Monday, June 30, 2014


                               REST IN PEACE MOM

I thought of you with love today
but that is nothing new

I thought about you yesterday
and days before that too,

I think of you in silence
I often speak your name

All I have are memories
and your picture in a frame.

Your memory is my keepsake
with which I’ll never part
I have you in my heart.

I thought of you today, but that is nothing new. I thought about you yesterday and days before that too. I think of you in silence, I often speak your name. All I have are memories and your picture in a frame. Your memory is a keepsake from which I’ll never part. God has you in His arms, I have you in my heart.

See more at: thought of you with love today

Today is the day that my Mother, Dorothy Wolkoff died on June 30th,1997. It was sudden and there was never a chance to say goodbye.

We only get one mother, the person who literally carried me inside of her for 9 months. My mom was the strongest, toughest, most courageous, gentle, caring person I have ever known.

Biology aside, mom's can be magical human beings. A mother's love is unlimited, it can heal us, make us feel safe, not to mention inspire us. My mother was all that and more. How lucky I am.

My mother was the only one who believed in me, particularly during my youth, and stubbornly never gave up, no matter how much I screwed up. She taught me much, but in particular, emphasized the importance of self pride, work/life ethics, compassion, caring, and being humble. 

In spite of her hard life, she provided for my sister and myself, by doing whatever was necessary for us to live, we never lacked for anything, because of her grueling unselfish efforts.

Without her support during my most difficult years as a youngster, a wild acting out teenager, she ALWAYS stood up to me, for me, guided me, and refused to give in, or give up on me. It was not easy for her to do that, but she would not back down, ever.

I told my mom in many different ways over the years how much this eventually contributed to my taking the correct productive path with my life, instead of continuing in the wrong direction,  ALL because of her. 

I spent much of my adult life making my mother proud of me, telling her how much I loved her.

My mother literally saved my life many times, she was one of a kind, I will always remember and love her for that. 

Whatever is good in me, came from my mother.

I miss you mom.

Saturday, June 21, 2014


                         SATURDAY, JUNE 21, 2014



SEPTEMBER 23, 1977- JUNE 21, 2008




The Headstone in a Cemetery Never Lies.Today is the anniversary of the sixth year of an eternity in agony for all of us, marking the horrific day, June 21, 2008, that you, Steven Nathaniel Wolkoff, were cruelly killed at the age of 30, your life brutally stolen from you, your family, friends, me. 

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

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 due to the negligence of others.

At some moments in time, I reach a point where there is nothing else to be said about the death of Steven.

Today is one of those moments. 

I posted the other pictures above of my son 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.

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 never have said the traditional Mourners Kaddish prayer for Steven because it's words are meaningless to me. 

I have written my own Mourners Kaddish as a way to honor Steven, and I usually post it every year at this time, thereby testifying that Steven left behind worthy descendants, people 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, 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.

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 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 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 taken us five years to finally successfully legally force the spiteful, hateful San Mateo County Coroner to shortly release your final remains to us for proper burial.

I am sorry that you died in spite of the true 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 erase that you ever lived.

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

I am sorry that the Legal system is weak, corrupt and I have not been able to obtain real justice for you. I failed to accomplish getting 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, saw 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.

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.

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. 

 Hebrew -Amen. Love, Dad.

Sunday, June 15, 2014


Just when I think that I have read about the dumbest thing a person can do, it never fails that more stupid people come forward, doing even more idiotic acts.

This is a story about a 3 year old child Summer Devereaux.

Jennifer Devereaux, a photographer from West Newton, was returning home from New York on Monday when she says the 30-minute trip aboard JetBlue Flight 518 turned into a nightmare for her and her two daughters. 

The plane was sitting on the tarmac at John F Kennedy International Airport for about 30 minutes when Devereaux's  3 year old daughter Summer said she needed to use the restroom.

The airplane is not even close to the front of the waiting line of numerous other airplanes that are waiting to take off, yet the cruel, clearly sadistic, unfeeling female flight attendant refuses to allow the mother to take this child to the bathroom.
Three year olds have smaller bladders and are not yet adept at holding it.

The child then urinates in her seat because she cannot hold it in any longer, and the mother Jennifer Devereaux  wants to get some paper towels from the bathroom to clean her daughter up and also dry the seat. 

Again, the flight attendant shows total stupidity by screaming at the mom, refusing to allow the mother,  to get up and do this.

In fact the flight attendant who hasn't done enough damage already to this 3 year old child, then calls the pilot and informs him that there is a "non compliant" passenger on board and the pilot announces over the P.A. system that the airplane is returning to the gate to turn them over to security.

