Walt Whiman's Lover Tells How They Met

Walt Whitman, one of the greatest poets of Americana and author of Leaves of Grass, is now openly acknowledged as homosexual, though the man absolutely denied it (understandably so) during his lifetime.

Peter Doyle was conductor on a railroad and met Whitman in Washington, D.C.. While shying away from any specifics, he admits his close relationship to Whitman during an 1895 interview with Whitman’s literary executors, three years after the poet’s death.

“You ask where I first met him? It is a curious story. We felt to each other at one. I was a conductor. The night was very stormy, - he had been over to see Burroughs before he came down to take the car – the storm was awful. Walt had his blanket – it was thrown round his shoulders- he seemed like an old sea-captain. He was the only passenger, it was a lonely night, so I thought I would go in and talk with him. Something in me made me do it and something in me had the same effect on him.

“Anyway I went into the car. We were familiar at once – I put my hand on his knee- we understood. He did not get out at the end of the trip – in fact went all the way back with me. I think the year of this was 1866. From that time on we were the biggest sort of friends. I stayed in Washington until 1872, when I went on the Pennsylvania railroad. Walt was then in the Attorney-General’s office. I wuld frequently go out to the Treasury to see Walt; Hubley Ashton [Assistant Attorney General at the time and one of the founders of the American Bar Association] was commonly there- he would be leaning familiarly on the desk where Walt would be writing. They were fast friends – talked a good deal together.

Peter Doyle & Walt Whitman

 

“Walt rode with me often – often at noon, always at night. He rode round with me on the last trip – sometimes rode for several trips. Everybody knew him. He had a way of taking the measure of the driver’s hands – had calf-skin gloves made for them every winter in Georgetown- these gloves were his personal presents to the men. He saluted the men on the other cars as we passed- threw up his hand. They cried to him,

“’Hullo, Walt!’

“And he would reply, ‘Ah there!’ or something like.

“He was welcome always as flowers in May. Everybody appreciated his attentions, he seemed to appreciate our attentions to him. Teach the boys to read, write, or cypher? I never heard of, or saw that. There must be some mistake. He did not make much of what people call learning. But he gave us papers, books, and other such articles too.

“In his habits he was very temperate. He did not smoke. People seemed to think it odd that he didn’t, for everyone in Washington smoked. But he seemed to have a positive dislike for tobacco. He was a very moderate drinker. You might have thought something different, to see the ruddiness of his complexion – but his complexion had no whiskey in it. We might take a drink or two together- nothing more.  

 

“It was our practice to go to a hotel on Washington Avenue after I was done with my car. I remember the place well – there on the corner. Like as not I would go to sleep – lay my hands on my head on the table. Walt would stay there, wait, watch, keep me undisturbed – would wake me when the hour of closing came. In his eating he was vigorous, had big appetite, but was simple in his tastes, not caring for any great dishes.

“I never knew a case of Walt’s being bothered up by a woman. In fact, he had nothing special to do with any woman except Mrs. O’Connor and Mrs. Burroughs. His disposition was different. Woman in that sense never came into his head. Walt was too clean, he hated anything which was not clean. No trace of any dissipation in him.

“I ought to know about him those years – we were awfully close together. In the afternoon I would go up to the Treasury building and wait for him to get through if he were busy. Then we’d stroll out together, often without any plan, going wherever we happened to get. This occurred days in and out, months running. Towards women, Walt had a good way – he very easily attracted them. But he did that with men, too. And it was an irresistible attraction. I’ve had many tell me – men and women. He had an easy gentle way – the same for all, no matter who they were or what their sex.”

For more readings, try books by Rex Hurst. 

The Golden Trough

The following excised excerpt is from my upcoming novel Sunday Morning at the Peak of Hell. It has been cut because it doesn't fit the narrative of the story any more, but I still think it has potential as a disconnected piece of flash fiction. Enjoy. 

