text:
The Road Not Taken
T. J. Robertson
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2017 T. J. Robertson
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If the braided, peaked cap of the doorman, a splinter of a lad with freckles and a bad case of acne, was too big for him, his uniform was even more so. In a single motion I flashed my badge and said, "I'm Detective Jack Bradford of the New York City police. Unless I'm mistaken your name's Richard Cooper, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir," he replied with a quizzical look.
"I'd like to have a word with you, if I may?"
"Of course."
"You knew Miss Parker, didn't you?"
"She lived on the top floor here." In a single motion he paused, whirled around, and opened the door for one of the residents of the posh apartment building." Then, turning back to me, he said wistfully, "Oh, what wonderful person she was. So rich and famous, yet so humble and modest. She never passed by me without saying, 'Hello, Richard, how are you?'" Then, he hesitated and, with a grimace, gestured upwards. "Not like so many of the others up there who think their you-know-what's ice cream." Suddenly, tears welled up in his eyes. "It's horrible what happened; I can't believe somebody would do that to her."
I broke the awkward silence that followed. "Did she have many visitors?"
"Look, Detective," he replied, wiping his eyes with a cuff of his uniform, "I think you should talk with Frank Woods."
"He's in charge of building security, isn't he?" I offered.
He nodded. "Because he keeps tabs on who comes and goes here, I take orders from him." he replied, abruptly turning around. "I'm sure he'll be of more help to you than I could ever be."
Before I could respond, he, visibly shaken, disappeared inside the lobby of the building.
* * *
Frank Woods was tall, lean, and mean. With his crew cut, piercing eyes, and taut jaw he might have been mistaken for a drill sergeant.
Once again I identified myself and fired away. "I'd like to talk with you about Stephanie Parker."
"Terrible wasn't it?" he said in a raw, harsh voice. "Have you any leads on who did her in?"
"Unfortunately, no," I replied with a wag of my head, "I was hoping you might help me out."
"I'll do whatever I can," he replied through gritted teeth. "If the bastard thinks he's going to get away with murder on my turf, he's got another thought coming."
The venom in his tone did not go unnoticed. "Because she was a film star, I assume she had lots of visitors."
"If you're referring to her fans," he said, shaking his head, "I didn't allow any of them inside the building."
"Although she devoted a lot of time to them outside theatres and at film festivals, she liked her privacy here."
"And it was your duty to be sure she got it?" I observed. "So you kept her fans away?"
He nodded. "And the paparazzi, too; particularly Thad Tillerson."
Because the name drew a grimace, I asked, "What was the problem with him?"
"You won't believe the disguises that pain in the ass used to try to get up to see her. Do you know he once dressed up as a woman and said he was her sister?"
"Nobody as beautiful as Stephanie Parker could have a sister that ugly," he replied with a derisive grin. "So, I nailed him."
"What about her friends?"
He shrugged. "She only had a few close ones."
"Who were they?"
For a moment he hesitated, lost in thought. "Jessica Martin, Zachary Withers, and Jason Hurley often came to see her."
"Can you tell me more about each of them?"
He nodded perfunctorily. "If you ask me Jessica Martin, her agent, was the best of the lot--always pleasant and friendly. As for Zachary Withers, alias Santa Clause, all I can say is that he was living in the Hollywood world of make believe. Oh, and whatever you do, don't call him Zack."
"He's the director who discovered her, isn't he?"
He wagged his head. ""Of that, he never lets anyone forget." I laughed and he said, "And as for Jason Hurley, he's an actor--and not a good one--who thinks he's God's gift to women. And talk, he never stops, and, of course, the subject is always himself."
I found myself asking, "Was he dating her?"
"She was too smart to get hooked up with the likes of him," he replied with a disdainful laugh. "But he refused to take no for an answer and she was too nice to give him the boot."
* * *
I stopped abruptly before the open door bearing the words: Jessica Martin, Theatrical Agent. Dwarfing the desk behind which she sat in the Spartanly furnished small office was a short, portly woman in her fifties with bright eyes and a perpetual smile. "Are you Jessica Martin?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied, looking up from her desk and quirking a bushy eyebrow. "And you?"
"I'm inspector Jack Bradford," I replied, flashing my badge, "and would like to have a few words with you about Stephanie Parker?"
"Oh, of course," she replied, her smile dimming. "Have you found her killer?"
"Not yet but we're working on it." I broke the silence that followed. "I understand you were her agent."
"Oh, how lucky I was!" she exclaimed, the smile once again lighting up her moon face. "Most movie stars, as I'm sure you know, are driven from birth. In grammar school they have a leading part in Jack and the Bean Stalk; in middle school, A Christmas Carol; and in high school, A Midsummer Night's Dream. If they don't get into Juilliard or Carnegie Mellon they settle for a college with a decent theatre arts program. Then, after graduation, they wait on tables and, meanwhile, at the urging of people like me, send an endless stream of audition tapes to film directors until they're discovered."
"Frankly, I didn't know that was the way it worked," I confessed.
Her smile turned into a grin. "Stephanie, a Maine country girl at heart, had none of those experiences," she went on. "The truth is becoming an actress wasn't even a blip on her radar screen. Her true love was baking." She paused and shook her head. "Can you believe it?"
"Anything's possible," I offered with a shrug.
"And bake she could--cookies, pies, and cakes being her specialties. Upon graduation she got a job at a local bakery where her pastries soon were in great demand. Tired of fighting off her boss's amorous advances, she left and went into business for herself. Then, as fate would have it, one morning she baked a wedding cake for an actor and actress who were both filming and tying the knot in Rangely. When she showed up to deliver it, the director couldn't take his eyes off her. Overwhelmed by her beauty and poise, he became hell-bent on signing her to a contract on the spot. At first she refused but he persisted and, at last, she relented." She hesitated and shook her head in disbelief. "The rest is history."
"As I understand it, her first film, The Portrait of a Lover, was a success," I offered.
"A box-office smash," she replied with a nod, "and after that the truth is she didn't need me or any other agent; for, offers came pouring in." She paused and heaved a heavy sigh. "So, all I did was to take care of what she considered minor details."
"Minor details?" I probed.
"Money matters," she said with a chuckle. "Fortunately, before I became an agent, I worked as an accountant." Again she hesitated and, then, beaming across at me, went on. "Because, to her, money was a means of helping others, she began building health clinics and schools in America's poorest rural areas. A lot of her largesse went to the indigent in New England--her home state of Maine, of course, garnering a good part of it. Appalachia and states like Louisiana and Georgia, however, were also beneficiaries."
"Frankly, I didn't know she was a philanthropist," I offered. "Thank the Good Lord for people like her."
"Oh, she was that and a lot more," she replied, setting her chubby interlocked fingers onto the desk. "Had she wished, she could have lived a life of high society and, like Grace Kelly, become the princess or queen of some beautiful and magical far-off land. For, an endless line of suitors from all over sought her hand in marriage. But because humility not royalty was her trademark, she would shoo them away as one does pesky flies on a hot, humid summer day."
I broke the silence that followed, asking, "Did she have any enemies?"
"Enemies?" Laughter rippled across her ample midriff. "Are you kidding? Everybody loved her."
"Apparently there was someone who didn't."
She thought for a moment and, shaking her head, replied, "I still find that hard to believe."
* * *
After much huffing and puffing, Zachary Withers finally agreed to meet with me at his apartment, which, I might add, was just a stone's throw away from the victim's. Frank Woods was right about him; he was, indeed, a roly-poly, white-bearded Santa Clause look-alike who lived in that fantasy land conjured up in movie scripts. The pastel walls of his spacious abode were adorned with photos of him on the red carpets of Hollywood and its tables, laden with the many tangible awards and honors he had received for past films. Frankly, the place bore more of a likeness to a mausoleum than a residence.
As soon as we were both seated--I on a leather sofa and he on a matching armchair--he asked, "Now, Detective Bradford, how may I help you?"
"I want to talk with you about Stephanie Parker."
"Oh, what a loss," he lamented. "Only once in a lifetime does an actress like her come along; they are born not made."
"I understand you discovered her?"
He nodded. "With her beckoning blue eyes and prominent cheek bones Steffie was strikingly good-looking. Never before had I beheld such beauty."
It struck me as odd that he took offense at being called Zack instead of Zachary but did not hesitate to refer to Stephanie as Steffie.
"I was filming up in Rangely, Maine and two members of the cast decided to tie the knot there." He was reminiscing in a voice filled with awe. "At the time she was running a bakery and showed up with the wedding cake. I couldn't take my eyes off her; for I had never seen such beauty. And believe me, as a director, I've been around a lot of attractive women."
"I'm sure you have."
"I wanted to sign her to a contract on the spot but, smiling in that bewitching way which was to become her trademark, she refused," he said, tugging on his beard. "I, however, persisted; for I knew only too well that natural beauty of hers would light up the screen."
"And that it did," I observed dryly.
