said that he didn’t
want me to even acknowledge his presence. I was not to say hello, I was not even to “...make eye con-
tact as we passed in the hallway”.
I shouted to him as he walked away that it was not the length of the war that he should concern himself with; he should watch for the involvement of American and Soviet naval vessels. I specifical-
ly said, “It’s one of my Future Facts. I’m never wrong when it’s a Future Fact.”
From that day on I referred to my “visions” as Future Facts. In the next six weeks, three of my
Future Facts came true:
a) the Phillies won the World Series with Boone, Bowa, Carlton, Maddox, and Schmidt still
on the team;
b) Sen. Eugene McCarthy came out in support of Ronald Reagan;
c) Reagan won by a landslide.
Of course, I’d only specifically shared the vision of Reagan “winning by a landslide” with Dave,
though I’d given “examples” of a couple of earlier predictions, long since realized. So Dave had no real reason to be “impressed”.
We continued to work “together”, without acknowledging the presence of one another. It didn’t
make me particularly happy to have alienated my co-worker, especially someone that I respected, but
there was no doubt that he was a “witness”. A full year went by. We did not talk to each other; we did not even make eye contact. If I saw him approaching in the hallway, out of respect to him and his request, I would literally avert my eyes. Looking back now, it seems humorous, but at the time, it
was serious.
As I said, a full year had passed. One night, I was startled to see Dave Blading sitting next to me. At first, I said nothing at all; I simply continued working. Finally, Dave spoke.
“Hello, Jeff.”
Looking over at him, I said, somewhat hesitatingly, “Oh, hello Dave.”
“I guess you’re wondering why I’m sitting next to you.”
“Well, I have to admit that the thought occurred to me.”
“Listen to me”, he said. “I’m not here to say that you’re right, I’m here to apologize to you for the way that I acted. I said that the war could not even last a year, and it’s still going on.”
I smiled sympathetically, and said, “Look Dave, you don’t have to apologize to me. Do you honestly
think that I’m not aware how crazy it sounds when I share a Future Fact like the one that I did with
you? Dave, how do you think that I feel, not knowing why this has been happening to me? I only know that each time I “receive” a new Future Fact that I’m duty-bound to secure a witness or wit-
nesses, so that when the time comes - if ever - that I know why this is happening to me, I’ll have some
credible witnesses to back up my claims.”
“But I did say some horrible things that night.”
“Dave, I was never angry with you; not for a minute. The fact that you’re here right now apologizing
is indicative of my having chosen the right person for this particular prediction.”
After that, our relationship as co-workers returned to normal. We worked together until I resign-
ed in early 1984 (in order to run for political office; at the time the Hatch Act prevented anyone em-
ployed in civil service from running for political office while active as a civil servant).
There would not be any more Future Facts occurring to me until 1989.
Before the Future Facts resumed, something happened in the Spring of 1989. There was a news
report that the Iraqi government had asked that our State Department consider authorizing the
placement of our flags (American) on Iraqi oil tankers, so that, in the event that Iran would attack
one of the tankers, they’d be bombing an American ship. Our response was swift and negative. There
was no way that the Americans were getting involved in their little war.
So, rejected by the U.S. State Department, the Iraqis turned to the Foreign Ministry of the Soviet
Union, who when asked, were only too happy to comply with the request. They’d be delighted to put
Soviet flags on the Iraqi oil tankers so that if the Iranians bombed the oil tanker, they’d be bombing a Soviet naval vessel. Once they’d responded affirmatively, there was a whirlwind of activity at the State Department, resulting (all of this within 72 hours) in one of our spokespersons declaring that there had been a miscommunication. We officially clarified that we WOULD be willing to put our
flags on the Iraqi naval vessels.
Of course there was all kinds of speculation going on as to what this all meant, the most common
analysis being that the Soviets had sought for many years a “warm water port”, but to me that was
of the least significance. Though I hadn’t spoken with Dave since 1984, I immediately called him on
the telephone. When he came to the phone and we’d exchanged pleasantries, I got right to the heart
of the purpose of the call.
“Dave, have you been following the news?”
“Do you mean about the ships?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, I have.”
“What do you think?”
“ I’m going to be honest with you, Jeff. Ever since I heard the news, the only thing that I’ve been
ABLE to think about is you.”
“Dave, now you’ll see that the fighting will come quickly to an end. “
We talked for a few minutes more, but he did have to go to work. In any case, the fighting soon
came to an end; if I recall correctly, a few more weeks. The war lasted over 8 years, yet after the in-
volvement of “...American and Soviet naval vessels, but not necessarily in combat with one anoth-
er...”, they were willing to discuss a truce. Technically, as with the Korean War, I don’t think it ever
was formally ended, but the fighting did.
When the internet children seek to verify the veracity of my claims, they won’t be able to ask Dave
Blading. That’s because Dave Blading died last year. One of the persons that I used to work with, and have maintained a relationship with to this day, informed me. His name is Pete Gannon. Pete
figured in one or two of my Future Facts as a “primary” witness, and he may be able to identify some
people that the internet children can seek out for “additional perspective” on the night that Dave and
I had the argument about the Future Fact. I’m afraid that that is the best we can do. The next Future fact will concern Pete Gannon, but first there is something that must be expressed.

COMMENTARY # 3

Back in 1965, when I was attending Cutler Ridge Jr. High School, I remember one day when
a teacher announced that we were going to begin taking Spanish classes. Someone in the Dade
County Public school system had decided that this was to be “implemented” as an obligatory class.
That’s important to understand. We’d not been told any such thing at the beginning of the school
year; it was a “new” part of the curriculum. We did discuss it in class, and one can imagine the groaning amongst the students, although most of the “complaints” were based on the knowledge that they’d have to do more work. Not me. I simply had no desire to learn Spanish.
I raised my hand and when called upon, I wanted to know why. It was explained that it was a
“gesture” that the community was offering to the many Cuban immigrants that were arriving week-
ly on the “freedom flights” from Cuba. It seemed logical to me that it would be better if the newly
arriving immigrants would be learning English, not the other way around. We were “assured” that
the immigrants would be learning English, but we should “be sensitive” enough to the new arrivals
who would be struggling to adjust and help make their “transition” less stressful.
I offered that I’d be willing to learn German or French, but had no interest in Spanish. I suggest-
ed that I could foresee a time when I might visit Montreal, but couldn’t envision any time when I
might be traveling to Havana. Of course it did no good to argue; but for me the point was academic.
Shortly after that revelation, my family moved to Broward County.
We moved a second time less than a year later, into a suburb of Fort Lauderdale, and in
fact, they’d just completed a brand new school, Plantation High. When it was time for us to “decide”
what elective classes we wanted to take for the ninth (9th) grade, I’d decided that I wanted to learn
German. When I turned in my choice, I was told, in so many words, that I would not be allowed to, unless I obtained supporting “evidence” from two English teachers that I was “capable” of learning
German, it being “so difficult”. Why not just take Spanish, I was asked. Well, the two English teach-
ers I’d had, the first had been transferred near the end of the school year; the second, we’d only had
for a month or so. It was, in my mind, unfair. We’d been told that electives were just that, optional.
Now they were telling me that I had to jump through hoops just to choose an elective.
I took the path of least resistance - I took French. I didn’t do particularly well, because at the time
I’d really wanted to learn German, and I was made to feel that those taking German were somehow
superior to me, and all those relegated to learning one of the romantic languages.
When I was discharged from the military, I was eligible for the G.I. bill, which included a subsidy
for higher education. I was actually excited that I could now go to college, and choose the courses
that would interest me. The first two courses that I signed up for (I was working full-time at the post
office) were World History and Political Science. The very first assignment that we were given in the
Political Science course (January, 1976), was to write an essay stating why we thought that the person that we were writing about was the “best qualified” for the presidency. We were to select our subject from a list provided by our professor, but, if we knew of a candidate that he’d neglected to add to the list, we need only let the professor know, and he would add the name to the list.
After looking over the list of the usual suspects, Mo Udall, Jimmy Carter, Gerald Ford, etc., I
raised my hand and asked if I could write about someone that he’d neglected to include.
“Whom might that be?”
“Sen. Eugene McCarthy.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Why not? He is.”
“Look”, he said, “if you know that Sen. McCarthy is running for president, then you must also know
that the only reason that he is doing so, is so that he can get another one of his books of poetry
published.”
I stood up. Motioning to the fifty or so other students in the room I asked the professor, “Are you
trying to persuade me and the other students that if through some quirk of fate, Sen. McCarthy
should obtain enough electoral votes to win the presidency that he’ll go on national television to tell
all of us that he has no intention of moving into 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue; that his interests are lim-
ited to collecting book royalties?”
“You can’t write about Gene McCarthy”, he ordered.
“Yes, sir.” And like a good soldier, I sat back down in my seat.
When class was over, I walked out, and as I passed through the doorway, I promised myself that
I would never go to college again. I had always been led to believe that at least in college there would be a free exchange of ideas. What colleges seem to offer today is “newspeak” and “groupthink”.
In November of 1976, it didn’t matter whether it was CBS or PBS; The New York Times or the
or The Denver Post. The three names mentioned in all results were Ford, Carter, & McCarthy. The
professor however, “knew” that McCarthy was NOT a serious candidate. He sure put me in my place.




When I lived in Coral Springs, I worked at a store. One day while I was alone in the store, a number of German tourists entered. They were very friendly and almost all understood English,
though one of the group did most of the talking. After speaking for a few minutes (store business),
we talked about their visit in the U.S. until I suddenly felt the “sensation” and as with the union president Bill Sullivan, I began speaking words that I had no intention of saying when the conversation began.
I said, “ I guess that you’ll really be happy when the Berlin Wall falls.”
It was if they were bewildered. They weren’t sure how to respond. Finally, the spokesman said, “Sir,
Germany is where we LIVE. I think that we know a little more about Germany than you. If the Berlin Wall is going to fall, it certainly won’t be in our lifetime.” “Happily, for you, you’re completely wrong. Not only will the Berlin Wall fall in our lifetime, it’s fall is imminent.” Though there was a little more exchange of words, they acted as if I was very unknowledgeable, and left shortly after.

Sylvie Anne was a “secondary” witness as I related the story to her when I returned home.
The German tourists will be difficult to locate, but the key (beyond understanding German)
will be knowing that this “claim” was so shocking, that when the Berlin Wall fell some weeks later,
the “majority” of the members of the group would tell and retell the story of the “Future Fact”.
Locate one of the people who’d been exposed to a retelling of the story, and you’re on your way.

Pete Gannon and I have known each other for more than 25 years. He is a “liberal” and I am a
“conservative”, and yet we have the kind of friendship where we can agree to disagree, so that we end up sharing perspectives more than “debating”. Prior to our departure (to France), Pete and I
would get together a couple of times a month to discuss the latest political developments. It was in
late Summer of 1989 that I shared the vision concerning the rise of a “third party” by 1992...
Pete lives in Margate, Fla., and as stated before, may be able to assist in finding “secondary”
witnesses for some of the other “Future Facts” declared during that period.


