Thursday, June 21, 2018

STEVEN NATHANIEL WOLKOFF-SEPTEMBER 23, 1977- JUNE 21, 2008

                                                               

                                                             
     STEVEN NATHANIEL WOLKOFF-SEPTEMBER 23,1977- JUNE 21, 2008
                                                                    



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 Also - CLICK ON HERE & LISTEN TO AN ORIGINAL INSTRUMENTAL WRITTEN & COMPOSED IN MEMORY OF STEVEN NATHANIEL WOLKOFF, CALLED "STEVEN'S SONG".  This composition is a quiet and moving work and is meant to serve as a tribute to the life of Steven Wolkoff. It makes use of simple but haunting harmonies and a melody that will stay with the listener long after its final notes have finished sounding. 

SEPTEMBER 23, 1977- JUNE 21, 2008
BELOVED SON, BROTHER,GRANDSON,
NEPHEW, COUSIN, CHERISHED LOVE
GOOD FRIEND

GENTLY THEY GO,
THE BEAUTIFUL,
THE TENDER, THE KIND

FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS



THURSDAY, JUNE 21,2018


Today is the anniversary of the tenth year of an eternity in agony, marking the horrific day, June 21, 2008, that my oldest child, Steven Nathaniel Wolkoff, was cruelly killed at the age of 30, his life brutally stolen from him, family, friends, me. 

I dread the coming of this day every year.

Steven died on the first day of Summer, it was 5 PM on a Saturday afternoon, exactly nine years ago.

It seems so much longer than ten years have gone by since we lost him. 

I still feel that it cannot be true, somehow suddenly he will appear, call me on the phone, or send me an email. That feeling never leaves, it is always there, I will wake up from this nightmare, and Steven will be here, alive.

There are mornings that I wake up believing for a few seconds that Steven is alive and it was just a horrible nightmare that he is dead. Then the reality strikes me full force in the face and gut,that he is dead forever, how can that be?

Oh how he loved the summer months and life itself. He was looking forward to it all, never realizing that his life would end that day in 2008.

I posted the other pictures above of Steven because they are some of my favorite ones, and also he is so real, alive in them, and for a second, he seems to actually be here.

Today, on this tenth anniversary of Steven's tragic death, if you can, please take a moment now to remember who Steven was and how deeply he is missed by each of us.

The last time I spoke to Steven, was on the phone,Tuesday evening, June 17 , 2008.

I didn't know that moment was going to be our last.
The last time I would talk to you, and hear your beautiful voice.

The last time I would tell you that I loved you, and hear you say “I love you too dad”. Strong and so real, so vibrant and alive.

A smiling face, with twinkling eyes, your special smile, my fine young man, my oldest child.

The shattered remnant of my heart with holes so black and fathomless no light can ever fill. I am and will be in shock forever.

Time has passed before me, so bleak and dark and long, the wind that whispers through the trees, the brightest star at night, the rain on a dismal day, my endless dreams, nightmares, the constant thoughts, hearing the door bell ringing, seeing the 2 Nassau County Policeman at my door at 4 AM asking me politely if they could come inside, no eye contact from them.

I knew and asked them "which one of my children", their response "do you have a son Steven living in San Francisco, he was killed in a car collision". 

That moment is frozen in my mind, repeating itself endlessly almost every waking and sleeping moment of my life.

The tragic death of Steven was caused by stupid, senseless acts. Every day, each night, my mind is focused on the highway at the collision, looking at the photos of Steven’s face while he is alive on a stretcher placed on the highway and then later, he is dead, covered by a tarp on that same highway.

The collision seems less a random act, and more determined, by a series of factors, not so benign, each one a contributing cause of my son’s death.

Steven was killed not by accident, but by horribly connected actions, and inaction's, of many others, each building on the impact of the other. Steven’s death began when distinct acts of design and error grew to become the chaos of negligence.