"Yes, I finally succeeded in getting her to sign a contract," he said, heaving a heavy sigh. "Believe me, it was no easy task."
"But well worth the effort," I offered.
"That's for sure," he retorted with a wistful smile. "If Helen of Troy was the classical Greek beauty who launched a thousand ships, then Steffie of Rangely was the modern American one who captured the hearts of millions of movie goers. In her film debut, The Portrait of a Lover, she became an overnight success.
"And several others followed."
He nodded. "Just before her death I sent her a script I thought was made to order for her but she turned it down."
"I'm surprised you couldn't get her to change her mind," I quipped, "for, in the past, as I understand it, your powers of persuasion would always wear her down."
Leaning back on his chair, he set his hands on his potbelly. "This time she was adamant and, to my surprise, said she was having second thoughts about the film business."
My ears perked up. "Did you ask her why?"
"I had planned to discuss it with her over dinner but it was not to be," he replied, his face clouding over, "for, Fate intervened."
* * *
With his swarthy complexion, unruly eyebrows, and dark, darting eyes, I now realized why Jason Hurley had so much success playing the part of the villain or lothario in films and on stage. From the moment I entered the theater where he was rehearsing and introduced myself, I took a dislike to him. "You knew Stephanie Parker?" I asked, getting right to the point.
"Of course," he retorted, annoyed at the question. "I knew her better than anybody else. After all, we starred together in several films. The chemistry between the two of us drew people to the movie houses in droves. Of course, unlike me, she had no background or training in the theatre arts."
"Of course she didn't."
My sarcasm did not go unnoticed and he snapped, "Hey, I'll have you know I took her under my wing and taught her the ropes." He paused and, in a gesture of self-importance, straightened up and threw his shoulders back. "And she couldn't have had a better teacher; for I'm a graduate of Juilliard and know my craft."
I could not resist needling him. "I'm sure you do but, judging by the success of her films, apparently she was a fast learner."
"Yes, I'll grant you that but under my tutelage," he insisted smugly, "she became the highest paid actress in the country." He paused and, unable to hide his envy, said, "Do you know she was earning ten million dollars a picture?"
"That's obviously more than you were making," I replied, sticking the needle in deeper. Taken aback, he had no retort and for a selfishly personal reason I found myself asking, "Were the two of you by any chance dating?"
"Frankly, Mr. Bradford, when it comes to women, I can assure you that I'm the hunted, not the hunter." His words were spoken with that arrogance I had come to loath. Then, to my surprise, he confessed, "In her case, however, I admit to having become the hunter."
"So, she rejected your advances?" I blurted out.
"Reject me? No way," he protested with a hollow laugh. "Had I been able to spend more time with her I have no doubt I would've won her hand in marriage."
My brow wrinkled into a frown. "You wanted to marry her?"
"From the moment I first set eyes on her, I knew she was the one for me," he replied with a wag of his head.
* * *
Smartly dressed in a three-piece suit and bedecked with gold--a tie clip, a watch, and several rings, Thad Tillerson might have been mistaken for a banker rather than a photographer. In marked contrast, however, his cramped studio, strewn with discarded film and photo equipment might have been taken for the town dump. Poking my head through the open door, I asked, "Mr. Tillerson, may I have a word with you?"
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, stepping back from the full-length mirror before which he was admiring himself.
"I'm Detective Jack Bradford of the NYC police," I replied, once again flashing old faithful.
Throwing up his hands, he asked, "Now what did I do?"
"Nothing as far as I know but frankly your guilt complex is making me suspicious."
"Oh, yeah," he replied, adjusting his tie clip, "suspicious of what?"
"You knew Stephanie Parker, didn't you?"
He nodded. "Along with millions of others. So what's the big deal?"
"You were stalking her," I snapped, "they weren't."
"Whoa, there," he protested, glaring at me. "I'm no stalker; I'm a photographer."
"On several occasions, using disguises, you tried to get into her apartment building."
"Oh, you've obviously been talking to that mall cop reject who prowls the halls there and thinks he's Dick Tracy," he accused, gesturing wildly. "He's lucky I didn't sue him for assault and battery."
"He caught you trespassing with felonious intent," I persisted.
"Felonious intent, my eye!" he declared. "I was just trying to take some pictures."
"In disguise, no less." I shook my head for emphasis.
"Hey, she was at the top of her game and I wanted to get some photos of her," he pleaded. "Do you know what the media's willing to pay for such shots?"
"Big bucks, I imagine."
He nodded. "Taking photos of the rich and famous for big bucks is what I do for a living."
* * *
All I knew as I began questioning her friends and acquaintances was that Stephanie Parker was a popular, highly paid actress, who, upon opening the door of her swanky apartment, overlooking New York's Central Park, got her head blown off. As a member of the bureau of detectives, I was given the task of finding out who killed her and why.
Although I do upon occasion rent a film, I must confess that I am not a Hollywood zealot. Were one to ask me if I liked Ryan Gosling or Emma Stone, he or she would draw a blank stare. As I began delving into the victim's background via the internet, however, I became intrigued with her. All the more so as I, in search of clues, rummaged through her belongings.
Her apartment, though expensive and well-furnished, had an elegant simplicity about it. Mementos of Maine were everywhere--lobster traps, buoys, and marble statues of sea-faring people. The pictures adorning the walls were all seascapes. Although she was physically in the Big Apple, it was obvious her heart was back in Maine.
Because vanity was not a weakness of hers, I found just one likeness of her in the apartment--a portrait that hung over the fireplace. I learned that Zachary Withers, the director, who discovered her, had an artist friend paint it and insisted that she hang it there.
Although I gleaned nothing of consequence from my conversations with her friends and acquaintances, in the days that followed back in my office I used every available resource to delve into their backgrounds. Much to my chagrin, however, I came up empty again. A brief appraisal of each of them follows.
Richard Cooper, the splinter of a doorman, had grown up in an orphanage. The greatest pleasure in his sad and lonely life was the cheerful greeting and radiant smile he received daily from the deceased. When some of the occupants of the building complained that he was not regal enough to serve as a doorman in such a luxurious edifice, she rallied to his defense and saved his job.
Because the murder took place in an apartment building that Frank Woods was hired to protect, he took it as a personal affront. His high regard for the victim made it all the more so. At one time he was a promising welter-weight boxer with a record of eighteen wins and no losses. In his next fight he kept his winning streak alive with a third-round knockout. His opponent, however, failed to regain consciousness and Frank, remorseful, took off his gloves and never again entered the ring. Now, being a devoted husband and father of two children occupied most of his time.
If Jessica Martin was the mother the deceased never had, then the latter was the daughter for whom the spinsterish agent always longed. The truth is she had but one client--Stephanie Parker on whom she doted. Nothing else in her life mattered.
As for Zachary Withers, he discovered her and directed the films that brought her fame and fortune. His life, too, revolved around her and, despite her being his bread and butter, he would have directed her films for nothing. His reaction upon learning that she might be leaving the business, however, was worth noting.
Let me say up front that I did not like Jason Hurley. His arrogance and egotism were more than my flesh and blood could endure. Angry over her rejection of him, could he have murdered her? Possibly. Because he was married thrice before, I am more inclined to believe he wanted to add her to his list of romantic conquests. Lest I lose my objectivity, in his case I must tread carefully.
I admired Thad Tillerson's frankness. He did not pretend to be anyone other than a photographer who hustles a buck chasing and filming the rich and famous. In doing so, he often oversteps the bounds of both propriety and the law. Being gay, he had no motive to harm Stephanie Parker.
Like Zachary Withers before me, I, too, became a frequent visitor to Stephanie Parker's apartment and every time I opened the door and entered, the warmth of her smile both greeted me and lit up the room. I lost track of the number of hours I spent on my favorite armchair, staring up at her portrait. As I studied her more intently, I detected a trace of an enigmatic, Mona Lisa-like sadness within her smile. That, however only added to her allure.
Late one afternoon as so often I was wont to do, I was sitting on the armchair and staring up at her all the while listening to the piano arrangement of Mia and Sebastian's Song. I must confess that one of the unintended results of my search into her background was the kindling of an interest in the theatre. Of course, by now I had seen all of her movies and admit that, being overwhelmed by her beauty, I could not take my eyes off her. But, for some strange reason La La Land--along with its hauntingly beautiful musical score--became my favorite.
As I was listening to Mia and Sebastian's Song for the umpteenth time, little did I know I was about to get the shock of my life; for suddenly a key could be heard sliding into the lock on the entry door to the apartment. Jumping to my feet, I drew my .38 caliber Beretta and hurried over to the side of the door.
No sooner had the intruder opened it and entered than I exclaimed, "Don't move or I'll shoot."
"Who--who are you?" the voice in the darkness stammered.
