Anarchist to Abolitionist: A Bad Quaker's Journey

2013, The Year Of Coincidences And Murder

With winter over, we hit the road north. I had several speaking engagements that would eventually lead us to the Porcupine Freedom Festival (PorcFest) in New Hampshire near the beginning of summer. It was a great trip, and we arrived at PorcFest a week early and stayed for an extra week when it was over.

At that time, we only had T-Mobile for our phones and our Internet hotspot, and that area of New Hampshire was a dead zone for T-Mobile at the time, meaning I was Internet-free for three weeks. Also, I never watch television news. Because of these things, I had no idea that journalist Michael Hastings was murdered on the morning of June 18, 2013.

Officially, he was speeding, crashed into a tree, and his car caught on fire. To believe that story, you have to ignore some facts.

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Michael Hastings was driving a 2013 Mercedes C250, "Top Safety Pick" by the NHTSA and by the Insurance Institute. US News ranked the 2013 C-Class as an 8.8 out of 10, one of its highest ratings for 2013. To believe the government story we're asked to believe the following systemic failures: Engine support crumple zone failure, engine hood crumple zone failure, airbag failure, fuel pump inertia switch failure, Active Lane-Keeping Assist system failure, Distronic Plus Pre-Safe Braking system failure, and all this happened simultaneously. Also, we would have to believe that somehow ramming a tree can launch a car hood across two lanes, onto a sidewalk, all with no impact dents from the tree. In addition to all of this, we would have to believe that a simple front-end collision of a 2013 Mercedes C250 could launch the engine and transmission over the tree that was impacted, and the powertrain could land over 130 feet down the street. Oh, and we would have to ignore the security film from the pizza restaurant that indicates the car exploded a split second before it hit the tree.

If you read the autopsy report, you see the description of a man who absorbed a shockwave from an explosion somewhere near his right foot, not a man in a simple front end collision in one of the safest cars built to that date. Also, I suppose I should mention the obligatory coincidences. For example, just a few hours earlier, he had asked a friend to swap cars with him because he thought this one was acting funny, and was afraid someone had messed with it. Or, how about the fact that he told several people that he was being watched and followed, and he needed to "get off the radar" for a while.

I suppose we should also ignore the Fox News interview that morning, where former U.S. National Coordinator for Security, Infrastructure Protection, and Counter-terrorism, Richard A. Clarke, said. That what is known about the crash is "consistent with a car cyber-attack." He said: "There is reason to believe that intelligence agencies for major powers, including the United States, know how to remotely seize control of a car. So if there were a cyber-attack on [Hastings'] car — and I'm not saying there was, I think whoever did it would probably get away with it." Wow, ya think?

I didn't hear about Hastings' murder until we left PorcFest and traveled all the way to Turning Stone campground in the middle of upstate New York. The news floored me. I wanted to know about this possible car hack, so that evening I contacted an old hacker friend from my cDc days. I asked him what hacker I could talk to that would know about car hacking. He said Barnaby Jack would be my man. I had heard of Barnaby Jack, but I didn't know him and was unsure how to contact him. My friend said he could connect us. He said that Jack was a super friendly guy and he was sure Jack would speak to me. I told him I was on the road with bad phone reception and sketchy Internet connection, so I would let him know when we arrived at home. We were on the road for a couple more weeks.

Upon arriving home, I contacted my old hacker friend and he said Barnaby Jack died just the day before, on July 25th. According to the coroner, Jack died of an overdose of heroin, cocaine, Benadryl, and Xanax. But then again, who does the coroner work for?

A year earlier, McAfee, the computer security company, not the nutty millionaire, hired Barnaby Jack to research the possibility of car hacking. Jack and his team proved it could be done by inserting a CD into the car's stereo system. That would load the backdoor into the car's brain. Then, they could remove the CD and have access to the cars computer with a phone or laptop whenever they wanted to do so. They could take over the steering, the brakes, the seatbelt tensioner, override the onboard security systems, and accelerate the engine. In other words, they could, very rapidly, pull a driver back into his seat with the seat belt tensioner, slide the driver's seat all the way back so he couldn't reach the vital controls, accelerate the engine, turn off the airbags, turn off the lane controls, turn off the self-braking features, and ram any object in front of the car. They could control his car like a toy by using a laptop from a helicopter or from another car.

Of course, that doesn't explain how the powertrain of a Mercedes C-Class can leave the car in an upward direction with enough force to clear a tree directly in front of it, and land over 130 feet away. By the way, gasoline doesn't explode like that. The best you can get from gasoline during a spill is a rapid burn, not an explosion.

So many coincidences that coincidentally are connected. Wow, what a coincidence.

Earlier that same year, I had been temporarily shadow-banned on Fascistbook for posting pictures that were in direct contradiction to the constantly changing, official story of the Boston Marathon Bombings, and the death of Tamerlan Tsarnaev. So, it was no surprise when Facebook began shadow-banning me for every picture I posted about Michael Hastings. That's when I quit Facebook.

Another coincidence was discovered the day we arrived back at our house in Ohio. Some point between the times that my youngest daughter, Hanna, had visited the house just before PorcFest, and the day we arrived back home, someone had kicked in my back garage door and forcibly entered my house. Signs indicated the house had been searched. Doors normally closed were open, and some items had been moved. However, tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of tools and jewelry were not taken, and none of our guns nor electronics were missing. As a matter of fact, nothing was taken. Who risks that kind of an entry, just to look around?

