Theory on Mysterious Deaths

- Daniel Albrecht, guest contributor

First and foremost, my deepest sympathies go out to all the families who have lost their sons in a most horrific way. My heart truly goes out to each one of you.

When I first came across the strange abductions of literally hundreds of young men across the upper Midwest, I thought there might be a connection to the Franklin Savings and Loan Scandal from the late 80 ́s out of Omaha, Nebraska. I will not go into detail about it here, as many are aware of these unspeakable events. But for those who have not heard, the Franklin Scandal was a nationwide network of pedophiles operating at the highest levels of government which ran straight up to the Reagan, Bush White House. A few names for you to investigate, should you choose to do so.

Former Senator and attorney, John DeCamp of Nebraska, who not only blew the case wide open, but published a book with the title,” The Franklin Cover Up.” There is also a documentary that was never broadcast called “A Conspiracy of Silence.” This can be found all over on YouTube. Boystown in Nebraska was a major source for the prostitution of young boys. The late Ted Gunderson, who was the former head of the FBI for Southern California, and after his retirement, conducted extensive research on this, and many other subjects. Finally, the late and former Senator Nancy Schaffer who, along with her husband, was executed in her bed while asleep in May of 2012. She was ready to publish her book on the nationwide Child Services Protection Organization, which is nothing more than a cover for human trafficking.

After having read many, many cases on these young men, I have concluded that there is no direct connection to the Franklin Scandal, but I do fully believe it is part of the same network. I can, however, conclude that this is NOT the work of a single individual, responsible for this mass abduction. Not only are there hundreds of cases in the United States, but Canada, and Europe as well. Since 2008, at least 80 bodies of young men, fitting the same description, in the city of Manchester, England have been discovered in the canals that run through the city, all under the very same circumstances as those in the States. There is also a case in Germany, as recently as July 18th, 2014, where a young man on vacation in Bulgaria, simply ran off into a field, completely disoriented, and has never been seen since.

Let me state that I do not buy into the theory that these young men simply disappeared, committed suicide, or “accidentally” fell into a body of water and drown. I believe without question, they were all, every single one of them, abducted, used for experimentation, and finally dumped into bodies of water to make it look accidental. I will also not use the term, “Smiley Face Killer,” as this is highly misleading, and diverts from the true intention of what is really going on. It also belittles the seriousness of these cases. I believe all these “smiley faces” found at the scenes where the bodies have been recovered are a tactic to keep people running down the wrong path. Or it is someone ́s very sick joke.

In almost every single case, these young men have been out celebrating, or just relaxing and enjoying time with family and friends. Every young man that has been targeted is athletic, strong, intelligent, and is either still in college, or has just finished. It all takes place in the early hours of the morning, and usually during the winter months, when suddenly, for some unexplainable reason, they exit the establishment, become extremely disoriented, and their behavior is not only erratic, it does not fit how they usually act.

This leads us to the first point. All these men have been deliberately sought out and targeted, which means that over a course of days, or weeks before they vanish, have been observed, or even stalked. This leads us to the second point that those who have been targeted, are also being watched in the establishments they are in by the people who plan the abduction. The main reason I believe this second point is that in several of the cases, these young men are asked to leave the place, and then once confronted by law enforcement, or family members, deny that they were asked to leave. A “sudden” memory lapse seems to be a recurring theme.

There has been much conjecture as to how the men have been put into such a state. One suggestion is having been drugged, by slipping something into their drinks. This is a very plausible conclusion. I believe this in some of the cases. There are other cases, however, where the young men were on the phone with people, talking normally, but were also very disoriented. Some have also sent text messages, giving the appearance of seeming normal. In the many cases where the young men are seen on video surveillance, you can clearly see the strange behavior, such as acting drunk, walking around in a state of confusion, looking like they will be sick, etc. This is a strong indicator that they were, without question, under the influence of some outside force, not of their own choosing.

