The Queen Hotel

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Queen Hotel

Our driver frowned at the prospects of staying anywhere near the beach because the long weekend was still in full swing. He mentioned the Queen Hotel and thought there might be a room or two available. We took a spin through the beach town and moved on to the Queen Hotel and dove in. The hotel was full for Saturday; kids in the pool, adults talking quietly while enjoying the view out over the beach and ocean with Indonesian music getting caught up in the breeze.


On the beach thousands of people gathered for the weekend celebration, taking horse drawn rides down the beach and enjoying friends.
As Sunday arrived everybody left the hotel and the beach and we had the hotel to ourselves for a night. The hotel reminded me of Hearst Castle in many ways. Between the pool and food I had no needs. I sat by the pool all day and roughly planned to go find a story in Jogjakarta the next day.


I am not one to pass up on R&R but once the rest and relaxation is over its time to move. This hotel caught my interest for many reasons including the carved beam work, all original, the grounds were immaculate, and the staff was gracious and accommodating. I had a massage both days I was there and the woman really took some knots out of my legs from the jungle trek.




I will return to this hotel the next time I'm passing through on another adventure travel occasion. It was a highlight and there were no bugs.


We went to town the next night and found what we were looking for: a story and a good time.

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Triumph and Tragedy

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Triumph and Tragedy
Summer solstice, June 21 and the 4^th of July have come and gone this year in Alaska. The sun has made cameo appearances showing its full strength and length of its power and the rain has made itself readily available; of course Seward was at one time considered a rain forest.  (The locals still know it is – although the powers that be have downgraded Seward, ‘semi-arid’. What - ever. They obviously don’t live here.

On July 4^th, Mount Marathon race went off in normal fashion. The townies and visitors lined the streets for the junior racers, then two staged groups for the women racers – won by Holly Brooks with a time of 51:53. Holly is a member of the Nordic Winter Olympic team.

And the final two groups of staged men’s race took off, won by Matthew Novakovich with a time of 44:07. Side streets were packed with vendors selling food, clothing, carvings, and games.

People along Seward streets look up to the top of Mount Marathon, a 3,022 foot peak buried in clouds.  The race is only 3.5  miles long but starts at sea level and goes straight up through tree line and roots to a shale face of razor sharp rocks to the top of Marathon, around a bolder and back down pretty much the same way except for a snow shoot which many people slide down and run off the end and back into the shale. There were numerous accidents; broken arms, major cuts, and the emergency evacuation to Anchorage hospital helicopter came and went more than once.


As the men’s race came to a close, one runner had not crossed the finish line and a full on search began. The troopers got involved with a helicopter as runners and locals went in search and rescue mode for Michael LeMaitre. The Mount Marathon race has been around for eighty-five years and this is the first time anyone has gone missing. The search didn't start until late and went on for over a week.

The local fire department organized search parties and was somewhat the headquarters for volunteers and supporters.
It has been a month and no signs of Mr. LeMaitre have surfaced. The Alaska State Troopers brought their helicopter and an infrared spot light looking for a heat signature to no avail. The troopers did manage to find the local bears that roam the slopes and river banks and glaciers in the surrounding area. Mr. LeMaitre was last seen a couple hundred yards from the top and some race workers spoke with him and explained how to get back down. He was never seen again.

On the morbid side of things, if LeMaitre had met with a bear, there would be unmistakable signs and the infrared would have picked up a group of bears working a certain area, waiting their turn as  time and peckinmg order allow. That wasn’t the case. Mr. Michael LeMaitre is still missing and no traces have been found. Some locals are suspicious; more on that next from Talkeetna around a fire.

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Salmon Stock 2012

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Salmon Stock 2012


                We left Seward on a crisp clear morning heading for Ninilchik for the second annual Salmon Stock music festival and to join and show support of our friends who brought their food cart down from Talkeetna at ‘EAT- a different kind of sandwich’. There were some road construction delays but that only gave us opportunity to take pictures.


                The Salmon Stock music festival started around two o’clock in the afternoon on Friday and ran into Sunday night with 30 different bands on three stages, two beer gardens, food carts, dancing and lots to do for kids, face painting, hula hoops, costume hats and masks, etc.
                The whole point to the music festival is to bring awareness and join forces against big corporate mining companies which if they succeed may end wild salmon runs which are integral to jobs, subsistence fishing, tourism, and a way of life. www.Salmonstock.org Woodstock-Salmon Stock. (Zero Waste Challenge, Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, No Pebble Mine Pledge).
                Friday we scrabbled for a camp ground with the music already playing in the back ground.  By the end of the night Ozomatli had made their presents known and the music and the crowd erupted and joined the band members in a conga line. Most I my friends were in the line or protecting the beer garden.