Now, as hard to believe that this flight attendant could be this much of a moron, but the pilot, C'mon, he supposedly has half a brain alive in order to be able to correctly fly the airplane.

What kind of human being needs to be so self important to bully a 3 year child and  also think that they are being "non compliant?

Basic common sense is sadly a rare concept practiced in today's 'modern" world. Stupidity on the other hand is an epidemic among the people of this world

It seems to me for a long time, give someone a small amount of power, and they will rub your face to the maximum level of cruelty using their own self appointed importance, even with a defenseless child.

These sorts of people, they're not human. They're heads with idiots attached as bodies.

The mother has now finally received an apology from JetBlue about the flight attendant who did nothing to help when her three-year-old had a bathroom emergency on the plane and was forced to urinate in her seat.

                         Watch Video Below

Mother of two Jennifer Devereaux, from West Newton, Massachusetts, has received an apology from JetBlue after a flight attendant did nothing to help when her three-year-old daughter Summer had a bathroom emergency on a plane

The specifics of this heartless incident are:

The mother asked a flight attendant if her toddler could use the bathroom, but in response the woman flight attendant 'snapped' at Devereaux, ordering her to 'sit down.'

But little Summer could not wait any longer and ended up relieving herself in her seat.‘It wasn’t about bad customer service at that point, it was about bad human decency. My daughter was sitting in a pool of urine and I couldn’t do anything about it,’ Deveraux told CBS Boston. ‘And as a mom it just broke my heart.’

The married mother of two had no napkins or towels on hand, so she was forced to use her own sweater to soak up the mess.

The unnamed flight attendant turned around and reported it to the pilot,’ said Devereaux.

As the plane was turned around to the gate, the captain’s voice came on the PA system announcing that there is a non-compliant passenger who would be removed by security guards.

Jennifer Devereaux, who was traveling alone with her two daughters, grew fearful, but fortunately for her an off-duty pilot who was sitting in front of her was able to convince his colleagues in the cockpit to let her stay. 

Thank goodness for the off duty pilot who intervened with the cockpit crew and brought them back to humanity.

Upon returning home to West Newton, the mother of two penned a complaint to the airline demanding an apology for the flight crew's behavior towards her family. 

At first the airline attempted to defend their actions with a statement " that JetBlue said the airline was following Federal Aviation Administration regulations that require all passengers to remain seated while a plane is on the taxiway because of the risk of sudden movement. ”The crew made a safety and FAA regulation-based decision”. 

When that lame excuse brought on hordes of responses world wide that the airplane was not taking off yet for awhile and is it  FAA/Jet blue policy to bully 3 year old children to urinate in their seats?, their public relations department woke up to the truth that their crew had screwed up big time, masquerading as human beings 

Jennifer Devereaux says JetBlue apologized to her Saturday, offered her a full credit and $5,000 to the charity of her choice. 

Hard to believe that something such as this could happen, but it did and power hungry "little" minds know no bounds in letting everyone else know, even a 3 year old, how important they are in deciding what you can or cannot do.

JetBlue says employees will undergo sensitivity training. 

I am certain that will not rehabilitate the mindless crew that allowed this to happen because once and idiot, always an idiot.

They don't need sensitivity training, they need common sense training.

Sunday, June 8, 2014


Photos by Tequila Minsky


A few weeks ago I received an email from my Uncle Joey who is 90 years plus young.

He mentioned in the email to me that there was a story about him in the newspaper with a picture of riding his bike.

There was no article attached to his email and no photo either, so I wrote him back asking for what I thought were the "missing" attachments.

Shortly after, he responded by email, that there "were no attachments and I could find the Greenwich Village newspaper "The Villager" at my local newsstand". 

Since I live quite a distance from him, where could I possibly get a copy of the newspaper?

Through the magic of the Internet, I have been able to find this wonderful story online about my Uncle Joey and his pictures in color, not the drab black & white newspaper photo.

The article describes an amazing man who has aged with dignity, happiness, a love of life, adventure, survival, all serving as an example of inspiration to the rest of us of how the human spirit can continue to keep growing no matter what your age.

My favorite part of the story is his description of why he owns a pink bicycle.

As Albert Einstein said 'Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.'

Keep riding you bike forever Uncle Joey. 

Through rain, snow (but not vortexes)…(CLICK HERE TO READ THE NEWSPAPER STORY)

Photos by Tequila Minsky
Photos by Tequila Minsky

Joe Katz who lives in Silver Towers with his wife, recently turned 90. The retired New York University clinical psychology professor lunches with fellow seniors at Caring Community at Greenwich House, at 20 Washington Square North, and rides his trusty bike there every day. 