This is the headline from an article, and I will post the link, so you can read for yourself in it ́s entirety.

Electromagnetic and Informational Weapons: The Remote Manipulation of the Human Brain
https://www.globalresearch.ca/electromagnetic-and-informational-weapons-the-remote- manipulation-of-the-human-brain-2/5458103

This is just one of dozens of excellent articles on this subject.

This all leads us now to the main question of why? Why is this happening? Why target young, intelligent college-aged men?

It is a well-known fact that for centuries, wicked governments all over the world, have used their own populous for experiments. The United States is no exception. There is ample information on many of the things the US government has done to its people.
The hideous 1932 Tuskegee Syphilis Study. 200 black men diagnosed with syphilis are never told of their illness, are denied treatment, and instead are used as human guinea pigs in order to follow the progression and symptoms of the disease. They all subsequently die from syphilis, their families never told that they could have been treated.

The disgusting incident in 1940 in Chicago, where four hundred prisoners were infected with Malaria to study the effects of new and experimental drugs to eradicate the disease.

The LSD experiments, spraying cities with infectious diseases, the list goes on and on. As time continues to move forward, so do the technologies and their methods of deployment. In other words, technologies have become far more sophisticated than we can possibly imagine, and in usual style, they must be tested on an unsuspecting population.

That is what I believe is happening to these bright, young men. I believe because of their athletic appearances, their intelligence, and their young age, they have been chosen for some sinister governmental experimentation. Once a specific young man has been chosen, they are then either drugged, or have some sort of technology used against them to put them under the unusual circumstances witnessed by those out with them, as well as what is seen on surveillance camera coverage. For example, wandering around aimlessly in a field, thinking that person knows where they are, and at the same time, talking on the phone to a parent, and being somewhere completely different than thought. There have also been cases where the young man was on the phone, sounding completely normal to the other person, and without warning, sound literally terrified by something they are seeing. The connection is lost, and that person is no longer reachable.

Once taken, they are brought to some unknown location, horribly used as guinea pigs, tortured, and either not responding to whatever they are being subjected to, no longer being useful, or simply dying from the experiments, are brought back very close to where they were taken. This would also explain why, when searches are conducted, especially in and around water, no body is found until days, weeks, or even months later, in the exact spot where the searches took place. As stated above, it is my belief that a “smiley face” is then drawn, or spray painted to divert everyone involved in the investigation from the truth.

In conclusion, I wish to emphatically state, in no way is this theory a proven one, nor do I wish to make all the families who have lost their loved ones seem like this is a cold-hearted, wild and conspiratorial sounding explanation. I have the utmost sympathy for them all.

I realize that to some, this entire proposal seems ludicrous, even far-fetched, but in all cases I have read, there have been no signs of foul play, sexual assault, or any other indications helpful in determining the demise of these young men. I can only conclude this to be the work of highly sophisticated technology implemented by rogue members of governmental agencies who have yet to be exposed for the horrific crimes they are committing against their own populous.

Without a Trace

By Denise Allen

Charles Horvath Allen
Missing since 5/26/89
Kelowna, BC, Canada

Today is May 26, 2012, the 23rd anniversary since my young son, Charles Horvath-Allen, was last seen alive whilst visiting Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada from home in Yorkshire, England.

I have been trekking across the world for over two decades in the search of the fate of my lost son.

Sadly, I am no longer able to travel to Canada--age, health and finances forced this most difficult decision on the 21st anniversary.

On May 3, 2010, I launched a billboard for Charles in Kelowna...21 years after he arrived there, full of hopes and dreams.

Please remember missing Charles Karoly John HORVATH-ALLAN' aged 20 in 1989.


