It was time now for Uncle Jack to start thinking about an amend that he badly wanted to make but at the same time would have preferred to avoid altogether. It was the Nichols girl.

The Nichols girl was about 9 years old when her father came to his untimely end. She was sitting in his car parked a half block away from a florist shop waiting for him to finish talking to some men so he could drive her home. She had gotten out of school early and took a bus to meet her father at the trucking office where he worked so they could drive home together. He had to make a stop at the florists to make a "deposit". Problem was, several of his deposits had been significantly short for the last several weeks, so when he brought in his deposit, Uncle Jack was just a few feet away when Nichols checked in his package, said thank-you, and turned to leave. The clerk nodded to Uncle Jack, who in turn made a gesture towards two men waiting outside. When Nichols stepped out the door, he was escorted down an alleyway and around back.

The usual treatment in such situations is just a disciplinary action. Nobody was trying to kill anybody, but beating people senseless is not a precise science, and this situation went very poorly for Mr. Nichols. According to the taller of the two associates, Mr Nichols was doing fine when they left him. After they had finished their conversation, Mr N. had turned his attention to looking for coins or something on the ashalt. In fact, he seemed to be pretty engrossed in that activity when they last saw him.

Nobody was aware that young Katie Nichols was waiting in the car the whole time. It was after 11:30 pm when the clerk locked up the shop for the night. There were only two cars on the street for several blocks and he recognized Nichols’s vehicle right away. He went back inside and called uncle Jack to let him know the vehicle was there, suspecting that things must have gone badly for Nichols and, most importantly, that somebody would have to check on the situation and probably do some cleanup before the cops noticed anything was wrong.

Uncle Jack came by within half an hour, followed by a couple lads for the cleanup. They found Nichols’s body in back and expertly made it disappear into their car. Then one of the boys went to get rid of the car. That’s when they realized Katie was in the car, frightened, still waiting for her dad.

When Uncle Jack realized what was happening, and that they had a frightened little girl on their hands, he phoned Mickey Cohen’s place. Mickey was out, but his stripper girlfriend answered, so he talked her into coming to help out. She knocked on the car window and talked sweetly to the girl, then convinced Katie to let her give her a drive home. She dropped the girl in front of her apartment and headed back to Mickey’s place. Uncle Jack never saw the girl again, but she was often on his mind. He wasn’t somebody to care a lot about other people’s feelings, but his occasional cruelty never extended to children. He said later he had had many difficult difficult conversations with the devil over the yeara about his role in hurting young Katie–and, not to mention, a few visits from Ilsa.

Uncle Jack had no idea how he would make things up to Katie. How do you make it up to a child when you gave the signal that resulted in her father being beaten to death while she sat frightened a half a block away? Give her money? Confess, then apologize? He wasn’t sure what his plan was, but once he found where she was living, he began to visit the neighborhood, hoping to glimpse them and find out what he could about her and her family.

After spending some time hanging around the area, he found out that Katie was still living with her mom, who had a sometimes live-in boyfriend. He didn’t seem like a great catch–a bit of a schlep, as Mickey sometimes would say. He drove a decent car, but he never seemed to bring any groceries when he showed up around suppertime–just a bag with a bottle. Katie, meanwhile, looked to be in her early mid-teens by this time and was still going to school. Uncle Jack figured that was a good thing, plus she was a nice enough looking girl, so there was a good chance she might meet some decent young man and get married in a few years. He just wished for her that it would be some nice fellow who didn’t have a connection with the mob. She didn’t need to risk losing somebody else after what happened to her father, the stupid fool.

He still was no closer to figuring out how to make amends to the girl. He thought it would help if he could get to know more about her life, what her wants and fears were–who she was. If he knew those things, maybe he could do something for her. In the meantime, it occurred to him that maybe there was a thing or two he could do while he was trying to figure out what to do.

One thing Uncle Jack had was money, and he decided since they don’t seem to have much, could at least leave a few groceries by their door anonymously. He knew everybody’s schedule pretty well by now, so he walked to the grocery store 5 blocks away and picked up a few bags of items that he figured everybody would need and started carrying it back to their apartment.

I need to mention that Uncle Jack had gotten a lot heavier in the last two or three years and was getting winded quite easily. It would have been obvious to anybody who knew him that his health was going downhill. He had also been having a lot of trouble with his sleep, so he was often finding himself exhausted during the day where he used to have lots of energy. And, truth be told, he had been catching glimpses of Ilsa again.

On this day, he must have overestimated how much he could carry, as he had to stop several times on the way to the apartment, and it took him much longer to get back there than he realized. He lugged the groceries up the dark stairwell one bag at a timea nd left them by the door. Then, when he was done, he went back to the store to buy a lightbulb for the stairwell, and made his way back one more time.

When he got back, he had sat down again to rest for a few minutes, then when he got himslef up again to replace the light, Katie appeared in the entranceway below, silhouetted by the late afternnoon light outside. He had nowhere to go, so he turned his back slightly to prevent her from seeing the hideously scarred side of his face, which he was sure would only frighten her.

She looked rather tentative as she walked up sthe stairs past him, but then she spoke out and asked him, "Who are you? I live right up there. Can I help you?" He turned his head sideways and said, "I’m the new caretaker. Just replacing the burnt out light." She nodded and went past him on the stairs, then saw the groceries and looked puzzled. He finished changing the light bulb and walked down the stairs and out as he heard her unlocking her apartment door, saying, in a loud voice, "Mom, are you home? Why are these bags sitting here?"

