Christmas Card from A Wyoming Executed Killer

Investigating my family history led me to an old trunk, which was filled with loose papers and articles from over the years.  My father collected everything, including clippings from various newspapers.  In the bottom of the truck, we found a series of folders containing the writings and letters, and a Christmas Card from Wyoming convicted and executed killer, Mark Hopkinson.  My father told me of the story, he had been communicating with Hopkinson.  The papers are authentic, and have a bit of tarnish to the paper.  Much of print has been preserved, since it was on the bottom of the trunk. 
January 1992, Wyoming death row inmate Mark Hopkins was executed by lethal injection; which was the only in Wyoming since 1965. Hopkins was given three life sentences for the 1977 home bombing deaths of Evanston Attorney, Vincent Vehar and his family, and was given the death sentence for the 1979 murder of Jeffrey Green. Green was murdered two days before he was to testify against Hopkinson.
For several years, Mark Hopkinson and Al Hamburg exchanged letters about his case and Hamburg always believed there was something fishy about the testimony of the only eye witness against Hopkinson. Mike Hickey, who claimed Hopkinson black mailed him to bomb the Vehar home because Hopkinson knew that 22 year old Hickey and another unidentified male from Evanston, raped and killed a 15 year old girl, Kellie Wychase, then skinned the girl like she was a game animal.
Attorney Gerry Spence was appointed as special prosecutor to give Hopkinson the death sentence. Mike Hickey was granted immunity for the Vehar home bombing and plead guilty to the killing of the 15 year old girl, which he received 20 years in prison to be served in another state under a different name.
Today, Hickey, resides on his inherited family farm near Lonetree, Wyoming.
The other young man that took part in the rape and murder of Wychase was never revealed or charged with these crimes. Letters indicate that the unnamed individual was family to the local investigator.
Al Hamburg wrote letters to the Evanston newspaper, calling for justice for Kellie Wychase; hence, after the letters were published, a woman called Hamburg three times, threatening him.
At the time of the Jeff Green murder, Mark Hopkinson was in a Federal Prison in California.

The State of Wyoming claimed: Hopkinson's friend, Hap Russell, sent two men after Green and kill him.
1990, an Evanston jury convicted Hap Russell; which he was given life in prison; however the Wyoming State Supreme Court overturned the conviction; he was tried again and given life in a second trial. He died of a heart attack before beginning his sentence.
In one of Hopkinson's last court motions, for denial of due process and equal protection of the law; which stated.
"In Sept, 1979 complaint was convicted of ordering unknown killers to kill Jeff Green. The prosecution scenario used in obtaining the conviction was that complaint had hired Hap Russell to hire John Sueasta to hire unknown killers.
Unita County Sheriff, Leonard Hysell, was involved in the investigation, loading up to complainant's trial and conviction in 1979.  After the trial in '79, Sheriff Hysell was in charge of the investigation of the unknown killers. In 1982, he identified the killers as Al Harrison and Joe Vilipondo.  Under oath, he testified he knew who killed the Jeff Green.  In which they were to be arrested and charged., the sworn testimony about the arrest of the killers was at my retrial on the death sentence in Teton County.

In 1983, Leonard Munker, the Wyoming Public Defender was allowed to look at the D.C.I. reports, which showed law enforcement could not connect Hopkinson to Jeff Green's murder or to the known killers of Jeff Green.
In 1983, Val Brinkerhoff, an investigator for the Public Defender's office, obtained evidence that Al Harrison and Joe Vilipondo were the individuals who picked up Green on the day he disappeared and was murdered.
Hysell's position as sheriff and as an individual in charge of the investigation of Jeff Green's murder required him to come forth and admit and correct his perjured testimony. Hysell, by his perjured testimony which covered for Green's killers and allowed the perpetuation of a false conviction has and is denying Mark Hopkinson due process and equal protection of the law." Wrote Hopkinson. 
This was Mark Hopkinson's last motion to save his life and it failed and 20 years after his execution, the killers of Jeff Green have never been arrested.
The motions and letters from Mark Hopkinson to Al Hamburg are available for purchase.  In recent years collectors of gore, ghouls, and grizzly deeds have been marketed.  Here is a tidbit. If interested email me.

The Mystic of Horsetooth Mountain

Traveling up the mountain West County Road 38E, just ten minutes from Fort Collins, is a place called Al's Canyon Grill.  The Canyon Grill is a special place for me, it has grounded me and given me peace that I have not felt.  As I drive I see the mountain scape and feel the wonders of the world that I  had not felt, since I was twenty.  The serene atmosphere gives me hope; which I look forward to the next week on the mountain.  As I turn the bend, I gaze at Horsetooth Reservoir.  It too is a wondrous sight.  I finally make it to the restaurant/bar and am greeted by smiling faces and cheerful eyes. 
The past years, I have worked in downtown Fort Collins.  Most of the people whom hangout downtown are not so friendly.  The staff at the Armadillo, which I worked, were less than hospitable.  Condemning and not uplifting.  I thought this was the norm for the Northern Colorado area. 

Until I was introduced to the folks up on the mountain.

Most of the residents have been warm, courteous, and most hospitable.  In my time of need, I was sent to the mountain to get a grip on the hostility of the situation I was living.  The place I worked, Gelazzi, was not going to be around much longer.  This past year, I was struggling with finding other employment and knowing the end for the ice cream shop and my job was fast approaching. 

I received a call.  "Hi, I'm looking for karaoke."  It was a woman's voice. "For this Friday." I was unsure, I had karaoke going on at Gelazzi.  Then I called her back, "OK, I will do it."  I am so grateful that someone was looking out for me.  I can only think my guardian angel sent me to the mountain.

