The suspect in the shooting at a Colorado theater is reportedly telling police he’s the Joker, Batman’s arch nemesis and is known for chaotic violence. This, according to New York Police Commissioner Ray Kelly. 

The suspect is 24-year-old James Holmes and is in the Arapahoe County Jail in Centennial, a suburb of Denver.  Aurora police chief Dan Oates is refusing to comment on a possible motive, saying it’s being investigated,but does confirm 12 people are dead and 58 more injured in the shooting during a screening of “The Dark Knight Rises.” 

Oates says evidence shows Holmes recently bought four guns and six-thousands of rounds of ammunition, having the ammo delivered to both his home and workplace.  He also mentions Holmes bought several magazines for an assault rifle, including a high-capacity drum magazine. 

He describes Holmes as a man who came ready for destruction.  Oates says Holmes had four guns, including firearms found in his car and was wearing special garments including a gas-mask,helmet, vest, leggings and a groin protector when taken into custody.

Oates is a former NYPD deputy chief. He’s also a lawyer and a senior fellow at Long Island University’s Homeland Security Management Institute.

Witness Paul Otermat says he was on the other side of the theater when Holmes began his shooting spree.  He says Holmes threw tear gas near where he was sitting and then opened fire with a shotgun.

Authorities found a maze of trip wires, liquid explosives, jars filled with ammunition and even things that resemble mortar rounds at Holmes’ apartment.  People that live in the apartment building and nearby buildings spent the night in an evacuation center.

The FBI says the apartment turned up multiple containers of flammable material set to explode.  FBI Special Agent Jim Yacone says the bomb squad disabled a series of potentially deadly devices including a tripwire near the front door.

Explosive devices packed into the 800-square-foot apartment could have killed first responders and destroyed the three-story building. An inventory of items shows at least 30 aerial shells filled with gunpowder, two containers full of liquid accelerants and containers full of bullets that could have exploded in a fire.

Meanwhile one of Holmes’ neighbors say he may have tried to use loud music to trick police into entering his apartment. The woman who lives under his apartment unit says techno music started blaring in the middle of the night and she thinks Holmes rigged the stereo with a timer, since he wasn’t at home.

Another neighbor says it’s “insane” to think he was living near a mass murderer.  Jackie Mitchell says he woke up to  the noise of police as they descended on the home of the shooter.

Across town, doctors say it was an “all hands on deck” situation after a mass shooting at a movie theater in Aurora.  Dr. James Denton said victims admitted at the Medical Center of Aurora have a variety of injuries.

He says it’s the worst case of mass violence he’s seen since the 1999 Columbine High School massacre.  Denton says most of the injuries are bullet wounds, others are from shrapnel while a few are injuries suffered in the stampede to get out of the theater.

He says the victims have experienced shock, but they’re being cooperative with medical staff.  He says one victim  thought someone had set off fireworks in the theater and persisted in that belief even though he was at a hospital. 

Swedish Medical Center spokesman Nicole Williams says three people came into her center with serious injuries.  She says all three had bullet wounds to various parts of their bodies.

In San Diego, where Holmes’ family lives, a local police officer spoke on their behalf saying they are cooperating with authorities.  The statement continued to say that “we are still trying to process this information” and expressed sympathy for those killed and injured in the rampage, while asking for privacy.

Continuing in Southern California, Colorado Rockies manager Jim Tracy spoke before their game in San Diego about the shooting massacre in Aurora, Colorado.  Tracy says the team is thinking of the victims of the shooting.

Regarding sports, an aspiring sportswriter from Texas is one of the 12 people killed. Jessica Ghawi, who made her start covering the San Antonio Rampage and working as an intern at a local San Antonio radio station.

She moved from San Antonio to Denver and worked for the Colorado Avalanche radio and TV broadcasts.  Ghawi wrote under the name Jessica Redfield and was a writer for the sports website “Busted Coverage.”

She was at the movie with a friend, Brett Lowak, who survived the attack.  The 24-year-old Ghawi had recently escaped the Eaton Centre Mall shooting in Toronto, June of this year, that left one dead and seven injured.

As the latest Batman film climbs to record-breaking heights at the box office, Warner Brothers is choosing to postpone money talk related to the movie.  The studio says it’s keeping silent about the movie’s earnings out of respect for the victims. 

