"...enough C4 in that truck to blow up this whole air force base." - Gordon Bennett, Kentucky

This masterpiece was drawn by Gordon Bennett of Kentucky. He showed up in Warner Robins, Georgia, home of a huge Air Force base, during the time I'd been harassed, falsely arrested, falsely accused and suffering all forms of dirty legal tactics while being told my son had mysteriously killed himself in Alabama.

Gordon Bennett was the bad guy type bragging the big guns, the one who would help me find out what happened to my son, while he was doing his Bluegrass mob job. He said his Kentucky brother worked for the railroad. He bragged about being mafia referring to himself as a Highwayman. Even if he didn't help unravel the network, I figured he'd leave enough clues that I could find the trail with the answers - if I didn't get killed first. Gordon said, "Everything I buy is black." His old Nissan suv was black with a red pin-stripe and he'd asked if I wanted it.

"Why would I want it? I have my own car," I replied.

It's when he said, "That truck's got enough C-4 to blow up this whole air force base."

It's when I began to wonder who had staged this whole event and how Gordon was connected to the people who had abducted my son and concocted the story about his Alabama death. I knew the truth would eventually surface exposing a vast conspiracy spanning several states. Affluent people connected will wish they'd never been drawn into the good 'ole boy network, nor conned by high-level-liars and criminals.

Who sent Gordon? I found out more along the way. He'd said I should read "The Bluegrass Conspiracy." After my 1999 arrival in Kentucky it wasn't long to find corruption there as was the same in Georgia. And it wasn't going away any time soon no matter what authority I contacted, at state or local levels. Gordon was obviously protected by authorities and so were the stalking gang networks I'd encounter later. The state was rigged to allow the destruction of certain people skillfully. I'm surely not the first baited to the Kentucky trap of destruction, and probably won't be the last.

There would be no justice for my cause, but I hoped to live long enough to at least write about it. God did grant me that wish.

In 1998, in Georgia, I knew as soon as I'd received word my son was dead something wasn't right. I'd been in Warner Robins, Georgia for about two months and during that time had been given a "no seat belt" ticket for no other reason; and been arrested in three jails, court ordered to a state hospital, and harassed by police. In the midst of all that, I'd been told my son was dead. It was more than most people could endure. The police and criminals had started working on me there, obviously wanting me finished off in another state. It would prove to be a nasty divorce from the 23 year marriage to a railroad executive. The harassment and arrests coincided with my husband's petition for divorce.

A hippie type man had shown up at the door in Warner Robins asking for $1.75 to fix a flat tire just before the phone call came that my son had killed himself. I'd learn later both tires on the vehicle my son was driving had been slashed. Another man had shown up at the door named Buchanan. He had an earring in his ear and said he had gold records and was working with handicapped children. It was odd the man showed up at random, and after that musicians and thugs would be following me around from then on. I've figured since the musicians were doing a job. Buchanan said I didn't need the cops, I needed the mafia. I told him thanks for the advice but I didn't think so.

My missing son was also a musician, so gifted he had auditioned for a one-man-show at Kennesaw State University. He was writing and singing his own songs, playing guitar and keyboard.

As it tuned out, I had both, the cops and criminals as enemies in both states, Kentucky and Georgia. My son was said to have died in Alabama, and forensics and police records prove his identity was mistaken. Since criminals and cops were stalking, someone at very high levels was pulling stings to make it happen.

Had my son called from the Newnan truck stop payphone and returned to the car he'd be frantic and afraid to find the tires slashed. Someone was obviously waiting for him as the car was found sitting on the highway as he left it. The picture I received from Baldwin County sheriff's department nearly six years later after persisting beyond the stonewalling investigating Alabama deputy Hoss Mack, showed a "dead," tattooed leg that was actually alive, Why the green sheets for a dead body? If it was a dead leg, it wasn't my son's. My powerful, well-connected railroad executive husband, his mistress, and his lawyer and others involved had 18 months to arrange all of this, and reading Ludlam and Grisham conspiracy novels was his favorite passtime. His mistress's brothers were connected to the music world with their Daytona surf board business.