That wasn’t enough and the festival had an additional late night show inside another venue. Coffis Brothers and the Mountain Men had played earlier and started up again at 12:45 am. They were followed by a great trio, Tim Easton w/ James Dommek Jr. Easton had a gal playing a very hot violin and the music ran into the wee hours of the morning.

Saturday some bands worth mentioning, Sweating Honey, The Whipsaws, Clinton Fearon, and Left over Salmon. There were more people for the Saturday performances than showed up for the entire festival the year before.  And the late night show was an all-star jam with many members of different bands including Great American Taxi, Leftover Salmon and many more.

Sunday fired up and Greensky Bluegrass lit the fire under dancer’s feet a little after mid day. Robert Randolf played and people waited until 7:30 to see him. It wasn’t a fun drive home but the recap was pretty funny.

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Contacting The Dead (The Women of Cho) a rough chapter

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Monica looked at the phone next to her hotel bed then dialed the international code and Rayman’s cell number and waited.
            It was midnight when Rayman heard his phone unexpectedly chime as he sat looking at the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge from his Fairmont Hotel room in San Francisco and answered, “Hello?”
The grip on Monica’s heart evaporated in a liberating sigh as she spoke, “Oh thank god, you’re alive.”
“Just barely. How about yourself, are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m better now.” Monica’s body surged with emotions and she wept with joy and relief.
Rayman could hear the emotions swelling in her and reassured, “It's okay Monica." Everything’s going to be okay.”
“What happened? The newspaper said you burned,” she sobbed, “under a roof beam!”
Rayman wore an insolent grin and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, “Yeah well, leave it to the press to jump to logical conclusions.” He waited for a response but all he heard was crying, “Monica, take it easy, everything will be fine, really. You have to be strong.”
Monica whipped back, “I’ve been strong all my life and you want me to calm down!?  I call you in the supposed after life and you answer! What-the-hell, Rayman?”
“Please, calm down and listen. Somebody came to the ranch house a couple nights ago, like I suspected they would, like I told you they might when we met in Dupont Circle. Do you remember?”
Monica’s free hand moved to her hip and she took a defiant stance and tone, “Yeah, I remember, you said if they came after you, you would have to disappear like my father did and I told you to take your pet storm cloud away with you unless you were willing to come clean with me about what’s going on. Do you remember that part?”
Rayman knew he wasn’t going to win this battle, so he complied, thinking that Monica’s fragile state of emotions could become one hundred percent rage with one wrong word, “Well, I haven’t disappeared from you so I guess its time to do some cleaning.”
The last rays of a fading sunset reflected off the tear streaks running down Monica’s face as she sighed, “Oh Rayman, I don’t think today is such a good day for this. Why couldn’t you have told me all this in DC? I’m physically and mentally exhausted.”
Rayman stood up and moved close to the window, “Listen to me, it’s important. The guy that came to the ranch house knocked out a cop in the front yard with a soaked rag of ether, took the cops gun and encircled the house in gasoline up to the window sills and lit it on fire. He hid in the bushes waiting for me to run out the front door of the house to shoot me, but I wasn’t in the house. After a detective from San Francisco asked me a bunch of questions then left, a patrol car showed up and I got a little uneasy and sat with the cat until the uninvited quest startled her. Soon after that, I climbed out a rear window and found a set of foot prints coming from the woods leading around the back of the house so I used his foot prints and snuck into the barn with my rubies and watched through a crack in the siding. After a while, when I didn’t come out of the house, the man impatiently decided to go in then the roof fell in on him.  Apparently he grabbed my old wallet off my desk or something. The cops and the reporters didn’t really have a choice on what to think until the detective from San Francisco returned and expressed his opinion and reservations.”
Monica gasped, “Rayman, all those irreplaceable artifacts, those paintings, the masks - and my butterfly collection . . . !”
“Relax,” Rayman said calmly, “That’s why we’ve been paying insurance all these years. The artifacts were insured for over four million bucks.” He smiled to himself and charmed, “You know your butterfly collection was worth two million dollars, easy.”
Monica laughed and cried at the same time, “Augh, Rayman, hang on.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I need a tissue, hang on.” Monica put the phone on the bed and moved to the bathroom and pulled a tissue out of a decorated box on the bathroom counter and blew her nose before she returned to the phone and continued, “I loved that house.”
 “Yeah, me too, but it was an old house and beginning to gather as many sad memories as good ones. We can build something more contemporary one day when all this is over. But we have more pressing matters right now.”
Monica searched the horizon through the hue of twilight and asked though drying sniffles, “And, why were at the cops at the ranch house?” She tilted her head down slightly down listening intently.
“I was visited by this San Francisco detective named Dixon. He asked me to assist him in a case that happened at the Cho Estate museum in San Francisco a while back. He needed to know some stuff about Moguk stones and if I still had mine. He told me he had been to Burma recently and somehow gotten in touch with some well connected folks over there that listed me as a recent buyer. I had to show him that I had my stones to ease his suspicious mind but he wasn’t satisfied so he called a cop to watch me and the house. The odd thing was he produced two stones identical to the ones I have. Right then I knew that if the cops were snooping around and making solid connections that things were definitely going to get ugly and I could be considered a suspect.”
“Are you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“That was one of the Won’s, the oldest son who died at the museum, wasn’t it, Won Chanyu?” Monica asked knowingly.
