The above picture is not from the 1800's, it was taken earlier this year at an "plantation retreat." Remember, a few years ago, we told you about people paying top dollar for "slave fantasies/race play?" Here is the proof!

Several white racist celebrities, including a white actress from the South and an white actor (big fan of a late Republican President) have allegedly signed up (discreetly) to take part in these "race play" encounters.


A white (self-proclaimed) "slave owning" master offers insight on race play and "plantation retreats:

My goal in creating and hosting a "Plantation Retreat," is to provide a safe and welcoming private place (and opportunity) for White Masters and plantation slaves/nig*ers to meet and explore their mutual fantasies. I get a lot of questions and answer many individual questions. To simplify is some general basic information:

The gathering lasts for up to 2 weeks this year, with the main gathering around the 4th of July...folks can stay as long or as short a time as they want (some stay even longer). Masters can stay at the compound here or in a hotel if they want to (as well as personal slaves that they bring with them or any other slave that is ordered to do so).

Slaves arriving on their own stay here and are considered (and protected) as property of the plantation or my personal property.

Slaves sign up for a specific length of service. Slaves can specify what their limits are or that they will serve in any way the Master/guests desire. Sex is not required, but depends on individual choice (as do other activities). Most Masters desire to use slaves sexually in addition to normal domestic services. Some slaves are used only for hard labor. A slave's assignments and duties are based on their experience and ability-level (some require whipping or punishment). Masters have their own king or queen bed (up to 5 available); slaves sleep where they are told to sleep (unless they are ordered into a Master's bed and allowed to sleep there). Normally a slave sleeps at the foot of a Master's bed, but some can be chained or caged elsewhere.

The minimum requirement for slaves is that they be obedient and respectful of all Masters and work to give the Masters an enjoyable time. This can be anything from preparing and serving drinks and meals, doing housework or yard work, to providing sexual relief on demand, to hard labor in the compound (depending on the slave's previously-stated limitations). Slaves should expect Masters to be totally comfortable and free in using humiliating or degrading racist speech in referring to or speaking to mud-slaves. It's not all punishment and misery for slaves...there is plenty of time for camaraderie and playful fun also. Some slaves even form a brotherly bond with the other slaves that serve with them. Masters also form lasting bonds and friendships based on their mutual interests and sharing slaves.

It's just a small friendly gathering of White Masters at my house/compound....being served by mud-slaves as might have been in a modern version of slave-days. one might call it a situation of consensual non-consent/slavery. Slaves can set their limits and the time they will be in service as slaves in advance.... and also what they expect to learn and experience from the experience. The more that a slave lets me know about themselves in advance, the better I can guide their growth from the experience.

Source: Chauncey DeVega



A few months ago, we ran a disturbing story on "Race Play Plantations/Retreats," (above) where masters and slaves act out their 18th Century slave fantasies. Sadly, this subculture has expanded to include race play dominatrix's.


Which brings us to “Mistress V,” professional dominatrix. The services she provides include “ball busting,” “small penis humiliation”... and, yep, “verbal racial humiliation.”

“Many males have a fetish for humiliation,” she writes. “Do you want the extra nastiness of your race tossed in there? If you are a dumb ni**er, a tight squeaky k*ke, a greasy sp*c, a nasty mutt or inbred, or a slan*y eyed go*k, I'm your pathway to crying like a girl. haha”

Business, never personal. Demand drives supply.

The following are comments left by submissive men on Mistress V’s site:

“I am a lowly male of East Indian Descent and I know for a fact that all white women are Superior to me. I'm grateful to be able to breathe the same air as a White Queen”

“I can’t wait to speak w/You about this…I think (and hope) that I am exactly the kind of Jew You would love to humiliate...”

“i am a ni**er slave who has served my superior White Mistress for some time now. Unfortunately, she moved and i live in DC. i would love to serve another Superior White Mistress”

“Goddess V i am a 53 year old black boy and I've been a true slave since the 6th grade. Whip me beat me humiliate me, I want to cry for YOU. How can we work it?”

Mistress V answers back with comments like this:

“All my little ni**er bitches drooling and slaving for Me. Pay attention porch mon*eys, My birthday is almost here, I better have some hard earned cash in my damn box from you or you will get the worst punishment of all……….. MY SILENCE.

Source: Undercover Black Man



Pop star Madonna inadvertently started a Federal drug sting that ended in the arrest of her former boyfriend (Peter Shue) on cocaine charges. Madonna claimed she liked Shue because he reminded her of a slimmer version of Charles Barkley. More on Madonna and Peter (below).


Notorious NY gangsta Haitian Jack liked to hang out at Clas & Wilson's, as did Peter Shue. A baller who favored furs and blinged out jewelry.

Shue was known for supplying celebrities. Shue and Alpo ran the city's largest drug operations (separately).

Book Excerpt:







*This book received 5 stars on Amazon.

Milton Jenkins was not only the manager of the Supremes but of ½ of the future Temptations as well. Milton Jenkins was a pimp. He also had a mangled arm that he kept bandaged. Jenkins was also a numbers runner, party/club promoter and alleged drug trafficker.

Popular culture likes to portray Otis Williams of the Temptations as the one who created the Temptations. This is obviously portrayed because they do not want you focusing on the fact that Milton Jenkins was a pimp. He would also marry Florence Ballard's sister Maxine Ballard. And he was on Motown's payroll.

Berry Gordy and Milton Jenkins met at the black underworld establishment "The Flame Show Bar," a bar owned by a pimp. Ironically, Detroit's other popular club, one in which is also threaded throughout the Motown story, "The Twenty Grand," was also owned by a pimp.

Jenkins spent large sums of money on the Temptations and Supremes (wardrobe, jewelry, furs).

After the careers of the Temptations and Supremes started fading, Milton Jenkins vanished. Years later, he would die of cancer.

According to Mary Wilson: By now, anyone who’d missed our shows could see us –and Berry- at the gambling tables. Gambling fever had always been rampant among the men at Motown, where there were probably as many all-night games upstairs at Hitsville as there were on the Strip.

As the money rolled in, most of the male producers, writers, and performers took their turns being high rollers, usually with disastrous results. Women were rarely admitted into this male bastion, so we only knew what we heard The stakes were pretty outrageous—the keys to a brand new Cadillac, thousands of dollars, and once even the right to produce an up-and-coming female lead singer, bet by a producer and won by Berry. Milton Jenkins was also in attendance.

At one point, Marvin Gaye attempted suicide at his brother-in-law Berry Gordy's father's home with a handgun, only to be saved from committing the act by Gordy, Sr. Despite this, Gaye would befriend two of the Detroit Lions teammates, Mel Farr and Lem Barney.

While traveling on his tour bus with the Four Tops on May 15, 1969, Four Tops member Renaldo "Obie" Benson witnessed an act of police brutality and violence committed on anti-war protesters who had been protesting at Berkeley's People's Park in what was later termed as "Bloody Thursday."

Returning to Detroit, Motown songwriter Al Cleveland wrote and composed a song based on his conversations with Benson of what he had seen in Berkeley. Benson sent the unfinished song to his band mates but the other Four Tops turned the song down.

The song was presented by Benson and Cleveland to Marvin Gaye while finding him at a golf game. Returning to Gaye's home in Outer Drive, Benson played the song to Gaye on his guitar. Gaye felt the song's moody flow would be perfect for The Originals. Benson, however, felt Gaye could sing it himself. Gaye responded to that suggestion by asking Benson for songwriting credit of the song.

Benson and Cleveland allowed it and Gaye edited the song, adding a new melody, revising the song to his own liking, and changing some of the lyrics, reflective of Gaye's own disgust. Gaye finished the song by adding its title, "What's Going On". Benson said later that Gaye tweaked and enriched the song, "added some things that were more ghetto, more natural, which made it seem like a story and not a song... we measured him for the suit and he tailored the hell out of it."

The laid-back sessions of the album was credited to lots of "marijuana smoke and rounds of Scotch." Gaye's trademark multi-layering vocal approach came off initially as an accident by engineers Steve Smith and Kenneth Sands.

Sands later explained that Gaye had wanted him to bring him the two lead vocal takes for "What's Going On" to have him review which lead vocal take he would use for the final song. Smith and Sands accidentally mixed the two lead vocal takes together. Gaye loved the sound and decided to keep it and use it for the duration of the album, later using it for sessions of "God Is Love," which was recorded on the same day as "What's Going On."

James Jamerson, 2nd pic, (as is the case with the other Funk Brothers) received little formal recognition for his lifetime contributions. In fact, it wasn't until 1971, when he was acknowledged as "the incomparable James Jamerson" on the sleeve of Marvin Gaye's What's Going On, that his name even showed up on a major Motown release. After his name appeared on the sleeve, Jamerson became a superstar in Europe. When he arrived with the Funk Brothers in Europe a few years later, it was almost a riot at the airport after it was announced that James Jamerson would be on the plane.

In his prime, Motown had him on an salary of $1000 per week.

Shortly after Motown moved their headquarters to Los Angeles, California in 1972, Jamerson moved there himself and found occasional studio work, but his relationship with Motown officially ended in 1973. He went on to perform on such 1970s hits as "Rock the Boat" (Hues Corporation), "Boogie Fever" (The Sylvers), and "You Don't Have To Be A Star (To Be In My Show)" (Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis, Jr.) and also played on Robert Palmer's 1975 solo album "Pressure Drop."

But as other musicians went on to use high-tech amps, round-wound strings, and simpler, more repetitive bass lines incorporating new techniques like thumb slapping, Jamerson's style fell out of favor with local producers and he found himself reluctant to try new things. By the 1980s he was unable to get any serious gigs working as a session musician. Allegedly, Jamerson wasn't invited to"Motown 25," nor was he recognized. He sat in the balcony feeling dejected. A year later, he was dead.

Long troubled by alcoholism, Jamerson died of complications stemming from cirrhosis of the liver, heart failure and pneumonia on August 2, 1983 in Los Angeles. He was 47 years old and was said to be broke and bitter about his lack of recognition at the time of his death. He left behind a wife, Anne and three sons.


The world is quickly finding out the damage and crimes that the Vatican and other religions have caused worldwide.

Just when you think you had heard it all, another malicious and alarming crime committed by a criminal priest, nun, minister or pastor, surfaces. This one has to be one of the most shocking

Evangelical Pastor managed to abuse victims after convincing them that his penis contains HOLY MILK. The criminal: Valdeci Sobreni Picano of Brazil.

Valdeci Sobrino Picanto is a Brazilian Evangelical Pastor. He has been arrested after deceiving the faithful using the name of the "Holy Spirit," by using these foolish lies.

This criminal pastor claimed that the Holy Spirit would secrete from his penis in the form of "sacred milk". This pastor said that his penis was blessed and that "the Lord had consecrated him with divine milk of the Holy Spirit" and, of course, he had to release it in order to "evangelize."

"He has convinced us that only God could come into our lives through our mouth and that's why he would do what he did". Often, after worship, pastor Valdeci would take us to the where the funds were kept at the back of the Church and asked us to have Oral sex with him until the Holy Spirit would come through ejaculation."

This is the testimony of one of his victims.

This pastor is currently in jail.

According to the transgendered (pictured above):

There is a myth of tranny's tricking straight guys. I have a transgendered friend who escorts and even advertises her ten inch manhood in all he backpage ads. She gets hit up by a man, they meet up at a hotel and before they have sex he asks if she's really a transexual.

Regarding the Amanda Milan case, straight men killed a trans women because she tricked them yet these same dudes were seen driving on the tranny stroll 24/7 crusing for tranny's. They even sexed several of my friends but when it came time to give a defense of why they killed her they claimed they were tricked by not knowing she wasn't a biological woman.

I've witnessed married men, guys with girlfriends, etc., cruising for tranny's but physcially attack a tranny after the homeboys and family members find out.

The majority of hate crimes committed towards "tranny's" happen because of straight man embrassment. I have too many friends who have been killed by so called straight men.

She adds: Allegedly Teddy Pendergrass and a famous comic were known to patronize the stroll.

First Black Female Concert Promoter (Excerpts):

Helen Wooten (above in fur hat): "I had a show with Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes. That's the day Teddy Pendergrass quit the group. He didn't show up, and I had to use the Chi-Lites. I remember that like it was yesterday."

In the book "Light: On The South Side," Wooten names old friends on page after page. Some are infamous—Flukey Stokes, a drug kingpin who liked to play Robin Hood; and an pimp named Magellan.

As a teenager, Wooten first made a name for herself booking R & B shows in Chicago. Her walls are hung with wood plaques the size of coffee tables, covered with photos of her hobnobbing with deejays, soul singers, and boxers, their smiling faces barely visible through amber shellac. Stacked on several couches and tables are albums filled with still more photos: Wooten with LL Cool J, Wooten with the Jacksons, Wooten with Mike Tyson.

Five minutes don't go by without one of her phones ringing: That was Marshall Thompson of the Chi-Lites. That was the mother of rapper Da Brat. That was singer Ruby Andrews, domestic partner of Robert "Squirrel" Lester, the ailing Chi-Lite (who has since passed away).

Her journey has taken her from playing preteen talent shows to booking international tours, and along the way it's included stints as a tavern owner, record producer, stylist, and film financier, among countless other jobs and hustles. Her many connections—not just to the Jacksons but to all kinds of old-school south-side movers and shakers.

Wooten hoarded the money she earned booking bands elsewhere and working three other after-school jobs—one at a nursing home, one at an Alberto Culver beauty-products factory, and another collecting money at the back door of the "High Chaparral," for which she had to lie and say she was 21. By 1967 she'd saved $17,000, which she invested with Spann and Jones, thinking she was supporting their dream of buying their own station. As she soon realized, however, the deejays were actually putting her money into developing the Jackson Five. When Spann and Jones gave up on the group and sold their contract to Steeltown Records' Gordon Keith, they told Keith they'd invested around $30,000 in the group—meaning Wooten had technically owned a stake of more than 50 percent in Michael Jackson and his brothers.

She continued to pursue her ambitions in the semi-underground entertainment economy, financing and organizing shows in Chicago's still vibrant music scene. Though the jewel in the city's black entertainment crown, the Regal Theater at 47th and King Drive, had been demolished in 1973, venues like the High Chaparral (where Wooten had moved up to booking) and Perv's House at 914 E. 79th continued to draw regular crowds of 1,200-plus revelers, all dressed to the nines.

Wooten met Teddy Pendergrass around Thanksgiving 1971, when he was still drumming and singing backup for Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes, a Philadelphia R & B institution since the early 50s.

Wooten says she and Pendergrass had instant chemistry: "We were flirting around and we had a lot of things in common. I don't know how to describe it . . . we became good friends. That was my secret, private boyfriend. Listen, he had keys to my house and keys to my car." Her loyalty to Pendergrass, she says, was a boon to the Blue Notes; she would help them with Chicago shows, and she remembers landing them good gigs in Memphis and Atlanta. She says Pendergrass would sometimes come to see her even when he didn't have a show in the area. Though he doesn't mention Wooten in his 1998 autobiography, Truly Blessed, and during those years he had a live-in Philadelphia girlfriend who would bear his son, Pendergrass writes: "I was, I admit, not always faithful on the road."

Wooten says they eventually fell out over a disagreement about a piece of jewelry. But they maintained a cordial business relationship, and in mid-November 1975, Wooten paid a $3,000 advance to Harold Melvin to secure the Blue Notes for a big Valentine's Day show at the High Chaparral.

Three days before the show, by Wooten's account, she was working at the hospital when her boyfriend, Samuel Daniels, parked in front of her house on West Maxwell around 9 PM. Seeing the lights on and assuming she was home, he went inside and surprised three intruders in the upstairs bedroom. Daniels drew a .38 and forced them to lie down on the floor. "They got one of my new coats, they had my jewelry, and he saw they had my money bag," Wooten says. "So he called the police and he called me and told me not to come home, because he caught some robbers in my house."

Ignoring Daniels's advice, Wooten left work midshift, and got home in five minutes—ahead of the police. She raced upstairs to see the cowering intruders. "They were frightened," she recalls. "They were saying, 'Miss, miss, he might kill us.' I told them, 'You all don't even know who you're messing with—this is a crazy man!'" Apparently spurred to action by her imprudent threat, the thieves jumped Daniels and grabbed his gun. They shot him several times and Wooten once, leaving her crumpled on the closet floor. They left the furs and cash but took the gun and a few pieces of jewelry.

When the police arrived they recognized Wooten—the cafeteria at Rush-Presbyterian-St. Luke's was a police hangout, and her first cousin, Howard Saffold, was a prominent reform-minded police officer who would later serve Mayor Harold Washington as security chief. They called an ambulance to take her back to the hospital she'd just left. "I said, 'Please don't take me there,'" she says, "because I'd snuck away from work, and I needed my job. So they took me to Illinois Research," now the UIC Medical Center.

Wooten had been shot at close range. The bullet had punctured her right lung and exited her back. She was taken to the intensive care unit, where doctors drained blood from her lungs. Daniels, who she calls her common-law husband (they were together from 1975 till '82), survived the shooting as well, though he was in coma for three weeks.

Despite these dire conditions, Wooten's thoughts kept returning to her investment in the upcoming Valentine's Day show. "I had spent about $5,000 for advertisements on radio and had given [Melvin] a $3,000 deposit, so I was out about $8,000. All that was on my mind was that I have got to do my show and get my money back." On the day of the concert she called her friend Sandy Wilburn, best known as a songwriter for the Chi-Lites, and had him go to her house and bring her a dress. She ducked out of the ICU and into a private room, where she fixed her hair and makeup and donned the stylish ensemble Wilburn had delivered. "

"When I checked out," she says, "they said, 'Mrs. Wooten, you have a bullet hole in you. You cannot leave intensive care.' I told them, 'What I got to do for Valentine's Day is way more important than my health right now.'"

Wooten headed straight for the "High Chaparral," but there was bad news waiting for her. "[Melvin] said they wouldn't be there because they had broken up," says Clarence Ludd, who owned the High Chaparral and today owns Artis's Lounge at 1249 E. 87th with his wife, after whom it's named. "Early that afternoon they called and canceled."

Though Wooten had expected the Blue Notes to show up that night, the breakup was far from a shock. Tensions within the group had already led to a number of contentious shows. In Truly Blessed, Pendergrass characterizes Melvin, who died in 1997, as a difficult boss. Though he'd taught Pendergrass "nearly everything [he] needed to know about surviving in show business," his attitude was that every member but himself was replaceable. (In fact Pendergrass himself had joined during one of Melvin's complete Blue Notes overhauls.) This became a problem when Pendergrass lifted the group from the minor leagues to platinum sales. Melvin had a troublesome temper and allegedly hid royalties from his bandmates—underneath a mattress, according to Pendergrass. Cocaine was ubiquitous in that era, and as "Truly Blessed," details, the drug aggravated both Melvin's erratic behavior and Pendergrass's reactions to it.

