Daytona and music, sweet music.

More investigations lead to these people, places and things: Atlanta's Michael Broadbear is partnered with Herbert Leeming in varying ventures, who was at some time past associated with Mr. Fred Filsoof. Mr. Filsoof had an Iranian organization of sorts during the Reagan years, and was also involved with a Louisiana theatre and some racing type ventures. Filsoof's affiliations have been national, with strong interests in the Daytona area.

I'd been approached by a man in Marietta, GA on one of my horror trips to yet another court house nightmare there. English accent, said he had a caterpillar dealership, and a silver Porsche in his garage he raced all over the world. Having never been a car racing fan, it was the first I knew of global racing. He said he couldn't keep employees in Cobb County because the cops kept stalking them and giving them tickets. I told him the police probably preferred the other CAT dealership to his, and knew a guy who worked there. He said he'd been lead guitarist in the Searchers band, and for the next ten years musicians would continue to be a part of the picture. Tall, blonde, he'd said he'd get me out of the Cobb County jail if they put me in, and at that point I was happy to have a foreign friend since my husband and landlord had been able to turn even my immediate family against me with lies.

Strange the musicians kept appearing, since my late son, in fact both sons, had developed their musical talent. I could remember back a day watching my aging grandfather's face as tears trickled down, saddened my elder brother had involved himself with music, at all. At the time I couldn't understand my grandfather's sorrow. Now, I understand quite well. My sons had been affiliated with Guitar Center in Cobb County, Georgia and having come from an extremely talented musical family, they were both exceptionally gifted, an inborn talent that can become a curse in the USA.

It was a strong trait carried in my father's family. Later I'd meet former musicians, Tommy Schlette, and Tommy Doyle of New Jersey, NY; Rick aka "Lurch" Lewis, bass player from Hyden, Kentucky; several musicians from Cheyenne Social Club, Nicholasville; Lanny Murphy's band at Jack Goble's Boardwalk in Lexington; and even the uncle of John Michael Montgomery.

Musicians were everywhere, particularly in Kentucky. There were plenty of "country music lookalikes" hanging out in Nicholasville. I'd never been a country music fan, so didn't know who the "lookalikes" were supposed to be until told, and was surprised whenever a rock song was played on the juke box. One barfly explained it this way, "You're in klan country, honey."

"Klan country?"
Where I'd come from, the Klan had disappeared or at least crawled into a real deep, dark hole to hybernate. For a moment, my mind drifted back the the teen years and black & white television.

There was a Hank Williams, Jr. lookalike offering rides to DUI classes, and a Toby Keith lookalike offering to place cows on Kentucky farms. (One thing the ladies should know–– never, ever allow a friendly lookin' cowboy to put animals on your land. There's a good chance he won't maintain the fencing, and besides easy access and other things, that's a dangerous liability when the cows get out on the road. Just another "tip.")
But even in Warner Robins, Georgia on Miller Drive, I'd been approached by a musician who came knocking on the door almost at random. He said he was named "Buchanan," looked about 38 years old, medium brown hair, nice looking guy, and had gold records and a little gold earring in his ear. He'd said he "worked with disabled children," and said I didn't really need the cops for all I was going through with my husband, I needed the mafia. I figured I already had that, and he probably knew it, too. It's probably who sent him on my doorstep.

But he knew the guy who lived across the street on Miller Drive, all tattooed and looked as though his face had fallen into a fishing tackle box along the way. There were earrings and bits of metal attached to places on his head that weren't even crevices. He had an interesting blond girlfriend, I'd swear I saw later in Kentucky. At least the hair was identical, shoulder length, and bleached almost white. It's funny the night my son supposedly died, a strange, long-haired hippie dude came knocking on the door asking for $1.75. Seemed he had a flat tire, and the money would help. I was generous, giving him $2, told him to keep the change. I've figured since he was probably connected to the ones involved in slashing the tires on my "dead, suicided" son's vehicle.