“Chanyu was my contact. His father arranged for us to meet at the museum so I could find out where my dad was being held and release him. I got the location for a small fortune of Moguk stones. I gave the stones to Won Chanyu and left the museum. He was stabbed in the back and through the heart after I left. The Moguk stones I gave Chanyu were stuffed in his mouth. That’s why the detective had identical stones, they were mine. Detective Dixon informed me that the Un Jangdo knife had gone back to the museum lab for further analysis when someone came in and killed the two research technicians with it by cutting their throats and leaving the premises without a trace. The knife is the murder weapon in three recent homicides at the Cho Estate museum and now the cops are looking for the second son, Won Jie and me for questioning; but I’m still officially dead. The cops have yet to release the identity of the dead guy at the ranch house or the fact that it’s not me. Anyway, Won Jie produced photos of his brother, Chanyu, at the precinct then identified and claimed the body at the morgue.  He described the knife as a family heirloom that had been missing for some time.”
A sudden adrenaline surge pumped through Monica’s heart and she physically shook at the shoulders. She reached for the handle of her suitcase still at the foot of her bed and opened it, “Rayman, do you know this knife? It’s right up your alley as an artifact, isn’t it?”  She shuffled her clothes around and flipped open a green towel revealing the Un Jangdo. The rubies and sapphires radiated in contrast to the green towel.
Rayman apprehensively paused before verbally opening Pandora’s Box, “Detective Dixon had a couple of photos of the knife which he showed me; but it goes a little deeper than that Monica. The knife used to belong to your mother, Won Ji Tun. It appears that the Un Jangdo has been handed down from great grandma Cho to her first daughter, grandma Won, who gave it to their first daughter who married your father and became, Ji Tun Stell, or as some Koreans prefer it, Won Ji Tun Stell. We put the last name last and the Koreans put the last name first, whatever. Ji Tun is the first daughter of the first daughter and so on back through the ages. Your mother was the first daughter born of the Won family, of - I think eight children; at least two have died, the first son and the first daughter - leaving six – four boys and two girls; in that order.”
Monica had to hear it for confirmation, “Do you know exactly what happened to my mother, Rayman?”
            “Yes Monica, I do. Your mother committed suicide with the same Un Jangdo in true Korean tradition, protecting her virtue even from her own husband and ending the pain for everyone – except you, of course.”
            “Where was I?”
            Rayman wrapped his free arm around his chest and looked into the sky at the big dipper and an unknown planet, “I was told that you were found between her arms.  You, ah; you had been there awhile.”
            Monica looked through the Un Jangdo as if into its history and played out the suicide in her mind; her mother on her knees centering the Un Jangdo blade below her sternum; the sudden thrust to her heart; collapsing with limp arms and tears, eyes wide open staring forever at Monica screaming and wailing on the floor beside her.
            Rayman could hear and feel the pain coming from Monica and chose to continue, softly, “Monica, it also means that both the first born son and the first born daughter of the Won family have died under the same blade.”
            Monica sucked her emotions back in and locked them down with auto defense precision. The airwaves froze in silence. Rayman knew Monica’s mind was migrating towards an alternative conclusion as to the death of her mother and whereabouts of the Un Jangdo had been hiding all these years.
“Could my mother have been murdered?”
            “It’s possible, but not probable.”
            “Was there an investigation?”
            “I don’t know. We’d have to go to the Driggs cop shop and do the research, but not now.”
            “Right.”  Monica ran her fingertips over the silver sheath. It had a calming effect and gave her subliminal confidence. She was now touching the last thing her mother had ever held in this world. The rubies arched their red angles and sparkled faintly in the dimly lit room. The sapphire inlays and gold markings shimmered for Monica as she spoke her mind, half in shock, “You know something Rayman, every time I talk to you, I’m filled with the happiest and saddest of feelings. I guess there’s some strange balance in that. Even when other people mention you, I know there’s a tragedy approaching. You are truly your own little storm.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath and began again, “Mr. Won and the newspaper both said that you burned in the ranch house, but somehow I knew you hadn’t. And I can’t put into words how nice it is to hear your voice right now.”
Rayman exclaimed with slow desperate clarity, “Monica, tell me about Mr. Won!? What did he say?”
Monica tucked her phone in the crook of her neck and pulled the handle of the Un Jangdo from the sheath exposing the blade, admiring it, studying it, and calmly as if in a trance explained, “He came to my flat in DC with pictures of my mother and the rest of his family, your dad and mine when they were in the military stationed near Seoul. He even had a couple photos of you, recent ones.”
Rayman shifted positions and asked uneasily, “What happened?”
“I let him in after he proved to me that he was related to my mother. Mr. Won told me of my parents’ beginnings and his father’s mistrust and opposition to ethnic blending. Then he accused my dad of taking a key from my mother, which he couldn’t have. Mr. Won accused dad of shooting his uncle and his children in London for some other keys that go to some historically concealed vaults scattered over the Eurasian Steppe and apparently as far east as China, Mongolia, and Korea, all over the place. Mr. Won showed me a key he had and asked me if I had ever seen one. I showed him the one I received from a safety deposit box that expired four days before my eighteenth birthday with pre-existing instructions to send the contents to me. It came along with a letter from my mother saying she loved me and she died for me. That’s how I know that my dad didn’t steal my mothers’ key. It didn’t make sense then.” Monica’s eyes welled up and she choking and continued, “Mom warned me in the letter never to let my father know I have the key. I tried to give the key to Mr. Won but he honorably declined and explained that it wasn’t his to take. He said it was my mother’s key and rightfully given to me and that some keys had been handed down through the women of Cho. It sounds like these two families have been intermarrying periodically throughout the last three or four hundred years. Isn’t that weird? Then Mr. Won changed the subject and informed me that you had been burned up in the ranch house and that those who killed you were now coming to kill me to get my key. He invited me to come to South Korea with him to meet the rest of the family and for my protection. And since my family was mostly dead or missing, including you, and I have time off work right now, I thought I could meet the Won family and get some answers that my dad and you have not been willing to share with me, Rayman. And the last thing Mr. Won showed me was a beautiful old knife with a silver sheath with gold, rubies and sapphire inlays. It’s really beautiful. He said it was a wedding gift to my mother from her mother and father. Mr. Won says it rightfully belongs to me through inheritance and that I should come with him to South Korea to learn about the vault which the key I have unlocks. Then I quickly packed and we left for Dulles airport.”