SIDEBAR #7


Before “leaving” the United States in this tale, I want to share with the reader the most import-
ant story on this site that does not pertain to the “Future Facts”. It’s the story of why I wanted to go
toe-to-toe with Sen. Bob Graham in 2004. When my son Matthew was born, I took it upon myself to
“educate” him. Meanwhile, the gods of - what are they calling themselves now (?), oh, yeah, secular progressives - were busy at work in Tallahassee, doing their damnedest to further encroach on the prerogative of parents.
When I was teaching my children at home (featured in the [old] Fort Lauderdale News circa Sum-
mer, 1981), there existed no infrastructure for those electing to home school. My children were still young, but it was at just about this time that “the most popular politician in the history of Florida” was AUTHORING the mandatory kindergarten bill. Governor Graham “assured” us that by forcing all children into kindergarten, we would wipe out “functional illiteracy” in Florida. Well, that’s what he told us. The teachers had been incapable of taking a sizable number of students beyond the “functional illiteracy” level, but if only we would turn our children over to the state for thirteen years, instead of twelve- that would make the difference! He more recently told us that the “Patriot Act” would not strip Americans of their civil rights. He “assured” us on several occasions that he cast himself in the role of protector of the proletariat, while co-authoring the Patriot Act.
I did my best to put the best face on the situation, though I was very angry. I’d wanted at least one more year BEFORE I sent him to a government school. I explained to Matt that now he’d be going to this big building with hundreds of kids, all there to learn. I could barely restrain him the
first day. He ran all the way to school. I know; I followed him.
Of course, before he could go to school, he had to be registered. I took him to the Administration
Office of Margate Elementary, and while registering my son, requested that he be given an advance-
placement exam, inasmuch as he’d been learning at home.
The response was, “Listen! We’re the experts. You’re just a parent. We’ll take care of it.”
I was livid, but I bit my lip. When I returned home, I told my wife what had happened, but re-
minding me that though I was an “activist”, I shouldn’t risk my son’s educational future by stirring
things up.
On the first day of school, Matt was “jumped” by some black boy (first grader), bussed in from a-
cross town for racial balance. I asked him if he hit the boy back. He said, “No, you told me not to hit anyone.” I explained that it was alright if it was “legitimate” self-defense.
When Matt came home the second day, I asked him if he’d had any more problems with the boy
who’d hit him the day before. He said, “It’s o.k., Dad. I took care of it.”
On the third day, he came home very crestfallen. He came to me and (remember, this is a 5 year-old
boy), said “Dad, I want to stay at home and learn.”
“What makes you say that?”
“At school they give us a piece of paper with circles, squares, and triangles, and tell us to color the
pictures.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Dad”, he exclaimed, “ I was doing that when I was three!”
I reminded him that though he was learning at home, not all of the kids were so fortunate, and he
should be willing to give the others a chance to catch up; in the meantime, he could take one of his
books from home and practice reading during recess. He seemed pleased with that solution.
About two weeks later I received a letter from his kindergarten teacher replete with spelling and
grammatical errors. It stated that under no circumstances was my son Matthew to bring a book to school from home as it was disruptive. It seems that at recess, Matt would take his “book” and go outside, sit on the ground and begin reading. The other children would gather around him in a semi-circle and ask him to read aloud. He would comply. This, according to his teacher, was UNACCEPT-
ABLE. By now I was ready to go down to the principal’s office and knock the door off the hinges (inasmuch as he was being “ordered” to go to school - as one of the Governor’s guinea pigs - in an
effort to eliminate “functional illiteracy”). Still, my wife insisted that we not “rock the boat”. It wasn’t long before Matt devolved into just another kid who no longer wanted to go to school, and we were daily having to drag him out of bed, order him to get dressed and be on his way, often over his objections.
A year went by. Now he was in the first grade. Several weeks into the new school year I re-
ceived a letter from the principal of the school, requesting a meeting so that we could talk about
Matt. Upon reading the letter, I called Matt into the room.
When he walked in, I asked him if he’d been in any trouble at school lately. He told me no.
“Did you curse?”
“No.”
“Did you get in a fight with another student?”
“No.”
“Did you talk back to the teacher?”
“Dad, I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I believe you Matt, but your going with me just the same.”
I briefly explained that we would be meeting with his principal in a couple of days. It was shortly after school had finished, and when Matt and I arrived for the “rendezvous” with the principal, we were escorted into a conference room in which there was a long rectangular table with about ten or twelve chairs. I was “surprised” to see several people and they were introduced as the principal, the assistant principal, Matt’s teacher (whom I’d met), a school psychologist, and a secretary, who appeared to be taking notes of the meeting. The room was extraordinarily dark, lending a whisper
of uncertainty to this mysterious encounter.
The principal began by asking if I would not prefer that Matthew wait outside.
“I beg your pardon,” not entirely sure what I’d heard.
“Don’t you think that it would be better that Matthew wait outside while we speak?”
“What’s the subject matter?”
“Matthew”, the principal responded.
“Anything that you can say behind my son’s back you can say to his face.”
Understanding that I was not going to change my mind, the principal signaled with a nod of the
head to the school psychologist. The psychologist began, “Mr. Letter, have you ever done anything unusual to your child, something that other parents wouldn’t do?”
“I-BEG-YOUR-PARDON?”
“Have you ever done anything with Matt, that‘s different than other parents?”
“Look, let’s cut out the crap! You tell me why we’re here, and I’ll answer all your questions forth-
rightly.” I had no idea what to expect, but I was bracing myself as I listened to the psychologist’s
flummoxed response.
He stammered, however briefly, as he began. “Mr. Letter, a couple of weeks ago we administered an
I.Q. test here at the school. Your son took that test and answered every question correctly. He’s the first child in the history of the school to do that. His score was perfect. In fact, we have no idea what his score is at all - it’s so high that we can’t even measure it. All that we know is that he’s a genius.”
I laughed, I had to. This was preposterous. “How many questions were there?”
“Twenty.”
I turned to Matt in a congratulatory manner, his face beaming, “All right, Matt! Twenty questions! Give me five.” We slapped hands together. Just as quickly, turning back to the assembled professionals, I continued, “But he’s no genius. Matt is no different than any other kid in this neighborhood. He has his strong and weak points. He’s a friendly child who sometimes gets in fights. He’s a thoughtful child who sometimes is selfish. In short, he’s a normal kid .”
The psychologist continued to probe. “How do you explain the perfect score on the I.Q. test?”
“Oh, that’s easy.”
Matt pulled on my sleeve. I looked down. “What is it, Matt?” He whispered, “Dad, it’s okay. I
don’t mind if they call me a genius.” Waving him off with my hand. I turned back to the adults.
“Almost since birth I’ve worked with Matt. I almost never spoke baby talk, but spoke to him as IF
he was capable of understanding what I would say to him. More importantly, if I went grocery shop-
ping, he went grocery shopping. If I went to the bank, he went to the bank. When I would go bike
riding, he was with me. I maximized his social experiences at an early age. When he was old enough
to sit up, I’d point to the television (at the appropriate moment), and read whatever print was on the
screen. As he got older I utilized flash cards (phonics) and routinely played games involving “basic”
history and geography.
The principal began speaking again. He asked, “Would you be willing to give lectures at P.T.A.
meetings here in the county (Broward), explaining to parents the things that they might do so that
their children would be as prepared for school as Matt was, when he started?”
A few seconds passed, though they seemed like an eternity. I said, “ It is not my responsibility to
tell other parents how to raise their children, but it IS my responsibility to raise my children to the best of my ability. I was happy teaching my children at home, and I was saddened to “learn” that the
“state” was forcing me to surrender my child a full year before I had intended to do so. Nonetheless,
as a law-abiding citizen, I dutifully brought my 5-year old in for his obligatory registration.”
(Now it is my opinion that despite the Governor’s pleas that this mandatory kindergarten plan was to end “functional illiteracy”, in actuality it was his way of repaying the teacher’s unions who,
had supported him in his re-election bid and were now crying that their jobs were in jeopardy because of declining school enrollments).
(Why were there declining school enrollments? There were declining school enrollments because
in the ‘60’s, along with other avenues of propaganda, these same “professionals” would bring in
representatives of Planned Parenthood, who lectured us on the dangers of world “overpopulation”,
that the rising population would result in mass starvation. Then of course there was Roe vs. Wade,
in which the Supreme Court of the United States ruled that it was acceptable for a woman to kill her
unborn child).
(By the way, in those days, we were told that the growing population/pollution problem would re-
sult in an ice age. If you don’t believe me, do your own research).
“When we went into the Administration Office there was a young lady there. I explained that I
was there to register my child. I requested that he be given an advance placement test, because I’d
been teaching him at home.” Her smile transformed into a scowl. She responded, ‘We’re the experts;
you’re just a parent. We’ll take care of it.’”
“Yet if I sat on the Margate City Council, or had and esquire tagged to the end of my name, I’m
certain that Matt would have received that test. But because I’m Joe six-pack, some know-nothing
administrator has succeeded in destroying my son’s desire to learn. Now you sit there and ask me to
tell other parents how they can prepare their children for school. Why? So you can have a hundred
Matthews hating school because you experts don’t know what you’re doing? This meeting is over. We’re leaving.”
Matthew was quietly transferred to the “gifted” program. He never fully recovered. He was a reluctant student for many years. Of course, hurdles would be placed in front of him - as well as his three sisters - that once again would “force” him to learn all over again. He went to live in another country. Elsewhere on this site is a fuller personal analysis of “education” in the 21st century.


Without involving you, the reader, in boring explanations, suffice it to say that when we moved to
France, Sylvie Anne worked outside the home, and I took over the role of “househusband”. Lacking
the knowledge of French, I initially tried taking “classes” with a handful of Muslim women (who themselves were learning how to write a check for the first time, so removed were they from western civilization in the country from where they came).
I decided to try on my own. I sat in a barn for three weeks with nothing but a bi-lingual diction-
ary. I read the book from a-z. Then I closed the book, walked out of the barn, and began speaking
French - poorly. My one-man assault on the French language is legendary in parts of France, partic-
ularly Alsace and Nord Pas du Calais.
I became involved in the community in ways that I could never have imagined, and admit that the
ten years that I lived in Europe were ten of the happiest years of my life. A great deal of that was be-
cause of directly raising my children, complete with “bake sales” and field trips. Another great portion of that was because I spent ten years acting as a counter balance to some of the most vulgar,
insensitive, misogynistic, rap/music videos that I’d ever known about - being broadcast daily on M6, the young people’s channel - to be seen by innocent French children. Please understand that these graphic, uncensored videos were so vulgar, not even MTV would allow them on their “overnight” broadcasts. Yet here they were, being broadcast for consumption by young people longing to emulate
“Americans”.
I could simply state that I negotiated for a one-million dollar parcel of land to build the first base-
ball field in Alsatian history, but in a nation the size of Texas, with more than sixty million people, with a culture where soccer dominates everything and baseball is a third tier sport, the accomplish-
ment was, to say the least, noteworthy.
If I ever do write an autobiography, no doubt my years of developing adult baseball teams in France will figure prominently. For now, suffice it to say that when I arrived in 1989, there had existed (since 1972), one adult baseball team, as a part of the Strasbourg University Sports Program, with 17 registered (in Paris) licensees. When I left at the end of 1992, there were three adult teams in Strasbourg, over 200 licensees, the first baseball field in Alsace, and we secured control (by virtue of the increased number of participants, which translated into votes at the Winter meetings), of the political direction of baseball in Alsace, even to the point of moving the headquarters from Colmar to Strasbourg, the region’s capital.
We were living in an apartment in Strasbourg the night that Bill Clinton was elected President of
the United States. That night, I had a “Future Fact”. In this particular example, the most puzzling of all the predictions, the words that came to me were literally “Broom Hillary”. From those two words I was able to construe the following Future Fact:

IN THE END, THEY WILL SAY, THAT IT WAS “SHE”, WHO WAS THE EVIL ONE.


I cannot explain how I drew that from those two words. I wish that I could. Nonetheless, I dutifully found a primary witness; this time Stephen Swinscoe. The earlier remarks contain the essence of our discussions.
As stated earlier, when Hillary made her “cutesy” remark during her “conversation” with
America in January, she herself, created the yardstick by which she’ll be “compared”; so the inevita-
bility of the realization of this prediction is now a foregone conclusion.

The next Future Fact can be compared to the planet Pluto. Oh, Pluto’s not a planet? You’re not
sure? That’s my point. In 1994, I had a vision, complete with sensation, that in the 21st century, one’s greatest asset, after health, would be anonymity. Let’s just say that of all the future facts that
I’ve experienced, this one was the “weakest” in the “surprise” department. At times, especially in
retrospect, it seems like common sense. I’m just being honest. Oh, and I don’t care what the “ex-
perts” say. To me, Pluto will always be a planet.
I returned to the United States in 1999, for several reasons, not the least of which was to save my
country. I will be writing about that shortly...but before I leave France, (and I’m not even relating my brief experience playing semi-pro ball in Antwerp, Belgium), I want to tell the story of my
greatest failure. It’s a story that must be told.



