Agony of victory

Whenever I do something really stupid and foolhardy, I can take comfort in knowing I come by the impulse honestly.  I descend from a long line of proud men whose pride has sometimes led them to undertake imprudent and reckless challenges.  The line between glory and sheer stupidity can be difficult to discern.  Unfortunately for myself and some of my forefathers, striving for greatness sometimes has the opposite result, often depositing one on the manure heap of ignominy.  

Once I read a newspaper account of my Uncle Gus, who many generations ago was a baker in Los Angeles, California.  It was 1908 and the city was still young and construction was booming.  Everywhere, utility poles were erected and daring men, working high above the city, strung electric lines and telephone cables.  

On the ground, residents watched the men work and marveled at their bravery.  Everyone, except for my Uncle Gus, of course.  He was not the least bit impressed.  Spitting a large glob of tobacco juice onto the dusty ground, he told the assembled crowd, “They ain’t so special.  I can climb a telephone pole as good as any lineman.”

The crowd jeered and mocked the 37-year-old baker, who was caked in flour and still wearing his apron.

Fixing his gaze on a tall, sturdy, steel pole at the corner of Amelia and Turner streets, Uncle Gus threw off his apron, grasped the pole and began his ascent.  As promised, Gus scurried up the pole with twice the speed and skill of a lineman.  Down below, friends and onlookers marveled at his nerve.  As he neared the top of the pole, the crowd’s cheers ringing in his ears,  Gus made plans to sit atop the pole and bask in his well-deserved glory.  

Unaware that the lines the pole supported carried 1200 volts of electricity, “Gus threw one leg over one of the wires,” the newspaper reported.  “In an instant blue flames shot out from his head, arms and legs and he fell from his lofty perch.  He landed on a network of telephone wires and from them bounded to the pavement, thirty feet below.  He lay as if dead and his friends notified the police station.”

Gus survived the daring stunt, suffering a compound fracture to his right leg and severe burns to his feet and hands.  The glory that was nearly his evaporated in a brilliant burst of blue flames.  Undoubtedly, this result caused Gus a great deal of consternation.  However, Gus took comfort and was humbled by the reality that some benevolent hand reached out and broke his fall.  Bounding off those telephone wires surely saved his life.  Perhaps next time I’ll stick the landing, he thought, and all the glory and honor will be mine.

Another lost guru Part 2

Interviews

As morning broke on Saturday, November 6, 1982, residents of Woodstock Road, Los Angeles, California emerged from their homes eager to provide details regarding the mysterious group that occupied the fortress-like compound in their midst.  Despite denials from investigators, an almost unanimous assertion among neighbors of the Church of Naturalism Inc. was that the group was involved with drugs.  “We thought it was a drug factory,” said a 26-year-old neighbor named Kerry.  “It was too secretive to be a normal house.  We thought they were doing angel dust up there.” 

Another neighbor named Robin, who worked as a secretary for a television producer, also suspected the group was involved with drug trafficking.  “There was constant traffic at all hours, early morning and late at night, and they’d only stay a little while.  The strange thing was the flow of old beat up cars driven mainly by black men.  I always knew something weird was going on.”  Robin also revealed that she’d attended a costume party at one of the homes on the compound and had been introduced to the host who claimed to work in the mental health field. 

Despite the claims of neighbors, investigators continued to assert that no evidence pointed to a narcotics motive.  “We don’t have anything to show it’s drug related,” Detective Hank Petroski told reporters.  “We looked and found no drugs or drug paraphernalia.”  At least partially undercutting Petroski’s statement was a large sign that read “DRUGS” in mirrored letters visible inside the garage.

A nearby resident named Scott, who worked as a film editor, also spoke of frequent visitors to the property and the paranoid security personnel who guarded the compound.  He told reporters, whenever someone got too close to the front gate, security guards “popped out of the bushes” demanding, “What do you want?…They had a real defensive attitude.”  Neighbors reported they often heard gunshots on the property, which they assumed was target practice, and that muscular men could be seen lifting barbells.  “Everyone’s suspicious when there are locked gates and real defensive guards,” Scott added.  According to Scott, one of the estate’s servants revealed to him that the group “wanted to make a movie about cocaine.”  Indeed, the San Francisco Examiner reported that police sources claimed George Peters “was producing a film about cocaine at the time of his death,” and that Peters “was seen over the summer interviewing and filming participants of a Santa Monica conference on ‘Cocaine Today’….” 