He said he likes his pink bicycle because the “homophobes won’t steal it.” He was riding during the winter, wearing his blue coat, below, but took a hiatus during the very cold weather. 

Now he’s back in the saddle again, wearing his red coat, above, riding back and forth between his home and the Caring Community. 

Meanwhile, his wife goes there, too, but she walks. His family reportedly would like him to stop cycling, but to no avail. 

He’s like the Forrest Gump of biking — you just can’t stop him.
The Villager encourages readers to share articles:

Comments (3)

The Wolkoff Family · 2 minutes ago

That's our Uncle Joey. Fearlessly riding his bike in the middle of the winter, exploring new adventures. No seat belts needed as he's an expert biker, plus the blue helmet is color coordinated beautifully with his red coat. The man has class and style!

0 Bikefan's avatar
Bikefan · 4 weeks ago
what a hunk!

But why doesn't he wear a seat belt?? That's my uncle Joe!


Friday, June 6, 2014


Samuel Wolkoff was MY FATHER. Tragically, I hardly remember anything about our relationship as father and son.


Today's Blog is in memory of Samuel Wolkoff, My FATHER, My DAD, tortured and murdered at 42 years of age, I was 10 years old.


It's that time of the year again. Another painfully excruciating grief filled June 6th to mark the date of his execution by pure evil.


A lot of people read my Blog. I suppose they come for many different reasons and I can see they are from all over the world.

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

There are also extremely evil people who visit here. 

They are killers, murderers, organized organized crime family leaders, law enforcement, the curious, sometimes the guilt ridden who are responsible by their actions or inaction's to change the injustices that are specifically detailed in many of my Blog posts.

To me it's very personal when June 6th arrives every year, a very painful day. It has now been 56 agonizing years since my father Samuel Wolkoff was brutally tortured and murdered on June 6th, 1958.

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

MY FATHER was a courageous HERO. 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 moral "systems" to protect him from those that wanted the business that he had built from nothing, with his blood and sweat.

All of this because he believed in a code of  personal ethics, morality, integrity that dictated honor, 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 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 the souls of my family.

Today, June 6th, 2014, the world is infinitely more evil, more corrupt, life is cheaper, scum bags thrive as they take even more of what they want, from whomever they choose.

There was no shame in 1958, no conscience on the part of those that murdered my father. Ironically the murderers are still alive. They have all done extremely well financially and life wise for themselves, their families have all thrived.

There is no shame today in 2014, as we live in a world where corruption reigns supreme, the value of a human life is treated as  even more worthless, and money remains the god that is worshipped by our society.

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 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 system, and that goodness is to be rewarded.

In the end, he was dead wrong and paid for it with his life.

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.

There has, and is a pervasive societal process that stinks like a toxic cesspool, spreading as a deadly metastasizing cancer, which pays homage to those who are corrupt, steal, and become powerfully rich with others money. Those human beings, who are good seem to be ignored, forgotten, and deemed fools for believing in fairness, a code of respect.

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? 

Was it worth the unimaginable pain that he felt as he was tortured slowly for 5 hours? 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?

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


                    HE WILL NEVER REST IN PEACE

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.

Certain facts in this blog post and also in the book "Blood Relation" (see below) have been deliberately edited to protect myself and others. 

To learn more information from the book, YOU CAN CLICK ON THIS LINK, OR THIS LINK.

The following are excerpts taken from the book, "Blood Relation":


"Thanksgiving  morning, 1957, and left on the floor of a parked car in Jersey City. Thirteen  one-dollar bills were fanned out on the backseat above them. The tableau, and the fact that one of the men had taken a bullet in his mouth and one in each eye, led a supervisor to surmise in the Jersey Journal that they'd been killed as payback for a "gangland double cross." Harold's version of events confirmed this. He said that he and a team of mobsters had carried out the killings. The victims had been indiscreet in their handling of a truck full of stolen cobalt, he said, and the Cosa Nostra boss who assigned the hits "wanted to teach every­ one a lesson."

There  was Samuel Wolkoff, whose body had been found on  June 6,1958, in a parking lot near the West Side Highway.He was forty-two years old and a partner in a meat packing company. Harold and two men whom the F.B.I. identified as Genovese soldiers killed him because he supposedly knew the whereabouts of a hoard of stolen cash and jewels to which the Genovese's felt entitled.

