Martin Ray Smartt Timeline

[dmac]

Marty was born in Tennessee in 1949. According to Spenceypoo's well-known narrative of family history, they remained there until pulling up stakes and moving to Phoenix in the summer of '57. It's simply not true.

I occasionally use my research tools to look up the same names, to see if any new info has surfaced. For the first time since I began researching the case, Marty shows up in newspapers. According to these sources, Marty lived in Ohio in the 50s, prior to Phoenix. According to the Medina County Gazette, Martin Ray Smartt was listed as being at the Medina Community Hospital a couple times. Knowing what a violent family they were, and how whack-jack nuts Marty and Spencey proved to be, I wondered what kind of abuse put Marty in the hospital:

Dec 7, 1952: Discharged from care, age 3, for head injuries / fractured skull.

Feb 8, 1958: Entered care, age 9

On both occasions, he was listed as living in nearby Chippewa Lake, Ohio.

Smartt is a rare name. Martin Ray Smartt is exponentially more rare, so I doubted like hell this is anybody but our very own Keddie killer. Most of the time, Spencer has said that his family moved from Jasper TN (they lived next to the Meeks clan, believe it or not) to Phoenix in the summer of 1957. In reality, they quit bootlegging and moved to Cleveland in early 1948. Marty's sis was born there, but the family was back in TN next to the Meeks by the end of the year. Early in 51, they moved to Medina, OH, then to Chippewa.

"The family met with more hard times here as well and felt the brunt somewhere around Thanksgiving when Marty fell from his bunkbed and fractured his skull. For years I was accuse by our mother of pushing Marty from the bed and causing the injury"

They moved back to TN in early '53, and so it went- back and forth to Cleveland. Spencer insists they moved to Phoenix in '57 but, in black and white, there Marty was back in the Ohio hospital in early 1958. Also of note is, on the way to Phoenix, they stopped at Bossier City, LA (outside Shreveport), to visit Marty's uncle and namesake, Allen Ray Smartt. Allen was in the AF at the time, stationed at nearby Barksdale AFB. So, that's still another military tie, as well as a tie to Louisiana. In fact, it's around the time the Smartt were at Barksdale that Bo was AWOL from his own final USAF stint.

As an aside, Medina's 15 miles south of Cleveland, and Chippewa Lake is about 3 miles south of that. There are many ties to Cleveland in the Keddie case, mainly through the relationships between the Outfit and Cleveland mob; and, of course, Bo, Alvin, and Rini pulled a lot of robberies / jobs in and around Cleveland. Now we have yet another occurrence of Marty & Bo in the same area at the same time. Bo being 3-9 makes this far more innocent than the other instances.

[dmac]

Major developments forthcoming. Remind me if i don't awake to post in the next year. Lots of shit.

ANYONE WITH KNOWLEDGE OF MARTY, HIS FAMILY, HIS FIVE KIDS, please contact me to fill in details. I'm very concentrated Boubedes and Smartts knew each other- not necessarily Bo and Marty- before the murders. There's too many clear connections for it to be the lie of the VA meeting or any other fabrication. These fuckers were set to meet up, but not for a quad. Bo only finished what Marty began.

Yes, even the family archives deliver the truth: MARTY HAD FIVE KIDS VIA HIS FIRST WIFE. I know their names and DOBs. MARTY KILLED FOUR / payed with four lives, and that's fucking FACT. His youngest child was three at the time of the murders. His oldest was just Rick's age. Remember, Loon fucked any stick and had a few years on Marty.

That's about four years between leaving his "family" and meeting Loon at the fucking Spahn Ranch, er, carnival. Bo's lifestyle and family are CARNIES. Scammers, liars, cunts. Killers? Evidently.

These fuckers did not walk into 28 with intent for mass murder? That's insane, despite me proving they brought a kill kit. I cannot wrap my head around anything but sloppy murder as the original intent. Rape kit? Three plus rolls of tape in a rape kit? Rifle? Knives? KILL MOTHERFUCKER kit!