Several incidents in 1975 suggested that the Blue Notes were headed for the rocks. In Detroit Pendergrass insisted on going onstage without the rest of the group. In New York he bailed on an Apollo show after an argument with Melvin. Though he later claimed to have left the band that October (a date cited in many sources), several of the group's most notorious breakdowns were yet to occur.

In mid-November Jet magazine reported that the Blue Notes had been fired from an extended engagement at Los Angeles's Playboy Club because Melvin had showed up late for one of the first gigs and told the audience to go fuck themselves (or, as Jet put it, he was on "C.P. time" and "suggested that they could find sexual release with themselves").

The feud between Melvin and Pendergrass seems to have come to a head in Chicago the weekend before Thanksgiving, when the band came to town to do two shows at Perv's House, the self-proclaimed "Entertainment Capitol of the Midwest." Owned by Pervis Staples, by then retired from the Staple Singers, it took up the north side of 79th for most of the block between Drexel and Ingleside (the current location of the East of the Ryan).

As Perv Staples told Dave Hoekstra in a Sun-Times article occasioned by the release of Light: On the South Side, "Harold Melvin fired Pendergrass at my club. He slapped him in the mouth downstairs. They weren't going to go onstage. Melvin sent a girl out to the car, got the books, and told Pendergrass, 'I own you like I own the Blue Notes.' They couldn't get out of town until they did my show. People upstairs were clapping and clapping and they were downstairs boxing." The Blue Notes did eventually play, but by Wooten's recollection they canceled an engagement for the following day at the Nation of Islam's Salaam restaurant.

"Teddy called me that night after everything was over," she says. "He said, 'I'm glad you got a replacement for me,' and he promised to make it up to me." Though as a solo artist Pendergrass was soon too big a star for the midsize venues Wooten worked with in Chicago, he made sure she got some money out of his next high-profile Chicago appearance in '77 by hiring her as a promoter even though she hadn't booked the gig. "He did a hell of a show," she remembers, "but from then on we wasn't as tight because I was still angry." And Melvin, she says, never did pay back that deposit.

Wooten has long since recovered from both her gunshot injury and the financial hit she took from the Valentine's Day show. The crime remains unsolved; neither Daniels nor Wooten recognized the robbers, but Wooten suspects they were sent by a friend familiar with her work schedule who left town immediately after the incident.

Not long after the Chi-Lites concert, she and (her business partner) Clarence Ludd became partners in two lounges, the Godfather II on 97th and Stony Island and the Godfather III on 64th and Cottage Grove. (The latter became the Jedi when Wooten's sister Joyce took over for her in 1983.) Though these clubs couldn't support the kind of lavish live entertainment that Wooten was used to scheduling, she stayed involved in larger bookings, and in 1978 she worked with Atlanta-based promoter Leonard Rowe on a tour by the Jacksons that visited 12 countries and 60 cities—finally recouping her unwitting 1966 investment.

*Helen Wooten is recovering from a stroke. Keep her in your prayers.

Source: Chicago Reader. Photo Credits: Michael Abramson & Helen Wooten


According to R&B singer Bettye LaVette:

The notion of the groupie/singer helps explain why Tammi Terrell, myself and Diana Ross fit into the same category.

Beyond the sheer delight of being in the company of artists like James Brown, Sam Cooke, David Ruffin, Marvin Gaye, Eddie Kendricks, etc., we knew that we needed to be more than good singers. We needed men to sponsor us.

Comic Ray Scott (directly above) was one such man. His comedy was modeled after Redd Foxx but his true talent was pimping. Ray had a fleet of white girls working for him.

He had a boatload of high-octane cocaine that he was always coaxing me to try.

Ray was salacious. He loved whispering to me, "Why don't you do him?" Or, "Why don't you do both those guys?" I've never been into sex with strangers but Ray's sex obsession didn't end there. He liked to put together what he considered freaky combinations.

Cindy Wharton was a stunning woman. The minute Ray Scott saw Cindy, he said, "Why don't you f*ck her? I think you'd both love it. But if you do, one word of advice, don't let her get on top."

Bettye responded: "I'm not longing to make love to a woman." Yet the idea was not unappealing, especially with someone as lovely as Cindy. She was another groupie extraordinaire. She knew every black singer, dancer and actor in New York and was welcome at every backstage, slipping in and out of limousines with the grace of a cat. If groupies had formed a union, Cindy would have been our president.

The provocation of the pimp, who began giving money to both Cindy and me, fueled my motivation. Those pimps loved to watch girls have sex. They also loved jumping into bed with two women. Had Ray not insisted on it and stoked the fire with copious amounts of cocaine, none of this might have happened. But it did, and I liked it. I liked it well enough that Cindy was in my life for the next thirty years. We'd have our boyfriends and husbands. We'd live separate lives, but if we were in the same city on the same night, we'd get together.

My dalliances with women just sort of happened. The friendship with Cindy, though, remained strong. She and I had some wild adventures.

A member of one of the major singing groups (I don't want to embarrass him by using his name) was madly in love with me but too shy to make a move. He was adorable. One night I asked if he wanted to come back to the hotel with me and Cindy. He did. When we got there, Cindy and I started getting it on. Naturally, the guy was welcome to join in, but he was terrified. He just stood there and watched, his shirt buttoned up to his neck, tears running down his cheeks. We wondered what the other guys in the group would say if they knew he had two naked broads up in bed and all he could do was cry. I never could coax him to join us, but that just shows how sex affects everyone differently.


The stereotypical image of a CIA agent is one of a brutish male, emotionless, a killer and of course if the cinema and TV is accurate; entirely white.

This image appears to sit well with the CIA, considering how Jeffrey A. Sterling, a former African-American agent, was stopped from advancing in his field within the CIA due to the color of his skin.

According to his superiors in an Iranian nuclear task force he worked in, he “stood out too much as a black man” in the agency.

The Agency discharged Sterling in 2002 following several disagreements with his bosses. He filed a lawsuit, which lingered on before finally failing after the CIA insisted that top secret information would need to be declassified for the case to continue, which was unfeasible. The old “national security” play worked like a charm.

Jeffrey got on with his life and became a medical fraud investigator. He excelled in his field. Got married. Bought a home and settled into normality. Then, one day, he was arrested at work by federal agents.

As it turns out, escaping your ex-CIA life isn’t as easy as just quitting a regular day job.

He stands accused of talking to a NY Times reporter and disclosing top secret information.

The reporter later wrote about the information Sterling apparently disclosed to him. It concerns a botched mission to supply Iranians with nuclear weapon plans that were infused with a tiny flaw.

The hope was that the Iranians would spend years following the bogus plans, thus slowing down their nuclear progression. The Russian scientist who was to deliver the plans instead betrayed the CIA and informed the Iranians of the flaw.

Even if Sterling is proven innocent, he has very little left. He has lost his job. His family life is up in the air. His neighbors refuse to talk. He’s untouchable from a social and employment standpoint. It’s as though he has been discharged from the CIA all over again.

This case just goes to show that while it’s difficult to get into the security agencies, it’s even harder to get out intact.


Lagos, Nigeria (CNN) -- Cynthia Osokogu had it all: Beauty -- she was a former model -- intelligence and business savvy. She also modeled herself on her idol, Tyra Banks, and was emerging as a successful businesswoman.

"She was hardworking, loving, industrious and beautiful," said her mother, Joy Osokogu. "She had achieved so much at age 24."

Osokogu traveled to Lagos from the country's capital Abuja, ostensibly, to meet with retailers whom she thought might be able to offer her better prices on clothes and accessories for her fashion boutique. After landing, she called her mother to tell her that she had arrived safely.

But Cynthia never made it to the meetings because there weren't any. She was found strangled to death in her hotel room the next morning.

The trip was organized by Echezona Nwabufor -- a man, police say, she met through the BlackBerry messenger service and Facebook.

For months, he and Cynthia had chatted through these social media platforms and soon she had also "friended" his cousin, Ezike Ilechukwu Olisaeloka.

Police say Nwabufor told Cynthia that he was a student at Lagos State University but that he had connections and could help her with her fashion business. What Cynthia didn't know was that Nwabufor had been stalking her for months, patiently gaining her confidence through frequent chats and postings.

Eventually, Nwabufor made Cynthia an offer that seemed too good to be true.

He offered to buy her a plane ticket and to put her up in a nice hotel if she would come to Lagos to meet with his business associates. When Cynthia arrived in Lagos, she was taken to a hotel just outside of town, drugged, beaten, sexually assaulted and finally, murdered, according to police.

She was targeted, police say, because the suspects had figured out that she was the daughter of a retired Nigerian Army general. They assumed that she would come to Lagos with cash, a large bank account and jewelry.

"She got involved with the murderers while chatting," says Lagos Police Commissioner Umar A. Manko. "At some point they discovered that she came from a very good home and felt that they could make some quick money out of her."

But her brother, Kenneth Osokogu, says that Cynthia never carried any large sums of cash. "She doesn't even have an ATM card, she used a checkbook," he said.

She got involved with the murderers while chatting. At some point they discovered that she came from a very good home and felt that they could make some quick money out of her.

Cynthia's sad and tragic story has shocked Nigeria. But criminal acts through the use of social media are not uncommon around the world.

Nigerians are some of the most active users of social media on the continent and the BlackBerry Messenger service is how millions of Nigerians communicate every day. But Cynthia's murder has touched a nerve and exposed the dark side of the web in a way that most had not imagined possible.

And while many outside the country may express shock that a Nigerian would fall for what seemed like an offer too good to be true in a country known for fraud and corruption, the sad irony is that many Nigerians are, in reality, very open and trusting people.

And Cynthia's murder really does seem senseless. After the suspects were arrested several other women came forward to say that they too had been drugged, tied up and robbed by the suspects. But they all lived.

It is difficult to understand why Cynthia was killed. The police have some theories. Perhaps, they say, the suspects became enraged at the lack of payday after spending so much money to get her there. Or, maybe, Cynthia struggled or attempted to scream even after being drugged with the sedative Rohypnol.

"She was struggling to see how she could liberate herself or make noise that would attract people to come (to her aid)," said the investigating officer FESTAC Area Commander, Dan Okoro. "But they overpowered her."

The next morning, after having spent the night with Cynthia's body, the suspects left the hotel. A staffer and the police that the suspects placed a call to reception and told them to get "the body of that bastard" out of the room.

While police attempted to identify the body, Cynthia's mother tells says that she tried calling Cynthia's cell phone for five days but that the phone was switched off. On the seventh day, she says the suspects answered the phone and told her that Cynthia was sick. Soon, they were asking her for ransom money.

"I asked them if they killed my daughter and they said no, she was just sick and couldn't come to the phone," she said.

Within three weeks, the police were able to arrest the suspects through cell phone records and CCTV footage of them leaving the hotel.

Several other men have been arrested in connection with the crime including the pharmacists who sold the Rohypnol to the suspected killers without a prescription, their driver who police say always accompanied them during their robberies and a "fence" -- the man who sold Cynthia's and the other victims goods.

The police say this is a cautionary tale and issued a call to parents to become more aware and vigilant about what their children are doing while surfing the web.

Cynthia's family and friends agree. Her father and older brother both believe that Cynthia's murder, as tragic as it was, will serve a higher purpose.

"An eye opener to younger girls and also future criminals with such barbaric intentions," said Kenneth Osokogu.

Source: CNN


'The Black James Bond'


He was an expert in martial arts, fluent in eight languages. He also had a disguise kit and a Glock pistol.

Later, in his darkest hours: This former CIA agent sat inside a seedy Ramada Inn in Norfolk, VA., smoking crack with a Glock 9mm service pistol in his shorts.


by: Michael Hastings

Andrew Warren was a rarity in the CIA's Clandestine Service. He was African American and fluent in Arabic. He was relatively young (42) for an agent who'd already spent nearly a decade chasing terrorists in Afghanistan, Egypt, Iraq and Algeria, so deep undercover that few of his friends or family knew the nature of his work.

When the CIA ran torture, rendition and assassination programs from black sites around the globe, Warren was a key player.

But all that ended 18 months earlier when Warren was called back to America, charged with sexual assault.

Since then, another warrant had been issued, for indecent exposure. Warren had allegedly visited a Norfolk neighbor's house with his genitals hanging out of his pants. He skipped a court date without telling his lawyers. His father had filed a missing person's report.

In his college days, Warren had the ability to move smoothly between the black and white student communities.

After graduating from Indiana University, he enrolled in the Near Eastern Languages and Culture master's program there.

Around that time, he came to the attention of the CIA's "spotters," a de facto on-campus agency recruiter. He was a prime candidate for the agency: Ambitious, an effortless overachiever, highly intelligent and a risk taker. His complexion and skill with languages made him ideally suited for assignments in the Middle East.

While he was in the Middle East, Warren participated in what he would later describe as "severe interrogation techniques" or what human rights groups call torture.

Warren had been shot at, seen men blown up and committed acts of brutality. But he survived.

At the same time, his own personal universe was beginning to show signs of cracking. In New York, his home between overseas assignments was a shared apartment with his sister Rene, a journalist and publicist. He had nightmares and he no longer felt safe in New York. She could hear him screaming in Arabic through the paper thin walls of the apartment.

Despite his private unraveling, Warren got his biggest promotion. Second in command of the CIA's Cairo bureau. During his time there, he was involved in periodic gun battles.

With his State Department cover, he moved in diplomatic circles, attending social events and hosting parties.

Seemingly unconcerned to his mental decline, the CIA was grooming him to run a CIA station of his own, overseeing American agents. After three years in Egypt, he was tapped to be the next station chief of Algiers.

Warren would move into a mansion like home in Algiers provided by the U.S. diplomatic mission. Warren lived it up. He threw a party at his house the same month. One of the guests was a young Algerian woman with German citizenship.

After her last cocktail, she suddenly got sick. Warren offered to let her stay the night in the guest room. That was the last thing she remembered. Later, she woke up naked in bed, sore all over. A used condom was near her bed. She never saw or contacted Warren again.

Five months later, another Algerian woman got sick after consuming a drink at Warren's house. The next thing she remembered was finding herself on the floor. She couldn't move, but she could see and hear. Warren was standing over her, taking off her pants.

Warren was terminated.

It's exceedingly rare for a CIA officer to be convicted of a crime other than espionage. In fact, there is currently only one other in prison.

At his trial, Warren told the judge that crack got rid of the pain but he insisted that he was set up on the rape charges.

Warren was sentenced to 65 months in prison.

Source: Rolling Stone Magazine



Wikatani and Chuma had been captured by slave traders. Easily overpowered by their captors, they endured a ruthless march through the jungles that took them from there village to the notorious "Lopez Plantation." On the slave ship (enroute to the Lopez plantation) their were sharks in the water that followed the slave ships; feeding off the dead slaves thrown overboard.

Four or five of the sharks would tear the corpse to pieces with each bite, an arm, a leg or the head would snap off as they divided the body equally (among each other).


The "Lopez Plantation," was run by Aaron Lopez (1st photo, top). He was the richest man in Newport, Rhode Island and provided a sanctuary for pedophiles and perverts as they committed vile sexual acts against black slave children.

The Lopez plantation was notorious for girls and boys as young as seven as well as underage orgies.

The plantationhad every amenity possible in its heyday and was considered lavish. Visiting merchants, diamond buyers, gold traders would visit the pedophile slave plantation.

Christian missionaries petitioned to close it down. It is estimated that has many as 4000 black children (passed through the doors) in its 37 year history.

The plantation shut down after Lopez drowned when his horse and carriage fell into a pond. He's buried in a Jewish cemetery in Newport, RI.

In Related News:

Slave traders raided all the villages of Tanzania: In one village they took the entire tribe. Rumors were that non-Mandingo slaves were thrown in a ring with lions for entertainment purposes.


Countee Cullen (May 30, 1903 – January 9, 1946) was an American poet who was a leading figure in the Harlem Renaissance.

When Cullen (directly above) married Yolande Du Bois in April 1928, it was the social event of the decade, but the marriage did not fare well, and he divorced in 1930. It is rumored that Cullen was a homosexual, and his relationship with Harold Jackman ("the handsomest man in Harlem"), top photo, was a significant factor in the divorce. The young, dashing Jackman was a school teacher and, thanks to his noted beauty, a prominent figure among Harlem's gay elite.

Jackman achieved "nobility by association." He declined offers to become a 'kept man' or gay gigolo by sugar daddies. Jackman was also friends with Langston Hughes and James Baldwin.

In the 20's and 30's, Jackman was often described as an boulevardier, and as such he was a head turner. So much so, that many of the era's leading artists and photographers, including Winold Reiss, Richmond Barthe, Carl Van Vechten and James L. Allen (top) rushed to capture his handsome visage.

Harold Jackman was born in London to a West Indian mother and an unidentified father. By the time Maud Jackman moved her son and his sister Ivy to Harlem, it was obvious there was something quite special about Harold. He attended the prestigious, all boys, almost all white DeWitt Clinton High School in New York and it was there in 1918, that he met the man who would soon become known as Harlem's first poet laureate, Countee Cullen.

Harold Jackman was more than just a pretty face!

Jackman earned a B. A. from New York University and eventually received a Masters from Columbia University.

Harold knew everybody who was anybody both at home and abroad. The elegant bon vivant was a noted world traveler and Paris was his special playground! It is known that he met and had a long distance relationship with the expatriate writer, Edouard Roditi, on one of his many trips to France. It is said that many of the leading figures of the era first met each other when Harold introduced them. His diaries and collections are now considered some of the most important resources for writers and historians.

All things considered, it should be no surprise that Harold Jackman would be a connoisseur of parties and Harlem nightlife! He certainly traveled among the international jet set, but for all of his savoir faire, he was a homeboy at heart, never turning down an opportunity to attend a good rent party and loving the happenings right in his own neighborhood.

Jackman was at the center of a network of black gay men in Harlem, and salon parties given by friends like Caska Bonds and Alexander Gumby.

One friend saw Jackman involved in a sexual tryst with a hot Harlem gentlemen at a local party, but admitted he felt it was so "worth it."

Jackman's diaries, letters, and outstanding collection of memorabilia are held in various depositories across the country such as at the Amistad Research Center at Tulane University in New Orleans and Atlanta University in Georgia.



1939: They had driven to Duck Island to make love in the back seat of a Ford, sheltered by pitch darkness and the scraggly boughs of the sycamore trees.

In their gossipy Trenton neighborhood, the man and woman had to keep away from prying eyes. Frank Kasper, 28-year-old husband and father, lived at 15 Elm St.; Katherine Werner, 36-year-old wife and mother, at 5 Elm St.

But on this crisp, fall Saturday night, Sept. 30, 1939, Kaspar and Werner caressed and kissed each other like a couple of teenagers, excited to finally be alone. Outside the steamy windows, the only sounds were wind whistling through the marsh reeds and mallards quacking softly.

Out of the trees came a man, and in his hands was a shotgun.