“Yeah, detective Dixon told me that you had left the country with Mr. Won heading for Seoul. Where are you now?” asked Rayman.
“I’m at the Gorgyeo Hotel in the center of Seoul a couple of blocks away from the Won senior’s house, my grand parents’ house, it turns out.” Monica stood up, admiring the blade in hand waiting for a reply from Rayman. She sliced the blade waist high through the air and stopped short. “Rayman?”
“I’m still here. I’m thinking. Listen, Monica - when I fled Idaho, I went straight to your flat and found detective Dixon on your bedroom floor with a knife wound through in his back and a secondary wound with the knife and a letter stuck in him. I called nine-one-one and saved his life. He’s been recovering in a DC hospital and returning to San Francisco soon. That all happened after you left for the airport. Now - I feel compelled to tell you: you need to know that the accusations Mr. Won has made against your father are pretty much true. Your dad did kill a Korean man in England. I don’t know about the rest of the family, I never saw them, but I was there. I was young and I didn’t know who it was until many years later.”
“And again I ask; where was I?”
“I don’t know, at boarding school probably. Your dad took me with him while my dad was away on business or something. We went to England. It was raining, like usual. I watched from a ground level window where your dad told me to wait for him. After a few minutes of waiting I heard a couple of loud noises. Two shots rang out in the street and I got up on a sofa or desk or something and wiped the condensation off a window. I saw your dad running out of an antique shop half backwards with a gun in his hand shooting back into the building. Someone shot at him from within the shop and he tumbled into the street. Two cops appeared running down the street at him blowing their whistles. When they got close, your dad rolled over and shot the police down. I watched as one of them fell. Your dad got up and half stumbled towards me. Seeing my face in the window shocked him, horrified him - but he ran down into the room anyway, bleeding from his right shoulder. All I remember after that is we moved through some below ground corridors and then hid for a very a long time. Your father gave me one of the keys he stole for saving his life. I’ve carried it with me all these years until very recently. Do you remember when your dad was a bleeding mummy at Halloween at the ranch house?”
“Yeah.”
“It was a week or so before that.”
Monica was taken back and replied, “I thought he was injured in a hunting accident.  He said a stray bullet.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling people too, but it’s not true. It was a cover.”
Monica was getting annoyed and folded her arms and looked down to the streets below. People appeared like ants parading busily; weaving through the oncoming flow of bodies moving on their attentive paths. As she spoke her voice grew more agitated and angry, “Rayman, how much of my life is a lie? Is there any truth you can’t tell me - now that my life is in danger? You’ve held so much from me! You all have! I feel betrayed by my own flesh and blood and I’m pissed off! You hear me Rayman!? You’re scaring me and I’m pissed off!”
“Monica, I’m trying to tell you what you need to know right now because you and I are mixed up in something much older than ourselves or our parents. By your fathers’ insatiable greed, he got both our families involved in something.  And because of your father, your mother committed suicide, my mother was poisoned, my father abducted and later killed on a beach in Indonesia, in close proximity to one of the Won pearl farms - it turns out. And your dad vanished.”
Again tears rolled down contoured way points on Monica’s face and her lower lip began to quiver. She used every bit of emotional strength she had not to fall to her knees and weep uncontrollably. She blinked and teardrops splashed onto the engraved blade of the Un Jangdo.  She rolled the knife over and noticed the difference in the etched markings and demanded, “What do the engravings mean on the knife blade?”
Rayman impatiently sighed trying to maintain composure and answer her question, “On some of the traditional knives the country saying says something like; ‘one woman has one mind for one man, one man has one mind for one country.’ But detective Dixon is under the impression that your mother changed one of the etchings to give a clue to her family as to why she committed suicide.”
“Rayman?”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
“It says something like; one woman has one mind for one man and the changed part says; one man has one mind for one self. Something like that.”
“Rayman?”
“Yes.”
“I have the knife here with me. Mr. Won gave it to me in DC and I brought it to Seoul in my suitcase.”
Rayman bumped his head against the glass with a thud in disbelief, “Monica, you just transported a murder weapon out of the country. You will be seen as an accomplice - especially if someone digs up your family tree. Let me tell you who some of you’re relatives are; Father Won, your grand father personally poisoned my mother with a tincture particular to Korea. It was his way of leaving a signature. And his son, your cousin, Mr. Won, his full name is Won Jie, has been groomed as a contemporary warrior. He’s a trained assassin and head of family security. And Won Chanyu, the dead guy was ordered by his father to participate in my father’s abduction. Won Jie has been actively seeking the whereabouts of your father ever since his disappearance and now vengefully looking for me. He’s the one that sent a devoted family servant to my house to kill me, reclaim a family key, and steal my Moguk stones - all under the guise of revenge and loyalty. Mr. Won Jie is the one that came to your house to kill you. He probably didn’t think you even had a key or that you knew what it was for. Now, for some reason, he has brought you to South Korea to confront the entire Won family and probably some of the Cho family as well.”
“Why would he change plans and bring me here?”
“I would guess it’s because you are connected by blood to the women of Cho!”
“And what does that mean?”
