I served a Mormon mission in Tijuana, Mexico. We were switching partners that day, so I put my old partner on a bus to Tecate and waited for my new one to arrive on a hill by our house next to the freeway. I planned things so I’d be by myself for like 30 minutes.
Anyways, there was a huge wreck on the freeway and my new partner was 2 hours late. I was sitting there minding my Mormon business, my legs dangling over a ledge that overlooked a 30 foot drop onto the side of the freeway, when this cholo guy came and sat down by me. “Uh, oh. This guy is going to be trouble.”
He offered me a cigarette.
We sat there in silence for a few minutes.
Then out of no where, the guy pulls a freaking ice pick out of his pocket and brings it towards my gut. I grabbed his wrist before he was able to poke me with it.
“Dame tu wallete!” he cried. (Give me your wallet!)
Source: Strange Experience: The Autobiography of a Hexenmeister, by Lee R. Gandee
This was written in 1971, before Keel’s book was published. I felt a chill run down my spine when I realized this excerpt makes mention of the same events, including the Mothman (by a different name) and the collapse of the Silver Bridge in Point Pleasant.
In the Spiritualist vocabulary … familiar spirits are called “guides.” James Andrew knew his guides by name, and came to know as much about their background and personalities as he knew of his neighbors’. One was Elenipsico, who was murdered (along with his uncle, the great chief Cornstalk, and another great Shawnee chief) by treacherous whites at Point Pleasant, West Virginia, while on a peace mission.
I was sleeping and having a nightmare. My girlfriend gets up to blow her nose and the noise startles me awake. In reflex I sat up and punched her straight in the face while shouting “I’m not going down that easy!” I had no idea it was her.
She was literally stunned. I felt terrible.
When I was 6, my dad died. When I was a teenager, my mom died. I went to live with my grandmother, and a few months later, she died. I was left homeless and alone. Somehow, to this day I still don’t know how, I managed to get through high school. I lived in a Pinto and a box my last year. This was in a small town, back in the day. No idea why no one ever tried to “intervene”.
Anyway, I was lucky, because I was smart. Somehow, God’s grace, I don’t know, I managed to get into a very good school. I went.
Because no one ever bothered to tell me I didn’t have to pay my mom’s debts, I did. I worked at multiple jobs throughout my college days. No social life, just school and work. By the end of it, I was exhausted. I paid off her debts. In retrospect, they weren’t that much. Just a few thousand dollars. But back then….I remember someone at the hospital where she’d died telling me it wasn’t a charity hospital. I was a minor! If I’d known any better, I would’ve realized I didn’t owe anyone anything. But no one bothered.
It has been a rough year darling. The ethereal power of Craigslist will get this message to you I am sure, like in some sort of cheesy 80s movie.
Well back to the last year, you of course died at the beginning of it which put things to a sour start. I spent last night with your mum and dad, we went to that Italian place in Wicker Park, who on the surface seem to be coping. I had everyone get together for my 25th which went well, your ladies are on top form and I think some engagements are brewing. Ellen is turning up the heat on Steve who will soon be forced down to one knee as you predicted.
Last weekend I finally took the step of cleaning out your clothes from the closet, which is very barren now. I invited your friends over to take your what they liked, it was an awkward session. I think they took them more as a favor to me than anything else. Liz cried when we pulled out all of your shoes, Miranda joined in and then Catherine broke down. It was strange to stand in our bedroom surrounded by three crying girls. I made a joke about them crying for joy at the prospect of some free Manolo Balhniks which they didn’t seem to find very funny.
This past year I have had 3 instances of car trouble. A blowout on a freeway, a bunch of blown fuses and an out of gas situation. All of them were while driving other people’s cars which, for some reason, makes it worse on an emotional level. It makes it worse on a practical level as well, what with the fact that I carry things like a jack and extra fuses in my car, and know enough not to park, facing downhill, on a steep incline with less than a gallon of fuel.
Anyway, each of these times this shit happened I was DISGUSTED with how people would not bother to help me. I spent hours on the side of the freeway waiting, watching roadside assistance vehicles blow past me, for AAA to show. The 4 gas stations I asked for a gas can at told me that they couldn’t loan them out “for my safety” but I could buy a really shitty 1-gallon one with no cap for $15. It was enough, each time, to make you say shit like “this country is going to hell in a handbasket.”
But you know who came to my rescue all three times? Immigrants. Mexican immigrants. None of them spoke a lick of the language. But one of those dudes had a profound effect on me.
August 28th, 1988 – December 4th, 2008
I first took notice of you in Chemistry, 11th grade. You were the most beautiful girl I have ever laid my eyes on. I was the luckiest kid in the world when we were chosen to be lab partners by the teacher. I was pretty nervous though, you being captain of the Volleyball team and all I did was sit on the bench on the varsity basketball team and play video games.
However, we wasted no time in getting to know each other. We both loved the same movies, music, we had an almost identical view on life, except for religion. We became best friends. After only two weeks of meeting you, I knew I was in love.
We spent every day together. We went to prom together. I remember everyone saying “Them two are going to get married one day”. We were both infatuated with love; but terrified. When we graduated, you were going to college in Virginia, but it was still amazing.