Rentrak, the media measurement company that releases box office data, also announced it would also suspend its reporting of Worldwide Weekend Estimates.  However it’s already known, “The Dark Knight Rises” made 30-point-six-million dollar from its midnight screenings.

The films publicity team also canceled première events for the film in Paris, Tokyo and Mexico City in the wake of the tragedy. And speaking of our neighbor’s to the south, former Mexican President Felipe Calderon is calling current gun laws in the U.S. “mistaken” and is asking for a review from Washington. 

Calderon posted his comments on Twitter, offering his condolences to the United States in the wake of the mass shooting.  He tweets “Because of the Aurora, Colorado tragedy, the American Congress must review its mistaken legislation on guns.” 

This isn’t a first for Calderon.  In February he unveiled a huge sign on the Mexico-U.S. border reading “No More Weapons!” creating the letters from recycled guns.

Continuing along the political front, Colorado Governor John Hickenlooper described the shooting as an “isolated event” by an “unspeakably troubled individual.”  After the  press conference, Hickenlooper took a ride to Wyoming on train to help celebrate Cheyenne Frontier and raise funds for those affected by the event.

President Obama says the aftermath of the shooting massacre should remind the nation that, quote, “We are united as one American family.”  At a campaign event in Fort Myers, Florida, Obama called the shooting tragedy a “heinous crime.”  He said, “Such violence, such evil, is senseless.”

Congressional leaders are also expressing shock and sadness about the shooting massacre.   GOP House Speaker John Boehner called the tragedy an act of “incomprehensible evil,” saying in such occurrences, “Americans will pull together and embrace our national family more tightly.”

And not one to wait for the dust to settle on a tragedy, New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, in his weekly radio address, called on Obama and Mitt Romney to lay out their plans to combat gun violence.  Bloomberg has participated in many campaigns to strengthen gun laws and says there are so many murders with guns every day, that it has to stop.

As for the director of the movie, “The Dark Knight Rises,” Christopher Nolan is speaking out on the shooting tragedy that will forever be tied to his film.  Speaking on behalf of the cast and crew of the film, Nolan expressed “profound sorrow” for what he called a “senseless tragedy” and “an appalling crime.” 

He added, “I believe movies are one of the great American art forms and the shared experience of watching a story unfold on-screen is an important and joyful pastime.  The movie theater is my home and the idea that someone would violate that innocent and hopeful place in such an unbearably savage way is devastating to me.”

“Batman” star Christian Bale says he feels “horror” and that his heart goes out to the victims and their families. The actor released a statement saying, quote, “Words cannot express the horror that I feel.”

Actor Gary Oldman who also appears in the new Batman movie as “Commissioner James Gordon,” is expressing condolences. In a statement Oldman says, “My prayers and deepest sympathies are with the victims and their families of this horrific act.”

Holmes has an attorney and will have his first court appearance on Monday, July 23.

“Ugh!” I thought as I blinked awake, “My eye’s feel like two piss-holes in the snow!”

It felt as if I had jus’ fallen asleep when my alarm sounded. And as soon as I looked at the time it occurred to me that I had jus’ fallen asleep.

It took me only a few seconds to lie back down and drift off for another few hours. By the time I reawakened, I knew I was very late for the reunion picnic.

As quickly as possible, I showered and dressed, grabbed my camera and rushed out of my room. The sky was a high overcast, which burned off momentarily, only to come back full tilt.

This time I didn’t drive to a place that wasn’t part of the event. I hustled straight to Beachfront park where I found a small gathering of people hanging around some tables.

One of the first people I saw was my long ago neighbor from Klamath, Sharon Jones. We had not seen each other in over in 34-years.

Somehow, it seemed to me at that moment, as if all that time hadn’t really passed by us.  I also met her husband, James, a retired U.S. Army engineer, and their daughter and son.

But because I was so late, the event ended far too soon for me. Soon I was standing there alone watching everyone return to their lives.

Instead of heading straight back to my room, I decided to go do a little shopping. I spent an hour in the old McKay’s Market building, now home to a second-hand store called, “Sylvia’s Attic.”

Then I headed up H Street to the VFW Post to say “adios” to Stanlee Stanovich. I didn’t hang around long as she was busy with a bar full of patrons.

Besides I had to head back to the motel, as the light was fading and the sidewalks were rolling up. I also had a long trip home in front of me the next morning.