Then, flicking on the light switch, I recoiled, dropped my gun, and, in disbelief, found myself staring across at Stephanie Parker. Regaining a tad of my composure, I stammered in turn, "I'm--I'm Detective Jack Bradford of the New York City police department." Somehow I managed to pull out and wave my badge.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I was just about to ask you the same question."
I could not take my eyes off her. For, with tresses of tawny blond hair cascading down upon her shoulders, the hue of her blue eyes mirroring that of Wedgwood China, and satiny skin sloping gently downward from high cheek bones, she was even more beautiful in person than in her portrait or films.
"I just happen to live here." Her sarcasm did not go unnoticed.
"We--we thought you were dead."
"Well, as you can see, I'm alive and well." With indignation she set her pocketbook down on an end table and took off her gloves.
"Yes, that you are and I thank the Good Lord," I murmured, my gaze firmly fixed upon her every move. "Unfortunately, however, a woman, whom we thought was you, was murdered here."
She turned abruptly and faced me, the fragrance of her perfume wafting over me. "What are you talking about?" she demanded.
"A murder that, as I said, took place here."
"Who was the victim?" she asked, her brow crinkling with concern.
"Now that you're alive and well," I replied with a shrug, "that we don't know."
"Didn't you do an autopsy?"
"We didn't think it was necessary?"
"You didn't think it was necessary?" Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.
"Look, Miss Parker," I replied, choosing my words with care, "I was hoping to spare you the gory details but suffice to say the victim was shot point blank in the face with a .44 Magnum as she was opening the door."
She cringed. "What you're saying is that her face was beyond recognition?"
I nodded. "So it was assumed she was you. Height, weight, hair color, and everything else matched your description."
"I can't believe it," she said, shaking her head.
I broke the awkward silence that followed, asking, "Nobody else lives here with you, do they?"
"No," she replied, sitting down on the sofa.
I resumed my position on my favorite armchair. "Does anyone else have a key?"
She hesitated and thought a moment. "Oh no!" she gasped.
"What's wrong?"
"Laurie Cutler." Nervously, she clasped and unclasped her hands.
"Who's she?"
"She was my best friend in high school," she murmured. "As a matter of fact, she worked for me and took over the bakery when I left to try my hand at acting. She has a key; I told her to drop in whenever she was in the city." She choked back a cry and looked across at me. "Oh, I hope it wasn't her."
Suddenly feeling a need to comfort her, I got up and sat down next to her on the sofa. "Look, we don't know who the victim was," I said, putting an arm around her. "So, until a positive identification can be made, try to think positively."
"I'll call her right now," she exclaimed.
As she tried to rise, I prevented her. "For safety's sake, I'd rather you not do that," I said in a low, composed voice." "I'll find out about her status and get back to you."
"How long will it take?" she asked, the lines of concern between her eyes deepening.
"Not long." I pulled her more closely to me. "And as soon as I get an answer, I'll let you know."
Lightly, she toyed with a loose tendril of hair on her cheek. "Promise?"
"I promise." My eyes moved downwards and met hers. "Now I want you to stop worrying." Breaking the silence that followed, I asked, "If you don't mind me asking, where have you been for the past week?"
Heaving a heavy sigh, she replied, "Down on Cape Cod."
"Was anybody with you?"
"No, I was alone," she said, a momentary look of discomfort crossing her face, "I had to get away."
Suddenly I was in my detective mode, hurling questions at her. "Why Cape Cod?"
"Because I--I--" She hesitated and suddenly I found myself under the spell of those beautiful eyes of hers. "I had some serious thinking to do and there's something about the coastal waters that I find soothing and refreshing."
"That must be the Maine influence." After that quip I turned more serious. "What was bothering you?" I asked.
She got up and began pacing back and forth. "I'm unhappy with what I'm doing."
"But you've been so successful," I replied, again feeling a need to comfort her.
"It depends on your definition of success." She stopped her pacing and gestured around the room. "If it's hard cash, fancy living quarters, or gaudy furnishings, then I'm successful." As an afterthought, she added, "And, oh, don't forget my star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame." Again those beautiful blue eyes of hers held my brown ones captive. "But that's not my definition."
"Oh?" I offered weakly.
"What's yours, Detective Bradford?"
"Unlike you," I confessed, "I've never given it much thought."
"Well, take a stab at it," she persisted, peering down at me.
I shrugged. "I've already achieved a part of what I consider success."
"What's that?"
"Becoming a detective." I hesitated and thought a moment. "Too, I equate retiring with a pension that keeps a roof over my head and puts food on the table with being successful." Upon further reflection I added, "Oh, and as my mother, God bless her, so often said, "If you have your health, you have everything."
"That's wonderful." Rewarding me with a smile, she said in a hushed whisper, "If riches increase, set not your heart thereon."
How long I sat there with her hovering angelically above me, I cannot say. All I recall is glancing at my watch and jumping to my feet, declaring, "Oops, I've got to be going but before I do, I want you to lock your door and stay inside."
"I can't do that," she protested, "I have things to do."
"Hey, whoever killed that woman most likely mistook her for you," I pleaded. "So, when he finds out you're alive, he'll come after you again."
Momentarily lost in thought, she said, "I have some friends who can stay with me?"
"If they're who I think they are I wouldn't recommend that," I protested.
"Who are they, then?" she retorted, quirking an eyebrow.
"Jessica Martin, Zackary Withers, and Jason Hurley."
Now it was her smile that tantalized me. "You know a lot about me, don't you?"
I was tempted to answer, "Not as much as I'd like." but replied instead, "That's what I get paid to do. Besides, they, among others, are suspects in the murder."
"Don't be ridiculous," she protested, throwing up her hands.
* * *
Keeping Stephanie's resurrection hushed up proved to be impossible. She, to her credit, strong-willed as she was and chomping at the bit, held her tongue. The police department, however, was unwilling to keep my revelation under wraps and soon all hell broke loose. The straw that broke the camel's back, as the saying goes, was the newspaper headline--Stephanie Parker Rises From The Dead. The rest of the article was a rant about sloppy police procedures and long waits for forensic evidence. The mayor was on the phone demanding answers from the chief. Of course, Stephanie Parker, being a movie star, did not help matters any; for it put the department in the glare of publicity.
One positive result, however, did come of all the tumult; I got a quick response on the DNA of the murder victim. And, true to my word, I hurried over to Stephanie's to share the information with her. No sooner had I entered the apartment than she was on her feet, demanding, "What did you find out?"
Leading her back to her favorite seat, I replied, "Please sit down and I'll tell you."
Collapsing onto the sofa, she cried, "It was her, wasn't it?"
I took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and sat down next to her. "Yes."
All I remember after that is holding her in my arms, wiping away her tears, and caressing her tawny hair which tumbled in long graceful curves over her delicate shoulders.
"All because of me she's dead," she lamented, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
"We don't know that for a fact," I protested.
"Why are you treating me like a two-year old and sugar coating it," she snapped. "She was mistaken for me; that's it plain and simple."
I shattered the stillness that followed. "What if somebody wanted to kill her?"
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you serious?"
"But why do so in my apartment?"
I shrugged. "That I don't know."
"With all due respect, Detective Bradford, it's all conjecture on your part," she accused.
"Conjecture is a good part of a detective's work," I replied, nodding. "In that regard, I want you to know I'm going to be out of town for a few days."
"Oh?" There was disappointment in the look on her face as well as in the sound of her voice. "May I ask where you're going?"
"To your old haunt."
"Rangely, Maine?" she said with a quizzical squint.
I gave a firm wag of my head. "I want to consult in person with the police there."
Those beautiful blue eyes of hers took my measure. "One thing for sure, Jack," she said, "you're persistent and thorough."
That was the first time she called me by my first name and words cannot describe how good it made me feel. "While I'm gone, the police will be checking in on you. I've also asked Frank Woods, the security officer here, to keep an eye out.
Her smile widened in approval. "In addition to being persistent and thorough, Jack, you're also kind and caring."
"Thanks but flattery will get you nowhere," I lied, going to the door and opening it.
As I fell once again victim to that bewitching smile of hers, she said, "Well, you can't blame a girl for trying, can you?"
I turned and matched her smile, as best I could, with one of my own, "Hey, I'll send you a post card," I quipped, closing the door.
* * *
My trip to Rangely was both enlightening and productive. I came away with great respect for the grit and dedication of their police force. Although they have fewer officers and less hi-tech equipment, they have an asset that those of us in law enforcement in the cities can only dream of possessing--a knowledge of, if not an acquaintance with, each and every citizen of the community. And, in that regard, I learned that Sam Cutler, the victim's husband, was no stranger to them.
* * *
Upon my return to the Big Apple I made a beeline for Stephanie's. No sooner had I entered her apartment than she was standing before me with bated breath. "Well, what did you find out?"
"All that glitters is not gold."
"Enough of adages and proverbs," she chided, "please cut to the chase."
When we were seated on our favorite perches--she on the sofa and I on the armchair--I said, "She and her husband were having problems."