“Well, for one thing, you’re a princess of historically Korean royal blood, among others dating back before Christ. In any case, something has changed in the Won protocol. It’s not like the father of this tribe to do anything in our favor. You may be bait, as my father was to bring your father out of hiding or - they really want to meet you because you aretheir blood. Father Won’s wife, the agima, may hold some power in family affairs; if she’s involved or the Cho family - someone has upset the balance in your favor, not my favor, your favor. I’m sure I’m still number two on their ‘most unwanted relative’ list. I can only speculate about the Won family. I know nothing except that you are now deeply involved and I am coming to help you. I can’t stress enough Monica, Mr. Won and his father are the people that have been hunting down the Stell’s but they didn’t know about you until recently and some of the things you have told me don’t make sense yet, for instance; Mr. Won not taking the key from you and returning it to the Cho or outright killing you out of revenge. But I know one thing for sure now; Won Jie is the one that killed the two research assistance at the Cho Estate museum. He had the knife within twenty-four hours after its disappearance and gave it to you! Then you unknowingly transported it back to it’s homeland near where it was forged. There’s no question in my mind that the Won’s are a very dangerous and ruthless family trying to reclaim what they feel is rightfully theirs. The keys originally belonged to the Cho family but the families were enemies centuries ago and the Won were victorious and took a Cho princess as a bride, a marriage treaty, to share in peace and gain knowledge of the keys and vaults. They will stop at nothing to get things back in some sort of family order which your father upset.”
In mild shock Monica watched as the neon lights over powered the darkness up and down the streets and buildings below. She asked nervously, “What should I do?”
“I don’t know. By now they’re watching your hotel, they know what room you’re in and you’ll be followed if you go out. For now, I’d play along with them and focus on Won family matters and questions you want answered. When they ask you if there’s any news of me; tell them you have no new information, nothing yet anyway. The truth will hit the newspaper or the Internet soon enough and I need that time to get to Seoul. The Won know it’s not me that burnt up in the ranch house. I may have to call on detective Dixon for assistance. I don’t know - I have to think this through.”
“Why would you call on a cop?”
“Because he’s good and he has my key. - I gave it to him.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because it’s the last thing the Won would think I would do. I’ll deal with it when the time comes.”
“Rayman, you’re getting more people involved by talking to the cops.”
“I know. I’m hoping it’s a little insurance. I’ll deal with Dixon when the time comes, if the time comes.”
“All right Rayman, you deal with him, whatever that means. It’s beside the point at the moment. How are you and I going to communicate if you’re still dead?”
“If the Won are worried about who you’re going to talk too, they’ll somehow monitor your phone calls. You could get a SIM card for your cell but they’d figure a way for you to lose it and probably not leave you alone for too long. Don’t be alarmed when this happens; they’ll give you a new phone that they can trace and listen in on. You shouldn’t call me anymore on any cell phone after you meet with them.
“Mr. Won already gave me a chip so my phone would work here. It’s in the phone right now.”
“It’s probably got a beacon signal attached. They are already following you. Let your battery go dead on occasion and leave it at the hotel then call me from a pay phone in a busy place like a subway station or use my email address. You remember it, right?”
“Yes, I’ve got it in my head.” Monica sighed. “Rayman, I need to know that you’re coming to help me sort this out and not screw it up any further.”
“Monica, I’m coming to help you, help us.”
“Okay then. I’m in the Goryeo Hotel on Chongno-ga, room twenty-eight- forty-seven; twenty-eighth floor.”
Rayman wrote it down and thought about it for a minute, “You know, if I don’t make it there right away, you might want to change hotels if you win a little trust. I’m coming as soon as I can.”
“You better. I’ll try and keep you posted. Oh, one more thing; what do I do with the knife?”
“I’d try and sneak it out of the hotel, go to an International hotel and make a reservation for a couple of days from now in my name and put the knife in the hotel safe in both of our names; for me or you to pick up later. It may keep you alive.”
Monica complained, “Rayman, I’m not the spy type. I work for a US congressman for Christ sake.”
“Well, some of them are spies, Monica. Look, you’re half Korean and you’re in South Korea; you’re hot and you’ll blend right in. This is what you could do; go to the Hyatt or the Hilton front desk or some other international hotel with good security and not owned by the Koreans.  Ask if there’s a popular night club near the hotel and go with it. The Won will most likely follow you there. Go play, dance, meet with people if you want to, but don’t get involved with anyone. You don’t know who they are, where they’ve been, or who they’re connected to – all that. At some point in time, go to the ladies room and locate the closest exit, change your hairstyle then alter your outfit if you can - wear one outfit over another and throw the outer one under the garbage can liner bag or in the towel dispenser, somewhere you can retrieve it. Find your way back to the Hyatt hotel, make the reservation for me, deposit the knife in our names and go back to the night club. Redress as you did when you got there and go have some more fun. You don’t have to show the Won family the knife, do you?”
“No, I don’t have to show them the knife - that would be morose. But gee, Rayman, you make this sneaking around sound so easy. And when you say you’ll deal with the cop, does that include murder?”
Rayman ignored the accusation, “It’s easy, the sneaking around part, I mean. After this goes down, you’re going to be an adrenaline junky. Mark my words. I’ve got to go and so do you. Are you going to be all right?”
Monica smiled to herself and felt better about Rayman. She thought of him as an older brother. She paused to take a deep breath and decided out loud, “I think I’ll wear black tonight.”
“Good choice. See you soon. And be careful.”
“I will; you too.”
Rayman flipped his phone shut.
Monica did likewise and plugged her cell phone into a wall socket next to her bed and left the phone on the night stand. As she walked towards her hotel room door to check the lock, she put the knife and sheath back together and tossed it on her pillow. Secure, she slipped out of her clothes and headed for a shower to prepare for her first evening out in Seoul.