Sleep didn’t come to me as easily as it had the night before, so when I got up, I was moving slowly. I have since concluded that it was for the beast as I ran into an old school mate, Dan Smith.

I always remembered him because he shares the same name as my oldest cousin on Mom’s side of the family.

Dan and I stood around chatting about the old days of high school, and our time in the U.S. Marine Corps. Unfortunately, he hadn’t heard of the get together, missing out on the reunion and all the fun we had.

After saying our “see ya laters and Semper Fi’s,” I hopped in my truck and turned the hood southward. I stopped once more, this time in the old townsite of Klamath, where I have always felt my life’s journey began.

It was here I snapped a few more photograph’s, including where Grandpa Jack’s Three-Sevens Bar had been and the former site of Tony’s Market. I also got out and walked the land for a few minutes, wishing to make one more connection with the place, before leaving.

In minutes of returning to southbound 101,  I drove out of Del Norte County.  I grew sad, wondering, “Will I ever see this place again?”

One can never say.

Perhaps it was that I was in a rush — or maybe it is old age — but I knew as I drove north on US 101 I was heading to the Elks Club on H Street. But that didn’t prevent me from turning onto Front Street and then into the parking lot between Enderts Pool and the Crescent City Convention Center.

Fortunately, I returned to my sense and got back out on Front Street and turned at H Street. I pulled in and parked, waiting for Stanlee Stanovich to arrive as I told her the night before I’d meet her there and we’d walk in together.

While waiting, several couples arrived and went inside, then Bobby Adams came up the steps from the lower parking areas, calling out my name. We stood around and jawed for a bit — until Wendy Mendes arrived with her daughter and sister Dana.

I asked Wendy, “So why’s a good-looking woman like you here without her husband?”

“Oh, he passed away,” she answered.

Talk about embarrassing myself. I couldn’t apologize enough for being such a classless cad.

Then after a little more chit-chat, Wendy started for the door as did Bobby, who left me saying, “I’m going in with this beautiful woman.”

A couple of minutes later, Stanlee pulled into the drive and parked. The first thing she said to me laughingly was, “Some videographer you are!”

She then proceeded to tell me how none of the video I took the night before using her new-fangled video camera turned out. Then she kidded me more by holding up the camera and showing me the button that activates the recording.

The joke was on her though. By the time the night was over, her hand had cramped in place reminiscent of the video camera’s sleek shape.

Once inside, Dorothy Morgan and Lydia Brown made sure I knew who I was by giving me a name badge that included a picture of me from my sophomore year. Back then I had a head full of hair, so needless to say — if it weren’t for my name being included on the badge, no one who have had any idea who I was.

The first Klamath River Rat I saw was Nadine Redd. She was there not only to take part in the reunion but to act as the official photographer.

She had been my baby-sitter back when she was attending Del Norte. I hadn’t seen Nadine since 1973.

Upstairs, the hall was abuzz with activity. The band was jus’ getting warmed up, with announcements being  made by Darlene Clark and Connie Brooks.

There was plenty of finger-foods laid out for everyone to enjoy. My favorites were the rolled slices of turkey and the meatballs.

Being a social-moth, I moved from one room to the next taking pictures and chatting with people I hadn’t seen in ages. This included Marvin Bowers, Charlene Blackburn, Suzanne Stennett and Carrie and Abbie Crist.

Speaking of  Suzanne, it was her, at the urging of her beau, who made me turn bright red, when she grabbed my bald head and cradled it against her ample bosom. Meanwhile her boyfriend, using my camera, snapped off several shots — laughing all the way.

And as odd as it might sound, someone introduced me to a woman who not only graduated from Del Norte, but also lives in Reno. I even know her niece.

Rhonda Kitchen graduated early in November 1977 and was busy getting acquainted with old schoolmates she’d not seen in years. As for her niece, Rebecca Kitchen, she works for KOLO News 8, the news partner to the radio station where I’m employed.

I can hear the music, “It’s a small world after all, It’s a small world after, It’s a small world after all, it’s a small, small world…”

There was a real “ah shucks,” moment when I saw Julie Childre kissing people on the neck. I asked,” Where’s mine?” and she plied me with several, which left me grinning like an idiot from ear-to-ear.

