Hello all. This is the last day of this blog. Just got off work and ready to get busy blogging about my books. I have been posting about my poems. These poems are dear to my heart. It took me years to write them. I hope you enjoy my posts. Please do comment. I love giving out free books. Thank You.
Poems of Life, Love, and Everything in Between
THE REASON FOR TEARS?
What emotion lays behind the reason for tears?
Do we cry for what we want, can’t have, or fear?
The world is so busy.
No time to stop and see the pain,
for those we knew or may never see again.
Must we have a reason?
Is it over foolish things, such as pride,
or for loved ones left behind?
We cry when we are happy and sad.
How can both emotions have the same outcome?
Pain and heartbreak is the time for tears.
Many cry on the inside.
A defense for some.
Others never cry it seems.
They say it is a sign of weakness.
It’s being human.
WHY DO PEOPLE LIE?
Why, why do people lie?
Is it malice, or choice, or bad blood festering inside?
Some get punished, while others go uncaught.
As if telling the truth are never in their thoughts,
or honesty and respect were morals untaught.
Ignoring the truth, when it should be sought.
Why, why, do people lie?
Is it for revenge, jealousy, or fame?
Or for some other misguided crazy human thing?
Some lie about their age, weight and social class.
Not knowing the truth if it bit ‘em in the ass.
Some lie so much, they become jobless.
Others lie so well, they’re elected to office.
Why, why do people lie?
If people chose the truth, how nice it would be,
too trust one another, then we would see,
that no one likes a liar, not you nor me.
So then how joyful and simple life might be.
Have you dreamed all the dreams of your future?
It was a tough road, but ‘YIPPY’ ya made it.
Now choose a perfect career,
to complete your perfect life picture.
Since your childhood is now your past.
Watch out for life’s rainbow and clouds,
and love’s that may or may not last.
Many of your friends never made it.
Did you shed tears to see their sad end?
Or get angry when they failed to commit?
Did you tell them that through thick and through thin
you will always want them for friends.
Even though youth never stays,
true friendship always remains.
I’M THE ONE
I’m the one whose quiet and shy.
The one who holds things inside.
I’m the one who hides behind a smile.
The one who talks tough,
but is really meek and mild.
I’m the one who really listens.
The one who seeks love, but always misses.
I’m the one you can talk too
about anything and nothing.
I’m the one who works and plays hard.
The one whose wary and on guard.
I’m the one who enjoys being a mother.
The one who cares about others.
I’m the one who loves morning to dawn.
The one who hates envy, anger and wrong.
I’m the one who loves animals.
The one sometimes wasteful,
instead of economical.
I’m the one you can count on,
but feels awkward and doesn’t belong.
I’m the one who paints and sews.
I’m the one no one knows.
This poem describes me the best.
I have traveled many years long.
I call it the journey of life.
To go out amidst the throng,
and meet what e’er the strife.
In these years I’ve completed
a plane, which I view with delight.
Then I found myself seated,
taking on life’s great flight.
When I heard the motor starting,
I settled in my seat to rest.
Then, with a feeling of imparting,
I remembered the things I love best.
Now my plane will be safe, I feel sure,
for I built it with care untold;
I know it is made to endure,
the weather, both stormy and cold.
And though the skies are unknown,
through which I still must test.
I hope to travel my way alone,
and reach life’s airport ”Success.”
We bid a sad farewell to thee, old school,
companion of our careless, youthful days.
Which we spent ‘neath they generous rule,
and now through life’s broad open door we gaze.
Half tearful yet so filled with hope and cheer,
unknowing what the future hold so near.
Old classmates, friends of many years, we part with sadness,
each wondering what his destiny will bring.
Each cherishing his own fond hopes at heart,
perhaps the years will take away the sting,
that comes to us at parting from our friends,
as time so often works to gain its ends.
Old Lancaster High we take pride in thy name.
May you be proud of ’76, be proud of your colors bold.
And may we never to thy memory bring shame,
but only honor and fame to you unfold.
And though we leave, we give unto thee still,
our loyalty and love, old high school on the hill.
Now that I’m nearing my end,
have I gained the prizes I sought?
Where are the glories that should attend?
Have I the value I thought?
Will I on the road of life,
look back with wistful eyes,
and see these, not days of strife,
but the happiest of my life.
Such questions do enter my mind,
and cause me to seek some clue.
To what if life I may find,
and what thing from me are due.
But I’m sure my prize has value,
and that all the glories are here.
That my future is fine and true,
and life holds nothing to fear.
So, to myself the best.
To my relatives and friends most dear,
may they always feel I have passed the tests, of life and held my treasures near.
In this bleak life of mine,
I walk the dark alleys of broken dreams.
A darkened corridor of lost tomorrows,
within a collage of unraveled seams.
My life simmered like a bad stew.
Hidden within a clutter of tear stained cheeks.
Living in darkness, an unbridled soul.
Torn between life and death, my future seemed bleak.
Despair cowered behind my eyes.
Once beautiful, I was left aged and alone.
Reflections in my sea of tears,
reminded me I was forgotten and solitary.
Stumbling over common life hurdles,
like a babe learning to crawl.
Losing everything to my lustful addictions,
of fear, failure, and shame.
Lost control of what was mine.
That poison controlled me for a while.
It felt bad and made me cry.
As emotional pain went on for miles.
I found courage with family and friends.
No more shadows, cold or rain.
The venom that once ruled my life,
is a faded memory I achieved through strife.
THE UNEMPLOYMENT OFFICE
I wait patiently with the others,
and pray they choose me.
The one with the children and rent to pay.
The one who searches the want ads day after day.
The one who will make beds or answer the phones.
The one who has three kids and lives on her own.
There’s only room for one more,
as another unwanted is discarded through the door
Each one with the look of fear or joy on their face.
All hoping for the same small slim chance.
Are they here, because they must?
Some seem so out of place.
They stab our hearts with another hope,
of cruel words I don’t want to hear.
They say they are here to help,
but offer nothing solid for under the belt.
The uncertainty I had, now subsides to lust.
My dreams of a job, now turns to dust.
So, I put on my happy fake face.
The one that gets me through all the long days.
I wipe off the tears before I walk through the door.
My life has never seemed so empty before.
I tell my babies I love them, and life is unfair.
Then go about my life, pretending I don’t care.
Reality has now completely taken hold.
I’ve already spent the money from everything I’ve sold.
My head is spinning, don’t know what to do.
Can’t give up though, ‘cause my kids are too precious to lose.
My fear of failure was not my imagination.
As my inner voice says you’re a beautiful creature.
The world is an evil place, filled with pain, hate, must.
