Tag Archives: Mafia

“My offer is this: nothing, and you owe me.” The Mafia, Jesus and the priesthood.

The larger context of this 6-second scene is that the casino needs a $20,000 permit. A Senator is trying to shake down the mafia guy by jacking this up another I think $230,000 – quite the extortion – even while the Senator insults both the mafiosi and their families. Hint: Don’t do either of those things, but especially not the latter.

The response from the mafioso guy is so predictable, and so perfect: “My offer is this: nothing.” And then the mafioso adds that it would be a wise move for the Senator guy to go ahead and himself pay for the $20,000 permit for the casino. Hah. The tables are reversed. Jesus does this all the time.

Hope is high that Jesus will laugh at the analogy which just must be made between Him and the mafiosi. I mean, if you’ve ever even once read the Sacred Scriptures, you’ll immediately see the ferocious irony, sarcasm, humor, the table-turnings (figurative and literal) all meant, of course, to put people back on the right track.

Look, I don’t see myself as being better than any mafioso if I am without the grace of God. We will all look upon Him, the One who is, who was and who is to come, the Alpha and the Omega, the Almighty, whom we have all pierced through with all our sin whilst He was lifted up on the Cross, yes, all of us, men of race, tribe, tongue, people and nation.

Having said that, yes, when I see someone trying to be even more mafioso than the mafiosi, well, they get what they deserve. I hope they also repent, but – yikes! – shaking down the mafia?!

About Jesus… the analogy here is that Jesus is the mafioso guy who says that His counter offer to the extortion is to jack up the stakes. The self-absorbed who use religion to make themselves heroes, feeling powerful in bullying, who say that they will kill Jesus unless He stops being… what is it? – more “popular” than them, well, they are answered in this way by Jesus: “My offer is… nothing.” But then Jesus will continue: Not only will I rise from the dead after three days, but if you are to serve my Heavenly Father in Heaven for eternity, you will have to be crucified to yourselves and to the world, and to do that, you will have to believe in the One whom the Father has sent into the world, you will love Him, and you will keep the commandments. Hah.

  • Jesus said, “Amen, I say to you, there is no one who has given up house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands for my sake and for the sake of the gospel who will not receive a hundred times more now in this present age: houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions, and eternal life in the age to come. (Mark 10:29-30)
  • But Father George, Father George! “A hundred times […] houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands” is not nothing! What are you talking about! Jesus’ offer is a prosperity Gospel! It’s all about this world, “now in this present age,” you know, besides “eternal life in the age to come”!
  • First of all, these were given up, and then when more are added, it is only with persecutions. It’s the ol’ “My offer is this: nothing.” And, by all appearances, it then gets worse. Have you ever been in a persecution? Any mafioso earner might temporarily spare the life of a recalcitrant priest who speaks out against the mafia because the arm of his grandmother was just broken by a mafia “earner” for not paying her “pizzo” (protection payment), but that “earner” might then kill a member of that priest’s family as a warning if that priest insists, you know, his brother, or sister, or mother, members of his parish family… His rectory might be burned down, lands destroyed. When Jesus calls us from death to life, when He calls a man to be a priest, wretch that he is if without the grace of God, the offer is this: nothing. And less than nothing, that is, in this world. Even the little we think we have can be taken away at any moment, all those “houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands” by way of the promised persecution. Ah, but then there is eternal life, not only for the faithful priest, but also for Jesus’ Little Flock for whom that priest was available to get out of the way of the One High Priest so that He Himself might lead them to heaven with His goodness and kindness and Living Truth.

Perhaps there are some who are offended at this analogy. But I rush to be vindicated by the Venerable Fulton J Sheen, who made a similar analogy, even more ferocious. The good archbishop made an analogy between Jesus and – get this – atheistic materialistic dialectical Marxist Communism. Yep.