It took three beers to calm the pain in my back so I could go out onto the dance floor and shake my hips a little, but I did it and I enjoyed myself. I hadn’t done any dancing in years for fear I’d end up flopping around on the floor with severe spasms.

One of the funnier incidents happened when Kathy Chester came and said goodbye to me. She was leaving for the night because she wanted to get a head start on the picnic the next day as well as some rest.

I watched as she walked out the doors of the Elks Club.

In the meantime I continued wandering around from place to place, talking to fellow classmates and taking pictures. As I came back into the bar area, I saw Kathy standing there sipping on a glass of water.

“I thought you left?” I asked.

She smiled, a blushed lightly and replied, “I forgot I’m one of the hosts of this party.”

We both chuckled at that.

The bar finally closed at 1:30 am, Sunday morning. Once again, I was one of the last to leave having helped clean the dance hall up along with a number of others who had attended the festivities.

I knew it was going to rough getting up in time for the coming picnic.

Somebody shouted smoke was pouring from the old warehouse behind the Post Office, the one used to house roofing and construction materials along with electrical equipment. Immediately, a call went out to the fire department.

Elko only had a volunteer fire department, with five trained members and several dozen volunteers in August 1964. By the time the department arrived, the building was totally engulfed.

Men scrambled to haul the hoses from the trucks, only to find at least one of the fire rigs was too far from a hydrant. They wasted time getting the vehicle repositioned.

Another fireman couldn’t open the fire plug because he didn’t have the right wrench. A bystander loaned him the correct tool.

Firefighters next discovered the water pressure from the hydrant was to low. They had to search to find one that could support at least a minimal flow.

Then out of nowhere came a World War II “Twin Beech” AT-7 Navigator — flying low and slow over the burning warehouse. The pilot made a turn, lining up on the warehouse and dropping 300 gallons of fire-retardant.

When the retardant hit, the warehouse roof collapsed. Three volunteer firemen, including one visiting from Sparks, Nevada received injuries – though not seriously.

Unfortunately, the retardant didn’t put out the fire. Instead fire crews returned to the warehouse three times that night to prevent fires from rekindling.

Friday the 13th. Usually it’s a good day — no different from any other for me. However en route to work, things went bad about the time I saw what I thought was a man struck and knocked out of a cross walk at Vassar and Harvard Ways. I immediately turned around to go give aid if he needed it.

I watched the suspect car, a silver Dodge Intrepid,  continue speeding west on Vassar.

The man I’d seen rolling on to the sidewalk was squatting down behind a clump of bushes next to a community health center. I didn’t think it was weird as humans like animals will go hide when injured.

As soon as he saw me though, he came out from behind the brushes and walked across the street to me. That’s when I asked if he was okay, to which he relied he was fine, having jumped from the car because his “wife was pissing me off,” and not having being struck by it.

Then he asked if he could get a ride out of the area because he didn’t want her coming back and causing more problems for him. I said I would and he hopped in my truck.

Instead of pulling a u-turn on Harvard, I drove into a vacant parking lot to turn around. I was looking at the man riding in my passenger seat, asking him where I should drop him off, when his eyes grew big. I turned my head to look and found myself being rammed by the silver car.

She shoved the car up under my truck. The pre-teen boy sitting in the passenger side seat next to her had a terrified look on his face as I backed off of the hood of her vehicle.

Immediately, I put my truck in park and started to get out. That’s when the driver of the other vehicle, a Latino woman, about 5-foot-five inches and maybe 110 pounds, got out of her car and started rushing at me. I stepped back two or three times because she had something in her hand and it worried me that it might be a gun.

In response I pulled my folding lock-blade knife from my pocket and opened it up. As I did this, I saw the man coming around the front of my truck and I figured I had stepped into a domestic argument and I’d end up having to fend both of them off.

After a few seconds, I saw she was holding a shoe, not a pistol as I’d feared, so I put my knife back in my pocket. While I stood my ground, the woman continued screaming at me in English about having run into her car with her son in it, then in Spanish at the man, then back at me for trying to kidnap her husband.

By this time we were face-to-face, so close that our noses were touching. I didn’t smell alcohol, nor did she have the odor of burnt cannabis and I couldn’t detect a fruity scent to her breath — a sign of diabetic acidoketosis — so I concluded she was purely in a psychotic rage or suffering from a bi-polar disorder.