The Golden Trough is open for business! The already fat customers are packed single file into a maze of cold iron bars with flaking lead based white paint. They are whipped along by a cadre of rail thin menial workers wearing cheap Casper the Friendly Ghost masks. The customers huff through one at a time and are then forced to wait in line again for the cashier. They mutter non sequiturs, while looking at their cell phones, or their shoes, or the ceiling, or their fat beer guts, but never at each other or anyone around them. Direct eye contact is verboten!

The toll for this establishment is $31.41. Exact change is required. Outside the customers must display this amount to the thick suited guards, armed with truncheons and Mace. If the customer is off by one cent, they are given a healthy dose of stick and spray and sent on their way. Once the amount has been verified, the customer must swallow it before being let in. When they reach the register, they are slapped on the back of and forced to regurgitate all of the money onto the counter.

The manager is a hirsute man wearing a stained wife-beater shirt, with five chins and surprisingly spindly arms. Stinking of old oil and spoiled tomatoes, he anoints each person who pays on the forehead with a stamp in blue ink, reading “valued customer.”

The inside is one large gleaming white room, with plain patternless, easily stained, linoleum glued to the floor. On the leeward side, a large aluminum tough, spray painted gold, is sunk into the floor, with “friendly” waiters there to attend to whatever is needed. Each of the “friendly” waiters cheeks have been pierced with twine that is pulled back and tied behind the head, forcing the waiter to smile no matter how obnoxious or stupid the valued customer is.

         Three feet in front the trough are a series of holes exactly 14 inches apart. The valued customer crawls (walking is so exhausting) up and positions their anus exactly behind a hole. Then a “friendly" waiter pulls down the valued customer’s trousers and brown streaked underthings (“Anything to make it easier for the customer”), and pulls up two plastic tubes from the hole. One is inserted into the rectum, while the other is slapped on the penis or into the vaginal shunt.

Thus the valued customer isn’t discomforted by having to handle such unsavory bodily functions, which one would not like to think about at the dinner trough. They must merely pause their gorging for a brief moment, flex what muscles are need to get the ball rolling, and automatic suction machines take over the rest of the process.

To cut costs, The Golden Trough only hires one “friendly” waiter per estimated one hundred and fifty customers. So occasionally, the customers must wait. They shift about, getting annoyed, making little huffing noises, but they dare not raise their voice above the low decibel range, lest they are picked out from the herd by The Scum Who Rule. They could start eating, if they wished or even apply the tubes to themselves, but they don’t. They prefer to wait and delay their pleasure, they're paying someone else to deal with these problems, not to do it themselves.

For more readings, try books by Rex Hurst. 

How Much to Research? Am I Wasting My Time and Life?

Currently I am finishing up a book, called Sunday Morning at the Peak of Hell, the setting of which is the great beyond, the bad place where the souls of all the people we don’t like go. It’s a modern day odyssey through the afterlife, similar to the one Dante took in the 11^th century, only updated for modern times. So far it’s taken me five years to complete. Not because of the plot, there isn’t much of one, it’s because every time I had a new historical figure, I feel the need to stop all work and research the hell of that sad soul.

Granted a lot of these characters aren’t exactly well known in the public domain: Decius Mus, Upnastium, Alistair Crowley, Anton lay Vey, Tomas de Torquemada, Hetty Green, Ambrose Bierce, Wilhelm Reich, and John Romulus Brinkley. Recognize any of those names and you get a gold star. However, when I added each of these characters, often knowing very little myself about their lives, I felt the need to stop everything, buy every book I could on them (often this didn’t amount to much more than two books, in two of the cases there weren’t any and I was forced to use Wikipedia alone), and absorb the whole of their lives. Which is why the whole of the book has taken five years to complete.

You’re probably going to laugh when I say that all of these months of research often only resulted in a few extra paragraphs (maybe half a page at most) of text. But I was also trying to absorb the flavor of the historical figure’s personality, so that their dialogue in Hell would seem accurate to the two readers who would read my novel and also know who John Romulus Brinkley or Hetty Green were. For some reason, it needed to be feel right to me.

