The Spirit Team

The five of us had just staggered across the finish line. Even in the morning, Central Texas was far too hot for running. I was soaked with sweat, hands on knees. None of the rest of our little group looked any better.

female and male runners on a marathon
Photo by RUN 4 FFWPU on Pexels.com

We weren’t young, we were older than most soldiers. Experienced Artillery Fire Support (Forward Observers) and variously Senior Fire Direction and Artillery/Air Support Planners. This was not our first rodeo, maybe our last.

One of the organizers walked over to me. A black-haired lady about my age. She assumed that I must be the leader because I was the oldest, tallest and loudest.

“We have your race shirts, honey. For the Spirit Team. You know we made them special, like you asked back in March.”

Said the race lady.

”We are so happy you could make it down from Ft. Hood to join us. I’m sorry the shirts are late, we had a little mix up with the supplier. And well. I’ll have em for y’all next week though. If we send em up it could take longer.”

I was stumped, then I realized! She had mistaken the US Cavalry Corps Artillery running club for the Spirit Team!

The real Spirit Team were mostly Comanche Indian US Army Veterans who preached the gospel of Christ while running. I had run a 5k with them once in Neu Braunfels and another time at San Antonio. I had a nice chat during a race once, with their leader, a Comanche fellow, about 70 years old, who easily outran me as he taught me from Corinthians.

Our current group were an accidental mix, We ran together to get in extra shape for the upcoming deployment to OIF. We were an interested group when viewed from afar:

Black from KCK,

White from The Mohawk Valley of New York,

Tex-Mex from El Paso, Texas,

Sioux Indian from Leavenworth, Kansas and

Asian-American from Honolulu, Hawaii.

It wasn’t planned that way. We were in the Air-Ground Section and we were all runners. Every free weekend we ran a 5k, 8k or a 10k somewhere in Texas.

We never noticed the coincidence. We all looked a little bit different. The Army was already a pretty diverse place.

In ten days, we would be on the plane to Iraq 🇮🇶 to fight in the forgotten theater of the endless Savage War of Peace. But first, I had single-mindedly resolved to drive back to Round Rock before we deployed to get the race shirts.

The Spirit Team, having not shown up for the race we had run in due to superseding commitments and they being deregistered, the race organizers thought we were the replacements, so I didn’t feel too bad about driving down the Centex and the I-35 South a week later and grabbing the shirts from the kind ladies of the Central Texas Social Workers Society who had organized the race.

I gave a generous extra donation to their cause as a thank you for the shirts.

I carried the shirts with me, prime for distribution, like it was a secret mission:

Even when the hugs lady hugged us 1st Cav guys as we got onto the plane,

Even when I spent a couple weeks at Buering in Kuwait 🇰🇼,

Even when we worked out of Ur of the Chaldeans West of Nassiriyah and North of ‘Sugar Shack’ and then

Even really everywhere from Basra up to Baghdad.

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Photo by Nizam Abdul Latheef on Pexels.com

We got scattered. Forward Observation Air-Ground Teams get parceled out to the Cavalry Squadrons all over the region. Yet I carried the shirts with me always. Handing out the shirts was a quest. I recorded each awarding of the shirt in my little green not really waterproof notebook.

Month by month, like a traveling hobo, I would be living with a different Squadron or detachment. I would then run into a member of our ersatz ‘Spirit Team’

Shirt One – size XL

Evans – KCK

El Numiniyyah, July

Shirt Two – size L

Walks Like Puma – Leavenworth, Kansas

Majjar El Kebir, September

Shirt Three -size M,

Hayakai – Honolulu, Hawaii

Qala’at El Salih, November

Shirt Four – M-Long

Lopez – El Paso, Texas,

Balad, Camp Anaconda, December

I hadn’t realized that Lopez was on the base. I was at the post laundry, being that I had just arrived from 30 days on the border in a filthy state and a terrifying ride in a C-130’in a sandstorm, then I showered in a transient barracks and subsequently went to finally do my petrified laundry.

I was dressed in PT gear, looking rather pedestrian, lugging my Bug-Out Bag, Rifle and Mechanic’s Bag. My BOQ would be ready that night over at the ‘Winfield Scott’.

”Sir! Long time no see!”