Uncle Jack made his way back to his place in Sherman Oaks, feeling like he had accomplished something, but not sure what his next move would be. It would have been better if she had not seen him. Not yet at least. That evening he ate out, then returned to his room around 7:30, where he passed out on the sofa thinking about his next steps.

Turns out, his thoughts didn’t matter. The next morning, he got up very late, still feeling exhausted, went for breakfast, then to the post office to check for mail, then, since it was now well past 1 pm, decided to go for an early lunch. He only arrived back by Katie’s place around 2:30 pm and was shocked to his soul to discover something terrible had taken place. The place had been largely burned out and there were cops all over the place. As he got walked closer to see what was going on, he recognized a cop from his earlier days. Not wanting to be recognized, he walked on.

The following morning, he looked in the paper, and there, on the third page, was an article about the incident. He choked when he read the story. The mother and daughter had both been caught in the fire. But the fire had apparently been lit to cover up a double murder. Their burned corpses had been found together and appeared to have been bound and stabbed. Autopsies were being performed. Meanwhile, the police were on the lookout for the boyfriend–and for a mysterious heavy set scarfaced man who had been seen hanging about the area several times lately.

It wasn’t until much later, when the shock wore off, that Uncle Jack realized that there was something familiar about the news article. That is when he remembered what it reminded him of. He knew the writing style. There was no byline, but it could only have been written by Randy.

A phone call back to the LA newspaper office was enough to confirm that it was Randy who submitted the news report on the double murder. Apparently he had been in the neighborhood when the police arrived.

For the next several months, Uncle Jack became obsessed with searching newspapers for articles by Randy. Despite Randy’s family connection to the newspaper owner’s, he was never in the big money himself. He might be able to get a little help from time to time, but he had to go out and make a living somehow. And since he wasn’t a staff writer, he must be submitting articles and taking odd assignments as a freelancer. If he was going to scratch together a living doing that–without the help of a Mickey Cohen to ensure he gets preferential treatment–he would have to submit his articles to a number of papers. So, Uncle Jack began to spend his days reading every newspaper in the California area that he could get his hands on from cover to cover.

Shortly after the Nichols murders, he had also decided it would be wise to head back north to the home he had shared with Sheila. He was worried that there was a fair chance the cops in LA might see his disfigured face and stop him for questioning. If they did, they might try to pin the murder on him.

His newspaper search from his home base in the San Francisco Bay area turned up nothing at first, until he came across a story in the culture section (right next to the horoscope section) of a leading San Francisco newspaper about Timothy Leary, who had recently been jailed, that looked a lot like Randy’s style. He thought it was, but wasn’t certain. Two weeks later, he came across an article on the same page about comedian Lenny Bruce–right beside the horoscope. Again there was no byline, but Uncle Jack noticed the accompanying photo had been attributed to E. Weil. He remembered noticing that same name with the photo accompanying the Timothy Leary article and realized Randy must have found a partner who was doing the photography.

He didn’t have any journalist contacts in San Francisco, so he called the paper to say that he was a freelance writer visiting the area and he wanted to hire a photographer for a couple of interviews–could they suggest somebody? He also mentioned having seen Weil’s name on a recent photo. The gentleman he was talking to said the photographer who did those photos was a kid, one of those "hippies", from Haight-Ashbury. He didn’t have a phone number, but the kid came by from time to time to try to peddle photos of various events around the city. Most of them were counter-culture images: shots from rock concerts, protests, etc. And he sometimes worked with a guy they call Little Richard, or something like that. They seemed to be pals. He offered to pass Uncle Jack’s name and number when he showed up next.

Since the Nichols killing, Uncle Jack was very leary about tipping Randy off that he was looking for him until he was sure he was close enough to find him anyway. For that reason, he had only asked about young Mr Weil, and said nothing one way or the other about Randy.

It is probably obvious by now that Uncles Jack’s motive for wanting to find Randy had changed in a not very subtle way: he was no longer thinking about making amends. Anyway, his amend list had been missing for some time. He was going to have to rewrite it at some point, but for now, he would focus on two people: Randy and the nurse he had injured.

He hadn’t heard from Weil after about 3 weeks, so he decided to focus his attention on the nurse. He still wanted to try to make amends to her. He wasn’t sure what he could do by way of making amends, but that wouldn’t matter till he found her, so he started making day trips to Vallejo to the library. There he passed his days mostly at the library, trying to find the old newspaper article in the archives that his fellow AA member mentioned a few months back.

After 3 days of tedium, he found it. The woman’s name was Betty Stride. That must have been her married name, as the article mentioned that her father’s name, was–of all things–Gluckman! He wondered if they might be distantly related. Of course, she might just as easily be related to the Nazi scientist, for all he knew.

Anyway, according to the article, they had a family retail store, but the name was not given. Uncle Jack checked the local phone books to find the names Stride and Gluckman. There were a few more Strides than Gluckmans, but not more than a few entries of each name. Since there was only a handful of possibilities, he began calling each number in the book, but nobody acknowledged having a relation named Betty.

He went back home that evening feeling both like he had made progress and had taken several steps backward at the same time. He had a name, now, but the name didn’t seem to belong with any of the families in this town.