Now later on, as I’m polishing this work up to actually send to publishers, I’m wondering if I just spent too much time, literally years, on making these obscure characters as real as possible. Maybe I’m too much of a perfectionist. Maybe I’ve got OCD. Maybe I’ve been wasting my time and no one will give a damn.

As a final taste test, I gave the latest draft to my wife. She read over the manuscript and shrugged.

“It’s pretty good,” she said.

“What did you think of the depiction of Ambrose Bierce?”

“Oh, is that a real person?”

Ah well….

Hellbeast Description- excerpt from Sunday Morning at the Peak of Hell

The following excised excerpt is from my upcoming novel Sunday Morning at the Peak of Hell. I’ve removed it from the book as it runs too long and doesn’t quite fit into the developing narrative, but it was one of the first snippets I wrote for the novel and I still rather like it. So, on its own merit is the description of a Hellbeast.  

Occasionally even the strongest brute was assaulted by a horde of flying creatures. The most common one had a fish’s head and dangling fangs. The wings were made of long flapping scales. These were somewhat loose and a strong gust of wind could yank them out, sending the beast hurtling in an involuntary kamikaze dive. Two long multi-jointed fingers protruded from the chest, ending in a talon with screw-like ruts running from the tip to the base. These were used to pin down smaller prey or to latch onto larger animals, while their large mouths ripped off chunks of flesh.

Sometimes a larger beast will shake off the creature, leaving the snapped off nails to fester in the wound. These will turn into a toxic jelly in several days time, killing the animal and poisoning the flesh for any other predator that passes along.

When breeding time approaches, the female nails itself to a bleeding tree and shits out a massive clutch of roe onto the ground. A male will then approach and screw itself upside down on the tree and drip semen mucus over the eggs. Those that are lucky enough to be fertilized, grow rapidly, enveloping the other eggs around them

Eventually, two fertilized eggs attempt to absorb the other. The embryos will tear into each other, with flimsy soft talons and half formed teeth, until one is dead. This continues until there is only one egg left, or several eggs too far away for the other ones to absorb. They hatch over the next week, assuming a larger predator doesn’t come by and eat the whole batch.

For more readings, try books by Rex Hurst. 

The Five Worst Code Names for G.I. Joe Characters

Like most boys growing up in the 1980s, I was a huge G.I. Joe fan. It started with the comics- made great by the writer Larry Hama (whom the character of Tunnel Rat was modeled after), then moved on the sillier cartoon – Pyramid of Darkness motherfuckers!- and prompted me- and all other red blooded American boys- to buy the toys.

As time went on and the franchise expanded in all directions, more and more Joes needed to be added onto the roster. And towards the tenth and eleventh iteration of new characters they began to strain at the seams for new names and new ideas. As such, some bad decisions were made in the creation of new characters. So I give you the five worst codenames for G.I. Joe characters.

These are not popular characters. They were released as toys, never supported in other media, then fell into the ashbin of history. Some of these are so obscure that even a hardcore Joe fan as myself had never heard of them before.

Colonel Courage

Filecard Information:

File Name: Mewett, Cliff V.

Grade: O-6

Birthplace: Boston, Massachusetts

Primary Specialty: Administrative Strategist

Secondary Specialty: Patriot Driver

 

File Comments: Proper dress and discipline have always been the backbone of the Colonel’s leadership. He works hard to impress these qualities upon his subordinates and insists that anyone who follows his lead will quickly transform themselves into a lean, mean, efficient fighting machine! Because of his efficient work ethic and organizational skills, he is usually assigned to intelligence tasks behind the lines, and behind a desk. So whenever he has a chance for combat duty, he eagerly jumps at the opportunity with an armor piercing weapon in one hand and machinegun blasting in the other.

Military buffs pointed out that the regular G. I. Joe team really lacked a command structure. They had General Hawk and the first sergeant Duke with no one in-between. So they introduced Lt. Falcon, Colonel Courage, and Captain Grid-Iron (see below). Apart from Lt. Falcon (who in the animated G.I. Joe movie was subordinate to Duke for some reason), none of the others ever caught on. Originally part of the twelfth series, it was discontinued in 1994.