It was Lopez!

”Chief! Good to see you man! How goes everything?”

”Copasetic, Sir. I’m good to hook.”

We chatted for a while about life along the Centex (Central Texas Expressway – Harker Heights to Copperas Cove) as he waited on the dryer and I waited on my wash.

We heard the brand-new and near useless iron dome go off like a giant 4th of July sparkler. Then we heard the ominous ‘incoming, incoming, incoming’ Lights went out, we hit the deck, then the lights went back on and after a fashion and a little tinkering, the laundry mercifully resumed.

”I have your shirt, from the Round Rock 8k!”

I brought out the magnificent maroon running shirt for Lopez. He marveled at its beauty.

”Sir, this is truly a Merry Christmas! The Round Rock 8k! We did so bad!”

We ran 3.1 miles together the next morning on the track inside the old stadium. We each wore our Round Rock Spirit Team Race shirts.

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

We had, coincidentally, a tasker to the same base the next day to talk about Air Ground Support and ISR airframes.

The convoy was the usual, Hummers, Rhino’s, MRAP’s then an ungodly long and boring day of going through the motions of doing tedious Army stuff for a good OER in a played-out (mature) theater of operations.

We got back around 1530, in a light hazy sandstorm. There was the usual backup of US and Iraqi vehicles, contractors, diplomatic vehicles and then the local national workers queued up for the next shift, as they waited to be vetted by private security contractors at the side gate.

The Infantry Hummers dumped us out unceremoniously just inside the secure area, being that we were both journeyman vagabonds, as are all Forward Observer types.

We walked with our heavy packs and soul-crushing body armor about 600 yards, when we heard a thick chilling thud. We turned around to see a massive column of black smoke rising cruelly in the gloaming.

Inevitably, we heard sirens and then we watched as QRFs and security teams rushed to the gate.

Lopez was assigned to incident response, so he raced instinctively towards the explosion, as some of our convoy was still in the traffic line.

I had set down my pack and by the time that I had untangled my M-4 Rifle, Lopez had disappeared into the golden hazy dust.

I ran to the gate (against protocol as they often set off a second bomb to kill responders).

As feared, on cue, there was another bang when I was only 100 yards away. I was shielded by the concrete guard posts and my ears protected by artillerymen’s earplugs.

I dropped my pack and against common sense, I waded into the backlit dust and debris amidst  almost complete silence.

two men in military clothing with guns
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I could barely discern civilians and soldiers laid out awkwardly in the sandy dirt. I could see soldiers and contractors emerge cautiously from damaged vehicles.

I saw figures on the ground, any wounds hidden by the ubiquitous golden-gray dust.

There, on his side, was a soldier, his uniform almost white and it was in fact, Lopez. Still. Completely still and he was gone.

Time passed, as that is the way the world works.

I came home eventually.

Finished out my career a few years later in New York City of all places.

The race was more than a decade ago, now.

I think about it sparingly anymore as day to day reality often intervenes to smother the not so distant past.

If you just so happen to stop by for a workout and you pause to look up from doing sit-ups,  there, hanging from a silverine metal hook on the pegboard, in a corner of my gym, you may find a permanent reminder, a Spirit Team Round Rock 8k race t-shirt, maroon, 100% cotton, long-ago cleaned, dutifully ironed and hung from the wall amidst other race shirts, race ribbons, assorted diplomas and panoramas of my hometown.

3985BF0E-CA18-4B1E-B864-BE58DA1F56C8
Maroon Race Shirt

Shirt Five – 2XL-Long

The Author – Cooperstown, New York

Laurel Highlands, Pennsylvania, April

Peace be the Botendaddy

Dedicated to my true friend Troy.

Names are changed and events are heavily fictionalized to protect the decent.