As alluded earlier, Uncle Jack’s health had been going downhill during this time. Most likely he was obsessing too much about Randy and Betty, not eating or sleeping properly, and recently missing most of his AA meetings. Over the last few weeks, he had been falling asleep unexpectedly during the daytime and generally feeling deeply exhausted. When he would fall asleep, he said, he would have flashes of Ilsa again and wake up in a fright. Then, after a short while, he would feel better again for a little while. Overall, the exhaustion had been building up, though, and when he got home that evening, he felt worn to a frazzle. He was going to go directly to bed, even though it was still only 7:00 pm, when he received a phone call. It was from young Mr Weil.

Weil introduced himself over the phone and mentioned right away that a gentleman from the newspaper office had passed on his number saying that he–Uncle Jack–was looking for a photographer to help with some freelance work and that he had asked for him by name.

Uncle Jack replied that he was doing some research on the emerging hip music scene. He said his angle would be how it is catching on with the young people while threatening parents and authority figures. At that point he threw out some names he had heard of like the Byrds, a new band called Jefferson Airplane and a popular folk singer named Bob Dylan and wanted to do a series of interviews that he was sure he could sell to some big newspapers. The truth is, Uncle Jack was making it all up on the spot. He barely had any idea who these musicians were. He was pretty sure that he would not have liked any of them. The main reason he even knew those names was from having recently skimmed an article about Ralph J. Gleason that was still lying open on the floor beside his sofa. It so happens that he had met Gleason briefly a few times through Cohen several years back. Cohen had told him that Gleason was becoming highly influential in the music scene. Apparently Gleason’s importance was still growing.

Uncle Jack was making all this up because he wanted to take advantage of Weil’s connection to Randy, without Randy finding out. It is hopefully obvious why–he was by now convinced that Randy was responsible for the deaths of the Nichols mother and daughter. And he suspected that Randy knew what happened to Annie that night in Santa Cruz.

For that matter, he wondered about the other murders that Randy had reported on. It is curious how he just turned to find himself at the site of the murder in time to be the first reporter on the scene. Uncle Jack had been involved in his share of skullduggery within gangster circles, but he never showed up just by chance. So, what are the odds that Randy arrived at the scene of so many murders "just by chance"? And those were just the ones Uncle Jack was aware of. He wondered if there might have been more.

Weil seemed to get very excited about the prospect of being involved in a series of articles on popular music bands. He even offered to help come up with deeper questions for the interviews. He went on for a bit about how the young people get bored with the usual superficial questions. Uncle Jack encouraged him to do just that–come up with better questions, that is–then asked when they could meet. They agreed to meet in Haight Ashbury that weekend. Uncle Jack would go to him since Weil didn’t have any wheels of his own.

Before they hung up, Uncle Jack asked rather nonchalantly about who else Weil had worked with. He that he mostly worked alone, but he had teamed up several times with a fellow by the name of Randy, also a freelancer. At that point, Uncle Jack knew with certainty he had his man.

Feeling a bit more awake, now, Uncle Jack got dressed again and walked down the street to the local diner and had a plate of ribs. Then he passed out at the table.

He awoke in the local hospital, completely bewildered as to how he got there. Turns out he had type 2 diabetes and didn’t realize it. Over the next few days, he was told about his new diet, given a prescription for insulin and shown how to use it, and was given repeated warnings about how this was serious and could cause him to go blind, lose appendages, or even die–so he had better take better care of himself.

When he was released, several days later, he had resolved to take better care of himself. Then, he went back home only to find his place had been broken into while he was away. Just like in LA, things had been disturbed, but nothing substantial was missing. At this point, he was hungry and, since the burglar hadn’t bothered to deliver groceries, he walked back to the diner, thanked the staff for calling the ambulance for him, then proceeded to devour another plate of ribs–this time with a side of latkes, sour cream, and apple pie to wash it all down.

When he arrived home the second time, he noticed there was a message written in lipstick on the bathroom mirror. That was particularly odd, because he had cleaned out most of Sheila’s belongings, including her lipstick, a few months after she died. Since he didn’t wear lipstick himself (except for that awful night in Santa Cruz), he thought it odd that his burglar would just happen to carry lipstick–at least assuming the burglar was a man.

There wasn’t much doubt about that. The message was, "Looks like we both have a list. You realy shd try to take care of youself. Your little fiend. PS: isn’t it funny how history repeats itself in the Glukman family? But you just seem to take it all in stride, dont you? TTFN"

It was Randy. After reading the message, Uncle Jack knew he would not be able to sleep, so he went out and bought a quart of rum, then proceeded to get hammered.

From that time till his dying day, Uncle Jack was never sober again for more than a few days at a time, except during his frequent stays in the hospital. He would try to stop drinking from time to time, but it would never last. It didn’t help that he was constantly seeing Ilsa, wherever he went at this point. The horror of her face glared at him from the time he looked in the mirror. She would show up in other people’s faces, or would stand at the corner ahead of him and laugh as he lumbered forward. Until now, sobriety had helped him keep her at bay, but that was no longer enough to stop her from visiting him whenever she wanted. Now he was drunk and the visitations were worse than ever, but the thought of getting sober did not seem to carry with it any hope.

Early Sunday morning he was woken up by a phone call from Weil asking why he did not show up the day before. Uncle Jack replied–half in the bag–"Tell you what. You pass a message to Little Randy for me, wouldja?"