  • What I recall from his conferences very many decades ago (distributed on cassette tapes by Keep the Faith), was that he described the demonic communist oppressors as totalitarian: they want to control your food and water, your medicine, your housing, you work, your possessions, your family, your friends, your conversations, your faith (none allowed), your very thoughts.
  • Meanwhile, Sheen went on, Jesus wants everything from us as well, citing the famous oft-recited passage:
    • “Hear, O Israel! The LORD is our God, the LORD alone! Therefore, you shall love the LORD, your God, with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength. Take to heart these words which I enjoin on you today. Drill them into your children. Speak of them at home and abroad, whether you are busy or at rest. Bind them at your wrist as a sign and let them be as a pendant on your forehead. Write them on the doorposts of your houses and on your gates.” (Deuteronomy 6:4-9)

The difference, he said, was that the communists do this with terrible violence and fear mongering, always torture, always killing, always persecution.

Jesus, he said, does this with love, so that we love Him in His grace most willingly, even in the midst of the persecutions of this world, with that love of His that is stronger than our sin, stronger that our temptation, stronger than death, bringing us to heaven, with grace turning to glory. Amen. And that’s something!

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“Run away, Fr Byers, really far away! Stay away! You’re not safe! *They* are coming to get you!”

home alone GIF

So, all day Saturday, non-stop, I got recordings filling up the message bank on my phone, with the following paranoia, coming to me from someone who lives in Asheville and down on the coast of N.C.:

  • “They, the mafia, the international mafia, where you live, in Appalachia, they have pulse machines from international terrorists, pulse machines of wavelengths of bad stuff that can go through cars and houses and into your body and hurt you and make you tired and you’re not safe because they are coming to get you [lol: such a cliché] so you have to run really far away so that you feel better and where you’re not in danger from the pulse wavelength machines of the mafia from international terrorists. And you can read about it on [url] if you scroll two thirds of the way down and read about it there and it’s true and stuff and everything so go away, really far away, because you’re not safe and they are coming to get you, you know, those people who slow down by your house because there’s a speed bump and they look at your garden and tell you how nice it is or ask you what the Mass schedule is now but they are really slowing down and surely pointing international mafia terrorist pulse wavelength machines at you with bad stuff that goes through cars and houses and into your body and can hurt you unless you run away, really far away, and stay away, and you have to leave now because you’re not safe, and whatever you do, don’t get a 5G phone because everyone with a 5G phone coming this October will die because it’s a genocide of all people with 5G phones all around the world and everyone is going to die with 5G phones so don’t get a 5G phone because it’s as bad as the international mafia terrorist pulse wavelength machines with bad stuff and everything…”

All day Saturday, non-stop, and then on Sunday again, until the recording capacity on the phone was used up, which is annoying. Hospitals and nursing homes call my phone so that I can do Last Rites for patients, but they message bank is filled up so they can’t leave a message. I do shut my phone off when I’m saying Mass, for instance. The long messages have only stopped because I haven’t yet erased the messages already recorded. All too weird. And there’re motives for that, very ulterior motives. Too sad.

That person also happens to be smashing down a loved one. And that is like the mafia I know only too well:

  • “Sappiamo dov’è la vostra familia, capisce? Ci capiamo abbastanza bene o no, scarafaggio pretino che sei?”

The idea is: leave now, or else. Interesting, that. I’ll just take note of that and put it on some back burner that’s turned off permanently. Pfft. But I wish my loved one wasn’t being harassed. I get the idea that said person manipulating all this is trying to look like a paranoid schizophrenic for legal reasons that manipulate situations, meaning of course, that this person is just cruel even while very intelligent, but pretty much a sociopath, which isn’t legally insane, but, depending on how far such a person goes, can get one many years or lifetimes of years in prison. Too bad, that.

Meanwhile, Macaulay Culkin has some good acting skills in the gif above. ;-)

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“Now you’ze can’t leave.” Line crossed.

The fuller scene is avoided because of continuous bad language, but what happens is that the Mafia crowd,  end the threat of the biker crowd who were trashing the Mafia crowd’s establishment.