SIDEBAR #8



When I was still living in Strasbourg, I had to stop at the U.S. Consulate’s Office for a minor
adjustment to my passport. I entered the large, white edifice, itself surrounded by a large black,
iron fence and it’s entry manned by a marine. After passing inside, I lined up with (mostly) other
Americans, as we waited inside in the beautiful environs of this converted “house”, for our oppor-
tunity to conduct business. While standing there in line, a French woman asked if I was Mr. Letter. When I pled mea culpa, she asked me to follow her.
She took me to a room on the first floor away from the general public. This was before the total dominance of the “internet” (circa 1992) , so it was a filing cabinet that she led me to so that I might
see “...that we’ve been keeping a record of your activities while you’ve been here in Strasbourg...”.
She was the Liaison Officer. Actually, I was shocked, but only because I didn’t think that what I was
doing would interest anyone. Nonetheless, there were newspaper accounts and reports etc., out-
lining my work in Alsace.
That knowledge was not lost on me and several years later, when I was given the job of General
Manager of the Dunkerque Korvers, I would rely on my government’s knowledge of my activities to
accomplish what I hoped would be my life’s “greatest contribution” to society.



(For those of you “educated” in government schools, Dunkerque was both the site of the great de-
barkation of World War II, and the last city “liberated” in the European theater of war. During the German Blitzkrieg of the Spring of 1940, more than 350,000 British soldiers were trapped in Nord Pas du Calais. They’d assembled on the beaches of Dunkerque, hoping to be evacuated. In almost unbelievable numbers, both military and civilian sea craft arrived from Britain, to help these weary men escape. They did so under the constant barrage of firepower above, courtesy of the Luftwaffe).
I first approached Coca-Cola, inasmuch as there was a bottling plant halfway between Dun-kerque and Lille, in this northernmost region of France. They told me that if I could pull this off they would donate for our permanent use, a $250,000 electronic scoreboard.
I wrote a letter to the Ambassador to France, the late Pamela Harriman, and requested a Letter of
Introduction to (then acting) Commissioner of Major League Baseball, Bud Selig. In that letter, I
explained my proposal and pleaded with her to understand that I knew that I would never ascend to
such a prestigious position in my lifetime as had she, but that I wanted to help promote positive aspects of our common culture, and lacking anything other than a GED, this would probably be my
greatest opportunity. I only found out later that she herself only went to high school.
In any case, her office responded, indicating that they would gladly help. I was asked to express that which I wanted included in the Letter of Introduction. Then they would type it up and put it in a courier pouch for delivery to the (acting ) Commissioner. I was listening to Armed Forces Radio (out of Germany) and working on the third draft when I’d heard for the FIRST time that the World Series of 1994 might be canceled. I cannot exaggerate how angry and hurt that I was. Here I was, earning literally pennies a day for my work, and the over-priced, mediocre ballplayers, along with the greedy sport-destroying owners, had decided to “lock horns”. When I explain the proposal to you, perhaps you too, will agree that this was my greatest failure.
(Those of you who are too young to remember should know the best kept “secret” about the
destruction of Major League Baseball. Those who almost know what they’re talking about will
suggest that the breakdown in talks which resulted in the cancellation of the World Series inflict-
ed the most severe damage to MLB. That’s simply not true. The beauty of baseball had always
been its poetic quality, and its unpredictability. Sometimes the game would be over in an hour and a half. Sometimes, the game would last several hours, especially if the game went into extra innings. Each game had its own unique imprint, and was unique unto itself. The game, particularly when played well, would build towards an exciting finish, the crescendo of which would be reflected in the rising voices of the devotees.)
(What really inflicted damage, changing the game forever, was the artificial “extension” of the
game by up to an hour, because of an agreement between MLB and the television networks to
“delay” each half inning in order to broadcast another two minutes or so of commercials [in addition to those already being broadcast at the time of the agreement]. One hundred-twenty seconds doesn’t sound like much until you multiply it by 18 [two breaks per inning; 9 inning game]. Now, it seems as as if every game is about 3:01).
(When I speak with young people, the single greatest complaint about Major League Baseball
that I consistently hear is NOT the salaries, and it’s NOT the steroids controversy. It’s the PACE of
the game. Owners, please take note).
(Some would be foolish enough to point to record-breaking numbers in attendance and so forth
as evidence of my drawing illogical or false conclusions. That is because the 70-million baby boomers
are peaking in their material “lifetime” gains, but in the next twenty-five years, as the abortion-deci-
mated generation grows older, you will definitely see a vast decline in the percentage of the pop-ulation which follows baseball, as well as real declines in attendance).
In 1994, Michael Jordan had already resigned as a basketball player, and was what the French
refer to as a manque jouer in the Chicago White Sox organization. His father had not, by accounts
that I’d read, wanted Michael to play basketball; he’d wanted him to play baseball. Michael Jordan’s father had already been murdered. Furthermore, his father served in Europe during World War II. We wanted Commissioner Selig to ask Mr. Jordan to represent MLB by presenting a trophy to the winning team invited to play (from Europe) in what would have been “baseball’s” contri-bution to the 50th anniversary of the liberation of Europe at Dunkerque.
When the talks broke down and the World Series was canceled for the first time in memory, it
became rather inappropriate for all parties in question; the project imploded under the weight of
“commercial” interests. We couldn’t request that Bud Selig ask Michael Jordan to represent Major League Baseball during a strike that ranked as the worst in baseball’s history. I’m not bitter. I know it’s a business. I also know that it was my greatest failure.


I returned to the United States in 1999, and when I got an apartment, the first thing that I did was to place an American flag over every entrance of every room. When friends came by they would
invariably ask me why over each threshold was a flag. I would tell them that I’d lived in other coun-
tries. I explained that I’d lived 15 years of my adult life outside the United states, and that I want to
remind myself as I walk from room to room, that I’m back “home”. Invariably, they would roll their eyes or shrug their shoulders.
In 2000, I received another Future Fact, and this “vision” was the most crucial of all. It is three predictions in one, and the one that propelled me by it’s very existence to take greater steps to save my country. The exact prophecy was, “When President Hillary Clinton, declares Martial Law,
some members of the media will respond to the effect, ‘Well, it must be necessary; after all, everyone
knows that she’s a liberal.’”
At first, acknowledging my own limitations, I thought that I should support the person who I be-
lieved would be the most likely antithesis to evil. That was Republican Patrick J. Buchanan. How-
ever, Pat left the Republican Party and joined the Reform Party. That was interesting to me, because
despite the fact that I’d been registered for many years as a Libertarian, I’d voted for Ross Perot in
1992 and 1996. I switched to the Reform Party.
I won’t bore you with my lengthy opinions regarding the manner that the “establishment” acted to destroy the credibility of the Reform Party, but what I will register is my disappointment that Ross Perot did NOT make an appearance the night that Buchanan was nominated. That was the death knell.
Of course I found witnesses, and in the case of Laura Adams and Charles McNees, they patiently
listened for scores of hours as I explained (more than to any other witnesses except my wife), the history and development of my Future facts. Thanks, guys. To Tracey Sperry, of which I only seem to obtain contact intermittently (she was last known to be living in northern New York), I explained something else. It was something that sends chills down my spine, is not exactly “linked” to the Future Facts directly, and will be explained a little further down.
At one point, almost daily, for three months, I stood in the same spot in St. Petersburg (70th ave.
north and 34th street north). Not wanting to bore the drivers who’d be commuting daily, I strived
day after day, to hold different signs associated with my support for Buchanan. Here’s a sample of
LETTERQUOTES:
“RITALIN IS THE BRAVE NEW WORLD”
“HILLARY IS EVIL”
“ABORTION, PLUS ILLEGAL IMMIGRATION, EQUALS NATIONAL SUICIDE”
“COMING SOON: MARTIAL LAW”

There were times when people would shout insults such as “racist”, or “NAZI”. There were
times when people would throw rocks or other items, including a female city bus driver. I was con-
tinuously harassed by the manager of the Walgreens drug store, the sidewalk in front of his store
being where I parked myself during those months. He even called the police, but they agreed each
time that I was only engaging in legal “campaigning” for my candidate.
I knew that supporting Pat Buchanan would, in the end, not achieve the desired result. Even as I
stood there, I was calculating my next move.
In 2001, I had cause to engage Tracey Sperry in conversation. The subject drifted to a discussion of our (nation’s) future. I related an experience in France that I wanted her to fully understand. It only indirectly related to the Future Facts, but was significant enough that it needed to be shared. Even though my French was not very good, it was good enough for me to want to explore the predict-ions of Nostradamus. I could spend three paragraphs carefully crafting words, or I can just tell you.
I’ll just tell you. Nostradamus’ quatrains are in random order. Sometimes there are two or more that
are linked, though separated by several centuries (chapters). My goal during that period was to try to link those quatrains where possible, and give a chronological outline of our future, based on what Nostradamus saw in his own “visions”.
I found two separate quatrains that I linked together. They were:
The rule left to two, they will hold it for a very short time.
Three years and seven months having passed they will go to
war. The two vestals will rebel against them. The victor then
born on American soil.
Century 4; Quatrain 95;
Century 8; Quatrain 77.
The third Antichrist soon annihilates everything, twen-
ty-seven years of blood his war will last. The unbelievers dead,
captive, exiled with blood, human bodies, water and red hail
covering the earth.

I explained to her that I believed that these two were inextricably linked, and from the two of them
I’d surmised the following prediction (NOT a “Future Fact”):

In the beginning of the 21st century, there would be the start of a 27 year war between the Mus-
lims and the West, the winner being born on American soil.

I even gave her a scenario. I reminded her that in 1993, there’d been an assault on the WTC. I
cautioned her that this was NOT one of my Future Facts, but a perfectly logical manner in which a
war of such magnitude might instigate. I told her to think of the WTC. If the next time it would be
attacked, the Muslims would succeed in bringing down one of the two buildings, that would be an example of that which would trigger my interpretation of Nostradamus’ prophecies. That was April, 2001.
Elsewhere on this site are further “discoveries” that I made while researching those predictions
written five centuries ago.

Oh, by the way. Like everyone else, I sat all day in front of my television, in a state of shock,
over what had transpired on that awful September morning (9/11). On 9/12 I went outside, took a 360 degree turn, and all I could see were American flags. Suddenly, the flags hanging over my interior thresholds didn’t seem so peculiar.

President Fox (Mexico) was not sad, he was angry. President Bush was forced to postpone the
surrendering of the United States indefinitely. Don’t worry, the explanation is coming. That’s noth-
ing. Wait until you find out where former President William Clinton was on 9/11.