"You tell Randy that Jack-o says he can’t write for shit. Tell him that he is never going to be a real writer, and he is never going further than the horoscope page. And then you tell horoscope-boy that he is now number one on my list and I am looking for him, and I am going to find him. And when I do I’ll fix his wagon good. You tell him that for me, wouldja please? Tell him Jack-o said so."

Weis seemed pretty confused by it all, but then after a pause he said, "Um, sure, man. No problem. But, um, not to change the subject, but, uh, wow man, I have been following the concert scene and Bob Dylan is going to be in the city in a few weeks. I have worked up some great interview questions for him. I was hoping we could talk about my ideas."

"Oh, that’s wonderful, laddy. Yeah, that’s great. You keep working on your questions and we can talk about them when I come to see you next weekend."

"So you are coming?"

"Yes, of course, I am. We’ll talk about it then. Just remember to give my message to Randy, like a good fellow."

Once Uncle Jack hung up, he never spoke to Weil again.

When Uncle Jack was even a bit sober, he fretted. He said in his memoirs that at that time he felt certain Randy had stolen his list. The earlier one. The one that went missing in LA. He had only noticed it was missing long after the LA break-in, but he was now completely sure that the burglar was Randy and that he must have taken his list. Uncle Jack was convinced that Randy was a killer and that he used the list to target the Nichols girl and her mother. If he was right, then he knew about Betty Stride and he might be going after her, too–and maybe her two kids. He needed to do something, but had no idea how to find them. Hopefully that meant Randy wouldn’t know either. Still, Randy may have been a half-ass writer, but he was still a very smart cookie. He didn’t dare assume that Randy wouldn’t find Mrs Stride first.

But Uncle Jack could be pretty resourceful in his own right and he had a plan that ultimately led him directly to Betty Stride. His plan was to go back to the library in Vallejo and ask the archive librarian for help. She was a middled aged woman with some physical problems, but she seemed to know everything about the town.

So, after talking to Weil, he skipped his shower, skipped breakfast, opened a fresh bottle of rum, had a few swigs, then got in the car and headed to Vallejo, swirving not too subtly as he went.

He caught the attention of a Vallejo patrol car just as he crossed the city boundary. The cop followed along for two miles before Uncle Jack realized he was in trouble. He pulled over to the side of the road, did the sobriety test–walk a straight line with arms stretched out, touch hand to nose–failed and very cooperatively got in the car with the cops. One thing in his favor is that he was generally a very good natured and well-mannered drunk. Another is that he was getting arrested in 1965, when pretty much everybody drank and drove, even the cops when they were off duty, so driving under the influence was often not treated with the same seriousness as it is today. (Not suggesting that was a good thing.)

On his way to jail, which was a surprisingly long trip, Uncle Jack talked up a storm with the cops. One of them asked with a laugh what the hell happened to his face. Uncle Jack obliged him with an abridged version of his story, which led him to telling the parts about how he had come to Vallejo to make amends with Betty Stride.

Just then one of the cops turned around in his seat and said, "Who?", with a quizzical look. He said, "Are you sure you’re not talking about Aunt Elizabeth Stride? She used to be a nurse in LA and got into some nasty accident a few years back. She was pretty badly injured. Lost a lot of the use her right arm. Face kind of droops on one side. She sounds like the person you’re talking about. She came back home after her husband died lived with her father for awhile till he died. He used to run a small import/export business. They have an office and warehouse just outside of town, near where we picked you up. She has been trying to make a go of it since then. She has been making it work, but I don’t think she is making a fortune because she also works part-time doing accounting work at the hospital.

"But wait a minute", he said, "you called her Aunt Elizabeth. Is she your aunt?"

"Nah", the cop replied, "the kids call her that. She does a lot of work with the teenagers and younger kiddies. She also helps out at the hospital in her spare time. She’s helping to organize a big street party next week for Halloween. Stuff like that. She’s pretty well known in this town and folks just took to calling her Aunt Elizabeth or Aunt Liz."

The patrol car swung in to the police station. The cops put Uncle Jack into a holding cell, left him by himself for awhile, then a bit later brought him some coffee. That evening, one of the patrol cops dropped by saying it was the end of his shift and told him he could go. He gave him a ride back to his car, which was still parked on the roadside. Apparently the cops didn’t see a need to have it empounded. No charges were being laid, but he did get a warning about the importance of road safety and solemnly promised to leave the car in the driveway when he was drinking.

As he was getting out of the patrol car, he asked the cop where Elizabeth Stride’s warehouse was. The cop pointed down the road in the direction they had been heading, "It’s about two miles that way, just on the other side of the town limits." Uncle Jack thanked him, got in his car and headed back towards the warehouse.

The warehouse was a rundown building that looked like it might have been built before the Depression. The lights were out and the place appeared empty. Out of curiosity, Uncle Jack drove around back, and when he swung around to the far side, he spotted the startled reaction of a young man with longish hair sitting on some wooden steps leading to the bay door as he put his hand down to his side in a feeble attempt to hide the fact that he had been smoking. He parked as the nervous young fellow tried to look innocent. Uncle Jack could make out the familiar smell of a marijuana cigarette even before he parked. He knew the smell well as he had smoked quite a few himself in earlier days.

Young people today might not be aware that in those days, possesion of marijuana was a felony offense. Simple possession of marijuana for personal consumption could land you in jail for as little as one year and as many as ten. Despite the legal risks, Uncle Jack was very much aware of how illegal use of marijuana and other drugs had mostly been centered in the LA area among black and hispanic adults but in recent years had had been spreading throughout California and was increasingly becoming the drug of choice used by white folks, including young kids. Fact of the matter is, Uncle Jack had been involved in some of the "market studies" years earlier that helped guide that expansion.