I love going up to the mountain, it is soothing and a place that I like to think has welcomed me into the fold which lives up there.

It is close to Christmas and as I look out at the dark mountain at night I can see the little little lights which flicker from the windows and yards of the residents on one side of the landscape.  It's little Christmas tree lights, and shapes of rain deer lit in greens, reds, and blues.  This sight humbles me as I gaze at the decorations.  Some of those residents may attend karaoke, some may not, but it is a peace I can feel from the whole hill side.

As I gaze up at the night sky, the twinkling of the many stars dance in the heavens.  I can only wish more people can embrace the beauty and wonderment of the Canyon Grill.  My two loves are now up on the mountain: Karaoke and Horsetooth Mountain.

Everything's Sugar and Spice

I keep up a smile, and show no hindrance of what is to come.

The past year or more, I have had a gut feeling, that things were going to change.  It is not a good thing or maybe it is? I had hoped that things would be going my way.  I just need to take the punches.  I have feared that I will not be able to pay my bills and end up on the street.  I guess things are headed exactly there.  I have sought out a different job and have only two different interviews, however, no call backs.  I close my eyes and pray that something will come along, soon.  It's only a matter of days before I will be out of work.  Over the summer, I put in for many different jobs, and the closer to Winter came the more I have dreaded the outcome.

Many people don't understand what I'm feeling or even know, they just see the smile I project.  Deep down, I'm screaming from the top of my lungs, "HELP ME!"  I know they can't  hear from the smile.

I watch as homeless people wander the streets of Fort Collins.  I know they are everywhere, but this hits closer to home.  Judy and her boyfriend are now back on the streets.  She had a job, but I don't know what's come of it.  I see them, huddled together under one blanket; dreading the coming of snow.  I have heard, those who are homeless, try to hang out at businesses to keep warm.  Joe's Coffee Shop is one such business.  While others try to keep warm in their cars, unless they don't have one.  One guy says he drinks too much, because there really is nothing left.  Just his blanket and the occasional dime that hinders his hand.

I read in the paper about the 18,000 people who are losing their jobs at Hostess.  I really don't understand why everyone was picketing.  Its hard to find a job, and even harder to be gainfully employed by a reputable business.  Then I read about how the CEO's were taking the money for themselves and cutting the wages of the employees.  If someone loves a product they should protect the essence of the company and the product.  It seems the machines take for themselves and leave the rest to squander in the muck caused by everyday greed.

I dread the next coming days.  I know I am going to be searching for my next home.  Usually, my home is my job, but I don't think I will have a home soon.  I get on my knees and pray, "God send me something."  Then I get an email from a job I applied, "Sorry, we are looking for someone a bit more closely related to the position."  I look down and want to cry.  The position was for a dishwasher at Chili's.  I don't think you need a degree to wash dishes.  Or maybe you do?  I have washed dishes before, it's really not hard.  I think about it, maybe it's the whole idea of applying for jobs by computer.  The people who do the hiring can just dismiss your application without even looking at it.  They can just tell the computer, I want someone whose age is under thirty for this position.  Or maybe they are seeking a person of a certain background.  I really don't know what they are seeking, but I feel like I'm discriminated against.  At the end of every application they ask what color are  you and if you are under 40. 

Two years ago, my mother, who is in in 60's at the time lost her job, due to the company wanting to hire people out of the half way house.  The people were inmates and they worked for minimum wage and worked all the time.  The reason they wanted to work all the time was to not be in the jail.  She has never found another job.  She went to the McDonald's to put in her application, when she asked for the app, the crew worker looked back at the manager and asked for an application and he shook his head, No!.  Again, was it her age?  Probably.

I thought the law states it is illegal to discriminate.  However, the computer discriminates  because the hiring process is not about the person or who can do a good job, it's about a certain type of quota the business is trying to balance. 

I'm working on filling out applications, however, soon I will just be another lost statistic. 

No Promise, No Guarantee

In the midst of life, I have lived by the idea that you should treat others as you want to be treated.  In that phrase, I can only guarantee that I will be me.  Most people want to live by these words, but in life, there is nothing that a promise can uphold.

In the 80's and 90's, my favorite artist was Laura Branigan.  She came out with a list of albums, in which I would listen to most frequently.  The one song that really touched me was the Song, "No Promise, No Guarantee".  This song talked of a lover whom had been hurt by another.  The lover wanted to move on, but could not, for the fear of being hurt again. In the song, the lover has discovered a new life, but could not give her heart forever, so the song goes, "No Promise, No Guarantee.

This song at the time meant just that, I was hurt too by another and could not get over the pain.  This pain stretched on for years; even today I feel how much that person meant to me. 

I move on.

It seems there is no guarantee in life, whether it is a lover, a friend,  family, jobs, or even heaven. 

It takes me back to the Spring of '79.  I was only a youngster then; but my mom received a call from my dad. He was going to have a visitor and he wanted us to meet her.  When we finally made it to his house, we were introduced to a sister and her young child.  She lived in Massachusetts and had wanted to meet all of us.  Throughout the week, she slowly got to know my family.  She was a half sister who my dad had never mentioned.  During her stay, my father opened up and became more to us then he had before.  She had sparked in him a life that had disappeared many years before I was born.  My memories take me back and I can still see her playing the guitar, singing, and laughing.  She had given us a promise of love, laughter, and a future that I could not see.  That first year after meeting my sister, I felt a love that my household had not felt.  After that, the phone calls quit coming and letters were returned to sender.  I had no animosity towards her, but felt, again, abandoned.  Ten years would pass and the phone calls began again.  I was in my late teens and I was tickled to again be apart of a lost family members life.  She gave me her address again and I would soon write, however, my first letter would only be returned. Years would pass and I received another phone call, she was excited that she had found me.  I had moved to Illinois and she didn't know if it was really me.  I again listened to the promises, but put no guarantee in them.  My experience gave me the truth that her words were not upright.  The past year I had heard more promises, photos were exchanged and even a working address and phone number were given.  Maybe things really changed.  I had made plans to finally make it to California and a stop with her was planned.  It seemed to go well.  I talked on the phone with her for several hours and she was excited that I would be coming to California.  At the end of the phone tag, she exclaimed, "I really don't want anything to do with you." 