The person murdered in Baldwin County was said to be a 144 lb. thief, drunk, pot-head with shoulder length hair who'd had knee surgery some time in his life. None of this matched my son's description or character. Because two shot gun shells were discharged at the scene, it wasn't suicide but most probably an execution of a drug rat, or mule, well planned. The dead person was wearing a Crenshaw Machine Shop shirt and women's sweat pants. The clothing said to be my son's had been lain neatly folded just beside the door. It was a set-up. The whole thing had been planned. A person who's out of his mind contemplating suicide, swigging whiskey and smoking pot doesn't take his clothing off and neatly fold them, then change into someone else's, even women's clothing.

Mr. Crenshaw who owned the trailer, never returned my call seeking information, and I wasn't surprised.

Quality Quarters was the Richmond, Ky. motel Gordon Bennett had suggested. It was owned at that time by a lawyer/preacher in Harrodsburg, Kentucky named Michael Conover. Conover also owned the Shoney's restaurant beside it. In that area were New York Life, Ray D'Sloover Realty and CBS Employment, who employed a boy named Jonathan Rudy Hoskins to work at Quality Quarters. Later I'd find Mr. Conover at the funeral of Leroy Mills, along with some others associated with the sale of the farm I bought, including the late Elmer Begley, aka "Elmer Fudd." I'd also find later that Leroy Mills had some relatives named Hoskins as well. 2005, a fire in Knox County killed two children and sent their severely burned father to the hospital. Was this the same Hoskins?

Mr. Conover, a prominent Harrodsburg attorney, was probably the prominent attorney Leroy's brother, Denver Mills had mentioned he wanted a painting of, with himself and his brother, the three of them riding black horses. How did he know I was an artist? I had given Denver the price and it was apparently more than he wanted to pay. Mr. Conover owns Eagles Nest farm, near Denver Mills new home, where even the governor of Kentucky goes to ride horses.

Leroy died when he crashed his truck, and Elmer Begley was in the passenger seat having said to me before the accident he was a "hit man." Begley also said, "I killed a federal judge in Texas." He also said he and Denver Mills shared the same alias name: Bill Sutton. Leroy'd been to my house two weeks before he died, Begley saying, "Leroy wants to meet you." Then Begley showed me the secret handshake so I would be able to greet Leroy properly. Leroy came in and asked for a drink and he swallowed about 8 ounces of Early Times in one gulp, chased it with a diet coke. Slamming the coke can on the table he said,

"You're not crazy are you?"

"Well no, not last I looked."

Two weeks later Leroy was dead. But before he died I was lucky he gave me a Z-pack of prescription antibiotics for strep-throat I'd contracted somehow. He'd cut his foot and didn't need them. I didn't even have to go to the doctor out here in the country. I hadn't had strep throat for years, even when the kids got sick. Because I'd found hypodermic needles and a bottle of hospital glucose under the kitchen cabinet after I took possession of the house, I wondered if the house I'd just bought wasn't contaminated. The former owner's wife had worked in the Harrodsburg hospital lab.

The farm had been purchased on a land contract deal with Senator Dan Kelly representing the seller. The deal was shady up to the bank financing where the bank never inspected the property and loan officer nearly recorded the deed for $25,000 cash less than the price paid. Attorney David Taylor spoke up and said, "Falsification of a deed carries 1-5 years in the federal penitentiary." I still have a dispute where a neighbor has erroneously fenced 3-1/2 acres after losing the suit for a septic tank listed by Linda Wil son realty as "private septic" but was non existent.

I'd wondered who sent Gordon and how, if it was true, he'd gotten C4 explosives. He said he'd been in stone work, and had actually been making Ten Commandment tablets and selling them. He said the creations were so much in demand he couldn't keep up with the orders. I thought it ironic a self proclaimed murderer and "highwayman" would be selling religious artifacts. But he was committed to his cause indicated by his drawing above, with perhaps a slight distortion of his own persona and religious purpose. He even knew where Jimmy Hoffa's body was buried, he'd said.