Without turning my back on her, I returned to the cab of my truck and retrieved by cell-phone, dialing 9-1-1. She kept screaming, “Go ahead and call the f*cking cops! I don’t care!”

As soon as she realized I was calling the police, she returned to her car and drove away in the direction she had first been travelling when her husband bailed from the car. Her husband took of northbound on Harvard Way, putting as much distance between himself and the scene as possible.

Meanwhile, I completed my conversation with the dispatcher, having told her all the pertinent information she asked for, including the fact the car had no license plates or even a registration tag in the window. I also never got the name of the man.

In the end, I continued towards work, where I concluded I will never stop to help another person out no matter  how badly injured they are or aren’t. I also decided to no longer carry any kind of self-protection again, as I have a very dark spot in me that is willing to injure, maim or kill with the slightest of provocation.

It took me nearly two-hours to complete the online police report and to talk with a Reno Police officer after beginning my shift.  All in all, I’m fortunate as interfering in a domestic dispute can result in death, and I walked away unscathed and my truck has only the slightest ding in the fender, not even worth talking to the insurance company about.

I will admit, I’ve nursed a very tender low-back — worse than usual — since the hit-and-run.

In the end, I’ve been given two pieces of advice.  My wife says, “You shouldn’t pick up strangers,” and my co-worker, Neil Tyler says, “Don’t give up on humanity.”

One of the things I like about staying in motels is the “in-room” coffee that many offer. There’s something refreshing about the strong aroma of brewing coffee in such a small space.

It’s the simple things with me.

After showering, getting dressed and polishing off three cups of java I was ready to take on the world or go take a few photographs – which ever was to happen first. My starting point was Beach Front Park.

There I discovered two things – they’ve named the street that divides the park in two from Beachfront Drive to the ocean after Bill Stamps. The other thing – the parks restrooms are modern and no longer the creepy-scary stranger-danger they had been all the years I lived in Del Norte.

For the first time in my life, I actually went inside the Surf Hotel, now called the Surf Apartments, legally. Before this, I had always sneaked in and made my way to the roof to sit and drink a beer and look out over the city at night.

Once inside, I went upstairs to the top floor. Inside the stair-well I discovered the man-hatch to the roof and since the sign didn’t say, “No Trespassing,” I decided to open it.

I’m still in awe of the view – especially since it was daylight.

After several photographs I returned to the ground floor and headed towards the center of town. I was on my way to Glenn’s for breakfast.

Unfortunately, I discovered my favorite restaurant shuttered, with for sale signs posted in the windows. Of course this isn’t the only business I noticed had gone away.

There is also Endert’s Rexall Drug Store, Johnson’s Store for Men, The Photo Boutique, The Escape Hatch, Daly’s, Bistren’s, Crescent City Printing the Crescent City Movie Theater and McKay’s Market, to name a few. I know some have been gone a long time – others not so long – but I thought they deserved listing anyway.

On the upside, the men’s department on Daly’s is now home to Johnston’s Gift-Garden-Home. I wandered inside to buy a couple of thank you cards and met the owner, Sheri Johnston.

We had only ever met though Facebook. In person is much nicer.

She filled me in on the shops history, which included a reference to the high water mark left by the 1964 Tsunami. While the original stain is no longer visible, Sheri showed me where the construction workers marked the line on the new wall.

From there, and as referred by Sheri, I went next door to Tomasini’s for lunch. I had one of the best bowls of clam chowder I’ve had in ages along with a hot pastrami sandwich on sourdough and an ice-cold beer.

Once seated, the waitress, who insisted on calling me ‘sir,’ though I work for a living, handed me a brief history on the restaurants namesake. Strange as it seems – I knew Mr. Tomasini when he owned the Fort Dick Tavern.

In fact – the original bar, which is more than 100-years old is in use at Tomasini’s. I was happy to see the restaurants owner, Sasha Tomasini and Mr. Tomasini’s grand daughter, has a heart for history.

After lunch, I wandered over to the Masonic Temple. It was recently gutted by fire, started by some children who broke in and were playing with a lighter or some matches in the attic.

While some damage can readily be seen to the front of the structure, it’s the backside that shows the most damage. Much of the roof caved in – creating an open maw that exposes the burned out interior.

“Bummer,” as we’d say back in the day.