Uncle Jack pulled up close to the bay door and rolled his window all the way down. The young fellow was sitting quite still, probably trying to figure out if this stranger knew what was going on. Uncle Jack wondered with amusement if the marijuana cigarette would burn the kid’s fingers or not as he tried to hide it.

Maybe it was years of habit that led him to automatically sieze the opportunity to intimidate the young man, rather than just ask nicely for what he wanted–or maybe it was just a natural cruel streak–either way, Uncle Jack, acting out of some kind of instinct (and very bad judgment) set about trying to take advantage of the lad’s obviously anxious state.

He first made a show of reaching for a pen and notepad that he kept in the glove compartment, then sat there quietly for an uncomfortably long moment, looking rather studiously at the boy, then writing what appeared to be notes. Finally, after what probably seemed like an eternity to the young lad, he said, "Son, what is your reason for being here?"

"Uh, I work here…Sir. I open up for the trucks that arrive late and help unload them."

"Un, huh. And what might your name be?"

"Michael"

"Michael what, Son?", Uncle Jack had pulled out a notepad and pen and was making a show of writing down notes. Even though he was actually in poor health, he knew his size and his face would made him look quite intimidating, as long as he stayed in the car.

The boy surrendered to him him several pieces of personal information that Uncle Jack did not actually care about. It did not escape his attention when the boy discreetly extinguished the reefer and let it drop down through a gap in the steps.

"Allright", Uncle Jack said, "Suppose you give me the phone number for the owner of this establishment. I would like to talk to her.

At this point, Michael must have started questioning Uncle Jack’s authoritative act. Maybe Uncle Jack wasn’t as good an actor as he thought he was. Or perhaps Mikey was worried about where this was all going and why his boss needed to be brought into the picture. Either way, he started making the shift from being nervous and tractable to nervous and defiant.

"Wait a minute, Mister. Why do I have to answer all your questions and give you my bosses’ phone number? Are you a cop or something? If you are, you have to show me your badge. And if you’re not, maybe you need to fuck off or something."

"Son", said Uncle Jack, seeing that he was at risk of losing control of the situation, when all he really wanted was info on how to contact Elizabeth Stride, "you don’t need to get yourself all riled up. I just want her phone number so I can talk to her about a private matter. But, if you don’t want to help me, that’s your perogative. But if you decide not to, you might want to ask yourself whether or not anybody else noticed what you were smoking when I drove around the corner. And you might want to ask yourself if anybody else noticed when you dropped that itty bitty cigarette down by your feet. And you also might ask yourself whether anybody else happened to wonder whether there was tobacco in that little ciggy butt, or if it’s really something else. And then, if you come to the conclusion that somebody did happen to notice all that, then maybe you might want to ask yourself if it would be better for you if you had not pissed that person off in the first place by not giving him what he asks for, when he wants it. You follow me, Son?"

[— Sorry, could not finish by Halloween night as hoped. Will try to finish when I can, if anybody is interested.]

That was awesome. I was reading it as you were posting it G. One minor slip was that you accidentally called Uncle Jack, Uncle Randy a few posts back but hey, minor as I said. Well written and compelling. Drew me right in.

I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can’t hear.

And it is always SO DARK.

If I had known it would be this lonely, I would have chosen to be cremated instead.

That was awesome. I was reading it as you were posting it G. One minor slip was that you accidentally called Uncle Jack, Uncle Randy a few posts back but hey, minor as I said. Well written and compelling. Drew me right in.

Hi Trav,

I just corrected the Uncle Jack/Uncle Randy boo-boo. Thanks for letting me know.

Thamks, too, for the nice words. Glad you enjoyed it.

G

I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can’t hear.

And it is always SO DARK.

If I had known it would be this lonely, I would have chosen to be cremated instead.

ROFLMAO

That’s like Hitchcock in a haiku.

redacted

This one happened to me in 83
In early march of 83 my sister wanted to go to hawaii as the costs were really cheap then . We agreed ,the time frame was 2 weeks away. I asked my boss and he said yes ,but days later his assistant ,Gene told me I had to go to a week long Nissan school in Chicago that week . I said no I was going to hawaii ,later he said it was the week before my trip and I had to ,so I went .