"Really," I thought. After all the years of wanting to know me. "Really."

I could only think about the time she came to Wyoming and our first meeting.  The day we drove her to catch her flight, she'd sang to us.  This song I would hear for years.  My dad recorded it on his tape recorder as we went to the airport.  I didn't know if it was a message to him; which was the song by Kenny Loggins, "Please Come to Boston."  It has always been a memory, I'll never forget.  As the years passed, it became more diverse.  At the end of the song, it ended "Please come to L.A."  The end of the song was another place in which she was living, out in California.  I always thought I'd go see her. As fate would have it, no such meeting.  I had the promise of the song, being by the seaside, looking out over the ocean.

Time to move on.

Love of family is supposed to be a guarantee, but the love of your life is a shot in the dark.

Once a lover told me we would be forever.  I remember desiring the love of another, but again fate would break my heart.  As we watched the geese late in the afternoon, we embraced in the stillness of the warmth of the Wyoming sun.  I asked if we were to be together, and the promise was forever.  The promise really doesn't mean much.  After a few years of one soul and togetherness, it became a tearing of my heart.  To cry for another human being is worthy of heaven.  Isn't it?

Promises are always just that, Promises.  They really don't mean much.  I was promised that moving from a place that I considered heaven, would be a great change.  The promise has turned into hell.  I know Fort Collins is a place considered to be the number one place in the U.S. However, the dream of prosperity has been smothered by the false promise.  I watch as the homeless wander the sidewalks.  I often wonder, will that be me? The jobs are almost Nil and prosperity has almost withered into oblivion.  The place I work is up for sale, but I don't know if it will be.  So I wait, wonder, and grind my teeth.  I have sought out other opportunities, however, the last interview I had, had 150 people on the roster.  I don't know what my chances of finding work is, but I am not holding my breath.  I wanted Obama to fulfill his promises of American Jobs, but again, empty promises.  I was always told that if you work hard there would be a job for you.  I guess that's not true anymore. 

All that is left is the promise of heaven.  The promise for a better life is almost sucked away, so all that I have is the promise of God and Heaven.  Will God allow me to be in heaven?  I don't know; but this is the only hope I have left.  God and the promise of heaven. 

Again, there really is no guarantee.

Through Eyes of Angels

Our lives seems to be connected in some way.  We meet people that help us along and when times seem rough, those whom we meet are a reflection of who we are or to become.   We should cherish those whom we meet, for they may only be a part of our existence for only a short time. 

September 2011, Unknowingly I decided to road trip to Denver.  It was exciting to go down to the city and hang out with my friend, Vin (aka Ravina).  Vin was a second cousin that I  had met the past spring. I had found her  through my family history search and decided to contact her to check with her family if she had any photos or stories that she may have.  She too, was interested in genealogy and our family lines.  I did not know if the address I obtained on the Internet was a valid one, but I wrote her any way.  We had hung out several times of the Summer and texted. In one text, she wrote, "How's my beautiful, cousin."   I was grateful to have found Vin, she had a few stories that I could put down and had her grandmother's photo album.  Our grandmothers' were sisters.  I had hoped to have found a photo of my grandparents in here album, but no luck on that end.  I exited off 84th Ave and drove toward her home, I parked in the King Soopers parking lot off of 84th and Pecos. I began texting, "Hey Vin, I'm in Denver and would like to come see ya?" I sat for a few moments, and a reply came. "Sorry Hon. I don't feel well. I just got out of the hospital."  The cancer, which had been in remission was back.  She had been dealing with the cancer, but the fight was now on the disease's side; which had now spread throughout her body.  "Okay," I replied, "Maybe some other time, I'll be back down." 

I sat in the parking lot for a few moments.  I felt a sadness which over came me, I had hoped to laugh again with Vin, but as fate would have it, it was not meant to be. I looked up at the sunset which came through the scattered clouds. The red hughes over came my thoughts, and a few drops of rain began to fall. I turned on the radio and a ragga version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" began to play.

"There's a land that I've heard of; once in a lullaby."

Tears began to streak down my face.  I texted back, "I'll be sending you good thoughts." Her reply was, "Thanks, Hon."

I sat until the song was over and I could compose myself to drive.  The announcer came on shortly after and told of a stand off in Reno.  A couple of biker gangs at a rally in Reno had began a shoot out in a casino. The Nevada National Guard were called in and police were at a standstill with the out of control members.  I turned off the radio, and thought, "This world is crazy." I went back thinking good thoughts for my cousin.

2012 rolled in and I was thinking about her on New Years. I again texted, I had hoped maybe she could come out and celebrate the New Year's at a bar downtown Denver. I never heard back, I received word from her sister on Facebook, Vin went into a coma on New Years Eve and passed away on her birthday, Jan 4.  I was saddened by the news, but still wished I could talk to her again. I got a call from her Aunt, and we agreed that it was best the suffering was over.