These fuckers also clearly KNEW EACH OTHER long before the proved non-existent meeting at the Reno VA. That's no guess. Far more than a dmac hunch cum true.

Reno VA is an alibi / campaign smear. "Marty Accidentally Meets Bo at VA" was an arranged marriage, certainly not happenstance. And long before Reno.

Forgive me for speaking like a spiritualist lying cunt, but I kinda see what went down from FACTS and what happened in their footsteps:

This was planned but escalated beyond the killers plans. MAJOR FUCKUP and mass confusion and major anger between the killers towards each other. They'd met before, the family connection was there. Nephew. Uncle. Carny scams.

I do believe Marty and Bo were going to try carny scams. Marty could no longer sustain himself in Keddie- being fired <and therefore with quickly descending eviction>, he already went to the Reno VA at Dee's behest to seek false income from BS PTSD. Bo was already in Reno, living at a fictitious address but Marty knew how to contact him. Do you see the level of fake lies in their concurrent statements? Tourist map? Scam and bolt? Nothing was holding Marty to Plumas and he was naive / moronically-hopeful enough to dig Loon would come with, fuck the kids. Loon, on the other hand, was hung up on Sue. Marty's fixation on Sue, tbh.

Loon was the flame, the fuse, the bomb. And she sure as fuck was inside 28 that night.

[dmac]

Has anyone reflected on a few things brought up by the latest intel?

Marty probably had PTSD- from his mom and Spenceypoo.

His mom was a violent drunk. I've not heard anything bad about his dad, who served in WW2. No PTSD from dad.

Marty had no PTSD working as a military cook. He never heard of PTSD til Dee Jay Fuckface Lake offered it as a paycheck.

I believe his mom and older brother, Spenceypoo, tormented Marty as a child. I asked, "How did Marty sustain those head injuries" before hearing from Spencey he "fell from his bunk bed". That's as plausible now as it was then. Even <o, said Spence tried to kill Marty by kicking him off the bunk bed.

I no longer deny Marty may have had PTSD, but he didn't get it in Nam. He was only after a VA paycheck about PTSD!

His real PTSD horror came from within the household of drunk mom and violent older brother.

Still, no excuse for the murders, but Marty was a seriously fucked up kid to begin with. I KNEW that yonks ago based on stories and supporting evidence about Mom and Spenceyfuck. Hell, as usual, one need look no further than Spenceypoo's posts of threats of violence to know exactly what kind of pond scum the Smartts are.

That's not sympathy to what Marty was or what Marty did. Empathy to the abuse I think he, perhaps, endured? Certainly. Explaining the horror Marde helped create? Not a chance!

Marty chose his tools. So did Bo. So did Loon. So did Dee. So did Tony. So did Mike. This was a fucking CONSPIRACY, not a lone fucknut.

[leenie963]

I just lost everyfuckingthing I wrote in reply. Gist is this:

My father was a drunken, violent prick who had a frontal lobotomy after WWII due to his violent tendencies. I received and witnessed all of it. He had a script he followed...a pattern of things he would say that I --as an adult-- can now understand where it came from due to his upbringing, time in WWII, etc.

Wondering if Marty had the same type of script when violent. His mother was the reason he hated all women...skull fracture as a child...PTSD no doubt but NOT from his cooking abilities in Vietnam. I can repeat verbatim what my sob father would say each and every time he pulled his shit on all of us.

Would it be helpful...insightful at the very least...to know if Marty had a pattern. Not what triggered the violence, but what was said during it.

[dmac]

My dad was an awful drunk. Thankfully, he quit drinking when he quit the Air Force. He was an F-4 phantom pilot in Nam, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, Cuba, Philippines, and other secret wars. He used to send home tapes of his missions. Only sent home the PG ones, not those where he was awarded medals for bravery and valor. He never talked about it. But I found it in the bottom drawer in a locked cabinet in the garage. He said it was a gun cabinet as he knew I despised weaponry and, therefore, would have no interest. That doesn't stop a curious kid! It was filled by his military suits and massive awards. He was awarded things that blew my head straight off. I knew the significance of some, just a few were in my vocabulary.