 

Cold War Spy Story Explained

A very large, muscular and completely unorthodox Navy Intel Junior Petty Officer named Botendaddy leads a dangerous seaborne SOUTHCOM mission in El Salvador 🇸🇻 to stop 🛑 an Extrême Deutsche Red Army Faction Terrorist operation against a seaside OAS airbase.

ship crew standing on ship
Photo by Maël BALLAND on Pexels.com

The Army Special Operations Team Alpha is late due to problems with defective helicopters 🚁 and Botendaddy’s team goes in alone and vanquishes their terror team in Extrême mano a mano mortal combat.

aerobatics air air force aircraft
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

LTG Fraunifaisce, the super-lean Korea and Vietnam Veteran mission planner is pleased that the mission succeeded, but furious that a self-involved, delicious yummy muscular jovial slob like Botendaddy saved the day. Who the hell is he? Why was he chosen to lead Task Force Bravo? What is his connection to Langley and the Beltway?

army authority drill instructor group
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The General has an odd sensual attraction to Botendaddy. Is it passion? Lust? Ancient Grecian man-love? God only knows.

Petty Officer Botendaddy is obsessed with Beef Bulkgogki and any woman over the age of 70. His Navy career takes a sour turn when he has a passionate run in with the randy 72 year-old Madame Kim, unbeknownst to Botendaddy, the grandmother of his Intel Platoon Leader.

korean flag hanging outside a house
Photo by James Lucian on Pexels.com

His CIA Chief at Langley has to hide him out in the slovenly drunken dick-dancing fart-contest tobaccy-chawing beer swilling raping National Guard where he can carry out missions without drawing suspicion.

agriculture animals baby blur
Photo by Trinity Kubassek on Pexels.com

What adventures could lie ahead for this unlikely hero? But who is he? Where did he come from? Is he a Sowiejt spy? A double agent? Read it all here! Stay tuned!

How to Get Your Masters Degree

Assumptions: You will do your Masters onsite at the University and not Remote. You live near the University.

1. Do any prerequisites now. Suppose you never took Stats or Linear Algebra or whatever classes you need. Sign up for Community College. That’s right… Community College. Or a reputable online program.

2. If you are going to do a thesis, get a general idea of what you want to research and write about now.

3. If you are weak or rusty on a topic, take some free online refresher course that actually makes you do work. Buy used books or get PDFs of the topic on which you wish to be refreshed. (Sentence not ended with a preposition.) Don’t do this during the terms you are taking your prerequisites.

4. Refresh on stats. You will be crushed with them. Refresh on scholarly paper writing. Maybe find a few one-shot seminars or workshops on the topic.

5. Don’t apply right away. Visit the school. Get an inquiry going so you know the admissions staff. Do a few sample applications but don’t submit yet.

6. Line up tutors for subjects upon which you are weak.

7. Line up funding. If you are military get the GI Bill or other funding. See if there are specific grants for your flavor of human. See if your company pays for school.

8. If your company doesn’t pay for school, you may have to go the slow route. See if the school will let you take one class per term, but no classes in the summer. This way you are only paying for two classes a year. It give you six years to pay for your degree.

9. Figure out how you will get to and from school and where you will park if needed.

10. Get a good laptop. Not a tablet. Avoid Macs if you are in math, engineering, computer or information science. Don’t bring a toy 🧸 to school. Make sure you have at least a three-four year warranty.

IMG_0966
My graduate research office.
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Wonderful on campus amenities. 🤢
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The indoor track. Use the University gym and resources.

11. Assume you finish the pre-requisites. Sign up for a GRE prep course. Do at least one course that is in person. Focus on your weak points. If your writing is shitty, take some writing courses. If you suck at logic, get some logic puzzle books and work them cover to cover. Do lots and lots of practice problems.

12. After your complete the GRE and are accepted, you may have a few months before you start. Go to any orientations and tours, libraries, research, registrar.

13. Spend this dead 💀 time studying towards your first class. Get the syllabus and books if possible and start reading through them.

14. If you are in a technical Masters, get your computer configured for the software you will need. Make sure your computer has the RAM and storage and virtualization capability you will need. Make sure you have video adapters (dongles) as you will have to present. Get any online storage or repos set up ahead of time.

15. Get a student membership to any professional society associated with your Masters.

16. On the first day, be prepared to take notes. Be low-key and cordial to classmates, don’t be territorial or competitive. You will be on many group projects. You need friends not rivals. Try to get to class early so you can pick a seat near the electric outlet, so your computer doesn’t die. Also have a six outlet power cord, as you will need to be wired in for three hour classes.