My day was fruitless, filled with perfect disgust.
They stand there gloating at my futile attempt,
to provide for my children and earn a living.
A evil smile slashes across their face, like an infected wound.
Their masterpiece complete.
They can move on to their next evil feat.
No remorse, no regret, not a single trace.
Just breaking spirits in their usual hostile ways.
TO THE NEXT CHAPTER
Shadowed by pain, I slowly melt.
Nowhere to go, nothing to do.
Only aggravation and loneliness felt.
My life left empty, with nothing to lose.
Suffocating, I fall into seethe.
Falling as my world crumbles.
I’m left wanting to believe, searching for hope.
Like an acrobat walking an unraveling tight rope.
I call to those I’ve hurt.
Leaving a message ‘remember me.’
I’ve done things I want to forget.
An obstruction I’ve tried to avert.
I crawl out of the past,
finding a way at last.
To rise up instead of fall.
Destroying this dreadful brick wall.
See me now, strong and brave.
For I will never be hurt again.
I know I will adhere,
shedding this torment and pain.
The one I see in the mirror,
is someone, special and kind.
I now focus on what I am after,
moving forward, to the next chapter.
HOW TO HEAL
I might not be strong, but it’s easy to see,
that what we once had, was never to be.
The time for goodbye, is branded in your eyes.
The hunger we once knew, are memories pushed aside.
As truth became harder to find, we went our separate ways.
Only the lies, pain and hurt remained.
Love is a blindness, a burning sensation.
A masquerade of falsehoods, and confused fixations.
You left behind, a punishment beyond cruel.
I was your newest conquest, a love never real.
You had an emptiness, a sick itch with no feeling.
But no more tears for me, ‘cause this lady learned how to heal.
Good morning all. This great and fun blog hop is nearly over. Today I will be blogging about my poetry collection, "Poems of Life, Love, and Everything in Between". It is a personal collection of poems contrived from my love for family, life, friends, veterans, nature, and animals. I welcome all comments. I will be awarding two people who comment a free copy of one of my four books. Thank you-JoAnne.
She’s the one I call on for favors by the score.
The one who says, ‘stay safe’,
each time I exit the door.
She watches out for me, makes me laugh, and more.
She seldom gets a ‘thank you’,
for all the good’s she’s done.
Just goes day by day, without a complaint.
Doing things for others, in her same sweet ways.
I’d miss her dearly, if she just wasn't’t here.
She’s much more then my mom, she’s my friend.
I’d never find another, I hope she’s always near.
This person isn't’t just anyone, it’s much clearer.
That she is irreplaceable, strong and unique.
She isn't’t perfect, but she’s my sweet mother dear.
o, to I love my daughters always.
We have a special connection, you see.
It’s like we feel one another’s heartache and joys.
I love them whole heartily,
with all their sins and needs.
We share our silly secrets,
and all our dreams come true.
Our love will never falter,
but grown strong and succeed.
A rare and beautiful bond,
like each mother and daughter should be.
A love growing, marvelous, precious, and free.
Let me now my voice raise,
in a joyful song of praise.
For the home where through
the passing years,
I spent many happy days.
May the future hold a promise
golden days that are to be.
And my pathway long be lighted,
by the glowing light of memory.
I wish for fame and honor,
and of respect and love too.
And my task while on life’s journey,
will be to make this wish come true.
Out into the world do I enter,
into life’s great training school.
May my aim in each endeavor,
be to uphold its every rule.
My family has my back.
As true friends will do.
My family is my safe harbor.
Knowing me through and through.
My family has no secrets, lies, or regrets.
They love me unconditionally.
By showing me admiration and respect.
My family trusts and believes me.
Never far, but always there for me.
Never a reason to complain.
‘Cause my family not only loves me, but understands.
You are my mother.
The one who gave me life.
What you did, means everything to me.
Your offering is more than just a breath of life.
It is my beginning, and your unselfishness.
The truest gift of all.
You made me feel wanted and loved.
There for me in times of pain and sorrow.
Nothing could take your place.
Not money, fame or lust.
Nothing can erase the joys,
of a childhood filled with trust.
You let me beat you in checkers.
Like all good parents do.
We shared our funny secrets,
before the day was through.
I’m glad you were my mother.
Even after your death, we’re not apart.
No need to say, ‘I love you.’
‘Cause we always felt the other’s heart.
You were more than just a mother.
More than just a friend.
You were my sister, dad and brother.
You were my heroine-my everything.
ODE TO KEESHA (my granddaughter)
Her past four years felt like an eternity,
as we watched her grow and see…
From the mom who urged her to do better.
To the fine woman she turned out to be.
Her awkward times, turned to cherished memories,
and the crowded halls she learned to call home.
The Indian mascot defined her; and
“The Times of My Life,” her graduation song.
Those rough years became her joy,
as high school trained her for life’s hurdles.
From the tantrums and parties, she threw.
To her many admirers who smiled and pursued.
Most strangers she now calls friends.
A makeshift family to love to the end.
Her life is now a bright future,
as petty jealousies and heartbreaks mend.
She’s not a little girl anymore,
but nearly grown and out the door.
Long after the drama, she’ll realize how far,
her tears, and hard work got her.
You clutch him tight, before you shake his hand.
Neither know what to say, as he boards that plane.
You look at him long, lovely, and hard,
cause he may be gone for quite a while.
So, you tell him you love him, then give him a brave smile.
You’re dying inside, but try to hide, your pain and anguish,
as you release a sigh.
You recall him as a child.
So full of joy and laughter going on for miles.
You pray God hears you and sends him home.
So, you won’t live your golden years old and alone.
You stand alone, not knowing what to do.
Should you be happy that his dreams
of being a soldier finally came true?
You already miss him,
and you’re not even home.
‘Cause you’ve waited and dreaded this day for so long.
Your nights are full of dreams of his new life.
His choice of passion and dedication no matter the strife.
You wait for that dreadful letter day after day.
But all the letter’s from him, suggests he’s okay.
You hold your head high to all your friends.
Letting them know, your son is your hero
from beginning to end.
He’s not just a soldier, but a man through and through.
‘Cause he fights in honor of the red, white, and blue.
To be a part of my family, is an honor indeed.
Each family member is respectful, helpful and sweet.
My family is divine. No other compares.
When one of us hurts, the pain we all share.
We are never alone. Even when we’re apart.
For the bond we have, is felt within the other’s heart.
We talk, laugh and cry.
We are full of strength, spirit, and sacrifice.
Our motto is hello, never goodbye.
My family means a lot. Without them I’d be
not the good person I am.