I hate the fucker on one hand, yet so admire him for doing what he believed in and not quitting just because the new management were Nixonite warmongerers. He believed in change from within, but not from a self-help book. Real Deal stuff. Even then I realized he was a dupe, a killer in a missile who believed in a fucked, corrupt scheme named America. Nam was a douche before Kennedy signed on! To play fair, my dad signed on during Eisenhower's administration, prior to Dwight making it blatantly clear he did NOT want his veep, Nixon, to win the Presidency.

Dad kept just a touch of his past, yet put it under lock and key and lied about it. You do, most all do. It's not specific to serial killer trophyism. Most of us do it. When you hide something, an essence, of a person you just murdered, it's a different level of keepsaking from a quite perverse skill set.

Dad never talked about Nam. No helmets or other gook trophies sent from Saigon. He didn't enjoy it. He grieved over much of his military work, despised the arms build-up as the circle-jerk it is. We briefly spoke of his past during the first Bush (1) invasion of Iraq. Desert Storm. I said, "Let's hope the dumb motherfuckers at the top don't fuck this one up, too". He said, quite softly and simply, "Amen." Waxing profound, I was too thick to understand his turmoil came from the far deep: a dialogue with the same useless Death he'd encountered for decades prior to my birth.

Booze is a massively abused tool the military imports and imparts. Drink or die, similar to sink or swim without a life jacket or viable exit. Fuck the USAF for their absolute and direct involvement in murdering their troops and their families!

My mom was a bitch. She hated me. She only wanted to fuck-spew a boy from her cunt to stop sex. "First son, I'm done!" was my parents' unmentionable motto. I was the 'accident', and she made certain I knew it from her each abuse for all wrongs done by anyone but me. I was the cause of all pain and harm in the household, despite not being remotely involved. She once apologized for beating me over the head with my brother's boots, which he'd left out in the rain. It was only because my sisters insisted she stop hurting me and apologize.

Once ain't enough, and she did it under duress. Fuck you, mom. Fuck her! The bitch be dead, go for it if so inclined.

My parents were assholes.

My dad would come home drunk and shatter our sleep. Directly shouting: "GET UP!! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!" we had to do cleaning drills at three in the morning then go to school at seven. Fuck You, dad! Dead-tired, we'd walk to school on Saturdays thinking it was any other school day.

Moronic shit. He and my mom had so many scripted arguments... same fucking vertical-dialogue nearly every time. Scripted, drunken assholes saying the exact same shit over and over. Get off the pot, you fuckknobs. Boorish "Bang! ZOOM!!" delivery without Gleason's imbued love, and zero laughter from the abused and captive audience of four children.

Short Answer: I believe Justin and even Casey would recall the standard fights, verbatim. It's like starting a chorus of Hey Jude- just get them started, they remember all the words yet mumble at the tough bits.

We used to hear these standard tirades and put ourselves back to sleep with white noise from the radio. When they varied from the script, we got worried. Us boys and girls (in Brady Bunch rooms) would ask who we'd rather stay with if they parted. We hated both options. Four pre-teens forced to choose the lesser of evils, like it was a Trump/Hitler finish. I chose suicide. I'd rather have died than live with either, tearing us kids apart. My siblings were both my strength and my bane. I had nowhere to feel 'safe'.

Do I seem to have PTSD? Yes, enough to know Marty and Dee and Tony are fucking lying about military PTSD. The only action they saw was from deeply soul-damaging whorehouses. Comfort Women is not a Japanese-exclusive lie-phrase. America does it every fucking day. Never pardon my french. These ass fuckers created more PTSD by raping innocent kids time and again. Prove it? No. Likely? Fuck the motherfucking fuck of the whole fucking day the motherfucking fuck off!

We all endure shit as a daily process of life. We make thousands of quite consequential decisions from our gut knowledge, our own Truth. Most every reaction we make is calculated by our inner brain. I made my Truth as a kid and stick to it: I choose not to repeat ugly patterns but to replace them with loving, caring. I choose not to waste sleep thinking about what I've been through, but to find the good from it and build on it. That's why this is the only time you'll see me pitching a bitch at my folks.