17. Follow classroom rules of etiquette. Don’t be on your phone or have earphones in like a douchebag asshole. Bring water or a drink in your backpack. Get any on-campus vending  cards for food and making copies.

18. Set up your computer files by subject with sub categories. Back it up online. Use your university email for school and organize it by class, admin, finance, etc.

19. Make sure you are paid up ahead of time for school so you have no problems.

20. Always go to GSA and Professor office hours in the first two weeks to get oriented. You may need the GSA a lot. Keep a good relationship.

21. Never bitch about a shitty grade. This isn’t college. This is for serious professionals. Figure out why and where you fucked up. It’s always your goddamned fault, so shut up 🤐 and learn from your mistakes.

22. Try to get into a study group, especially for major exams. Someone will always know something you don’t.

23. Be a contributor in group projects. Never get mad at a slacker. There will be one in every group. They may be a leader in the next project.

24. Pace yourself. Study hard. Never give up even if your scores  aren’t what you hoped. It’s different in every class.

25. Take copious notes. It prevents you from falling asleep. Start projects the day they are assigned.

26. Start all writing assignments early. You have to edit the hell out of them. Citations are critical you have to avoid plagiarism rules.

27. Coding, engineering and science assignments must be started early. You will have to be clean and precise in your work. Bullshit won’t suffice. The Rand Corporation, DOD and the NIH don’t want bullshit poorly sourced work and sloppy experimental technique. You are smart enough or you wouldn’t be there. Follow the guidelines and rubrics and you will be OK.

28. Be humble and be a team player even if you are smart enough to be the best, or your classmates and professors will find ways to humiliate you. Your professors already have PhD’s, they aren’t impressed with self-important douchebags.

29. Enjoy the moment. Academia can be fun. Enjoy campus life. Go to free lectures on your topics. Go to Masters mixers and Friday night get togethers at your school.

30. I have an article on how to get your thesis done. I will re-post it soon.

31. If you work, take off the day before your final or mid-term to study all day. The day of your exam, take off at least the afternoon if your course is in the evening.

32. Get practice exams and work them hard. Review the failed parts of each test you fucked up. Get to know the answer intimately.

33. My advice isn’t all inclusive. Read other people’s experience or watch videos about the Masters experience.

Peace be the Botendaddy

Was Jean Paul Sartre’s 1944 play ‘Huis Clos’ inspired by Sutton Vane’s 1923 ‘Outward Bound?

I love Huis Clos. I saw it performed en français by a French acting troupe. It was of course mesmerizing. (It doesn’t make sense in English)

By the way ‘No Exit’ is an atrocious translation of Huis Clos. The best translation implies a confrontation or discussion behind closed doors.

Huis Clos is one of my favorite plays, along with Georg Kaiser’s ‘Gas I’ and ‘Berthold Brecht’s’ Das Elefantenkalb. (You never just say Brecht unless you are a ninny)

There is an uncanny resemblance between Sutton Vane’s 1923 ‘Outward Bound’ and Jean Paul Sartre’s 1944 “Huis Clos”.

Is it odd that the film ‘Between Two Worlds” based on Vane’s play debuted in 1944?

Could it be argued that Sartre, if he was aware of this play, could have compressed the seven characters into three?

Of course, Sartre focuses on the mysterious interplay among three people as opposed to between two or among four or more.

Sartre focuses on the people and not on the journey or destination. In Vane’s play, the destination hangs in the balance.

Note that Vane’s Steward and Sartre’s Valet play very similar roles.

In the singularly brilliant Twilight Zone episode ‘Five characters in search of an exit.’ the characters were never alive, but were in fact children’s dolls. The characters, in the end work together to find an escape only to find the horrific truth. Possibly one of the singular greatest moments in television history.

I have read a lot of Sartre’s work, but I do not know if he ever mentioned Vane’s play.

Botendaddy is Keyser Sözé is D.B. Cooper

Two figures sit under a spotlight in a dark empty classroom. One is an attractive yet slovenly blonde woman and a blue-skinned alien 👽 wearing a ‘Hail to Pitt’ t-shirt.

“Does he really Mog? (Bolean for ‘to exist’) (Note to readers, Botendaddy has an original sketch and graphic novel page of ‘Boleans’ written long before Star Trek had their ‘Bolians’) asked Gyrzwacz, a Bolean 👽 student 👨‍🎓 at the University and a member of the Writer’s Workshop since he was a Freshman.