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Seward Chili Roast

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Seward Chili Roast
                The forecast called for rain on September 1^st. The annual chili roast began at noon and rolled on until all the chilies were roasted, divided and given to those who ordered them. I split a 40 lb. with a friend. The chili roast originally began in the backyard of the Pit Bar but when the owners past on, the chili roast moved to a spacious residence and generous hosts.
                Friends are invited to bring food and drink. Besides the keg, Tequila and guacamole are popular among a plethora of other finger foods such as Moose enchiladas, hot wings, chili rellenos, salmon dip, salads, you name it.
                The process of roasting approximately 600 lbs. chilies is not necessarily a quick task, but with a stack of friends and family, everyone wants to help to some degree. Whether a person is cracking freezer bags, grouping chilies into 6 per bag, washing the roasted skins off in ice, getting ice, roasting chilies, or melting ice off the propane bottle in a very unorthodox way, making margaritas, timing each roast, it’s a group effort with people willing to take over after a shot or a margarita. 
                I’ve been to quite a few of these chili roasts and its odd, most of us live in the same town but I only see some people at the chili roast and nowhere else in town. It’s a reunion and a labor of love and chilies. Even the intermittent rain couldn't stop this process. And the intermittent sun brought smiles.  http://www.davidcdagley.com/

On this day, 35 years ago... Johnstown, PA is devastated by another flood, and I was there.