Steven was killed by the lack of highway signage, a secret  California State cover up of a structurally flawed highway design known as a "death trap", whose design errors were deliberately never corrected,violating the written safety codes of the  same government department responsible for building the highway, and the carelessness of a local community program, having a gathering, unaware that their visitors, were parking, turning, merging, clogging this already too narrow stretch of road that had no separate turning lanes.

Steven was killed by a 21 year old drug impaired driver, who did not even have a driver’s license, an illegal alien. His danger to others not in his thoughts, but mostly I think he just didn't care about the effects of his irresponsible actions on Steven.

Steven was killed by an army of first responders, Paramedics, Emergency Medical Technicians, Police, Firefighters, and Park Rangers, etc., busy littering the highway with equipment, while they tried to look busy and important.

Steven courageously lived for about an hour after the collision while multiple systems of rescue professionals failed to get him to the hospital, and were unable to properly provide a minimum standard of the medical skills that they were trained to perform.


The first responders panicked, although Steven was breathing on his own, they performed an unnecessary medical procedure that they had never before done in their life. It is called a Needle Cricothyroidotomy which they failed to do properly and in doing this they missed his airway, suffocating him, vital oxygen crushing against his heart, lungs and diaphragm, taking his breath away, and horrifically killing him.

The responder’s mission, to keep Steven medically stabilized for triage care at the Hospital, failed, lost in a few hundred square feet of disorder, with no one in charge, no one leading, standing, telling, helping, shouting, or recognizing the obvious signs of their medical errors.

My son Steven was killed by carelessness, thoughtlessness, and negligence on the part of multiple entities and individuals.

A gifted, talented, precious, irreplaceable, meaningful life was stolen from all of us who loved him deeply, because of the actions of so many who, each in their own way, miserably failed to help Steven, all destroying Steven’s life.

I cannot believe that my son Steven lies buried in a grave so young, me dreaming of things that he was and might have been. 
  
I am not religious, nor do I believe in god, so the traditional Mourners Kaddish prayer for Steven are meaningless words to me. 

I have written my own Mourners Kaddish as a way to honor Steven, and I post it every year at this time.

It is my way of expressing that Steven left behind a legacy of goodness, and worthy descendants, those who loved him, who will always remember that he lived.

These sentences speak directly to Steven, because his pain and loss need to be honestly described in real words that accurately reflect my true feelings.               

STEVEN NATHANIEL WOLKOFF'S MOURNERS KADDISH

Steven Nathaniel Wolkoff, Shmuel Nacham Ben Yaakov,  (Samuel Nathan, Son of Jerry).
                      

September 23, 1977- June 21, 2008

I am sorry that you are dead.

I am sorry you suffered so painfully, on that awful day, as you fought to stay alive.

I am sorry for the agony you felt, I see it in your eyes, face, and body from the horrific evidence photos.  I see and feel it in my endless nightmares.

I am sorry for the fear, terror, unimaginable pain you felt in fighting for your life, as they killed you. I know the truth of your courage in being able to fight so bravely to stay alive.

I am sorry for you because you were not killed by accident, but instead by the senseless, stupid, careless, actions of so many others who could have saved your life, but instead, each in their own way, miserably failed you that day, never realizing or even considering taking responsibility, or accountability for the consequences of their actions, inaction's, indifference, and incompetence.

I am sorry you died not due to fate, nor randomly, but were instead killed by the cascading chaos of connected, dysfunctional, defective entities and others, all who caused your preventable death.

I am sorry that you died because the State of California did not care about your life and decided not to fix a dangerously unsafe road, instead they deliberately hid the structural defects in the highway that made it into a death trap.

I am sorry that you died because of the 21 year old drug impaired driver speeding out of control into your car. His danger to you not in his thoughts, but mostly I think he just didn't care about the effects of his irresponsible actions.

I am sorry about the inept, licensed, qualified, medical first responders who had no idea, not a clue, of what they were doing medically to you as they killed you. They have no consciences and lied afterward to hide how they murdered you in cold blood.