As the weekend progressed, a dozen or so current and former members of the Church of Naturalism and employees started showing up at the group’s estate.  Most were reluctant to talk, but a few spoke fondly of their former friend, George Peters.  “George Peters had the gift of gab coupled with independence of thinking,” said Jay Friedheim, one of the church’s organizers from its early days.  “George always tried to take care of people on the fringe of society….We thought we were going to change the world.”  Peters former common law wife, Katherine Peters, who started the church with George after she met him in Chicago in the early sixties, said, “He was a father in a way.”  A woman named Susan Shore, who shared the rear house with Peters, revealed the church made income from a relationship counseling service called Loveline, a documentary film company called Mentor Media, computer programming and auto repair.  Friedheim indicated the compound’s heavy security was necessary because of the group’s work counseling drug addicts.  As one former church employee said, “They felt safe up here, away from the beaten path.” 

However, it would take less than 24 hours for the idealism to fade and for serious questions to arise about the happy band of altruists who just wanted to change the world from the fortified confines of their $5600 per month Laurel Canyon hideaway.  Despite detectives’ insistence to the contrary, Woodstock Road residents’ conviction that something fishy was going on at the Church of Naturalism’s secretive compound would prove accurate as revelations of previous drug arrests, allegations of strange beliefs and unorthodox practices and even charges of mind control began to spill out into the public.

Sources:

The Los Angeles Times

The San Francisco Examiner

The Chicago Tribune

Ice Cream Joe to pull chocolate milk from schools

According to The Wall Street Journal, the U.S. Department of Agriculture is considering a ban on chocolate milk for elementary and middle school students.  The USDA claims the added sugar content of flavored milk is too high and can be as much as soda.

Asked to comment on the proposed ban, President Joe Biden deftly sidestepped the issue. 

“My name is Joe Biden. I’m Dr. Jill Biden’s husband and I eat Jeni’s ice cream — chocolate chip,” Biden said between licks on a freshly scooped cone.  “I came down because I heard there was chocolate chip ice cream.  By the way, I have a whole refrigerator full upstairs.  You think I’m kidding? I’m not.”

The move to ban chocolate milk comes as federal regulators continue their quest to make school lunches as bland and devoid of nutrition as humanly possible.

However, dairy advocates say flavored milk provides vital calcium, potassium and vitamin D lacking in most kids’ diets.

“As I’ve told my distinguished friend from Massachusetts – a good friend, Senator Markey – it’s really very, very dull when after all these years in public life, you’re known for two things: Ray-Ban sunglasses and chocolate chip ice cream. Very dull president,” Biden said, continuing to dance around the issue.

In addition to America’s children, the administration seeks to steer President Biden himself toward a more healthy diet that includes more fish and veggies.  As Axios recently reported, “Some Biden aides have long noted that he eats ‘like a child,’ with a food palette that skews beige.”

Clearly, the bright individuals in charge at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue believe our nation’s president and our nation’s youth need to stop skewing brown or beige and develop a more mature food palette. 

Whatever the administration and the USDA decide, the big guy pledged his support by issuing another ice cream metaphor, “Let’s go.  Let’s go lick the world.  Let’s get it done.”