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On this day, 35 years ago, one of the deadliest flash floods in U.S. history occurred. During the night of July 20, 1977, approximately one foot of rain fell overnight causing massive flooding and multiple dam failures. In all, eighty-five people were killed in and around Johnstown. No other flash flood since then, has killed more people (in this country).

I lived about 10 miles north of downtown Johnstown on high ground in Vinco. By the way, nothing ever happens in Vinco and probably never will. It's that kind of place and residents like it that way. Earlier that day, I ate birthday cake, opened my presents, goofed off, had supper and watched TV. Hey, I was 14. There was no internet or video games.


Rain and thunderstorms are common in western Pennsylvania, so most people think nothing of it and go about their business. During the night, the ground became saturated and water began entering the basement through the floor drains. I spent the rest of the night helping out with pushing the water out the garage with a broom. All the while, the thunder, lightning and sheets of rain continued to assault the region. This was by far the most intense storm I've ever witnessed.

Johnstown Flood of 19-20 July 1977

The flood was a classic example of "training" -- a series or "train" of thunderstorms that follow the same path, each dumping heavy precipitation over the same location. On this occasion, the first line of thunderstorms put down an outflow boundary. This boundary became stationary along the western edge of the storms' path, across western Pennsylvania from the northwest corner of the state across Johnstown. A pool of cooler air was left behind east of the boundary. Full Story


Shortly after daylight, the rain stopped and it turned into another nice summer day. Of course, things were not so ordinary. It became quite clear that disaster struck and things would not be normal for many months to come. Martial law was declared, nation guard troops were deployed and orders were issued to shoot and kill looters.

The National Weather Service estimated that the rainfall was a one-in-five thousand to one-in-ten thousand year event. Of course, if you ever lived in the "Flood City", you know that catastrophic floods occur more frequently. Floods also wrecked Johnstown in 1889 and 1936. Hence, the dubious nickname. Video: 1936

WTAJ TV John Altoona reporter Jon McClintock reports  CBS News Report 

Later that morning, we made our way towards Johnstown. All of the bridges were closed pending safety inspections. Parking in East Conemaugh, we walked over the Conemaugh Franklin bridge and made our way to Woodvale. The water was back inside the river banks, but was still running high.
 
As we walked along Maple Ave., we saw wreckage and destruction everywhere. Cars and trucks were tossed about like toys. There was still water in the street, but the most noticeable thing was the mud. It was everywhere. As we walked by the Woodvale school we could smell the stench coming from the rotting food at the ACME warehouse down the street.

Once In Ten Thousand Years

The dams that surround Johnstown, stretching throughout the Conemaugh Valley, were unsuspecting accomplices in the Great Flood of 1977. They were duped by the instigator - the rain.When they failed, six dams poured more than 128 million gallons of water into the Conemaugh Valley Twenty million gallons were unleashed on Johnstown when the South Fork Dam burst in 1889. Full Story

1977 Flood devastated local economy

“The unemployment rate here was in 6 percent to 7 percent levels for the most part during that decade,” Findley said. “For this area, we were really moving along right before the flood. There weren’t any major issues for the economy at that time in terms of setbacks. Pre-flood, in that era, was probably one of the better times of the ’70s.” Full Story

The article goes on to state... "That perfect storm of detrimental economic events led to Johnstown posting the highest unemployment rate in the nation – more than 25 percent – in 1983. " I remember this all too well as I graduated from college in the summer of 1984.


People used to line up for blocks to apply for a job at Burger King. The economy was so bad that one of my classmates was working a part time job as an arsonist. Oddly, he had plenty of work before getting caught. When the economy gets bad, buildings catch fire and cars turn up missing only to be found burnt to a crisp.

The Johnstown Flood Museum

On May 31, 1889, a neglected dam and a phenomenal storm led to a catastrophe in which 2,209 people died. It's a story of great tragedy, but also of triumphant recovery. Visit the Johnstown Flood Museum, which is operated by the Johnstown Area Heritage Association, to find out more about this shocking episode in American history. Full Article And More National Memorial  1977 Flood
 
As for me, college graduation meant finding work and that meant leaving the area. I found work in Tuscon, Arizona as a natural gas pipeline leak inspector. The population of the Johnstown area drastically decreased as there were no opportunities. Our country's habit of off shoring industry and consumer's desire to purchase foreign goods made matters even worse. Doesn't that sound familiar?
 
Today, lessons I learned from my Johnstown Flood experience are the reason I keep extra water, food, first aid and a bug out bag on hand, just in case disaster strikes. No one can ever be fully prepared, but some preparation is certainly better than none at all, as New Orleans learned during Hurricane Katrina.
 