So sunday at 3 pm I arrived at O’hare there was to be a limo sent to take me to Schaumberg Ill. I waited at the spot and saw many limo’s but not mine so I called the service and was told it was a cadillac and a short driver . This driver looked very familiar as he put my bag in the trunk and I said ‘you were on TV right" to which he shrugged of the comment , but finally he said "you mean the Limo driver from Kojak" and then I remember him from that show , he was short , stocky with big wiry hair . He was Kojak’s (telly Savalis ) limo driver He said "No that’s a relative of mine "
But I didn’t believe him . we drove to another stop and picked up two other guys a small and big guy. the smaller looked in the back and had a 1 min. complaint about me being in his limo ,the driver saying this is how it is . Then this smaller guy recognized him from TV too. I was sitting in the bigger bench seat behind the driver ,they loaded up and got in ,with the smaller guy hounding the driver saying he was on Kojak and upseting him some . This driver was running or owned this limo service as he was directing 4-5 other limos from the radio and they called him Kojak on it -it was him .
Pulling away from the airport ,this guy still asking Kojak many questions about it ,and 6 or 7 miles from it he was still at it one thing he asked was "What it was like to go from driving a limo on TV to one in real life" ,we told him to cool it ,then he said is this is the limo from the show ,kojak didn’t answer but cracked a big grin ,I am sure it was as it was a 74-76 big Cadillac .
Kojak opened the intercom and told a story to change the conversation saying a cemetery ahead
is where 2 yrs before , drivers had called police, when they got home and that a woman wearing a 1800’s dress was walking in and out of the roadway and some saying she was curled up and crying by the road . Police cars came but saw nothing, but were still getting calls about it after they left
I think it was a Forest lawn cemetery ,it was huge 2-3 miles long and very deep on one side of this 6 lane 45 mph road . The two guys asked me if I believe in ghosts ,I said there has got to be 1 or 2 in this huge place ,I estimate 3-5 hundred thousand graves
About 1/2 way though I looked at a place where the cemetary road climbed a small but steep hill
and saw a white man sized object ,then a smaller one on the steep hill but moving , then another one that faded in and out and stationary ,the first one moving quickly 2 times which could not have been done by a human on this steep grade . Seeing me staring ,the tall guy asked what I was looking at and
I told him. After 10 seconds he saw it too and was trying to get his friend to see . They were still moving on the hill . the next thing I knew, a oncoming car was going by honking ,Kojak was seeing it too and not driving in the lane ,we had to yell at him 3 times to just drive . Kojak later said that 15 or 20 years previous the same thing had occurred at the spot .
Soon we dropped the 2 guys at a nice HJ ,5 miles from my hotel , Kojak asked where I was staying ,I said the Budget Inn , to which he said as we pulled up -I could tell you some story’s about this place .
He drove off and I went to the check in . Gene had told me to ask for a $40 or 45 room ,I said "in Chicago $40 really" when he did . The desk clerk stated what do you want a $69 ,89 or $119 room .I explained I was to get a $40 room he said we don’t have one for $40 . I was given cash to pay for expenses but barely enough so big problem . We called Gene and there was a heated exchange for 2 minutes between them . Finally he slammed down the phone said nothing, grabbed a stick and keys and said come on .
He lead the way through halls and up to the 3rd floor of a wing of the place that seemed older and empty . 1/2 way down the hall a room door behind us open and then slammed shut . the clerk named Ronald I think ,stopped and was puzzled ,he opened 6-8 rooms and talked on a walky talky with the front desk .
He gave up looking for the occupant and we came to my room 333 ,he opened the door but refused to enter the room ,I did and it was freezing which seemed odd as it was a 40-50 degrees outside . , Ronald instructed me from the door how to fix the heater which I struggled with then just left .
I looked around this room ,1st it smelled as if it had not been opened in years ,then I see 1/8 of dust coating the dresser, TV , chair etc. It was a double bed room the 1st bed had nothing but a fitted sheet . I tried the TV and it was inop so I called to the desk , he said we’ll swap it .Ronald called another extension with me on the line this man spoke Spanish there was a argument after room 333 was mentioned . 5 min later Ronald . knocked and has a TV in his arms, puts it on the counter and fixes my heater ,grabs the old TV and heads out but stops at the 1st bed starring at it for quite awhile , I said what about the comforter for this bed and the dust ,he said -you are going to want to sleep in the other bed and it will be cleaned tomorrow then left . I cleaned it some and then went to dinner nearby . returning the same thing with the door slamming behind me happened in the hall, but seem to be a different room . once it happened just as I walked by the door but it opened and closed very softly.
I watched TV all nite. I had a hair brush and after using it i tossed it on the sink counter, around 10 pm I thought I heard it tossed onto the counter , as I was in bed and as I tried to sleep I heard strange but lite noise from that room .
At 3 am exactly I awoke to the fire alarm very loud . I had sweats on and opened the room door seeing nothing like smoke I looked out the window and some tenants were outside but clear on the far end of the property , I headed down to the desk but decided there was no fire and went back I heard the fire dept arriving and in the halls my phone rang and I answered it the 2nd time but no body said anything so I went to sleep.
monday morning got some breakfast at their complimentary buffet but got funny and mean looks from the staff . arriving at my room that evening I saw the maids in the hall cleaning it . 1 was inside she came running out as fast as she could holding her breath and collapsed on the floor with the linen in a ball and did the catholic cross prayer 3 times . I think it scared her more when she was surprised I was standing there. I had noticed the key to my room had a fob that had 329 on it from a label maker ,not 333 I tried to ask why ,but the clerk ignored me, I tried it in room 329 but it didn’t work . The hotel had a little snack bar and for dinner I got some items and ate in the room heading back the same door slammed , but usually it seemd to be a different room .
At 3 am I was awaken again with the fire alarm ,I was not going out this time son the phone rang and I answered it and got cussed out Ronald saying I had set off the alarm which I cussed back denying any involvement . The alarm quit soon after because they pulled a fuse I think or reset .