At the end of November, 2002, I heard Sen. Bob Graham talking about his pride in having co-
authored the Patriot Act. For me, that was the final straw. I immediately called my son in Buffalo, N.Y., to tell him that it was my intention to seek the nomination from the Libertarian Party for the United States Senate. A week or so later, I was listening to some substitute talk-show host (Wisebeck?) on the Savage Nation, the program of Dr. Michael Savage. I’d come to class that night only to discover one of the many assistant professors toiling away.
The audible angst pouring out over the air from worried citizens touched me deeply. I had never
called Michael Savage’s show before, but I got in line. I listened as caller after caller bemoaned the
negative impact that illegal immigration was having on the southwest part of the United States, Georgia, North Carolina, and my mind drifted back to the time when my young wife and I were in Miami. We lived in Sunrise, Florida at the time (Broward), and the nearest Immigration and Naturalization Office was in Dade County.
When we arrived at the appropriate waiting room that January morning in 1978, there were in the seats and lining the walls, hundreds of foreigners, many of them carrying on conversations, and the dominant tongue was Spanish. I’d been stationed for three and one-half years in Puerto Rico, and had ample opportunity to hear Spanish spoken in groups, but this experience was different. Though not fluent in Spanish, I could detect different accents - Cubans, Venezuelans, Colombians, and so forth.
About an hour into the process, we were signaled to come to the counter for assistance. Now of
course we were there so that my foreign-born wife could obtain a green card. We realized instantly
that the person we were speaking to could only understand Spanish. She had tried to pose a question
and the gentleman could not understand her “accent”. I asked in perfect English if there was anyone
in the office who spoke French. There was no one, and in fact, his English turned out to be so poor, he volunteered to find someone who could speak English. Five or six minutes later, a befuddled accountant type came scurrying from somewhere deep in the bowels of this U.S. taxpayer-funded ins-
titution.
I told my wife later, the story of when I was 12, and living in Miami, and we were told by our gov-
ernment school teachers (1965) that we were going to start learning Spanish in order to make the new immigrants more comfortable in their new home. Less than 15 years later it takes 5 minutes to ferret out someone who can speak English in a FEDERAL BUILDING IN THE UNITED STATES!!!
The person just prior to me speaking on the air was in tears, as she explained what was happening
along the border in Arizona. She was pleading that someone do something before it’s too late. Though sympathetic to Donna’s situation, he was unable to assuage her of her concerns. I was next.
“Don’t you worry Donna”, I began without even acknowledging the host, “the revolution‘s coming, I promise.” The host asked, “Who are you?”
“I’ll be happy to tell your producers off the air.”
“Are you afraid to disclose who you are on the air ?”
“No, but normally, talk-radio is anonymous .”
“Who are you, tell us.”
“My name is Jeffrey M. Letter. L-E-T-T-E-R. I live in St. Petersburg, Florida. ”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I’m fighting back. The revolution’s coming Donna - hang in there. Are you listening Senator Graham? I’ve waited twenty years to go toe-to-toe with you Bob, and I’m going to beat you, I’m going to beat you with a third party, and with the slimmest budget of any victorious Senatorial cam-
paign in 2004.”
“What party will you represent?”
“The Libertarian Party.”
“If that’s your party, then this is the most publicity that you’ll ever get.” Click.
As stated earlier, with his wife Adele at his side, standing in front of supporters in Miami, Sen.
Graham most uncharacteristically bellowed his own prediction, that he would BE the next Presi-
dent. Of course his closest aides were totally flabbergasted, and this was reflected in many news ac-
counts of the time, in the Miami Herald, as well as other state newspapers.
I made my official announcement at the state Convention of the Libertarian Party in Orlando, in 2003, and quickly discovered that there were those “leaders” that wanted to tell me how to stand and how to respond and generally parrot the “accepted” Libertarian “sales pitch”. I hoped that my sincerity and thoughtfulness might overcome their inflexible political posturing, but learned that these “inferior minds” were more preoccupied in ensuring that the head of their ticket “fall in line”,
than allowing a natural leader emerge who might, with some conservative viewpoints (heaven forbid), catapult the Libertarian Party onto the radar screens of the general voting public.
I regret that at the nominating Convention of the Libertarian Party in Gainesville (2004), there
was no media to be seen. The “leaders” of the party recommended (because of some of my conservative viewpoints) that my nomination be rejected AND voted upon it BEFORE I was given an
opportunity to speak, and the protests over this “maneuver” were loud and clear, although I was in no way connected to anyone protesting this most dramatic turn of events. I had been up for almost 36 hours that weekend and was prepared to give a short statement reflecting my resolve to win against the cardboard candidate, Mel Martinez, and baby-killer, Betty Castor. I wasn’t prepared for rejection.
Since the speech that I was allowed to give after I’d already been rejected was impromptu, I bas-
ically told the delegates that they’d made a major mistake, and though I would pray that they’d made the correct decision, I also told them that I knew they’d failed themselves and America. Elsewhere on this site are reproductions of “An Introduction to Jeffrey M. Letter”, a handout distributed at the Lib. convention in Orlando, 2003, and a position(s) paper distributed to the delegates at the 2004 convention in Gainesville.
It was several weeks later when I received the FINAL FUTURE FACT. I’ve shared the “concept”
with less than five people. I don’t need “witnesses” anymore. All that has occurred to me with respect
to the visions, is now clear. I understand what my life purpose is, and this site is an attempt to fulfill
that purpose. My “burden” will soon be your burden (to share).
Now that this section is coming to an end, I am going to begin writing opinion pieces that I’ve put
together over the years after many thousands of hours of study and analysis. I’d mentioned earlier that I felt that I was qualified to be President. My writings, imperfect as they are, will attempt to illustrate the society that we can live in, rather than be a rationalization of positions (with a wink and a nod to the various special interests) that “professional” politicians offer.
I will not “ask” any party to nominate me. If, after reading the material on this site, there are people who, with this tool called the internet, want to organize a “grassroots” movement, I’d be ex-
tremely humbled. My life IS my resume. I would be perfectly content with the salary, as I have few
needs. If anyone is interested, I am a member of the Constitution Party. Let the revolution begin.
On the other hand, if you think that I’m crazy, or have an ego the size of Antarctica, and should be avoided at all costs, that’s o.k. with me; I accomplished my life purpose the day we flicked the
switch to turn on this site. Either way, my conscience is clear. I’ve done everything in my power to
bring this warning to America and to the attention of the internet children.
My main purpose has been to communicate that I can see into the future. I have assembled wit-
nesses from all walks of life. I’ve devoted my life to altruism, even to the point of losing “comfortable” positions of employment and a marriage to the best friend that I’ve ever had. I also risked 20 years in prison for a principle that could not have benefited me, but instead those that I was leaving behind. My hope is that we stop evil. Evil, in this case is symbolized by Hillary Rotten Clinton. Stopping her is important (primarily because it would demonstrate that the future CAN be changed), but she is ONLY a symbol. There are others that want us to become a socialist state. There are others that want to destroy our sovereignty. There are others that are determined to keep us divided, so that we can be dominated. Thomas Jefferson said, “The price of liberty is eternal vigilance.”
As indicated before, this is basically an abridged version of what otherwise would be a book.
Thank you for taking the time to have read the condensed version.
Ezekiel: 33;33


“The Bible Explained; the Antichrist Revealed”
Have you ever asked yourself why it is that no one seems to “know” what’s going on? Seriously.
You’ll perhaps be sitting with colleagues or friends, and as the subject “drifts” towards politics and
war, illegal aliens, or economic shifts, no one seems to know what’s going on. Consensus is even less.
We don’t even know what it is we need to know in order to know what’s going on.
At absolutely no cost to you, I will explain it. It’s easier than you might guess, and though
in the end we may NOT agree on the solution, at the very least we’ll all be on the same page. Certain-
ly for you, the reader, the next time you hear or even better, participate in a discussion, it will be as if
you’ve awoken from a dream and can see all clearly. That’s my Letter-perfect guarantee, or double your money back.
I’m about to explain something to you that no preacher, minister, priest, or evangelist has been
able or has cared to do (and I welcome feedback from any theologian who cares to critique my interpretation). When finished reading the following explanation, you’ll find yourself capable of understanding so much more, that you’ll find yourself laughing at the “experts”, particularly the ones paraded on television. Just relax and enjoy; it won’t be like Bible class at all.
The following story will be a brief overview of the entire 66 books of the Bible, and their relation-
ship to contemporary international affairs.
There once was a man named Abram. He had a wife named Sarai. They loved each other very much, but try as they might, year after year, decade after decade, Serai failed to conceive. She passed
through menopause and was beyond hope of conceiving. She had a maid servant, and gave Abram her blessing in allowing him to impregnate the maidservant, named Hagar. Hagar gave birth
to a boy, Ishmael. Ishmael is the father of the Arabs.
So Abram’s seed would be carried on, and there was joy.
Sometime later the Lord made a covenant with Abram, and in fact, changed his name to Abra-
ham, and his wife’s to Sarah. He promised that Sarah was now pregnant (at 90 years), and that his
his son’s name would be Isaac. He promised that through Isaac would come a great nation. When
Abraham pleaded for Ishmael, the Lord promised that his descendants would be many, and so would their nations; but that they would constantly be at war, and against everyone. The Lord insisted that His covenant would be continued through Isaac’s line. Isaac was the father of the Jews.
Now that Abraham and Sarah had a child together, there was even greater joy.
Some years after Isaac was born, a messenger appeared to Abraham, instructing him that the Lord wanted a sacrifice; his son Isaac. Abraham took Isaac to Mt. Moriah, to be sacrificed. After
making the appropriate preparations, he was ready to slaughter Isaac when a messenger ap-
peared, telling him to stop. Abraham was told to wait for another messenger.
(Sacrificing one’s offspring during this period in history was about as rare as a full moon. The only reason that this particular story is exceptional, is that this couple had waited so long to have a child of their own, and it was conceived at a time when [due to the advanced age of Sarah], was considered miraculous).
A short time later, another messenger appeared and explained that he had proved his devotion to God - he would not have to sacrifice his son -and that from Abraham’s loins would come a people “...whose very existence would be a blessing to all mankind...”. These would be the Jews. They would be the chosen ones.
Many centuries later, and after hundreds of years of bondage (in Egypt), after Moses led the Hebrews to “the promised land”, King David succeeded in uniting Israel and Judea. He was sitting in his grand palace when a messenger appeared, asking him why it was that he rested in such a grand palace, but the Ark of the Covenant (which housed the Ten Commandments), continued to sit in a tent. King David volunteered that he would build a palace for the Ark of the Covenant, but the messenger told him that that would not be the case; but that it would be built by one of David’s descendants.


OBSERVATION #3


There is scant evidence that King David ever existed. Even today, when evidence is uncovered
through archaeological digs supporting his historical role, there are those (notably, Muslim clerics),
who insist that it’s not possible because King David is a myth. However, there is ample evidence, that
his son, King Solomon DID exist, and it was Solomon who built the first Holy Jewish Temple. It was
built on Mt. Moriah. That’s not an accident. That’s not a coincidence. It was built there specifically because it was the site where Abraham was to have sacrificed Isaac.