And I can’t blame anyone for that. From a toy aspect, the figure doesn’t give you much. There are more weapons included with it than most action figures- seven in total, but they were recycled from other figures and issued in neon green, which is not the coolest color for your war toys.

The appearance of the toy is terrible as well. Even as kid, I would’ve noticed that he seems entirely assembled from different parts of previous characters painted different colors- and none of the interesting ones. In our old battlefields he would’ve just been cannon fodder, someone to be blown up by a firecracker, before the cooler characters came in.

Also the name, although I appreciate the alliteration, is terrible. Sounds like it should be part of a terrible Burger King Kids Club cartoon meant to “inspire children” but just ended up boring them to tears.



Captain Grid-Iron 

File Name: Lydon, Terrence
SN: 903-5221-YY07
Grade: O-3
Birthplace: Evergreen Park, Illinois
Primary Specialty: Hand-To-Hand Combat Specialist
Secondary Specialty: Infantry

File Comments: CAPT. GRID-IRON was quarterback of the West Point football team and graduated in the top ten of his class. It can be said in his favor that he passed up an appointment to the U.S. Army War College for a conventional infantry at the company level. It was this determination to be "where the action is" that brought him to the attention of the G.I. Joe organization. 



  What was the pitch for this? "Everyone loves G.I. Joe and everyone loves football, so let's combine the two." Hence Captain Grid-Iron. He came complete with football shaped grenades, kneepads, and a football style helmet, an oversized rocket launcher, and was completely ridiculous.

He only appeared in one panel of the comic series, but was a regular in the DiC G.I. Joe cartoon series (this was the one who took up the series when Sunbow lost the license after completing the animated G.I. Joe Movie), and all of his dialogue was peppered with football references, which became irritating after the third one.

According to the hierarchy he was in charge of the G.I. Joe team, after the Colonel above and General hawk, but who the hell could take this guy seriously? Sergeant Slaughter should’ve put him in an itty-bitty-ditty bag.

 

 

Starduster

File Name: Skylar, Edward J.
Grade: E-5
Birthplace: Burlingame, California
Primary Specialty: Infantry Transportable Air Recon
Secondary Specialty: Helicopter Assault

File Comments:  Starduster was a circus trapeze artist when he enlisted in the Airborne Rangers. He quickly found that his acrobatic skills and boundless energy would come in handy when swinging from a 150-foot rope. But now he did his famous routines suspended from a Huey Assault Copter- with the audience throwing more than just popcorn and peanuts. It was Duke, however, who recognized how well Starduster's death-defying act would work with the JUMP Jetpack. The combination has been a crowd pleaser ever since. 

 

 

          This character first appeared in 1987, when G.I. Joe was still pretty popular in comics and cartoons, but I’m sure plenty of people don’t recall it. That’s because he was only first available as a mail-in exclusive from G.I. Joe Action Stars Cereal. Afterwards, the figure was available as a mail-in offer from Hasbro Direct. The character was never released in stores and was discontinued in 1990.

The only media he appeared in was three mini-comics that was available in G.I. Joe Action Stars Cereal. Ironically the Jump jetpack he was debuting got more usage than the character, as it appeared very often in the Sunbow cartoon series.

Let’s face it, the name Starduster lacks punch. It sounds like it should belong to a magical pony on Rainbow Bright, or Strawberry Shortcake, or some other godawful feel good, lets-teach-a-lesson, piece of crap cartoon. The character itself looks cool, granted most of the toy was recycled from the Recondo, Flint, and Roadblock characters, to a young me the helmet, jetpack, and grenade launcher looks pretty awesome put together- I think my friends and I would’ve renamed him.

 

 

Windmill 

File Name: Roth, Edward J.
Grade: O-3
Birthplace: Allentown, PA
Primary Specialty: Stopped-Rotor Aircraft Operator

 

File Comments: Windmill was a flight instructor at the Army Flight Warrant Officers School in Fort Rucker and later flew experimental helicopter prototypes at the same facility for the Army Aviation Department Test Activity. You might think that test piloting is easier, or even safer than, testing jet fighters. Consider this- helicopters don't have ejection seats. If you make a mistake, you ride down with it! 