A white-haired, Las Vegas man had moved in to Warner Robins and taken over Smokes Bar. It was a karaoke hangout and a way to pass the time while awaiting the incredibly destructive and devastating Cobb County divorce process. Pretty soon I'd have to flee the state of Georgia altogether.

It's pretty amazing how they fixed everything up in Baldwin County, Alabama with the "suicide." There were all kinds of stories. But after investigations, and discovering Baldwin County, Alabama––like Brunswick, NC, has a history of drugs and corruption, it's not so difficult to understand how they could pull off something like that.

When I was arrested in Houston County, Georgia, there was a mysterious policeman at the jail house who couldn't give good directions. "I don't know, ma'am, he'd said. "I'm not from around here." I asked where he was from. "Alabama." Strange a cop doesn't know his way around such a small town as Warner Robins, and he's fresh from Alabama? How ironic. Maybe he was the eye-witness message man for the Dixie Mafia that made the plans for the railroad boys.

The railroad boss, Phil Ogden, wore cowboy hat and boots at the Christmas party, fully entertained guests including Cobb County politicians with the railroad's musical "Lawmen," and supplier Okonite's President, Al Coppola took the railroad execs for a nice trip to Opryland, to meet Louise Mandrell backstage and enjoy live entertainment from Jay Leno. Later I'd find both Ogden and Coppola had heavy interests in Kentucky, Coppola's company with a large Richmond plant, and Ogden with a seat on the board of RJ Corman, coincidentally, not a city block from where I rented my first Kentucky residence.

Bill Casey and Larry Hagerman showed up and said they were in the "James Gang," but neither could play an instrument, and not long some musicians who painted water towers floated into town from Ohio. They were, like Bill Casey, boasting "Irish."

Later I'd find that my husband's mistress and new wife, had brothers near Daytona in the surf board business who were affiliated with

a Daytona musician,

who was connected to a

recovery center.

At that point my remaining son, having buried his brother, said he'd decided to avoid music altogether, feeling the industry was run by an unseen underworld, even rumored to be run by the mafia.

In Kentucky, the late Mr. Richard Sexton trekked back and forth from Kentucky to Daytona, his second home, with an interest in Anderson County, SC enroute. Sexton bragged he'd "run a whorehouse in Anderson County," but one local says Kentucky girls were shipped down to Daytona instead. My initial acquaintance with Richard Sexton indicated he was doing a job, particularly when I left and came back to my house to find a dead dog, and Sexton's partner-in-crime, Elmer Begley with tears streaming down his face.

Begley'd been a musical-wannabe-turned-drug-mule, like so many talented folks do. Begley's problem is he never lost that piece of his heart called human compassion and even up the end he was sickened over people he'd known, rendered mentally deficient from "breathin' them fumes."

Begley was one who wanted to turn back time, and change what he'd become. He explained 'they' like to get musicians hooked on drugs because it's good for business. Why? I had to ask.
"Because then all the kids so crazy about musicians get on drugs, too," he'd said.
He was quick to name local attorneys involved in the cocaine trade, and even mentioned several local dealers and pointed out farms and homes in the area "built with cocaine money."
Time and again, the question always remained, "Who's 'they'?"

I felt sorry for Begley. He'd gotten into something he'd never get out of alive, and he never did.

(Mama's don't let your babies grow up to be drug-mules.)

That wire fox terrier was "Charlie." He was the first to die in Kentucky, but not the first to be stolen. Nearly a dozen would die before it was over.
Not so long I'd meet a guy named Wes McClure flashing a DEA badge and yet a second offering to buy my, by now notorious former marijuana farm for $25,000 less than the I'd originally paid. (The first offer had come from North Carolina.) He knew all about Beale St. in Memphis and I'd never heard of it. We took a ride there, and I liked the Blues and I came back to find I'd been robbed. Kentucky had quite a network of musical worker-bees, and obviously too much musical talent for available opportunities.
James Lay had friends at "The Grapevine," a bar in Lexington, and more friends on Lake Herrington. His nephew was John Michael Montgomery. And Wes McClure had a Lexington liquor store cash his forgeries. He had stories of PCP laced marijuana and seemed to know a lot about the drug trades, being a DEA agent and all. They have quite an organization, and another little mind game of leaving pennies and coins here, there and everywhere. Seemed everywhere I'd go there would be money, even at a cabin the musical son had rented in Lexington. Coins would just fall into the parking lot, like from nowhere.