A few months rolled by and I had never forgot about Vin.  I would see her photo on Facebook and wish she were still here.  I began to delete all my friends on FB, and when it came down to Vin, I said goodbye.  I then said, "Thank you for everything," I continued, "but how could have you left me here on this planet."  I cursed her for leaving.  I don't know why I became so emotional over a person whom I only recently met. "I love  you,"  I continued. After my moment of grief, I received a phone call.  The voice on the other line said, "Hi Mike, this is your cousin, Claudia."  Claudia was another cousin that I noticed on Ancestry.com in another tree.  She was my grandmother's sister granddaughter from another line.  I replied, with "Hey."

I could not believe that I was upset with Vin and in that same evening I get a call from another cousin.  Who would believe? Maybe Vin was looking out for me, or maybe an angel had put us together.  Who knows how the workings of the Universe gives us what we need. I needed a friend at that moment.

Several months passed and we had been chatting on the phone.  Claudia suggested that I come out to California.  I was hesitant with such a trip, but I decided to fly out and meet the cousins that I had met on the phone the previous year.  I did not know what to expect, but they were willing to entertain me while I was there.  I had made plans with Vin for this trip, however, she went with me in spirit.

As I stepped on the plane, my heart was pounding.  I was reluctant to go on this trip.  Maybe it was going to be a disaster.  I had made alternative plans if things did not work out.  I was going to grab the next greyhound, back to Colorado.  In the back of my mind, however, a voice told me everything was going to be okay.  I closed my eyes and told myself just that, "every things going to be okay."

I heard that song again. "...When you wish upon a star..."

I had been greeted with smiles and excitement.  Cousin Ernie picked me up at the airport and at the moment I climbed into the jeep I knew I didn't need my alternative.  The whole weekend with as if we had known each other for years.  Claudia had driven from California to pick me up and she too met cousins that she did not know.  It was an impromptu family reunion of distant relatives, but also meeting of new friends.  I told Ernie about my hesitancy and he replied, "I was really looking forward to this meeting."

Driving from Reno to California was full of laughter. Claudia and I laughed all the way.  It was as if, again, we had been friends forever.  It seems someone was watching over me. The week flew by, I had accomplished most of what I needed to do. I collected many photos, many many distant cousins, and visited great grandpa's headstone. In the years past I visited great grandma's headstone in Gering, Nebraska, but never thought that I would get the chance to visit with great grandpa in his residence at the Stockton Cemetery.  In previous times in Gering, I always asked great grandma to help me in my quest for answers and it seems she has always delivered. I know a little about the past and have met many relatives along the way. Now I had the chance to ask great grandpa.

The rustle of the leaves seems to be the whispers in the graveyard.  The Stockton Cemetery, however is lined with palm trees.  Much care has been taken on the upkeep of this cemetery. The grass is always trimmed and the headstones are well kept. Claudia and I visited great grandpa and also her grandmother and grandfather, Lydia and Samuel.

As we sat by out great grandparent's headstone, we brushed away the soil from the marker.  She told her story from the last time she was in Reno.  She went to Reno for a convention and was staying at a casino hotel with her husband.  While her husband was napping in the room, she went down to play some slots.  The casino was full of bikers and patrons of the hotel.  She had heard shots between the dings of the slot machines.  The whole casino was under fire from one biker gang shooting at another.  During the commotion, she and fellow patrons turned over a blackjack table and hid behind from the spraying of bullets.  At that moment, she said, she didn't know what was to happen.  Feeling fear she could only pray to get out of there.  Many of those trying to flee were shot as they tried to get away.

Claudia's sister-in-law witnessed as a man was shot to death.  He fell in front of her hiding place.  The casino was filled with the sounds of terror; beneath the sirens and bells of the slot machines.  The 18 hours of fear ended as the lead biker blew his head off in the skirmish.  Claudia made her way over to her sister and discovered the bloody lifeless body of the man and touching his hand, to see if he were still alive. This night changed her life.

This moment linked us together, which may have been a subtle overtone, but somehow, my prayers for Vin reached the Universe and may have helped Claudia.  Maybe it was just a random event, but maybe those who are watching looked out for the three of us.  I am uncertain of that which may lie beyond the physical realm, but I can feel that certainty of the great beyond. 

The day I flew back to Colorado from Sacramento, Claudia thanked be for doing my family research.  It had brought us together. We may only be distant cousins, but in our hearts we are siblings. "We may only have the phone," she said, "but we will have this memory."

"Where happy little bluebirds fly, why oh why, can't I." The song continued.

Al Hamburg of Wyoming

I have heard for many years how horrible my father is by the community of Torrington, Goshen County, Wyoming. However, he is a great man.  He cares for other people, loves his family, and helps those in need. I have always had to live with his antics, sometimes his actions made sense and sometimes they did not.  Oh well, I say. He's my dad.

Al Hamburg was born in Gering, Nebraska in 1932 to German Russian immigrants, Conrad and Margaret Hamburg, one of 18 siblings.  Growing up in Nebraska during the Great Depression was a struggle for his family.  The family farmed outside of Huntley, Wyoming and lost the family farm during that time.  They returned back to Gering to continue to live impoverished and hungry. The family house Hamburg was born was built by Heinrich Hamburg which was located on 4th street in Gering, just Cati cornered from the Lutheran Church, which was also built by Great Grandpa. Heinrich and his family came to America in 1903, including his wife, Mary; two older sons, Heinrich, Jr., and John; daughters, Margaret, Mary, and baby Lidia; in which they traveled from Ellis Island to Winnipeg, Canada, from there they traveled by train, south, to Hastings, Nebraska. By 1910, the family had grown to include, Ester and Victor.  Grandma, (Margaret), worked at the cigar factory, until she became pregnant, at the age of 13, by the owner of the company. In those days, there were no child labor laws and people took advantage of the poor immigrants which had no rights.  Her first son, Henry was born in 1915 and she married her first cousin, Conrad, to keep him in the country. By 1920, the family moved to Gering, to be closer to Margaret's parents, whom lived in Gering. Her father, by trade, was a carpenter, he built the Lutheran Church, the three houses on fourth street, and a wide variety of furniture for the German community.  Some say he made money off the other German Russian immigrants in which he would sponsor friends and relatives to come to the US for a price.