Finally, I walked back to Tsunami Landing and visited at the Seagull Water Fountain, dedicated to the victims of the 1964 Tsunami. It saddened me to see the flower shop that had been in the Martinelli building was also gone along with the bar that was once a neighbor to the shop.

Further down, I walked by the former KPOD studios, where I first broke into the broadcasting business. I later learned their studio is north of town  and housed with KCRE, a one time direct rival to the older KPOD.

It was beginning to get late in the afternoon and I still wanted to visit the harbor and dock area before the day was out. For all the damaged reported from the 2011 tsunami which swept through the slips and fishing vessels, I saw nothing that said it had been there – a strong testament to those who rebuilt it.

This is where I also met a new friend, a Brown Pelican, who decided to follow me from one part of the dock to the other. It was kind of like a large feathery, big-beaked tour-guide.

The funny thing is that every time I aimed my camera in its direction, it would turn and waddle away.  I’ve never known a camera-shy pelican until now.

Somehow, I lost track of time, leaving myself only 45 minutes to get cleaned up and over to the Elks Lodge for the main event.

It was about 4:30 pm when I checked into my room. The first event, an icebreaker, wasn’t set to begin for another two-and-half-hours, so I figured I had enough time to relax before getting ready.

All went according to planning, that is until I got in my truck and started towards the Kings Valley Golf Course. What I was thinking I don’t know – as I drove right by Lesina Road and continued out towards Fort Dick.

For a guy who grew up in the area and had vowed to make it on time, I was 15-minutes late because I got “lost.” I literally ran out of dirty names to call myself as I turned around and headed back to the street I’d missed.

Once at the golf-course, I walked in and thought I was in the wrong place. In my head I asked, “Who the hell are all these old people?”

Then I looked in the mirror over the bar and concluded I was in the correct crowd. I sometimes forget that while my mind says I’m 16 years-old, by body a 50-years-plus old, including my face and lack of hair.

At the door, I met Darlene Clark and Kathy Chester, the evenings official hostesses.

My goofiness continued as a “new-fangled” video recorder placed in my hand. It was Connie Brooks who gave it to me with the admonition, “Here, take lots of video but don’t lose the camera.”

The camera belonged to Stanlee Stanovich, however she was still tending bar at the local VFW Hall in town, so she wasn’t around to give me instructions on its operation.  I did my best to film everyone as I took my set of still photographs.

More about the video camera later…

As the evening progressed I saw people from Klamath I’d not seen in nearly 35 years, including Drew Anaya, Rick Norbury, Lewis Nova and Debbie Wolcott. It was nice to shoot the bull, catching up on their lives.

I also got to visit with Marvin Bowers, Kelly Cross, Debbie Ricks and Gary Clark.

Then I saw someone I thought I knew, so I went up and asked him if he’d ever been a Del Norte County Sheriff Deputy. Pat Young told me ‘no’ and I proceeded to tell him why I thought he had been a deputy.

It was a late night and my ex-girlfriend and I were coming home to Lake Earl from a homecoming football game in 1982 when I saw someone sneaking around the house. I got out of the car and raced towards the shadow and got conked on the head with a rock.

When the sheriff’s unit arrived, the deputy I mistook Pat for asked my name and was so surprised that he and his partner looked at each other in astonishment. I remember thinking, “Oh, Gawd, what did I do?”

Turns out that was the same night the water treatment facility in Crescent City burned down. I now suspect my brother Adam had something to do with it as he joined the U.S. Army shortly afterwards.

All story-telling aside — Brian Bieber, Bobby Adams, Marty Suva, Tim Haban, Stanlee and Mike Stanovich and I closed the bar down, being the last to leave at around 1:45 am.

A neighbor, who lives down the street,  brought over an object he’d purchased at a flea market. He gave it to me, saying, “I thought of you when I heard what it was.”

Instantly I was in love with the contraption – which was a hangman harness – used by stunt performers in movies and TV shows.  No sooner had he left than I went to work figuring out how to use the harness with its straps, buckles and hangman’s noose.

Once I strapped on, I went to our garage and slowly tested it by suspending myself from one of the beams in the garage.  But as soon as I stepped off the stool, I knew I’d made a mistake.

Swinging back and forth and accidentally kicked the stool. It slid across the garage floor far enough away that I couldn’t reach the damn thing.