Another lost guru Part 1

Crime Scene

As detectives made their way up the narrow winding lane, an abandoned Cadillac limousine was the first indication that something had gone terribly wrong in this Laurel Canyon neighborhood.  Hemmed in by thick brush on either side of the lane, the wrecked vehicle that now confronted them took up the better part of tiny Woodstock Road.  However, the vehicle’s damaged front end and shattered windshield didn’t appear related to the present location and position in which the vehicle came to rest.  The large caliber handgun that lay in pieces on the road next to the Cadillac also indicated that there was likely more to be discovered in this Mount Olympus neighborhood.  Strange scenes were nothing new to the detectives called to investigate crimes inside Laurel Canyon, an area of Los Angeles which had a peculiar knack for giving up its dead in a most bizarre and cruel fashion.   Only a year earlier, four people had been bludgeoned to death less than a mile away at the home of porn star John Holmes.  In 1969, the Tate murders occurred four miles away, with the slain bodies of other young women turning up along Mulholland Drive at around the same time.  With that in mind, investigators continued their ascent up Woodstock Road, stalked by a spirit of dread.  

About 1000 feet further on, detectives turned into a drive that led into a six acre private estate.  Across the drive lay a large wrought-iron gate, some 80 feet from where it had been ripped from its hinges, presumably by the damaged Cadillac they’d previously encountered.  The gate had once been attached to a six-foot fence that enclosed the property.  Topped with coiled razor wire, the security fence and spotlights gave the property the appearance of a heavily fortified compound, rather than an elegant residential estate.  Video cameras monitored the front gate and visitors had to press a buzzer to be admitted to the property.  There were two ranch-style homes, each with its own swimming pool, and a large statue of Buddha on the property.  Around 2:30 that morning, November 6, 1982, a security guard for the estate was alerted to a commotion, which hastened him to investigate.  After phoning the rear dwelling and receiving no answer, he ran to the home where he discovered a man lying dead in the living room, prompting him to immediately phone authorities.    

Inside the rear home, police discovered two badly beaten men dead from apparent gunshot wounds.  The second body was discovered in the bedroom.  Both were fully clothed and there appeared to have been a struggle.  Investigators were able to identify the victims as George Peters, 43, and James Henneberry, 31.  Investigator’s immediate assessment was that the two men were murdered during the course of a robbery, speculating that intruders accessed the property through an unlocked back gate.  Detectives learned the Cadillac was registered to the Church of Naturalism Inc., and that Peters served as chairman of the board and Henneberry the church treasurer.  

According to interviews with the security guard and a woman who shared the front house with Henneberry, Henneberry played pool until 2 a.m. when he walked over to the rear home where Peters resided to grab a cup of tea.  There Henneberry, presumably, interrupted a robbery in progress, struggled with intruders and was slain along with Peters.  The assailant or assailants then fled the scene by crashing the church’s limousine through the iron gate, abandoning the vehicle further down the road and possibly fleeing on foot. 

While the crime itself and the motive seemed fairly straight forward, the victims, the group they led and the location they occupied were shrouded in mystery.  And as interviews with neighbors and church members unfolded and facts emerged, the truth about the enigmatic George Peters and the Church of Naturalism he founded remained elusive.  Because, apart from the many things that remained unclear about George Peters, one thing that was clear was that his name was not George Peters.  He became George Peters when he left his old life behind and embarked on the life of a professional guru.  As gurus go, Peters had at one time shown some promise, attracting a fair amount of publicity and a modest following.  But unlike other more notable gurus whose ambitions led them to California, Peters’ project never really achieved full flourishing, and the circumstances of his death would call all of Peters’ ideals and ambitions into question.  

As George Peters lay there dead in his fortified, heavily guarded compound, the victim of a robbery gone horribly wrong, one could be forgiven for wondering whether the self-help guru occupation was genuine, or simply a persona he had constructed for himself to conceal other ambitions.  Indeed, to hear George Peters and his cohorts tell it, it is even possible the former LSD guru and Church of Naturalism founder could have been the invention of someone or something else altogether.  

Sources:

The Los Angeles Times

The San Francisco Examiner

The Chicago Tribune

Market analysts recommend putting money in Funyuns as a hedge against economic uncertainty

With the closure of Silicon Valley Bank and Signature Bank last March, and the more recent collapse of First Republic Bank, investors are scrambling to find a safe place to store their wealth as the economic outlook continues to darken.

Some are looking to gold or bonds to weather the coming storm, but analysts urge investors not to overlook Funyuns.  Funyuns has traditionally been a safe and reliable investment during tough times.