”Yes, does the So-called Botendaddy exist?”

Also hatte dieses Frää ihre gefragt (Pronounced guh-frockte) She was a cub reporter for a huge newspaper 📰 . Her name was Prissy Honkificacius (A Romanian name) hailing from the rolling hills of Southeast Ohio.

”Yeah, newspapers are about to make a huge comeback. You readers don’t know me” (turns to you, yes YOU personally, breaking the fourth wall and dangling a modifier and drawing a huge Roak off of a filterless Gemel 🐫 El-Cigaarettiyyah, a fine Egyptian Cigarette.) Takes deep breath.

”So this ditzy broad (Pronounced broooooaaad) just started as the first field reporter for the re-constituted Caven Courier since 1980. The Caven Courier was once the finest investigative paper in Ohio. My grandfather, P.I. Sam Cicero knew them all well. I am Giuseppe Badoghliaao Cicero, Private Eye. (Offers cigarette 🚬 to reader through the magical 🧙‍♂️ Internet).”

Cicero disappears stage left… or is it stage right?

”Does… the Botendaddy exist… do aliens 👽 exist? I mean I’m sitting right here, you don’t need to go to Area XLI, right? I mean faster than light travel? Our scientists 🥼 just work a little harder than yours, I mean it’s not goddamned rocket 🚀 Science 🧫 is it?”

Shroake the Bolean

”Actually, it IS rocket 🚀 Science 🧪 you fucking smarmy blue alien 👽 bastard. Just answer the fucking question, Ok 👍?”

Shroake Prissy, clutching her little reporters’ notepad 📝.

Only douches use a mobile phone 📱 real reporters take notes 📝.

“You look familiar, you sassy broad. You’re the CEO’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Shroake Gryzwacz.

“I’m asking the fucking questions, blue boy…”

”OK, it breaks down like this, he IS Keyser Sözé! He is D.B. Cooper. He has visited my planet 🌍 Botendaddy is myth… he’s legend. The Botendaddy is like really seeing beyond, lady, you dig?”

Shroake the alien 👽

“Let’s cut the bullshit, can I see this Botendaddy?”

“He’s sitting right behind you. You should know who he is anyway. He’s been sticking his massive greasy 🐓 into your Mom’s sloppy spermatozoa-soaked gaping vagina for like ten years. Where were you… ‘In Da Nile?’ Don’t feel bad he violated my Mom with that dinosaur 🦖 phallus too. You could see the huge gob of glowing spermatozoa floating in her translucent blue Uterus like a goddamn Lava Lamp for a week. Wow was I red-faced.”

”Listen… is his ‘blog’ just bullshit to showcase his photography and record his slow running and toss in some weird different secret writing techniques in each piece?”

Alien 👽 takes long Roak on the cig. Flicks ashes into a platinum ashtray.

”Pretty much, yeah.”

”Triple espresso with citron?”

Peace be the Botendaddy

 

Best American Short Story Anthologies

These are my opinions. Post hoc ergo propter (Pronounced Proe-pter) hoc (Pronounced Hoake) Quad Erat Demonstratum (Pronounced as in all Latin, with a proper English Accent.)

If you want to be acquainted, really acquainted with the most nuanced, mysterious, sometimes humorous stories of Americana.

You don’t  have to be American. If you are learning American English, then learn by reading these works.

This isn’t about your take on the current political dichotomy regarding American Society or culture. It’s about Americana and American Literature. So quit flapping your stinky gums and read the books!

This is You: ‘My politics! Waah!’

This is Me: ‘YAWN’

I embrace all cultures, colors, religions, sexuality, genders, blah, blah, blah. Please just shut up 🤐 and read the books, OK? I’m not your babysitter and I ain’t yo daddy! You dig?