But sad-as if lost at sea.
My family shows love, in more ways than one.
Its more than just an emotion, it’s a gift sent from above.
My family is my life. Nothing more important matters.
My father is the backbone. The heart my sister and mother.
He’s not just lead of the house.
He’s more than a bread winner,
or more than my mother’s spouse.
He’s there whenever I need him.
And even when I don’t.
To talk about good things.
To talk about sins.
He’s the one who tells me secrets,
and makes me laugh not cry.
He’s more than just a Father.
He’s the one always on my side.
I couldn't want for a better Dad.
He’s the only one for me.
The man who kept me on my feet,
through the good times and bad.
Even though we may argue,
and not see eye to eye.
I know I’m always his little girl.
The moon to his stars,
and the heart of his world.
He’s the perfect father,
of space and time.
Who gave me love and guidance
and called me daughter.
So, don’t ever forget I love you Dad.
I never had regrets.
Me being your daughter,
made my life a banquet.
How nice it is to see thee,
with sunshine smiles so big.
Young faces full of cheer,
like new life is to spring.
Those little brown eyed girls of mine,
can melt the coldest heart.
If I searched a thousand years,
I would still never find, any child kinder, sweeter or dear.
I hold tight to the memories,
of all their hugs and kisses.
Of how they sat atop my knee, Oh! How I miss it.
I held them when they laughed and cried.
It was my pleasure each time.
I welcomed each tear and sigh.
For they are my life and pride.
I remember each game we played,
and our silly little walks.
How simple time was back then,
something never forgot.
Never would I want a day without their jokes and tricks.
For they could do no wrong, in my eyes in anyway.
My love for them grows and grows, with passing year.
Each time I think of them, I wish they still were here.
As I watch them romp and sing, among the snowy twigs,
I thank God for their lives, and all the joy they bring.
How sweet those memories are.
I’d frame them if I could.
Or place them on a shelf safely in a jar.
To remember each, one’s childhood.
Behind their house in the woods,
where grouse and buck did run.
TURN A PAGE
I now turn a page of life’s great book,
And start on a sheet that’s bright and new.
I now have a chance to start at the top,
And be careful the whole way through.
My last page is filled with lines of life,
That’ll soon be just memories of times gone by.
Of lessons I learned, good times I had,
and the friends I made through and through.
Those lessons and friends will not be forgotten,
though the next page be ever so fair.
For the leaf that tells of these past years,
shall be for eternity there.
This year marks the thirtieth year,
of my joyful birth.
I hope to live on forever,
and increase abundantly in worth.
So, as I turn slowly the well-worn page,
that tells of all these happy years.
I am rather glad and rather sad,
I’m happy, but then there are tears.
I bid adieu to my family and friends,
and gaze upon the new.
But remember though I’m happy or sad,
I often think, dear life, of you.
They say that our life is a challenge.
You must strive if we wish to win.
Opportunity’s door stands open.
Arise and enter therein.
Awake! Let you be up and doing.
This work you have chosen to do.
Whatever the work you are planning.
Just be sure that you carry it through.
The world needs all talent.
And tho’ all unworthy it seems.
You must use it, never conceal it.
It may far surpass all your dreams.
Your teachers have guided and helped you.
A successful life to pursue.
Let’s put forth your very best efforts.
To reach their ideals so true.
Now give our thanks to your high school.
You passed your last test and are done.
No matter how far you may wonder.
Fond memories will still linger on.
So, say farewell to Logan High School.
And we say farewell with a sigh.
To our teachers, kind and so helpful.
Farewell to our dear Logan High.
This poem is for my oldest grand-child when she
graduated from high school. She thought she knew
everything…until she had to get a job.
The time has come when I must leave.
My dear family and home.
My heart is filled with joy and love,
and yet I give a sigh.
Now I must struggle toward,
the goals that I have set.
And overcome the fright and fear,
of life’s trial that must be met.
No longer will I have the guidance,
of parents loyal and dear.
For I realize what they mean to me,
now that the parting is here.
As I start out into the world,
going my separate way.
I will always carry with me,
fond memories of childhood days.
I know dedication is the power,
for all the things that I’ll do.
And straightway from this hour,
I’ll make they proud of me too.
And if all of my hopes and aims come true.
As the future years go by.
I can look back and humbly say,
“I owe it all to mom and dad.
With no regrets, tears or sighs.”
UPON A HILL
Upon a hill stands Logan High.
A place I learned to love.
As clouds and stars love God’s own sky.
A place known up above.
Many went to school there, twelve years long.
Where many things were learned.
To read, and write, and know the right from wrong.
Many a future bright and like a star,
but students they had to learn.
That ambition is a dormant fire.
Unless the coals may burn.
So, into the future moves the class of 2009.
And friends will part as times goes.
For they know there a job to be done.
As the doors of Logan High close.
This poem is dedicated to the late and great Logan High School.
It was a beautiful architectural building, and I was sad to see
My life’s worth won’t be counted by my stuff.
I’ve spent to many years, acquiring too much.
My kids think I’m foolish, with all the purses and shoes.
But I always say, “when it’s on sale, what can ya lose?”
My stuff will be here way after I’m gone.
Other’s may have it. I learned to move on.
They can stow it away or throw it away.
I don’t really care.
Just keep a few treasures, to remember me by.
Like my books, or paintings, that someday might be rare.
What surprises are in store for me, on my very last days?
Will they burn it all up, keeping only the life’s lessons I shared.
That when ruled by truth; love and friendship,
will always there.
It doesn't really matter, since its only stuff.
My time with my kids was precious, as love should always be.
Full of joy and tears, through smooth times and rough.
With the new year of 1983 came conflicting emotions from the last supporter of Dale Johnston. He told authorities he had wrestled with his conscience and now believed Dale killed the kids.
Earl Sheets recalled Dale visiting his trailer the day after Thanksgiving, 1982. Dale discussed how religion helped him cope with Annette’s death and the public’s persona of his guilt and invited him to Grove City to attend the church he and Sarah visit often, claiming the members were “very understanding and very supportive.”
Earl said after hearing those words, he and Dale locked eyes, and his “gut feeling” told him Dale murdered the teenagers. The room that day got so quiet, “you could have heard a fly sneeze,” he said.
He described the moment as being like a “bolt of lightnin’.” Dale left immediately, and the two never spoke alone again. Earl was left terrified and debating over what just took place.
Even after Fred Holtz told Det. Thompson that Dale Johnston was not the man he saw on the river bank the early morning of October 5, Thompson persisted in his investigation of Johnston, looking for something to arrest him for.