This was the era of "New Money," a band down in Macon, Georgia, and the quarters with varying states folks were collecting. Music was everywhere - and so were pennies falling from heaven! And there was obviously a gang plan in Kentucky, along with some stalkers. I'd have to find out who they were, and what the game was, because they probably were connected to my son's murder in Alabama. It had to be the "Dixie Mob," because it spanned so many Southern states.

When the Dixie Mob goes to work on your family, count on being strung across the South, and it might be very, very bloody. If you can endure the horrors these good ole boys arrange, there's hope for survival. Southern gangs have a way of committing bloody murders, destroying lives and families, and there's a pretty strong ingredient for cruelty and hate. Country music would have the world believe the South offers wholesome, clean shiny farms, smiling faces, and brand, new tractors. I wish it were true, because eradicating more of the poverty and illiteracy might remove some of the cruelty and hate.

Gordon Bennett was proud of his home state and said it best, "We've got the meanest people in the world in Kentucky. I've got nephews that'll kill a man for a pack of cigarettes. We got wells full of human bones in Eastern Kentucky. And we're poor, but we've got great, big families and lots and lots of babies."

In Atlanta, the Alpharetta area, strange there were some Iranians selling tile and marble, and affiliated with hardwood floors on the front end of these troubles in 1998. Today, there doesn't seem to be a trace of them, even though I was in the show room and met them in person. But it all seemed to tie together through these musical sons. And somehow I was going to find out exactly who and how it all happened, because, like with so many other American families, their father never really cared–– at all.

But how does Brunswick, North Carolina and Baldwin County, Alabama connect? Both counties are involved with similar murders of kids who left an adjacent state, crossed state lines, suffered bloody, heinous deaths, and neither mother identified the bodies. The two counties have those things in common, but more they're connected with a threat from a prison worker (below.) It's like the same fingerprints are on both murders. And as a shady county like Brunswick, North Carolina, where Officer Davina Jones was obviously executed, the "suicide tag" was conveniently used in that Southern area, even supported by state officials.

LINK: CAUTION GRAPHICS: (Officer Davina Jone's Autopsy)

Brunswick's former Sheriff Hewett just went to prison last year after more than a decade in power. And the county was involved in drugs in the early 1980's, as was Baldwin Alabama in the latter 1970's.

All classes of criminals keep facts covered as long as they can, but the truth finally comes crawls out some day. Players grow older, look at the grandkids, think of their children, their families, and the real penalties for organized criminal activity and participation. Folks get closer to the grave, and try to move a little closer to Heaven before that Gate's shut for good.

Why did this prison employee make contact via internet advising me to stop what I was doing, to stop uncovering things regarding my son's Baldwin county "suicide" and give the advice to get on with my life? Why did he say "they" would kill me? How did he know Huey Mack? He'd said they met at a yearly convention of some sort, and I've wished I could remember the name of the meeting. Why did Tommy Schlette tell me I should stop trying to uncover the truth? Why did James Robinette say I should stop writing my story via internet? Could theft of my story, or the "money" in any way equal the death and loss of my child?

The only way to get the mob off your back is to get to a safe place, go public, and brace for what "accident" they might plan next. Cops on-the-take, or "in the dark," often look the other way. And sadly, the good, honest cops will often, under these circumstances, be "thrown to the wolves."

Next we'll look at former Baldwin sheriff, Jimmy Johnson's Oglesby Fork Hunting Club, present sheriff Huey Mack's family ventures including the local funeral home, local restaurant, Florida McMelons and McTrucks.