If you have any information, please contact:

Cpl L Cullen - Serious Crime Unit
Kelowna Detachment RCMP file 1989/21784
350 Doyle Ave
KELOWNA V1Y 6V7
British Columbia Canada
Tel: (1) 250 470 6326 Desk
Tel (1) 250 762 3300 RCMP Switchboard
email: lisa.cullen@rcmp-grc.gc.ca

Sincerely,

Denise Allan (Charles's mom)

Memories of Sly

An Essay by Mike Shaw
November 30, 2011

Sly McCurry was more than just a friend to me. Though he was a year younger, he was someone I looked up to and admired. His smile would light up the room and his laugh was unforgettable. He was always happy and full of energy and life. He truly was the life of the party. The world was so new and big to us, and we were treating it like a playground. We had a very small, tight knit group of friends. It was mostly just the three or four of us hanging out and having fun. We often talked about our dreams--Sly's, of course, being the biggest. He aspired to be an actor and, let me tell you, he would have been the next Jamie Foxx. He had the looks, the laugh, the smile, and the desire. If you ever have the chance to hear the song "Up, Up and Away" by Kid Cudi, it was Sly all the way. He really did live up to his name. Sly loved life more than anyone I have ever met, and that was partly why I admire him so much.

The fire for life I had back then died with Sly.

My friend Sly did not walk out onto the ice of Lake Superior that cold January night and fall through and drown. He was murdered. I cannot tell you how surreal it is when to have your friend goes missing and not know what happened; it will drive you insane.

I'll never forget the night I got the phone call, "they found Sly's body." This is very hard for me to talk about, and I have never received closure. I was a trained fighter for many years and felt very protective over all of my friends. I often fought their battles when we were younger. I probably felt the most protective over Sly. He wasn't a muscular guy by any means and would sometimes get bullied at parties that I didn't attend--getting his shoes stolen and things of that nature.

After his discovery and autopsy, the coroner ruled his death accidental drowning due to cold water immersion. No one can ever convince me it was anything but cold-blooded first degree murder. He would have never went from the Stargate Nightclub to that secluded area alone in 20-below weather with no coat and also drowned. His hotel was two blocks away from the club, and his body was found in the Tower Bay slip, 9 blocks in the opposite direction. Sly did not have a car and after being discharged from the club out the back door, he was last seen walking toward his hotel. The police brought in dogs two days after his disappearance, and the dogs indicated that his scent stopped at the back door of the hotel. I have looked into how reliable these dogs are and was shocked to find out that they are extremely sufficient.

I began my own investigative work which has not stopped to this day. A few months after his disappearance, I went to SPD to speak with lead detective Chad La Lor. I had seen him on shows like Forensic Files and was confident he would pursue justice for my friend, but he did not. He told me it was accidental and that was that. In tears, I pleaded for him to believe me that this was murder and the work of a serial killer, but he shut me down and left. I have no confidence in the SPD and have pursued my own career in law enforcement to get justice for my friend and to stop this sick person(s) from committing these murders. Just like clockwork, I see this killer(s) strike all over the Northeastern United States. I can only hope the wrong victim is chosen next, one with a gun in his belt. I want to see the person(s) responsible for my friend's, and many others deaths, brought to justice. I want to see it that when the truth finally does come to light, there are no Hollywood movies made idolizing the murderer.

I'm writing this because I want to help the other families and friends of victims of the same killer. I feel your pain, and I live with it every day. I feel like most have just let go and moved on since Sly's demise. I have not. Not a day goes by that I don't fight back tears for my friend. This last year and 10 months have been the hardest of my life. I am a changed person, and I struggle with depression. If you have something to share about these victims or your hardships please pull yourself together enough to talk about it. Networking with each other can possibly bring justice for our loved ones. As long as there is air in my lungs, I will fight for it.

Boss forever, Sly, we love you.


Copyright © November 2011 Mike Shaw and Footprints at the River’s Edge. All rights reserved.

Memories of Jay Polhill, A.K.A. “The Diesel Beast”

An Essay by Ryan Buell
August 11, 2011 3:54 PM

Jay and I met my freshmen year of college, and I told him his name “shoulda been Carlos.”