Windmill was the pilot character packaged exclusively with the Skystorm X-Wing Chopper toy. It was released in 1988, rereleased the following year, then shit-canned because no one wanted the stupid looking thing with its ugly pilot. This character and his aircraft didn’t appear in any other media until one of the mid-2000s G.I. Joe vs Transformers: Black Horizon comics where he was quickly killed.

Goddamn this is a stupid looking character. The colors are a fucking eyesore. Safety orange, puke green, blood red- was the person who designed this color blind? The head piece makes no sense and looks like a reject from a Buck Rodgers line of toys. Plus, the oversized revolver (while mercifully black in color) just looks stupid. Like the head, it seems as if it came from another line of toys altogether.

Had I been gifted this character, I would’ve disassembled it and used it as spare parts in a miniature landmine scene. That would be cool.

 



The Ice Cream Solider





File Name: Ragan, Tom-Henry
Grade: E-5
Birthplace: Providence, R.I.
Primary Specialty: Fire Operations Expert
Secondary Specialty: Barbecue Chef

File Comments: The last thing you would expect from G.I. Joe's fiercest flamethrower commando is for him to be called the Ice Cream Solider. However, it's a perfect cover for him because when Cobra hears the Joes are sending a guy into battle with a code name like that, they don't expect much more than a sweet toothed kid with chocolate ice cream stains splattered on his fatigues. Cobra's perceptions of him change fast when they see the Ice Cream Solider fire up his super-charged flamethrower and blast 75 foot streams of flaming gasoline into their foxholes and munitions dumps... talk about a firefight! The Ice Cream Soldier is a one man inferno who scorches those slimy snakes until they melt like hot fudge on a summer sidewalk. 

 

         If there was ever an indication that G.I. Joe had well and truly jumped the shark, it was the creation of this character. Not the actual figure which looks pretty cool (despite the bright orange and yellow accents). The mold would eventually be used to create the Cobra Shock Viper character and, once repainted, shows that the design of it was decent, it was the name that cast the character in infamy.  
        It was released in 1994 as part of the deperate “battle corps” line. These had oversized spring loaded weapons, and many accessories with each character. It was an unsuccessful attempt to add life to the G.I. Joe line.
         I can’t tell if someone let their four year old design a character or if they had become so complacent that they figured the fans would lap up whatever shit they troweled out. However, by 1994 the franchise was in its death knell- No more cartoons. The comic series had been canceled. Ideas must’ve been low. Why not the Ice Cream Solider? Kids like ice cream. It’s a fact. So kids would like a toy named after their favorite dessert. Not so much. As far as G. I. Joe figures go, it is one of the cheapest to pick up on eBay.  
 For more readings, try books by Rex Hurst. 

 

 

 

 

Origins of the Term "Mary Sue"

The literary term “Mary Sue” is one bandied about often today. We hear it over and over again to where the actual definition becomes clouded by accusations that every major character is some kind of Mary Sue. It is now almost synonymous with “Whiny review on the internet”. But the Mary Sue trope has a very specific definition.

I’m paraphrasing from a number of sources, but essentially it means: A perfect fictional character. Often, this character is recognized as an author insert or wish fulfillment, often inserted into an existing fictional universe. They can usually perform better at tasks than should be possible with no training or experience, and usually are able to upstage the main protagonist of an established fictional setting, such as by saving the hero.

The origin of the term comes from the name of a character created by Paula Smith in 1973 for her parody story "A Trekkie's Tale" published in her fanzine Menagerie #2. The story starred Lieutenant Mary Sue ("the youngest Lieutenant in the fleet — only fifteen and a half years old", with a genius IQ, who dies tragically), and satirized unrealistic characters in Star Trek fan fiction.  This was a parody designed to illustrate the types of stories that she did not want submitted. Essentially one’s where the established main characters of the show were not the protagonists of the story.