"Well, I know he liked to gamble once and a while," she replied, toying with the miniature hearts on her bracelet, "but he was a hard worker and she loved him."
"He gambled more than once in a while, Stephanie, and he was also a heavy drinker," I replied, leaning forward and looking at her intently. "As for his gambling habit, she was continually bailing him out."
Nervously she moistened her dry lips. "I didn't realize that."
"When she noticed money missing from the till, he put the blame on a high-school student, who worked at the bakery part-time. He, himself, was the guilty one, of course."
"How low could he stoop?" she asked, clutching a cushion.
"Oh, much lower; he had the poor kid fired." While she was shaking that beautiful head of hers in disbelief, I said, "Finally, with unsavory characters threatening his life, in desperation he went to her and, in tears, begged her to place a mortgage on the business so he could pay them off.
Stirring uneasily, she asked, "How big a debt did he owe?"
"Fifty-thousand dollars."
With remorse, she shook her head. "Had I known the circumstances, to spare her life I'd have given him ten times that amount," she murmured.
"I know you would've." I paused and, then, heaving a heavy sigh, continued to share with her what I had learned from the Rangely Police. "He swore on a stack of Bibles that forever after he would tread the straight and narrow path."
The tensing of her jaw betrayed her frustration. "But she loved that business."
"Her love for him, however, was even greater," I replied, my voice calm, my gaze steady. "So, there's no doubt that she would've done so had not things between them gone from bad to worse."
"How much worse could things get?" she murmured, shaking her head in disbelief.
"A lot." I paused and let out a long, audible breath. "She found out he was seeing other women."
Intruding upon the stillness that followed, she said in a fragile, shaking voice, "So, she came to New York to discuss her situation with me."
"That's what I suspect."
She nodded. "We had a lot in common--no siblings and our parents died when we were young. As a result, we had to fend for ourselves early on," she said, lost in reverie. "Too, by nature, we were loners and so, in times of stress, leaned on one another for support."
"You gave her the business, free and clear," I offered, quirking an eyebrow questioningly.
She shrugged. "Why wouldn't I? She was my best friend and I had more than enough money."
"That was damn nice of you," I retorted, my admiration for her on open display.
Again she shattered the stillness. "You think Sam killed her?"
I nodded. "When she told him she was going to divorce him," I replied, choosing my words with care, "he flew into a drunken rage, followed her here, and took her life."
Looking at me in disbelief, she said, "You're sure he's the one?"
"Positive," I answered with quiet emphasis. "For what it's worth, he also owns a .44 Magnum."
She heaved a heavy sigh. "Is he in police custody?"
"Not yet," I replied, stroking my chin.
Her eyebrows rose inquiringly. "How come?"
"Somebody tipped him off that the police were going to arrest him and, so, he flew the coop. They're hot on his trail and it's only a matter of time before they catch him." Feeling a need to reassure her, I said, "Because his quarrel was with his wife not you, I see no need for you to worry."
"I could care less about myself." In anger, she pressed her lips together. "I just want to be sure he's caught and punished for what he did to her."
I nodded and, anxious to change the subject, found myself asking, "What have you decided about future films?"
Her response was quick and to the point. "There won't be any."
Drawing my lips in thoughtfully, I observed, "Your good friend, Zachary Withers, isn't going to like that."
She shrugged. "Why would I want to make any more films? Frankly, the only reason I did so in the past was to fund health clinics and schools for the poor and needy in this great country of ours." I could not resist a smile and she said, "You find that amusing?"
"No, on the contrary, I find what you've done noble and inspiring," I retorted, "but, unless I'm mistaken I thought I detected a bit of sarcasm in your words--this great country of ours."
"You're right," she said with a wag of her head, "it's a shame that at this time in this land of plenty everybody doesn't have health coverage." She paused and shook her head in a mix of anger and disbelief. "I can only do so much; unfortunately, I can't save the world."
"You've done more than your fair share." Intruding upon another one of those moments of silence, I asked, "But what about your current lifestyle?"
"What about it?" Her eyes were sharp and assessing.
"Can you live without all of this?" I made a sweeping gesture to the furnishings around the room.
"Are you asking how much money is enough for me?"
"I--I guess I am," I stammered. "For some people, the more they earn, the more they want."
"As I thought I made plain before, I'm not one of those people," she replied with a tad of impatience. "Because I've spent the greater part of my life just trying to survive, I've learned how to get by on a pittance."
"I assume you have a pittance?" I quipped.
Yet again bewitching me with the radiance of her smile, she said, "Yes, I do."
This time I was the one who broke the silence. "About you and Jason?" I said, being careful with my choice of words.
"What about us?" she asked, turning her smile up a notch.
"Are--are the two of you seeing one another?"
"The truth is we are," she replied with an adventurous toss of her head."
With those words the wind suddenly went out of my sails. "Oh?" I offered weakly.
"In films only," she said with a wry smile. While I was breathing a sigh of relief, she added, "In case you haven't noticed, I'm fiercely independent."
"Oh, I've noticed all right."
We shared a laugh and, then, turning more serious, she said, "Most of my life, as I think you know, I've been busy just trying to survive. So I haven't had time for romance."
"What about now what with your being a Hollywood star?" I could not stop my probing.
Again she flashed that devastating smile against which I had no defense. "As I'm sure you know, people in the movie business aren't exactly known for taking their marriage vows seriously--particularly the one about till death do us part." Again we shared a laugh and when it subsided, she asked, "What about you?"
"What about me?" I replied, begging the question.
"I know you don't like talking about yourself, Jack," she chided. "So, don't play dumb; for, you know what I mean."
"I'm not sure I do," I lied.
"I'm not going to let you off the hook." Then, taking me by surprise, she asked, "Who was she, Jack?"
For the first time ever, I felt cornered and compelled to talk about my past life. After what seemed forever--all the while those beautiful eyes of hers beseeching me--I found myself murmuring, "Her name was Claire and she was wonderful. Kind, caring, and loving. Everything a man could want in a woman." My eyes darkened with emotion. "If the truth be known, she was too good for the likes of me."
"Oh, Jack, don't say that," she chided.
I shrugged. "It's the truth."
Now she was the one doing the probing. "You loved her deeply, didn't you?"
I nodded. "So much so I asked her to marry me."
"Did she accept?" Suddenly she was leaning forward on the sofa.
Again I wagged my head. "On one condition."
"Oh?" she offered with a puzzled look.
"That I quit the police force," I said pensively. "She was afraid that I might get killed in the line of duty, leaving her a widow and, worse, our kids fatherless."
"If you don't mind me saying, it sounds as if she was being selfish," she observed.
"No, she could've cared less about herself," I replied, rallying to her defense. "It was all about her concern for the children were we to have any."
Loose tendrils of hair softened her face. "How did she expect you to earn a living?"
I shrugged. "Her father--a good and decent man--offered me a position in his real estate business."
"Did you take him up on it?"
I nodded. "I got my license and began working part-time in one of his offices." I hesitated, momentarily lost in thought. "Frankly, I hated every moment of it and realized that, despite its dangers, I loved being a policeman." Again I paused and, then, with a gesture said, "So, we went our separate ways."
"And you never looked back?" she asked, studying me with a curious intensity.
"Oh, I looked back," I confessed. "Don't we all at some point wonder about the road not taken?"
Now she was the one lost in thought. "Sometimes we have no choice upon which road in life to travel."
"You could've stayed in your bakery in Rangely, had you wanted to," I offered.
"I wasn't talking about myself," she replied in an odd but gentle tone, "I was thinking about those who are making use of the clinics and schools I've set up." Her blue eyes were misty and contemplative. "Many of them are trapped and will never have the luxury of choosing upon what road in life to travel."
Frankly, if her beauty was appealing to me, at times her intelligence, insight, and intuition were even more so. That latter skill was on display as she said, "Tell me about your parents."
I shrugged. "I was raised by my father."
"Your parents were divorced?" she asked, cupping her delicate chin.
I hesitated and swallowed hard. "No, my mother ran off with another man."
For a long time she was lost in thought. "Could it be," she said with staid calmness, "that the real reason you never married Claire was a fear that, like your mother, she, too, might run off and leave you?"
Frankly I was flabbergasted; for she was getting too close to my inner feelings for comfort. So, ever a creature of habit, I did what I always do when I feel such a threat: I resorted to humor. "Your talents never cease to amaze me. I know you're an excellent baker and a talented actress but, frankly, what I didn't realize was what a great psychoanalyst you are."
* * *
To thank her friends for their concern about her safety and to reassure them that all was well, Stephanie decided to hold a small get-together in her apartment. The buffet was a simple fare with the hors d'oeuvres and pastries of her own making.
Clad in a cobalt blue dress with shimmering sequins that flowed effortlessly along the contours of her slender, willowy body, she was beauty incarnate. "Thanks for coming tonight," she said, warmth and concern radiating both from the look on her face and the sound of her voice. "Because I appreciate your concern about my well being, I want you to know I'm alive and well." Then, as if to emphasize the point, she made a graceful and classy pirouette, adding, "And I plan to continue enjoying good health in the future."