One blast tore into Kaspar's face and neck, killing him instantly. Mrs. Werner, her lusty passion turned to survival instinct, broke from the car. She made it only a few feet before the bird shot blew off her right arm.

Another pump of the shotgun and a squeeze of the trigger, and she too was dead.

The police who combed the murder scene for evidence the next morning had a sickening sense of deja vu. A year earlier, a couple had been shot gunned to death on this very same, lonely roadside. Now the cops realized they had a serial murderer on their hands.

No one knew his name, so the papers invented one for him — the Duck Island killer.

For three more years, he would prowl the lover's lanes of Hamilton Township and Bucks County, Pa., gaining perverse pleasure every time he emerged from the bushes to surprise lovers in their parked cars. He might steal something — but mostly, he just wanted to kill.

By the time he laid down his 20-gauge shotgun in 1942, he had accounted for six murders — and had young lovers throughout the Trenton area quaking in fear.

"It's spooky enough just to drive through Duck Island at night and see the woods," remembered William "Bud" Glover, who was a teenager in Hamilton in the '30s. "But to know there was a madman with a shotgun out there, it sent chills through you."

Duck Island is not an island, but rather a low-lying, triangular peninsula washed by marshy estuaries that flow into the Delaware River. In the late 19th century, the streams forming the island's northern boundary were filled in with ashes from the Roebling steel plant and mucky river dredgings. Upon this surface were built brick kilns, oil depots and Duck Island Road.

It was nature's perfect lover's lane.

The stretch of macadam was lightly traveled, and once you parked off the shoulder, the thick underbrush concealed whatever forbidden behavior went on inside your car. From the crowded neighborhoods of South Trenton and Chambersburg, where everyone gossiped endlessly about each other, it took only a few minutes to scoot south to Duck Island and privacy.

This was where the first of the killer's victims came, on Nov. 8, 1938.

They were Vincenzo "Jim" Tonzillo of Walnut Avenue and Mary Myatovich of Steamboat Street, and they had special reason to keep their affair quiet. The 20-year-old Tonzillo was married — and Myatovich, 15 years old, was not his wife. The teen girl's father had discovered their affair and, furious, ordered her not to leave the house at night.

But Tonzillo still arranged to pick up his teen-aged lover about 7 p.m. and drive to their usual rendezvous at Duck Island. Outside, it rained, turning the soil into a muddy morass. Inside the car, the two lovers were warm and comfortable as they undressed each other.

A man with a shotgun pulled the door open.

"This is a stickup," he said.

Tonzillo, frightened and embarrassed, could barely move. It didn't matter. The gunman shot him dead right there, letting his body drop out of the back seat and into a puddle.

Myatovich was ordered out of the car. When she tried to run, the intruder sadistically shot her square in the buttocks. Then he raped her.

At 8:30 p.m., the headlights on another car caught Myatovich lying next to the car, gasping for help. Who did it? she was asked. "A big Negro," she sputtered.

For 36 hours, Mary Myatovich lingered at St. Francis Hospital, unable to add much to her description of the killer. Five homeless black men who camped in the shanties of Duck Island were rounded up for questioning. One was brought before her. "He's too big," was all she could say. She died on Nov. 10.

The police had two shotgun shells at the scene, a palm print on the car that didn't belong to either of the victims — but no leads. Prosecutor (and future Trenton Mayor) Andrew Duch was convinced that a jealous relative of either Myatovich or Tonzillo had a role in the killings. But he couldn't prove it.

The Sunday morning of Oct. 1, 1939 dawned bright and warm over Duck Island. For Pemberton Wemmer, it was the ideal time to scavenge the scrub brush for junk, deposit bottles and coins. You never knew what you might find here; a week ago, Wemmer had discovered a woman's artificial leg.

This morning, as he saw a foot poking out from a trash heap, it looked like the scavenger had found another false leg. He gave a tug. From the mound of garbage came a woman's body. She was Katherine Werner.

She had been shot twice. Then the gunman had bashed her head in with a concrete slab and swiped her watch. About 100 feet away was the Buick, with Kaspar dead in the back seat.

Now the Duck Island killer had claimed four lives. The Mercer County Board of Chosen Freeholders posted a $1,000 reward. The Hamilton police warned everyone from using their township as a ground for trysts, but patrolled Duck Island to protect the citizens.

More people on the island were rounded up and questioned, usually for no reason other than the fact they were black. And still there were no leads.

The Duck Island killer didn't return to Duck Island. He struck next on Nov. 2, 1940 outside Morrisville, Pa, wounding a man but allowing him to survive.

The killer waited only two more weeks before coming back — on Hamilton's Cypress Lane.

The victims were once again lover-neighbors in a secret tryst: Louis Kovacs, 25, and Carolina Morconi, 27, both of Roebling Avenue. They had parked amid the thickets of scrub oak and catbriars and gunned down at such close range that powder marks burned both man and woman.

"We are up against a lunatic, a man obsessed with a sex mania, probably a religious fanatic," said Duch, who had already discarded his theory of a jealous spouse as the culprit.

Now the Duck Island case was getting national attention. In 1941, American Weekly magazine did a story on it, breathlessly — and inaccurately — telling of a killer who came out on full moon nights. In fact, none of the murders coincided with a full moon.

"With the full moon at his back," the article reported, "three times the killer crept from the underbrush along a secluded lane and blasted unsuspecting couples trysting there."

American Weekly went on to insist that the killer would certainly strike again in 1941.

But the shotgun killer was quiescent all year, and on Dec. 7, America was suddenly at war with Japan. Trentonians temporarily forgot about the menace of the sex maniac.

They were reminded of his presence on April 7, 1942.

This time the shotgun killer's targets were a newly inducted soldier, John Testa, and his girlfriend, Antoinette Marcantonio, parked on a road in Tullytown, Pa. Testa lost his right arm to a blast of pellets, Marcantonio was clubbed over the head with the gun stock.

But the couple survived. And cops now had a much better description of the gunman. Even better, they had the wooden forearm of the 20-gauge shotgun which fell off when Marcantonio had been clubbed.

On the wooden stock was the serial number "A-639." After laborious records-checking that took more than a year, Hamilton cops and state troopers discovered it been pawned and redeemed at Krueger's Pawn Shop on South Broad Street. The man who had the ticket told detectives he'd given it to someone else: a medium-sized black man from Hamilton named Clarence Hill.

Who was Clarence Hill? He was married, worked as a laborer and taught Sunday school at the Mount Olivet Baptist Church, near his home on Wilfred Avenue. In late 1942, he had been drafted into the Army, and stationed in Georgia.

But under his respectable surface, Hill was the very picture of a sex pervert. He had lured some of his girl students to seamy sex trysts and fathered a baby with one of them, a 16-year-old. One of his closest friends told police: "When he could have intercourse with them, he would have it."

In December 1943, the Army arranged for the murder suspect to be transferred to Fort Dix, where Mercer County authorities questioned him. "I did those murders," he told them. What murders? "Duck Island."

Under closer questioning, the 34-year-old Hill spilled the whole, cold-blooded story of why he stalked lover's lanes.

"I just went there to see if I could see any parked cars there with girls and fellows in them screwing and to see if I could get a chance to bother around with a ... girl," he said.

This was his calm description of murdering Kasper and Werner in 1939:

"I took a peep inside the car to see what was going on in there. I saw a fellow and a woman. They were on the back seat. To me, it appeared that they was having a screwing party.

"I jerked the door open and they both jumped up and I shot the fellow and the girl ran out the other side screaming ... I shot her, I hit her in the arm, and she went down ..."

It took a jury five hours to find Clarence Hill guilty. The prosecution said he should die; the jury recommended mercy.

Sentenced to life, Hill served fewer than 20 years. When he was paroled in 1964, he disappeared quietly into civilian life, and the man who committed the worst string of murders in Mercer County history died of natural causes on July 9, 1973.

by: John Blackwell



A number station is simply an unidentified short wave radio station that broadcasts unknown transmissions. Apparently they are illegal to listen to, but because governments won't officially acknowledge them.


For more than 30 years the Shortwave radio spectrum has been used by the worlds intelligence agencies to transmit secret messages. These messages are transmitted by hundreds of Numbers Stations. Shortwave Number Stations are a perfect method of anonymous, one way communication. Spies located anywhere in the world can be communicated to by their masters via small, locally available, and unmodified Shortwave receivers.

The encryption system used by Numbers Stations, known as a one time pad is unbreakable. Combine this with the fact that it is almost impossible to track down the message recipients once they are inserted into the enemy country, it becomes clear just how powerful the Numbers Station system is. These stations use very rigid schedules, and transmit in many different languages, employing male and female voices repeating strings of numbers or phonetic letters day and night, all year round. The voices are of varying pitches and intonation; there is even a German station (The Swedish Rhapsody) that transmits a female child's voice!


'First Woman To Own A Baseball Team'


Effa Manley provided the the Newark Eagles (Negro Leagues) with an air-conditioned, $15,000 Flexible Clipper bus, a first for the Negro Leagues. Worried about what her players would do for employment during the off-season, she and husband Abe Manley sponsored a team in the Puerto Rican winter leagues.

Effa’s life was even more complicated than most in the segregated world of the early 1900’s. Effa’s father was black and her mother was Scandinavian. Effa was born light-skinned, with which she easily could have passed for being white. She decided, however, to identify with the black part of her heritage and the 'one drop' rule classified her as a Black woman; she also took an active role in the Negro Leagues and civil rights causes of the time. Effa was insulted when she was referred to as white, mixed, mulatto or Creole. She considered herself (full black).

Despite Effa Manley stating that she was a black woman, it hasn't stopped skeptics from questioning her ethnicity. One critic is determined to "make her white." While others (not mentioned below) find offense to a black woman being the first woman to be inducted into the baseball Hall of Fame. There are many theories regarding her ethnicity (paragraph below).

Effa Manley was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Manley's racial background is not completely known. It has been written that her biological parents may have been white, but she was raised by her black stepfather and white mother, leading most to assume her stepfather was her biological father and therefore to classify her as black. Daryl Russell Grigsby wrote, "...some insist she was a white woman exposed to black culture, who identified as black. Regardless of her ethnic origins, Effa Manley thought of herself as a black woman and was perceived by all who knew her as just that." Author Ted Schwarz wrote, "She was a white woman who passed as a black...She could stay in any hotel she desired."

According to the book "The Most Famous Woman in Baseball," by Bob Luke, Effie was born through an extramarital union between her African American seamstress mother, Bertha Ford Brooks, and Bertha's white employer, Philadelphia stockbroker John Marcus Bishop; therefore she may actually have been of mixed heritage.


Effa Louise Manley (March 27, 1897 – April 16, 1981) was an American sports executive, and the first woman inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. She co-owned the Newark Eagles baseball franchise in the Negro leagues with her husband Abe Manley from 1935 to 1946 and was sole owner through 1948 after his death.

She married Abe Manley in 1935 after meeting him at a New York Yankees game, and he involved her extensively in the operation of his own club, the Eagles. She displayed particular skill in the area of marketing and often scheduled promotions that advanced the civil rights movement. Her most noteworthy success was the Eagles' victory in the Negro League World Series in 1946.

She took over day-to-day business operations of the team, arranged playing schedules, planned the team's travel, managed and met the payroll, bought the equipment, negotiated contracts, and handled publicity and promotions. Thanks to her rallying efforts, more than 185 VIPs—including New York City Mayor Fiorello La Guardia, who threw out the first pitch, and Charles C. Lockwood, justice of the Supreme Court of the State of New York—were on hand to watch the Eagles' inaugural game in 1935.

Among the Eagles players during her ownership were future major league stars such as Larry Doby, who in 1947 was the first player to integrate the American League, Monte Irvin, and Don Newcombe.

Manley organized a 1934 boycott of stores that refused to hire black sales clerks. After six weeks, the owners of the store (Blumstein's Department Store) gave in, and by the end of 1935 some 300 stores on 125th Street employed blacks. Manley was the treasurer of the Newark chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) and often used Eagles games to promote civic causes. In 1939 she held an "Anti-Lynching Day" at Ruppert Stadium.

Effa Manley died April 16, 1981, at age 84 in Los Angeles, California and was buried in Culver City. She was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame in February 2006.


In 1977, a Nazi sniper (Kenneth N. Wilson) left a note saying he loved a black girl after he opened fire with an M-1 carbine on 200 blacks at a church picnic in Charlotte, N.C., he then shot and killed himself.

The note found on the body of Wilson, who was wearing a Nazi armband at the time of the shooting, said: "I did this for you Angie. I love you!"

Angie was a black girl whom Wilson dated while he was in high school. His parents tried to discourage the relationship.

She was a few years older and went away to college, they broke up after her departure.

Wilson became angry and targeted blacks.


There is a twisted underground subculture in the extreme S&M scene. This subculture is called "Self Motivated Castration."

On the darknet, ads read: "Searcing for a cutter to castrate me!" and "My cutter backed out at the last minute, help!"

A cutter is a man who works in the S&M culture. A website has over 5,000 inquiries from both gay and straight men regarding castration. One cutter described the procedure as a "loud crunching sound," that he enjoys.

Men who seek cutters are usually androgynous types, thin and underdeveloped who want to remain in an prepubescent asexual phase.

Others are eroto-phobes who don't like to feel driven by their libidos and want to become surgically tranquilized. Some want to be feminized, others want to be nullified by having their penis removed with their testicles. A quarter of those who get castrated continue to regulate their libidos with testosterone, which allows them to have full sex.


The former boyfriend of Sarah Coit, a 23-year-old millionaire's daughter from Greenwich, Connecticut, has pleaded guilty to brutally murdering her for wanting to leave him.

Her live-in boyfriend, Raul Barrera, 33, faces anywhere from 15 years to life in prison. .....

Barrera, once a staple at Louis Vuitton launch parties, was "very much a charmer. He spoke to a lot of women," said his former PR boss, B.J. Coleman.

He did a lot more than hit on women. The handsome fashion flack -- who moonlighted as a personal trainer at a Manhattan gym -- had a record of seven domestic violence incidents with two former (white) girlfriends from 2001 to 2004.

According to Coit's friend Colleen Carerir: "He wasn't human," she said. "He was a controlling monster. He looked at me like I was a piece of meat. I worked at Bellevue with mental patients, and they had nothing on this guy."

Carerir had a sinking feeling that Barrera would end up killing Coit, a talented artist from Greenwich, Conn.

But even before then, on East 33rd, "I heard her violent screams," said Carerir. In January, Carerir called cops one night "when I thought he was killing her."

"He had her in the bathtub, and it sounded like he was filling it with water," Carerir said. "I think he was strangling her. She was screaming a lot and coughing."

Cops came, but did not arrest Barrera, she said.

Carerir said Barrera also "tried to hit on me. He was a ladies' man."

Barrera allegedly stabbed Coit over and over in the head and torso, rotating knives from a collection of eight that he had in the apartment, police sources said. Her head was also bashed in.

The attack was so grisly, it left a piece of a knife lodged in her head.

The violence around 2:30 a.m. was so loud, numerous neighbors were awakened by Coit's anguished cries for help. Three people living in a building next door called 911 and told operators the yelling was coming from their apartment building.

A blood-covered Barrera fled after the fatal confrontation, allegedly leaving his girlfriend clinging to life on the floor with her internal organs spilling out.

Brianna Andalore, 20, said she heard screams of 'No, no. Stop, stop. Don't hurt me' through the walls of an apartment she was staying in.

Another neighbor said: 'When she was brought out, the cops were yelling, "Don't look Don't look", her head was almost off. Her neck was wide open.'


Johnny Galiher was a most unusual person. Although no stranger to the world known as “Society” in the 20th century, he was the kind of character you’d read about in a novel but never the type you’d ever meet.

He was once described “the chic-est man” in high society.

In person, he was a sophisticated, worldly man. He was also well-groomed and well-dressed friendly and congenial. Elegant might have been a more apt word to the eye.

He’d led a very cosmopolitan life since the 1940s in London, Paris, New York and early on in Los Angeles. He’d met and known the rich and the famous of the world of that era.

It was a world of formality: rules, etiquette and pleasure. Anything goes but watch yourself. To its real connoisseurs, it was a talent. John Galliher possessed that talent. He wasn’t known to have a profession (like Rubi). He’d had, over time, a couple of close associations (boyfriends in today’s parlance) and was well provided for at the time, and perhaps later (a kept man). But he was always his own man, at the center of his world.

However, there was also something of a mystery about him (often explained in terms of the boyfriends) because while he lived well, he wasn’t an “income earner."

After he died, he surprised, even shocked many by leaving bequests totaling almost $2 million.

He had been a spy, who discreetly worked in intelligence. He had a wide circle of associates. They ranged from movie stars and tycoons, to European politicians, dukes, duchesses, to authors, to artists.

His relationship with Greta Garbo, is emblematic of John’s social career. All kinds of people were attracted to his company. He saw her many times after that first meeting, although rarely, if ever, the result of his seeking her out. Garbo, he knew, as did everyone who came in contact with her, was highly unavailable to anyone who had any expectations of her presence, or company.

There was the time when both John and Garbo were guests on producer Sam Spiegel’s yacht in the Mediterranean in the 1950s. It so happened both he and she were early risers, and the first thing both did was to take a swim before breakfast. They’d bump into one another leaving their respective cabins for the swim. Only a nod was exchanged, however, and other than that, never a word. Garbo also liked to swim in the nude, something that John blithely ignored for her sake, swimming just far enough ahead of her. When finished both would return to their cabins without uttering a word.

Later at breakfast, however, with everyone present, they’d exchange their first words. “Good Morning Miss G.” “Good Morning Mr. G.”

He was already displaying a mature, yet rare talent, the talent for enjoying life (pictured above as an oil sheik at a Masquerade Ball). An elegant young man in his mid-thirties, he knew and/or met everybody, from Cocteau and Gertrude Stein to the Windsors, and everybody in between. There were Rothschilds and Mona von Bismarck (Mrs. Harrison Williams), there was Cole Porter and Elsa Maxwell and Noel Coward and Errol Flynn and Rock Hudson. He dined at Marie Laure Noailles’. All the world was coming to Paris.

John was often entertained by Barbara Hutton (billionairess) and her cousin Jimmy Donahue.

He lived in Paris for fifteen years in, according to Tony Hail, a “very attractively” decorated apartment on the rue de Burgoyne, which he acquired through the assistance of Donald Bloomingdale of the New York department store family. He entertained often at parties populated by the rich, the celebrated, the powerful and occasionally the notorious.

In the following years, his life took on the pattern of early jetsetters, traveling frequently between Paris, London and New York, with trips to the resorts, to yachts on the Mediterranean, to Mexico, to Jamaica. At one point, he kept the apartment in Paris, a house in London and an apartment in New York. He assisted his friend Hubert de Givenchy at the beginning of his design career. Givenchy did not speak English and John spoke French beautifully. With his linguistic and social talents he served as a “liaison” for the rising designer.