We went camping a lot. A LOT. That's how I first saw Keddie, when I was about 3 or 4. Despite my parents, I still love camping and turned my kids onto it.

I choose to love and understand children. I choose to remember how unfair I saw life as a child, not bury my hurts and frustrations. I choose to embrace kids and puppies and flowers and a garden. I choose to openly yet guardedly weep in public from both hurt and joy. I choose to make my life better by helping raise the quality of others lives.

I choose a wholesome community where we're on a first-name basis and all kids are safe.

I may seem like a throw-back to Leave It to Beaver, but Johnny was born a few months after me, and I have his rotten mouth for abusive words. He earned those cuss-word scars, just as I did.

Johnny was a kid of 15, not a punk or a killer. Not even a doper. He earned those battle scars just by being born to assholes. His POV is not ours, but he went upstairs to protect his family. THAT IS SO FUCKING TRUE. So did Dana! That was their instinctive, whole gut, TRUE reaction. Defending family and Dana knowing he had to be family at that moment. By all standards, Johnny and Dana were and ARE absolute heroes.

Marty, Loon, Bo, Dee, Tony, Mike, these assholes chose to murder a family. That was and is their collective gut-instinct. 35 years of lies from the same killers. FUCK THEM.

HANG THE LOT.
Two deep, three wide.

[dmac]

The short answer is I want more examples to show patterns from Marty. Plenty of PATTERNS, but his known written statements are love letters and apologies and confessions to murder. He possibly used a typewriter on other connected letters. I want examples of his 'normal' writing... but he was rarely normal. We can figure out his writing based on how he types, but it's slower. I'd love to read anything Marty wrote longhand or typed ,as the substantial shift in media mindset would not confuse him. He has a pattern of shortcuts which translate purrfectly.

Marty and Spencey share dangerous traits. Both show they are argumentative, vindictive, and hold big grudges when found wrong. "Oh, fuck that! They lied about my records!" kinda shit. Marty confesses, so Spencey threatens anyone who repeats it.

Look deeper at Spenceypoo. His anger patterns are so evident, repeated, and dangerously explosive. Spencey comes off as a serial killer when threatening others, not to speak of his self-confessed mass-murderer brother, Martin Brain Damaged Ray Smartt. Spencer personifies every reason you hate scary asshole neighbors.

Them apples make bad sauce.

[leenie963]

My dad would come home drunk and shatter our sleep. Directly shouting: "GET UP!! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!" we had to do cleaning drills at three in the morning then go to school at seven. Fuck You, dad! Dead-tired, we'd walk to school on Saturdays thinking it was any other school day.

Oh hell yeah...the middle of the night wake up, go to the kitchen table for his rantings, which turned to some piece of furniture and food being tossed around, me crying and being told to shut the fuck up or I'll get the belt and then he goes to pass out with the orders of cleaning up this mess or else. Yep, all that fun in front of five kids and my mother...who always tried to protect us...who took to running out the door when he'd pull out his shotgun chasing her with it. She'd do anything to distract his rage from us kids to her. For years I had a fear of bridges...he was always threatening to drive over the rail and drown us all. Fucker. PTSD...yeah, me too. And like you, I chose a better life for my kids. Took Mom 13 years to be strong enough to divorce him. I don't blame her for anything, she's always put us kids first, worked three jobs and kept us alive. This was early 1973, I was all of ten years old. No where to go, no battered women shelters back then, police said everything happening was a family matter. Try looking at a policeman with welts so big you literally couldn't sit down for a week, and have him tell you that. I learned mistrust at very young age. Brady Bunch rooms for us too; was a fav show of mine. I wanted to live with their dog Tiger outside in his doghouse...it never rained in their AstroTurf backyard.

Short Answer: I believe Justin and even Casey would recall the standard fights, verbatim. It's like starting a chorus of Hey Jude- just get them started, they remember all the words yet mumble at the tough bits.