For you edification, the entire story (all ten glorious paragraphs of it) are reprinted below. Enjoy and Caveat Emptor.

 

A TREKKIE'S TALE

By Paula Smith

"Gee, golly, gosh, gloriosky," thought Mary Sue as she stepped on the bridge of the Enterprise. "Here I am, the youngest lieutenant in the fleet - only fifteen and a half years old." Captain Kirk came up to her.

"Oh, Lieutenant, I love you madly. Will you come to bed with me?"

"Captain! I am not that kind of girl!"

"You're right, and I respect you for it. Here, take over the ship for a minute while I go get some coffee for us."

Mr. Spock came onto the bridge. "What are you doing in the command seat, Lieutenant?"

"The Captain told me to."

"Flawlessly logical. I admire your mind."

Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott beamed down with Lt. Mary Sue to Rigel XXXVII. They were attacked by green androids and thrown into prison. In a moment of weakness Lt. Mary Sue revealed to Mr. Spock that she too was half Vulcan. Recovering quickly, she sprung the lock with her hairpin and they all got away back to the ship.

But back on board, Dr. McCoy and Lt. Mary Sue found out that the men who had beamed down were seriously stricken by the jumping cold robbies , Mary Sue less so. While the four officers languished in Sick Bay, Lt. Mary Sue ran the ship, and ran it so well she received the Nobel Peace Prize, the Vulcan Order of Gallantry and the Tralfamadorian Order of Good Guyhood.

However the disease finally got to her and she fell fatally ill. In the Sick Bay as she breathed her last, she was surrounded by Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, and Mr. Scott, all weeping unashamedly at the loss of her beautiful youth and youthful beauty, intelligence, capability and all around niceness. Even to this day her birthday is a national holiday of the Enterprise.

 For more readings, try books by Rex Hurst. 

 

Mothers Day Special: The Worst Mothers in History Vol. 4

 

Hey, hey, hey. Another Mother’s Day has come around and another of our tributes to the worst Mothers in History. As we’ve gone again, and again, and again,  in order to combat the wave of diabetic inducing sweetness that will be pouring over us soon enough. As preventative medicine, I suggest you read this article and realize that not all mothers are filled with goodness and light, many are drunken chain-smoking cigarette hags too lazy to get abortions when the time was ripe.

Often some milksop politician will ask, “Where would we be without our mothers?” In the case of these examples the answer, “alive and probably happy.”

 

1.     Kenisha Enroda Berry: Dumpster Diving With Baby.

On November 29, 1998, in Jefferson County, Texas, 20-year-old Kenisha Berry placed duct tape across the body and mouth of her 4-day-old son, placed him in a black plastic trash bag and left his body in a trash dumpster, resulting in his death. The child was later found by a homeless couple dumpster diving for aluminum cans. An anonymous tip led the police to Kenisha’s door. DNA tests proved she was the mother and her fingerprints were found on the bag and duct tape, yet she still denied responsibility for the crime.

She explained that when she woke up on that day the baby was limp and not breathing. Realizing that he was dead, she said she was too scared to call for help. She duct taped his arms so that they would be in front of him and across his mouth because it bothered her that his mouth was opened. She then put him in a trash bag, borrowed her grandmother's car and placed the infant in the dumpster where his body was later discovered. Forensic reports that the baby died of asphyxiation due to the duct tape over his mouth. This is was not in fact the first baby she had dumped.

The same DNA evidence linked her to another newborn found tossed into a ditch filled with fire ants. Luckily this one survived, but it was a near miss. She was sentenced to death, but it was later reduced by a limp wristed review board to life in prison.

            2.     Deanna Laney: Bashing Their Heads Slowly

Here is another example of people with severe mental illnesses attempting to normalize themselves by become fanatically devoted to a political or religious cause. We’ve seen it with the anti-abortion movement, Antifa, PETA, and various religions. The result are that they take something to the extreme and put it all in doubt.