By his forties, he was a man of the world, a man about town, to be found at the best places, on the best yachts, present at all the famous parties that seemed even more fabulous after the regeneration of Europe from the ashes of war.

It was a lifetime of being a very popular, highly sought after, highly enigmatic individual. He was a mystery to most who knew him, all his life and even with those who’d know him for decades. He wasn’t so much secretive as he was inclined to be discreet in a way that is almost unknown in today’s world.

That discretion was reflected in his dress, his décor and his social behavior. He was always a “gent” in his attitude and bearing toward others, always unfailingly courteous and kindly toward everybody. This rare quality is even rarer in the circles John traveled in most of the time. And because he lived such a long life, he had seen many rise from often humble beginnings right up to the royal tastes they acquired along with the fortunes they accumulated or married into. He’d also seen many fall from grace and, with his incisive sensitivity, he often sympathized.

He did not divulge or break confidences, and he had many to keep.

It was also known that he was not from a wealthy family, and that he had no apparent employment. This only added to his mystery.

While the haute monde and the demimondaine were always in proximity in John Galliher’s world, there were also the worlds of the arts, of the theatre and show business (he loved music and was a very close friend of Lena Horne and Bobby Short (another elegant man), to name a few.

Galiher died in his sleep in 2003, a week before Christmas.

Source: New York Social



According to Bumpy Johnson's late widow (Mayme Johnson) gangster Red Dillard Morrison was extremely handsome, well groomed and well dressed.

by: Zach O'Malley Greenburg

When I first met Dillard Morrison, Jr., all I could tell was that he had a story he could barely contain himself from telling. In a side room of a speakeasy in Harlem one night, the spry 70 year-old’s eyes twinkled as he spoke of smoky clubs and jazz, a time when nattily-dressed gangsters roamed Manhattan’s upper reaches and enforced a code of honor. Perhaps no man was more feared, respected and admired in his day than Morrison’s father, “Red” Dillard Morrison, Sr. (above pic-center-white jacket)

Once called the “most dangerous man in the country” by federal law enforcement agents, the elder Morrison’s underworld résumé includes running a multimillion dollar heroin ring and engaging in shootouts with famous rivals like Bumpy Johnson. But the part that fascinated me most about Morrison’s life, as told by his son, wasn’t the gunplay or fast money. It was his abiding love for music.

Many people have heard stories of connections between celebrities and organized crime, from Frank Sinatra’s relationship with the Genovese crime family to Young Jeezy’s ties to the BMF syndicate in Atlanta, while artists from Scarface to Jay-Z often glorify the life of the mafioso. Morrison was one of the earliest bridges between the two worlds, spending countless nights at the Savoy Ballroom or Minton’s Playhouse with the likes of Count Basie and Sarah Vaughan– and bankrolling and otherwise supporting an array of musicians, even in the midst of a flourishing criminal life.

“He was very kind to all the musicians,” says jazz singer Ernie Andrews. “He followed them all the time, gave them support.” Adds Morrison’s son: “There was nobody he didn’t know. They all partied together and drank together, just like Sinatra and Tony Bennett used to do at the Copacabana.”

Dillard Morrison, Sr. was born in Alabama and migrated to New York with his parents as a teen. After deciding menial labor wasn’t for him, Morrison quickly earned his underworld stripes by robbing craps players and numbers runners in Harlem, growing into a bona fide gangster in the late 1930s. His early criminal enterprises showed no shortage of ambition: disappointed with the take of one heist at Woolworth’s, he immediately robbed a check-cashing shop. He picked up his nickname when he accidentally turned his hair red while trying to straighten it.

Even more than his appetite for illegal activity, it was Morrison’s toughness that would become the stuff of legend. In one case, he was ambushed by a pair of assailants who shot him in the leg–but he turned around and chased the gunmen all the way back to their getaway car. Though he would spend decades behind bars over the course of his life, however, Morrison was never convicted of murder.

“As far as his record is concerned, you’d say this guy is a dirty guy,” admits Morrison, Jr. “But when you’re in the street, you need to get respect. It’s like taming wild horses. When he was around the thugs, he couldn’t show weakness.”

When he wasn’t plotting with underworld operatives, Morrison spent his time with musicians and family, with the line between the two blurring over the years. In 1938 he proposed to his girlfriend, Kathleen, at the Savoy, dropping to one knee amidst a troupe of dancers whirling around before the big band. Shortly after their marriage, Morrison tried to go straight.

After the couple’s first child died at birth, however, Morrison became convinced he needed more money to get the best possible medical care and prevent another tragedy. When he was asked to become the right hand man for a boss named Big Joe, he agreed. A healthy Dillard Morrison, Jr. was born in 1941.

The younger Morrison remembers growing up with music and musicians. His father had become an advocate for the jazz players on the Harlem scene: Artists knew that if a nightclub owner tried to stiff them, they could always call Red Dillard to apply some pressure. Over the course of time, this helped to foster a number of close friendships.

“Count Basie used to come by the house,” recalls Morrison, Jr. “Anybody that you’d put him around, they’d stick to him. He’d protect you, and he’d give you advice.”

In the mid-1940s, Morrison split with Big Joe and began buying heroin wholesale from Italian mobster/secret agent Lucky Luciano, who imported the stuff from Turkey via Sicily. Morrison then handed off the product to drug runners who’d resell it in points further south and west of New York. Morrison also worked as a pimp and earned a reputation as both a dashing ladies’ man and a philanderer.

As Morrison’s business grew, so too did his profile. His name began to turn up in local newspapers, both for the opulent parties he threw–and for his criminal activities. In 1950, the law finally caught up with him: Morrison was busted by the Feds on narcotics charges and sentenced to five years in prison. While Morrison was away, his musician friends visited him at the penitentiary in Leavenworth, Ks. and kept an eye on his family.

Morrison, Sr. returned in 1955 with promises of going straight. When two mafiosos showed up at his house with a brand-new red Cadillac El Dorado for him–a token of gratitude for not “snitching” on them in prison, he respectfully declined. He eyed the real estate business and considered opening a dry cleaning shop. But months after his return, another event shook him from his path: the sudden death of his wife, felled at age 33 by an allergic reaction to a penicillin injection.

Though Morrison frequently cheated on his wife, he was deeply affected by her death. Trying to cope, he spent his nights at clubs like Shalimar, Birdland and other old haunts. In the late 1950s, he opened his own nightclub, “Red’s After-Hour Spot,” on 146th Street. He’d drink and chase women with Thelonius Monk and Billy Daniels; he even had an affair with Carmen McRae.

One night, he taught Miles Davis how to drive a stick shift.

“Miles Davis loved him to death,” recalls Morrison, Jr. “Miles bought a red Maserati and drove it in one gear all the way from 77th Street to Minton’s Playhouse so that my father could teach him how to drive it.”

During this time, the elder Morrison grew increasingly fond of cocaine, and his behavior became erratic. There were more shootouts, bar brawls, and a drug deal set up by a federal agent that landed him back in jail for ten more years. Once again, his musical friends stood by him. Billy Eckstein and Sarah Vaughan even visited and performed for him at Otisville.

Released in 1974, Morrison, Sr. moved to Los Angeles and continued his life as a drug dealer even as he approached his 60th birthday. Still, he maintained his support for musicians. Ernie Andrews remembers Morrison sending money to help pay for the funeral of Sonny Payne, a drummer who played with Harry James and Count Basie.

Growing old isn’t easy for anyone, and it’s nearly impossible for a gangster. By 1979, Morrison was back in jail for the last time, ratted out by a girlfriend and convicted of drug charges. He died of bladder cancer in prison ten years later. By then, Morrison’s Harlem was a shell of its former self. Most of the clubs had closed, and a new ethos ruled the streets.



On May 25, 1955, the body of a 34 year-old black man was found in the desert outside of Las Vegas. The man’s neck had been broken, and the body had apparently been dumped from a car. Even though this scenario may sound like it would warrant an autopsy, none was performed. The local coroner and law enforcement officials ruled that the man had died of a drug overdose and the case was closed. It has never been explained how the body came to be in the desert nor how or why its neck was broken. That the body belonged to Wardell Gray, one of jazz’s best West Coast bop tenor players and heir apparent to the legacy of Lester Young, was of no consequence to the authorities. According to authorities, Gray was linked to mob mogul Meyer Lansky. His affiliation to Lansky has always been unclear but he stood out because he was the only black man ever linked to Lansky. Was his death linked to Lansky?


Wardell Gray was born in Oklahoma, making him one of a handful of “western swing” players whose style was characterized by a full and open tone as well as a relaxed but fiercely swinging improvisational style. Though Gray’s folks moved from Oklahoma City to Detroit before he took up the saxophone.

Gray would later move to California, living in Los Angeles, which was fast attracting a large number of musicians inspired by the bebop movement spearheaded on the other coast by Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker. It was during this time that he met Dexter Gordon and began to play club dates with Gordon during which the two would engage in musical “battles of the tenors."

Las Vegas is usually thought of as a wild kind of place where “anything goes.” Most people are surprised to learn that, in terms of race relations, the city has a history much like any Southern town; in fact, Vegas was known as the “Mississippi of the West”. Segregation was widespread and enforced by laws that cut blacks out of any reasonable representation. Blacks were not allowed to use city swimming pools and could only purchase cemetery plots in carefully delineated “black” burial areas. Interracial marriage licenses were not granted, and any black citizen requesting such a license with the intention of marrying a white was arrested. The first marriage license granted to an interracial couple in Las Vegas was not issued until 1959.

The same was true of the downtown casinos and the Strip. Blacks were not allowed in the casinos to gamble and were usually not allowed to stay at the hotels and establishments on the Strip where they performed. Bugsy Siegel was the first to hire black performers to entertain at his establishment, the Flamingo, because he wanted the best performers regardless of their race. Lena Horne performed there shortly after the Flamingo opened, but she was not allowed to enter the casino. While she was able to stay at the Flamingo during her tenure there, many performers were not so lucky. Generally the black bands, singers, and comedians who performed downtown had to stay in the area known as the Westside, an area on the west side of the railroad tracks where blacks and their businesses were pretty much kept “hidden” from the rest of the town. Any establishment that would attract a “mixed clientele” (a euphemism for having black customers) was denied a business license unless it was located on the Westside.

In 1955, the Moulin Rouge casino opened at 900 West Bonanza Road. The casino had a clear policy of serving any and all patrons, regardless of race. Because of its open policy, it was able to draw many of the top black entertainers in the country. Black entertainers who performed on the Strip would stay at the Moulin Rouge, and many white entertainers came there to relax and have a good time after their shows. Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., and Ed Sullivan were all frequent visitors to the Moulin Rouge’s gaming floor. The Moulin Rouge had a “third show”, unlike the Strip casinos which only had a dinner show and a midnight show. This led to an “after-hours” atmosphere at the Moulin Rouge, similar to the jam session atmosphere at integrated jazz clubs in New York or Los Angeles. Nor was the casino merely a front for white businessmen–the management, dealers, and other workers at the Moulin Rouge were all black, a very radical concept a that time not only for Las Vegas, but large parts of the United States.

Benny Carter’s band played at the Moulin Rouge’s opening, and two days later Wardell Gray was dead. What happened? There have been several theories advanced over the years. The commonly accepted story, boosted by the official cause of death report, is that Gray had succumbed to the lure of heroin and either overdosed, resulting in his body being dumped in the desert to keep the Moulin Rouge from being implicated, or that he had been involved in a drug deal that went bad.

Other people who knew Wardell swear that he was murdered because of a gambling debt. Given the nature of Las Vegas and its business, this not outside the realm of possibility. Still another possibility is that Wardell Gray was the victim of a racially motivated murder.

Another fact that lends an air of suspicion to events surrounding Gray’s death is the fact that the Moulin Rouge closed after only six months of operation, despite great popularity. Again, there are many theories as to why, ranging from poor business management to pressure from the casinos on the Strip, who felt that the Moulin Rouge was too popular and was competing with their business. Whatever the reason, it seems clear that there were events in both the closing of the Moulin Rouge and the death of Wardell Gray that have not, and may never, come to light.




If Donyale Luna (top two photos) would have lived, she would have become the first African American female superstar in any field. Luna was the first African American celebrity mentioned in "Time," magazine on a constant basis.

Pat Cleveland (black and white photos above) needs to write a book.

Cleveland was best friends with Sterling St. Jacques and she roomed with Donyale Luna in Europe. Donyale and Sterling died before they reached their full potential and both are considered two of the most fascinating and colorful characters in fashion history.

When Pat, Donyale and Sterling entered Rome nightclubs, a hush fell over the crowd. They carried themselves with elegance, grace and class and they were extremely good looking. Pat and Sterling not only dominated the dance floor at Studio 54, they also dominated the nightclubs in Europe and the trio was pursued by Italian Counts and rich sugar daddies. They also made it fashionable to eat smoked barracuda on private yachts.

In 1966, Donyale Luna became the first African American model to appear on the cover of British Vogue. In their relentless pursuit of the new, fashion makers of the 60's pounced on Donyale Luna. She was described as having the tall strength and pride of movement of a Masai warrior with eyes that changed colors from blue to green at the drop of a dime. She stalked onto the fashion scene and became an overnight success. Her body moves were like a panther, her arms, the wings of an exotic bird, her long neck suggested a black trumpet swan. The audience always responded with shattering applause.


Rewind: Donyale Luna and Josephine Baker were cut from the same cloth. We told you about the young men who camped outside her Paris apartment (she shared with Pat Cleveland). When Luna appeared, they followed her all over Europe. One day, she wore a dress with a long train. The young men held the train of her dress as she walked-(stopping traffic). She was treated like a Queen in Europe.

Early Life:

She was born Peggy Ann Freeman in Detroit, Michigan to Nathaniel and Peggy Freeman. She was the youngest of three daughters. In January 1965, her mother fatally shot her father in self-defense as he was reportedly abusive.

Luna's sister later described her as being "a very weird child, even from birth, living in a wonderland, a dream." She would routinely create fantasies about her background and herself.

As a teen, she attended the prestigious Cass Technical High School where she studied journalism and was in the school choir. It was during this time that she began calling herself "Donyale." She was later described by friends and classmates as being "kind of a kook."

After being discovered by the photographer David McCabe, she moved from Detroit to New York City to pursue a modeling career. In January 1965, a sketch of Luna appeared on the cover of Harper's Bazaar. She became the first African American model to appear on the cover of a Vogue magazine, the March 1966 British issue, shot by British photographer David Bailey.

According to The New York Times, she was under exclusive contract to the photographer Richard Avedon for a year at the beginning of her career.

An article in Time magazine published on April 1, 1966, "The Luna Year," described her as "a new heavenly body who, because of her striking singularity, promises to remain on high for many a season. Donyale Luna, as she calls herself, is unquestionably the hottest model in Europe at the moment. She is only 20, a Negro, hails from Detroit, and is not to be missed if one reads Harper's Bazaar, Paris Match, Britain's Queen, the British, French or American editions of Vogue.

By the 1970s, however, Luna's modeling career began to decline due to her drug use, eccentric behavior and tendency to be difficult. A designer who Luna once worked for said, "She [Luna] took a lot of drugs and never paid her bills." Fellow model Beverly Johnson later said, "[Luna]" doesn't wear shoes winter or summer. Ask her where she's from-Mars? She went up and down the runways on her hands and knees. She didn't show up for bookings. She didn't have a hard time, she made it hard for herself."

Around 1969 Luna was romantically involved with German actor Klaus Kinski. Both posed together on several photographs. The relationship ended when Kinski asked her entourage to leave his house in Rome: he was concerned that their drug use could damage his career.

Luna married the Italian photographer Luigi Cazzaniga. In 1977 they had a child: Dream Cazzaniga.

In the late 1960s, in an interview, Luna expressed her fondness for LSD: "I think it's great. I learned that I like to live, I like to make love, I really do love somebody, I love flowers, I love the sky, I like bright colors, I like animals. [LSD] also showed me unhappy things -- that I was stubborn, selfish, unreasonable, mean, that I hurt other people."

Luna died in Rome, Italy, in a clinic, after an accidental drug overdose.



Jason Smith's father (Bruce) said the KKK is responsible for his murder despite the Medical Examiner listing his death as an accidental drowning.

An alternative news article exposed five additional deaths of people whose families differ with the medical examiners' findings. All five families say their loved ones were murdered and that the authorities are engaging in cover-ups.


Bruce Smith: "My son was beaten, raped, and murdered by the KKK"

JASON SMITH STORY: A 14-year-old Louisiana youth's death was ruled "accidental drowning," but his father is convinced he was murdered in a racially motivated hate crime. His organs also disappeared.

Some think they were taken for transplants.

However, Jason had been dead hours before his body was recovered from a lake.

Jason's father alleges that his son was sexually assaulted and that one of Jason's murderers was the son of an FBI agent.

Bruce Smith adds: The authorities tried to kill me and another son while I was on my way out of Louisiana.

Jason was buried on Father's Day.


Cover Up?


Egyptians were an advanced race. The pyramids (constructed by Egyptians) have astonished historians for thousands of years. How could a people create such massive structures without the use of modern technology? Where did they procure building materials and transport them to the work site? Some of these materials weighed five tons. The Egyptian pyramids are considered one of the seven wonders of the world.

Last year, we told you about African American astronaut-Stephanie Ellis. Allegedly, Ellis (a black woman) was the first woman to reach space (with her crew) yet her story has been erased from history and she and her crew perished in (1975) and now this (below).


by: Jay Thomas II

NASA allegedly launched a top secret flight in 1976 to investigate a lunar anomaly. According to information that has allegedly been unclassified-the anomaly was an ancient spacecraft perched on the rim of a crater.

It had severe meteor damage, showing it had been there for thousands of years.

What's even more remarkable is that they found at least one well preserved body on board, and one with the head preserved, but the body was severely damaged by meteors.

These were thought to be the pilots.

They were females and they were obviously human.

And they were women of color (Egyptians).

The ship resembled something out of ancient Egypt.


Not only did Nora Holt perform at high society parties and at the Everleigh Sisters' house of prostitution (pianist) to pay tuition bills, she also traveled to Europe and Asia in the 1920's.

Holt's life was grist for the scandal pages. Ebony magazine included her on its 1949 list of "Most Married Negroes," for Holt was married five times. Nora Holt was, in short, a bombshell (photos don't do her justice), and one of the most fascinating figures of the Harlem Renaissance era.

As a young woman she played the organ in an A.M.E. church, but also apparently consorted with other kinds of musicians as well; she married a musician named Sky James when she was 15. Two years later she married politician Philip Scroggins, and shortly after that she was married again, to a barber, Bruce Jones. Various sources describe her as a stunning red-haired or blonde-haired beauty.

This rush of marital activity did not in the least distract Holt from her studies. She graduated as valedictorian of her class from Western University. She was the first African American to be awarded a master's degree in music.