The dark side lives for the time to hear those words – “Now you’ze can’t leave!” – crossing the line as often as they can on so many levels and in so many ways on so many occasions, pushing, pushing, pushing, until finally their dream comes true with some push back coming their way, not that the dark side enjoys that rather painful teaching moment, but relishing nevertheless the learning experience which no one else has been able to provide them throughout their lives, an instruction which they know they must endure in order to be brought out of their deep hell hole of escapism into rotted arrogance. We all know that that’s not the place to be. If only someone would help out.

Of course, we don’t want to hear those words – “Now you’ze can’t leave!” – just after entering hell. Anything that can get us to learn a bit so as not to go to hell is welcome, at least from the perspective of one in heaven who learned from his own smack down of whatever it takes, whether that comes from guardian angels or those who in the Lord’s providence are sent to do the necessary.

A word to the wise. This is true for everyone’s life. We all have a lot to learn. It’s best to avoid crossing the line and meet up with the Lord Jesus. He might have us thrown down from our high horse like Saul who would become Saint Paul, but Jesus means to bring us to heaven, you know, whatever it takes. He is the Lord of History. He’ll make the learning experience happen. It’s what we do with it that counts into eternity. It’s good to have our souls ready to go to meet Him at any time. A word to the wise.

If you think you’re immune, that you’re aloof, that you’re above all that, don’t. That attitude only proves that you’re ripe for a smack-down learning experience.

BTW and just to say, not all smack-downs are because we are lacking. Some are because we are close to our Lord. It is a powerful intercession for souls here and in purgatory when a soul who is close to the Lord is smacked-down, brought to nothing, humiliated, in pain and devastation, but remains in good friendship with Jesus. So, don’t curse those smacked down. They might be great saints. I call to mind that Jesus was smacked down, giving His life as a ransom for many, and that His good mom was in solidarity with Him regardless of Him being treated as a criminal on our behalf. The question is, are we also in solidarity with her?

pieta

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Note to “AM” in RH. Don’t send money. Appearances of money laundering.

money laundering

I got a comment the other day on the blog from someone I don’t know with a great deal of instructions about money this person wanted me to launder… err… um… move along to unknown third parties. Let me address this person directly:

While your intentions may be good – blessings upon you if that is the case – but you have to realize that what you want me to do with those untold thousands of dollars you want to send me could sound to anyone else like bribery or extortion in some elaborate scam… or… well… I’ll just say it, it could sound exactly like money laundering. I have no idea who the people that you mention are. For all I know – and I know nothing – they could be mafiosi or some reps of some cartel. Even if I did know them (and I could think of some names), I wouldn’t have anything to do with it. Do me a favor: don’t involve me or any priest for that matter. If it’s all on the up and up, figure out another way to do what you’re doing. If it’s not on the up and up, there’s an FBI field office just up the road from where you live. Sorry, but a priest can never be too careful these days. If fact, what you’re asking me to do feels just downright creepy. So, just think of another way.

Meanwhile, for some reason I am reminded of some people who visited the parish a few months ago, the ones with the Russian connections who, in the same place where you are, started decades ago to offer me huge sums of money to move cargo throughout Russia. Yes, I was already a priest then. That’s precisely why they wanted me, someone naive, who they could use, who will get in trouble for them, a stooge. Funny the coincidences one comes across. As you can see, I try my best not to get burned.

Come to think of it, where you are is also the place where someone stole something like $15,000 from me while I sent it to some cloistered nuns in South America so that they could purchase a new altar bread making machine as they supplied most of South America with altar breads. The FBI helped me get that back from a bank in the Cayman Islands. It’s good to have friends in the Agency. The nuns did get their machine in the end. I suppose the person involved got some prison time and lost his job.

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Going to Guadalupe? Pay the Mexican Military Cartel cash or die. It’s that bad.

ak 47 ammo

We had a wedding last Saturday in the parish. The couple went to Mexico for their honeymoon. They reported back that there are now military checkpoints everywhere in Mexico. They don’t ask for documents or other useless rubbish. They want money, only. If you refuse, they let you go, but they call ahead to inform the drug cartel in whatever area that you refuse to donate to their cause. The cartel stops you, and simply kills you as an example for others. This makes me upset inasmuch as my identity was used for arms transfers to the Sinaloa Cartel just when Joaquín “El Chapo” Archivaldo Guzmán Loera (now imprisoned along with his “godson”) started to terrorize innocent civilians, the government, the politicians, law enforcement and, finally, the Church.