Gordon had a friend, Bobby New comb of Berea who'd said someone had messed with his friend. He'd asked them to stop and when they didn't he blew up the guy's car. "It's easy. All you have to do is fill a coke bottle with gas, stuff a rag in it and light it, toss it in the car. The car blows up."

Gordon had said he'd killed a man. Someone had videotaped the man assaulting a boy sexually and some people with bags over their heads had stood over Gordon talking as he sat in a chair. "You don't know who they are," he said of the men. But then he said he got his shotgun, went to the man's house and knocked. When the man answered, he blew him away. He said the men with covered faces had said some people didn't deserve a trial, didn't deserve a lawyer or jail.

He'd taken me to Halls-on-the-River, a restaurant mentioned in the Bluegrass Conspiracy as near where Melanie Flynn had disappeared. He'd also taken me to Banana's restaurant in Richmond rumored to be run by the South Carolina mob. I sensed at both places and some others, I was being viewed by someone unknown. Who was behind it all? At Banana's a woman sat quietly with her purse on the bar and Gordon said she had a pistol in it. She was apparently his watchdog.

Besides being a highway man, stone layer in cement, and formerly in cocaine, Gordon indicated he was also involved with pot. Gordon had access to everything it seemed, and later when I heard about young Kentucky girls being shipped to work whore houses in Anderson, South Carolina, and the Lakota mother lured with two pre-teen children, nothing I'd later find surprised me.

Cocaine people had landed on my musician sons just before my problems began, and Gordon admitted he'd been involved with cocaine before and been sent to prison for it. I figured it was all the same network, particularly after finding out the Mobile, AL forensics examiner was from Kentucky as well. They all span the south, grouped together probably known as the larger, "Dixie Mafia." And with all the Southern Presidents in the last 40 years, they've maintained their power as well.

I've come to believe the drug networks and syndicates supply the street workers and pawns for those in higher positions of authority. These guys are the armies affluent people use to take care of their problems. These do the dirty wok for mob dons, politicians, lawyers and corporate execs through connections. It's how they make their living and someone at the top of their food chain steers their course. It's like Begley said, "We do favors for Chicago, and they do favors for us." Begley had said his own organization went into Texas, Florida, to North Carolina and up into New York. His was "the Bluegrass." Others call it Hillbilly, Cornbread, or Dixie. It's all the same, just branches of a larger organization.

If affluent, and powerful people weren't involved with and making use of these criminal organizations they wouldn't exist. It was odd he mentioned Chicago. It was one of my railroad executive husband's most frequent destinations. His employer at that time, Norfolk Southern railroad has a hub there, and Motorola was one of his most favored vendors. My husband of 23 years was in charge of communications and signals for the railroads, and it's amazing how much trouble I had with my phones after he had the Georgia police order me to the streets based on lies. My "dead" son knew about those lies, and he also knew about the mistress, which was a good reason to get him out of the way for the pending divorce trial.

Gordon said he had a real, live lion. Why? I'd thought since it surely was for feeding body parts, he being the first person I'd heard mention a person being made into fish food. He also said he'd seen people get skinned alive. When we arrived in Kentucky stories were everywhere, and they weren't pretty. But why the C4?

Later I talked to my friend former Senator Clayton Loflin in North Carolina and he asked, "Are you over there with the Unibomber in Kentucky?"

"Maybe."

Curiosity sent me to Panama City in 2008 to talk to John Caylor. He had written an account that his father, police chief of Enterprise, Alabama, was involved with the Vanpac bombings that killed Judge Vance. It was an underground organization that had arranged it, and not Walter Moody who took the rap. John was also knowledgeable about stinger missiles having been stolen by some good ole' boys in Panama City from a Navy ship and an extremist organization in Montana that was particularly dangerous. Did these same underground organizations stretch to Kentucky? Ironically Caylor had a man helping him with some chores from Kentucky. Where did he find this guy? At the Hope Center. Lexington, Kentucky has one of those, too.