“Funyuns has outperformed all other investments and the market as a whole going back decades.   Throughout the 2008 financial crisis, Funyuns’ stock performed like a champ, outpacing commodities and precious metals,” said Jordan Moneyheffer of Moneyheffer Investments. 

For most analysts, Funyuns’ resilience during tough times makes sense.  They cite the desire on the part of consumers to turn to comfort products and old familiar brands when the future is uncertain.    

“Funyuns is well positioned to ride out the approaching headwinds.  In recent years, they’ve made some strategic investments, including an exciting new extrusion process for shaping that delicious cornmeal into the fabulous shapes we’ve all grown to love.  Additionally, they’ve made moves behind the scenes, acquiring domestic flavor production capacity to ensure that captivating flavor will be exclusive to Funyuns for decades to come,” Moneyheffer said.

Even cautious investors remain bullish on Funyuns. 

“Listen, if you can’t get excited about Funyuns, then what kind of jaded, joyless prick are you anyway?  A world where investors are bearish on Funyuns?  Dude, I don’t even want to think about that,” Moneyheffer added.

Drag queen one hour oil change to roll out in fifty cities

Riding the success of drag queen story hour and other fun family drag events, the drag queen industry is expanding its offerings into additional areas where its services are sorely needed.  The drive for expansion is part of an effort to increase awareness and inclusivity into spaces where drag queens traditionally have been underrepresented.

Drag queen one hour oil change is currently being rolled out in multiple cities across the country.  Customers can download an app for their phone and schedule a drag queen to come to their home or work and change the oil in their car.  The service typically runs $99.95, and for an extra $50 the drag queen will perform an interpretive dance on the hood of your vehicle.  Drag queens will also top off all your car’s fluids and check the tire pressure for no additional charge.  Early feedback seems to be mostly positive with customers raving that their car has never been serviced with more elegance and grace.      

Drag queen home window washing is another service gaining traction in various parts of the nation.  For $20 per window, the drag queens will make your glass sparkle more intensely than their eye make-up.  The push to get drag queens out into the community cleaning windows stems from an effort to generate more inclusive spaces and increase drag queen visibility.  In case you missed that drag queen at your library, or on your television or computer, you can now simply look out your window and there she is. 

Depending on the success of these programs, officials see the drag queen industry expanding still further into areas like drag queen roadside assistance, drag queen 24-hour plumbing repair and drag queen landscaping and lawncare.

Google’s discontinued 90’s AI project Big Brain Brad revived as ChatGPT alternative

Seeking to capitalize on the success of ChatGPT, Google is attempting to develop a lower cost AI alternative capable of serving more low-tech and outdated industries.  The once abandoned 90’s AI project Big Brain Brad has proven up to the challenge in a number of areas that in a former era were exclusively the domain of highly specialized human agents.    

In numerous trials, Big Brain Brad has demonstrated the ability to man hundreds of psychic hotline phone banks, while delivering accurate predictions at or above industry standards.  What’s more, while human psychics are often limited to only one form of psychic forecasting, like astrology or tarot cards, Big Brain Brad employs dozens of disciplines to formulate the most current and accurate psychic readings.  “B-Cubed looks at star charts, tea leaves, birthdays, gravitational waves, tarot, biofeedback, you name it.  Hell, we’re even close to a breakthrough that allows Brad to do palm readings,” said Google assistant director of senior AI applications Yuri Testikov.   

Another area of promise for Big Brain Brad is the music industry.  Jam bands from Dave Matthews to Phish to Blues Traveller have all signed on to Big Brain Brad’s management and public relations services.  “Brad does it all: venues, hotels, transportation, website, publicity, and the best part is the dude never sleeps.  He’s working for us 24/7.  It’s like having a manager who’s always coked to the gills, but never crashes, costs a lot less and isn’t as horny,”  said one jam band pioneer who wished to remain anonymous.

“Big Brain Brad’s 90’s origins seem to make him especially suited to certain types of industries that wish to remain competitive in the coming decades,” Testikov said.  “However, we’re also working on developing B-Cubed’s social networking capabilities.  Soon we’ll be rolling out a version of Big Brain Brad that’s a drum circle facilitator.  Whether you’re looking to do a zoom circle or just connect with other bongo players in the park, Big Brain Brad can hook you up.”