Fred Holtz and “Jane and Betty Doe” were not the only people with “sketchy” recollections. Some investigators claimed many “witness statements held inconsistencies” and “should rightfully been dismissed.”
Stories of Todd and Annette continued to perk the attentions of the law. One resident’s “supposed” memory landed another resident behind bars.
Twenty-three-year-old Steve Rines, was a clean-cut brunette standing just under six feet. His girlfriend was cousins with Todd. He told police that he met Annette Johnston after she began dating Todd.
He claimed when seeing Dale Johnston’s photograph in the local paper, he recognized him as being the man who “cursed and forced Todd and Annette into an automobile.”
While some believed the investigation could not become more bizarre, it did with the newest press release by Sheriff Jones and Chief Carter. This meeting took place on the sidewalk in front of the Police Department.
Surrounded by deputies and city officers, Sheriff Jones announced his plan of notifying a psychic. He explained the psychic was employed as an instructor at the FBI seminar in Virginia, who specialized in psychological profiles.
Chief Carter suggested the community form neighborhood watch programs. Suggesting the public be aware of one’s surroundings. Keeping doors and windows locked always, and not wandering out after dark.
When the sheriff’s psychic arrived, what she said “rocked” the investigation, leaving egg on the sheriff?
Deputy Robinson said he believed the teenagers were in the cornfield “twice,” not just once as other authorities believed. He believed Blosser’s statement proved the “reported sightings” by witnesses and the “hearing of gunshots” by others were all correct.
On October 21, Det. Thompson claimed Dale walked into the police department wanting to talk. The stepfather was escorted into an interrogation room, where he smoked a hand-rolled cigarette.
According to Thompson, he returned minutes later with Lt. Mowery and Agent Henry Ralston.
The main subjects during that interview were Dale’s “persistent denial” of being in Logan Monday evening, who “drove the Buick Skylark,” and what weapons did the family possess?
Dr. Higson described a cult member or “new recruit” as being “highly gullible and easily persuaded.” He claimed this recruit would act with “criminal or destructive behavior,” such as “exposing,” or cutting himself.”
When questioned, Kevin told Lt. Mowery he knew it was the Wolfrey’s who reported his “off-handed” comments to authorities. Mowery claimed Kevin admitted to meeting Annette before she died, but “mistook Michelle Johnston for Annette Johnston.” Kevin denied knowing anything about the murders and denied telling Jill and Mike he could not verify his whereabouts for October 4. Kevin again gave his alibi for October 4 as being “home all evening” watching television with Mike Metzger.
Detective Snyder was not the only officer believing Kevin Meyer to be the killer. He reportedly accused Sheriff Jones of being involved with “a police conspiracy.”
According to Det. Snyder, when he asked the sheriff to convene with him to discuss his suspicions of Kevin Meyer, Sheriff Jones immediately became hostile. Sheriff Jones told him that Kevin Meyer being a suspect “was ridiculous,” and refused him any “evidentiary information, professional courtesy, or humanly respect.”
Snyder said when he accused the forensic profile of matching Kevin Meyer, the sheriff became “belligerent” and admitted to knowing about the profile, saying “it matched a lot of people in Logan,” and “most especially Dale Johnston.”
Snyder said the sheriff claimed to have his men on the case and were “gettin’ closer and closer to solvin’ this crime.” When he inquired what caliber, bullets were used on the victim s, Snyder said the sheriff told him that information was “confidential” and would not be released to any person, not even to a “big shot detective from Columbus.”
Coroner Bryan Stiller explained that preliminary results showed the bodies were “those of a male and female between 18 and 22 years of age,” and both died from being shot.
He determined the victims were nude when shot, since the bullets removed had no clothing fibers attached. He said both “were dead before being dismembered.”
Mowery said the authorities have not ruled out the torsos could be those of the missing Logan teens. He claimed the on-going reported sightings of Annette and Todd were all dead-end leads.
Around this time, Dale reported to Sheriff Jones that he was told gunshots were fired in the early morning hours of October 4 behind the hospital, which was on the opposite side of the street on which the torsos were discovered.
According to the sheriff, those shots were not in the correct time frame in which the police believed the kids disappeared. Now the authorities believed Annette and Todd went missing between 4 p.m. Monday, October 4 to 6 p.m. Tuesday, October 5. The sheriff told Dale the gunshots heard behind the hospital were “insignificant.”
Also discovered was the fact that investigators did not confide in one another concerning evidence, witness interviews, and statements.
When officers were informed of the type of murder weapon sought, Deputy Rodney Robinson searched the database. He discovered several .22 caliber weapons in the county, with one belonging to Kevin Meyer.
When Jill Wolfrey saw Annette’s photograph in the local paper, she claimed she telephoned the Police Department. She recalled to the dispatcher how Tex Meyer brought a “slim, attractive, light-haired girl” to her home in early August for a babysitter interview. She thought that peculiar because “Tex’s girlfriends were usually homely.” She said she never hired the girl because the girl “seemed more interested” in the animals then being a sitter for her small children. When she told the girl, she wanted “someone more mature,” Jill said the girl took it well, but “Tex became very angry.”
According to Jill, Tex began behaving belligerent with her and had even exposed himself to her while the two cleaned out a barn. She reported the incident to Dan, who made it clear to Tex that if his rude behavior toward Jill did not cease immediately, he would be fired. Jill reportedly had no further trouble with Tex.
Once Lt. Mowery arrived at Tri-County, he discovered Annette had not attended any of her classes after being reported missing.
What forty-one-year-old Instructor Dorothy Connors told the officer turned the investigation upside down and shed a new light on a seemingly non-alarming incident?
A petite redhead with green eyes, Dorothy was divorced with one grown daughter. She volunteered her free time at the local Pet Orphanage, a non-profit organization that placed abandoned or neglected dogs and cats within new homes.
She described Annette “a good student,” who at times had difficulties concentrating on her studies.
“I felt sorry for Annette and befriended her,” she told the officer.
Dorothy described three letters Annette sent her depicting sexual and mental abuse instigated by Dale Johnston. The letters talked of Annette wanting to run away, but she was afraid her stepfather would find her and punish her. Dale Johnston threatened each boyfriend Annette had and forced Annette to accompany him, alone, on camping trips, where he regularly seduced her, then rewarded her with money or new clothes.
Annette wrote of Sarah being aware of the attacks, but refused to acknowledge them or stop them, claiming Sarah cared only about her marriage.
According to Dorothy, she advised Annette to move out of her stepfather’s trailer or report the attacks, but unfortunately, “My advice came too late,” she said.