I am sorry for you, that so many corrupt, ugly cowards of evil, who have evidence of the truth, but have no conscience to speak up, remain silent, lie, omit, refuse to come forward to admit their responsibility in covering up the true facts that all contributed to killing you.

I am sorry for those whose toxic evil allowed all of the above to be done to you and escaped from being held accountable for participating in your death.

I am sorry that your soul and body were desecrated in death.   

I am sorry for the wicked hideous ones who desecrated your body in death and refuse to take accountability for their violation of your body, your soul.

I am sorry that it has took us five years to finally successfully legally force the spiteful, hateful,evil San Mateo County Coroner to release your final remains for proper burial.

I am sorry that you died in spite of the true medical facts that show you should be alive today.

I am sorry for all the multitude of evil ones who have tried to defame you and disrespect your name, your life.

I am sorry that life is so cheap and yours has no value to those who killed you, trying to erase you ever existed.

I am sorry that the Legal system is weak, corrupt and I was not able to obtain justice for you. I failed to accomplish getting that Justice for you, please forgive me.

I am sorry for my failing as your father to keep you from dying.

I am sorry you did not leave the beach one second earlier or later to return home that day of June, 21, 2008.

I am sorry that I was not there to protect you.

I am sorry that I was not there that day to comfort you, hold you, ease your pain.

I am sorry that I don't know the last thoughts in your mind before you died.

I am sorry that you died alone, with strangers, and no one even had the courage, kindness to hold your hand.

I am sorry that you died lying on a hot highway pavement, in a place unfamiliar, in the middle of nowhere.

I am sorry that no one had the decency to cover your right arm and both feet, as you lay dead under the blue tarp.

I am sorry the Medvac trauma helicopter was delayed in arriving there by 4 minutes, too late to stop the killer first responders from touching you.

I am sorry that I was not even able to protect your dignity in death.

I am sorry you cannot cry.

I am sorry you cannot scream.

I am sorry you cannot laugh.

I am sorry you cannot smile.

I am sorry you cannot feel.

I am sorry you cannot talk.

I am sorry you cannot breathe.

I am sorry you are silent forever. 

I am sorry that the world said nothing, heard nothing, says nothing about the injustices done to you.
  

I am sorry that it was you and not me.

I am sorry that I had to bury you and that you didn't bury me first, as it should be.  


I am sorry for everything that I forgot to say now, or cannot, and did not say here.

I am sorry for YOU because you are not here, you are NO MORE on this earth. 

I am sorry that you cannot rest in peace.

More than anything, I am sorry that you didn't have a chance to say goodbye to those you loved.

Your family will always honor you, remember you, miss you, keep you in our heart, preserve your memory in lovingly telling future generations about you, and love you forever. 

We all miss you so very much.

I mourn what was, what could of been, and what will never be.

You deserved so much better my son, it just wasn’t meant to be.

Your brother, sister, mother, family, and others who love you, will do the same. We will never forget YOU, never stop loving you, our precious beloved Steven. NEVER.

Steven, I can only say, I am SORRY, SORRY, I am so SORRY.

My heart is broken, my Steven is gone, and we will mourn forever.


 Hebrew -Amen. Love, Dad.     

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

60 YEARS AGO. WAS IT WORTH IT?



Samuel Wolkoff- June 6th, 1958, forever etched in my soul. 

My father was gruesomely murdered on this day many years ago, at the age of 42. I was 10 years old. 

He lost his life that day, I lost my childhood, my inner peace, and my soul. Samuel Wolkoff was MY FATHER. Tragically, I hardly remember anything about him, and almost nothing about our relationship as father and son.Today's Blog is in memory of Samuel Wolkoff, My Dad, tortured and murdered (CLICK HERE TO READ MORE).

The rest of the year, the ever present demons make sure I remember those whose memories others have tried to erase, these are my family, they were human beings who will never be forgotten by me, they lived and never deserved to die in such horribly suffering ways. 

To me it's very personal when June 6th arrives every year, a very painful day. It has now been 60 agonizing years since my father Samuel Wolkoff was brutally tortured and murdered.