Benjamin Franklin ‘Wit and Wisdom’

James Fenimore Cooper ‘The Leatherstocking Tales’

Edgar Allan Poe ‘The Complete Tales and Poems’

Ambrose Bierce ‘The Best of Ambrose Bierce’

Mark Twain ‘The Complete Short Stories of Mark Twain’

O’ Henry ‘The Complete Collection’

S.J. Perelman ‘The Best of S.J. Perelman’

Ray Bradbury’s ‘The Illustrated Man’

Kurt Vonnegut’s ‘Welcome to the Monkey House’

Lauren Groff’s ‘Delicate Edible Birds’

On Writing: The Botendaddy

We have all seen story analysis in pedagogical context (Pronounced schools) and in journals and online reviews.

When we read these intricate discussions and dissections of a writer’s work, we often wonder: was the author really thinking in such complex terms?

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The truth is, yes, the author wanted to express various points – cultural, political, personal, often unconsciously… but due to their life experiences and worldview there was something that they felt important to express in writing.

Sometimes it’s deeply personal, a mood like Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher, a psychological rhythm like Shirley Jackson’s The Night We All Had Grippe, a Cultural Issue like Vonnegut’s Miss Temptation or Social Disaffection Issue like Gwendolyn Brooks’ We Real Cool.

Out analysis is essentially deconstructing the thought pattern that might have gone into the story. All we have to go on, quite often, is what we may know of the writer and their personal background, their era, their culture and their contemporaries.

Sometimes, we can find universal themes such as the anomie associated with unwanted change in Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart. Or a warning such as Alvin Toffler’s Future Shock.

In the end all human themes are universal, but the way of telling it from the author’s personal perspective, is a new and fresh. Is a holocaust survivor’s story different from a Yazidi or a victim of the Gulag?

Thus, what we think is often a silly esoteric overly complex analysis may often yield relatively accurate results if we rely on the information available to us. Certainly we have our own biases because every human has their own perspective.

The Conclusion is that the effort to understand the Writer’s message by using a structured analysis is a valid way to critique and express the Writer’s meaning to our audience.

Peace be the Botendaddy

 

The Street

There was a world down here, but it’s continued without me.

I owned a slice of this street once.

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When I was part of it, I was alive… to this street

I was an organic leaf of this tree.

But now I’ve fallen off.

From time to time, the wind blows me back, but this is not my street anymore. I don’t belong.

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Hipster Street View

The street doesn’t notice. It’s not that it doesn’t care, it’s just not aware that it’s lost a piece.

Contributed by the Bolean Nationality Classroom Writer’s Workshop

Svedectvo pána doktora Jaroslava Voraceka Slovenský odpor Snieczka Sektor do kanadskej komisie pre vojnové zločiny 6. apríla 1949 v Ottawe

The following is a translation from French and Slowwaak of documents found in a box that fell behind a bookshelf at the Queen’s Imperial Second Federal Court of the Assizes, Rue Des Voltigeurs, Ottawa, Dominion of Canada  so discovered on the 6 April 1966, by the janitor Monsieur Claude Sevigny .

Queen’s Imperial Solicitor Col. Jean-Claude deBlois, Canadian Army: “Häär Monsieur Voraceka, are you familiar with the defendant Häär Oberstürmführer Gerhard von Niedersachsen, Gauleiter und Oberstürmführer Distrikt Snieczka Fascist puppet government of Northern Slowwakien.”

Voraceka: “It is he, Sir, no other.”

deBlois: “Were you present on the morning of July 6, 1943 at Lesnica?”

Voraceka: “I was, Monsieur Le Colonel.”

deBlois: “Why we’re you there?”

Voraceka: “I was a young Doctor in the Slowwakien Army prior to the advent of the National Socialist Anschlüsse. I was ordered by the SS Death Brigade Kommandant to the Park at the base of the mountain. I was sentenced to death by a Fascist tribunal.”

deBlois: “Continue.”

Voraceka: “I was a member of a Catholic pacifist society of St. Isidore Jesse, I made arrangements in Bratislava to hide Zscewische and Cigani children with Catholic families in the mountains.”

deBlois: “En Francais?”