Especially mumble at the tough bits. Witnessing the murders and who knows what else. I always told myself that someone somewhere has it worse than me...that's why I've never played a victim card. Fuck that. My shit is squared away. Maybe that's why I hate, in every sense of the word HATE injustice.

[albynon]

Some info regarding the Smartt families of x, y, and z Counties in a. Two of the posts might be of particular interest to those who follow the Keddie Murders, one is by Spencer and the other by b. Apologies if this info has already been made available. I've hung around a while, but just recently began to dig more deeply into the case thru studying the timelines, etc, and I've got a lot to learn and a lot more forum material to read.

I grew up in an adjoining county to where Marty's people, the Smartts lived. Smartt was a fairly common name(not in my county, but in the two adjoining counties) and most who have that surname are probably some degree of kin. There is an unincorporated community in Warren County, just ouside of the town of McMinnville that is named Smartt; also my ex-wife's 1st cousin once removed married a Smartt. This is the rural south and people here used to keep up with these family genealogy matters. It's very likely that someone could access Warren and/or Grundy County census records and trace Marty's family back to at least 1850 should they choose to do so. I live close enough to these counties to visit their libraries and do the research, but I'm older and my health is not all that good. Don't guess that any of this will help solve the murders, but it's all i want to contribute at this point. I don't feel comfortable just yet discussing theories till I do some more research.

[dmac]

Thanks for the info, allby. I already have it, and the reason I redacted your post is you brought up Marty's kids. MARTY'S CHILDREN ARE NOT PART OF THIS. Offspring have nothing to do with k28 and will not be mentioned without consent.

I don't mention kin of killers or victims alike, unless it has a direct bearing on the case. NOBODY SHOULD. It's a rule I knew from birth, perhaps.

Marty's kids, despite whatever misguided allegiance they may have, are not related to any reasonable context of the case. Therefore, they are personna non grata and their identities are of ZERO importance, unless they choose to participate. In fact, as proved, I will protect their names and identities.

It's a very basic rule. No hurt feelings intended. With your previous post, I edited only the bits relating to offensive info nobody should logically dispense.

Bairn/offspring are not ANY PART of this investigation, unless they choose to be. We WILL NOT PUSH.

I chose to put up my recent findings re: Marty's childhood head-smash, as it has DIRECT intel on Marty as an abused kid in an abusive, fucked up home. Marty's own kids still remain numbers, never names.

Please understand how important this simple rule is. They didn't choose to be Marty's bairn, and WE WILL respect their privacy.

[dmac]

Leenie, I got the Kitchen Table sermonnettes, too. INSANE. All I learned was to go 180 degrees against the lesson. Ergo "Fuck the Bible, Fuck Family, Fuck 'Help', and FUCK YOU MOM AND DAD." Such utter bullshit they tried to portend as their truth.

In first grade, I flew through the reading course and was deemed at 4th Grade reading level. They used a book system: "Read this, pass a spelling/language/comprehension test, move up to the next level / BOOK". All their crap I read were books mocking Greek mythology. Other kids laughed at the stupidity of Greek religion, but all I could think is "it's no dumber than the retarded bullshit fake god you assholes buy into". Had I voclized my concerns, I would never have made Grade Four at age 6. Pathetic joke.

That's my take on religion, mass stupidity, and class. And let's put pants on the Emperor: Those schoolyard "Learnin'" books were meant to mock any religion other than the Big JC. A fucking pathetic joke that may as well have been a directive from the Dallas School Book Depository. Our school system is DOG FUCKING SHIT. Bigots with fascistic rules trump good teachers. FUCK THAT.

Look up Zoroaster. jesus christ was a card sharp thief at the Big Z's own game. in the Old West, they woulda shot jeshua dead or hanged his lame fucking ass.

Don't believe in drunken sermonettes? DON'T BELIEVE IN SERMONS! They're far more damaging! Fuck religion altogether.

As of this moment, I'm working on a treatment with Tarantino and Ramirez on a spicy take on Jesus' "return" to a village that overwhelmingly believes in Zoroaster, the god jesus stole his godliness from. Much gunfire! It's RESERVOIR DOGS meets LIFE OF BRIAN meets ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST, with a decidedly spaghetti western, Sergio Leoni, Cortucci, theme. We're waiting on Morricone's score before fixing the script. You write TO Ennio's music, as his themes dictate the film.