The 1930's were especially tough, not much work was available,  providing food for the family was increasingly tough.  As a young child, Hamburg, needed to find food where ever he could.  Most of the men in the U.S. were out of work. Those who could joined the service, all of his older brothers had already left home and were somewhere in the branch they were serving.  Hamburg, thought about his brothers, wishing, he were older and in the service.  He'd go to the nickel show at the Gering Theatre and watch all the war movies.  Telling his friends about his older brothers and wishing he were somewhere with them.  The money he'd earn was from picking up coal along the rail which had fallen off the trains.  The going rate for a bag of coal was 25 cents, which took most of the day walking up and down the tracks.  On one occasion, he took a bag over to his Uncle Vic's home, which he was paid the quarter.  When Victor went out to the shed, he found that his bag of coal was missing.  He thought that he got a deal for the coal, but just paid for his own sack.

Memories are like waves, which come go, as the water reaches the shores and dissipates with the tide.  The first memories Al has is looking into the coffin of his grandmother, Mary.  She had been sick for a long time and passed away in her home.  The mourners from the community came to the house and viewed her body, before she was sent to the Fairview Cemetery.  He was only two years old and his mother was holding as she made her peace with her mother. He often refers to this as his first memory, and wishes for the love only a grandmother can give.  In '37,  he overheard a heated argument with his mother and grandfather.  He was upset that Conrad, (his father), had cheated the church.  Using old paint and only coated the church with out priming it. Once the minister confronted Conrad, he then assaulted the priest.  "I told you not to marry him," great grandpa stated.  Margaret was up set and could not answer her father. A five year old listening to this could only imagine the worst. In the conversation, he also referred to the child as the devil.

The ghost of yesteryear always bring back the times of his grandpa, pitting Al against cousin Marvin.  He'd remember the times of being hit by his cousin as the grown ups watched.  Heinrich, (Grandpa Hamburg), would yell, "hit him Marvin.'  He was also his grandson, why didn't he feel as much for Al as he did for Marvin.  I guess, because, Marvin was the only true Hamburg in his eyes.  Conrad was the son of his brother.  The brother that went to war with the Russian Army fighting the Japanese in 1905, held captive and escaped the POW camps, however died from starvation and the cold Russian Winter.

Winter in Gering was blistery cold.  Not much to do except get into trouble.  He and his cousins would always hang out downtown, or head over to the North Platte River.  In winter the water would freeze and become a skating park for the local children.  Toward the beginning of March the ice began to thaw.  The locals would still be trying to get out on the ice.  Al and Marvin still wanted to feel the ice beneath their feet; however, Al fell through.   He could hear the ice crack and he went under. Bobbing up and down, he went under the icy shelf.  He looked through the sheer ice and thought he saw his cousin laughing.  Panic stricken, he did not know what to do.  However, Uncle Vic came to the rescue, pulling him out from under the ice.

Rooshian (Russian) Town is what Gering was known.  Most of the residents were poor German Russians whom were discriminated against by the town folk of Scottsbluff.  It was as if these two communities were separate countries.  The people of Scottsbluff never ventured over the bridge to Gering and the Gering residents were not welcome on the other side.  The Town of Gering had it's own businesses for the residents, a bakery, the local grocer, movie house, a newspaper (The Gering Courier) and taverns. It wasn't until the 1950's that the mix of people became evident.  Most of the residents whom made it to the Scottsbluff side of the river lost their identities and never associated with their Gering Brothers.  Indoor plumbing and electricity was only available to the Scottsbluff side, too.  Cousin Velma Ruth told how she still used the outhouse in the cold winter, while her cousin across the river had an indoor toilet and a large bath tub to bath.  Her nights were spent by the coal burning stove and read by candle light.

After Uncle Vic moved away in '45, Al had lost his support of any family members.  Conrad was abusive and his mother Margaret was in denial.  He then turned into  the local thug, robbing and stealing what he could to survive.  He was sent to Boys Town, Nebraska, to serve his time in a correctional institution for young boys.  There he was abused by the Nuns, whom ran the facility.  Every night, they would come and beat the boys, saying it was what God wanted.  Lashings from whips, rulers, and the occasional paddle would keep the boys in line.  One Sister beat one boy for having too many pimples on his face, she stated,  "pimples were the cause of masturbation."  After doing his time in Boys Town, he returned to Gering, where he started where he picked up.  The judge asked if he wanted to be sent to the big house in Lincoln or join the army.  He then enlisted to fight the Koreans and Chinese; where he earned several medals including a purple heart. 

After finishing his tour of duty, he returned home to find his wife and two children disappeared.  Apparently, she had run off with another man and moved to California.  He had no clue, however, in the mid 1960's he received word that his daughter, Joanna, had been hit by a car and was in the hospital.  He then drove out to see his little girl.  However was greeted by a shotgun from his wife's father and boyfriend.  He only wanted to see Joanna.  Since Anna had left, he began a new life in Nebraska.  He had a new wife and two children, Loretta and Albert. 

The thoughts of his other family never strayed from his mind.