Harold had walked into Wolkoff's office on West Fourteenth Street, according to the statements he gave, and claimed to be an N.Y.P.D. de­tective sent to arrest him. He told Wolkoff that a surveillance operation had implicated him in a case, then let him call his wife from a pay phone to tell her he wouldn't be getting home on time. Wolkoff begged not to be put in handcuffs, so Harold held off until they got into his car. Harold's two accomplices were waiting for them in a cream-and-orange Mer­cury.They drove Wolkoff to a house in the town of River Edge, New Jersey, where they alternately tightened and loosened a rope around his neck and questioned him about where the money  and  jewels were. Harold told the others, "This  guy isn't going to tell you anything be­ cause he doesn't  know anything. Let's kill him now." Then, as he re­counted to the agents, he and one of his henchmen took hold of the rope


and strangled Wolkoff to death."Subsequent events," an F.B.I. report notes, "proved  that the 14th Street butcher never did have control of any alleged fund."

On and on it went, over the course of two years,with Harold doling out information in bits and pieces, depending on his mood. When he was unhappy with his prison treatment, the Feds would move him to a new facility. Sometimes, once he had established his own participation in a given murder, Harold would narrate in the third person,  referring to himself as "you know who" or "the other guy." In some of the 302s, as the F.B.I. reports are known, Harold says that he was the person who fired the gun, or tightened the garroting rope, and so on. In others, he gives the credit to a collaborator or leaves his own role vague. In the de­scriptions of the latter type of confession, the agents' play-by-play leads to the moment  that Harold and a couple of his thugs are about to commit a murder, then stares elliptically that the victim "was killed" or "was shot," without naming the trigger man.There are also murders he discusses that he claims to have had no part in, explaining that he has merely heard about them.

"The assumption was, he had a primary involvement in these muders he was talking about," one of the F.B.I.agents who visited him told me, and two of Harold 's lawyers confirmed this. "He  wouldn't have survived in the Mafia, because they couldn't have controlled  him. But they put him to work."

Given the sheer magnitude and dimension of the confessions, some people in the government who did not hear them firsthand were initially skeptical. David M.Satz, Robert Kennedy's newly appointed U.S. At­torney for New jersey at the rime, says that when the F.B.I. first mailed him the interview reports, "I thought this guy was just popping off." John Wilgus, an agent charged with  running down Harold's  claims.

         BLOOD  RELATION-P.262

"gunned down in gangland fashion." The Manhattan District Attorney had called Scanlon "the most vicious goon on the waterfront." He had once been charged with opening fire on a Greenwich Village stoop after a girlfriend dumped him, killing a sixty-six-year-old  woman and a teenage boy.

"When I saw the newspaper, I was purely disgusted," she said. "My image of my father was always this wonderful man, good father, good husband. My mother talks about a soul mate. I cried all the way home. I told my husband and he said, 'There was always rumors about your dad and I didn't  mention it.'"

Scanlon's daughter had never heard of Harold either,and had no in­terest in learning more about her father's death."I don't care if the case is ever solved," she said."It's over, it's in the past, but they should hook him into a chair and electrocute him. I'm sorry. I want to meet the man and spit in his face."

She was by herself emotionally, showing  deep feelings, extreme turns of  impassive, sarcastic,grieving,irritable, and above all ambivalent, even about  the loss of her father. "Maybe we'd have been worse off if my father had lived with his criminal activities and not been killed," she said."I  think my mother thanks God that they didn't do it at the house. She raised five children with good values. There's been no arrests or troubles with the law."

She wanted to know the "nationality" of the name Konigsberg. I told her.  "He  was  Jewish in the Mafia?" she said. "How many people did be kill again? I'll tell you, in my religion, he's not going to heaven with that on his record."

Most recently, I was contacted by Jerry Wolkoff, a man with a surname I immediately recognized. The protracted strangulation of Samuel Wolkoff, his father, was one of the murders Harold had boasted of to the F.B.I.

Jerry's ordeal was no less excruciating than that of the other sur­vivors. He was ten years old when he lost his father, in 1958.When his father's sister heard about it on her kitchen radio, she collapsed from a fatal heart attack, and the family ended up holding a joint funeral. "I became a husband and a father and I became a social worker, but I have a hard time getting close to people," Jerry said. "I been cut open. My kids are angry with me. They say I taught them how to take when somebody pays you a compliment never to believe them. Well, how do you relate to people when your upbringing was such that when you were a boy your father was tied up like a pig and killed?"