Meanwhile, she married her fourth husband, elderly hotel owner George Holt, in 1917; she took the first name Nora at that time. She had already begun to travel effortlessly in the highest circles of white Chicago society, paying her music-school tuition bills by performing light classical vocal pieces and spirituals at parties hosted by wealthy local industrialists. (Although she counted a number of influential white men among her friends, all five of Holt's husbands and all of her known lovers were African American.)

George Holt's death in 1921 left her a wealthy woman and put an end to her need to perform for purely financial reasons.

Holt wrote a column for the Chicago Defender, the city's black daily newspaper, from 1917 to 1921. She was the first African-American classical music critic whose work appeared on a regular basis in the United States.

As her financial situation became more secure, Holt threw herself into creating classical compositions of her own. By the mid-1920s she had written nearly 200 works, in genres ranging from symphony to song.

Her tumultuous romantic life was the talk of the African-American community during the 1920s. The drama began with her fifth marriage, in 1923, to Joseph Ray, assistant to the Pennsylvania tycoon Charles Schwab and himself one of the wealthiest blacks in the country. Holt arrived for the wedding bedecked in a spectacular cloud-like veil studded with diamonds and pearls, but insiders speculated that the veil was meant to conceal a black eye given to her by a man whom she had rejected for Ray.

The marriage, however, did not last. Ray installed his wife in a Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, mansion, but Holt began drifting back to the bright lights of New York. She was linked romantically with several other men, and a hotel maid claimed to have served breakfast in bed every day for a week to Holt and Leroy Wilkins, brother of the deceased Harlem nightclub owner Barron Wilkins. Holt claimed that Ray was given to insane bouts of jealousy, and she in fact won several court judgments against him. A divorce was granted after several years of legal wrangling.

The now-liberated Nora Holt became part of the cream of Harlem society.

Still intensely involved with music, Holt resumed her nightclub-singing ways. Much of her time was spent in Europe, where she performed at swank parties and clubs in London and Paris.

Back in the United States at the end of the 1930s, Holt studied at the University of Southern California, taught music in the Los Angeles school system for several years, ran a beauty shop, and became involved with the Los Angeles school board.

Nora Holt died January 25, 1974 in Los Angeles.


What David Ruffin was to the Temptations, Philippe Wynne was to the Spinners and yet he remains one of the most underrated lead singers in R&B history.

Allegedly, songwriter-producer Thom Bell begged Wynne to stay with the group. Philippe replied: "Why? I am the group." Later, Thom Bell made the following statement about new lead singer (John Edwards-who sung lead on "Making My Way Back To You," & "Cupid.)" "John Edwards is a fantastic singer but I couldn't give him the best of me. He needed someone that could hear him better than me, and it was proven so, when we went our separate ways."

Allegedly, Wynne's then manager Alan Thicke (Robin's father) encouraged him to leave the Spinners and pursue a solo career. He enjoyed success with Parliament/Funkadelic but his solo albums flopped.

Wynne was a kind hearted and often passed out gifts and treats to underprivileged kids in urban neighborhoods.

Phillippe Wynne died of an heart attack (onstage) at the age of 43 in 1984. Wynne is buried in the same Detroit cemetery as Flo Ballard.

According to Bettye LaVette:

When Philippe Wynne first came through Detroit clubs in the sixties, everyone looked to avoid him. He was gawky and homely. He was overweight and overbearing.

No one would let him sing, that's how annoying he was.

We thought he was nothing but a goofball.

Then one night he walked in and said, "Hey, I've just been signed to take G.C. Cameron's place as lead singer for the Spinners." Say what? The Spinners? Can't be!

But it was. It turned out that not only was Philippe Wynne a brilliant singer, he was also an original. He had his own licks.

Along with Gladys Knight, he was probably the best ab-libber of all time.

He gave the Spinners new energy.

Phillippe didn't remind you of anyone, he had his own style.


Before the Cocktail:

In the first reported case of attempted suicide by AIDS, a French woman (Marianne) injected herself with AIDS-infected blood from her dying ex-boyfriend, a team of French doctors reported in Thursday`s issue of the New England Journal of Medicine.

She succeeded in infecting herself, they said, but changed her mind and sought help from doctors, who tried but failed to stop the infection by treating her with the anti-AIDS drug AZT.

The woman now faces a slow death.

Hers is the first such reported suicide attempt in either the U.S. or France, according to French doctors and the U.S. Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta.

The episode began when the 41-year-old woman went to say goodbye to an ex-boyfriend, a drug addict who was terminally ill with AIDS and had decided to go home to Italy to die.

When she got to his home, she told him she wanted to die, and with his cooperation, withdrew some of his blood into a syringe. She then injected about a teaspoonful of his blood into her own vein.

Within an hour or two, the woman panicked, said one of her doctors, Claire Le Jeunne, in a telephone interview, she said, `What can I do now that I did this? I`m sorry. I shouldn`t have,` ``Le Jeunne said.

Although a quick blood test showed she had no signs of infection with HIV, the human immunodeficiency virus that causes AIDS, the doctors gave her an immediate, large dose of the anti-AIDS drug AZT, or zidovudine, and followed it with additional doses every six hours for about five weeks.

The French doctors were ``not surprised,`` Le Jeunne said, when about three months after the injection, the woman developed swollen lymph glands, clear signs of infection.

According to Bettye LaVette:

One day, I eagerly went to Aretha and Ted's suite at the Americana Hotel. The three of us spent the afternoon blowing cocaine-Ted's cocaine. I rarely carried drugs. I never had to. They were usually extended to me by generous hosts and suitors.

I have no idea whether Aretha knew that Ted and I occasionally had sex. Given how close I was to him, she may have assumed so. On the other hand, Ted may have kept her in the dark. Either way, we didn't have problems getting high together and shooting the breeze.

Aretha was comfortable with me, not only because she saw me as a colleague, but because she knew I had hung with her sister Erma. For years, Aretha's baby sister, Carolyn, and brother Cecil shared the same drug dealer with me. They were more extroverted than Aretha, who in those years was the quiet one. Even high, she was shy.

There was a knock on the door. Room service. Ted put away the cocaine and nibbled on the cheese and sipped champagne. The mood was cordial. I asked Aretha about Teddy, her son with Ted.

Back in Detroit, I'd been in the presence of Ted, Sr. and Ted, Jr. I felt like I was part of Ted White's extended family. In those days, it was not unusual for wives of pimps to socialize with both their employees and their girlfriends.

Aretha's father C.L. Franklin despised Ted with a passion.

When I got into trouble and needed money, Ted was always there to help. Of course, I wasn't his only outside woman, he had many ladies stashed in apartments throughout Detroit.

Between Aretha, his stable of prostitutes and girlfriends, Ted led a busy life. Yet he negotiated those many relationships with skill and style and he was a good music producer.



Allegedly, Coccinelle was very close (behind closed doors) to Rock Hudson. She also had alleged friendships with Joe DiMaggio and Bob Hope, etc.


A French transsexual performer, almost forgotten outside her home country, but who set the world on fire fifty years ago. Born as Jacques Charles Dufresnoy, he adopted the stage name Coccinelle—Ladybug—in 1953 when he debuted at the nightclub "Chez Madame Arthur." At the outset of his career, Coccinelle was a male cross-dresser, but in 1958 he underwent sex change surgery in Morocco, and her re-emergence onto the stage as a woman made her world famous.

Adopting the persona of blonde bombshells like Jayne Mansfield and Marilyn Monroe, she was able to parlay her status into film roles, and was also featured in a few shockumentaries, but it was on the stage that she shone, performing at some of France’s most exclusive clubs, including "Le Carrousel," and "Paris Olympia."

Her fame was a controversial subject of course, if not a public obsession, and her marriages caused epic scandals, but also prompted the French government to legalize unions between trans- gendered participants. By 1989 Coccinelle had moved to Marseilles, where she headlined at the "Cabaret Spitz." She was still performing there in April 2006 when she had a stroke. She died after three months of hospitalization.



Doppelganger is a paranormal double of a living person. Above, Nicolas Cage bears an uncanny resemblance to a Civil War Veteran. Justin Timberlake resembles a criminal in a mug shot and Bruce Willis favors Gen. Douglas MacArthur.

It also describes the sensation of having glimpsed oneself in peripheral vision, in a position where there is no chance that it could have been a reflection.

Doppelgängers often are perceived as a sinister form of bilocation and are regarded by some to be harbingers of bad luck. In some traditions, a doppelgänger seen by a person's friends or relatives portends illness or danger, while seeing one's own doppelgänger is said to be an omen of death.

DO YOU HAVE an exact double somewhere in the world? Can a person be in two places at once? There are many intriguing accounts throughout history of people who claim to have either encountered apparitions of themselves-their doppelgangers-or have experienced the phenomenon of bilocation, being in two separate locations at the very same time.

"Doppelganger" is German for "double walker" - a shadow self that is thought to accompany every person. Traditionally, it is said that only the owner of the doppelganger can see this phantom self, and that it can be a harbinger of death. Occasionally, however, a doppelganger can be seen by a person's friends or family, resulting in quite a bit of confusion.

In instances of bilocation, a person can either spontaneously or willingly project his or her double, known as a "wraith," to a remote location. This double is indistinguishable from the real person and can interact with others just as the real person would.


One of the most fascinating reports of a doppelganger comes from American writer Robert Dale Owen who was told the story by Julie von Güldenstubbe, the second daughter of the Baron von Güldenstubbe. In 1845, when von Güldenstubbe was 13, she attended Pensionat von Neuwelcke, an exclusive girl's school near Wolmar in what is now Latvia. One of her teachers was a 32-year-old French woman named Emilie Sagée. And although the school's administration was quite pleased with Sagée's performance, she soon became the object of rumor and odd speculation. Sagée, it seemed, had a double that would appear and disappear in full view of the students.

In the middle of class one day, while Sagée was writing on the blackboard, her exact double appeared beside her. The doppelganger precisely copied the teacher's every move as she wrote, except that it did not hold any chalk. The event was witnessed by 13 students in the classroom. A similar incident was reported at dinner one evening when Sagée's doppelganger was seen standing behind her, mimicking the movements of her eating, although it held no utensils.

The doppelganger did not always echo her movements, however. On several occasions, Sagée would be seen in one part of the school when it was known that she was in another at that time. The most astonishing instance of this took place in full view of the entire student body of 42 students on a summer day in 1846. The girls were all assembled in the school hall for their sewing and embroidery lessons.

As they sat at the long tables working, they could clearly see Sagée in the school's garden gathering flowers. Another teacher was supervising the children. When this teacher left the room to talk to the headmistress, Sagée's doppelganger appeared in her chair-while the real Sagée could still be seen in the garden. The students noted that Sagée's movements in the garden looked tired while the doppelganger sat motionless. Two brave girls approached the phantom and tried to touch it, but felt an odd resistance in the air surrounding it. One girl actually stepped between the teacher's chair and the table, passing right through the apparition, which remained motionless. It then slowly vanished.

Sagée claimed never to have seen the doppelganger herself, but said that whenever it was said to appear, she felt drained and fatigued. Her physical color even seemed to pale at those times.

Detroit— Kenneth Williams went to prison for strangling his great-aunt with a telephone cord in 1989, the same year his father was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Before entering prison, the younger Williams asked his sister to save his share of royalty checks he inherited from his dad, Paul Williams, one of the original members of the Temptations, the superstar Motown group known for the hits "My Girl," "Ain't Too Proud to Beg" and "Papa Was a Rollin' Stone."

"I figured I was well off," Kenneth Williams, 49, told The Detroit News.

The Redford Township man was released from prison in July after serving more than 20 years and discovered the money — estimated at more than $200,000 — was gone. His sister, Paula Williams, spent it, according to a complaint he filed against her in federal court in Detroit.

The accusation serves as another sad footnote to the legacy of Motown legend Paul Williams, the baritone singer who choreographed the group's stylish dance moves, and who died in 1973 under murky circumstances. And it is the latest in a long line of fights over one of the most consistently lucrative commodities to come out of Detroit in 51 years: Motown royalties.

The accusations add a new layer of drama to one of the most successful, and tragic, acts in the Motown Records stable. It is a stable filled with stars whose success and tragedies — including premature deaths, murder, drug addiction and legal woes — have inspired Broadway musicals, TV movies and reams of tell-all books.

Federal and Wayne County court records expose a fight within a family dogged by disaster in the decades after Paul Williams and four friends topped the charts.

Thanks to all those hits, Williams' heirs split about $80,000 a year in Motown royalties based on sales of the group's music, Paul Williams' likeness and other rights. The royalties were paid out twice a year.

Motown money fights, which are not unique to the Williams family, are somewhat ironic, said Peter Benjaminson, author of "The Lost Supreme: The Life of Dreamgirl Florence Ballard."

"When Motown started, there weren't any significant royalties for most people," he said. "The average rock star had one hit, then tried for another one, failed, and went to work at a factory.

"One of the big surprises for Motown and everyone who worked for it is how long the songs have lasted and sold."

It's hard for Paul Williams Jr., who was 7 years old when his father died, to say whether the royalties are a blessing or a curse.

"Money, ugh," Paul Jr. said. "What money does to people, I don't understand."

His sister Paula declined comment through her lawyer.

The Williams family has been fighting for Motown royalties since Aug. 17, 1973, the day Paul Williams died at age 34 of what police said was a self-inflicted gunshot wound. He had left the Temptations in 1971.

He was coping with health and personal issues at the time and was estranged from his wife, Mary Agnes Williams. A divorce was pending.

In 1987, 14 years after he died, the family reopened Paul Williams' estate to pursue royalties owed by Motown and determine his rightful heirs, a complicated task because Williams died without a will.

Williams' family accused Motown of not paying any royalties after the singer died.

The family claimed it was owed $195,000. But Motown said the family could not pursue royalties that were more than 6 years old.

The family eventually settled in March 1988 for $96,520. That covered the years 1981 through June 1987.

Next, Wayne County Probate Judge Joseph Pernick had to divide the royalty pie and determine shares and heirs.

Williams had three daughters and two sons — Sarita, Paula and Mary and Kenneth and Paul Jr. — with wife Mary Agnes.

Before he died, Paul Williams acknowledged fathering a sixth child, son Paul Williams Lucas.

The royalty pie was about to be divided — when a seventh child surfaced, a son born in 1968 to one of Paul Williams' girlfriends.

Derrick Vinyard, who was 5 when Paul Williams died, wanted a share of the Motown royalties.

Paula Williams denied that Vinyard was an heir.

The Motown star's brother, however, disagreed.

Johnny Williams said his brother never denied being Vinyard's father, according to a 1988 deposition transcript filed in the probate case.

Johnny Williams said he saw Paul and Vinyard's mother on dates at the Fox Theatre and the Twenty Grand nightclub. And there were rumors Paul Williams had fathered twins in Cleveland.

"He's a breeder," Johnny Williams said of his brother during the deposition.

The judge concluded Vinyard was an heir — and divided the late Motown star's past and future royalties.

Paul Williams' widow would get one-third. The seven children would split the rest equally.

In January 1989, the family agreed to have Paula parcel out the royalty checks to her four siblings and mother twice a year.

The two half siblings receive their money directly from the record company.

Kenneth Williams didn't have long to enjoy the windfall.

On July 18, 1989, he killed his 81-year-old great-aunt Mary Bryant inside her bungalow on Detroit's northwest side. She was shot in the head and strangled with a telephone cord, which a neighbor found wrapped three times around the woman's throat, according to a published report.

Kenneth Williams was convicted of second-degree murder and sentenced to 15 to 30 years in prison.

"I was out of my mind on crack cocaine," Williams said. "I was out of control. Prison basically saved my life."

Young Kenneth had lived a charmed life before the death of his father.

Kenneth spent nights on the road with his father and the group in Las Vegas, Miami and Atlanta.

"Where the show went, I went," he said.

Kenneth, nicknamed "Bossman" by his dad, spent afternoons learning from Temptations frontman Dennis Edwards how to make paper airplanes, which he threw out a window from an upper floor of Motown headquarters along Woodward.

Kenneth was 11 when his father died. The outgoing youngster turned angry, rebellious and "was put out of every school in Detroit."

"I was lost," he said. "I lost my best friend."

At 19, he smoked his first joint.

At 25, he tried cocaine.

At 27, "that ---- took me to another place," he says.

That's how old he was when he strangled his great-aunt. He turned 28 just before heading to prison.

"I was trying to deal with why I was in prison and what made me go there," he said. "The money? I wasn't even thinking about it."

He thought the cash was safe during the 7,536 days he spent in prison. He was released July 23, after serving more than 20 years.

He soon learned his cash was gone and confronted his sister, who admitted spending the money, he alleges in a court filing.

"She thought he was never going to get out of prison," his lawyer Kenneth Burger wrote in a lawsuit.

Paul Williams Jr., told The Detroit News he hasn't received his full share of royalties in years from Paula.

"She's doing it to all of us," Paul Jr. of Sterling Heights said. "She did right by us for 10 years, but she's been slipping since then. It's greed."

Kenneth, meanwhile, works 15-hour days at construction sites while his lawsuit against his sister and Motown successor Universal Music Group is pending in federal court. He alleges breach of contract, negligence, fraud and conspiracy, among other charges, and wants unspecified damages.

It's a complicated fight because his sister filed for Chapter 13 bankruptcy in Detroit in December.

The bankruptcy filing provides rare insight into the value of Motown royalties because Paula had to list how much she received in recent years.

She received $40,594 in 2008. A year later, the Motown royalties rose to $58,036, according to the filing.

Kenneth Williams has asked Universal to send future payments directly to his house.

He refuses to be bitter or angry despite the fight with his sister.

"I'm still there for her if she needs me," Williams said. "But I don't trust people after what I've been through. We live in a wicked world."

The fictional Django character seems to be a composite of two (real life) people, Bass Reeves and a male version of Sally Hemings.

Former slave Bass Reeves was the first African American U.S. Marshal in history. Like Django, he was one of the quickest draws in the Old West. He arrested 3,000 felons and he killed several white men (like Django). Reeves had a 32 year career and he died in 1910.

Like Django, Sally Hemings walked through the "front door" of the big house, sat at the dinner table and had a bedroom upstairs. She also rode in the Presidential carriage and wore expensive dresses and jewelry.

She was the first Black Presidential Mistress (against her will) but she hasn't been the last. In modern times, its been three (black) presidential mistresses.


True Story:

At the turn of the century, a Negro Murder Club (Before Day Club) existed. Their objective, to kill whites.

This sinister club opened up underground branches across the U.S.

In Alabama, five of its members attempted to slaughter a white family.

In Tallahassee, Florida, a white farmer/planter was shot to death. The Negroes who did the shooting acknowledged that a "Before Day Club," had been organized and a number of white men had been put on their hit list.

In Savannah, GA., Henry Hodges and his three kids were killed by the "Before Day Club," in 1904. All of their bodies were burned.