"I'll drink to that," Zachary Withers declared, raising his glass.
"And I'll second that," Jason Hurley chimed in.
After the glasses were raised and drained, the director asked, "Steffie, how soon do we start filming In the Presence of Greatness?"
"Hey, I hope you have a part for me in it," Jason interjected.
Scowling, he retorted, "If you're interested, the part of the taxi driver is still up for grabs."
The actor matched the director's scowl with one of his own. "Very funny."
For a moment Zachary glared at him and, then, turned to Stephanie. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Steffie, when do we start filming?"
Her answer was swift and to the point. "Never."
"What?" The disbelief in his look matched that in his voice.
"I'm not going to make any more films." For emphasis she wagged her head.
"But what about me and all those who depend upon you?" he protested, gesturing wildly.
"Yes, what about us?" Jason chimed in.
"Give the girl a break, will you?" Jessica exclaimed, losing her patience. "For once in your lives will you two start thinking about somebody other than yourselves? She says she's not going to make any more films--period end of story."
"I--I still don't believe it," Zachary stammered.
"What in heaven's name will you do with yourself?" the actor demanded.
Smiling wryly, she replied, "You see that cupcake you're munching on; I'm going to enjoy making oodles more of them."
For me the dynamics of the coterie became apparent. Zachary and Jason disliked one another. Jessica Martin, in turn, had a distaste for both of them. I was glad that Stephanie invited Richard Cooper and Frank Woods to join the get-together. For, I felt more comfortable and akin to them than any of the others with the exception of Jessica Martin.
* * *
At the risk of sounding like a broken record, let me say again that from the beginning my relationship with Stephanie Parker was a professional one. Because a murder took place in her apartment, my job was to find the culprit. And I was hell-bent on doing just that. Now that I had proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that Sam Cutler was the killer, my work was done.
That she is a beautiful woman goes without saying. In more ways than one, I might add--on the inside as well as the outside. Life abounds with people who want what they know they cannot have. I, however, am not one of them; for, she is out of my class and I know it.
So, on my last visit with her in an attempt to wrap things up, I found myself, hat in hand, standing awkwardly by her door. "Unfortunately your best friend, Laurie, was the victim here;" I said, gesturing, "her husband, Sam, the perpetrator.
Her gaze lowered as did her voice. "Yes, unfortunately."
"So my work here is done." Tugging on my chin, I said, "I'd be remiss if I didn't confess that meeting you was the best part of the job."
She looked up, her eyes sweeping over my face approvingly. "That goes for me, too." I offered my hand which she accepted and, to my surprise, was reluctant let go of. When, at last, she did release her grip, I turned and opened the door. "Oh, Jack," she exclaimed with a start, "will you keep in touch?"
I shrugged. "If you'd like."
Finding her beckoning blue eyes irresistible, I replied, "Yes, I promise."
When her crimson flush subsided, she said, "I apologize for doubting your resolve but I'm ever mindful of your comments about the road not taken."
"That was idle chatter," I retorted with a dismissive wave of my hand, "you need not worry."
An easy smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Whether you're a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker, or even a detective, rest assured I won't be frightened off."
Oh, how I gloried in those last words of hers before crossing the threshold and closing the door behind me!
* * *
Recently several women had been accosted while jogging in Central Park and, having been assigned to the case, I was in my office working late on some leads. "Hey, Jack, you should know a call for help just came in from your old bailiwick on Park Avenue." That observation came from Jake Slayton, a jovial, paunchy detective who was working on the case with me.
"What are you talking about?"
"Number 300," he said with a rasp of excitement. "Does that ring a bell?"
No sooner had he rattled off the digits than I, coat in hand, was out the door; for, the address was Stephanie's apartment building. Arriving there in record time, I found the place swarming with police cars.
In the lobby Frank Woods was seated on a chair and applying ice to a bruise on his forehead. Ignoring the gaggle of police officers, I hurried over to him and demanded, "What the hell's going on, Frank?"
"It's--it's Stephanie," he stammered, "she's dead."
"What?" I made a dash for the elevator, tears streaming down my face. "That can't be."
As I was pushing the button frantically, he got up and rushed over to me. "Jack, don't go up there; it's not a pretty sight." Pausing, he tapped the bruise on his head. "He pistol-whipped me and raced up to her place." With a grimace and through gritted teeth he said, "I caught up with the bastard and gave him a taste of his own medicine."
"He's dead?"
"You better believe it," he replied tersely.
In a voice rough with anxiety, I asked, "Do you know who he was?"
"Some nutcase from Maine who over and over again yelled, 'She's the one who turned my wife against me,'" he said in a harsh, raw voice. "His name was Sam something."
"Sam Cutler," I murmured.
He snapped his fingers. "Yes, that was it."
The next thing I knew he had me by the arm and was leading me to a bench. Frankly, I don't know how long I sat there, trying to make sense of the senseless. All I remember after that is getting up and, with a sigh of resignation, giving him a pat on the back. "You're right, Frank," I said, my voice trailing off to a hushed whisper, "I want to remember her as she was--beautiful both on the inside and the outside."
Outdoors, in the cool evening air I climbed behind the wheel of my car and turned on the ignition. As I drove off into the darkness, my thoughts were on my past life and the road not taken.
# # #


text:
Smoking Salmon and Other Fish
Since the advent of freezers, smoking has become more a technique for adding, special flavors to fish than it is a means of long-term preservation. All smoked fish requires storage at cool–38 degrees Fahrenheit (3.5 degrees Celsius) temperatures. And, for storage longer than several weeks, all but the most thoroughly smoke-cured (smoke-dried) fish should be frozen or canned.
If your end purpose is mainly to preserve delectable taste, however, smoking or kippering part of your catch is rewarding and relatively effortless. It is also a technique open to immense creativity. The strength of the brine, adding ingredients, the length of brining, drying time without smoke, the kind of wood used, the length and temperature of the smoke–all these elements are varied in many ways to achieve different tastes and textures.
What kind of fish to smoke
In Alaska, the fish most often used for smoking is salmon, but many species are suitable. Some people swear the technique was developed especially for steelhead. Sablefish, or black cod, is also a popular fish for smoking, as are grayling and whitefish and lake trout. In fact, smoking them right on the riverbank may be the only way to bring home a catch of grayling, their flavor is so delicate.
Whatever the kind, the fish must be top quality. It should have been cleaned and gutted immediately when caught and kept cool and shaded. If the fish isn't good enough to eat fresh, it won't be good smoked.
Frozen or completely brine–cured fish may also be used for smoking. Thaw frozen fish in the refrigerator. Then treat it as you would fresh fish. Soak out brine–cured fish in several changes of water for up to 12 hours, or until it is no longer too salty.
Methods of Hanging Fish For Smoking
The way you plan to hang fish in the smokehouse–or on the racks of a smaller smoker–determines how you cut them before brining.
Small fish may simply be gutted to be hung whole on S-shaped hooks. Or string several gutted fish on a round wooden stick that is inserted under the gill flap and through the mouth. Smaller dowels may be inserted in each cavity to hold it open for even smoking. Or split small fish so that the meat may be hung on two rods run through the flesh just beneath the bony neckplates.
A large fish may be split along the back and bonded so that the meat opens in one piece, leaving the belly solid. To do this, first remove tail and gills. With a sharp knife, make a crosswise cut down the backbone on each side of the head. Then make two lengthwise parallel cuts on each side of the backbone through to the stomach cavity. After some practice, you will learn to lift out head, backbone and entrails in one piece. Clean the cavity thoroughly.
If the split sides are quite thick, slash the flesh with several lengthwise parallel cuts (not through to the skin), so that the smoke will penetrate. These splits may be hung across open poles, or they may be propped open with dry cedar sticks placed across the fish and inserted into the flesh at each side. A longer stick may be inserted all the way through the skin near the tail end of the fish to act as a rod from which to hang the fish. If the fish is heavy, a second rod may need to be inserted behind it for additional support.
Another method useful for both small and large fish is to remove the head and split the fish down both belly and backbone, leaving the tail section unsplit to act as a hanger.
Or simply fillet the fish and smoke the two sides or cut them in strips or pieces. Strips run the length of the fillet and are usually about 1-1/2 to 2 inches (3.75 to 5 cm) wide. They may be hung or set on trays. Chunks are generally smoked on trays and should be about 2 inches (5 cm) wide and no more than 1 inch (2.5 cm) thick.
In preparing the fish, always keep them as cool and tidy as possible. After the pieces are cut, soak them for about 30 minutes in a cleansing brine of 1 cup (240 mL) salt per gallon (3.8 L) of water to draw off blood.