And Caylor had decided to run for public office as Panama City's court clerk. He had been in some trouble trying to access public records which seems to be a dilemma many Americans face today. It bothered John that government wasn't operating the way it was supposed to. Public records shouldn't be kept secret. I had been stonewalled by sheriff's deputy Hoss Mack and John Garner in Alabama for nearly four years when attempting to get the records of my own son's death. I was told I would have to get a lawyer and subpoena to get my son's police records. My attempts to get the Georgia funeral records have also been denied. What are they trying to cover up?

While Caylor was running for office, any chance he had at winning was quickly destroyed when a man named Mathew Caylor came to Panama City and murdered a little girl named Melinda Hinson. She'd been brought to Panama City from Henderson, Kentucky by her mother. Henderson, Kentucky is another area that shows up in the book, Bluegrass Conspiracy. Tracking Matthew Caylor he appears to have had links to Tempe, Arizona and Bradley Bryant had a business address there as well. Such a rare, and baffling coincidence for John Caylor! His campaign was lost before the election. He never had a chance to win.

And John, like myself, got into a mess he couldn't get out of, couldn't resolve with the help of law enforcement, but still has a great love for his country and hope for the little children who shouldn't grow up with criminals, corruption, drugs and crime on every corner. It's a "tight spot" to be in, like in George Clooney's movie, "Oh, Brother." Not so comical in real life, John, myself and many others live in a place called fear for trying to do the right thing, finding out too late that power often stonewalls truth. All that's left is the pen, because there are no lawyers daring enough to risk their own lives or careers to take the cases.

The underground organizations seemed to fit together, and then just recently I've found that Fred Tokars, a former Atlanta prosecutor involved in cocaine, who had his wife contract murdered is now in the government's witness protection program. Tokars, in a Tempe, Arizona prison, had gotten the goods on another mail-bomber, named Ortloff and helped the government solve another murder.

With that article came the revelation that Tom Thurman, FBI bomb expert in the investigations of Oklahoma City, Beirut bombings, Vanpac, Lockerbie, and more was also involved with the Ortloff investigation. Thurman now works at Eastern Kentucky University after having left the FBI. Some accounts suggest his investigations weren't of the quality required by the FBI.

My question is, having heard Gordon Bennett's tales, and strongly suspecting he had inside knowledge of the Atlanta Stock Market shootings, knowing his preoccupation with explosives and his position as "highwayman," what's going on in Kentucky and in the South? Is there some form of organized underground involved with subversive activities funded by drugs running around with C4, trafficking humans and destroying people's lives?

It's pretty obvious the organization is entrenched and a permanent part of American life. It's been ongoing and operative since the 1970's at least.

One thing was for sure. The Criminal Justice Training Center, division of the Kentucky State Police was not interested in my story, 2001 when I paid them a visit. Having taken a stack of papers to them outlining the players in the criminal organization I'd gathered thus far, Detective Jude said, "I'm going to look at these and then if I don't need them, I'm going to throw them in the garbage." When I called back, he'd retired. When I delivered information to the FBI in Louisville, November 2001, they did nothing but said later via phone, "The railroad has lawyers you can't beat." Numerous attempts to get police help from authorities help did no good.

The railroad? So my executive former husband and his position at Norfolk Southern was somehow involved in all this? Later I'd find that my husband's boss was a director at RJ Corman Railroad Company. RJ Corman has been implicated on the internet as being involved with the people of the Bluegrass Conspiracy from the beginnings. But is it really true?

One could dream there might be an underground, ongoing investigation in to all of this and find some faith in law enforcement, but even with the Patriot Act and Homeland Security, nothing was ever done. There was, according to two lawyers and some others, just too much money against me to hope for any relief.

Just this past summer, my Atlanta lawyer, Kenneth Schatten said I'd never get the truth, and have apparently spent the past 12 years of my life and assets fighting for it. He basically said money rules everything in this country and there's too much money against me to ever hope to find out what happened to my son.