The killers (Cato & Reid) claimed to belong to the "Before Day Club," which had marked the family and other white people for death.



Artist Joe Shuster did more than just co-create the character Superman -- he also secretly drew mob-financed underground S&M comics about people who looked like Superman and Lois Lane for extra cash. The comics ended up in the limelight when a group of neo-Nazi Jewish teens called the "Brooklyn Thrill Killlers" (story below) blamed them as the inspiration for their torture and murder spree, and the whole sordid story just got optioned as a film.

Early Years:

As part of the deal which saw Superman published in Action Comics, Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster sold the rights to the company in return for $130 and a contract to supply the publisher with material.

Shuster became famous as the co-creator of one of the most well-known and commercially successful fictional characters of the 20th century. National Allied Publications claimed copyright to his and Siegel's work, and when the company refused to compensate them to the degree they believed appropriate, Siegel and Shuster, in 1946, near the end of their 10-year contract to produce Superman stories, sued National over rights to the characters. They ultimately accepted $94,000 to stop pursuing the claim.

Later Years:

In 1964, when Shuster was living on Long Island with his elderly mother, he was reported to be earning his living as a freelance cartoonist; he was also "trying to paint pop art — serious comic strips — and hope[d] eventually to promote a one-man show in some chic Manhattan gallery." At one point, his worsening eyesight prevented him from drawing, and he worked as a deliveryman in order to earn a living. Jerry Robinson claimed Shuster had delivered a package to the DC building, embarrassing the employees. He was summoned to the CEO, given one hundred dollars, and told to buy a new coat and find another job. By 1976, Shuster was almost blind and living in a California nursing home.

In 1975, Siegel launched a publicity campaign, in which Shuster participated, protesting DC Comics' treatment of him and Shuster. In the face of a great deal of negative publicity over their handling of the affair (and due to the upcoming Superman movie), DC's parent company Warner Communications reinstated the byline dropped more than thirty years earlier and granted the pair a lifetime pension of $20,000 a year plus health benefits. Shuster died in Los Angeles, California in 1992.

In 2009, comics historian Craig Yoe said Joe Shuster was one of the anonymous illustrators for "Nights of Horror," an underground sadomasochistic fetish comic-book series.

The Brooklyn Thrill Killers (above-pictured in background) were a gang of Jewish neo-Nazi teenage boys who, in the summer of 1954, killed two men (one by drowning, the other by beating) and tortured several others in Brooklyn, a borough of New York City. The Brooklyn Thrill Killers claimed Joe Shuster's-fetish comic books inspired them to kill.

This gang also enjoyed flogging girls and terrorizing vagrants. They considered murder an supreme adventure.

According to a 1954 article in Time Magazine, one of the boys turned State's evidence and another had the charges against him dismissed. The other two boys, aged 17 and 18, were found guilty of felony murder during the act of kidnapping because one victim had been dragged several blocks before being thrown in the river. This allowed the jury to suggest life in prison rather than send two youths to the electric chair. While Time didn't identify any of the boys, one of the two sentenced to life in prison was 18 year old Jack Koslow, identified by AP reports at the time as the 'brains' of the group.

Dr. Fredric Wertham cited the Thrill Killers as an example of the potential harm caused by fetish comic books.



The Bayou Strangler was a serial killer who raped and murdered 23 men. His story is depicted in the new documentary "Bayou Blue: The Serial Killer That The Country Ignored."


Ronald Joseph Dominique (born January 9, 1964) is a serial killer from the Bayou Blue area of Houma, Louisiana.

Dominique was investigated in late 2006 following a police report by a man who refused to let Dominique tie him up. The final victim, Chris Sutterfield, had died about two months earlier.

Following his arrest on December 1, 2006, Dominique confessed to the rape and murder of at least 23 men over a ten-year period beginning in 1997, in Terrebonne Parish, Lafourche Parish, Iberville Parish and Jefferson Parish in suburban New Orleans. In his confession, Dominique, who is reportedly gay, said he frequented area gay bars and targeted men he thought would be willing to have sex for money. He was charged with multiple cases of rape and first-degree murder.

On September 23, 2008, Dominique was sentenced to eight life sentences after confessing to raping and killing his male victims over a 10-year period. Dominique pleaded guilty to first-degree murder in a deal to avoid the death penalty. He is incarcerated at the Louisiana State Penitentiary in Angola.


An covert operation called, the “Finders Cult” (formerly Seekers) was headquartered in Washington DC.

The Finders Cult is the story of the development of “Whiz Kids” as child/assets to be used as CIA-MK ULTRA Sex Slaves to entrap politicians, diplomats; corporate and law enforcement officials.

They also sold child/victims to wealthy perverts to raise money for covert operations.

They also trained some of the child/victims to be professional operatives and assassins of a totally cold, multiple personality, and mind control nature.

This operation was based on the work of Joseph Mengle (above) aka 'The Angel Of Death," & 'Dr. Death.'


by: Toni Jones

Black Las Vegas Style Strip in Detroit:

Before the freeways were built, there was a strip in Detroit called Paradise Valley, and it was swinging all night long!

The Valley attracted all of the best black entertainers in the country. And many aspiring young singers, dancers and musicians got their first big break before the audience at the "Club Plantation," and the "666." Earl Hines, The Inkspots, the Will Mastin Trio Featuring Sammy Davis, Jr., Billie Holiday, Duke Ellington, Cab Calloway and Dinah Washington were Valley regulars. They were booked into the Greystone Ballroom or the Michigan Theater or any of a dozen other big white-only nightclubs or gathering places, but they were only welcome there during show time.

Valley regulars included Uncle Dan, who lent whiskey money to his friends and always had a spare $1,000. Uncle Dan would sit outside the Turf bar or Lee Lucky’s to shoot the breeze with passersby and he was never robbed. Black policemen assigned to patrol the Valley partied with the night crowd, but they set absolute rules forbidding criminal disorder.

Characters like Buffalo James, owner of a prosperous restaurant was often seen socializing with the cooks and entertainers when the restaurant was empty. As the ballroom closed and the hungry night-clubers began looking for a place to eat, Buffalo would stand outside the restaurant with a big white handkerchief in his hand. When he spotted groups of people coming toward the restaurant, he would signal the cooks to start stirring and the band to start playing by wiping his face with a large white cloth. Another favorite figure was Sonny Bronson, a temperamental bartender who owned a sandwich shop but refused to serve anyone who yelled at him or made him angry.

"It used to look like a carnival on the weekends," recalled Jimmy (The Greek) Johnson, who owned a couple of pool halls in the Valley. "You could go from club to club and after three in the morning, you’d have the thrill of listening to a jam session.

"Say for instance, Earl Hines’ band was playing somewhere in Flint, Basie’s band in Pontiac and Duke’s band would be over here at the Greystone and maybe Cab’s band would be playing somewhere else in the state. They would all stay here (in the Valley) and go to the places by bus and come back here at night. When they came back, all these musicians would get together and stay up and jam all night, playing all of their songs. Sometimes, they would jam until 10 or 11 a.m. the next morning," he said.

The heart of the Valley’s economy was the Policy operation, later replaced by the Numbers. It was generally believed and accepted that the only way a black man could make a lot of money was to run a policy house. Unlike the numbers, policy houses — which were exclusively black-owned and operated — had a reputation for honesty. The policy was played by buying three numbers for five cents. The numbers ranged from one to 78. Twelve winning numbers were drawn daily and paid odds of 500-1 or $25 for a nickel.

Gradually policy houses gave way to the numbers operation. It was a common sight for those allowed near the money to see $150,000 in cash in a safe with the door wide open.

In August, 1939, the policy operation received a severe blow. A policy house bookkeeper, Mrs. Janet McDonald (above), murdered her child, and committed suicide when her boyfriend, who allegedly was connected with protection payoffs to police officials, ended their affair. Letters she had written and addressed to local newspapers, the governor, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation charged that her former boyfriend was the collection agent of illegal money for the police department. The papers were near her body.

Joe Louis, the Valley’s beloved "Brown Bomber," was still in his prime and Sugar Ray Robinson was a promising young boxer. Each time the Bomber fought, mobs of Louis fans huddled into stores, shops or restaurants with radios to hear him slug out another victory. Whites in Chauffeur-driven cars would ride through the Valley after victories carrying black riders on top of the cars. Everyone shared the booze and good feelings. When Louis wasn’t training or managing his Chicken Shack on the outskirts of the Valley, or running from Broadway Joe (one of Louis’ friends who would catch a taxi to chase the boxer about ten blocks to ask for a few dollars), Louis was partying in the Valley.

T-Bone steaks at The Hole cost 35 cents. A bologna sandwich on toast at Biddy’s Restaurant was a nickel. "Duke Ellington’s band would always stop by Biddy’s for a nickel sandwich when they were in town," said Jesse Faithful, owner of Valley Foods Restaurant, 1719 St. Antione, one of the last remaining shops of Paradise Valley. "I don’t know how I ever made a sandwich for a nickel. This place is empty now, but at one time I had eight waitresses and four cooks. The expressway (Chrysler) took that away.

"This whole street used to be some kind of night club or bar. If you came to Detroit from another town and the cab driver asked where you wanted to go, every black person would say Paradise Valley," Faithful said, looking through the front window of his restaurant which now seats only 15 customers and sells bologna sandwiches for 40 cents.

"There was gambling in about every other joint, usually upstairs. My building was adjoining one of the biggest number houses in the area. It was originally suppose to be a bank, but it didn’t work out too well, so it was turned into a numbers house and eventually became a real estate office.

Mounting racial tensions were largely ignored until June 20, 1943, when two black youths were arrested for starting a fight with white youths on the Belle Isle Bridge. The black youths later claimed that they were seeking revenge after being ejected from Eastwood Park by white youths a few days earlier. Before police could quell the argument, a 17-year-old black spread the rumor that a black woman and her baby had been thrown off the Belle Isle Bridge by whites and both had drowned. More than 200 enraged blacks and whites began a wild fighting spree.

Police used tear gas to clear the bridge but small fights broke out along E. Jefferson. Later that night, rumors spread to the Forest Club recreation center on East Forest. A checkroom operator at the club announced the report over a microphone in the dance hall. Rioting spread along Hastings, St. Antione, Brush and John R from east grand Boulevard to the river. White mobs attacked a group of blacks in the Roxy Theater on Woodward then went after black pedestrians.

The riot was ended the next day when 4,000 army troops were sent under martial law into the city. Although troops never fired a shot, 35 people were killed, 530 injured and 1,300 arrested. Many of the blacks who lived in Black Bottom began to flee for fear that another riot would eventually repeat itself in their neighborhood. The new homeowners began buying houses in white neighborhoods surrounding 12th street.

After the riots, the Gotham Hotel, a previously white-owned 300 room-luxury hotel at 111 Orchestra Place, was sold for $200,000 to a black group reputedly connected with the numbers operation. Like the Valley in its prime, "The Strip" was mobbed with night-clubers waiting outside the Garfield Lounge, Sonnie Wilson’s, the Chesterfield Lounge, The Flame, and the Forest Club to catch the late floor shows. But some of the friendliness was gone.

Entertainers such as Josephine Baker, Lionel Hampton, Sarah Vaughn and Nat (King) Cole were as familiar to the strips as they were to other tourist spots in the country. By the late 1950’s, the strip began to fade as more black people started buying homes near the 12th Street area. And by 1962, the Gotham had closed after a series of raids destroyed the hotel which allegedly served as the clearing house for Detroit’s $12-million numbers racket. In March 1963, the Garfield Hotel burned. Guest and residents leaped from second floor windows after the flames that started in the kitchen blocked their escape down the front and rear stairs. Two residents were killed, and the Garfield, once a focal point of Paradise Valley, was destroyed.


Yvonne Fair (October 21, 1942 – March 6, 1994) was an singer, best known for her 1976 recording of "It Should Have Been Me."

Born as Flora Yvonne Coleman in Richmond, Virginia, Fair got her start as a latter-day member of the re-formulated Chantels and the James Brown Revue. While performing with Brown, she recorded the song "I Found You," which he later re-worked into his own signature hit "I Got You (I Feel Good)."

She signed to Motown Records in the early 1970s as a result of her work with Chuck Jackson and she appeared in a minor role as a chanteuse in the film, Lady Sings the Blues. Fair then joined up with producer Norman Whitfield for a series of singles in a hard funk vein: "Love Ain't No Toy", "Walk Out the Door If You Wanna", and her cover version of "Funky Music Sho' 'Nuff Turns Me On." All these featured on her only album for Motown in 1975 called "The Bitch Is Black," which was re-released on CD for the first time more than 30 years later.

Her remake of the Kim Weston/Gladys Knight semi-standard "It Should Have Been Me" dented the lower end of the Billboard Hot 100 chart in 1976. The track proved a big hit in the UK, where it climbed to number 5 in February 1976, Fair's only UK hit record. In addition, the song featured in a special episode of BBC TV programme The Vicar of Dibley, entitled "The Handsome Stranger," originally broadcast on 25 December 2006.

She was married to Sammy Strain, who was a member of both Little Anthony and the Imperials and The O'Jays. Strain (above right) is one of the few artists in music history that is a double Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Inductee, having been inducted with the O'Jays in 2005, and The Imperials in 2009.

Fair had two children, Leroy Fair Jr. and Venisha Brown, also the daughter of the late famed funk/soul singer James Brown.

Yvonne Fair died unexpectedly, aged 51, from undisclosed causes in Las Vegas, Nevada on March 6, 1994.

Till this day, no cause of death has been determined.



On Nov. 29, 1974, five black men left Atlanta to go into Santa Rosa Sound, Fla., 38 miles from Pensacola, on a fishing trip. Not one ever returned alive. And to this day, the mystery has not been solved.


The men reportedly arrived in Pensacola at 3 a.m. on a Saturday. Seven hours later, their boat was found drifting in 30 feet of water by the Coast Guard.

After dragging the bottom of the river for three days and finding nothing, the Coast Guard listed the five men as "missing and presumed dead."

Yet SCLC (a Civil Rights Organization) received word that a female friend of one of the missing men received a call from him, saying he and his companions had been captured by whites and were being held in what seemed to be a castle. But before he could say anything else the telephone connection was broken.

The SCLC assumed that the five black men were probably being held captive in something resembling a castle, a structure that turned out to be Fort Pickens, a relic of the Spanish-American war.

"A bait shop would have been the five fishermen's last stop in the pre-dawn hours. A SCLC investigator spoke with the shop's white owner, who reportedly admitted he had seen the Black men. The shop owner, in a belligerent tone, recalled having an argument with one of the men (John Sterling) on a previous occasion. The shop owner said he remembered telling that "N*gger Sterling, he would "get him." He was asked did he make good on the threat, he replied, "no!"

The next day, the Coast Guard found the body of Marvin Walker, owner of the 30-foot motor boat, floating in the Santa Rosa Sound.

Three days later, and nine miles away, authorities recovered two more Black corpses, the bodies of Robert Walker and John Sterling. The SCLC investigator viewed the bodies and said they looked extremely normal, too normal to have floated in salty water for 12 days with the exception of John Sterling's body, his corpse had no eyes or ears and was badly burned.

On the following day the remaining two Black men, Leroy Holloway and Lonnie Merritt were found dead.

This case remains unsolved.


Queen Latifah, Lil Kim and Treach's lawyer (Paul Bergrin) is charged with ordering an hit on a black drug trafficker/informer-Kemo Deshawn McCray who was denied witness protection.


Paul Bergrin is a lawyer who practiced in Newark, New Jersey. His license to practice law was suspended by the New Jersey Supreme Court.
Bergrin is currently fighting a multitude of federal criminal charges. On June 6, 2011, a federal grand jury returned a 138-page, second superseding indictment against Bergrin, previously accused of heading a crime syndicate involved in bribery, mortgage fraud and murder of a witness, as well as racketeering charges.

Allegedly, Bergrin was the mastermind (some say owner) of the NY Confidential escort agency.

The same escort agency that ruined Eliot Spitzer's career.

Georgeous George was a master of ceremonies; considered an EXTRAORDINAIRE on the chitlin' circuit!

He started out as pioneer R&B star Hank Ballard's valet, and it's said that he eventually elevated the role of MC to a high art, especially while traveling on the road with Sam Cooke & Jackie Wilson. They also say that he was so handsome and flamboyant that he would have been a star if only he could sing. Sam Cooke said George could "dress a guy into bad health" and Bobby Womack said "He was such a good-looking guy, the girls would just drag him around like a rag doll." Some of the day's top headliner's actually paid George not to wear certain clothes so he wouldn't outshine THEM!

Apparently, he was a star IN HIS OWN RIGHT! It's rumored that he had a minor career recording for various small labels, but his forte certainly wasn't singing. His real name was Theopholous Odell George, and he was a pretty Negro who could dress his ass off! In addition to being a tailor, a paid companion, a semi-professional gambler, and a part-time pimp, he's been called "The World's Greatest MC!"

"If there was twelve acts on the show, I would change twelve times. I had about forty-some outfits, shoes, socks, rings, everything matched to a T...and my hair - you ain't never seen no hair like I had...I used to spray it blond. I could walk in, and it would bounce on my head" says George. Ah, spoken like a true man-diva, brutha!

George had a theory that seemed to benefit him the most in the sexually charged atmosphere of 50's and 60's backstage Rhythm and Blues. "I found out in show business, the fine chicks with the long, lanky hair, they stayed broke. But the big fat chicks with the big hips and three or four pieces of wig on their head, they had the prettiest houses, they drove the best cars, they got the highest positions, they have more finesse-and they LOVED entertainers...they would buy me anything!"

George was a fine brotha, Sam Cooke was most certainly handsome, Jackie Wilson (right) absolutely had a salacious reputation, and they were ALL dogs together! There's the story about Fidel Castro coming to New York to deliver a speech to the UN, and deciding to stay at the Hotel Theresa in Harlem. According to Gorgeous George, he turned Castro on to Hank Ballard (and the Midnighters) at the Apollo theater, reefer, and black women. Lots of black women. As in big-time orgy! All in one night! And If anyone could do it, I suppose Gorgeous George would be the one.

George later designed clothes for the Isley Brothers, and may have toured with Ronald Isley for awhile. Then I heard that he worked with the Gap Band or Charlie Wilson in much later years. Dionne Warwick supposedly mentions him more than a few times in her book of memoirs, but I don't have the book.


Part 2: Gorgeous George has been around in the Atlanta area for quite some time. He had a tailoring business there and outfitted a lot of stars, including: Steve Harvey and Muhammad Ali. George is also credited with exposing Jimi Hendrix to showmanship.

Sources: and

Rewind: Porifirio "Rubi" Rubirosa was not only a gigolo/assassin, he was also a chef, world-class polo player, professional race car driver, boxer, and an diplomat.

Last week, we reported that Rubi referred to Eartha, Lena and Dorothy as his 'three sisters.'

Out of the three women, Kitt was his favorite.