So Solomon did build the Holy Jewish Temple on Mt. Moriah, and purportedly, it was one of the most beautiful structures of its day. Several centuries later, King Nebuchadnezzar laid siege to the
city of Jerusalem, and eventually defeated the Jews. His soldiers, who came from Babylon (modern
Iraq), destroyed the Holy Jewish Temple, plundering it and the city in general. Tens of thousands of
prisoners were brought back to Babylon to be slaves. Their status would not change until seventy years later, when King Cyrus of Persia (modern Iran), swept down and destroyed Babylon entirely.
King Cyrus personally urged the leaders of the Jews to return to their homeland and rebuild their
temple. He even returned the items taken from the temple itself.
So the freed Jews returned to Jerusalem, and under the leadership of men such as Nehemiah, the
Hebrews rebuilt their temple (on the site of the original). Many more centuries passed and Jesus en-
dured his life on Earth, sacrificing Himself for our sins, and resurrecting from death to illustrate that
through Him, the Kingdom of Heaven and life everlasting was obtainable. Of course His time on Earth coincided with the rise of the Roman Empire, the greatest of the ancient powers, and less than forty years after the death and resurrection of the Christ, there was a revolt in Judea. It’s known today as the Jewish revolt. The Romans utterly destroyed Jerusalem, and the Holy Jewish Temple (a second time). The silver, gold, and “monies” confiscated by the Romans, were used to finance the construction of the Coliseum, in Rome. Though many Jews were taken also, to help construct this extant amphitheater, this was more significantly, the time of the great Diaspora (when Jews were scattered over the known world), and the name Judea was stricken from all maps (as ordered by the Roman Emperor Hadrian). It was replaced by the name Palestine.
About five-hundred years later there was an illiterate merchant that lived in Arabia at Mecca.
According to Islamic teaching, his name was Mohammed, and he received through a series of visions
a new set of guidelines for a new religion. Though he tried to establish this new faith in the city where
he lived, he was forced to flee, and he went to a town then known as Yathrib (now Medina), and it was there that the theocracy known as Islam was established.
Almost from day one, this “religion” has been spread through violence, and in fact, the unique
manner of “conquest” helped to spread the faith rapidly. Within 150 years the Muslim faith spread
across all of Arabia eastward to India, and westward, across the northern coast of Africa, and up into
Spain. However, Mohammed died within a few years of the start of this religious/military expansion, which led to deep divisions. These divisions carry on to this day, and are manifest through con-tinuous attacks on one another (note Sunnis and Shiites in Iraq).
Before dying, Mohammed was said to have, in a dream, flown to Judea. Not just any place in Judea though. He was said to have “traveled” to Jerusalem. Not just any place in Jerusalem, though.
He is said to have “traveled” to Mt. Moriah, site of the twice built, twice destroyed, Holy Jewish
Temple. Today, the mosque of Omar (think Dome of the Rock) and the al-Aqsa mosque rest on Mt.
Moriah. Almost since the inception of the Muslim faith, the Muslims in particular, and the Arabs in
general have claimed that the Jews lied. They said that it was not Isaac that was to have been sacri-
ficed on Mount Moriah, but instead, Ishmael. The Jews were not the “chosen ones”, but instead, it
was the Muslims; and that they were to set an example for all the world to follow, even if it be by force.
The reason that the Muslim “fanatics” want to “destroy” Israel , or push them all “into the sea”,
is so that there is no one to challenge them when they (falsely) claim that Abraham was to have sacri-
ficed Ishmael. That may not seem important to you. You may ask yourself, “Who cares?” But the im-
portance of this cannot be overstated. If there were no longer Jews, there would be no one to chal-
lenge their claim which would be then interpreted as the religious foundation of Western Civilization.
Think about that. If the Jews do not exist, if the Bible was “discredited”, how could there even be
Christianity? The foundation of Christianity is based on Judaism, and the first Christians were Jews.
Many Jews believe that when the Holy Jewish Temple is built a third time, the Messiah will come (for the first time). Many Christians believe that if the Holy Jewish Temple is built a third time, that
the Antichrist will rise to power (in part because of his ability to find a way to bring about peace in the Middle East), go to that very Temple, sit in the site of the Holy of the Holies (on a throne), and
declare himself God on Earth -and under threat of death - demand that all worship him as such. Even the Muslims believe that in the “end times” their “Mahdi” (divine guide) will return. The primary difference between Sunnis and Shiites is that the Sunnis believe it will be Jesus Christ himself, and the Shiites believe that it will be the twelfth Imman.
A few days after the World Trade Center was destroyed it occurred to me what the “solution” would be. I explained it to my father, and he suggested that I write to someone in the government. Of
course this was impractical, as there was an anthrax scare (coincidence?), which almost to the mom-
ent brought “snail-mail” correspondence (with Washington D.C.) to a grinding halt. In any case, I shared the idea with thousands of people because I shared the idea with Todd Schnitt, on WFLA-970, in Tampa, Florida. At the time, I explained the above Biblical overview, and offered a “solution” to the problem.
I said, “The President said that it was a new kind of war for a new century. Then he started con-
sulting the same leaders and forming the same old alliances. If we follow this course, we will go from
country to country, hunting down terrorists, often upsetting other nations, and that, in the end, we are going to end up in one place anyway - Jerusalem - because what is really being fought over, is Mount Moriah.”
“The President should announce that he understands what the terrorists goal is. He should indicate that because they have killed thousands of Americans that they are now put on notice:
One more terrorist assault against innocent civilians in the United States or anywhere in the world,
and we will “surgically” destroy the Dome of the Rock, the third holiest site in the Islamic world.
A second terrorist assault will result in the destruction of the cemetery in Medina (Yathrib), where Mohammed is said to have been buried, the second most holy site in the Islamic world.
A third attack would result in the total destruction of the Kabaal, the Muslim’s most holy site. They won’t even know which way to face when praying.”
“And if, after all these “warnings”, the terrorists would again strike, then, and only then, would we for the first time send in the troops. We would send them to Jerusalem. We would surround the
city, and say to the citizens, go ahead Jews, rebuild your temple. We’re going to settle this question once and for all.”
Todd Schnitt took a deep breath and said, “You realize that you’re talking about the big one.”
I want to thank him again for that privilege. That exchange of the Bible overview and “solution”.
took about ten minutes to explain. In any case, it’s recorded in his archives, September, 2001.
Now the solution sounds extremely radical; but we’re dealing with people who have no respect
for ANYONE else’s religion. They’ve already assaulted the third most holy Jewish site in Tunisia. Other Muslim extremists destroyed the Bhuddist statues (I believe in Afghanistan). There was an
assassination attempt on the Pope by a Muslim from Bulgaria. And the assaults and kidnapping of Americans has dragged on for decades.....how patient must we be?
If we’re going to risk World War III, and perhaps lose up to two billion lives, it should be over something a little more historically significant than removing a second rate dictator from a third
rate nation. If we’re going to risk World War III, then let’s settle this religious question once and for all.
This is not without careful deliberation. I have friends and acquaintances that are Muslim. I have
eaten in their homes and I have spent scores of hours listening to the criticisms of America, many of
which are valid, though not to the point of such barbarian tactics of terror that they employ. But this
solution is a dispassionate conclusion based on my understanding of what is really going on.
It gives me personal heartbreak because I value my own religious “symbols”, and I understand what destruction means. Most of the Muslim people that I have met over the years were genteel. Of
course there were exceptions; no different than with any other group. But the reality is that the rad-
icals are so “devoted” to their “religious” cause (even to the point of suicide), the thought of possibly losing the symbols that they love - literally - more than life itself , may be the one thing that will give the most rabid of terrorists cause to rethink their strategy.
Let’s recall just SOME of the terrorists “greatest hits”, less we pity them too much. Is that o.k. with you Rosie (O’Donnell)?



1) there was the terrorist attack against athletes at the Olympics at Munich; very
symbolic, don’t you think?
2) how about the children at the kindergarten in Russia; such bravery.
3)we can’t leave out the World Trade Center, and the 2700 people who perished on
that day.
4) there was the jet over Scotland. I think that one was supposed to explode over water.
5) there were the sleeping marines at the barracks in Beirut. As I recall, Congress
“insisted” that the guards at the gate be unarmed.
6) there was the attack on the U.S.S. Cole. I believe the sailors on the deck were told
to be “unarmed”. We didn’t want to offend the sensibilities of the people of Yemen.
7) there were the several hundred-thousand villagers murdered in Algeria for not
“voting” for a theocracy. The radicals would go into small villages (on weekends, as if it was a part-time job), killing all people in these small villages for not supporting the “theocratic” candidate.
(Fifteen centuries before, the radicals would “sweep” into small villages and demand that the vil-
lagers submit or die. Many submitted, many resisted, and many died. This unusual “military” strat-
egy normally would involve groups of militants numbering between one and three thousand soldiers.
It was a most interesting and unique strategy, and variants of that basic strategy are being employed
today, by the Muslim religious zealots).



Now that is just a handful. There are dozens of conflicts ongoing in the world, even as these words
are being typed in March, 2007. In virtually EVERY case, on one side are Muslims. I’m beginning to
see a pattern here, and the funny part is that we are constantly told that Islam is a peaceful religion.
Really?! So all the wars the Muslims are currently engaged in, that’s an anomaly.
Even if you don’t agree with the solution that I’ve suggested, I do hope that you’ll more clearly
understand what is being fought over, so that whatever you decide is the right thing to do, it will
have come from a greater understanding of what is going on.
There is a flip side. Knowing what IS being fought over, if President, I would, in exchange for cessation of terrorist assaults, promise the “most radical” elements that we (the United States, al-
so known as the “Great Satan”), would guarantee in perpetuity, that the Jews would never rebuild their Holy Temple on Mt. Moriah. The Antichrist cannot go to a temple (to demand all worship him as God on Earth) if there is no temple for him to “visit”.


Revealing the Antichrist


When living in France, I began researching Nostradamus’ prophecies. I did additional
reading as a by-product of that and one day I was reading about ancient symbolism. Though the
beliefs may have been different, the symbols were often the same, and in the case of the number
6, it was said to be the imperfect number, indicating man without God, and man without woman.
On another day, I had cause to read the names of the various popes, and I noticed something quite
curious. But once again, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Saint John, while on the island of Patmos, wrote the book of Revelation. In chapter 13, verse
18, there is a challenge. It is a challenge to solve a riddle. I believe that I’ve accidentally uncovered the solution to that riddle, and though there is no way to guarantee that, I’ve yet to come across anyone with a better theory. Let’s review those verses:

1-2 speak of the “rise” of the “Antichrist”; he emerges from “enjoined powers”. The
Seven “kingdoms, of which five had passed, one was and one was yet to come is clearly mentioned. From that seventh, would spring forth an eighth (the Antichrist). The Antichrist will “receive” his “authority” from ten rulers. But who are these rulers? What is the “seventh kingdom”?
The Antichrist is “fatally wounded”, yet resurrects within a short period of time. It is this line,
that tells me that it was NOT the emperor Nero. It is my belief that Europe, or more specifically, the
European Union would be a logical source of political power from which the Antichrist could emerge, but I find it difficult to accept that the two-dozen or so current members would be equally influential in this equation.
The seventh “kingdom” will be entirely unique. In verses 3-8, the rise to power is mentioned
and the reasons why as well. It’s indicated that the seventh “empire” must exist for “a short time”. It
is from this “seventh kingdom” that an “eighth” (Antichrist) will spring from, the ten contemporary “leaders”, of one thought (moving towards one-world government?), giving him total authority. If applying these verses to modern developments, the most logical theory that I can draw from this is that although it would not be the U.N. itself, the parallel development of transnational corporation-dominated “free trade zones“ such as “Canamerimex” or whatever they plan on calling it, will probably evolve into ten free trading zones. There very well could be a scenario in which the ten
“zone” leaders MIGHT pass the reins of power to this charismatic silver-tongued “devil”.
The “assassination” and resurrection certainly would get people’s attention, and there is a hint that this “leader” would be able to “accomplish” feats heretofore unseen, wielding power that could not be challenged. Because he speaks “blasphemies”, it’s safe to say that he will speak against God almighty, though “charming” us all the while. Given power to rule for three and one-half years, he totally dominates the entire planet.
Verses 9 and 10, though interesting, appear to be out of place. It’s not for me to judge; but
I offer my opinion without consideration of those two verses.
Verses 11-15 speak about an “assistant”, who, because of the dragon (sounds like Satan to me), not only demonstrates powers as the first, but orders those on Earth to erect an image of (the Antichrist), and make this image speak. There must be some telecommunication link here (something that would not have been comprehended at the time of the original writing; and once again casting doubt on the theory of Nero being the Antichrist).
Verses 15-18 tells us that ALL persons, regardless of status or rank in society, will be forced
to take the mark of the (Antichrist), and that failure to do so, will result in ostracism. On the other hand, taking the mark and worshiping the beast will result in eternal damnation. At this point, the riddle is posed. Let he who hath wisdom calculate the number of the beast, for it is a man’s number,
and his number is 666.
As stated above, 6 was the imperfect number; man without God, or even man without woman. That means that it could be a celibate man, such as a Pope. When researching the Catholic (universal) Popes, I was startled to discover, that in the 2,000 year history of the Catholic Church, there has been only one name ever selected by a Cardinal ascending to the Papal throne that in actuality is a number. That name is the Sextus (sometimes printed Sixtus), which is Latin for “6th”. The last Pope so named was Pope Sextus V. He served beginning in 1585.
Yet there is still another twist to the tale. During the latter half of the 11th century, and the
first half of 12th century, there was a prophet (from Ireland) named Malachi. Among his prophecies
was a calculation as to the number of Popes that there would be until the “end times”. Without boring you with lengthy explanations, suffice it to say that if he is right, then the next Pope, or the one following will be the last; if I am right, and he is right, then one of the next two will be Pope Sextus VI.
Of course the media, as symbolized by the likes of Jay Leno and David Letterman, will be so busy
joking about “Pope Sexy”, particularly with the Catholic molestation scandals still fresh in our
minds, that the greater significance will be lost on them, and those laughing with them.