The working title is:

Jeshua Try to-a Stop My Bullets


To those offended by my open mockery of christianity: GROW UP, THEN FUCK OFF. I mock all religions, as they are scams YOU buy into and create harm by paying into dead-tired stolen themes, such as CHRISTIANITY- Neatly lifted almost 100% from ZOROASTRIANISM. FUCK YOU. As Edward "Billy" R Murray said, "Good Night, Good Luck, and that's the way I see it, so don't complain, you knuckleheads!"

[leenie963]

Oh yeah, I remember the book system too. That I loved as my grandma gave me classics like Little Women and Heidi to read. Still have them to this day. My escape was climbing my neighbors tree as high as I could go, and lose myself in a book as the leaves rustled in the wind. That still is the most tranquil sound to me. Love autumn.

180 here too. I wasn't into school...anything regimented I bucked. Anything that didn't interest me I found a way around it. Believe it or not, in my day math was not a requirement in high school as long as you took algebra in middle school. I paid a girl named Kelly a pack of bubble yum to do my homework and cheat on my tests--got that A. Sewing class sucked ass; my Mom had sewn my project on her antique Singer and I got an A. Hell, I was a grifter at a young age. We were very poor and I'd collect pop bottles for the nickle return; I'd sit on those mechanical horses in lobbies of grocery stores and when older couples came out, cue my tears and whine the horse took my dime and on good days I'd get about a whole dollar. That was a lot of money back then. Got oodles of penny candy at Woolworth's. Not surprising I ended up dealing in Vegas, math be damned.

This project you're working on sounds really interesting. I'm in no way a religious fanatic. I do like to believe there is something if only for the hope it gives me. Then again...so did the neighbor's tree and a book. Love me some Tarantino films and this one sounds like a hoot. I changed hubby's ringtone to the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly and didn't tell him; it's one of his favorite films. I called him and forgot he was teaching a class that evening and he didn't mute his phone. He's never lived that down and the laughter from his class is still whispering the halls of Craven Community College.

[albynon]

I understand totally dmac. It was not my intention to expose innocents. i posted without thinking of that angle, probably with my head up my azz

[dmac]

we had crayon books. There was a plastic sheet you'd write your answers on and the teacher would grade the plastic sheet then get really upset at having to wipe the sheet clean. The teacher rightfully felt detached from the incredible job of teaching.

To be honest, about 20% of all teachers I know deserve that title. The rest were whores, maggots. I have MASSIVE LOVE for true teachers.

When I was working at the Mall, my 7th-8th grade English teacher strolled by. I stopped her, said "come back in half an hour". I used what I had at hand and made a card and envelope for her.

Roses Are Red
Violence IS True
You're the best teacher. I love You

[albynon]

Your tales of abuse ring so true to me. Alcohol was never the villian in my family; my mother and father did not abuse alcohol. The abuse they heaped on me and my siblings might have made more sense with alcohol a factor. The physical abuse was not extreme, mainly slaps across the face. What hurt more was the the ubiquitous,"you stupid thing. Don't you have any sense." Mealtime was always tense. Any accidental turning over of a glass of milk was always answered with a hard smack across the face and and at least 5 minutes of convincing us how "stoopid" we were. And we hung our head and took it. This abuse came from both mother and father. The experiences you guys had were more extreme than mine, but my putdowns from my parents nonetheless have left me scarred and angry. Here i am in my 70's and still get angry when I think about it. The overall impact was to make me determined that I would not treat my children the way I was treated. I tend to side with the underdog, the bullied, the oppressed. I can't help but hate Trump and his bullying, hate mongering, fascist, regime. From early childhood til early teens I was bullied, lacking the self confidence to defend myself either verbally or physically. My redemption came in my early teens when a coach saw some athletic potential in me. I became a success playing football and basketball, and grew into a good sized, athletic guy. The bullying stopped. My self confidence was somewhat salvaged, but definitely not 100% of it. The abuse I received is maybe one of the reasons that I identified strongly with the Keddie Case when I came across it. A basically defenseless family was slaughtered by monsters, bullies. A lot of defenseless innocents have been murdered by monsters and bullies, but Keddie just smacked me in the face when I visited Quincy about 11 yrs ago. I visited with a friend who had grown up in Quincy, but he had been gone from Quincy long before the murders, but had heard about it. I visited the library in Quincy and talked briefly with the librarian about the murder. We stayed a week or two in Quincy and then went on to a music festival in Oroville. On the way to Oroville,my friend drove up into Keddie , we got out and walked around for a few minutes, and then on to Oroville. So many different angles to this murder, the total senselessness, or was it senseless? Drugs? Law enforcement involvement? Why was Tina missing? A list of shady characters a mile long, differing accounts of who did what and when and where on the last day, trying to account for the movements of John and Dana. So many rat holes and warrens to look into. Maybe many murder case investigations are as messed up as this one, but this was the first one I read about in detail. I'll end this now. May justice be done.