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Filed under Drugs, Guns, Intelligence Community, Mafia, Military, Politics, Road danger

Meth-heads gift my parish a hacked up donkey. Such violence! My response.

venison

This is what I saw when I drove up to the church parking lot this morning. So, this happened just last night, perhaps very early on January 13.

These chunks of carcass, two back-ends and a back-strap, look like they come from a donkey (in which case I would take great personal offence), but are most likely from a field dressed deer, with the hunter using a chainsaw or ax in order to hack it to pieces. It’s not a pig as pig meat is very light in color. A few things…

  • The pieces of carcass are posed nicely, placed, not simply dumped, which is pretty insane, kind of like someone whose brain is fried by heavy-metal meth.
  • The pieces of carcass were situated in the exact center-center of the lower parking lot even though there is everywhere else (right there) to throw these into the woods or a ditch, so this is also pretty insane, kind of like someone whose brain is fried by heavy-metal meth.
  • I’ve run across this phenomenon before here in Andrews, NC, when we were looking for a rectory. One family seemed to be living in a meth-lab and there was a stench coming from the kitchen. Someone opened the fridge door and the rotten-meat smell went right through the house. Kind of insane, like someone whose brain is fried by heavy-metal meth.
  • The most logical explanation for this insanity is that a local meth lab has started up using our parking lot again at night. This will be the third one. Someone who wanted drugs but had no money was bringing payment in kind, hacking up their donkey (or a deer) for this end. But the meth-lab owner rejected the offering, which was already rotting as happens for meth-heads (see above). It really was pretty rank, with the smell staying in my nostrils for hours and Laudie-dog smelling this on me many hours later. Anyway, when asked what to do with the rejected carcass, the customer was told to place the remains in the parking lot as a gift for the church, thinking that this was a nice gesture on their part – no, really! – hence the pieces being placed nicely and not at all just thrown down or thrown away.

But what do I know? Nothing. And because of that, I was instantly reminded of this horse head scene from the original “Godfather” movie! If you have a weak constitution, don’t watch this 90 second clip, as it’s rather like the picture above…

Perhaps there are some readers who think Laudie-dog would have loved to eat that dead donkey (or deer), but I won’t give it to her, the reason being that I’m quite sure this is all meth-head related, and could be from the meth-lab itself, meaning that the meat is saturated with heavy metals, all very unhealthy. No, it was all tossed away appropriately.

All this brings back questions of evangelization. It’s all for Jesus. This donkey says: It’s all for Jesus.

donkey blessed sacrament

GEORGE DAVID BYERS - COAT OF ARMS - revision

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Brazen R & R before the mafia. I love it. Perhaps this priest has too much fun.

rest-and-recreation

Yesterday I had some free time to do some family visitation. “Let’s go out on the pontoon boat!” said the great Army veteran. “Great!” said I. So, away we went round about along far distant fantastic shorelines typical of these mountain waters. Just because we are in the mountains doesn’t mean that there isn’t more shoreline than most of the rest of North America. Think reservoirs and dams, the watershed of the entire South-East. Really, really nice. Lots of big money.

He said, “Most likely retired CEOs of major corporations.” I said, “Most likely the mafia.” Oh my, the stories I then heard. My response was, “People have been murdered for a lot, lot less trouble than they are making, and if they haven’t been in any accidents, then it must be that they are mafia. There’s no other way.” I know some mafia, and plenty of Italy’s anti-mafiosi. It’s all so typical. And while that is part of the world in which I moved about in previous lives, I guess I just didn’t want to see it here. It’s too beautiful here. I want to stay here, but I didn’t want this kind of thing around here. And now I’m getting to know why some of the locals don’t like “all those foreigners” coming into the county, with “foreigners” referring to people who have lived here even 50 years but who weren’t born here, but instead were born outside of the county, perhaps just the next county over. But, it makes life interesting. And it’s good to know who you are dealing with. It answers some questions.