The Onion editor calls J. K. Rowling “a billionaire with a penchant for spreading misery”

The irony runs deep and voluminous when The Onion senior managing editor Jordan LaFlure sits down for a chat with Buzzfeed.  In the interview, LaFlure describes widely beloved and massively successful author J.K. Rowling as “a billionaire with a penchant for spreading misery.”  It is quick-witted comments like these that cause Onion readers to nearly fall out of their chairs laughing.  Having sold more than 600 million books worldwide, the sheer scale of misery J.K. Rowling has inflicted on the planet boggles the mind, and is worthy of a hearty chortle.  LMFAO at the notion of all the suffering souls plunking down $7.7 billion at the box office to enthusiastically endure the senseless agony of sitting through Harry Potter on the big screen.  Oh, all the humanity!  Why just last year, Harry Potter books had sales of 123 million British pounds in the first six months alone.  I don’t know how much misery that equates to in American dollars, but it sounds like an awful lot.  By the way, that’s 22 percent more misery than the previous year. 

The Onion is seeking to mine comedy gold by portraying J.K. Rowling as a transphobe.  LaFlure is onto something there as the possibilities for irony seem nearly limitless.  Portraying J.K. Rowling as a transphobe would be like depicting Mr. Rogers as a neonazi.  A recent example of this new approach features a mock interview between The Onion editors and Rowling.  Because Rowling has never made an anti-trans comment in her life, The Onion satirically depicts her saying of trans-folk, “I was advocating for their total annihilation.”  Boundless hilarity erupts on the pages of The Onion as it attempts to portray a woman who escaped an abusive marriage and went on to become one of the most successful authors in history, a woman who has donated hundreds of millions of dollars to charity and earned the adoration of a billion fans as a merchant of misery.

Indeed, LaFlure and his colleagues at The Onion appear to be ushering in a new knee-slapping, golden age of comedy satire.  Attacking a much beloved children’s author with egregious and untrue accusations shielded in satire is just the sort of side-splitting comedy relief the world has been clamoring for. 

The devil’s trailer Part 6

Aftermath

A day after his conviction was handed down, as a possible death sentence loomed on the horizon, and with the immensity of his situation weighing on him like a granite headstone, John Fryman shifted into panic mode.  “I can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I didn’t do these things,” Fryman told Cincinnati television station WCPO-TV in a telephone interview.  “Her footprints were in the blood, not mine,” said Fryman as he desperately tried to pin the blame on Beverly Cox.  Fryman also hammered at his defense, questioning why neither he nor Cox was called to the witness stand.  Defense attorney Shiavone continued to stand by his client, but didn’t offer much in the way of alleviating Fryman’s mounting anxiety.  ”John is a very scared young man.  The electric chair, which he used to talk about so freely, is becoming a reality.  He’s confused, and I hope we can move on and save his life Tuesday,” Schiavone told reporters.

On the eve of Fryman’s sentencing, the grieving mother of Monica Lemen charged the convicted killer with playing mind games as he tried to shift the blame for Lemen’s murder onto Beverly Cox.  “He plays mind games.  People involved in psychology can get people in their confidence, and do things to people that are naive and not used to being around jailbirds.”  Patricia Lemen explained her daughter began receiving letters from Fryman in 1981 after she accompanied a friend to the Cincinnati Correctional Institution to visit the friend’s uncle.  Mrs. Lemen related how Fryman had threatened her daughter.  “She said Johnny drained the blood from an owl, and said to Monica, ‘I could do this to you…and spread your blood on the wall.’”  Patricia Lemen said she was not aware of the threats, or of Fryman’s involvement in satanism until after her daughter’s death.  The grieving mother was still trying to come to terms with the loss of her daughter.  “I feel like Monica went on a trip and didn’t come back.  But I know it’s permanent.”  Lamenting the life her daughter would never have, Mrs. Lemen described Monica as an “achiever, who wanted to get ahead by going to school for business administration and wanted to be all she could be.”