The news of Vietnam was all the headlines.  Al wanted to feel the glory he once had in Korea; however he was over the age of enlistment.  He then enlisted as his brother, Howard.  Howard lived in Minnesota with his family and never knew any of this occurred.  During the conflict, Al had saved his platoon from annihilation.  The news hit every newspaper in the U.S. The Star-Herald reported that Howard Hamburg fought bravely and aided in the troops in victory in the skirmish.  Mrs. Hamburg read the paper and knew that it was not Howard, but Albert over in Vietnam.  She reported this to the Army.  Al never forgave his mother.  After he finished the tour, he returned home and the Army imprisoned him for impersonating his brother. 

After he served his time, he returned home to Torrington, Wyoming to his wife and two children.  There he lead a life as a house painter and father.  He would then have three more boys, Michael, Raymond and Russell. 

During the 1970's, he began a campaign to run for office.  He ran for Wyoming Senate and Congress. He would blast candidates in articles he would write to every newspaper in the state, stating that the elected officials were corrupt and on the take from corporations.  He would attack these constituents with every word he could muster.  One such representative was Dick Cheney.  Cheney had become Hamburg's arch nemesis.  Cheney wrote a paragraph about him in his autobiography.  I remember meeting Cheney and his family in the 70's. They were at a 'meet a candidate' picnic on a rainy Sunday in Goshen County.  I remember being locked in an outhouse by Mary as we played hide-n-seek that morning.

The Ronald Regan era came into play.  I remember watching Ronald Regan on TV. Americans were losing jobs and all the President was concerned about was the "Star Wars" project.  He wanted to have a missile defense that would thwart off an atomic attack from the Russians or was it Aliens.  It seemed the presidency was run by the big corporations.  We all learned later he had Alzheimer's and could not run his own brain or even the country.

The Air Force had come to Torrington to inform the county that Minute Man Missiles would be installed all over Wyoming.  Hamburg was upset about the idea that Wyoming would be the target of any missiles coming from the Soviet Union.  In protest, he attended the meeting.  When the Air Force representative would speak he would blow a duck call.  He was escorted from the conference, however, the news of this reached every newspaper, making him a hero to Americans who didn't want a missile in their back yard.

Dad has run for office many times, but never won. 

He always said bad publicity was good publicity; people will always remember.  An article came out in the "National Enquirer"; about Cars for Stars.  The article was about how a man in Wyoming was suing a woman for not completing the required amount of stars.  That story was about Al, he had made a contract with a woman for a car.  She would have to do so many sexual favors for the title of the car.  She did not finish and so he took her to court.  The court ruled that she did not need to finish this contract and it was null and void.  She got the car.  This story reached across the country and many were amused by these antics.

During the 1990's a letter from Belgium was received in the mail.  It was from a soldier from Belgium whom served with Hamburg in the Korean War.  He sent a letter, telling him that he recently found Hamburg and wanted to give him a medal he received from the Belgium Government for Valor during the conflict.  He had saved not only his platoon, but the lives of other soldiers from other countries. The Medal was sent to him as well as the letter of heroism.  His friend had accepted the honor and vowed to find him to give him the medal.

Dad turned 80 this year. He has had a heart attack, lived through two wars, and is still kicking.  He is running for Senate again this year.  He says he made it to eighty and that is just gravy on the whole thing called life.  He never thought he'd make it this far, but life keeps him going.  He sits outside his house in Torrington thinking about yesteryear.  At night he sits in front of his old manual typewriter and plucks out articles to send to the newspapers in hopes, maybe, they will be published.

Tears for Serenity

"God, Grant me the Serenity..."

Looking up at the night sky, the 1/8th moon had risen about a quarter of the way, just below Venus with her twinkling eye shown ever so bright and Jupiter was following her. I could only think about how beautiful the sky seemed, I had not noticed the shining gems for many years; however, I now could see the beauty once again. Everyday existence has become harder and harder to bear, I too, have lost the hope that I secretly desire. I yearn for the days when I could see the colors of the rainbow or the twinkling of the night sky. The universe, with all it wonders, seems to repel my magnetism. As with the planets around our sun, they orbit and dance around, some keeping time and others slow to move. Just as with the stars and planets, people move in a similar fashion. They move around each other, some are magnetized towards each other and sometimes, repelled. The slow moving Venus has no magnetic pull; she just travels slowly, with the occasional meeting of a comet. My own magnetism seems to work ever so slowly, with the occasional meeting of minds.

Days are spent working and trying to make my world a better place, I long for the connections from other people. Some come in and chat a bit, while others just come in to browse. None seem to inquire about me. So I watch and wait for the next connection. When business is slow, I periodically gaze out the window of my fish bowl. On goers pass by the window without a hint of interest. Sometimes wishing I could be out in the world instead of circling my sunken treasure and wrecked ship. When no one is around, I will say hello to the people out on the street, even though they can't hear me through the glass. Not much to dream about when I eventually go home to slumber.

"...to Accept the things I cannot Change."

The rut I have dug myself into, has given me dread for the next day. I would like to just sleep. So before I leave for the fish bowl, I ask the universe and God for a little help to get me through the day. "Please make my day just a little better, please send me some kind of change." I say my prayer and drive off to work. I have a smile on my face, just knowing something is gonna come along that will make things just a bit better. As I make it through the day, I realize, I just made it through. Nothing really to tell, but I know I will be soon home and ready to start all over.