For my part, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. In fact, I think I have too much fun as a priest, especially these last three years in this parish. I’ve often told the bishop over these last few years that I wish I could stay here until I die, but for this past eight months or so he’s started saying things like, “You’re not going to stay in that parish forever you know.” But, that’s O.K. I love everything about the Church, every possible apostolate, all the people, including the mafia of whatever kind. After all, Jesus loved them to death, right? We must be in anguish until as many as possible are on their way to heaven, knowing and living with the goodness and kindness and truth of Jesus, Divine Son of the Immaculate Conception, who will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire. Amen.

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(4) Father Byers at 12 years old: world-class kiddie-porn star

north junior high school

The necessary preface: this series of articles is written with specific people in mind, the string pullers and those who manipulate them, those who are one and two steps beyond the corruption mentioned by Pope Francis, those who are lost to a corruption of the corrupt, and beyond that, are brought into a kind of tangible evil. It is evident that these articles make their way into the hands of some few of this targeted group. The purpose is to offer them forgiveness, even after all that will be related here about those much more insignificant in the scheme of things than they are themselves. After all, those who are more important, the string pullers and their manipulators, take on the guilt of everything that goes on under their influence. I hope that thought puts the fear of God in them, and that they repent, for the Immaculate Conception’s Divine Son, Christ our God, will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire. Here’s a list of the preceding posts in this short series:

pinocchio stringsRight away I have to say that the title of this post is misleading, the bit about kiddie-porn, for this is about the filming of young and naked teenage boys evidently for the use of older homosexual men. But I’ll leave the title as it is for the sake of the main stream media mentality we have in this world, which calls even the abuse of adults “pedophilia” with the malicious intent of not ever speaking about the stats regarding abuse, that it is largely homosexual, that is, involving (post)pubescent young men. That would interfere with certain aspects of social engineering, of certain aspects bringing about a persecution of the Church. That social engineering is itself a symptom of the crisis of the identity of men after the total rejection of their fatherhood by society and by so very many in the Church as contraception and abortion and self-abuse and porn and homosexuality were condoned by the so-called pastórally minded among the clergy and episcopacy of the 1960s and 1970s. But then, as I say, then there are the ones I’m aiming this series at, that is, a certain class among them, a group which has learned to pull the strings on a global level, involving manipulators even more interested in money and power than they are. They are really quite few in number.

just me climbing treeAnyway, the swimming pool at North Junior High School would be a source of trouble time and again. When I was eight and nine years old, the older neighborhood kids were saying that swimming trunks were not allowed by the gym teacher. Everyone had to swim, and swim naked, saying that this had already been going on for some years. I would soon be towards the end of my twelfth year of age, and would be attending there myself. Many schools were starting to do this I was told, so no adult questioned it in what was now a Woodstock society. But don’t be fooled, all the kids hated it, at least at the beginning. They thought that the instructor was going after the boys. But I thought that I could handle myself, and there was no question that I had to go to school, and to that particular school. When the time came, I did go.

camera reel to reelWhat I found, at twelve years of age, was that the teacher’s office, with its large bay window overlooking the locker room, was always jam-packed with naked boys, whom he seemed to be totally ignoring. But then I saw a very expensive movie camera – very professional looking – set up on a large tripod facing the bay window from the locker room, with its on-air light lit up. He was filming the whole thing. The boys, so eager to be around him, were part of a “secret club” that – as one boy told me as if I were entirely stupid – could only be opened up to membership by the gym teacher himself.
Poor kids. They fell for what they thought was the excitement of immodesty and the sense of belonging to a group. I was disgusted by the kind of spirit that seemed to have blinded them to all but a tiny set of arrogant, self-centered emotions, which were lit up so brightly in them that they were blind to everything else, having no agility of spirit whatsoever. They were like deer willingly mesmerized by their own headlights, being shot down by an unscrupulous hunter. I knew that something was terribly wrong with all this, and was taken aback by the very public nature of it. It was the old trick of flaunting it like its normal so that people will think that it is normal. It worked in society then just as it does today. Some few of the kids didn’t fall for it. Neither did I. But what could a little kid do back in those days, so very different from today? Of course, there will be those who blame me for the whole thing. There’s nothing I can do about that. I thing those perpetrating the crimes should be the ones to be blamed, not the kids. Just my opinion.