At John Fryman’s sentencing hearing on Tuesday, September 22, 1987, the only two people who really knew what took place at the mobile home on Sammy Drive in Fairfield, Ohio took the stand to deliver their testimony.  Beverly Cox, whose cooperation with investigators and prosecutors was instrumental in convicting John Fryman of aggravated murder, gave a tearful account of the horrific events of February 9th, 1987, and the personal struggles which led to her participation in those events.  According to Cox, on February 9th John Fryman told Cox he was going to bring Monica Lemen back to their trailer and kill her.  When the pair arrived, Cox hid in a bedroom closet, during which time she heard a gunshot.  Fryman told Cox to come out of the closet.  Monica Lemen lay dead in the “sorcery room” of the couple’s home, and Fryman told Cox, “Baby, you’ve got a dead body in the trailer.”  “He was all happy about it,” Cox testified.  The next day, Cox said, she held Lemen’s ankles while Fryman sawed off the legs to make it easier to remove the body from the trailer.  She also helped clean up the blood.  Cox said she assisted Fryman because she was afraid.  Cox’s testimony mostly mirrored the written confession Fryman gave police with a few extra details thrown in.  

In additional shocking testimony, Cox detailed her fear of Fryman and the dark magic he exploited to exert power over her mind and possibly her soul.  Cox said she learned about satanism from Fryman who variously referred to himself as Todva the Crazy and the prince of evil.  She claimed Fryman had her under his influence, “I didn’t know if I was coming or going.”  According to her testimony, she became free of Fryman’s psychic control in April, two months following the murder.  “I see it all now.  I see what he’s done.  I don’t believe any of that stupid crap anymore,” Cox testified.  However, further testimony and Cox’s jailhouse letters to Fryman revealed the young woman’s struggles with evil forces go back much farther than her acquaintance with Todva the Crazy.  Cox testified that her interest in satanism, demons and black magic extended back to high school when she wrote a report on witchcraft.  She stated that her former husband was a satanist and his mother was a witch.  According to Beverly Cox, the devil had been stalking her family for hundreds of years.  In an April 16 letter to John Fryman, Cox wrote, “He tried to get my father, but could not, so he went after me.  This devil had me.  I was going to kill myself.”  She described to Fryman an exorcism or ritual that took place in the jail to free her of a demonic spirit that had “settled around her,” and seized control of her mind and soul.  “I was pounding the walls with my fists, pounding my head against the walls, pacing the floor.  My body went blue.  I could not stop shaking.  It was horrifying,” Cox wrote.  On the stand, Cox characterized that jail cell experience as a “demon or spirit in the room that was removed out.”  The blueness in her legs she attributed to poor circulation.  Cox said her parents, Victor and Francis Dawson of Cincinnati, came to the jail on April 4th with her confirmation Bible.  “Dad was telling me everything was going to be alright, that Johnny couldn’t do anything to me.  Dad started to read the Bible.  He said everything will be explained, evil and hell are all around us.”  According to Cox’s testimony, a priest, the Rev. Walter Sherman of Trinity Episcopal Church in Lawrenceburg, IN, accompanied Cox’s parents to the jail the day of the exorcism ritual, and jail records corroborated her testimony.  However, Rev. Sherman, who sat in the courtroom with the Dawsons, denied taking part in the ritual to reporters, and claimed not to have met the Dawsons until April 19. 

When it was Fryman’s turn to take the stand, he refused to take an oath, and proceeded to deliver an hour-long monologue in which he characterized Beverly Cox as a sinister femme-fatale that murdered Monica Lemen out of jealousy and skillfully cast the blame on him.  The only time Fryman expressed anything resembling regret was when he described dismembering Lemen’s dead body.  “I knew I couldn’t just carry her body out in broad daylight.  We ended up cutting her legs.  It’s something I can’t explain, it was totally irrational.”  Regarding his written confession, he called it “totally bogus” and said, “I had no reason to kill Monica Lemen.”  