Hello friends, I wrote The Crime of the Century-murder in a small town, because I lived in this town for 20 years. I knew some of the witness involved. I was a spectacular case and trial. It made national news. It took nearly 30 years to solve and sent an innocent man to death row.
The Crime of the Century-murder in a small town
Outline for The Crime of the Century-murder in a small town
The residents of Logan, Ohio, an economically strapped bedroom community of the Appalachian region of southeastern Ohio, were horrified when the dismembered bodies of missing teenage sweethearts, Todd Shultz and Annette Cooper Johnston, were pulled from the murky and meandering local river. Multiply suspects surfaced, including relatives, ex-lovers, Satanists, and the Devil's Disciple’s motorcycle gang, but only one was railroaded, Annette’s stepfather, Dale Nolan Johnston. A known nudist and hothead, the rumors of Dale’s and Annette’s incestuous relationship only electrified the townsfolk and local authorities’ hatred against him.
What really happened on that cool autumn evening of 1982? What began as a lover’s spat, turned into what found only in horror films, and dubbed ‘the crime of the century’. 18 year old Annette, a voluptuous beauty contestant, horsewoman, and aspiring computer programmer-quarreled but quickly made up with her 19 year old boyfriend Todd Shultz, a jealous, possessive, dope-smoking slacker. They were last seen walking toward the C&O Railroad tracks, crossing a trestle bridge that overlooked the Hocking River, near an infamous 52-acrea cornfield. Twelve days later, a search party found their mutilated torsos. Two days later, their heads and limbs were unearthed, suggesting satanic cult activity.
Dale Johnston was the main suspect from the beginning. It took nearly two years, but in an investigation smeared with contradicting statements, and a botched crime scene, investigators built a flimsy case against him.
A financially motivated local mistakenly fingered Dale, accusing him of forcing the teens into a car at gun point. The police alleged Dale then killed the victims at his mobile home seven miles from Logan, with his wife and other step-daughter as witnesses. Dale was accused of dismembering the victims before transporting them to the cornfield for burial. The state insisted an unnatural relationship between Dale and Annette existed, and the reason for the jealousy killings, and Dale’s immense hatred for Todd Shultz.
Dale’s multiply lies, his lust and jealousy for Annette, weapons availability, the hypnotized “eyewitness” and a disputed footprint expert bolstered the states misguided case against the now dubbed “evil stepfather.” Most of what was presented at the three-week trial was based on police corruption and ineptitude, melodramatic fiction, and forensic mishandling.
As a resident of Logan, Ohio, I, JoAnne Myers contrived “The Crime of the Century,” through case documents, newspaper clippings, signed affidavits, witness testimony, interviews, police reports, theories and rumors.
This heinous crime not only shattered the sense of security for Hocking County, but destroyed two families, marriages, careers, friendships, and forever scarred the town. This story is a detailed account of not only mayhem, but of human injustice at the highest level, and of one man’s perseverance to prove his innocence, and gain his freedom from death row.
The officers initially said they believed the object was an animal carcass. Once it was dislodged and floated down stream, they realized it was human.
The officers then followed the remains and discovered 30 yards south of the first torso, the second torso was located. Both torsos were reportedly snagged against brush along the riverbank just west of The National Supply Company.
Both torsos were reportedly nude and so badly decomposed, officers said they were unable to determine their sex. Upon the discovery, Attorney Will Kernen broke down and was seen "running and screaming" from the area.
It was a grand evening for all at Mario’s Lakeway Lounge that Thanksgiving evening of November 25th, 2014. The country band kept everyone on the dance floor. The occasional smacking of pool balls were heard above the laughter, and the crowd’s favorite barmaid Ann McSween was serving them. She had asked a co-worker to allow her to work the night shift, to earn a little extra cash. A choice she would not live to regret.
“Better times are coming,” said the bubbly blonde, who only began working for the small neighborhood pub four months earlier. According to patrons, Ann was looking forward to moving into her own apartment next to the pub in just a few days. Her forty-ninth birthday just hours away.
Little did the joyful crowd realize, but that cool autumn evening would be the last time anyone saw Ann, except for her killer.
According to Ann’s timecard, she pushed out at 3 am. Her last duties-washing glasses and ashtrays. Black Friday was on the horizon. Her birthday party would consist of her daughter and son, and a few close friends. Everything was planned-everything except what happened to the tall slender grandmother.
According to bar owner fifty-four-year-old Mario Cacic, he returned to the bar at 8 a.m. and noticing Ann’s car with flattened tires in the parking lot along with two of vehicles with flat tires.
The short heavy Albanian immigrant said he called police who searched the perimeter and canvassed the street but found nothing and soon left.
Shortly afterward, thirty-eight-year-old James Yager, a boat mechanic, noticed Mario and told him he had notified police because two boats at his business, located near the bar were vandalized. According to the tall slender man with sandy colored hair, as he walked around surveying the damaged boats, he discovered a woman’s shoe and underwear. He told Mario, “This doesn’t look good.”
According to police reports, at approximately 11 pm., on April 3, 2013, the Hocking County Sheriff’s Office responded to a report of a van stuck in mud along an un-maintained portion of Pleasant Ridge Road near Laurelville. When deputies arrived, they found thirty-eight-year-old Jeffrey Ross lying in a mud puddle behind the van.
According to Detective Michael Peck, one of the vans occupants being thirty-nine-year-old Douglas Boyd Phillips explained that he and Jeffrey were behind the van attempting to push the vehicle out of the mud, when Jeffrey was caught underneath and accidently run over.
After Doug Phillips, John Tipton, and Michael Hunt, gave statements the deputy discovered the individual who summoned help was forty-eight-year-old John Tipton.
Mr. Tipton explained that he was the driver when the van became stuck but was highly intoxicated on moonshine and passed out in the passenger seat, and when he woke, he saw Jeffrey Ross in the mud behind the van and he dialed 911. He claimed having no knowledge of how Mr. Ross died, and no evidence ever surfaced stating different.
Days later the Franklin County Coroner’s Office ruled the death as homicide by strangulation, with no injuries consistent with being run over. With the knowledge that Doug Phillips lied about Jeffrey’s death, authorities considered him the prime suspect. But now they had to find enough evidence to prove murder.
Even after being ruled a homicide, it took several months of gathering evidence to charge Doug Phillips with the crime. According to Detectives, witnesses were unwilling to come forward due to death threats to the witnesses by way of anonymous phone calls.
Seven months after Jeffrey’s murder, Doug was convicted of gross sexual imposition in Vinton County and served 323 days at Southeastern Ohio Regional Jail, or SEORJ, in Nelsonville, Ohio, a five-county holding facility.