Education in the 21st Century

(Note: There’s an old axiom that says, “Give a man a fish, and you’ll feed him for a day; teach a man to fish, and you’ll feed him for a lifetime.” A variation on that today might be worded, “Teach a child to pass a test [FCAT], and he’s equipped for a year; teach him how to learn, and he’s equipped
for his entire life”. I only went to the tenth grade. I have a GED. I am NOT an expert in the field of education. Why would I want to be? Have you seen the results of our educational institutions lately? When one analyzes the word “expert”, one learns that the literal meaning is “formerly lost”. If we are to “judge” by results of the last twenty years [at least here in Florida], the “experts” are still lost. In fact, the “experts” are clueless.)

When analyzing our current “educational” system, here in Florida specifically, and in our country
in general, it’s enough to send shivers down my spine. I shudder to think what will happen to this great Republic when the “baby boomer” generation passes the baton of leadership to our children.
We are currently facing such critical problems, that if they are not “resolved” in an acceptable man-
ner quickly, the events of our future may certainly overwhelm this up and coming generation, which
was the first generation to be immersed in governmental indoctrination of “political correctness” run amok.
I first used the expression, “Political correctness is the equivalent of rearranging the chairs on the Titanic” over 25 years ago, around the time that I first began speaking about a “conspiracy” to destroy the sovereignty of our country, and was “accused” of being needlessly “paranoid”. With
respect to “public” education in the United States, I’ll never forget the “day” that I lost faith in our
country’s leadership. It was the case of a family that was “opposed” to the “secular humanism” being
taught in a school in either Nevada, or more likely, Idaho. The father had decided to keep his kids at
home, where he intended to teach them himself. Apparently, at that time, lacking any kind of “infra-
structure” for home schooling, the “state” was not going to permit such “child abuse”. So after many
weeks of “communications” between the family and the school district, the Sheriff showed up on the
property of the family.
(This should not be confused with Ruby Ridge, but it was at approximately the same time).
The father “confronted” the sheriff , and standing on the front porch, “ordered” the “trespassers” off of his property. Rather than “retreat”, the confrontation “escalated” until it reached a point where the sheriff shot and killed the father. There may have been a “legitimate” or “legal” expla-nation WHY the father had to be killed. It’s not my point to argue over the immediate circum-
stances at the time. What occurred to me however, was the utter “reality” that it was more import-
ant to the government to have “control” over the school-age children, than it was for the children
themselves to have a father.
It was just about this time that then-Governor Bob Graham was authoring the “mandatory kin-
dergarten” bill, that he personally touted as the solution to “functional illiteracy”. That was a lie, as
stated at the time. It was really “pay-back” to the teacher’s unions here in Florida for their support
in his bid for re-election. Aside from that “truth”, the program was a disaster, as evidenced by the
need today for (in this state) FCATs.
Another thing that was going on at the time was the implementation of new “restrictions” with
respect to coming and going in public (particularly high) schools, at least where I was living, in
Broward County, Florida. More and more, fences were being erected to keep the “students” in, and
“raids”, often with dogs, were being conducted with greater regularity. I remember remarking to my
wife, on several occasions, two distinct observations:

1) “After they condition us to accept [mandatory] kindergarten, they’ll gradually coerce us
into accepting [mandatory] nursery school. It’ll get to the point where we’ll (parents} be lucky to get
our children on weekends.”
2) “They’re hell-bent on conditioning the next generation to accept a ‘police state‘.”




With average knowledge and a love for my child, I helped him learn, demonstrating my love by taking the time to help him learn the basic building blocks of knowledge, knowing full and well (instinctively), that his natural energy would be sometimes channeled in the direction of learning. For example, wanting to learn to read, I would make sure that each new book that he (and later, his sisters), would read would have a few new words. I continued to challenge his mind. I worked to expand his vocabulary.
The secret is the time ACTUALLY SPENT with the child in this positive, building-block part
of his life. The child’s earliest associations with positive/negative input will be normally with those CLOSEST to them. I don’t want to sound like Willy Wonka, but too often, there are adults that are ucomfortable getting down on the floor and playing games with their kids. Of course “Candyland” is boring the 40th time that you play; that’s why you gradually obtain more (age appropriate) difficult games to play. It’s important that these be “board” games, in order to encourage face-to-face interaction. Along with knowledge, it’s important that the social skills be developed simul-taneously.
In order to clearly understand the direction that we need to place our efforts, it’s important to
remember how we got here. In the middle of the 19th century laws concerning “public education”
were coming into being. One problem noted, was that the children were needed to help on the farm.
That may sound humorous to young people today, but as little as 150 years ago, over 90% of Americans lived on farms. In any case, the Summer months would be free of compulsory attendance, thus allowing the children to help with the crops and other farm-related chores.
Less than 2% of Americans today live on farms and about 70% of households are “linked” to
the internet. Since the Public School “mode” of education continues to be a hindrance to the healthy
development of children, it is time that the government get out of the education business. Allow the
private sector to “develop” a 21st century approach. It’s possible today; one need only decide to do so.
I envision a society in which the “education” of our children is highly personal and started at such an early age, that it will be perfectly normal for a child to engage in his “studies” on a yearlong basis, perhaps two or three hours a day. Naturally, and particularly if it involves home schooling, the family will be able to “vacation” as they please, without “concern” for any classes “missed”.
His choice of subjects could be extremely varied, but more importantly, the parent would be assisted by a certified teacher. The teacher, along with the parent would design a curriculum for the child based on “family” preferences and the “abilities” of the child. Some families would want perhaps Bible study. Some families may want their children to learn more than one language at a time. In addition, some children will excel in numbers, so perhaps extra math courses would be taken. The point is that the curriculum would be tailored for each individual.
A positive by-product of this modernization would be that the status of teachers would be altered
towards a status formerly reserved for country doctors. They would, depending on the student(s) and the curriculum, make visits on occasion to “monitor” progress or perhaps tutor in a subject that is more difficult for that given student. Remembering that this is NOT a “government” representa- tive, this “neighbor” has the opportunity to see the child’s environment; also, the parent would be able to monitor the teacher, when working with the student. Abuse, particularly over a long period of time, would prove most difficult.
I can almost see the hands over the mouths open in aghast at these proposals. The negative im-
pact of “socialization” in our public schools today, these lawless dens of delinquents, is “surpassed”
only by the woeful academic results of the student bodies as a whole - thus the FCAT. If as a parent, you or your spouse is the primary positive influence, particularly through the first 12 years, very few of your children will submit to negative “peer” pressure. If as a parent, you allow a “series” of surrogates to “raise” your child, they will learn quickly to succumb to “peer” pressure, seeking “acceptance”. This is not rocket science.

The joy of watching your young child advance is exhilarating. It need not be stiff or even formal.
Riding in the car, you can “play a game” of reading street signs. Walking in the park, various plants can be the subject of a “quiz”. There are a hundred different ways to incorporate this into your daily life. The greatest reward will be served up when you least expect it.

Of course there would always be the need for institutions of learning, but they need not be the
dungeons of depravity that too often our public schools have become. We must REALIZE that be-
tween the self-serving interests of the “unions”, and the “agenda-driven” educators, our children
have become little more than pawns on a political chessboard, to the point that the education
bureaucrats have completely lost focus, except where it concerns their power or paychecks.
There should exist education laboratories, not only for science, but also for music, astronomy
and so forth, with specialized “presentations” (think science lab), or recitals, or nighttime obser-
vations. There can be social centers, where young people could participate in ceramics, dancing, art, or sports (competing against children from nearby social centers), and when scheduled matches would be played, the parents would actually KNOW their child’s teammates. I sense a cohesion of community forming here. See, that wasn’t even hard.


Our children must be seen as individuals, not groups, to be categorized, analyzed, and distributed
as so much packing material which happens to “surround” the career needs of all adults concerned, including the parents. Our children are as individual and unique as their fingerprint, and the dimensions of their individual personalities must not be lost in ubiquitous prescriptions of Ritalin and other dangerous medications, lest we upset the “authorities” of “Partnership for a Drug-Free America”.

























A sample of advertisements that I might consider using “if” I ran for President:
























CRIMETHINK.
















Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party







If President of the United States, I would request of Congress that the
celebration of President’s Day be ended; that we return to the celebration of the
Presidents Washington and Lincoln as we had done in the past. The celebration of
Washington’s birthday would be by all. Those concerned would indicate whether
they would celebrate Martin Luther King or Abraham Lincoln’s birthday.
That way, all three men would have individual holidays, yet the Federal govern-
ment would still only be paying for two days. Meanwhile, we can blushingly discard
President’s Day. This proposal may not sound like very much, but if you ponder it
carefully, I strongly believe that you’ll come to “understand” how it will help to usher in a kinder, more citizen-friendly society. Think “detente”.


Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party









The others will tell you about a future you want us to become; I will tell you how we can get there.



Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party









If President of the United States I would request of Congress that they
abolish the 13th amendment to the Constitution, and replace it with a “Fair Tax”.
This would end the taxation of LABOR, and instead tax CONSUMPTION.









Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party































When I wake up each day, I try to emulate, however imperfectly, Jesus Christ.












Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party










HILLARY’S WORST NIGHTMARE !
t (Timothy Leary’s dead. No, no he’s outside looking in; Timothy Leary.)











Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party



BUREAUCRATS BEWARE !
DEATH TO THE INCOME TAX !
DEATH TO BIG GOVERNMENT !
LONG LIVE ROCK!!!









Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party






When I raise my hand to take the oath to serve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the
United States, I will.










Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party








ENGLISH IS SPOKEN HERE.






Jeffrey M. Letter for President- Constitution Party











My only special interest is the American citizen.










Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party











All Presidential candidates are equal, but some are more equal than others.







Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party























Borders, Language, Culture.










Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party






If President of the United States, I would request of Congress that we reconsider both our
funding of and membership in the United Nations.











Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party







I represent the forces of light; SHE represents the forces of darkness.










Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party












If President of the United States, I would request of Congress to consider a Constitutional Amendment to grant Constitutional protection to any unborn “fetus” demonstrating brainwave activity. This proposal is no more radical than declaring death upon the absence of brainwave activity; and the logic of the proposal is free of input, other than “scientific”.
If this nation is to survive, this most important controversy MUST be
resolved.


Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party




“ Villagers, light your torches.”









Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party










Talk Shows and The Hosts (Radio and Television)


I realize that there are a great deal of readers of this site who may never have
watched or listened (with any regularity) to talk shows. How unfortunate. I also
know that there are a number of readers of this site who (maybe) are aware of other
local or national hosts of which I have no knowledge. Still, my life has been filled with the joy of listening and watching (and not a few times participating),consider- ing myself to be blessed to have been exposed from an early age to this exchange of ideas that now has been flourishing for decades.
Just to give you an idea of the different hosts that I’ve been lucky enough to have
seen or heard in my brief life, look at the list below (no distinction between radio or
television):

Gypsy Rose Lee
Virginia Graham
Sally Jesse (before she added Rafael)
Joe Pyne
Larry King
Al Rantel
Bill Mahr
Steve Kane
Neil Rogers (the best I’ve ever heard)
Jack Paar
Dick Cavett
Merv Griffin
Johnny Carson
Art Bell
Rush Limbaugh
Michael Savage (my “professor”)
Glenn Beck
Morton Downey Jr.
Todd Schnitt
Mark Bero
Mark Larsen (most dilligent)
Jeff Fischer
Bill O’Reilly
Laura Schlesinger
Mike Douglas
Dinah Shore (I was soooo jealous of Burt)
Ted Koppel
Dave Letterman (I watched his morning show!)
Jay Leno
Charlie Rose (snooze city - sorry Charlie)
Patrick Buchanan (and co., on the two shows he created)
Chris Matthews (though I prefer the former format)
David Brinkley
Laura Ingram
Mike Levine.............and many, many, more.
Now if I were to list my favorites (purely in terms of quality), my top ten
favorites would be:
1. Neil Rogers (1975-1990 period)
2. Michael Savage
3. Glenn Beck
4. Johnny Carson
5. Dick Cavett
6. Bill Mahr
7. David Letterman
8. Patrick Buchanan
9. Larry King (from his early period in Miami with WTVJ and WKAT)
10.Ellen Degeneres (I wish she was MY neighbor)