“I'm a 9th generation American and patriot (1737). My forefathers served in the Pennsylvania Militia. On June 27, 1781, they were called to perform a tour of duty. I'm still protecting freedom and securing the border, 275 years later.” --Harry L Hughes III

Never Give Up Your Guns: Efficiency of Militia Bill HR 11654 Invalidates ALL So-Called Gun Control Laws... "Dick Act", 1902

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Efficiency of Militia Bill H.R. 11654, of June 28, 1902 invalidates all so-called gun-control laws. It also divides the militia into three distinct and separate entities.

The three classes H.R. 11654 provides for are the organized militia, henceforth known as the National Guard of the State, Territory and District of Columbia, the unorganized militia and the regular army. The militia encompasses every able-bodied male between the ages of 18 and 45. All members of the unorganized militia have the absolute personal right and 2nd Amendment right to keep and bear arms of any type, and as many as they can afford to buy.

Efficiency of Militia Bill H.R. 11654 of 1902 cannot be repealed; to do so would violate bills of attainder and ex post facto laws which would be yet another gross violation of the U.S. Constitution and the Bill of Rights. The President of the United States has zero authority without violating the Constitution to call the National Guard to serve outside of their State borders.


The National Guard Militia can only be required by the National Government for limited purposes specified in the Constitution (to uphold the laws of the Union; to suppress insurrection and repel invasion). These are the only purposes for which the General Government can call upon the National Guard.

Attorney General Wickersham advised President Taft, "the Organized Militia (the National Guard) can not be employed for offensive warfare outside the limits of the United States."

The Honorable William Gordon, in a speech to the House on Thursday, October 4, 1917, proved that the action of President Wilson in ordering the Organized Militia (the National Guard) to fight a war in Europe was so blatantly unconstitutional that he felt Wilson ought to have been impeached.


During the war with England an attempt was made by Congress to pass a bill authorizing the president to draft 100,000 men between the ages of 18 and 45 to invade enemy territory, Canada. The bill was defeated in the House by Daniel Webster on the precise point that Congress had no such power over the militia as to authorize it to empower the President to draft them into the regular army and send them out of the country.

The fact is that the President has no constitutional right, under any circumstances, to draft men from the militia to fight outside the borders of the USA, and not even beyond the borders of their respective states. Today, we have a constitutional LAW which still stands in waiting for the legislators to obey the Constitution which they swore an oath to uphold.

Charles Hughes of the American Bar Association (ABA) made a speech which is contained in the Appendix to Congressional Record, House, September 10, 1917, pages 6836-6840 which states: "The militia, within the meaning of these provisions of the Constitution is distinct from the Army of the United States." In these pages we also find a statement made by Daniel Webster, "that the great principle of the Constitution on that subject is that the militia is the militia of the States and of the General Government; and thus being the militia of the States, there is no part of the Constitution worded with greater care and with more scrupulous jealousy than that which grants and limits the power of Congress over it."


"This limitation upon the power to raise and support armies clearly establishes the intent and purpose of the framers of the Constitution to limit the power to raise and maintain a standing army to voluntary enlistment, because if the unlimited power to draft and conscript was intended to be conferred, it would have been a useless and puerile thing to limit the use of money for that purpose. Conscripted armies can be paid, but they are not required to be, and if it had been intended to confer the extraordinary power to draft the bodies of citizens and send them out of the country in direct conflict with the limitation upon the use of the militia imposed by the same section and article, certainly some restriction or limitation would have been imposed to restrain the unlimited use of such power."

The Honorable William Gordon,  Congressional Record, House, Page 640 – 1917
 

Democratic senators offer gun control amendment for cybersecurity bill

The amendment was sponsored by Democratic Sens. Frank Lautenberg (N.J.), Barbara Boxer (Calif.), Jack Reed (R.I.), Bob Menendez (N.J.), Kirsten Gillibrand (N.Y.), Schumer and Dianne Feinstein (Calif.). S.A. 2575 would make it illegal to transfer or possess large capacity feeding devices such as gun magazines, belts, feed stripes and drums of more than 10 rounds of ammunition with the exception of .22 caliber rim fire ammunition. Full Story

Arms. Not merely guns. Armament.

"Congress has no power to disarm the militia. Their swords and every terrible implement of the soldier are the birthright of Americans. The unlimited power of the sword is not in the hands of either the federal or state governments but where, I trust in God, it will always remain, in the hands of the people." --Tench Coxe (May 22, 1755 – July 17, 1824) was an American political economist and a delegate for Pennsylvania to the Continental Congress in 1788-1789, and a key anti-Federalist, writing under the pseudonym "A Pennsylvanian". More

"I'm a 9th generation American and patriot (1737). My forefathers served in the Pennsylvania Militia. On June 27, 1781, they were called to perform a tour of duty. I'm still protecting freedom and securing the border, 275 years later.” --Harry L Hughes III