About ten years ago, Jerry began to look into the case, filing requests "with every law-enforcement office from here to Guam," and hiring a private eye. Through these efforts, he was able to glean that the prime suspect had been Harold Konigsberg, a detective let him know surrep­titiously that Harold's name, which he had never heard before, was all over a heavily redacted case file-but that all of the government's in­vestigations had been subsequently left to rot. Eventually, his was, too. "I gave up because after a while none of the authorities would return my messages," Jerry said. "Somebody got killed and nobody cared."

And though Jerry had called me looking for answers and I was able to share some with him in the form of Harold's F.B.I. statements, he still couldn't see the point in holding out any hope for resolution. "It's useless," he said when I visited his house on Long Island. "It's  not going to give me back the past forty-seven years with my father."

In his  dining room, Jerry took a picture frame from the credenza and thrust it at me. It  held a faded photograph of his parents at their wed­ding. "Look at this,"he said.
          "Samuel Wolkoff was a person. He Lived."

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.

The autopsy showed that my father struggled so bravely to live, that his eyeballs eventually burst, and he finally stopped breathing. His body then dumped as if it were a piece of garbage, at a desolate gas station, in the middle of the night, thrown out onto the ground. Hold that entire scene in your mind forever as I do, it is I can assure you, gruesome, and haunting in its profoundly graphic endless replay, over and over in my mind.

Oh, as an aside, his sister learned about his murder on the radio news, she immediately dropped dead of a heart attack in front of her four children.

The family never talked about it for 40 plus years, not even to speak my father's name, it is the taboo secret code followed by many families of victims, as if somehow, the unbearable pain would get less. I have spent most of my life investigating his case and eventually shared it with our family. Never have figured out if I did good or bad by reopening the wounds, but I do know, those are permanent gaping, seeping, painful holes, they never were ever closed.

I have been doing more thinking than usual lately, not necessarily a good thing for me, as I yearn to be one of those who are able to practice the art of ignorance is bliss.

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, say, 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

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 particular moment, my fathers's ugly reality, our family's deep trauma of unmeasurable grief, unimaginable suffering, that ended our lives.

When Konigsberg was in prison years ago awaiting trial on extortion charges, he initiated contact with the F.B.I. He began confessing to these F.B.I. agents about these murders, many of which he had committed himself. They suggested the possibility of immunity, but they did not give him immunity for what he told them.  

Youve got ten murders that I was able to find explicit written confessions to from Konigsberg given to the FBI that are in the FBI files, and another nine or ten he additionally confessed to the Manhattan District Attorney's Office.  

These were cases that for reasons, the government didnt want to pursue, and never did.    

These solved murders were never prosecuted, they remain as officially "unsolved" murders of human beings, that nobody in the corrupt, cowardly U.S. Justice system  and Government has cared enough to do anything about them, even though they have the written confessions. 

To this day, law enforcement has continued to cover up the real reasons why nothing was ever been done to prosecute Konigsberg for these murders, including the murder of my father, and those who we know hired him

Harold "Kayo" Konigsberg is now free after spending more than 49 years in prison for another murder he commited. He is currently on parole and living in Florida.

To read more about his parole read my Blog post "I KNEW THERE WAS A REASON"-CLICK HERE.

The two New York State Parole Commissioners Sally Thompson, and Michael Hagler stated nothing on the record about their granting his release.

With good reason. Whatever they might have said would have been an insult to justice.

Sounds strange, even weird, 56 years later why would so much energy and time be spent to make sure that I do not publish the truth of all that really happened to my father.

My requests to do so, have resulted in threats made to me by law enforcement officials and then complete arrogant indifference on their part.The truth is they didn't prosecute him because of many reasons that only "we" know as the ugly truths. 

I am often intrigued as to why over 41,000 people as of this date have visited my Blog.

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

Some of you are the cowardly, but powerfully dangerous scum bags who murdered my father, some 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. 

We all know each other, or about each other. 

You know I have hidden away safely the comprehensive written confidential secret official documents with my honest law enforcement and political friends, the written proof of all the detailed real, truthful, embarrassing facts that you never, ever want revealed.

Not to be concerned about, it will remain buried, as long as nothing else happens to my family, myself, and other loved ones. We know the deal that protects all of us, that nothing else will be done by any of us about my father's murder, the reasons 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 us in my family, and in return, we won't fuck with any of you by making the real truth public.

Justice not served, justice not given, nothing complicated, nothing new, an innocent, good person, a human life stolen without any remorse

I did the best I could to obtain that justice. My father's error 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 deed he did, paid back by these very same, who had him murdered. Horrifically ugly, but brutally true, and they all got away with it, didn't bother any of them, never mattered to them, not an ounce of guilt on their part.

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. 

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. 

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

 I never stop thinking, Why? Why Him???