Voraceka: “Apologies Meng Häär, I mean Monsieur Le Colonel. Jews and Gypsy children. First the Jews were martyred. They made the gypsies (Ciganiiy) dig ditches first, then the gypsies were martyred. Then the Slowwakien priests and nuns of St. Isidore, they died singing the hymn of St. Isidore, hand in hand. Are you Roman Catholic, Monsieur Le Colonel?”

deBlois: “I can have no biases due to my position with the Crown and the Imperial Army, Häär Doktor.“

Voraceka: “ I knew I was dead. I selfishly began to pray to the Christu, Slava Isuzu Christu that I survive for a higher purpose, when it happened. The Lancashires came. I never heard them until the bombs dropped. They mistook the park entrance for the Liseca factories . I escaped. I ran into the mountains. I ran for three day’s when I met Komraide Kommisar Slegr, leader of the Supreme Sowiejt Sociaisticzeski Slowwakien Resitance Red Revolutionary Anti-Fascist People’s Front Brigade. I told him my story. I was taken on as Physician for the Brigade.”

deBlois: “When did you see Niedersachsen again?”

Voraceka: “Christmas day 1948 in Vancouver in Stanley Park. I recognized him immediately.”

deBlois: “Are you certain this is he?”

Voraceka: “He handed me a shovel to dig my own grave. He is the child-killer of Liseca. He killed the righteous right in front of me. He is a butcher. May he never know the love of Christu. May he not be spared eternal fire . We all have choices. We all know right from wrong. He is the devil.”

deBlois: “Were you involved in direct action with the Front?”

Voraceka: “I was, your honor. They were Kommunistivwe butchers in their own right, Cher Monsieur Le Colonel. On 3 November 1944 we blew up a train trestle near Malkov, Slowwakien. We rescued many Zschewische women who were being taken west to be eliminated by the fascist entity.”

deBlois: “Was one of these women Sarai Pareczenethy?”

Voraceka: “She was, Monsieur Le Colonel, along with Frä Rösczelle Pareczenethy. I was elated. Yet saddened when I heard that Häär Doktor Doktor Pareczenethy had been recently liquidated by the National Socialist Construct. We took them to Bratislava, then to Praha, then to Schweiz, then to Les Vosges, where we turned them over to The Imperial Canadian Army Forces. I was arrested and questioned. I was released in January 1946 at Varennes, when I came to Vancouver as a refugee.”

deBlois: “Did Niedersachsen personally give  orders to execute innocent civilians in your presence at the time and date heretofore stated?”

Voraceka: “He So did, Monsieur Le Colonel.”

deBlois: “Did Häär Niedersachsen personally execute anyone in your presence on July 6th, 1943 at the entrance to Liseca Park?”

Voraceka: “He did so within ten meters of me, Monsieur Le Colonel. I am a witness. I believe he thought he was going to get away with it to escape the Justice of Christu and of man. I am a Slovak. I was born a Slovak and I will die a Slovak. Sloboda! Fascists, Kommunistivwe are all murderers in the name of Philosophy. Pareczenethy… only he spoke the truth. I look at all the people here today and though you are strangers to me, I tell you that I was there and that I saw it. It is not a fabrication and my memory is clear. I was spattered with the blood of the children. The world has to know what happens when no one is looking. Fate brought us to Stanley Park that day. Please I beg the tribunal to do justice.”

deBlois: « Merci, pour votre témoignage Monsieur Doctor  vous êtes déchargé. »

CONCLUSION DE TÉMOIGNAGES DE DOCTOR VORACEKA.

AUDIENCE DU TRIBUNAL JURIDIQUE DE L’ARMEE CANADIENNE IMPÉRIALE DU KOMMANDANT NIEDERSACHSEN LE 1er AOÛT 1950

deBlois: “It is hereby ordered by this tribunal of legal military representatives of the Kingdom of Great Britain , The Dominion of Canada  and the Protectorate of Jamaica  that for the crimes of illegal entry to the Dominion, genocide and infanticide that you, Häär Wilhelm Gerharde von Niedersachsen, so be taken to the Imperial prison at Rouyn-Nournda and thereso at a time and date set by this Imperial Tribunal, that you be hanged by the neck until dead, dead, dead.”

Two figures walk arm-in-arm to the train station .

Sarai Pareczenethy (to Voraceka): “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for saving our lives. Although my father believed that life and death are irrelevant, I appreciate your convictions in your beliefs, Pana Doktor.”

Voraceka: “I hope to see you at the University this fall. I suppose we will all be on the train to Vancouver. It is a good train .”