That crime was not Doug’s first brush with the law. According to his arrest record, the tall, brown-haired and brown-eyed “slob” of a man spent time behind bars due to drunk driving, grand theft auto, disorderly conduct, burglary, drug paraphernalia, probation violations, disorderly conduct and inducing panic.
Slowly witnesses came forward admitting Doug Phillips had approached them in the early evening of April 3, 2013, asking for help with disposal of the body, and admitted he and Jeffrey Ross quarreled the day Jeffrey died over a comely woman named Marilyn Rogers.
Named after Marilyn Monroe due to her blond hair, Marilyn Rogers was far from a beauty queen. A foul mouth alcoholic, Marilyn played the welfare system and prostituted herself in local bars. No doubt how Doug and Jeffrey met the overweight barfly.
Good morning friends. It is another scorching day here in Buda, TX. As I stated earlier, I am in the process of doing a job transfer and moving to Dallas, TX. I am still awarding two people who comment a free copy of one of my books. I am getting ready to go to work shortly. Just having some coffee. I wish you all a marvelous day. Thank you-JoAnne.
Twisted Love-twelve cases of love gone bad
Excerpt for DEADLY RIVAL:
What was reported on Tuesday October 23, 2016, in the small glass industrial town of Lancaster, Ohio, population 38,780, was in debate. According to police, a love triangle turned deadly.
As 911 dispatchers desperately tried to get an address, the tall slim Stephanie Adams screamed and begged her ex-husband, Kevin Adams, to stop pointing a gun at her. “Kevin, no, Kevin, no, Kevin, no,” she said. “Please don’t do this.”
The brawny tattooed Lancaster native did not listen. He responded by repeatedly calling the woman he vowed before God to love and honor obscene names. The last moments of their lives was recorded at 1:20 a.m. on Stephanie’s cell phone.
The recently divorced couple who were married for twenty-years was heard screaming and cursing at one another before a series of gunshots disrupted their argument. The line stayed open while the dispatcher yelled, “Hello, hello, hello? Ma’am?” According to call logs, Stephanie provided the street address, but not the house number.
The Lancaster Police Chief, when dispatchers, were unable to pinpoint an exact location, sent several units to the 100 block of Cleveland Avenue around 1:20 a.m. The first officer to arrive reported hearing a possible gunshot at 1:29 a.m. Another officer reported two more shots fired at 1:30 a.m., just as they entered the home. They were too late.
Inside the modest well-kept home, officers found a decorated off duty Lancaster police officer, fifty-six-year-old Randy Bartow of Logan, Ohio, deceased. Stoutly built and sporting glasses and mustache, Bartow was identified as Stephanie's boyfriend and a twenty-five-year veteran of the Lancaster Police Department.
According to Randy’s “Remember Me,” face book account, within two hours of his learned death, over four-hundred people shared their memories of him.
Found beside one another in the next room, was a deceased Stephanie with Kevin clinging to life. He was transported to Fairfield Medical Center, where he died at 2:24 a.m.
A neighbor and family friend claimed Kevin typically carried a gun with him. The murder weapon according to one scene officer was a pistol; still in its owners’ hand.
The neighbor proceeded to tell authorities Kevin had received a call from his daughter, who was worried after not hearing from her mother after work. Kevin went to Stephanie’s home to check on her, but when he arrived, he found her with Bartow. The couple also had a grown son, and according to the neighbor, divorced in May 2014, but had been spending time together as a family.
According to court records, Kevin was previously convicted of illegally carrying a concealed weapon, inducing panic and resisting arrest in 2007, and received three years of probation.
It would have been a nice day in California except for two things; the vicious and bizarre murders of two Asian women and the whereabouts of the killer.
According to veteran Detective Marcus Brown, when he and partner Jonas Kyle, entered the mansion like home, they discovered what looked to be a robbery gone wrong.
Det. Nutter described each room inside the home as ransacked as if the killer or killers were searching for something. However, nothing at the time seemed to be missing.
The home is supplied with expensive furnishings and electronics, with money and jewelry lying out. The detectives believed that if a robbery had occurred, the missing merchandise was much more value than material objects.
According to Det. Nutter, in one rear bedroom, officers discovered several cages with snakes of different species and sizes. One family having many reptiles was baffling to officers, but in police business, no two cases are alike.
The entire neighborhood became suspects and were horrified when learned that two of their most respected citizens, 42-year-old Sally Vu, and her 21-year-old daughter Veronica Vu, lay dead for nine days before relatives found the discolored and bloated bodies of the once vibrant and voluptuous women and called police.
Sally’s older sister May Ling told police, that when Sally was absent from Bridge, she knew something very wrong, saying, “She never miss a game.”
Immediately the detectives alerted animal control and removed the reptiles to allow officers to inspect the home for evidence. On a shelf in the snake room, was dozens of glass jars with various fluids inside them. Some of the liquid resembled blood, but until the lab checked it out, according to Det. Nutter; the liquid could be Kool-Aid.
Once the forensic team arrived, the property was taped off. The officers knew that the more time that elapsed, the harder it was to solve such a crime. They also knew they were on a time restriction, since the victims were deceased for an extensive amount to time.
The victims’ hands were bagged as evidence since they defended themselves. The evidence lay in their artificial nails broken off; strands of their long black hair found in different parts of the living room and kitchen. Splattered blood stained the carpet in various places proving the victims tried fleeing from their attacker or attackers, explained Nutter.
Found on the bodies appeared to be dark semi-short course hair, that Det. Brown said reminded him of a pony he had as a child. Since finding the snakes, he claimed not to be surprised by anything found in the home.
When a frantic thirty-six-year-old Frank Buford drove to the police station to report his thirteen-year-old daughter demising, little did the father of three realize she is already dead and buried.
The brown-haired man with the thick mustache, built like a lumberjack, recalled how the middle-aged and pleasantly plumb dispatcher looked up at him with the blank look, and quietly said. “Has your daughter been missing for at least twenty-dour hours?”
He told her “no,” and she nonchalantly told him the girl is probable hanging out with friends and would return home shortly. She then returned to her snack. When he told her, he and his older daughter and ex-wife, contacted everyone the young girl knew, the dispatcher shrugged her shoulders while washing her sandwich down with a soda.
Frank felt his antiquity turning to anger at this arrogant non-caring person who took his dilemma with a grain of salt. He again asked her to allow him to make an official report. She said, “no exceptions,” then closed the window. The desperate father turned and left.