Deanna Laney was a devout member of the Pentecostal church Assemblies of God. She believe t so much that she had the delusion that God talked to her. One night, God apparently told her that the end of the world was coming and to get her house in order. To Deanna this meant she had to bash her children’s head in with rocks. First victim was 8-year-old Joshua, followed by six-year-old Luke, then 14-month old Aaron. The last one survived, but had his growth crippled by the severe head trauma he experienced.

She was diagnosed with suffering from psychotic delusions (big surprise there) and was later found by a jury to be not guilty by reason of insanity. She was committed to a mental institution in 2004 and released in 2012. Apparently 8 year in a summer camp facility is long enough for the death of two children and giving a third brain damage. She now freely walks the streets of Texas.

3.    Dora Luz Buenrostro: Hate is Thicker than Love

After a lengthy divorce Dora Luz Buenrostro was forced to share custody of her children with her ex-husband. Neighbors testified that they heard her screaming for hours at her children when they were with her. On October 27^th, 1994 she went to the local police department and told officers that her ex-husband was inside her apartment and that she feared for her three children’s safety.

When they arrived at the apartment, they found two of the children stabbed to death and the third one missing. The husband was held for questioning. Later that day, the third child was found ten miles away. She was killed by having a ball point pen shoved in her neck and bled out. By this time the husband’s alibi had been checked out and it was proven he was nowhere near Dora’s apartment that day.

With the list of suspects narrowed down from two to one, Dora was quickly arrested. Evidence of murder was found in her car, which she claimed her ex had planted. Her inevitable insanity defense tanked and Dora was sentenced to death, after which she blamed everyone else, her lawyers, the police, the prosecutors, the judge, for her situation. Jurors said Buenrostro showed a lack of remorse when she testified during the penalty hearings. She planned the killings to hurt her husband, then tried to frame him.

       4. Susan Dianne Eubanks: Shooting for Love

Born of generations old California trailer trash, Susan Eubanks just couldn’t find love. Having four sons by four different men somehow just didn’t attract Mr. Right. Even with her added quirky traits of alcoholism and pill popping, the finer things seemed to pass her by. Susan’s life just couldn’t seem to get started.

Thus one day, after a long day at a bar of mixing vodka with valium she got into an explosive fight with her boyfriend (not the father of any of her children). She slashed 2 tires on his car and refused to let him in the home. He called the police and they then escorted him to the home, where he removed some belongings and left. Susan then decided to reset the clock. She took a .38 revolver and killed her four boys, aged 14, 7, 8, and 4. A fifth boy, her nephew was also shot, but he survived.

She then attempted suicide by shooting herself in the stomach. The defense tried to use this as part of her insanity plea, but the jury did not believe her. If you really want to kill yourself, why not the head? They then shifted to a blackout defense, she had imbibed so much that she didn’t remember doing anything- but that is not grounds for insanity.

In September 1999, a jury decided Susan Eubanks should be executed for murder. At her sentencing a month later, she said she loved her children but felt they would be better off dead. She said she killed her boys as a final act of love in what was an attempted murder-suicide.

 

 

5.  Michelle Lynn Kehoe: The Eternal Cut-Up

And rounding up this affair we have the wonderful Michelle Kehoe, a narcissistic chronically depressed loner, who turned every public occasion into a sob fest about herself. One night after everyone had gotten tired her complaining about how hard her life was, she decided enough was enough, put her two kids, 7 and 4, in a van and drove to a remote area. She then placed duct tape over her sons' eyes, mouths and hands and cut their throats with a hunting knife she had bought a month earlier. She then cut her own throat. Just before this she had written a note to make it appear as though they were abducted by a fictitious assailant, and she made similar claims to investigators before admitting to the crime. The note said a man broke into the car when the family stopped at a gas station and forced them to the area where the van was found. In the note, Kehoe said she tried to fight him off with pepper spray, but he knocked her unconscious.

All this made her insanity defense a pathetic joke. That and the fact her seven-year-old son survived the attack and testified against her in court. She was sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.



That's it for this year. Happy Mother's Day everyone.

  For more fun, try books by Rex Hurst.