Rubi utilized Kitt's kitchen to prepare five course meals. Kitt tried to persuade Rubi to open an restaurant but he was too busy courting rich women.

One evening, Rubi presented Kitt with a beautiful diamond necklace that he'd purchased from Tiffany's. In the 50's, the necklace was valued at $100,000 dollars ($1 million in today's dollars).

Kitt wore the necklace to industry events. Eventually, she stored it away in an vault. Kitt also owned thousands of shares in Revlon; courtesy of Revlon founder (Charles Revson).

In Related News:

John F. Kennedy hosted a discreet yacht party without his wife Jackie. Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra and Porifirio Rubirosa were in attendance. Allegedly, Rubi & Monroe cornered Kennedy and demanded he do more for blacks because they were sick and tired of their black friends being disrespected and humiliated due to racism. Kennedy listened intently as both related incidents involving Dorothy Dandridge (Marilyn's best friend) and Sammy Davis, Jr. (Rubi's best friend).

When Las Vegas dropped their segregation policies in hotels and venues. Sammy arrived with his entourage (with Rubi in tow). One of Sammy's aides (a large black man) cried like a baby when a white hotel clerk asked him "Can I take your bags up to your room, sir?" He was so accustomed to being called 'boy' that his emotions overflowed.



A few years ago, we told you about Detroit kingpins (Eddie Johnson and Courtney Brown). They supplied drugs to Motown artists; allegedly, David Ruffin was a frequent customer. Their story is currently depicted on an DVD (above).


From 1969 to 1975 Eddie Jackson and Courtney Brown ran one of the largest heroin rings in the United States. Grossing $10 million a month in today's dollars, the Eddie Jackson organization is likely the largest drug ring in Detroit's history.

Motown Mafia is the story of 2 families and how they rose from Detroit's old Black Bottom and Paradise Valley neighborhoods to the top of the city's narcotics pyramid.

Eddie Jackson was cut from a different cloth than men like Leroy "Nicky" Barnes and Frank Lucas. He ruled his empire with strategy more than violence, despite having to ply his trade in America's murder capital - Detroit; Eddie and Courtney never became federal informants. The "Fat Man" was the most beloved kingpin in history, dispensing favors and throwing money from the windows of his Rolls Royce.

"Motown Mafia," is not just the story of the Jackson and Brown families, but the story of Detroit itself.

In the 70's and 80's, "Catch One," was the hottest black gay club in Hollywood. One evening, Madonna and her backup dancers dominated the dance floor. Other evenings, you had Fame Dancers, actors, athletes and Soul Train dancers in attendance.

And then you had Gene Anthony Ray and Sterling St. Jacques.

After Ray got fired from "Fame," allegedly, he started hustling and drugging outside the club. One evening he got into a fist fight; he was on the losing end.

Sterling always made a grand entrance. Surrounded by protective friends since every man in the place wanted to get at him. He was known to dance the night away, leave for LAX, arrive in New York and party at Studio 54 the following evening.

Since Sterling inspired the song "He's The Greatest Dancer," whenever it came on, you couldn't keep him off the dance floor.

Catch 1 played host to numerous celebrities and politicians over the years. Various TV shows, including "Cold Case," and videos have been shot on the premises.

A black woman (Jewel) owns the club and parks her Rolls Royce out front. According to rumor, she is not a woman to cross.


White author Elaine Jesmer was friends with Marvin Gaye, Tammi Terrell and the Four Tops. According to Marvin Gaye, she deceived him to get damaging information for the book "Number One With A Bullet."

It was no coincidence that the book was released the same week as Gaye's iconic album "What's Going On?" An album that (the late) Tammi Terrell inspired, according to Gaye.

She took great pleasure in trashing Tammi Terrell (under another name); she portrayed her as an promiscuous drunk and Jesmer did a number on Berry Gordy and his two sisters (below).

Gordy bought the book and film rights behind Jesmer's back. He then bought up every copy of the book across the U.S.

Gordy used his power and resources to shut it down.

Elaine Jesmer continues to insist that "Number One With A Bullet," is a work of fiction.

Elaine Jesmer is currently recovering from cancer in Detroit.

Backstory (Synopsis):

The main characters are Kate, obviously based on Elaine Jesmer herself, a white press
agent who is unhappy working as a PR person in the sleazy, shallow, cutthroat
world of show business, and Daniel Stone, (aka Marvin Gaye) a troubled and
talented soul singer. The two meet as Stone is preparing for a show that will
open a glamorous new club on the Sunset Strip. Stone is married to the sister
of the President of his record company, "Finest Records," of Houston Texas. Finest
has become very successful producing assembly line pop soul records.

The head of Finest is Bob Vale (based on Berry Gordy?)who has allowed the mob to become involved in the running of Finest. Bob has an appetite for sadistic sex and he beats a female singer (allegedly Tammi Terrell) on his label until she is bloody and near brain dead while having sex. Bob's two sisters are just as trashy and decadent and nearly everyone else who appears in the novel is either trashy and sleazy, or just a pathetic victim.



The Broadway play "Mama I Want To Sing," is based on the life of Doris Troy. According to singer Bettye LaVette, a large portion of Troy's life was left out of the play.


Bettye LaVette: Doris scored a top-ten pop hit in 1963, "Just One Look," as a singer and co-writer. Doris was the first person I met who lived on Central Park West, a fancy address, where she liked to give parties attended by entertainers.

I was flattered to be invited into her little group. Every time I went up to Doris's place, though, I noticed a bevy of beautiful women.

Doris was either matching them up with men who came to look them over or sending them on the streets to find johns on their own.

Doris was not only an effective singer, but an effective businesswoman.

Some of the male pimps felt threatened, but they knew not to threaten Doris.

She was bad.

Doris Troy died in 2004.


After a Motown Revue, a singer went to a popular restaurant, she sat down in a chair. Out of nowhere, a large white man came and told her, "You can't sit there."

"Why not?"

"That's Marrie Early's seat."

Who's Marrie Early?"

"You don't know Marrie Early?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I did."

"Everyone knows Marrie Early."

"Everyone except me.

"I told you once," said the man, "and I'll tell you again. That seat is reserved for Marrie Early."

Something in his face told the singer to back down. She left the chair empty.

For the next hour or so, all the talk at the table was "Where's Marrie?" "Wonder when Marrie's getting here?" "Sure hope Marrie gets here soon."

Marrie Early's entry stopped the room. The minute she walked in the place, every head turned. She had her run of the place and was welcomed in the (Negro) and (Whites Only) section. Unheard of for a black woman in the 1960's.

She was a beyond beautiful black woman with caramel-colored skin, alluring eyes, double-rolled eyelashes, and a smile that lit up the night.

She was friends with every major black entertainer in the industry (at the time), including: Sam & Dave, Sam Cooke, David Ruffin, Marvin Gaye, Ike & Tina Turner, Jimi Hendrix, Eddie Kendricks, Otis Redding, Isaac Hayes, Curtis Mayfield, etc.

Marrie was considered one of the world's best looking women.

Marrie was an upscale call girl with a star studded clientele.

She had suitors (domestically and internationally). She had guys who took her on cruises, guys who sent her jewelry, guys who paid her house mortgage. And the funny thing is that there were okay with Marrie having other guys as long as she had them.

No matter how rich and famous a man might be, he knew he could never own Marrie Early. She belonged to mankind.

Marrie was the queen of Miami, a city that didn't even like blacks. But there was no man, black or white, or orange who didn't like Marrie Early.

Marrie lived in a gorgeous home and she designed and sewed her own clothes; including gowns.

She laughed away compliments and turned them back on you.

She surfed the wild waves of life with extreme poise, grace and class.

Allegedly, Marvin Gaye was one of Marrie's suitors. When he first met her, he was speechless. When he regained his composure, he told her, "With your long legs, I'll love you all night!"

Sam Cooke was another suitor.

Marrie was hired to take Stevie Wonder's virginity for his sixteenth birthday. According to the Motown men, 'there could be no more beautiful birthday gift than Marrie Early.'

Stevie arrived at the designated spot with a Motown aide. Unfortunately, Marrie had an emergency and couldn't make it. Stevie was very disappointed.

1990's: Shortly after Marrie located to Detroit, she was diagnosed with cancer.

The last days of Marrie Early's life were unforgettable. She was in a hospital bed in her living room where, despite her disease, she appeared healthy and gorgeous. Her house was always filled with friends, neighbors, and children. It felt more like a party than a death watch. In attendance were many of the men who had been her lovers. None of them were angry or jealous of one another. They were there simply because they adored Marrie. The most remarkable thing, though, was Marrie's attitude. She was so cool with dying that she made everyone comfortable. The men were crying like babies, while Marrie comforted them.

A record by Yanni, the New Age musician, was playing on the phonograph.

Marrie Early was orchestrating her final days and doing a beautiful job. She ate gumbo and she had her table set with her best sterling silver and Wedgwood. She had her children seated so she could take pride in their appearance.

They in turn had made a collage of photographs of Marrie with all her famous friends: Sam Cooke, Brook Benton, Jeffrey Osborne, Redd Foxx, Little Willie John, etc.

Every last man in the room still loved her and was willing to honor her as she breathed her last breath.

Source: "A Woman Like Me," by Bettye LaVette & David Ritz



Literary giants Langston Hughes and James Baldwin considered Rubi black. Rubi's silence amounted to: "So What If I Am?"


Part 4: In 1935, Porifirio "Rubi" Rubirosa’s cousin, Luis de la Fuente Rubirosa, was accused of assassinating exiled Dominican politician Sergio Bencosme in New York City. de la Fuente Rubirosa was the triggerman, and Porifirio was suspected of being an accomplice. In future political assassinations, the roles would be reversed, where Rubi would be the assassin and his cousin the spotter. Rubi's occupation as an diplomat was his cover. He traveled the world freely due to this occupation, in essence, he was a political contract killer.

But his sheer magnetism—or perhaps the fact that he was a valuable hired gun—he continued to receive diplomatic posts. When World War II swept across Europe, Rubirosa made a stack of money selling Dominican exit visas to fleeing Jews. At some point the Gestapo imprisoned him, but he was released after six months. After that, he was allegedly recruited as a political assassin.

Suddenly everyone knew he was a great lover, and his manhood measured from eleven to fourteen inches (soft). Pictured above, he's besieged by women, begging for the opportunity to sleep with him.

By now there were open questions about Rubirosa’s racial background. He was very dark, and was often described as “nut brown.” Rumors spread that he was part black—a devastating accusation in the 1940s, and one still used very effectively as a smear even in today’s supposedly post-racial age.

But Rubirosa handled the gossip with the panache you’d expect from The Most Interesting Man in the World—he never addressed it all, at least not in public. His silence basically amounted to: “So what if I am?” And if the rumors bothered him, he surely derived ample compensation from the fact that legions of female admirers who’d heard about that pepper grinder of his didn’t care.

Directly above, he's pictured with the Kennedy sisters.

One evening, he took Dorothy Dandridge out for a birthday celebration. Unbeknownst to Dandridge, Rubi rented out an entire restaurant and had a violinist serenade her. Afterwards, he gave her a dozen roses and a diamond (Cartier) bracelet.



He went by one name: Jack!

He owned a dozen chicken restaurants in Harlem and dealt heroin on the side. He also had a nephew (David) who was working out of Detroit.

David bragged on his uncle's investments: Apartment buildings, chicken restaurants and how he managed three popular R&B artists.

David had survived 20 attempts on his life.

When a female singer flew to New York with them, two limos were waiting. In the limo, she and Jack did lines of coke. Later, they checked into a midtown hotel where they partied for several weeks.

Jack went out during the day and at night came back with fabulous jewelry for the singer. He took her to the best restaurants. He also took her to the village to hear jazz. The high life kept getting higher until the night he didn't return.

The singer was stuck with a $2,000 hotel bill.

When she finally reached Jack, he gave her an address to one of his buildings up in Harlem and told her to go to the penthouse apartment. He added: "It has a beautiful view, you'll like it and you can stay there."

She got to the apartment and knocked on the door, a man answered, he was wearing a woman's slip.

"Come in sugar," he said. "Are you here for V?"

"No, I'm here cause Jack gave me this address.

"V, gonna like you, baby. Come on in."

The singer looked around the apartment and saw a dozen gay guys from the ages of seventeen to thirty. They were watching TV, trying on women clothes, reading books, napping on the couch.

The bedroom door opened and out came V, a hardcore lesbian. Her arms were like Popeye's, she had cuts all over her face, and a mouth of messed up teeth.

"Don't you worry about these sissies," said V. "They just mad they ain't cute as you. Come on in, sugar. You're safe here.

Here's the deal, honey," said V. "I ain't doing nothing you don't want done. You got your side of the bed, I got mine, and if there's any action, it's gonna have to start with you.
"The real action," said V, "is out there in the living room. You should see what happens when Jack comes by."

It turned out that Jack was not only a feared black mobster and entertainment manager but he was also an voyeur. He showed up every night, a coke crust of white around his nose. He got the sissies good and high and then got them to put on a show for him. It was a sex circus. They'd do three-ways, four-ways, this-ways, and that-ways. They were practically acrobats. I had never seen so many positions for sex. No orifice went untouched.

Jack never got in the middle of the ring. As one of the boys performed fellatio on him. Jack simply watched until he passed out.

After a few days, one of the gay guys just wanted to watch me. Fact is, he wanted to be me. He started dressing up in my clothes and parading around the apartment. V, who turned out to be an absolute doll, told him I was a Motown singer. I was soon teaching him all of my songs.

During the day, the boys would go out and steal. They'd bring back mink coats and gowns, cosmetics and jewelry. V was the house mom. If any of them didn't bring back enough merchandise, V. the ferocious but friendly lesbian, would slap them upside the head and bring them back in line.

I stayed for a few weeks. I have to admit that it was entertaining. But the gangsters who kept showing up with Jack were dangerous. They brought endless amounts of cocaine.

I felt something was about to pop, and when it did, I wanted to be long gone.

Source: "A Woman Like Me," by: Bettye LaVette & David Ritz


Bob Berdella (top photo), a serial killer who preferred male victims, kept 23-year-old Todd Stoops (directly above) for two months, torturing him daily with electric shocks, anal penetration and other abuse. Berdella didn’t intentionally murder Stoops; the young man died as a result of the countless injuries inflicted by his assailant. After repeated rape, Stoops developed a rectal rupture and was bleeding profusely. Berdella treated him with animal antibiotics and injected Drano into his eyes.

Another of Berdella’s victims, Larry Pearson, was a male prostitute. He lived as Berdella’s sex slave for about six weeks and was more cooperative than the others. When he finally did try to escape, Berdella killed him.


By his own admission, 39-year-old Robert Berdella was a strange character. The owner of Bob’s Bizarre Bazaar in Kansas City, Missouri, Berdella carried business cards that advertised that he had “poison” in his head. Around the house, he showed a milder side, helping his Hyde Park neighbors establish a local community crime watch program. His strange behavior on the job was written off as so much advertising hype — until one afternoon.

That day, a neighbor of Berdella’s stepped outside to find a naked stranger crouching on his porch. The 22-year-old wore nothing but a dog collar, buckled around his neck, and he blurted out a tale of sexual abuse that sent Berdella’s neighbor racing for the telephone, to call police.

According to the victim, he had been held captive in Berdella’s home the past five days, subjected to repeated sexual assaults before he finally clambered through a second-story window and escaped.

Detectives picked Berdella up and searched his home for evidence. In doing so, they opened up a grim Pandora’s box of horror. In the house, police discovered some 200 photographs of naked men, the subjects bound and clearly suffering from cruel abuse.

Torture devices were also seized in the raid, along with a pair of human skulls, occult literature, and a Satanic ritual robe. That weekend, deputies unearthed bone fragments and another human head in Berdella’s yard.

Robert Berdella was arraigned on seven counts of sodomy, one count of felonious restraint, and one count of first degree assault. Bail was initially set at $500,000, revoked the next day, when officers testified that one of the men in Berdella’s photographs — trussed up and hanging by his heels — appeared to be dead.

While excavation continued on Berdella’s property and prosecutor’s contemplated murder charges, homicide investigators started checking out their list of missing persons dating back to 1984.

A bargained guilty plea on one count of murder consigned Berdella to prison for life, but authorities suspected him in at least seven other deaths.

Berdella pled guilty to first-degree murder in the death of victim Robert Sheldon, and to four counts of second-degree murder involving additional male victims. He was sentenced to a term of life imprisonment during which he died due to natural causes.


A documentary titled "Gay Sex In The 70's," is very informative in regards to the lifestyle.

The documentary features commercials for "Man's Country," an enormous bathhouse in New York (made famous for its football sized orgy room) and the famous nightclub "The Saint."

Famed gay photographer Tom Bianchi says: "I remember in the 1970's, gay men started taking penicillin *before* they went out, to the beach [ i.e, before sex ]. The conversation started when people were talking about drug-resistant strains of syphilis and gonorrhea.

There were doctors whose houses we would go to. We would get Vitamin B-12 shots as a way of dissipating some of the recreational drugs we had done. The number of friends I used to talk to at the time ... we would, like, say, 'are we heading for trouble' or 'are we going to destroy ourselves in this crazy dance we're doing?' "


European assassin recruiter (1960 to 1964) code-named QJWIN (no photo available) and Michel Victor Mertz (1st photo), whom a CIA memo said was deported from Dallas shortly after JFK's murder. Michel Mertz was an experienced assassin and a kingpin for the French Connection heroin network that involved both Carlos Marcello and Santo Trafficante. Meanwhile, QJWIN recruited assassins from all over the world; including the marksmenship categories at various Olympics and marksmenship competitions throughout the U.S. and abroad. To this day, QJWIN remains a ghost (never seen) who worked in the shadows. He is allegedly responsible for recruiting every top assassin in the 20th Century.

A. According to Richard Helms, QJWIN was also capable of murder, while other testimony described him as a man who was capable of anything including assassination.

Meanwhile, Mertz began his reputation as a cold-blooded killer during World War II, killing Germans (he once machine-gunned 15 as they sat in a cafe). Mertz's reputation as a cold-blooded killer continued during his service for French Intelligence and the Corsican mob in the 1950s. Even into the 1980s, researchers were warned that just trying to talk to Mertz could prove fatal.

B. QJWIN was suspected of Nazi collaboration in France during World War II. Mertz was a Nazi collaborator in France during World War II, until the tide of war started to turn against the Nazis.

C. William Harvey’s notes recommend using former French Resistance personnel, and QJWIN was in the Resistance from 1943 to 1945. Mertz was a decorated member of the French Resistance in World War II.

D. In 1960, QJWIN was recruited in Frankfurt, Germany. QJWIN was originally approached “in connection with an illegal narcotics operation into the US.” Michel Mertz frequently visited Frankfurt (he made 5 documented visits to Frankfurt in 1962 and 1963). Also, Mertz was one of the primary French Connection heroin smugglers into the US.