“You look like a Carlos, man. It’s uncanny. Your parents fucked up.”

Any other dude would have written me off as the asshole I was, but Jay, having a sense of humor and also probably just as eager to meet new friends his freshmen year, played along.

“Carlos, huh?” He said.

“Yeah,” I said, “Carlos.”

“Yeah, Carlos looks good on me.”

From that moment on, we were pals. We went on to run up and down the Chicago dorm building’s 18 floors, visiting every one from the sixth up, knocking on doors and giggling away like little boys. When caught by one of the few residents quick enough to swing their door open after we’d knocked, I tried to play it off, calling out in a serious voice, “Hey, we’re chasin’ down the guy who knocked your door and ran off! Stay here where it’s safe!”

“Yeah,” Jay stepped in, “that guy stole my Will Smith CD!”

Jay Polhill

Jay may have possessed the largest mental library of one-liners on this earth to date, but his sense of humor didn’t stop there. Whenever I found myself caught in some weird joke that, in the end, would probably take itself too far, Jay was nearly always either standing right next to me or the cause of it. I used to figure the guy’s life was a living sitcom. Every joke Jay told seemed pre-rehearsed; it fit so perfectly in the conversation. And he never hesitated to take humor to an uncomfortable level. This often meant the removal of clothing, the stroking of hair, or the out of nowhere telling of an obscure Alaskan sex move that takes several days to administer upon one’s partner.

So, Jay’s life became a legend before he even died. Afterwards, on the night we found out, my roommates and I sat in our apartment as a host of friends trafficked in and out to speak with the counselors provided us by our school, as well as to share memories. One girl remarked at some point, without any mocking in her voice, but instead confusion, that, “It doesn’t make sense that Jay’s dead. He always been like just a cartoon character.”

“But think about it,” my roommate said wisely, “Jay Polhill has entered into the great beyond. That ‘cartoon character’ is only one of us who knows what comes after.”

I think I probably shook my head in awe. Jay Polhill, the man who oftentimes referred to himself and his body as “the Diesel Beast” was gone. It didn’t make any sense. Never again would I hear the door to our apartment dorm kicked open and the inevitable “OHH!!” that he’d yell to announce his arrival. All of the comical wisdom and absurd catch phrases he’d given us would now be reserved to memory. Among these stand immortal teachings that you may someday pass on to your grandchildren, forgetting where it was you first heard them:

“No fatties are allowed in the Palace of Wisdom.” Jay often said, lowering a pair of down turned wrists along his body in a ‘behold gesture.’

Or, when speaking on his preference for redheaded girls:
“Only redheads. And no faux reds allowed. I only deal in natural reds with real pasty white skin.”

And of course, the most practical advice yet, something that would go on to be tattooed across the feet and wrists of my grieving friends, the simple phrase, “Don’t worry about it.” It was a joke we used to say to anyone who asked a question that we couldn’t answer. Or maybe didn’t want to.

For example:

“How old is that milk you’re drinking?”
“Don’t worry about it.”

This was the standard formula for our interactions with, well, anyone. But Jay took the phrase and made it famous. The way history takes the reigns of originally anonymous aphorisms and tacks one well-deserved master speaker of the phrase beneath it. The words “don’t worry about it” will always belong to Jay Polhill within our group of friends. Jay never allowed the comic origins of the phrase slip away, but he began to use the thing I once thought a joke as actual advice. And well, it came out of his mouth sounding not only funny, but wise, intelligent, and the only natural course in which to pursue. The phrase, “Don’t worry about it,” is, after all, a calming and thoughtful piece of advice. And a hard one to follow, too.