Now I don’t do this so that you know what my “favorite” is, as much as that
I want to point out some interesting characteristics concerning these various
personalities, and the interaction, which in some cases, I’ve had with them.
For example, back in the days (late 70’s), when Neil Rogers was going through
his “Alice” phase (come out of the closet, Alice), I would roar with laughter. Those
were the days of the I-95 song. I obtained one of the rare original copies, and Neil
even signed it, but I gave it to some girl whose name I can’t remember, after she
showed me her “collection”. I had no choice - it belonged.
In those days, Neil was the one who first said, “Will the last American to leave Dade County please bring the flag.” Now the entire country is feeling the angst that those of us who lived in South Florida were feeling then.
I can remember when I called Al Rantel one day, and explained to him that I’d
noticed a disturbing trend; that fashion magazines (Vogue, Elle, etc.) seemed to be
engaged in a definitive “recruitment” mode for lesbianism. I specifically noted that
more and more, the advertisements were (apparently) depicting the models in
poses (increasingly suggestive as time has gone by), advocating sex between women.
Of course he called me paranoid. Of course he suggested that I was seeing stuff that
wasn’t there. Of course he was wrong. Several years later (early 90’s), leaders of
the industry “boasted” that they had done that. In the 80’s they “declared” that they
were engaging in a new campaign to reduce “hair” to the status of an accessory; and we’ve seen girls (and not a few boys) over the years coloring their hair in a variety of “unusual” colors, as a result of the “campaign”.
So despite the fact that I consider myself a “conservative”, my all-time favorite
talk-show host is a homosexual liberal. Why? Because unlike Alan Combs, who
seems to think that it’s the job of a talk-show host to give flippant remarks to al-
most any differing opinion (followed by the inevitable “click”), Neil Rogers would
talk to anyone and everyone who wanted to discuss any subject.
Which brings me to Michael Savage. Everyone in my close circle of friends and
family knows that between 6pm and 9pm, I should not be bothered, as I am in class
with my professor. I hear so many people describe Dr. Savage in uncomplimentary
terms, and yet, just as W.C. Fields could make people laugh simply by reading a
telephone book, Michael Savage receives my rapt attention for three hours daily,
because I never know WHEN the golden nugget will appear, I only know that it
will.
Sometimes, the doctor will become tired of the “grind” of daily political talk, and
begin reading Cicero, or Shakespeare, or the Bible. His stories of growing up in New York are expressed in such eloquent and descriptive terms, that I can close my eyes, and “see” the basement downstairs, where young Michael would have been working (for his Dad in the antique store).
His patriotism is above reproach, and his love of this republic unquestioned.
Another “patriot” that I’ve had the good fortune to listen and speak with at
length (though anonymously) “where it all began” is Glenn Beck. Glenn rolled
into town a short time after I returned from Europe (where I’d been for ten years).
Glenn is a man of his word. I’ll never forget the very first time that I called his show
(when it was a local talk show in Tampa). It might have been 1999, but certainly no later than 2000.
When I called him up, I told him that I’d recently returned from Europe and that
I wanted to talk to him about a threat on the horizon. I said, “The Muslims are com-
ing.” His response was, “Well when they get here, we’ll talk about it.” Click. Of
course, at the time, I was a bit confused by his “reaction”, but sure enough, though
he didn’t talk about it that day, since 9/11, he’s more than made up for it.
In 2000,I donated to his “special” charity, and in exchange, received one of only five copies of the “best” of political humor from the year 2000. Now of course we
all remember the crisis of 2000, but when I’ve listened to this disc from time to time,
I have to remind myself that this was simply a local talk-show host, so high is the
quality of the work. I was told that the “master” was destroyed. I was told that I
could do with it whatever I wanted.
Well, for seven years it’s rested on my shelf, brought down from time to time for
myself, or a friend. Now you, the reader, can sample Glenn Beck (the early years),
as I’ve taken about ten or fifteen cuts and put them on this site. It should be under-
stood that his appearance on this site is in no way an endorsement of the views stated
here. On the contrary, it is out of respect and devotion to him, and his sincerity that
has resulted in its inclusion.
Recently I was listening to Ian Puttan, and his guest was Saint John Hunt, the
eldest son of E. Howard Hunt (of Watergate infamy). Saint John Hunt had a tape
recording of his father, from January, 2004, discussing amongst other things, who
killed John F. Kennedy. If you haven’t heard that, you can go to Mr. Hunt’s site
and hear the recording itself.
Are you listening Mark Bero? Mark Bero, boxing referee, dyed-in-the-wool
liberal, and a man who is extremely knowledgeable about the Kennedy assassination,
has stated repeatedly that he felt that the CIA was NOT involved. Perhaps not, but
according to E. Howard Hunt, elements were involved (though not necessarily the
agency itself), and LBJ did play a prominent role in the conspiracy.
That’s not the reason that I’m bringing this up. I have vivid memories of Jack
Paar (though I usually had to sneak downstairs and watch from the hallway). Yet
I have an extremely vivid memory of his departure, and the ascension of Johnny
Carson. Johnny was everyone’s favorite, and when I’d read in the paper one day
that Jim Garrison was appearing on his show (to discuss his investigation into the
Kennedy assassination), I anxiously anticipated a “revelation”.
(For those of you not old enough to remember, the Tonight Show would often
take a serious look at politics as well as offer humor. The original host was Steve
Allen, whose later PBS presentation “Meeting of the Minds” was one of the most entertaining - and enlightening - of programs ever put together. After Steve Allen was Jack Paar, who injected many memorable moments into the history of television. When Jack Paar “finally” quit for good, Carson was tapped).
I’ve listened to different critics of Oliver Stone’s version of the Kennedy assassin-
ation, many calling him crazy and so forth, but, I was watching that night, and in
fact, what was depicted in the film IS WHAT OCCURRED. I was confused then, and “believed” in Carson’s integrity. Yet since that night I’ve never been able to “admire” Carson so “naively”. Nonetheless, despite that flaw he was certainly entertaining, and just as I consider myself to be lucky to have been young when the Beatles appeared on the scene, I feel the same way about having been lucky enough to have “grown up” with Johnny Carson.
Dick Cavett was the intellectual “alternative” for many years, and though over
the years I’ve outgrown Cavett’s liberal philosophy, I still have a great deal of re-
spect for his contributions, many of which inspired me to explore subjects more
thoroughly.
When I first returned from Europe, I discovered a program that I fell instantly
in love with; it was “Politically Incorrect”. I never saw (before or after) his cable
programs, but Politically Incorrect generally would have a cross-section of opinions
in the form of guests. I was watching the night that the Professor from India (?) had
offered the opinion that those who had flown into the WTC were not cowards (as
some had stated in previous days), but later “legend” indicated that that had been
stated by Bill Mahr. Wrong.
What Bill Mahr said was, “You’re right. Cowardice (alluding to Bill Clinton), is
launching a cruise missile from thousands of miles away.” I don’t often agree with
Bill Mahr, but I like him, and believe that he possesses the integrity that I had grown to find lacking in Johnny Carson. Keep it up Bill, and the next time that you’re in
Tampa, give me a call. At the very least, I’ll bake you some “brownies”.
Like Carson, over the years I’ve grown disenchanted with Letterman. Still, his
overall contribution to “comedy” is so much greater than his shortcomings (and
there are many), that he still ranks high on the “list”, and I wish him only the best.
One of the most underrated “talents” in America is Patrick J. Buchanan. I’ve
read a few of his books, was addicted to Crossfire (in the early years), and support-
ed him for President. Trust me when I tell you, that long after Michael Kinsey is
a mere asterisk in history, Pat Buchanan will be remembered as a patriot and a
hero, (albeit with a small ‘h’).
When I was a young boy, I was lucky enough to live in the right place at the right time. When I was very young (4 or 5 years old), I was “forced” to watch Dick Clark’s American Bandstand (daily) in Philadelphia. This was before the show went
national. I listened to rock n’ roll on the radio, as millions did around the country,
but those of us in Philadelphia in the late 50’s were the luckiest of all, period.
When I was a little older, and we’d moved to Miami (1964), I was fortunate
enough to stumble across Larry King. Of course, this was not the Larry King of today. This was an intense, insightful, and probing Larry King, who inspired me to be willing to sit and “learn” from leaders through thorough interviews conducted by
this sharp, inquisitive host. He fluttered from radio station to radio station, and I
think that I can remember him associated with WKAT, WIOD, and even WFTL,
but I’ll always be thankful mostly for his “Weekend” interviews, on WTVJ.
Of the various female hosts, I was always infatuated with Gypsy Rose Lee. That’s
probably because she was to “stripping” what Red Skelton was to comedy. Skelton
never used a curse word in his entire professional comedy career, and yet he was one
of the funniest men I’ve ever seen. Gypsy Rose Lee NEVER took it all off (correct me if I’m wrong), and I found her to be most gregarious.
Today, despite my difference of opinion on her choice to “come out” on her old
comedy program, Ellen De Generes has “retreated” from the “political” aspects (at
least publicly) of her sexual preferences, and in place of that fixation is this wonder-
ful woman with a sparkling personality. If ever it were possible, I would be quite
honored to meet this genuinely warm person. I don’t watch much television these
days, and almost never watch daytime television, but on occasion, I do check out
Ellen, and quite frankly, am never disappointed.










The (Illegal) Immigration Problem, and Suggested Solution

As indicated elsewhere on this site, I more or less grew up in South Florida,
and witnessed the growing number of Cubans emigrating to Miami. Initially, it was the upper classes of Cuba (doctors, businessmen etc.), but the less-fortunate also arrived eventually (think freedom flights), and I was happy for these people being able to “escape” the tyranny of communism.
Whereas the arrival of these immigrants “appeared” orderly (at first), at some
point, things started getting out of hand. The greatest symbol of that actuality was
when President Jimmy Carter arrived in Miami to “greet” the Mariel “refugees”,
but was nowhere to be found when crime in Miami shot up 800% in one month, and
eventually resulted in the “Liberty City” riots, in which many innocent people were killed.
I could never condone the mayhem against innocent people, but I certainly un-
derstood the frustration that the black people, virtually all of whom were born in
this country, but were not able to find work in Miami, felt. They’d discovered that not only were the “refugees” eligible for various resettlement subsidies, they were also being offered jobs which the blacks had been told were non-existent.
In the early 1980’s there was a great deal of discussion about “discrimination”
in our official immigration policy. The policy, which had been in effect since the
1920’s, basically allowed for a percentage of citizens from each respective nation to come legally to the United States, and the cap on the number was tied to the pop-
ulation of the nation or nations in question.
By this time, particularly along the southwest border, the number of illegal aliens
was growing exponentially, and cries of “institutional racism” could be heard from a variety of “bleeding heart” American citizens, as well as various Hispanic advoc-acy organizations. By the middle of the second term of the Reagan administration (circa 1986), our official immigration policy was “overhauled”, and limits were redesigned to “allow” for a first come, first served basis, which was specifically designed to make it easier for citizens of Mexico, and to a lesser extent, other Central and South American nations to emigrate legally.
At the same time that this was done, a “one-time only (limited) amnesty” was de-
clared to be in effect. This was designed to bring the illegal trespassers “out of the shadows”. In addition to that, for the first time, those of us who were American citizens would have to “prove” that we lived in this country “legally”. I was angry, but trusted Reagan when he explained that this policy WOULD be enforced, and employers who hired illegal aliens would be punished. Not only did that not occur during subsequent administrations, it served to encourage even greater numbers of human traffickers, and the growing militancy of the illegal “invaders” themselves has grown most impudent.
In order to fully appreciate the changing conditions of our republic, particularly
with respect to the average worker, let us briefly review the “trends” of the last one- hundred years or so, and thereby gain perspective.
Well into the twentieth century, the majority of Americans lived on “family farms”, but the growing lure of the city (think electricity and indoor plumbing), had
begun decimating the numbers of those living in the countryside as early as the turn of the century. Factors such as world War I, the Great Depression, the Dust Bowl years, World War II, and post-war “suburbs”, as well as the growing advances in farming technology, all contributed to the declining number of American family farms.
Today, “transnational”corporations such as Monsanto are more likely to domin-
ate farming, but whether corporate or family, I am distressed by the ongoing wage
suppression “allowed” (by exemption from enforced wage laws) at the hands of our
government leaders. Whereas, the “excuse” for decades had been that there were no
“Americans” willing to do this back-breaking work (migrant fruit picking), we were
to “ignore” the virtual slave-labor employed by farmers “unwilling” to pay a decent wage. This “attitude” has gradually allowed for “placement ” of an even greater number of illegal employees, in an ever-expanding number of occupational fields. Now, Americans find themselves competing in ever more common instances with these “lawbreakers” (think identity theft, false identity, fake or stolen social security numbers and so forth), which is continuing to put downward pressure on wages in general.
Matters are not made any easier by the exporting of jobs traditionally performed
by Americans, such as in the area of manufacturing. Many people will point to the fact that unemployment is low (and a dire need of workers is a “reality” for which a solution is needed). Many people forget that wages can be so low that “survival” depends on one working two jobs; thus the “appearance” of “full employment”. If the market forces were actually “natural” OUR poorest citizens would have had the best deal, because many jobs and few workers result in higher earnings, but few jobs and many workers will always result in low wages.