Last Thursday, I felt really good, I knew something different was to happen. After I finished work, I decided I needed a pack of smokes. I waited in line at the counter at the Mini Mart. The fellow a head of me decided to wait a moment as I left the counter. "May I buy a cigarette from you?" He asked as he handed me a quarter. He asked then if I could give him a ride home. He said he only lived about a few blocks from the store. I really wanted to just say no, but something inside me said I would be alright. "Sure!" I exclaimed.

We drove the distance and I put the truck in park. "My name is Gary," he stated. I looked at the time on the clock on the radio. "Would you like to drive around for a bit," he continued. I thought about it for a second and he explained that he lived in a house of death. His mother, had MS and his Aunt was taking care of her. He said that he really didn't want to go into the house and feel the sickness that was over the house. Everyone was waiting to die and he just couldn't take it. I too felt the same, I wanted to get out and just be in the company of someone who understood, and to feel alive again. He said, "I'll be right back." Getting out of the truck and returning with a guitar. "This is my baby." Holding the instrument close to his chest. He began strumming the strings of it. "I traded my AK 47 for a guitar." He added. Gary had served in the Marines during the first Gulf War, he said he didn't want to talk about it.
A couple hours past and Gary and I had struck up a friendship; it had been a long time since I had bonded with another human. We talked about politics, his girlfriend, my orientation, and about music. Mostly about music. We had similar tastes, he and I both agreed that Annie Lennox was the bomb. She had the most beautiful instrument, her voice. He said, "those 'Idol' bitches never sing Annie. They never have the range that she has and I doubt any of them will."

He began to perform with the guitar again. Singing some George Michael covers. He stop for a minute to tell me more about his own music, and began to play again.

This was kind of nice, I thought. I was sent a friend to chat with. He didn't care about me being gay, just that I was a friend. He too had some things he talked about that might make people feel uneasy, but I didn't feel that. The past is the past I told him.


Gary began dancing around, saying how he loved looking at the stars. I was intrigued and reminiscent about the situation, but I needed to get home. Let's go, I told Gary. As we got back on the road, he said, "you are my friend, Mike. I think we are gonna be friends for a long time."
"I think so, too." I replied.
Once we returned to Fort Collins, he said he wanted to show me something. He had me pull behind the bank on College Ave. He said to point my headlights around the lamp post. When he didn't see what he was looking for, he jumped out of the truck. He said to get out. We walked over to the area he was talking about. He stated there was a memorial with flowers planted around the post, but someone has taken them away already. The memorial was for a friend of his whom committed suicide a few days earlier. He said he was 24 years old and had laid down on the tracks. The train had severed his head from his body. He didn't know if he was drunk or on something, but if he was sober, he had more balls than anyone he knew. From what he understood, people watched this young man do this to himself and didn't have the courage to stop him. It didn't even appear in the local paper. Gary suggested that he was going to make a new memorial for this fellow and put it back where it was placed earlier.
When I got him back to his house, he said that he wanted my number. I was honored that anyone would call me. We exchanged numbers and said to make sure we kept in touch.

"The Courage to Change the things I can..."

Looking up to the stars makes one seem so minute; does the order of the universe affect every detail or is it just random. Events that transpired with another friend unveiled themselves in the next day. Nick, had decided he too did not like the way the world had treated him. With an overdose of his medication he was going to leave this world and his friends behind. I could not believe he had done such an act. His life was just starting over again, he had a new job, friends, and more of a life to look forward.

I sobbed, "Why would you leave us behind?" Again, the Universe in all it's randomness, has no answers. Maybe the new friend was sent to replace the loss of another.

Needing to find solitude from the chaos, I invited Gary to hang out.  "Where do you want to go?" Asked Gary.  I really had no plan, but he suggested we go to Denver.  On a whim I drove that direction.  The sun was shining and a good day was about to unfold.

Strumming away my pain, the music man played for a bit. More notes came out and he began to sing. The guitar was a bit of out of tune, he mentioned it, but played anyway. As we drove, we came to a point where the Rocky Mountains were the most glorious. The tops were covered with snow pack and the view was simply the best. Gary retrieved his cell phone and began taking videos of this journey. He mentioned what a wondrous day and how the universe seemed to be aligned. He moved the cell phone to point my direction and directed me to say something. I of course keeping my eyes to the road, waved to the camera and said, hi. After putting the cell phone away, he picked the wooden instrument up and continued plucking. "Let's play karaoke in the car," he laughed, "name that tune." He played a tune I remembered from back in high school, the tune came out and he started to sing. "That's 'Careless Whisper', by Wham." I blurted out. He laughed and commented on George Michael and all the news he had about his lifestyle. I replied, I liked George Michael's older stuff, but did not care for the newer. Gary resumed to play.

Notes began to flow once again. I recognized the song, but could not grasp the title. As he sang it took me back again to my youth. As the lyrics flowed, I smiled. "So help me if you can..." I could almost feel the sadness and the joy. "...Count all the bees in the hive, chase all the clouds from the sky's..." The song was a Kenny Loggins tune, 'Return to Pooh Corner.' "....back to the days of Christopher Robin..." He sang.

We made our way down to Colfax in Denver. The street was full of people making their way to the destinations they were heading. He pointed to the church in the distance, park there, he said. The church was fenced off, and a sign read the church was under construction. I felt a little leery about being in this part of town, which I stated. He reassured me that nothing was gonna happen. He then told of two Lakota that wanted his jacket and he fended them off. He said, he lived here on the streets for sometime and he had earned the respect of the locals. It seemed as if he wanted to show me a part of his life that he was proud. He survived! Living in the muck of hopelessness and insanity of Colfax. I asked, "How do you still have hope?" I could see the bleak and misery in his eyes. "You have to have hope in order to survive." I too struggle with hope. He looked at me and said you have to have faith, and faith is hope.