After Jay died, my friends and I went through a lot together. We spent the first night completely awake, trading stories, drifting into private lulls and drinking cup after cup of coffee. When the sunrise started up, we all threw jackets on and walked to the Chicago landmark in Millennium Park known commonly as the Bean. It had been a tradition with Jay and a few others and I to take drunken treks from our dorm room in the South Loop to that gigantic, metallic legume as the sun put an end to whatever unusual night we’d spent together. Usually, it was in the winter and the sunrises were lousy. This time, however, was like Jay was making up for every rainy, dreary sunrise we’d seen together. It even had enough colors for me to ask a painter friend of ours, “What do you call a shade like that? The shade of yellow in the center, and that tangerine, burning orange shade?”

“I just mix colors together. I don’t call them anything,” she said.

In other words, just look at it. Just take it in. This is the most beautiful gift our friend could have ever given us this morning.

Afterwards we walked back and ate a disgustingly greasy fast food breakfast just as we would had Jay been there. Then, I went to sleep, the strangest sleep of my life, and dreamt that my little sister had passed away.

Perfect, not quite coincidental sunrises and horrifying dreams define the rest of that spring for me. The aftermath of his passing swung from one extreme to the other. I battled with the memory of arguments Jay and I had. At times I was actually blissful at the fact that misfortune had befallen my boring, pointless life. I met girls, embarked on flings powered by the ecstasies of my own grief. I drank heavily. Cried only in private. The inability of my personality to ever truly connect with his haunted me. It still does. We didn’t always get along, and often found basic, regular conversation and agreement on many certain issues difficult to achieve. Near the time of his death, we were drifting apart. I’m not sure how close we would be right now, had he lived past the day he did. But we were friends, we were roommates, and these things, if they still continue to battle themselves out in my head, are at least laid to rest in his. Not that I believe for a second that someone as strong as him ever bothered to stress over something as simple as friendship.

Now that he is gone, and I am the one that is left, writing and remembering in his place, I can only ask that whomever it was that took him away from us will someday learn exactly who Jay Polhill was. And that he, or anyone with information on what happened on March 2, 2010 or the days preceding, would come forward. The answers to these questions are irretrievably important to his family, friends, everyone who knew him. The surreal qualities of grief for the loss of someone as invincible, as irreplaceable as Jay was in our lives, might only begin to lift, if there are answers to why he died.

I know that there are plenty of unfinished cases out there, each one of them just as important as my friend’s. The fact that Jay’s case has been reopened, on account of his determined family, is the simple proof that answers do exist. I don’t know what Jay would want to happen now that his case has been reopened. But I know he loved his mom and respected his dad more than anyone on this earth, and I know that he would never want to see his family lost without him. Answers are deserved.

If there is anyone here reading this that feels this way, please, search for the answers that exist out there in hiding. Search because the ones lost deserve justice. The strange mystery of our grief should not hang within our hearts forever. Only the memories of weird Alaskan sex moves should. Only the wonderfully strange, hilarious and hard to accept memories should. These memories, what now exist of our passed friends and our roommates, our brothers, our sons or our nephews should be our gifts. To live with unquestioned grief would be a disservice to them. So, please, don’t let the mysteries we all share on this Internet blog to go unquestioned. They may not ever be answered, but at least the question mark will stay alive for them.



Copyright ©August 2011 Ryan Buell and Footprints at the River’s Edge. All rights reserved.

The Essay Project

In talking to the loved ones of young men who have disappeared or have been found deceased, I have been deeply touched to hear stories about what these young men were like in their daily lives. Their humanity, and the gravity of what we've all lost, is something that is seldom touched upon by the media.

Most recently, I had the opportunity to talk with Ryan Buell, friend and roommate to Columbia College student Jay Polhill. Jay's body was recovered from Chicago's Calumet River in March 2010 after he had inexplicably disappeared. Ryan shared with me some recollections of Jay and kindly agreed to write an essay for Footprints. The essay, which will be published shortly, touches upon Jay's warmth, sense of humor, and creative spirit. It also gives us a glimpse into why each one of these cases is important. I hope to post similar essays going forward. Please look for them under "Essays" on the tag cloud.