MOM-DOROTHY WOLKOFF

 

  

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.

Hug me strongly, and carry me home

Dear Mom, one more kiss again

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: http://www.idlehearts.com/?p=24438I 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.
 

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, and inspire us. My mother was all that and more. How lucky I am.

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. 

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. 

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.

My mother literally saved my life many times, she was one of a kind, I will always remember and love her for that. I told my mom in many different ways over the years how much she eventually contributed to my taking the correct productive path with my life all because of her. 

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

Whatever is good in me, came from my mother. 

I love and miss you mom.

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

 

                                                     

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

Friday, June 21, 2024

Today is the anniversary of the 16th 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. (CLICK ON HERE FOR STEVEN NATHANIEL WOLKOFF MEMORIAL PAGE).

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 16 years ago.

It seems so much longer than 16 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 16th 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.

  -Amen. Love, Dad.   

BRING HERSH GOLDBERG-POLIN- AMERICAN/ISRAELI HOSTAGE AND ALL THE HOSTAGES HOME

 BRING HOSTAGE HERSH GOLDBERG-POLIN HOME, BRING ALL THE HOSTAGES HOME!

(For many hours I have done exhaustive online research about hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin and his parents, especially his mother Rachel Goldberg. I have pieced together below the personal story of Hersh Goldberg-Polin and his parents Rachel Goldberg and Jonathan Polin from various sources. This post are the specific words as spoken by Rachel Goldberg).

I hope that you take the time to read it and understand better what they are all experiencing as human beings and the reasons that it is so important to NOT FORGET ABOUT THE HOSTAGES AND TO BRING THEM HOME.

Rachel Goldberg is the mother of 23 yr. old Hersh Goldberg-Polin who was kidnapped and remains a hostage of hamas.

A grenade blew off part of his arm at the deadly Nova Music festival in Israel.

"When people ask Rachel Goldberg how she is doing following the kidnapping of her 23 yr. old first born and only son, Hersh Goldberg-Polin , she speaks plainly: "Terrible".

Hersh, an American-Israeli born in Berkeley, California, was at the deadly Nova music festival in Israel. where more than 260 attendees were massacred by hamas terrorists.

While taking cover in a bomb shelter, a grenade blew off part of Hersh's arm from the elbow down. When hamas ordered those who could walk to leave the shelter, HERSH was among them, and his phone would soon ping from across the border in gaza, where authorities say he is being held hostage.

His PARENTS, WHO WERE BORN AND RAISED IN Chicago and moved to Israel 15 years ago, haven't heard from him since.

Rachel said " I don't live in the universe you live in anymore. I live in an alternate universe. My husband Jon and I, we have brand new 23/7 jobs: All we do is try to help save Hersh.

I get up in the morning and I go have a cup of tea, and then I go to get dressed and say to Jon, "I'll go do my cry now." And I cry and scream into my T-shirt or whatever it is. And then I'm like , all right, and go to work for the next 20 hours.

Rachel and Jon have also traveled all over the world to bring attention to their hostage son and the other hostages.

They met privately with President Biden, the Pope, UN leaders sand numerous politicians, begging for them to help free their son and all the other hostages

The Wednesday before October 7th was a Jewish holiday, Simchat Torah which is Hebrew for "the joy of Torah." It is a celebration , often accompanied by dancing and singing, to mark the completion of the annual reading of this section of the Bible. Each week of the year, congregations around the world read a particular portion of the Torah, called a parashah, in a specified order.

They went to synagogue. Hersh danced with the Torah. We went to our friends and had this great meal. Around 11 p.m. he kissed me, he hugged our hosts goodbye, and he left to go be with his buddy, Aner, to go camp out somewhere.

And it's Israel-I didn't say "give me your coordinates. They're not babies, They are 23 yrs. old. And that was the last time I saw him.

Saturday morning I was drinking a cup of tea in the kitchen and close to 8 a.m., the sirens went off in Jerusalem. And so I quickly went to wake up my girls who were still asleep to get them into our bomb shelter.

After we didn't hear anything and 10 minutes passed, I went upstairs to get my phone and there were two texts from Hersh.

One said "I love you" and the second said , "I'm sorry."

And I knew instantly that something horrible was about to happen. Most 23 yr. old boys at 8:10 a.m. in the morning aren't writing to their parents, "I love you, and I'm sorry". I mean to me, it was just horrible.

And then we had to figure out, well, where are they? And my daughter started to quickly do some online research, She said, "Oh, there's a nature music festival happening in the south"

A third Friend of theirs wrote back immediately, 'Yes, they are there."

And then we were just desperate trying to figure out, how do we find him? Subsequently we received a picture that showed that he had made it to a bomb shelter. So we were very happy to hear that because it was someone else's picture that they posted on social media.

We could see Hersh on the side, midway in the room, and we saw Aner in the doorway, and there were about 30 people mashed in there. And what we came to find out is that hamas came to the door and started throwing in hand grenades.

Everyone who we spoke to who did walk out alive and was not held captive has told us they would not ne alive if it wasn't for Aner because he kept catching the grenades and throwing them out, very, very fast. He was also trying to fight the terrorists who had submachine guns that they were shooting. He was fighting them with his hands and his feet, He was right in the front of the door.

We heard this from people who pretended that they were dead under the bodies because there were so many people killed. There was a lull and smoke from the grenades, and then hamas walked in and they said "'Whoever can stand up. stand up."

And there were 3 young men who stood up. One of them was Hersh, and all 3 of the eyewitnesses who were hiding and playing dead said that Hersh's arm below the elbow had been blown off, but he had managed to tie on a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. They all said he didn't cry out. He didn't make any sound.