Tuesday morning the hotel van tried to leave before I caught the ride . Tuesday night the instructor took the students, with out rides to a Chicago pizza place and we had 2-3 pitchers so I was buzzed when I was dropped off at Budget Inn. I had to walk down a narrow hall passed the kitchen ,laundry and employee lounge to get to the stairs . passing the lounge I made eye contact with the mexican staff , just passed the door I heard them speaking spanish ,until three,thirty three was said and then LOL. Laying on the bed watching the satellite TV all night I heard the bathroom noises more frequent and louder ,at on point I went in to take the hair brush so I would not here it being thrown on the counter top , as I looked up into the mirror for a second I saw a young man with a gray tint standing in the bathtub looking back at me . I shut the shower curtain and was to scared to use it till thursday washing with a wash cloth.
at 3 am here went the fire alarm , I was sleeping hard and went back to sleep when a hard knocking on the door woke me . it was Ronald and the fire captain . they were saying the fire alarm was triggered by the switch near my door although it was a glass vile type that would break if you pulled it down spraying the person with dye and this one was fine . The captain walked into my room looked around and left .I shut the door in Ron’s face ,still giving me a ear full . I was so groggy ,I think they knew I didn ‘t do it .
Wednesday morning walking down the hall a door open and shut 8 ft behind me at the lobby they only had a bagel so hard a dog couldn’t eat it . They informed me they were not driving me to the training center so I had to call them to get a ride . we had a loud argument about the fire alarm .
Wednesday night I stayed out until 8:45 pm ,there were bars and restaurants close by . arriving at the stairs they had 5-6 laundry carts blocking them . I watched TV but I heard now that a couple was in a room 2 or 3 rooms down ,just talking loud . It would start up for 10 -15 minutes then quit for 30-45 and start again .It almost sounded as it was in different rooms many times , a young couple too. Also I saw a silvery powder on the fire alarm trigger by my room
I barely touched it and my finger tip turned blue . laid off the alcohol but had cokes and I think it kept me up ,So when again at 3 am the alarm sounded I was out of bed , this F ing alarm , I wanted a discount . I dressed some and headed out the door down the hall I heard a door slam again but the hallway was dimly lit passed the stairs then I see a young man and a woman running away to the stairwell at the end of the hallway ,wearing white pants and shirt her dress was white big at the bottom ,like a wedding dress. I chased after them thinking they set off the alarm at the stairs. I got a bad feeling about going after and turned back and the hair stood up on my back of the neck ,I ran back to room 333.
the room phone sounded and Ron said "stay there were coming up"
minutes later Ronald beat on the door , I opened it and he and the fire chief asked me questions were was I ,did I set it off , the captain came in looking at my room but left to look at the switch . I tried to tell them of the couple doors down and that they ran but he was not going to listen to that . The captain turned to leave, but stopped looking at the next room door then turned back asking Ronald " you put him in 333 ?" Ronald could not hold back a smirking grin . the captain looked disgusted and left . we argued some more and I slammed the door .
Thursday was quiet no room doors slamming ,no fire alarm at 3 am , no noise in the bathroom
Friday morning I packed up then gladly headed to the lobby to check out . There the assistant managers told me the manager is coming to check you out . When he arrived I could tell a fight was coming . He wanted a credit card ,I said I only have cash , he wanted to charge a huge amount saying I set the fire alarms off costing them hundreds ,I said lets go to court . He tells me he has contacted area hotels giving them my name and that I would not be welcome at them anymore .
I told him of the couple that was in a nearby room and had ran away after the alarm sounded .
He said "Sir you were the only one in that wing " we went around and around I was in a hurry to catch the van ,then he says -we are going to have to check your room for damages ,tells a clerk go check 329 . I said wait ,I was in room 333 . he says -no sir the key is 329 Ronald had wrote down the room as 329 also in a ledger . About this time a PYT assistant starts moving away from the manager trying to exit . I explain that Ronald gave me this key and I stayed in 333 he says you could not have stayed in room 333 we don’t use it anymore . I said ", go see it does not fit 329 I tried it ,I stayed in room 333 it fits 333"
I could see the wheels turning in this guys head, he called the girl over that was trying to flee
he was getting furious but not at me now , he asked her "Is this what has been going on all week ,Get Ronald in here or on the phone ! NO ! get him here Now! "
he rang up the bill ,I paid and headed for the door . the girl says to the manager "are we going to start renting out three thirty three again" with a smirk .

At the school about 1:20 Kojak drives up and a call comes in for me that my limo is here i head out I told him my flight isn’t until 6:45 pm Kojack says I have it at 3:15 . We find Gene was trying to get me to miss my flight and Kojak was right .
We sat there 15 minutes as he was trying to get a hold of another fair . we had talked nonstop from the HJ to Budget Inn on Sunday and we started again . I asked him how he got the acting job on Kojak . he said he was telly Savalis’s limo driver in real life and he wanted him on the show . He asked how I liked Chicago . I said it’s great except for the Budget Inn . he says yea there are a lot of history/story’s about that place . I mentioned the fire alarm and how rude they were.
then I asked " what happened in room 333 ?" Kojak started to answer but said only bad things happened there . he said what did you hear about it ? I said nothing really but I know something went on . he asked how was your room , what room did you get ? I said "three thirty three"
he softly said "No you didn’t ?" "yea I did" I said .
He put the car in gear and drove to Ohare, never saying another word .