studio camera 1960sI could try to avoid that camera. But the cameras were everywhere. There were more cameras throughout the locker room, with heavy cables all over the floor. There were cameras in the open room showers, and out in the pool area. There were very large movie cameras, Hollywood cameras I would call them, up in the empty swim-meet bleachers high above the pool, lights blinking away, another in an open storage room at the end of the pool next to the locker room door, and, it seems, below, inside the underwater window at the deep end of the pool. A mafia operation with the school being paid off to turn a blind eye? I think so. The gym teacher made everyone march around naked, sit in certain areas facing certain ways, sit in groups on the diving board, dive from the board in certain ways, and so on, like scripted scenes that would fit some sort of porno story. He even had us swim to the bottom of the deep end of the pool two at a time in order to fetch a block of heavy rubber matting, asking us to fight for it underwater. That’s where an underwater window was located.

just me 04He must have taken thousands of large reels of film over the years that this continued, from the mid-1960s into the mid-1970s. I can only guess that this was a fraction of the operation, another part of which was surely the “secret club” of the gym teacher’s naked boys. I can only guess that the fellow with the Cadillac Limousine mentioned in a previous article was financing all this. I can only guess that the school and police and the Feds had all been paid off to keep quiet. I can only guess that these films still make up by far the largest source of “kiddie-porn” still circulating among the perverted until this very day throughout the United States and around the world, with enough footage for millions of still photos, uncountable DVD’s, pay-per-views, and a multitude of internet formats. In other words…

just me 03I had been prostituting myself and didn’t even know it. I was a kiddie-porno star and surely I still am so today, with dirty old men doing unspeakable things while gaping at images of myself and all those other boys. It only hit home when it was too late. Abuse of minors is always abuse, because, no matter how worldly wise they are, or however much they think that they can take care of themselves (with me being in first place in that category), still, when one is going through a situation as a kid it really is hard to imagine the immense evil of some adults. Sure, I saw the cameras. Yes, I knew they were rolling. So did everyone else. But we just could not imagine for what reason. It just didn’t make any sense. None of us could fathom the depths of the evil at hand, and so mindlessly went along with it, especially because it all seemed condoned by the most trusted adults, the teacher and the school’s administration. I had told my parents about it. I think my dad tried to do something. But the power behind this operation seemed to be beyond anything he could do anything about.

pool lifeguard chairThere was some grumbling among the boys, but only one bit of real, though only momentary rebellion. The occasion for this was one boy being singled out. I felt so sorry for him, and angry and confused right along with him, as did we all. He was made to climb up an inordinately tall life-guard chair and stand there, naked, standing, the gym teacher insisted, with his hands to the side. This boy noticed the cameras up in the bleachers, and mentioned them, pointing to them. You could see the scars of hatred being seared into his heart, as if someone was dragging a dagger right through his chest, deeply, right through his very soul. Overwhelmed, he threatened to jump from the chair so that his head would hit the tile edge of the pool below, breaking his neck, smashing his skull open, killing himself. “No! Don’t do it!” we said. “No!” We just couldn’t believe what we were witnessing. We almost lost our voices. He didn’t jump, thanks be to God.

With that, the “game” was over for the day, even though there was still some twenty minutes left for this “class” in the school schedule. The gym teacher knew that if he didn’t let us go now, he himself was going to pay a heavy price. He let the boy climb down. I don’t know how the boy didn’t fall while climbing down, so much was he shaking with anger.