Frank returned after the required amount of time expired. The dispatcher turned the report over to the missing persons Detectives, fifty-three-year-old Don Robers. A stout seasoned cop with twenty-eight-years under his belt. Happily married to his wife of twenty-six years, the dark-eyed poker player was familiar with frantic parents. He also knew most children Cindy Buford’s age were rebellious and probably hiding at a friend’s house. He believed she would return home as soon as she thought her parents understood her or bought her that new album by Madonna or Cindy Lauper, so many youngsters Cindy’s age was crazy over.
Don’s helper and sidekick was the twenty-five-year-old tall handsome Derek Sparks. He was fresh from police academy and eager to sink his teeth into a meaty case. He eagerly accepted his minor role in this game of cat and mouse he called law enforcement.
Hello all, sorry I've not blogged as much as I feel I should, but I'm trying to move to Dallas. Between working, getting ready for a job transfer, answering emails, doing the blog hop, and looking for new housing, I am busy all the time. Things will slow down for me once I get settled in to my new job and home.So here's another awesome true crime story from Twisted Love.
HOME TOWN HERO-Solving the deaf school murders
According to Doug Short, Joseph Mesa, will never realize the amount of pain he caused his victims’ families’. The tall father with the receding hairline and glasses said there was no amount of Joseph’s apologizing, that will fill the emptiness in their hearts. He was exactly where his kind belongs.
At a time when young persons are a step closer to their future, and parents look forward to being empty nesters, a parent’s worst nightmare took place, in a small college town, in up-scale Massachusetts’s.
Using sigh language, forty-two-year-old Cybil, said good-bye to her eighteen-year-old son and youngest child Craig, as he excitedly exited her vehicle in front of the Prestigious Gaullet, School for the Deaf. “Call me every night,” the slender freckled faced mother said in sign.
“Don’t worry,” signed the scrawny red-haired boy who suffered from Cerebral Palsy, as he smiled and walked into the four-story brick building.
Forty-seven-year-old Doug recalled how thrilled the family was upon hearing of Craig’s acceptance into the Gaullet College for the Deaf. “It was his first choice of college,” he said.
The energetic and always smiling student, shared his west wing dorm with mutually knowledge craving and elated students, many far from home like Craig. Nineteen-year-old Mitch, a slender dark haired dark eyed drama student, who dreamed of being the next Steven Spielberg, recalled how Craig religiously kept his room door open. He said the two became “fast friends.”
Everyone seemed to like the outgoing Craig with his infectious smile. He talked to everyone. No matter how late it was, if one had a problem to talk out, Craig’s shoulder was readily available.
A female student recalled Craig having two older sisters, and discussing girl stuff, issues such as boys or weight or jealously matters, did not embarrass him. He always gave good advice, she said. His advice was what she said she would miss the most about him; their talks.
Everyone at school missed Craig that early morning, just one short month after the start of the semester. Mitch, who had the room two doors down, reported him missing from math class. He recalled when leaving his room that morning, he noticed Craig’s door closed. He thought that strange, because Craig’s door was always open. “He liked watching people walk down the hall and would wave at all of us,” he said.
Therefore, when the sixty-two-year-old Dean went to his room, he received the shock of his life. Lying face down in a pool of blood was the bludgeoned, stabbed and chocked body of Craig Short.
Home to Ohio University andHocking College, Athens County, Ohio, was formed in 1805 and held a population of 64,753. Nestled deep in the Appalachian foothills of Southeast Ohio, its lively arts and music scene entertained locals and visitors alike all year round. The eclectic shopping and dining scene was a result of the presence of a large university and rich Appalachian heritage. Hunting, kayaking, bouldering, hiking, cycling, and mountain biking are just some of the most popular outdoor activities.
Boasting more activities then ticks on a dog, the rare action the county was not proudly known for was cold-blooded murder. Monday May 23rd, 2013 changed all that, when the Athens County Emergency Medical Service received a call.
According to one of the paramedics, when they arrived at the three-bedroom trailer in the small community of The Plains, they were shocked at what they found. Four-year-old blue-eyed Kaylen Young was unresponsive with “suspicious marks” on her body and neck, indicating physical abuse. The child’s head and face were saturated with blood, making her long blonde hair almost unrecognizable.
She was rushed to the local O'Bleness Memorial Hospital, a private, not-for-profit hospital established in 1921. Even though O’Bleness Hospital was an acute-care facility offering the latest technologies and services with highly skilled, trained, and experienced healthcare professionals, it was not prepared for the life-threatening injuries on Kaylen.
According to Athens County Sheriff Pat Kelly, deputies were called to the hospital along with the Athens County Children’s Services.
According to Sheriff Kelly’s biography on the Athens County Sheriff’s Office website, the tall stout white-haired man with the receding hairline was born in Nelsonville, Ohio, December 14, 1950. He and his wife raised five children. He came from a long line of peacekeepers and was on the board of numerous charities.
According to hospital staff, once they realized the seriousness of Kaylen’s injuries, she was flown to Nationwide Children’s Hospital in Columbus; a 12-story, state-of-the-art hospital.
The only other persons known to be at the trailer during the apparent assault was twenty-five-year-old Ashley Young, Kaylen’s stepmother, and Ashley’s five-week old daughter Aliza. Information gathered from neighbors indicated family friend thirty-six-year-old Brandi Taylor arrived during the commotion. Brandi drove Ashley and her infant to the hospital as they followed the ambulance.
Moments after Kaylen left for the Columbus hospital, search warrants were executed for the Young home, and due to Kaylen’s injuries, Ashley was taken into custody. She was transported to Southeastern Ohio Regional Jail, or SEORJ, and her infant was handed over to a children service caseworker.
According to Detective Sedgwick when he and other Investigators arrived, they easily located Ashley’s cell phone she said she misplaced, and the reason she did not call 911.
Good morning all. Today I will continue blogging about Twisted Love-twelve cases of love gone bad. I will be awarding two people who comment a free paperback or ebook of their choice. I hope you are having fun with the blog. I love blogging about my books and giving away free samples. So let's get on with the party.
Twisted Love-twelve cases of love gone bad
ALL FOR THE FAMILY:
If nineteen-year-old Casey had listened to her mother, perhaps the slender freckled faced felon and her now divorced felon husband Waylon would not be sitting in a Texas prison. The way the auburn-haired Casey chose to make a new life for her, and Waylon shocked the town and became forever known for being the cruelest and dumbest action one could do when one wants to do “all for the family.”
Candy will say she tried talking her daughter out of marrying the lazy drinking sandy-haired blue-eyed Waylon, but Casey was “starry-eyed head over heels in love,” so she thought.