While acknowledging he went by the satanic name Todva, Fryman denied an involvement in satanism, blaming Cox for his trailer’s devil themed decor.  “I catered to this woman’s madness,” Fryman said of Cox.  No word yet on whether HGTV has optioned “Sorcery Room,” a home improvement series in which Beverly Cox shows you how to take that old outdated spare bedroom and turn it into a modern, functional space for practicing occult magic.  Fryman also surprised the court by revealing a wicked swastika tattoo inside his lower lip.  He referred to the symbol as a “wheel of life” and claimed it was a good sign.  And in yet another instance of Fryman’s flair for the dramatic, he related a story Cox had told him about her visit to a psychic that seemed to foreshadow the tragic events.  “She (the psychic) said she and another person would be arm in arm with a mutilated body between them,” Fryman told the court.     

Despite not taking an oath prior to delivering his suspect testimony, and his lack of remorse and failure to take responsibility for the crimes, Fryman was ultimately spared the death penalty and given life in prison.  As for Beverly Cox, she got off with a jailhouse exorcism and time served in protective custody.  Cox also received $25 for every day she was in the Butler County Jail.  Immediately following her testimony, she took her $5300 and embarked for Germany to stay with her sister who was serving in the military there.  At some level, it does seem that Beverly Cox managed to elude justice in this case.  To what extent she was an innocent victim of the evil magician Todva, or a willing participant and advocate for the evil deeds committed by the pair, it will most likely never be known.    

Justice was swift in the severed legs case with slightly more than seven months elapsing between the commission of the crimes and the sentencing of John Fryman.  However, it took quite a bit longer for the justice system to make Little Cedar Grove Baptist Church whole again.  The headstone that John Fryman and Beverly Cox had stolen from the church for use as a satanic altar sat in the basement of the Butler County Courthouse for five years following the trial.  Stained by soot and candle wax, the headstone weighed 450 pounds and took four trusties of the Butler County Jail to move and load onto a truck for transport.  How Fryman and Cox were able to move the hefty slab of granite from the church to his trailer’s sorcery room is unknown.  Barring a levitation spell cast by Todva the Crazy, is it possible the pair had help from others within their magic circle?  

At the time of its theft, the headstone occupied a space leaning against a column inside the church.  The inscription on the stone read, “To the memory of Elizabeth, wife of William Tyner, who departed this life Aug. 2, 1810, age 36 years 3 days.”  The Rev. William Tyner was the church’s first minister.  According to the July 29, 1954 edition of the Brookville Democrat, it was the only headstone uncovered with the discovery of the burial ground and thirty other grave markers on the church site.  The headstone featured “the intricate engraving of willow tree, coffin and lamb as well as the delicate etching around the word ‘Sacred.’”  Apparently it was not so sacred that caretakers refrained from uprooting the ancient headstone and placing it inside the church.  

Whether or not the act of disturbing the burial ground produced a cosmic disturbance that would ultimately result in an unspeakable evil revealing itself at the Cedar Grove site is a matter for speculation.  However, historical events do not appear to rule out the possibility.  Regarding that previously mentioned earthquake that hastened the construction of Little Cedar Grove Baptist Church, E. A. Wood wrote in 1894 that “quite a number of the members of this church who had become careless as to matters spiritual, interpreted this violence as a visitation of the Almighty upon them on account of their sinfulness”.  Additionally, Wood reported that the fledgling congregation struggled mightily to keep Freemasons out of its midst, the baptists in those days being not so liberal “and very antagonistic to secret fraternities.”  Ultimately, however, the church’s leaders relented and restored membership to congregants who had refused to renounce Masonry.  It wasn’t long after this fateful decision that the congregation began to fade out of existence.  According to Wood, “The church continued to prosper until about 1850, when the Reaper began to gather the harvest and the members of the old church were gathered in.”  