There was a big difference, thought I, between this gym teacher/kiddie-porno-film director, and my friend with the switch blade in an earlier post, though both may have had similar histories. I want to think my friend had remained with a shred of hope in his soul, even in his darkest moments, a hope which manifests the power of the grace of God in the midst of the hell some live through on this earth. The kiddie-porn director, instead, had chosen not to have any hope. It is how low the human soul can sink. But I will insist, even this kiddie-porn operation isn’t the lowest of the low. The Mafia isn’t the lowest of the low.

Sorry, but I insist: there are always others pulling the strings, and manipulating those who are pulling strings. Those are the ones I’m aiming this series at. And, yes, after all that, I tell them that mercy is theirs for the asking. No one can commit any sin which is so great that if one sincerely asked for forgiveness it could not be forgiven. Let this be a sign to you: I forgive you if you want that forgiveness. Don’t bring that offer with you to hell, which always comes sooner than later, much sooner than any time later. When you face all of eternity as you enter hell, you will know what I mean, and my words to you now will haunt you for eternity. Now’s the time to change your ways and go to Confession.

Now, having said all that, back to the more local culprits. I’m sure the statute of limitations has run out, or not? There are hundreds of witness to what I speak about here. So very many in the “secret club” of which I, however, was never a part. Would they know also of any murders, disappearances of kids? Time for them to come forward, but to what, if everyone was paid off, if this involves the big names in the Twin Cities and elsewhere? What I would like to hear is that huge stashes of kiddie-porn have been destroyed, with whole networks of abusers being brought down with all their servers brought down. That would be really cool.

Also, just to say, there were a number of kids in the area who went missing at that time. Open up those cases, my FBI friends, or are you afraid? Maybe I can kick-start the thing by writing a story for the local paper, and get a local reporter to interview whoever of the survivors of those years then comes forward to speak about it…

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Filed under Abuse, Father Byers Autobiography, Mafia

(3) Father Byers at 8 years old: Taking *The* Mafia Kiddie-Porn Godfather for a ride

cadillac limousine

This is one of those stories which requires one to say before beginning that no one else is ever to try this at home. What I did was stupid, though it seemed really smart to me at the time. The purpose of repeating this bit of the autobiography here is send a message to some people who pride themselves a bit in their lust for power in all their evil doing. They have a need to understand that there are certain people who will uncontrollably do stupid things, putting themselves into grave danger, truly having no fear because of having, at any rate, the idea that they can get their way out of any difficulty precisely because they have no fear that burdens them. They will do what they need to do. And they do it. I must say that what happened in this story was very formative of my own character, and terribly instructive to me as a little kid about the way politics work regarding abuse. Seeing the powerful become fearful (they are always fearful) was spectacular. Very important, this. Those for whom I am especially writing these articles should take note: No fear. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Give it up and convert. Go to Confession! For the other articles so far, see:

north junior high school

When I was just eight years old, I had made a habit of going swimming at the local Junior High School. The pool was opened up to younger kids like myself, at night. It was a pretty good hike to get there, three miles, at night. Bikes were impossible in Minnesota in February ice and snow, at night. I know. I tried many times when it was way below zero, at night. It’s a good extreme sport, but it really was faster just walking. No one from my neighborhood wanted to brave the hike. I was alone for that part. But there were plenty of kids to meet there. The trip was worth it for someone who could swim like a fish, and I was just such a one. I think I once did five lengths of the pool underwater without once coming up for breath. I was a bit of a show-off, looking for some competition in this way. Competition, if it’s just for the sheer idiocy of it, is always hilarious to those involved, and is its own reward. I found out that half-crippled legs didn’t matter so much in the water.

Also, I was used to the cold enough to know that when it’s below zero and one’s hair is still wet, the walk home will be cold only at the beginning. Wet hair freezes into a helmet as hard as rock, keeping one’s body heat insulated. I would let my hair freeze for a minute or so, and then put my hat on over that. Only I would do that, of course. But one has to know how to survive.