Schatten said, "Think of it this way. Maybe they've got your son somewhere and they've told him if he tries to contact you or his brother or sister, they're going to kill you all."

It wasn't something that made me shiver. I've been living in terror now for 12 years even on the streets and in my own home following his shoddy representation in Cobb County court. So why would he believe he could terrorize me further than all I'd already suffered? And who is "THEY?" It's funny neither he nor Lexington Attorney Gatewood Galbraith were willing to name names.

So when Gordon Bennett said the Mafia runs the Government, was he was telling the truth, after all?

I am not the only former wife and mother to flee the state of Georgia to Kentucky. Another has taken an AK-47 bullet over her head through her kitchen window. Another has run to a northern state and continued to be stalked and monitored. Elmer Begley explained his Kentucky organization best.

"We run from here, up into New York, down to Florida and over into Texas. If Chicago needs something done, we do it. If we need something done in Chicago, they do it. Same for Atlanta."

The group is mentioned as connected in Venice, Florida, an apparent drug hub for many years. Naples and the gulf coast is a favorite for prominent Kentuckians and their summer homes.

Like so many of the street runners, and highwaymen types in this area, Begley died a few years ago. Had it not been for him, I wouldn't have survived. For some strange reason he told me so many things. Somewhere in his soul was a haunting guilt for his life, the choices he'd made, and desire to make things right. He'd taken me to meet a woman who was brain damaged from "breathin' too many of them [meth] fumes." I was moved emotionally with Begley's protection and advice. Whether I could live beyond any of this was still a mystery but Begley gave me the tools to know what I was up against. He knew he'd found a person he could trust with these words:

"I ain't never met nobody like you. You're honest. I just ain't never met nobody like that before."

1998, trying to be a good citizen, I gave Brunswick, NC authorities information I believed could help them solve the 1992 murder of Amy Frink. My son had known her the summers we'd vacationed at Ocean Isle Beach. A year later my own son was dead with many similar circumstances as Amy, and Gordon Bennett was knocking on my door. Since then the Sheriff of Brunswick Co. has gone to prison and research shows the police departments and criminals in both places, Brunswick, NC and Baldwin County, AL where my son allegedly killed himself have histories in illegal drugs. And the timeline of the Bluegrass Conspiracy seems to tie it all together.
Tommy Schlette of Stuart, Florida died in Melbourne, 2006, according to his landlord, Deb Rickard. She suggested I call a certain Florida police detective with any information. Tommy had told me my son was still alive and had inside information about it. His brother said Tommy's body had decomposed beyond recognition and that he didn't overdose as Rickard had said, because his prescription pills were all still in tact. I didn't call the detective, because I was afraid it might bring even more trouble than I already had. Tommy had Arizona connections, too.

It just goes on and on.

UPDATE:

Gordon Bennett had first shown up at a makeshift restaurant/bar outside of Warner Robins, Georgia that bore the sign, "Hog's Breath." I had stopped in for curiosity, as my husband had taken me to Hog's Breath Saloon just before he had me ordered out of the house based on lies. But the Hog's Breath we'd visited was in Key West, Florida. This Georgia version was a little shabby building on a back road. I was curious. I went in and there was little inside to speak of save a couple pool tables and a bar. Gordon Bennett came in and sat right beside me.

This is a very important link. The bar was established about 3 months before Bennett showed up, March 1999, by a Byron, Ga. attorney named Robert J. Aromatorio. It was in business about 3 years. What an odd name, I thought. Searching the name Aromatorio, I found it heavily concentrated in western Pennsylvania where the Senator is Jake Corman, apparently a relative of R.J. Corman of R.J.Corman Railroad in Kentucky. R. J. Corman donated thousands of dollars to the senator's campaign.

In one instance, 2002, Pennsylvania Senator Corman extended congratulations to Jon Aromatorio. It appears Aromatorio is a prominent Pennsylvania family. Corman had admitted to the public of his involvement with marijuana in the 1980s and was voted in regardless.

R.J.Corman of Kentucky also donated thousands to Tom Ridge who was Governor of Pennsylvania and became the first Homeland Security advisor under George W. Bush.