If there was a spiritual struggle between those seeking the Lord’s favor and malevolent forces that sought to inflict destruction and despair on the Little Cedar Grove community, John Lee Fryman seemed eerily attuned to that conflict.  Despite possessing an education in the science of human behavior, and for a time showing a desire to use it to help others, Fryman instead chose to push further and explore the murky pathways that lay beyond the boundaries of scientific understanding.  There he saw something, something that led him to make an offering of the severed legs in order to, as he stated, “increase the power of that spot.”  Whether the devil made him do it, or he took it upon himself to curry favor with his dark master matters little.  It is a certainty that John Lee Fryman lost himself in a domain beyond his understanding and ability to control.  He wandered willingly down a dark path, which he could have turned back from at any time, but instead chose to follow the pull of black magic and mystery until he was gathered into its black abyss.

Sources:

The Cincinnati Enquirer

Dayton Daily News

The Indianapolis Star

The Indianapolis News

The Star Press (Muncie, Indiana)

The Brookville Democrat

Franklin County Historical Society

Meanwhile in the analog zone

Driving around after work last Friday, jamming to Nebula on my factory installed Camry car stereo, I experienced a momentary time slip back to the analog era that existed before we gave ourselves over entirely to the digital dystopia we currently inhabit.  With Nebula’s nineties-flavored hard-rock psychedelia filling the cabin of my Camry, the world outside took on the chill analog aspect of days gone by.  Some reading this might deduce, “this guy’s grooving on stoner rock and flashing back to the nineties, he’s probably puffing on some powerful mary-jane.”  Negative, amigo, this was a totally sober analog flashback.  

As I cruise through dense Friday afternoon traffic, a dude up ahead tries to navigate his way across a busy six-lane on his bicycle.  He’s playing a dangerous game of Frogger as he swerves unsteadily between passing vehicles.  Nearby, a girl walks along the sidewalk still dressed in her KFC uniform.  Looking a little dazed and weary from her fast food shift, she carries with her a bag of chicken and fixins, and, presumably, the closely guarded secret of Colonel Sanders 11 herbs and spices.  

The package store parking lot buzzes with blue-collar dudes clutching frosty cold cases of beer.  In a bygone era, their mulleted manes would have blown majestically in the spring breeze.  Today, it’s their prodigious beards flapping furiously in their faces.  A girl perched in a colossal hemi-powered pickup truck rumbles passed in the lane next to me.  The extended cab, dually monstrosity is made all the more massive-looking contrasted with her petite appearance inside the cab.

I’m stopped for a red light at a busy intersection.  I resist the temptation to roll down my window and flood the street with the sonic ferocity of Transmission From Mothership Earth.  This is one of those intersections where the signal only allows one action at a time.  Northbound can make a left, then southbound can go left, northbound can go straight, then southbound can go straight, eastbound left turn lane go fuck yourself, westbound go straight, etc.  

The time finally arrives for the cross traffic to go left.  However, a young couple’s motorcycle does not appear to be cooperating.  The young gentleman furiously tries to start the stalled machine while his girlfriend holds on tight.  Sensing he’s about to run out of left turn signal, the young man makes a ballsy move. The motorcycle is small enough that his feet easily rest on the ground on both sides.  With just seconds of left turn arrow remaining, the young man starts pumping his legs and runs the motorcycle through the massive intersection a la Fred Flintstone.  The girl is hanging on tight and they’re both laughing hysterically at the absurdity of the scene.  Horns honk and drivers cheer as the young gentlemen, his girl and the bike clear the intersection just before the light changes. 

Streaming for your approval in the analog zone, one of those mundane everyday moments that overwhelms you because its flooded with meaning.  You have the quick-thinking, heroic actions of stalled motorcycle guy as he whisks his girl away from danger.  There is the spectre of life’s struggles popping up at the most inopportune time, and the indominitable will and determination to overcome said struggle.  There is optimism and joy that laughs in the face of said struggle and young love that remains hopeful throughout.  All the while, onlookers root for a triumphal outcome.  

Of course, it’s entirely possible I read too much into the scene.  Maybe the pair later cursed their misfortune, got into a big row and she dumped him over some perceived public embarrassment and shame to which he subjected her.  But I’d like to think not.  I’d like to think that years from now, when the couple have kids who are old enough to appreciate a good story, the pair will regale them with this analog tale and they will all have a good laugh.