It was the end of July, so Cindy and I decided to hang around at home until Thanksgiving, then hit the road full time again. I saw my doctor in November to get my prescription updated. At the time, I took a medication for Parkinson-like symptoms caused by my multiple concussions. Specifically, shaking and muscle control issues. The doctor listened to my heart and my chest, and pushed and poked around on me like he always does. Everything seemed normal. No unusual weight gains and no indication of what was about to happen. Once Thanksgiving was over, we slid back on the road, headed south.

Around this time, I was asked if I knew anything about TWA Flight 800, and as a matter of fact I know quite a lot about that notorious flight. I had former coworkers who were part of the NTSB crew that reassembled the crashed plane for inspection. I had actually held in my hand, the exact same fuel sensor wire that was blamed for the explosion. So, I was asked to be a guest on a radio show that was transmitted on the airwaves across the country, and the topic was going to be TWA Flight 800. I would be the aircraft expert. I told them I would be delighted, and we made the arrangements for me to do a live show from the campground, where Cindy and I planned to be camping on that day.

In the meantime, I began doing Google searches, in preparation for the radio show. This way, I would have the correct dates and other detailed information on Flight 800.

When we arrived at the campground, I was feeling great. I love being on the road, and the campground was beside a shimmering lake with ducks and fish. It was wonderful. I did the radio show and it went very well. But, by the next day, I was starting to feel bad. I was feeling bloated and very tired. Within a few days, I started to feel chest congestion and run down like I was catching something. I thought maybe I had pneumonia.

We hit the road again, headed south to Mobile Bay during winter. The drive south was difficult. I still wasn't breathing very well and my feet were swollen and hurting. When we arrived at the campground, I had a very hard time setting up the motorhome; the sewer, water, electric connections, and the satellite dish. I had to stop halfway through and take a break. I was exhausted and out of breath.

I continued to struggle with my breathing for the month of January 2014, but the whole time, I thought it was chest congestion in my lungs. I had tried a variety of over-the-counter mucus and flu medicines, but nothing helped. Cindy had asked me about going to the doctor several times, but I was convinced it was just a chest cold or something.

On the morning of Friday, January 31st, Cindy wanted biscuits and gravy for breakfast. For her to use the oven, I needed to get in the floor and reach into the back of it to light the pilot light. Once on the floor reaching under the oven, I couldn't breathe and almost passed out. Eventually, I caught my breath.

Cindy insisted we go to an urgent care clinic immediately. We looked up the closest one and headed there in the car. As soon as we walked up to the reception window, the lady attending the window knew she was looking at an emergency case. She got me seated and called the head nurse. The head nurse looked at me briefly and said I had to go to the emergency room at the hospital right then. The other nurse had already called the ambulance and it was on the way.

The ambulance took me to a hospital in Mobile that specializes in cardiac emergencies. As it turned out, I was minutes or perhaps hours away from congestive heart failure. The tissue in my torso, between the organs, was swollen and was crushing my heart, while not allowing my diaphragm to actuate my lungs. The oxygen level in my blood was dangerously low and I was about to die. Even with the professional care I was receiving, at that point, they didn't know if I would make it through the weekend.

Through an IV, they dumped a powerful diuretic into my blood stream and I started urinating more than I would have thought possible. From that Friday morning until the following Sunday evening, they measured my urine output and my weight. I lost 35 pounds and expelled almost 4.5 gallons of urine.

Starting Monday morning, and continuing most of the day, they ran tests on my heart, lungs, and arteries. Fortunately, my heart was not damaged. I was released from the hospital on Tuesday, with an appointment to see a cardiologist in a few weeks. The hospital also arranged for a nurse to come to our camp and check on me each week.

By that Wednesday, I was going for walks around the campground at a fast pace without the slightest problem. It was like I was never sick.

I have been seen by four cardiologists, and tested over and over. They all agree, there is nothing wrong with my heart, but none of them can give me a reason why I would suddenly retain 4.5 gallons of fluid in the course of six weeks.

The most obvious answer is often the correct answer. In this case, the most obvious answer to the question of why I suddenly retained 4.5 gallons of fluid is that I'm old, out of shape, and some part of my brain mishandled a signal, which told my body to retain water. That's very likely what happened. However, there are other possibilities that are more sinister.

Whatever happened, it's almost positively a coincidence that my health issues happened when they did, and they probably have nothing to do with my research on Michael Hastings, Barnaby Jack, Tamerlan Tsarnaev, and TWA Flight 800. Almost positively. Almost.

While still in the hospital in Mobile Alabama, I spoke with Michael W. Dean about the possibility of my health problems being related to my research the previous year. He responded that if two or three other activists had similar heart or breathing issues at or near the same time, it could be worth considering that the government was targeting our little group. That made some sense to me.

Except, as it turned out, what actually happened was that I had heart-related issues, along with the incredibly healthy Bill Buppert of ZeroGov, Ron Holland of The Daily Bell, and, simultaneously, the death of Tim Wilson, author of Happy New Year - ted, a blistering condemnation of the handling of the investigation of serial murderer Ted Bundy by the government. All four of us, all moderately influential libertarians, had heart-related issues, all within weeks. To top it all off, Tim, Ron, and I were all within an hour driving time from each other at the onset of our problems. Actually, Tim was traveling from Michigan to Birmingham, Alabama, and would have passed right by our camp about the day I started having breathing problems. Again, what a coincidence.

To be fair, I've talked to Ron and Bill and neither expressed belief in the idea that our illnesses were related. I couldn't ask Tim, he's dead. However just a few months later, in remote Wyoming, Michael W. Dean suddenly developed breathing problems that almost caused his death. That's probably not related either.

[To be continued...]

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