So from Western Pennsylvania besides the Aromatorio and Jake Corman connection, there are several links: first is Mike Kemp, a dog handler and groomer who had shown my dogs in Philadelphia at an international show. There was so much interest in my dogs an international photographer came and asked if they could put the pictures she took of them in a European magazine.

Second is Tom Tilinski whose ex-wife moved in with, started a business with and then, after our divorce, married my ex-husband. Tom had been in the business of nuclear waste disposal until September 11, 2001 during which time he was working for Steve Colgate in the sailboat business in Fort Myers, Florida. Steve Colgate is a native New Yorker and the Colgate toothpaste heir. Tom had attended the Hershey School in Pennsylvania, and Tom Ridge has been on the board of the Hershey Company. Tom Tilinski's son is said to have been a manager for the "Black Crowes" southern rock band, with original members from Cobb County, Georgia and the drummer, Gorman from Bowling Green, Kentucky.

Kentucky's Gorman is associated with the cellular, communications industry as my husband was assistant vice president of communications and signals for Norfolk Southern; and with attorney J. Marshall Hughes, a Republican leader who had been indicted under Governor Fletcher, and who also has business interests in Florida including Key West.

Third is my neighbor here in Kentucky since his 2004 arrival, Val Lambert, who acquires his race horses from western Pennsylvania. Val says he has a sister who runs six bars in New Orleans, three gay and three straight. When I'd told him I had a sick cat he was anxious to tell me if I needed anything killed he could do it. "It's easy," he said, "all you gotta do it put a bullet between it's eyes." Val moved into the area from Ohio.

The real curiosity is R.J. Corman. His business interests and political connections appear to be massive. R.J. Corman, according to one post, made the bulk of his money off Katrina. Having had a railroad in coal country I would have thought the bulk of his profit would have come from Eastern Kentucky and West Virginia Coal mines.

My ex-husband's former boss, Phil Ogden, formerly Vice President of Engineering, Norfolk Southern Railroad is an acting and working director for his company.

Knowing now Gordon Bennett was a stalker, and had actually stalked me the day he landed beside me at Hog's Breath, and having experienced so many horrors since living in Cobb County, Georgia, and in Kentucky, I've lived a very quiet life to avoid more horrors and encounters with "the stalking network." The people who have decided to control my life have done a great job.

But one thing the solitude allows is a person to observe and research. I felt I haven't made a move when I haven't been stalked but it was after I left Kentucky and went to Virginia, living safely at my mother's house, that I gained the courage to publish the links, documentation and connections with this blog. It's when I began to feel relief, slowly, but realizing I've gained ground against the evil ones involved in this. Sunlight scares them away.

Just like cockroaches, they don't like to be discovered.

A most odd encounter was in 2008, working a NASCAR concession stand for a charity in Richmond, Virginia, when a man showed up at our stand and said, "I'm a cop from Pennsylvania! We like you people down South because 'yall hate niggers just like we do!"

All of us Virginians working the stand were dumbfounded and quiet. We glanced at each other wondering where this "cop" came from and why any person would blurt out such a comment publicly, and in front of so many complete strangers. "Is this what cops are made of in Pennsylvania?" I thought to myself.

I kept it in my mind along with the other memories, determined that someday before I died, I'd unravel the Pennsylvania connection and mysteries. There had to be a Pennsylvania connection somewhere.

Then an elderly man, James Robinette, appeared in Virginia in three stores I visited within two weeks. He'd grown up in the coal mine area of Virginia saying his father had been a judge there; was a writer for the Tampa Tribune, connected in Georgia, Kentucky and Tennessee, and his brother was connected to the mafia. A perfect stranger, he initiated conversations and after a while, advised me I should stop writing my blog, "I'm going to steal your story," he said. I told him to go ahead, I wasn't in it for the money, I had lost a child and lived a nightmare no American should have to endure and I was going to be sure with my blog, that no other American would have to endure the same circumstances.

The puzzle pieces keep falling nicely in place.