Salting is an essential feature in smoking fish. Unsalted fish will usually sour or spoil if kept at smoking temperatures for any length of time. The strength of the brine and the amount of time the fish is left in it and some of the ingredients are all matters of preference.
One method of determining the ratio of water to salt is to just keep adding salt to the amount of water it will take to cover the fish until no more salt will dissolve in it. Some people always swear by the efficacy of dropping a raw potato or egg into the water and adding salt until the object floats.
Or you can be conventional and measure. Try using 1 pound (456 g) of salt for every 5 quarts (4.75 L) of water.
If you're new at it, you can leave discretion entirely to someone else and pick one of the recipes that comes complete with brining instructions. Most do.
Brine ingredients–always water and salt, of course–may also include brown sugar and or some spices. The length of the brining also varies, from 25 minutes to 8 or 10 hours. Because of that, by the way, grayling is better simply sprinkled with salt rather than brine–soaked prior to smoking.
Desalting and Air–Drying
Once fish is removed from brine, rinse or scrub it well to be sure all visible particles of salt are gone. If the brining has been more than a few hours, it may be necessary to soak the fish under running water or in several changes of fresh water to remove saltiness. You may cook a small piece to see how salty it is, or run your fingers over the flesh and then taste them for saltiness.
It is also important to air–dry the fish enough to glaze the meat before smoking begins. Choose a shaded, breezy location and protect the fish from insects by covering it with cheesecloth. The temperature should be below 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4.5 degrees Celsius). If the meat is not sufficiently dry before smoking begins, it will tend to steam and soften instead of becoming firm once heat is applied, and white spots may develop on the flesh. The drying may take several hours, overnight, or up to two days in damp weather. Fish may be hung in the smokehouse during this period if ventilation is good. A blower or fan may be used to speed up the process.
Making the Smoke–Hot or Cold
The choice of wood leaves still more room for personal preference. IT should NOT be evergreen because the resinous smoke transmits an unpleasant taste. Alder is the most popular choice in Alaska, but hickory chips, crab apple, cottonwood and sawdust are other possible selections. Many of the recipes (following) indicates the cook's choice.
The temperature of the smoke also makes a difference in the final product. Most processes beings with an initial period of cool drying when the temperature in the smokehouse is about 90 degrees Fahrenheit (32 degrees Celsius). Then smoke is introduced and the heat is adjusted so that the internal temperature of the fish is brought up to about 85 degrees Fahrenheit (29 degrees Celsius) for cold-smoked fish and to about 150 degrees Fahrenheit (65 degrees Celsius) for hot–smoked or kippered fish. In other words, kippered or hot-smoked fish is cooked, ready to eat as soon as it comes from the smokehouse and subject to more rapid spoilage; while cold–smoked fish has been moderately preserved–still in need of refrigeration but able to retain safe quality for a period.
The length of time the fish are smoked depends on how dry you want them. A light (that is, shortened) cold smoke is recommended for fish that is to be canned, since the canning process brings up smoke flavor.
Flavor and texture is also regulated by how close the fish are hung to the heat. For cold smoking, it stands to reason, the fish are hung farther from the heat source than those being kippered.
For all these matters–choosing the wood, controlling heat and smoke, Adolph Mathisen's directions–Adolph's Cold-Smoked Salmon, Steelhead and Black Cod–contain excellent advice.
Storing Smoked Fish
After smoking, allow the pieces of fish to cool for a short time while they are in the smokehouse Cold–smoked fish may be left to cool a longer time than kippered or hot–smoked fish. After that smoked fish may be wrapped tightly and stored in the refrigerator. Cold–smoked fish will generally keep about three weeks. Kippered fish, a much shorter time. To retain the best flavor, however, do what the commercial packers do–freeze or can smoke fish immediately, unless you plan to use it right away.
Smoke-Cured Fish–Indian Style
Only thoroughly smoke–cured fish–the Indian style prepared by Eskimos, Indians and other bush dwellers as the winter supply for themselves and their dogs–may be kept successfully unfrozen for longer than about three weeks.
Preparing this product is tricky. It is actually smoke–drying. It requires four days to a week of continuous fire, and the resulting product is only about one–third its original weight, is quite firm and has a glossy surface. Fish and fire must be tended very carefully or the fish simply cooks to tasteless shrivel rather than drying slowly. This dehydrated fish will keep for an undetermined period, (not indefinite), but it, too, must be stored tightly wrapped, in a dry place, at a temperature that does not rise above 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4.5 degrees Celsius). It is boiled 10 minutes before being eaten.
Adolph's Cold–Smoked Steelhead, Salmon and Black Cod Method
It is important that you smoke fish only in cool weather. The ideal temperature is between 30 and 40 degrees Fahrenheit (–1 to 4.5 degrees Celsius). This keeps the smoke cool.
The ideal fish for smoking is steelhead. The steelhead has a flavor all its own, and the oil content in the fleshy part of the fish is perfect for a good, moist smoked product.
Prepare your fish for salting–steelhead or king salmon, whichever you prefer to happen to have–by splitting the fish lengthwise. Then remove the backbone so that there is none on either side. Use a very sharp knife.
Set the fish on a tray, fleshy side up, and just cover with a medium grind noniodized salt. Lift and shake the fish lightly to remove excess salt. The salt should be evenly distributed on the fleshy side of the fish.
Now you need a tub with a rack that fits inside. Set the fish, fleshy side down on the rack so that it is not resting on the bottom of the tub. It is important to vary according to the size of the fish the length of time that it stays in the brine that forms. A 6 to 8 pound (2.7 to 3.6 kg) fish should stay 14 hours. A 10 to 12 pound (4.5 to 5.5 kg)fish, I would leave there about 8 hours. If the fish is over 18 pounds (8 kg), leave it 24 hours.
After that time, I remove the fish and rinse it lightly. Then I put it in a tray and allow it to drain for about two hours.
Then the fish is ready to hang. I use stainless steel tuna hooks because they do not mar or discolor the flesh. They have two prongs: each one is a hook with an eye in it. Using the cotton–type line made for wrapping meat, I hang the fish on 8–inch (20 cm) loops threaded through these prongs.
I hang the fish in the smokehouse and allow it to air–dry for a day or two before I start the smoke. Again, the temperature should be 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4.5 degrees Celsius) or cooler. This removes as much of the moisture on the outside of the fish as possible. The drier the flesh, the brighter the color the smoked fish will be. This is the big secret of getting good color.
For cold smoke, the fish must be hung as close to the top of the smokehouse as possible. Keep it far away from the heat, so that the smoke will be cool by the time it reaches the fish.
A lot depends on the quality and condition of the smokehouse. Number one, you should be able to control the ventilation. The smoke has to pass through your smokehouse and be vented through the top. Mine has a pitched roof covered by a plywood sheet I can raise and lower to control the amount of smoke going out the top.
Then, of course, you must have a pit in which to build the fire for making smoke. Again, it is desirable to be able to control the amount of heat and air that go into the burner.
For cold smoke, start the fire with dry wood and then feed it green alder for the long smoke, but be sure to remove all the bark. If you don't, your fish will have a bitter taste.
I start with a very small fire, adding to it when the logs burn down to coals so that the added wood will ignore without smoldering too much. If the fire isn't burning properly, it will give off gray smoke. You must have enough draft to make sure the smoke is blue.
Continue this process for a minimum of six days. Smoke the fish until oil begins to show on the outside. The fish can be taken out or at least sampled at this time, but leaving it a while longer will give it more color.
Black Cod or Sablefish Smoking Method
On a 8 or 9 pound (3.6 to 4 kg) black cod, split and remove the backbone, cover with salt (same as for salmon or steelhead), shake off surplus and place on a rack for 12 hours. Use the same method for smaller fish but reduce the number of hours in proportion to the size of the fish. Hang in the smokehouse, keeping a low fire as cold as possible, until the fish are a very pale yellow. Too much color makes the fish bitter.
To cook smoked cod, put it in boiling water, allow it to simmer 12 to 15 minutes without covering, or until the fish flakes. Do not overcook it or it falls apart.
Cited From: Adolph Mathisen, Courtesy, Bunny Mathisen, Petersburg, Alaska.
Cold–Smoked White Fish Fillets Method
Any white–fleshed, lean fish which will produce fillets weighing more than 1 pound (456 g) may be used. cut the fish in fillets, removing the backbone and skin. Cover with a saturated brine and hold for two hours. Remove and drain for 10 to 15 minutes and air–dry for two hours. Hang fish and cure over a fire with a fairly light smoke for eight hours at a temperature not higher than 90 degrees Fahrenheit (32 degrees Celsius). If any of the flesh is resting against a stick or pole, turn the fillets after the first four hours so that the smoke penetrates evenly.
After the first eight hours, smother the fire so that a dense cloud of smoke is obtained and continue smoking until the fillets are a deep straw yellow, turning them as necessary to color evenly. This operation should take about six hours. Cool the fillets thoroughly and wrap each separately in waxed paper. Store in a cool, dry place. They will keep about 10 days.