On my way home from a great swim, but on a particularly cold night, way below zero on the Fahrenheit scale, and with eyes seeing chlorine halos around every distant light, I noted that a very expensive looking black Cadillac Limousine started following me at my walking pace, about forty yards out. He had followed me a couple of other times, but from about 100 yards out. This narrowing of the range was creepy. I was on the road since the sidewalk had about a foot of snow cover. But now, to escape, I ran up the mountain of snow separating the road from the sidewalk, which was set back from the road about twenty feet. I walked along the sidewalk, to no avail. The car stayed exactly forty yards back. He knew what he was doing. I was just at a point where the sidewalk ended in front of a deep, culverted ditch that was being filled in with building demolition, parts of brick walls and great slabs of cement floors, with jagged metal I-beams that poked through the snow and ice with dark menace. I stared at this, imagining myself escaping along this impassable route, but being put off at the thought of freezing to death with a broken leg a half mile from the road, not to be found until the following Summer, if ever.

plowed snowI jumped back out on the road, right where my stalker would be able to grab me. Back in the day, there were no houses in any direction for about a half a mile along that stretch of road. The field next to me, blanketed with about three feet of snow, up to my chest at that time, stretched all the way to a forest about three miles away. It was pitch dark. I thought I was dead for sure.

And yet, if you can’t run, you can fight, even if you are only eight years old, as I had learned some months previously. I was braver than I was smart. I turned and walked straight to the car and, when offered a ride – just as I thought – I took it. This seemed stupid even to me, but it also seemed like the only option, and so, therefore, smart. I thought I was going to end up in the car one way or the other, but if I took the initiative, the psychological dynamics were such that I could have the upper hand, at least for a while, until I figured out a definitive escape. What a stupid eight-year old! But I was filled with adrenaline once again. And I had not forgotten the bit [mentioned in an earlier part of the autobiography] about letting people hang themselves if that’s what they wanted to do. I learned later on what our Lord did with Judas.

This fellow in the Cadillac Limousine was perhaps in his thirties, and may have been merely the driver for someone else somewhere else. His job for the evening was just to collect kids. At any rate, he knew his business; it was clear he had done this before. Today I would conjecture that his boss was the kiddie-porno king of the world, with no one equaling his volume of kiddie-porn even today. But, maybe he was the godfather. Those were different times. But I’ll get to that in the following article of this series. At any rate, this fellow interrogated me about exactly where I lived in town and then what my name was. When he heard the name, he asked me to repeat it, again and again. I told him, and said that my dad had been the mayor of the city (of 48,000 people at the time) and was now an attorney at law, and also worked at the State Legislature, and headed up the biggest law firm in central Minnesota. He asked me repeatedly if I was sure that was my father. Sure? I almost broke out laughing. But instead I also mentioned my uncle by name, since he was the chief emergency responder in the city. At that point, he stopped the car abruptly, right there on the icy street, far from anywhere, at night, way below freezing, commanding me to get out. I mocked him with a sing-song voice, saying he could meet my dad if he wanted to drive me the rest of the way. That wasn’t very intelligent on my part, but he sped away, thank God. I tried to get the license plate number, but it was too dark. I was dumb enough to be a bit too happy with myself, having gotten 1-1/2 miles closer to home in a nice car. I had no idea that I had been in most grave danger, out of which few come out alive.

I wonder how many youngsters’ lives he had destroyed and is still destroying. I wonder if my ever so troubled friend had been a victim of his. I told my parents right away, and my dad got on the phone immediately. I can only think that this fellow was run out of town for a while, but, in those days, I suppose, only that. The kiddie-porn operation was so massive that very many people had to have been paid off to look the other way.

Just when you think you’ve run into the ultimate evil, you find out there is something even worse. It would be a grave error to think that the politics of abuse, the string pulling behind the scenes, is simple. It’s not that it’s all so much more complex than money and the lust for power along with a perverted, inverted lust for lust. Instead, the difficulty comes in being put off by thinking that there can’t be anything more evil than what one has already found. But that judgment of the state of affairs does not then take into account the passion and death of the Son of God Incarnate. If He suffered like that, things really can be very, very evil. But that’s when we see Jesus’ mercy shining most brightly. O.K., so, my participation as a kid in kiddie-porn up next. Stay tuned.

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