The police and the army and some representatives here here confirmed that Hersh was kidnapped by hamas and a subsequent hamas video confirmed he was alive.

I try to picture my son tying a tourniquet tight enough enough if your missing a whole limb, by yourself, not having access to antibiotics , pain numbing medications.

We soon got confirmation that Aner's body was found.

So on a Friday we went to bury him with his family. Hersh and Aner grew up as little boys together, there are so many cute pictures of them through the years doing fun things.

Their crime was going to a music festival.

When i I'm sitting with these other American families who have loved ones who are being held hostage, it's children, young men and older people. I mean this is not recognizable what is happening now.

I am hopeful and I am praying. I am a mother who would love nothing more than my son to be home, and that's all I can be focused on. Hersh is my only son and he is my first child. He is what made me a mother. I feel like God could have given him to anyone and he have me the perfect son for me.

Who is Hersh? He has a dry, dark, but not mean sense of humor. Hersh is a voracious reader, so he knows lots of trivia, random things. He's been obsessed since first grade with geography. He has been planning a this huge trip around the world since he was a little boy.

This past summer in Europe, he went to six different music festivals by himself, he made friends along the way.

Everywhere he went with his tiny little backpack, because who needs more than two shirts? At some point my husband Jon said to him. "Please tell me you are changing your underwear.

Hersh is a really kind kind person and very, very respectful. I realized in this last week that I have never heard him yell. He is a very even keeled person, and I really, really hope he's a survivor."

If you want to help bring back Hersh and the other hostages there are letters and other actions that you can do, other ways to advocate for the safe return of all the remaining hostages.

https://www.facebook.com/BringHershHome

If you want to help bring back Hersh and the other hostages 

THE TORTURE OF REGENT EXAMS IN NEW YORK STATE

NYS-Anyone who lives or lived in New York State who has graduated or not graduated High School will always remember the archaic requirement of having to pass the Regents Exams in order to receive a High School Diploma. Regents exams in NYS began in the year 1878 as a requirement to receive a high school diploma.

That's right folks, the so called "progressive" State of NY has been doing this standardized torture of its students SINCE 1878 and claiming it as a way to measure a students educational "competence" to graduate high school. Students over all these years have been victims of totally unnecessary stress, anxiety, and demands forced on them to pass these worthless tests or fail to graduate with a diploma.

Well guess what? In the infinite wisdom of current NYS education officials they are PROPOSING the elimination of the mandatory Regents Tests requirement and replacing it with a menu of numerous other options to test a students educational competence.

Maybe, just maybe they have finally realized that what these tests measures was how good you are at taking tests and NOT necessarily how "educated" you actually are. High school classes are often "taught" on the basis of what you needed to know in order to pass the Regents tests and NOT to encourage exploring the vast universe of all the education available out there that doesn't get covered in the Regents tests.

However, now in the year of 2024 it will take a lot of time for these "brilliant" education bureaucrats to actually make this happen.

It's not enough that this byzantine requirement has remained mandatory in NYS for 146 years to torture students but it still remains as a proposal while CONTINUING to being studied more by even higher educational "experts" in the NYS educational chain of command before they may decide to approve it as a Law.

Say, like more than at least a year from now, because it takes time for these super experts to explore the obvious.

"Though state officials did not take action on the proposed changes on Monday, they are moving toward implementing the 12 recommendations that a 64-member Blue Ribbon Commission unveiled last year, which included calling for assessment options beyond the Regents exams, broadening access to career and technical education, creating additional credit requirements in subjects like cultural competence, writing, STEM, and more, as well as other changes.

Education officials will present a full plan for implementation to the Regents in November, with projected timelines as well as further details about possible fiscal and regulatory implications of the changes"

Yes, especially explore the "possible FISCAL and regulatory implications of the (proposed) changes". You know in the business of educational testing it is a lucrative, money making scheme for all those involved as being part of the educational testing cartel system.

Hey, but slow progress is better than nor progress, right? 

Perhaps NYS will eventually or not get around to making these changes by the year 2050?

Time will tell.

https://www.chalkbeat.org/newyork/2024/06/10/education-officials-unveil-new-proposals-for-graduation-diploma-requirements/?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR2op3l4WOZsZBeOe3XW4K8T4sIzaYr5gjBQulUEkDuxEDGDVU4J5YlsWVI_aem_ARYpKItQTCxenNINmXyQ7Ajrb1LSqwldP5mNtSqnOsF-d13wyTaGJ7MnGeidP5eeEB3TP87PZoBuSdaYaQ1BTsOD

SAMUEL WOLKOFF-66 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-SCROLL TO P.130 AND P.262-264). (ALSO CLICK HERE FOR 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 66 agonizing years since my father Samuel Wolkoff was brutally tortured and murdered.

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

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 continue to do so to this day.

In doing so, those of you in law enforcement have betrayed your sworn oaths to defend justice by deliberately participating in covering up the truth, lying, withholding documented criminal evidence, and obstructing justice in this capital offense of murder, which has no statute of limitations. You have placed your own personal needs above that of the value of human lives.

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, 2024, 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, their children, and family members are still alive. We know who you ALL ARE. You have done extremely well financially and live with a high standard of living for themselves with their families having 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 his being a hard working, good person was to be rewarded by having a good life.


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 "missing" 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.

The autopsy showed that my father struggled so bravely to live, that his eyeballs eventually burst, and he finally stopped breathing. His body then deposited at a desolate gas station, in the middle of the night, thrown out onto the ground, as a piece of garbage. Hold that entire scene in your mind forever, it is I can assure, 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, toxic, painful holes, they never really were ever closed.

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, honest, 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 209,700 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 to this Blog who are criminals, the very worst evildoers of all kinds, 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.