Cited From: Smokehouses and The Smoke Curing of Fish (adapted).
Smoky Joe Portable Smoker Salmon Method
No Smokehouse? Try this recipe for a small amount of salmon that may be processed in a portable smoker.
10 pounds (4.5 kg) salmon fillets
Brine #1–water to cover, plus 1 1/2 cups (360 ml) rock salt
Brine # 2– 1/2 cup (120 mL) each–noniodized salt and brown sugar–per 1 quart (1 L) water needed to cover fish
Seasonings: pepper, garlic powder, maple flavoring, honey (optional).
Soak the fish in Brine #1 about 30 minutes (no longer) to draw off any remaining blood. Rinse and cut into chunks about 1 inch (2.5 cm) thick and 2 inches (5 cm) wide. Place in Brine #2 and refrigerate or keep in a cool place about eight hours or overnight.
Remove fish from brine, rinse in cold running water, drain and pat dry with paper towels. Allow fish to air–dry until the surface looks shiny and is tacky to the touch. Sprinkle fish with pepper and garlic or other seasonings–such as flavored salts–and brush with maple–flavored honey, if desired. If the skin has been left on, pierce it in several places.
Allow about 15 minutes to preheat the smoker, using hickory or alder chips. Oil racks to keep fish from sticking and arrange fish, allowing space between pieces for smoke to circulate and placing small pieces on top racks farthest from the heat.
The length of smoke depends on your taste (and the manufacturer's instructions if you are using a commercial smoker). Check the fuel every hour or so. When smoking is finished, allow fish to cool thoroughly at room temperature, up to two hours. Then wrap well in plastic wrap and store in the refrigerator or freeze.
Smoked Brown–Sugar Cured Salmon Method
Clean and fillet salmon. Prepare a salt mixture by combining:
- 2 cups (480 mL) salt
- 1 cup (240 mL) brown sugar
- 2 tablespoons (30 mL) white pepper
- 1 tablespoon (15 mL) each: crushed bay leaves, allspice, crush whole cloves and mace.
Dredge salmon in salt mixture to collect as much as will cling to the flesh. Leave for six to eight hours. Rinse and scrub under running water to remove all traces of salt. soak salmon in running or frequently changed water four to six hours. Dry in fresh air for six hours. If the day is damp, dry up to 10 hours.
Start fire and let it burn down to coals; smoke temperature should not be over 90 degrees Fahrenheit (32 degrees Celsius). Smoke fish for eight hours, then build up a dense smoke, keeping temperature below 100 degrees Fahrenheit (38 degrees Celsius) and using a spray of water when necessary. Continue smoking for 16 hours. It is best to keep fire going continuously for the 24 hours, but if you must let the fire die at night, start again in the morning. When finished, the fish is almost tender enough to spread with a knife.
If fish is to be canned after smoking, limit the dense smoke to four to seven hours, or until the flesh surface is light brown. The canning process will intensify the smoke flavor.
Cited From: The Fisherman Returns (adapted).
Crab Apple Smoked Salmon Method
"Some people use alder to smoke salmon, but we use wood from crab apple trees that are plentiful on Gravina Island near Ketchikan, where our homestead is located. I like the sweet, mild fragrant smoky odor and taste we get from it."
Fillet salmon (any species) or steelhead. Cut it into 4-inch (10 cm) squares, about 2 inches (5 cm) thick. This way all the fish will be uniform in flavor. Fish halves can be smoked if preferred. Use uneven pieces and backbone for canning. For each 5 pounds (2.25 kg) fish, sprinkle with the following mixture, adjusted to suit individual taste:
5 teaspoons (25 mL) salt
3 teaspoons (15 mL) raw sugar
1/4 teaspoons (1 mL) black pepper
Let the fish stand overnight. Drain. Place fish chunks on racks in smokehouse, skin side down, over glowing coals and charred wood in order to dry and glaze. This takes about one hour. Then smother the glowing coals to a heavy smoke with green chunks of apple wood or peeled alder.
For quick kippered fish, ready in about eight hours, use low rack, 18 inches (45 cm) from the fire.
For longer smoking, use middle rack, 30 inches (75 cm) from fire. After the first eight hours, smoke about two hours each day for 7 to 10 days. the fish will become dry and hard–smoked.
To cold–smoke for canning, use the top rack, 48 inches (1.2 m) from fire, three to four hours.
Cited From: "I Smoke Salmon" in the Alaska Fishing Guide, by Helen Blanchard (1979).
Norwegian Smoked Pressed Salmon Method
After cleaning as usual, cut off tail and head. Then cut along spine and remove backbone. Spread flat and hold down edges of back skin with wooden picks. Cover with salt and sugar–1 quart (1 L) salt to 1 cup (240 mL) sugar. Press between two wide boards with a small weight on the top for two to three days, depending on the size of the salmon.
Remove the salt mixture with a cloth. Wash fish with 1 teaspoon (5 mL) saltpeter dissolved in 1/4 cup (60 mL) of brandy or water. Smoke for eight hours in cool alder smoke. Let salmon hang for about six days before use. The temperature should be cool, about 38 degrees Fahrenheit or 3.5 degrees Celsius.
Cited From: The Fisherman Returns.
Kippered Salmon Method
Kippered fish is dried in cool smoke, then cooked in hot smoke for a short period. It is a quick–to–spoil product and must be kept refrigerated or frozen. But it is ready to eat with out any further cooking when it comes from the smokehouse, and there are many people who like it as well, or even prefer it to cold-smoked salmon. The dark orange or red coloring of commercially kippered salmon comes from a very short (30–second) dip in food coloring right after the fish has been drained of brine. Home–kippered fish has a browner sheen. "Any kind of salmon may be kippered." says Robert Browning [Fisheries of the North Pacific], "but white king salmon and fall–run chum salmon are the species most commonly kipper–processed. First quality kippered salmon consists of choice, evenly shaped and sized pieces of the side. But odd pieces (such as collar tips or tail chunks) are extensively used, too, turning into human use perfectly good salmon that otherwise might be discarded entirely or made into animal food or meal." Other species of fish may be kippered, too. Herring–slit along the back so that it will open in one piece, leaving the belly solid–is especially popular. Adjust brining and smoking times depending on the size of the fish.
Halve salmon lengthwise and cut into chunks. Soak pieces in a brine solution of 2 1/2 cups (600 mL) salt dissolved in 2 quarts (1.9 L) of water for 30 minutes to two hours, according to thicknesses. Be sure the chunks are well covered in brine. Rinse the pieces thoroughly in running water and lay out on a rack to air–dry for an hour or two. If flies are present, protect fish with a covering of cheesecloth or a light smudge of smoke. When the fish has dried sufficiently, the surface will be shiny and dry to the touch.
Start the fire and let it burn down to coals; smoke temperature should be about 80 to 90 degrees Fahrenheit (27 to 32 degrees Celsius). Smoke fish a total of 12 to 15 hours until a good glossy skin has formed. During the last two hours, increase the temperature gradually–up to 250 degrees Fahrenheit (121 degrees Celsius). The internal temperature of the fish itself should not go above 150 degrees Fahrenheit (65 degrees Celsius). If the temperature rises rapidly to 250 degrees Fahrenheit, the smoking time is decreased 40 to 60 minutes. Cool and eat.
Cited From: The Fisherman Returns.
Cooking Alaskan By Alaskans Cookbook

subset: commoncrawl


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We had a goal of 1:45, but with a very slippery rock garden, wet & muddy course and the lack of umph in my legs I turned in a time of 1:48-1:49ish. Still waiting on results to be posted to record the "official" time. Looks like I was 7th or 8th overall female.
The creeks were flowing quite nicely. Trying to keep shoes dry was a joke! I ran right through the first one and kept plowing through all of them the entire course. A year ago I would have searched for other ways to get around these very same creeks to avoid getting wet, but after a season of ultra marathons with not so great weather conditions.... I am forever changed and have a whole new mindset on this topic!
(overall women 1. Jan Gautier, 2. Heather Stone, 3. Brenda Simiril)
After this race I am motivated to get faster on the trail. I'm pushing myself out of comfort zones to obtain faster times... this has taken quite some time for me to do. Anyone who knows me... knows this is a huge barrier that I've recently broken through. Hopefully I'm on the brink of taking my running to a whole new level.
(overall men Sam Linhoss takes 3rd)
Push on.... Push on.....


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Show your students how Functional Skills are essential to everyday life. These resources maximise our ground breaking budgeting expertise and helps your students plan for a financially capable future.
Activities in these teaching materials make the most of Axis Education's trademark no-nonsense approach to bring these, often dry, topics to life. Interesting real-life case studies greatly appeal to your learners.