Clawing at the buckles and straps, I tried to free myself, but it was too late. It would be several hours and long after dark before my wife came home, opening the garage door to drive her car inside.

“Oh, my God, Tom,” Mary screamed. “What have you done?!”

She quickly dug through her purse, found her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

“Do you really have to do that?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Mary answered. “I want everybody to know what a dumb-ass you are!”

It had been nearly five-years since I last visited the North Coast. I was a little nervous and excited at the same time and wasn’t sure what to expect.

My trip began on a rather rocky note as I had worked the night before and didn’t make it home until after midnight. Then because of nerves or what have you, I found it hard to fall asleep, so I was dragging by the time the alarm rang at six that morning.

My plan was to get on the road by 7 a.m., but an hour and a half later I found myself pumping gas into my truck, still in town. I’ve learned over the years that when a trip begins this way – that’s the pattern it’ll maintain.

By the time I rolled into Susanville, my bladder was kicking at me to let it out of the barn. I had drunk three cups of coffee and it was obvious I needed relief.

My wife used to manage the Port of Subs sandwich shop in S’ville.  So I knew right where to go – the gas station that shares the same parking lot as her old business.

Not only do they have bathrooms – they have coffee. It was the perfect choice.

Unfortunately, a team of Cal-State Hotshots were at the station and they were busy with the bathroom. I waited about three-minutes before I decided to us the women’s restroom, which was not marked as being exclusive to the fairer sex.

Minutes later, I bought another cup of coffee and found myself back on the road, turning from U.S. 395 to State Route 44. Fortunately the only time I had to slow down between S’ville and Redding was when I made the stop sign connecting 44 with route 36.

As usual, I stopped in Redding to fuel up. The gas station that I frequent had been a service station, then gas and food mart and is finally a coffee kiosk and fueling station, today.

The first bit of slow traffic I met was shortly after I hopped on Highway 299 from Interstate 5. I found myself tucked behind a couple of travel trailers that made the corners very slowly, but managed to speed up and pull away from everyone in the straight stretches.

Eventually, I made it around them and was able to go jus’ slightly faster than the speed limit from there until I run into highway construction. This brought everyone heading towards the coast to a complete stand still for about 20-minutes.

I was actually thankful for the opportunity to get out and stretch a bit, so it wasn’t bad.

It took me another four-and-a-half hours to cross over the Del Norte County line and race across the Bear Bridge. Too bad I couldn’t stop at the time and walk around my old stomping grounds.

I had a an appointment to keep.

While researching the historical background on the book written by Walter Van Tilburg Clark and later the movie, “The Ox bow Incident,” directed by William Wellman, I happened on the name of William Flake. He found the three innocent men hanged by a vigilantes near Heber, Arizona — and played a roll in the life of Mitt Romney’s family.

At the time, 1880s Arizona was the center of Mormon religious persecution, culminating with the sentencing of several prominent Mormon leaders to the federal prison in Detroit, the city where Mitt Romney was born.  Romney’s great-grandfather Miles Park Romney was among those arrested — however he was held in a Prescott, Arizona jail.

Deciding he couldn’t get a fair trial, the moment he was able to post bail, Romney skipped and fled to Mexico with his then four wives and their children. Flake was the one who posted Romney’s $2,000 bond.

Flake lived to the age of 93, passing away on August 10, 1932 in Snowflake, Arizona, a town he founded.  Arizona Congressman Jeff Flake as well as Speaker of the Arizona House and later State Senator Jake Flake are his descendants

Miles died in Mexico in 1904 before his family returned to the United States.  Mitt’s father George, was born in Mexico in 1907 and immigrated to the U.S. with his father, Gaskell, and the rest of his family when Mexican revolutionaries drove the Mormons out in 1912.

Later, as Governor of Michigan, George, a moderate Republican, instituted a state income tax. Then in 1964, he ran against Barry Goldwater in the Republican presidential primary, refusing to endorse Goldwater after he won the nomination.

Mitt, whose real first name is ‘Willard,” was born March 12, 1947 and according to Wikipedia is an “American businessman and the presumptive nominee of the Republican Party for President of the United States in the 2012 election.”  He was also the Governor of Massachusetts from 2003 to 2007.

Incidentally — Miles never did pay back that $2,000 in bail he owed William.