We journeyed to a place he frequented. It was a tavern on the other side of Colfax across from the church. We went in to see bar lined with souls. He talked to a man, who asked him to sit down and have a drink. He said we were here so I could see where I could get mugged. The man replied, "it's daylight, you have to wait til sundown." Gary laughed. We exited out the back and into the alley. He then motioned for us to go back across the street, he wanted me to meet someone. Again, leery of the situation, I followed. We made our way to a building behind the church. Upon looking it seemed to be an Eden in the muck of Colfax. We made our way to the locked door. He pressed a button and revealed to the tenant that it was Gary. The door buzzed and we went inside. It was an old folks community. The front room was filled with the elderly. Most were chatting amongst one another. He told the people working in the front he was going to wait for Bill to come down. He scanned the group and went and shook hands with another elderly man. The man was tall and dress to the 9's in his best 1970's vintage purple tuxedo. Gary explained that he was waiting for Bill and he wanted to entertain the group while we waited. The man followed and we went to the fourth floor of the building. There was an old piano, waiting in the corner of the room. The old man introduced himself as Phil and that he was just waiting for the mail to arrive. We all sat in the room and Gary began to play. He twinkled the keys as if they were stars. His fingers were as solid on the ivory as they were on the strings. He chuckled for bit and began to play "Careless Whisper" again. That's just a joke he remarked to me. Then he began to play one of his tunes. The song made Phil come to tears. He remarked on what a talent Gary had been blessed with and asked if he played professionally. Gary replied with, he used to. I sat in awe at the talent that he had been given. I was amazed with the beautiful notes being played on the keys.  Bill finally arrived and we departed from Phil, he again remarked that he needed to wait for the mail to come.
Bill was another elderly gentleman who had taken to Gary.  Gary used to visit him when he lived in Denver.  The apartment was filled with a lifetime of photos and memories.  I noticed a photo of the man's wife, she must have passed many years ago, however, he probably still retained much of her memory as he could.  Gary and Bill chatted for a while, he just wanted to let Bill know that he was still alive and living in Fort Collins. We departed and headed to the next destination, a barber shop about a mile or two up Colfax.

Weaving in and out of traffic, Gary said the shop was just a bit up the way on the left side.  He said that I could stay in the vehicle while he went inside.  It was only going to be a minute.  We came to a stop, the traffic was congested. As I looked up I saw a man stumbling around in the middle of traffic, I turned and Gary was out the door.  He took the man by the hand and guided him to the sidewalk.  I saw him give him a smoke and say something to him.  I just felt as if there is no hope. I had never noticed such tragedy.

The barber shop was in a run down block  part of Colfax.  There were three barbers working in the shop.  I was introduced to a man called Black Jack, the other two I was not introduced to; however, they all had their qualities.  The woman who was working there was sitting on the couch with her girlfriend, the other barber had to leave.  So I waited as Gary talked to Black Jack.  Black Jack was also a musician.  He had hidden behind a screen some equipment that he played.    Gary had sold him his keyboard and was in the process of picking it back up.  Black Jack was concerned, he had sold the keyboard sometime in December, he said he had not heard from Gary in a year and figured he was dead. On the wall of the shop were photos of young African kids with neat designs in their hair.  Black Jack designed figures for the kids to give them something cool to show off in school.  Gary said that without hope, these kids were going to be living a life of hell and it gives them a bit of hope when they go to school. Gary again, performed for the group in the barber shop.  His guitar was his life and performing seemed to give him the hope that is so desperately needed.  The song he played on the piano he played for the barber shop audience.  The lesbian, took out her cell and recorded the whole song.  Gary figured she probably was going to put it on YouTube, the caption would probably read, White guy performs in African Barber Shop. Our last stop was also up the street at Bob's Music. 
Bob was another friend of Gary's.  Bob also looked out for him while he was on the streets, he probably had taken him in for awhile.  Bob's Music was filled with pianos and organs of every make and model.  I was impressed to see a Baby Grand in the front.  Gary sat and played on the grand.  Bob came out and began conversing.  Gary said, "You know I went to jail."  Bob looked down and replied, I know. I shook Bob's hand when Gary introduced us.  I then  said, "I like your shop." The response I received was, "It's like owning a De Soto dealership".  The instruments were dusty and many of them old, even though they were still new.
Sitting on the piano bench, Gary began to tear up.  He said, "I have never told anyone this, but I was in Desert Storm. "I killed a girl with my AK 47.  I just can't get this out of my mind." Just another instance of Collateral Damage of war.

At that moment, I knew I could see the pain in this man's heart. I wish I could help.

Bob told Gary he needed to straighten up and quit drinking.  Gary had agreed, but actually doing that is a feat in itself. "Just use your brain, you have so much talent." I think there must have been much hurt between Gary and all the people I met.  Bob, I think, could not bear to see Gary again.  He wanted to leave the shop, he was making excuses to get him out of the shop.  Gary said, play me a song before I go.  Bob replied, "You're the piano man, you play."  Bob soon agreed, and went to the organ up on the pedestal overlooking the other instruments.  He asked, "what do you want to hear."  I replied, "Amazing Grace".

"...And the Wisdom to know the Difference."

The Universe is a cruel and unloving place.  Everything lives and dies, which includes the stars.  Eventually the sun will expand and devour all the planets in our solar system, then go super nova, sending all matter deep into space.

Does anything really matter at that point?  Probably not;  but the existence of today matters to me in this lifetime.

I hope Gary is out there playing his guitar, somewhere.  I don't know why I was given the opportunity to meet him or listen to his music; but if the universe could send out a break, I hope it is to him.