But there are also extremely evil people who visit here. I suppose they come for many different reasons and I can see they are from all over the world.

I get emails frequently, mostly anonymous from others about the monster subhuman animal who murdered my father. They vary from other victims families murdered by the monster, friends of his, and entities that shall remain not named by me.  

Some of you are the cowardly, but powerfully dangerous scum bags who murdered my father, some are close murderous associates of my father, as well as those of you in the arrogant, incompetent, corrupt law enforcement systems, whose agencies knowingly covered their asses, and in doing so, betrayed your sworn oaths to defend justice, by participating in covering up the truth, obstructing justice in this capital offense, which has no statute of limitations.

My father believed in kindness, honesty, family, hard work, ethics, and his rights as a human being to reap the fruits of his labor for himself and our family.

He was a man who did not run away from the corrupt animals who wanted a "cut of his business" for themselves. 

He believed in himself and the law enforcement, legal, supposedly ethical "systems" to protect him from those that wanted the business that he had built from nothing, with his blood and sweat.


He believed in a code of personal ethics, morality, integrity that dictated honor, family, respect, fairness, loyalty, faith in humanity, and that no one is entitled to steal from another human being their right to live.


On June 6th, 1958 the world was already very evil, corrupt, his life was cheap, and scum bags took what they wanted, from who ever they wanted. That was the day they took my father's life, his business, and all of our souls.

Today, June 6th, 2018, the world is infinitely more evil, more corrupt, life is even cheaper, scum bags enjoy their lives as they take even more of what they want, from whomever they choose.


Many of the murderers of my father, and their children are still alive. They have all done extremely well financially and live with a high standard of living for themselves, their families have all thrived in spite of their evil deeds. 


Yes, my father was a hero, he is a hero who sacrificed his life for his beliefs. Seems old fashioned, naive, for someone to believe so strongly in doing the right thing. 

Yet somehow, he who had nothing, created a thriving business, and maintained his righteousness of believing in goodness, his business associates, his relatives, the legal/law enforcement system, and that being a hard working, good person is to be rewarded.


In the end, his naive belief in the humanity of others, particularly his relatives (we know who you are) proved that he was DEAD wrong and he paid for it with his life. 

We all know each other, or about each other, you know I have hidden away safely the written confidential secret official documents with my honest law enforcement and political friends, the written proof of all documented detailed real facts that would expose the ugly truths. 

Nothing to be concerned about, it will remain buried. 

We know the deal that protects all of us, the reasons that nothing else has been done by any of us about my father's murder, the reason these documents will remain hidden, is the unspoken but very clear mutual understanding we all have forever, of don't ever again fuck with any of my family, and in return, we won't fuck with any of you by making the real truth public.

Was it worth the unimaginable pain that he felt as he was tortured slowly for 5 hours on the night of June 6, 1958? 


What must he have been thinking during those horrific hours of going in and out of consciousness as they repeatedly tightened and loosened a rope around his neck?

Samuel Wolkoff's cause of death, 5 long hours of tortured Murder By Strangulation. 

Try to hold your breath for as long as you can, then wait 40 more seconds, exhale, that will give you a tiny sense of the horrific way my father felt for 5  consecutive hours, a rope tied as a noose, was continuously alternately tightened, then loosened around his neck, while his hands were tied behind his back. 

Death, when it finally came, must have been a merciful release for my father.

Was it worth it to believe that your goodness would triumph above evil, that god would watch over you, that law enforcement would protect you, that your wife, and children would not suffer beyond imagination for the rest of our lives?

Justice not served, justice not given, nothing complicated, nothing new, an innocent, good person, a human life stolen without any remorse, it happens all the time. 

How can a loved one who dies suffering, rest in peace, ever? The answer is they cannot rest in peace because of the way they died.
Seems like a simple thing to believe and its even reduced to a short acronym, R.I.P., easy to write. I can't write it, not possible, not after all the never ending suffering of my father, and our family.