E. In November 1960, QJWIN was in the Congo, working for the CIA against leader Patrice Lumumba, who was eventually assassinated. Some of Lumumba’s UN guards were from Morocco, and Mertz had previously worked extensively in Morocco for French Intelligence. A Moroccan guard reported Lumumba’s escape that eventually led to his death.

F. In late December 1960, QJWIN finished his mission for the CIA in the Congo and returned to Europe. Mertz resumed working on his heroin smuggling operation (January 1961) only after QJWIN had finished his mission in the Congo.

G. In February 1961, according to a CIA document, QJWIN visited Switzerland and Italy. Mertz frequently visited Switzerland, since his illegal profits were deposited in bank accounts there that belonged to Mertz and his wife. Since Mertz was preparing to run a carload (220 pounds) of heroin into the US in early March 1961, it’s logical that he would make preparations to handle the money in Switzerland prior to that.

H. On March 31, 1961, QJWIN was in Frankfurt, Germany. On March 27, 1961, Mertz returned to Paris from the US, where he’d smuggled a carload of heroin into New York City. Thus, Mertz was just a few hours away from Frankfurt, a city he often visited.

I. On March 31, 1961, the CIA gave QJWIN a lie detector test to see if he was “presently working for” another country's intelligence service—and he wasn’t. However, the same document establishes that QJWIN had worked in the past for French Intelligence (and Luxembourg, Belgium, and West Germany). Prior to that time, Mertz had done work for French Intelligence, the SDECE. And Mertz was just getting ready to do more work for the SDECE (his assignment was to start in April). However, at the time in question, Mertz was not actually working for the SDECE.

J. QJWIN, on March 31, 1961, said he was known to French and Belgian police departments in connection with his illegal business transactions, and engaged in some activities concerning Belgium. Mertz, though based in France, frequently traveled through Belgium for his illegal activities. Mertz often traveled to the US via Brussels, and even received a US Visa in Belgium on October 7, 1964.

K. A March 1961 CIA document that says QJWIN is a citizen of Luxembourg. The town where Mertz was born and raised, Waldvisse, France, is on the border with Luxembourg. Mertz used a variety of aliases and passports from different countries (he even had a US passport), and the fact that he spoke perfect German in addition to French (the two major languages of Luxembourg), coupled with his growing up next to Luxembourg, would have made it easy for him to pass as a Luxembourg citizen. Though QJWIN is supposed to be a Luxembourg citizen, QJWIN’s monthly salary (at least for 1963, for which there are many monthly records) is paid through Paris—where Mertz lived—not Luxembourg.

L. QJWIN had a wife during the early 1960s, who was called “extremely discreet.” She was aware of QJWIN’s unsavory activities. She even had her own bank account, which was used for one large payment to QJWIN. Mertz's wife was the daughter of one of the most powerful Canadian and French mob bosses and brothel owners, Charles Martel. Later law enforcement investigations showed that she maintained her own bank accounts, which were used to launder large drug payments.

M. In December 1961/January 1962, QJWIN began working on establishing cover for the CIA operations. Mertz had finished with his assignment for the French SDECE a couple of months earlier and would have been free to begin this assignment for the CIA.

N. In 1962, QJWIN was supposed to go on trial in Europe on smuggling charges. But the CIA somehow intervenes and the trial was never held. Considering that CIA documents indicate that QJWIN had worked for the French, Luxembourg, Belgian, and West German intelligence services, it’s not clear why QJWIN would need the assistance of the American CIA instead of using his own influence with one of the European intelligence agencies he’d worked for. One of Mertz’s French Connection heroin shipments was busted in New York City in January 1962. An arrest was made in the US of a French citizen and the shipment was traced back to France (and to Mertz’s group), but no trials were ever held in France in connection with the bust. Since the original bust had occurred in the US, it’s logical to assume that the French government would have to have the concurrence of some US agency in order to let the investigation drop.

O. QJWIN’s contract was terminated in April 1964. In March 1964, Mertz’s name surfaced in a US document as allegedly being in Dallas on the day of the assassination. Also, an article had appeared in France in late February 1964 about the Mertz/Souetre/Roux incident, which had prompted an investigation of Mertz/Souetre/Roux by French officials (who urged US officials to do the same). Thus, the CIA could have had every interest in terminating QJWIN (if he had a connection to Mertz) to avoid an embarrassing connection to the assassination.

P. At the time of his termination in April 1964, QJWIN had received clearances to go ahead with a business venture involving a “shop” of some sort in Cologne, Germany. Mertz had a history of opening a wide variety of “cover” businesses, such as a New York company that arranged rebuilding of engines for the French military; a company in Columbus, Ohio; and an automotive company in New Jersey. Mertz had some tie to Cologne, as he arrived there, from New York, on June 19, 1963.

Q. William Harvey’s notes recommend using Corsicans, since “Sicilians could lead to the Mafia.” Mertz was part of the French Corsican Mafia, though not Corsican himself (the same way the Jewish Jack Ruby worked for the Mafia).

R. William Harvey notes recommend use of “Silverthorne” and his “stable in Paris.” Silverthorne (whom some researchers believe to be the CIA’s Arnold Silver) was later part of QJWIN’s recruitment. Mertz’s main base of activity at the time was Paris.

S. QJWIN suggested to Harvey that leaders of a gambling syndicate in the Middle East had a “pool of assassins.” Mertz worked for French Intelligence in Turkey and Morocco.

T. Someone dealing with QJWIN was supposedly 44 years old as of March 31, 1961, according to one CIA document. Mertz (DOB April 20, 1920) was almost 41 at that time, and one of his main “cover identities”—Maurice Valentin—would have been 46 at that time (the fake DOB for Valentin was February 3, 1915).

U. On February 19, 1962: Richard Helms authorized Harvey to use QJWIN through the end of the year. Mertz was in the US from January 11, 1962 until February 25, 1962.

V. QJWIN was applied to the ZR/RIFLE assassination program in 1962 and 1963, under William Harvey; the primary focus of Harvey during that time was assassinating Castro. This would make sense for Mertz, since he had close French associates who maintained ties to Cuba after Castro took over and the American gangsters were expelled. Peter Dale Scott’s Crime and Cover-up and Congressional hearings name these men as Ansan Albert Bistoni, Jean Baptiste Croce, and Paul Damien Mondoloni. All had nightclub interests in Havana circa 1963, and it’s unclear when Castro forced them to leave.

W. On March 6, 1963, Richard Helms authorized QJWIN’s activities through the end of 1963. Just one week earlier, on February 27, 1963, Mertz was able to get a passport renewal in New York City, despite his long criminal record. It’s unclear whether this was a US passport or a French passport.

X. After more than forty years, files surrounding QJWIN’s identity and activities, and the criminals he and his associates looked at recruiting for the CIA, are still being kept classified or are heavily censored. The same is also true for the CIA files of Michel Victor Mertz.



Currently, a discriminatory trend is taking place in the sex industry. According to recent online statistics compiled from various escort sites, 80% of White, Asian, Spanish and Black escorts are listing the following three words in their digital ad: "No Black Men!" The only exceptions are black celebrities and athletes. Backpage escorts are notorious for this practice.

Their complaints: Black men are too well endowed; escorts are left sore for too long-missing out on money. Additional complaints: They hassle prostitutes over payment, and they're too rough and verbally abusive.

Commentary On Black Clients From A Former (White) Retired Call Girl:

by: Maggie McNeill

I couldn’t continue to call myself honest if I avoided a subject merely because it isn’t politically correct. Though I cannot speak for escorts in other cities, it is a fact that most of them in New Orleans dislike seeing black men.

Please put aside your tired stereotypes about Southern racism before reading any further, because this aversion has nothing to do with bigotry and everything to do with the way many black men behave toward prostitutes. The strongest proof of this I can offer you is that while most white girls can be persuaded to see a black client if he is well-spoken and/or lives in an affluent neighborhood or stays in an expensive hotel, many black escorts will not see a black man under any circumstances; in the words of Tina (a simply gorgeous black girl who was Flavor of the Month for quite a while), “They’re too cheap, too rough and too full of themselves.”

Obviously, this isn’t true of all black men; I had several black regulars over the years (including a salesman who saw me about once a week for quite a while), and the only complaint I ever had about black men was that one poor guy tried so hard to make himself agreeable to me that his skin always smelled and tasted like soap! But what about the rest of them? I’m afraid I have to agree with Tina; the majority do tend to be exactly as she described, and I think the reason they are that way has to do with their subculture.

For reasons others are more qualified to analyze than I, the typical male role model for young black men is exaggeratedly masculine, physical rather than intellectual and tends toward violence; he is a sports star, a “gangsta” or a “bad-ass” action hero. And one doesn’t need to be a sociologist to recognize that this self-inflicted stereotype is related to a deep current of misogyny in the black community; it has become fashionable in recent years to blame “hip-hop” culture for all this, but that’s utter nonsense. The stereotype of black male physical prowess goes back as far as the legend of John Henry, the myth of the Negro as sexual superman goes back long before Mandingo, and the breakdown in gender relations in the black community started many years before anyone ever heard of “hip-hop”.

Because these warped ideals instill in young black men the notion that women will crawl to a “real man”, they come to believe that their maleness and sexual potency should be enough to attract all the women they want; this of course results in deep feelings of resentment when they find that it is no more true for them than for men of any other color.

So when a black man (especially a young one) finds himself in the position of actually having to pay for sex, he is bound and determined to get as much for his money as possible in order to justify the expenditure. Their attitude is basically “If I’m going to pay for p*ssy, it had better be good!” Consequently, black men are well-known for trying to talk girls’ prices down and/or time requirements up, for trying to get every service they can think of included, and for using every last minute of active sexual activity.

This resentment no doubt also fuels their excessive roughness; a man who is angry at a woman isn’t likely to treat her gently. The very fact that a woman has charged him is perceived as an insult to his masculinity and sexual potency, and this in turn engenders an “I’ll show her!” mentality. The typical black man seems to believe that the point of intercourse is to damage a woman’s sexual equipment as much as possible; I’ve heard more than a few of them say “I’m going to bust that pussy up!” and they constantly attempt to raise one’s legs up so as to penetrate as deeply as possible even if they’re already bottoming out.

I mentioned above that few black escorts would consent to see a black client, but it was rare that one ever got the chance to anyway; in the entire time I owned my service, I only once had a black client ask specifically for a black girl. Most of the time they ask for white girls, often for blondes, and occasionally for Asians, but never black girls.

To a large degree white women represent a “forbidden fruit” to black men, something that was off-limits to them for a long time; and though society no longer prohibits interracial relationships with a white sex partner it still spells success to many black men, which is why so many wealthy ones (such as O.J. Simpson and Tiger Woods) marry white, usually blonde, women. Those who don’t request white women generally express no color preference at all; I suspect these are mature and experienced men who know the way hookers feel about black men and don’t wish to limit their chances of getting a woman to see them.

In my experience, intelligent black men do their best to offset the stereotype by being as generous and appreciative as possible; one of my favorite mid-career regulars was such a man. When I first spoke to him I was not even aware that he was black; he lacked either the dialectal accent or the characteristic vocal timbre of a black man. He lived in a large and beautiful house in an affluent section of town, and when he opened the front door the first words out of his mouth were, “I forgot to mention on the phone that I’m black, so if you don’t want to stay I’ll understand and pay your cancellation fee.”

I replied, “There’s a vast difference between a gentleman who happens to be black and a hoodlum from the projects.”

He was visibly relieved and said “I’m glad you feel that way; a lot of escorts don’t.”

Since it was obvious to me that he was an intelligent, reasonable man who would not be offended, I explained why many of them felt that way and added, “But you accepted my price without argument and it’s clear you don’t have an over inflated ego, so I don’t think you’ll be rough either.” He promised he would not be, and indeed he wasn’t.

As his house suggested, he was quite wealthy; he owned several fast-food restaurants around town, so he could afford to call me fairly often, and sometimes he tipped me with certificates for free food at his restaurants (which I appreciated, since I enjoyed that chain). He was a gentle, considerate lover who never did that weird hip-swiveling thing, and rather than insist on filling every minute with physical activity he enjoyed lying with me and talking afterward. There was not a trace of misogyny in his character, either; he respected my intelligence and would talk to me about an independent study he was making in order to expand into another business. He even took the trouble to let me know when he became seriously involved with a woman so I wouldn’t wonder why he had stopped calling me, and though I always hated to lose a good client I was certainly happy he had found someone to share his life with.

Whores are the most pragmatic of all women; I can assure you that if more black men were like this client most of them would have no more issues with black men than with white ones. I said at the beginning that I don’t know for sure that working girls in cities other than New Orleans feel the same way about black clients, but I suspect they do because the norms of American black culture which give rise to the offensive behaviors are the same all over this country, and I never noticed a difference between locals and tourists. If New Orleans Ladies are more sensitive to the problem than women elsewhere, it is most likely because the city had a black majority and thereby offered more opportunity to discover it.


NOTE: Because the prisoner in question is under-age, her name was not made public. Presumably her case is being handled in secret because she was a minor when she confessed and thus there may not be any further news on the case. For convenience, we are giving her the moniker of “San Paulo Girl” in our discussions of female serial killers.


On July 6, 2009 in City of São José do Rio Preto in the state of Sao Paulo, Brazil a 17-year old schoolgirl who had been arrested in a street scuffle in Gymslip district of that city made a confession to police that she had, beginning at the age of 15, committed 30 murders. All the victims, according to her, were young men.

She asserted she had over a period of two years stabbed the 30 young men to death motivated by a desire “for money, revenge and to bring justice”. During her interrogation, which was videotaped, she was calm and smiled as she related her story, telling police: “I don’t have enough courage to hold a gun — but I can hold a knife.”

She told detectives she decided to confess in order to avoid the risk of later being found out and charged as an adult: “I am confessing because I promised I would do so before becoming 18 — to avoid upsetting my family.”

The girl told how she always used the same knife — butchering one man for throwing a glass of brandy in her face in a bar fight. But police were last night still unclear about what drove her to keep on killing.

Shortly after the arrest some speculated that the girl might have been hired by an organized crime syndicate as an assassin because she was so innocent-looking.

An investigation was conducted to verify if her confession is true, and so far she has provided elaborate details regarding 11 of the killings. But there have been no public reports on the case since late 2011.

Rockville, Md. - Police charged a woman yesterday with killing her first husband in 1974 and her second husband in November. Police said Josephine Gray, 44, and her housemate, Clarence Goode, 23, killed William Robert Gray, 48, Nov. 9 at his Germantown home. He had been shot in the chest and neck with a pistol, Geehreng said.

Police also charged Josephine Gray with the murder of Norman Stribbling, who was found in his car March 4, 1974. He had been shot once in the head. Josephine Gray, then Josephine Stribbling, and William Robert Gray, the man who would become her second husband, were arrested shortly after that incident and charged with conspiracy to commit murder. Charges were dropped when witnesses failed to appear, police said.


1. Steen Fenrich was a 19-year-old African American gay man who lived in Bayside, Queens New York. In March 2000 his dismembered remains were discovered. Police believe his stepfather, John Fenrich, killed his stepson in a homophobic rage.

Steen Fenrich entered the Army and served nine months before he was discharged. In September of that year, he left his parent's home in Dix Hills, and went missing. However, no one filed a missing person's report on Fenrich.

The remains of Steen Fenrich were found by a man walking through Alley Pond Park, in Bayside, Queens, stored in a plastic blue tub. The tub contained a skull that had been burned by acid, a foot with some flesh still on it, and other body parts.

The remains were identified as those of Steen Fenrich by his Social Security number, which had been written on the skull, along with racial and homophobic slurs.

Shortly after being told that his stepson's remains had been found, John Fenrich called News 12 Long Island and suggested a motive and that his stepson had been killed "because he was gay." The station later reported that Steen Fenrich had posed for gay pornographic photographs and had a contentious relationship with his stepfather.

Police said they had not yet told family members that Steen Fenrich's remains had been dismembered. John Fenrich's knowledge of the dismemberment led police to believe he killed his stepson.

Police reported to Newsday that they believed John Fenrich killed Steen after an argument stemming from his stepson's desire to move back home after an argument with his partner. Fenrich disapproved of his son's homosexuality and was angered by his request to return home.

Steen Fenrich's partner told police that John Fenrich had always treated him with contempt, and had called him a few days after the argument to say that Steen was "going away for a couple of weeks."

The following year, John Fenrich suddenly bolted from an interview with police in his home, climbed on the roof, fired guns and begged police to shoot him after declaring "I'm a failure as a father."

After an eight-hour standoff, John Fenrich committed suicide by shooting himself in the head.


2. "The UpStairs Lounge," arson attack occurred in at a gay bar in the French Quarter of New Orleans, Louisiana in the United States and resulted in the deaths of 32 people due to direct immolation or inhalation of fumes. It was started with Ronsonol lighter fluid on the steps near the entrance. The most likely suspect was a man who had been thrown out of the bar earlier that day; he was never sentenced. It was the deadliest arson attack to take place in New Orleans at that time, and was one of the most deadly attacks on LGBT people in United States history.

At 7:56 p.m. a buzzer from downstairs sounded and Bartender Buddy Rasmussen asked Luther Boggs to answer the door, anticipating a taxi cab driver. Boggs opened the door to find the only staircase for regular entrance engulfed in flames initiated by the lighter fluid. Rasmussen immediately led some thirty patrons out of the back exit to the roof until the group could climb down from another building's roof to the ground floor.

Some thirty others were left inside the second-floor club, and some attempted to squeeze through barred windows in order to escape. One man managed to squeeze through the 14-inch gap, only to fall to his death while burning. Reverend Bill Larson of the MCC clung to the bars of one window until he died, his charred remains being visible to onlookers for hours afterwards.

MCC assistant pastor George “Mitch” Mitchell managed to escape, but then returned to the fire in order to attempt to rescue his boyfriend, Louis Broussard; both died in the fire, their remains having shown them clinging to each other. George "Bud" Matyi also escaped, but returned to bring out more patrons from the fire; his charred remains were embracing those of two other victims under the piano.

At least 29 people died in the 16-minute fire, with three others (including Boggs) dying afterwards from their wounds. 15 were injured.

The official investigation failed to turn up a conviction for the crime. The likely suspect who was arrested in relation to the attack was Rogder Dale Nunez. In 1970's he was diagnosed with "Conversion Hysteria," and four months before the fire he had visited a psychiatric clinic.

When questioned, Nunez went into convulsions and was taken to Charity Hospital, where he eventually slipped out from doctor's watch and was never picked up again by police, despite frequently appearing in the French Quarter afterwards. A friend later told investigators that Nunez confessed to the deed while drunk on at least four occasions.

He had told a friend, Miss Fury, that he squirted the bottom steps with Ronsonol bought at a local Walgreens and tossed in a match. He didn't realize, he claimed, that the whole place would go up in flames. Nunez killed himself a year later.














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