I’m particularly interested in the ouija board stories, I’m a complete skeptic when it comes to that kind of thing but when I was a teenager I had a experience that made me question that belief. It’s commonly thought that the glass movements are caused by unconscious manipulation on the the part of the attendees, but the stuff that happened to me (and by the sounds of it, others in this thread) defy that explanation.
3 friends and I were bored one summer night at my house (parents were out) so we decided to try a board and see what happened (a decision I would regret whilst trying to sleep that night).
We got 2 apparent spirits, one quite angry and aggressive with the glass who kept saying something like ‘Page 256, line 34’ ; the second claimed to be the friend of one of the boys present who had been killed by a drunk driver the year before. She projected her image (not of death, a nice picture) into my mind and when I saw a picture of the girl another time it was the same, which freaked me out a little bit.
The scary bits are after we had finished, those of us who were wearing any jewellery or other metal found red, sore rashes on our skin under rings, chains, ear-rings etc. as if we had been burnt. Even worse, while we were sitting in the kitchen we heard a noise from the living room which scared us shitless as all four of us were in the same room. We rushed into the living room and found a dictionary had popped out of the bookshelf onto the floor, I’m sure you can guess what page it was open on.
The frustrating thing is that that 20 years later I can no longer remember the exact page or line, and anyway it would only work with that one dictionary. I forget the exact word we were pointed to but it was an ancient name for the devil that I have never heard before or since as it’s so uncommon. I’m 100% positive that , should the devil exist, he has better things to do than scare a bunch of teenagers but the fact remains that some strange force messed with our minds.
As I say, I’m normally skeptical of this kind of thing but I can find no logical explanation for what happened, unless doing something like a ouija board focuses telekenetic energy in a way we have not yet discovered – that’s the only non-spirit explanation I’ve ever been able to come up with.

For Halloween here is another ghost story, this one about my dad .
It also took place in the summer of 71,August I’m thinking. He worked at the biggest dept. store around, in their warehouse doing furniture repairs , also his brother did upholstery work there. The warehouse was located in the west bottoms district one of the oldest in KC ,it was a large 4-5 story stone and brick mortar building with oak plank floors . Some buildings there were built in the last quarter of the 1800’s and this one was too I believe.
One day they had a bring your kid to work day, really a 6 hour day, with a big lunch. I stayed around Dad at his work space but at the lunch about a dozen workers and office staff were starring at me strangely ,I am sure the story’s I listed before were told there probably by my uncle and every one knew ,wanted to get a look at me .
A worker came up to me later when I was next to Dad working trying to assist and with a grin wanted me to go back down a hall of sorts and look for a bucket . Dad lightly said No ,but I said okay
He snickered as I walked away I walked down this drive like area in the building and turned the corner where they kept the service van ,the forklift ,floor sweeper machine ,there was a work bench too and janitor tools . it was dimly lit only by a window 12 ‘ up as the lights were off . There was a wooden bucket , but it looked a hundred years old and was missing a piece in the bottom , I saw no other serviceable bucket ,so I went half way back and told the guy this he said find a bucket again ,I saw no reason for getting it and headed back to them . He said he wanted to see it so we walked back there but it was gone,which I could not figure out ,it was just there . the guy wanted to know exactly how it looked and his face lost color.
this place gave me the creeps too, so we headed back ,turning the corner now 5 or 6 other coworkers were starring at me . An hour or so later we went home .
That winter I was roped into going Rabbit hunting with dad ,his brother , and a new co worker from the warehouse . They were drinking a beer or two and eating a sandwich taking a break from killing rabbits and the new guy asked about the place where they kept the van and forklift ,which got my attention . Dad and his brother grinning said oh some people say it is haunted back there . we had a old janitor for years said it was ,he retired and then we couldn’t keep the position filled ,they quit saying it was too creepy a place to work , strange noises etc. for a while when the manager went to lock the door at night he kept hearing a noise like a broom knocked over or such coming from that area and we found a very old bucket back there no one knows how it got there. One day as the manager arrived he heard a noise and called police who surrounded the building but found nothing. I then knew what the wooden bucket thing was about that day.
In summer of next year ,one week day Dad drove the service van home and left our Impala at work ,he said I need to pick up chemicals tomorrow morning for work . he showed me the van and gave me a ride to the store and back ,it was a brand new one had the company name on the front ,in back were only a pile of furniture pads , a 2′ tool box some cardboard boxes with spray cans etc. ,behind the seats was a wall of parts drawers to near the top . He said watch the clock in the dash ,see if it stops running explaining that it has quit running 3 times but the shop can’t seem to fix or find anything wrong with it .
The next day ,I out riding my bike came home about 11 am to see Dad’s car in the drive . Going inside I find dad is in bed trying to sleep,mom says to leave him alone Dad it appeared had a few drinks of whiskey to do that .
At 5 pm the KC star gets here ,on the front page was a photo of a crime scene where two people were killed in a robbery at a chemical supply store south of downtown, in the photo parked in the street was the van my dad was driving.
Days later just me and Dad driving in the car he told me about the event. he left home at 7am that day to get to the chemical supply place before 8am so he could be 1 or 2 in line to buy the naptha ,stain ,varnish in 5 galon drums .
soon after leaving home though ,he hears some scratching coming from inside the back of the van but ignores it , thinking it is a branch under the van ,then a door handle seems to be rattling . he pulls over and carefully stares through the back and only window of the panel van ,then opens the door seeing nothing and cannot understand what the noises were . he drove this van every Friday on house calls and never heard it before . Checking the back took 2 minutes, back on the road he arrives at the supply store which is in a somewhat residential section of town and not a great one at that. Parked out on the street as he starts into the place he see’s a man from another rival dept. store, shot dying on the walk ,inside the one clerk is too and he said if I had not stopped to check out the strange noise I would have been dead too.

creepy..