Was it worth it, my hero, my dear beloved father? 

Was it worth it?

The march of the dead continues, May/June are the saddest months for me, I dread this time of the year, horrifically gruesome memories of human, innocent lives of my family wasted. 

I am often intrigued as to why over 93,000 people as of this date have visited my Blog. 


There are many good people who come here, victims, families of victims, people seeking justice, those who are fighting against injustice, human beings who care. 

I see search terms on my blog from people who arrive looking for information about my father, a lot of other interesting search words that only "you" would know. 

There are visitors here who are criminals, murderers, organized organized crime family leaders, law enforcement, the curious, all are responsible by their actions or inaction's for the injustices that are specifically detailed in many of my different Blog posts about all the victims I write about.

For an ultra private person like me, a blog is obscenely public, personal, grossly revealing, definitely not my style, but  interestingly, momentarily cleansing, a way of coming out, being up front with unbearable realities, my reality. Mostly I do it for those that can no longer speak for themselves, who experienced unimaginable suffering that ended their lives. In this moment, my father's reality.

I do know that MY FATHER was a courageous HERO. 

Dead heroes, no matter how courageous they are, never get remembered by society for their acts of courage. They are quickly forgotten, except by those who loved them.
Was it worth it for MY FATHER, Samuel Wolkoff, to stand his ground and give up his life in such a terrifying, grotesque manner at the hands of cowardly pussy punks? 

The world did not care about his life and did nothing.

My father's fatal errors that cost him his life? He  believed in trust, in the sense of obligation to very close members of his family, by giving them a chance to change their ways.

The good deeds he did, paid back by these very same, who had him murdered. Horrifically ugly, but brutally true, and they all got away with it, no guilt, no conscience, didn't bother any of them, never mattered to them.

Today we remember my courageous father. He is not resting in peace, and he never will rest in peace, that is certain. 




Monday, May 28, 2018

MY SISTER IRIS

                                                     






It always begins on this date every year.

My beloved sister Iris died on May 28th, 2004, and this marks the beginning of the period each year that fills me with incalculable suffering,
 inexplicable unfairness, tragedy that has wrought its massive destruction of so many good, loved members of my family, who deserved so very much better than they received in life and death.  

Once again, another year has passed and I dread the intensified agony of overwhelming grief that envelops me for these lost souls of my family during the upcoming months.

I need not be told that it is here, since the pain is always present, all the time, year round, but becomes insidiously unbearable as of this date, and in the next few months, every year.

I painfully miss and mourn those of my immediate family who have died, more so than at any other time, as each year passes.

Increasingly difficult, filled with the aching of a lifetime beaten down into the ever present, toxic, non stop personal demons, nightmares, flash backs, with memories vividly stamped inside my brain, as if it were just yesterday that we were all together as a family and of course, big sister and little brother.

I planted purple Iris flowers, one of them pictured above in the garden out front of my house when my sister died.


Each year I take new pictures as they spring to life and insert one on this blog in memory of her. 


I like the idea that they are perennials, returning every year, flowering in all their beauty, now looking so alive on another anniversary today of the day she died, after a courageous, painful battle to live. 

We do that a lot in my family, fighting to live life to the fullest, and when our time comes, refusing to let go until our last precious breath. They call our family fighters, survivors, and that is what we do in both living our life with happiness as a gift never to be taken for granted, and also the darkness which is part of remembering.

Iris was a unique and compassionate person who quietly touched everyone she met with her kindness and strength. 

Iris is missed by all of us who loved her. We will never forget her beautiful smile.

My sister was full of life, insightful, quiet, brave,

loyal, sagely wise, and then she was gone forever, horribly, excruciatingly painfully, and irrevocably. 

She deserved so much better in her short time on this earth but it was not to be.

Iris, my sister, a gift to me in life, was more beautiful in a million ways than these magnificent flowers. 


I will miss you forever my dear sister Iris, most of all, 


I will always miss your caring love. 

I love you. 

Love, Your little brother- Jerry.