There’s no point in maintaining “zero population” growth, if by doing so you
are betrayed by your own government and institutions.
Remember the explanation about the campaign to maintain “zero population” growth in order to forestall overpopulation and global cooling? All the promises that were being made by “leftist” organizations that centered on healthier, affordable families, along with quality of life improvements, not to mention the knowledge that we were acting responsibly with respect to Mother Earth; what it’s led to is continued (uncontrolled) growth by invading hordes, constant assaults on our language and our culture, and of course American women willingly going along with American genocide.
Where is the evidence that these illegal aliens, the overwhelming number of which are Catholic, are inclined to engage in “zero population” growth? As in
other instances, it is ironic that I share the belief of Catholics that life is sacred, and
personally, I don’t resent that these families would want to have many children. I
think that that is wonderful. However, they should be here legally. Anything less
than that, and the cottage industry of American genocide will continue, until our
demise is inevitable.
When one considers that less than twenty-five years ago, our entire immigration
policy was altered to satisfy these “neighbors” to the south, the cries of “racism”
ring hollow. When one considers that the abuse of our hospitals (think emergency
rooms) by illegal intruders has in some cases forced the hospitals to close, cries by illegal troublemakers of “discrimination” is ludicrous. And when one considers that many of those “leftists” who protest the “disaster” of the war in Iraq, and point to the 3,300 soldiers who’ve lost their lives during the last three years, one wonders why they say nothing about the FACT that 26 Americans are killed each day by illegal aliens, and though the majority of the instances ARE accidental (think drunken driving, crash, no license), almost half (11) each day are MURDERS!!!!
Shall we do the math? 11x365=4,015 per year. Remember, these are only the
INTENTIONAL killings. Over the last three years, according to FBI reports,
over 12,000 Americans have been murdered by illegal aliens, and if one was to compute the accidental killings of Americans by persons here illegally, during the last three years, the same number of years in which we’ve lost 3,300 soldiers in Iraq (on that front), victims of illegal residents in the contiguous “48” have totaled nearly 30,000 people!!
If you don’t believe me, look it up. Why aren’t the “leftists” up in arms over this?
Why aren’t the “leftists”, if they are so concerned with “human suffering” upset
over the FACT that 30% of our federal prisons house illegal aliens. These prisoners
are not being incarcerated because they came into our country illegally; they are
there because they’ve murdered, raped, robbed, or committed some other crime in
addition to the others, as indicated earlier.
So what are the solutions?










We don’t need a civil war; Mexico needs a revolution.












Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party








Well, to begin with, we must remind ourselves that this is a nation of laws. It’s
time that we return to enforcing our laws in a galvanized effort to save our republic.
Not only should there NOT be “comprehensive immigration reform”, it is time that
we begin to expel the illegal immigrants; this would not require “house-to-house” searches. We need only enforce a policy of expulsion of these lawbreakers on “point of contact”.
If it is understood by the illegal violators that their voluntary “departure” is their most prudent course, followed by filing an application to enter legally, they will return to the country from which they’ve come. It must be equally understood that if they are “discovered” to be here illegally, resulting in our having to physically and forcibly remove them, then they will be “forbidden” to re-enter for a significant length of time, such as ten years.
I do not like quotas. I do not like racial preferences. I do not like hyphens being
employed when speaking of Americans. The hyphen tends to “balkanize” us, and
that can only lead to increased “divisions” within our community. If we further al-
low the “value” of American citizen status to be cheapened as well, the distinction
of being an American will be lost. Furthermore, I do recognize the historic discrim-
ination of blacks, and though, as stated, I do NOT agree with what has come to be
known as “affirmative action”, I DO believe, that since the 1965 Civil Rights Act,
this country needs time for those (historically) left behind economically, to be given
an opportunity to “catch up” before we start “importing” pre-fabricated “minority
groups” crying discrimination.
Black people in this country take note: if you do NOT join the rest of the country in an active effort to expel these “intruders”, it will be you who will most quickly and severely suffer from this invasion. Certainly, the disproportionately low-level
of economic standing in this country suffered by black people cannot be enhanced
by the presence of these illegal competitors for work, whose very presence (in competition) keeps wages down. If ever there was an opportunity for Americans of
all colors, creeds, and faiths to finally come together on an issue, it is this one.
Now the skeptic will suggest that without the migrant worker to pick the country’s food, we’ll all starve to death. I’ve never heard of anything so silly. However, if the “inferior minds” of our nation cannot “see” the solution, which is right before our collective eyes, I will once again explain how, until some sanity returns to those killing their own unborn children, we can “solve” the agricultural question, who will pick the fruit......hmmmm.....who will pick the fruit.....oh, I’ve got it!
In this country today, we have a growing problem with youth delinquency. True,
in another section I suggest one way (closer involvement of parent) to overcome that
danger, but for those who’ve fallen through the cracks, particularly those who are
“hardened” beyond their years, they should be put to work on farms. The hard
work itself would consume their energy, and, despite that (initially) these would be
persons in “detention”, they would receive “pay”, minus food and housing. However, when they’d turn 18, and be released, instead of a pat on the rear and a reminder that if they commit a “similar” crime, they’ll go to prison, they’d receive (at that point), their actual earnings, which, might encourage them to “get a fresh start” with the “seeds” from their labor.
Elsewhere on this site is an explanation of how to work towards stronger families
and therefore “reduce” the number of delinquents. While going through a transition
to that point however, this would be the first “step” to solving several problems at the same time.
Everyone in society should feel obligated to consider that which is best for society. We have established laws which from time to time have resulted in the need to give extra effort. Soldiers going off to war is an excellent example, though it need not be so dramatic. It’s time that the American woman take a more introspective look with
respect to her duties to our country. Women are not normally required to take up
arms and defend their nation, but producing healthy offspring for maintaining a
vital republic might be considered a patriotic duty.
Of course, if it’s simply a question of giving birth to children, but not properly
raising them, these children will grow up to become a “drag” on society, by virtue
of whatever anti-social activity that they might engage in, so there must be more
involvement than in just giving birth; once again bringing up the education of the
children at home. Still, two parents are extremely important for the development of
our children as well, as the perspectives towards life are generally “different” when
viewed by a man or viewed by a woman. And it’s easier to watch the kids.
The time has come in this society to consider “scrapping” the various programs
designed (by good socialists no doubt) to lend government financial support, but which have come to be abused either by fraud or unwillingness to break away from dependency on whatever governmental program that one associated with. I envision a society in which consumption, not labor would be taxed, and elimination of “tax breaks” for the different businesses that currently receive them would logically follow. That should extend to individuals as well. Now before anyone gets upset over the proposed depletion of entitlement programs, let me remind you that “traditionally”, assistance had been provided by the local religious and charitable organizations, where the monies spent are generally better accounted for, than with the government. Taxing consumption should encourage saving, which can only be
healthy for the economy.
If this stark reality is implemented, I believe that there will be a tendency to
reestablish traditional “relationships” between men and woman (via marriage),
as opposed to the (since the 60’s) cutting of a government check for any woman
without a husband, but with children (often each of a different man). Men should
own up to the responsibility of parenthood, contributing to the upbringing of the
children, either through work (financial support) or involvement (such as was
remarked upon in the section about education in the 21st century). This does not
mean that women should be “locked” into abusive relationships (an abusive spouse
needs to be punished as any offender might be), but neither should the (male) spouse
be abused by a manipulative female (false accusation of impregnation etc.), and the
woman caught “lying” about such a serious charge as “rape” for example, should be
punished for the “damage” that she might inflict as a result of her false testimony.
In today’s modern society, I would suggest hypothetically, that if we want to have less physical abuse of women by spouses, we must “restore” the value of the hus-band. In addition, if society is to continue to give 100% of control of the woman’s
body (with respect to pregnancy and abortion), than 100% of the responsibility for
the decision taken should be theirs as well. Anything less and this continuing spiral
of spousal abuse will not be abated.
For all the imperfections of this country, as compared to other contemporary and historic nations, we fare pretty well; some would (including the author) claim that it is the greatest in history. To maintain that distinction, we need to find the formula that works best, and if that includes the return of the family farm, and the hard work that is associated with it in an effort to work towards self-sufficiency, than so be it. None of us want to see our children suffer from poor health, but may I remind you of statistics that point to a passive, under-exercised youth, leading to obesity, often because they do nothing but “play” video games or sit in front of the internet all day.
Finally, with the illegal masses being deported, the subsidy programs being eliminated, and “natural” market forces employed, (with the elimination of the taxation of labor, young people once again will be able to be “employed”), I believe that the restoration of the society that we’d come to love will once again reveal itself.
















Global Warming, and the Evil Capitalist



My intelligence is insulted by those who would suggest that the polar ice caps
are melting because of evil capitalists and selfish Americans. It’s so insulting, that
I’ll simply point out that we have no factories on Mars, yet there the polar ice caps are melting as well. Did it ever occur to the blunderheads that the sun is warming
up the solar system? It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.
That doesn’t mean that I support rampant destruction of the environment, and
(though not because of climate considerations) I for one, spent 12 years driving only
a bicycle, relying on “mass transportation” when traveling longer distances. It was
great! There are a variety of ways that we can overcome all of the problems assoc-
iated with the complex issues revolving around human contributions to global warm-
ing, but in the long run, I believe that the transportation of the future WILL be the
bicycle.
We must redesign our society to reflect that reality, and we can draw from the
ideas of other societies as well. Let me share with you one example:
In France, when one arrives at the train station (by bicycle), the train ticket
is purchased, and the traveler, before getting on the train, “walks” the bicycle to
a specific car, and gives the bicycle to a worker, who stores the bike in that car until
such time as one reaches the destination. Once at the destination, the traveler simply
returns to the car (carrying the bicycles) and exchanges the receipt previously given
for the bicycle stored. The bicycle rides free, and at the destination, the traveler walks the bicycle to the “exit” of the train station and away he goes.
Ideas such as that can be employed in this country as well; better health, less
pollution, less “congestion” and maximum utilization of means. Once again, this is
not rocket science.
As far as the actual warming of the planet goes, before rushing off all Chicken Little-like, please remember (and I am not a scientist) that there is a difference be-
tween weather and climate, and that this planet has fluctuated between hot and
cold many times. We need not panic. The campaign to brainwash you into thinking
that you are responsible for what mother nature wreaks is nothing more than a scam. It’s a way to coerce you into further “regulated” activity and the carbon credits are the equivalent of purchasing “penance” in advance for sins that you’d
commit later. Where have I heard that before? I drove a bicycle (exclusively) for
twelve years. I challenge frauds such as Al Gore to quit talking and start chalking.
If you’re so concerned about “global warming” Mr. Vice-President, then LEAD by
example and move into modest quarters and drive a bicycle; try it for one year.



Consider: If only patriots vote for me, then the liberals will be dividing
their votes between the Republican and the Democratic candidates.

















Jeffrey M. Letter for President - Constitution Party