[dmac]

Man, give me physical abuse any day of the week. THIS IS COMPLETELY WRONG TO SAY BUT, from my experience It hurts far less than being emotionally totaled. TBH, bruises heal but the shit they said has yet to be figured out and resolved. I'm 50 and this shit hangs from when I was two.

No bruises? Fuck You, mom and dad.

[leenie963]

we had crayon books. There was a plastic sheet you'd write your answers on and the teacher would grade the plastic sheet then get really upset at having to wipe the sheet clean. The teacher rightfully felt detached from the incredible job of teaching. To be honest, about 20% of all teachers I know deserve that title. The rest were whores, maggots. I have MASSIVE LOVE for true teachers.When I was working at the Mall, my 7th-8th grade English teacher strolled by. I stopped her, said "come back in half an hour". I used what I had at hand and made a card and envelope for her.

Roses Are Red
Violence IS True
You're the best teacher. I love You

That had to make her day! And it shows your fuzzy underbelly which is tickling. I have a thank you card with big balloons on it from my third grade teacher Mrs. Johnson. She told me I was a great helper for staying after school to clean the chalkboard and the erasers. That little jot of compliment got me through so many days of hell...and she never knew I just didn't want to go home.

While discussing the abuse angles and all it infers, I have to say look at the millions upon millions of adults who never committed such acts of violence as Marty. There is no excuse, no reasoning, no humanity in what he has done. As for the rest of the murderous bots still living...as you quoted a great man, "Good Night and Good Luck".

[dmac]

As an atheist, my fave song is 'God Only Knows' by the Beach Boys. I have two hours of rehearsals and outtakes of that lone soldier.

Not for a moment do I abuse the word God. It's a tool most are unable to comprehend.

[dmac]

It was the hurled words that hurt. The invectives tossed freely to faces the bastard could align at 3 am.

After he was room temp, I was surprised to realize from siblings he thought I was brilliant, a genius, and held me at high regard.

Maybe that's why he put me onto the military at age 10. He put me on their radar when I was too slow to know.

Too damned fucking late, you whore of a bitch of a small man.

I have TEACHERS and FRIENDS to account for my survival. My Art teacher- I had three and all were BRILLIANT. English. Math. Everything most kids hate, I loved. BECAUSE THE TEACHERS WERE AWESOME.

I had shit teachers, too. History. Pain in the ass racist maggot. My love of facts was not stamped by his Nazi Jackboot thuggery. You cannot choose your parents? You sure as shit cannot choose the cunt in front of you at fifth hour.

Being a teacher is being a critical thinker, a real-life parent. They are one and the same.

I hold teachers in the highest of esteem. Remember the sold story of Sue being the neighborhood mom? She couldn't mom a dying sparrow. We all, to a man or woman, had teachers we could rely upon. It's outrageously sad we didn't. I see our silence as the main reason for the continual abuse. God only knows...

[dmac]

Updated OP to correct dates and details of Marty's visits with the VA therapist in Reno.