Casey insisted she knew the seldom employed Waylon well enough to be his wife and allow him to be the only father her four-year-old son Matthew knew. Even though Matthew was conceived from an earlier relationship, Casey insisted the uncouth and chain-smoking Waylon treated him respectfully. “He loves me and Matthew,” Casey would say.
After a two-month courtship, Casey married twenty-two-year-old Waylon Abbott. According to Candy, she hated Waylon and wanted everyone including Casey to know it. She told Casey she was making a drastic mistake by marrying Waylon, but said her eldest daughter, insisted the two were soul mates. “He’s the one,” Casey said.
In a simple backyard ceremony within the theme of Harley Davidson motorcycles, the pair exchanged wedding vows. As if something straight from the pages of American Rider, the bride wore jeans and a sleeveless Harley shirt. The groom donned black leather chaps and a vest embosomed with the famous cycle logo.
Their friends and relatives, who happily toasted them with keg beer, surrounded the glowing couple. The reception followed with grilled hotdogs and burgers as the main course. They received numerous wedding gifts and money, to help them on their way to a long and happy life together…or so the giddy couple thought.
Not just Candy disapproved of the courtship. Baby-sister Janie was as different from Casey as igloos are from tropical huts. Janie was known as the “pretty” sister and Casey the “plain Jane.” Janie thought Waylon a loser as most of Casey’s family did. She believed her big sister thought she was in love, because, according to Janie, Waylon was the first man to pay attention to Casey in a long time.
According to Janie, Casey called her jealous. Afterward, she thought it best to let Casey find out for herself what a “bad apple,” Waylon was. She gave the marriage two years saying, “Good things come to those who wait.”
The next move for the newlyweds was buying that dream home Casey so wanted. According to Casey, when she saw the two-story ranch style house in a quiet and family-oriented neighborhood, with an adjoining playground and dog park, she knew, “This is the one for us.”
She said Waylon picked her up and swung her around, telling her the house would be theirs. They called the realtor and three weeks later, moved in-but as renters, not owners.
When a frantic 9-1-1 call came into the police station at 8:30 pm, on July 2011, a sobbing twenty-nine-year-old Brigitte Harris told the dispatcher she wanted desperately to save the life of her bleeding father, Eric Goodrich.
She gave the operator her apartment address. She would later tell authorities, she did not want to kill her sexually abusive father, but only to disable his weapon of abuse-his penis.
She informed the operator she was walking in the direction of the police station, and then hung up. She recalled walking to the nearby Hudson River, and tossing the penis into the ocean. She never arrived at the police station.
Instead, she called her big sister Carleen, and confessed to her of what she had just done to their Liberian born father.
Carleen recalled being in total shock of her baby sister’s gruesome confession. She begged Brigitte not to discard the appendage, saying, doctors had the medical technology to reattach such things.
Brigitte, her hair adorned with cornrows cried into the telephone. “It was the evil in our father. Now the evil is gone. He can hurt no more!”
Carleen advised Brigitte to come to her home and when she arrived, her sister called an ambulance. After seeing Brigitte, her face stained with tears and splattered with blood, with the scalpel in hand and in a “zombie like state of mind”, they decided to check her into the Richmond University Medical Center psychiatric ward.
Meanwhile, back at Brigitte’s apartment, two responding beat cops, arrived. What the officers found, they said they never forgot and neither did the two million five hundred thousand other citizens.
Initially the officers thought the man lying in a pool of blood was shot or stabbed to death. Not until they turned him over onto his back did, they realize the sadistic nature of his wounds.
Little did everyone involved realize that the crime would turn relative against relative, divide a city, and be known as New York City’s most bizarre murder.
When the Fire Chief returned to the house in search of evidence of arson, what he found he said was everything saturated from fire hoses. Even though he felt there was nothing of usefulness to gather, he and his men searched through the debris for any signs of arson. With the fire being a felony, he wanted the responsible party to pay for the financial loss, but also for the physical injuries, Jenny suffered.
While searching the debris, one officer discovered in the kitchen area, a chest freezer had partially survived the blaze. One could tell the freezer was no longer working or savable, according to Det. Bowers, but then the men noticed the lid heavily taped shut. That raised some eyebrows, he said.
Det. Stallman recalled that before officers opened the freezer, they got a whiff of rotting meat. He said he first thought the frozen meat inside had thawed, then rotted, because of the electrical wires were fried by the fire.
When Rachel received the news that the officers found a human body inside Jenny’s freezer, she said she almost fainted. All kinds of confusion and gruesome ideas run through her mind, with nothing making sense, she said.
When Coroner David Rasp, a sixty-seven-year-old with a receding hairline, received the call about a body in a freezer, he said he knew police were looking for a monster. “Only a psychopath cuts up a body and saves it.”
The first thing Det. Bowers wanted to know when learned of the body, he said, was the victim’s identity. Then he thought, maybe the sweet and always smiling homeowner, had a terrible tale of her own?
Once the coroner removed the body parts, which were inside heavy-duty black trash bags, out of the freezer, he opened the bags and discovered the body severed in several small pieces. He said he had seen murders such as this before in his thirty years of being the county medical examiner, but you never get use to such brutality against another human being.
Few women find themselves in such a bizarre relationship, as did eighteen-year-old Anna Tonkov, a Russian native. Speaking minimal and badly broken English, the family expressed high aspects for their tall voluptuous raven-haired daughter. An only child, to senior and ailing parents, Anna’s mother said she and her husband only wanted the best for her.
In a country where the average yearly income was three hundred dollars per person, Mr. and Mrs. Tonkov, believed Anna’s future happiness lay with the United States.
Mrs. Tonkov recalled how Anna did not to leave. It was the parents’ idea for her to be a mail order bride. According to Mrs. Tonkov, Anna said, “‘what if I don’t find husband? What if you and papa waste your money?’”
Mr. Tonkov recalled telling his tall curvaceous daughter, that she was never a waste of their money. She was everything to them, and they wanted her to have everything America offered.
Mr. and Mrs. Tonkov then took Anna’s photograph in the dress she made, not like the other women posing for the magazine; loose women half naked. “No good man want them,” they said.
Anna was a lady, explained Mr. Tonkov. A good Christian girl. Hardworking and responsible. She was raised the right way, they said.
In the spring of 2013, Anna became number M245, in a Russian mail order catalog with a circulation of over twenty million viewers. The magazine burst with dozens of glossy full color photographs of young hopeful women looking for husbands to rescue them from their poverty stricken and unhappy lives.
It was not long before Anna had her first letter from a perspective admirer. She returned to her small four-room home from her part-time job at a nearby bakery when her glowing parents greeted her just inside the front door.