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I think I have made the right decision to move to Greensburg and God is showing me in little ways. Such as: finding this great place to move into in my price range, the blessing of the family that I am renting off being so hospitable, and the amazing peace I have in this move. Everything has been a smooth transition from the move being relatively easy for having to move on my own, to getting all of my bills and other things set up after I moved.
My family has been such a blessing as well- from the time I told them I was moving they have been supportive of trying to help me find a place from just hearing about it and played a big part in my deciding on the place I did. And since I have decided my mom has been a HUGE help in getting me stuff for my place since I have never officially lived on my own and had to get my own stuff. I am so blessed to have such a great family that is supportive of whatever I choose to do.
Greensburg is a great city as well! It has so much more than where I live before and more people my age! I am excited to start making friends and get more aquatinted with this place.
Tomorrow is my first Sunday at work and I am excited to start meeting people from the church and to see what their service is like! I am also very excited to work for Lieutenants DeMichaels, they are great people and I feel I will learn A LOT from them! I will have my own office, phone line, and a lot more resources. God is so good and I am so glad he is leading me here, I know I was doubting for a bit, but thank God that He knows what's best for me!!
I need to keep going back to one of my favorite passages:
Trust in the LORD with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make your paths straight.
-Proverbs 3:5-6
He truly has made my path straight and that led me here to Greensburg and I could not be happier. I pray that I can continue to follow Him and trust him with ALL of my heart!
Saturday, June 12, 2010
God is so good!
Posted by Brenna Sura at 12:49 PM
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New Blog–a More Local Viewpoint
I decided awhile back I want to take on a more local spin. This will remain up for a while so all of my readers can update your bookmarks, rss readers, and whatnot. Therefore, with this in mind, I will keep this here until Monday, September 16, 2013. By this date, everyone should have updated their readers and bookmarks to: http://jamesgrimesworld.wordpress.com/.
At which time, I will attempt to move over James Grimes' World so that all you have to type is jamesgirmes.me instead of jamesgrimesworld.wordpress.com. I do hope for your understanding in this endeavor. No matter what, though, you may contact me if need-be via email at email@example.com.


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Monday, March 19, 2012
Winners!! {JBF Sale Giveaway!}
Ok enough about me, lets get to the winners of the two $25 gift certificates!! Winners have also been emailed with their winner status!
Beth - "I am so excited for the sale!! I am expecting my first boy April 4th so I'm in need of everything boy- I've got baby furniture but I'll be shopping for baby boy clothes like crazy!"
Michelle - "I am looking for toys for my little mans first birthday and swim wear and snow pants. Of course all the other goodies I run across. Love these sales!! Wish I could control myself a little better at them, I spend WAY too much. lol"
Congratulations Ladies and I hope you find everything you are looking for and more at the sale this weekend!!
Thanks to all who entered the giveaway, if you were not selected as a winner I hope you will still head out to Issaquah to shop this fabule$$ sale! Have a great week!!
at 11:55 AM
2 comments:
Thanks again for hosting this giveaway!! I'm so excited to have won and will be putting my gift certificate to good use shopping :)ReplyDelete
- MichelleMarch 20, 2012 at 12:44 AM
Thank you, thank you! This is wonderful news. Thank you and Jbf for this great giveaway! Can't wait to shop and get way too many things for the little man!!ReplyDelete
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Dear Mike Dewine,
I am confused by your continued resistance to domestic drilling, and am concerned as to your stance on energy independence and state sovereignty. Recent spikes in gasoline prices, as well as an upward trend in prices overall, is enough of a concern for the citizens of Ohio for you to do something about it.
Ohio has been a state for a long time, and as a result only a small percentage of the state is controlled by the federal government. The federal government doesn't determine whether or not southern Ohio can be mined for coal. In contrast, seventy percent of Alaska is property of the federal government. Is Alaska a territory or a state? If it is a state, why not respect the wishes of Alaskans and it's representatives on this matter? What makes northern Alaska more untouchable than southern Ohio? Moreover, why should I vote for a Republican who strives to maintain higher gas prices when Paul Hackett will do the same thing but be more straightforward about it?
I look forward to your answer to some of these questions and will consider these answers in the primary elections, and next November.
John Broussard
Posted at 09:56 pm by Johnny B
|Posted by BP @ 01/04/2006 07:41 PM PST
|It is odd that Alaskan representatives don't have a problem with drilling in their state. Is this because they just hate the environment and want it to be open season on caribou and wolves? Or is it because they (and those they represent) feel the drilling would help and not hurt the people of Alaska while not harming the wildlife?
Is it possible that drilling in Alaska would not completely destroy the environment? Probably not…I've never seen wildlife in Louisiana or Texas…and I'm sure that's because of all the oil rigs.
|Posted by JohnBroussard @ 01/05/2006 08:31 AM PST
|The footprint of oil drilling is much less than it was 20 years ago. Directional drilling allows one rig to drill in different directions for miles around, replacing all that icky oil under the ground with saline. Land based oil wells are much less bothersome to the environment than city development. The bigger problem I am trying to address the majority ownership of western lands by the federal government.


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Ships directly from the manufacturer.
This product ships directly from the manufacturer & may require additional processing time.
Returns Guarantee
If you want classic wool ski sweater style without the classic itchiness and weight, here's your guy: Our drirelease merino polyester/wool blend Blackridge Guide Sweater, looks good, wicks moisture and fights odor. Two options: Ski in it and look cool, or don't ski in it and still look cool.
This product will be shipped directly from Outdoor Research and will leave their warehouse in 2-3 business days.
Fabric :
drirelease® merino 91% polyester
9% wool
Center Back Length :
28¾" / 73 cm
Weight :
17oz / 483g Avg. Weight for size L


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When he signed the Americans with Disabilities Act in 1990, President George H.W. Bush promised the legislation would "mainstream" Americans with disabilities, allowing them to achieve employment and live as independently as possible.
Yet, the real-world effects of that landmark legislation have actually worked to keep many of these Americans out of the workforce. With costly incentives embedded into the Medicaid delivery system, the law has not rewarded citizens who seek independence from welfare.


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A Study to Evaluate the Use of Mobile-phone Based Patient Support in Patients Diagnosed With Myocardial Infarction (SUPPORT)
|The safety and scientific validity of this study is the responsibility of the study sponsor and investigators. Listing a study does not mean it has been evaluated by the U.S. Federal Government. Read our disclaimer for details.
|ClinicalTrials.gov Identifier: NCT01874262
Recruitment Status : Completed
First Posted : June 11, 2013
Results First Posted : February 22, 2016
Last Update Posted : February 22, 2016
- Study Details
- Tabular View
- Study Results
- Disclaimer
- How to Read a Study Record
|Condition or disease
|Myocardial Infarction
|Device: Mobile-phone based patient support Device: e-diary
|Not Applicable
|Study Type :
|Interventional (Clinical Trial)
|Actual Enrollment :
|174 participants
|Intervention Model:
|Parallel Assignment
|None (Open Label)
|Official Title:
|A Study to Evaluate the Use of Mobile-phone Based Patient Support in Patients Diagnosed With Myocardial Infarction - SUPPORT
|Study Start Date :
|June 2013
|Actual Primary Completion Date :
|December 2014
|Actual Study Completion Date :
|December 2014
Experimental: Active group
The software application used on the patients' smart phones in the active group, will contain both the e-diary and the mobile-phone based patient support. Patients will receive feedback by the mobile-phone based support not only on the data they enter into the mobile-phone based patient support but also on their reported daily ticagrelor use.
Device: Mobile-phone based patient support
The mobile-phone based patient support (investigational medical device) is a stand-alone software product used on the patients' own smart phone and used in addition to medical treatment.
Device: e-diary
All patients (active and control group) participating in the study will report their daily use of ticagrelor in an e-diary which will be initiated on all study patients' smart phones.
Placebo Comparator: The control group
In this group the patients will have access to the e-diary only, in which they will report their daily use of ticagrelor. The patients in the control group will not receive any feed-back.
Device: e-diary
All patients (active and control group) participating in the study will report their daily use of ticagrelor in an e-diary which will be initiated on all study patients' smart phones.
- Non-adherence Score [ Time Frame: 6 months ]The primary composite endpoint was defined as a non-adherence score based on the combination of adherence failure events and treatment gaps. Adherence failure events were defined as 2 missed doses during an observation cycle of up to 7 days. The first registered missed dose of ticagrelor in the e-diary initiated an observation cycle of 1 week. If a second missed dose was registered during the week, this was considered an adherence failure event. The third missed dose initiated a new observation cycle, and the process restarted. If the second missed dose was registered after more than 1 week, this was not defined as an adherence failure event, but initiated a new observation cycle. Treatment gaps were defined as patient reported gaps of 4 consecutive doses.
Choosing to participate in a study is an important personal decision. Talk with your doctor and family members or friends about deciding to join a study. To learn more about this study, you or your doctor may contact the study research staff using the contacts provided below. For general information, Learn About Clinical Studies.
|Ages Eligible for Study:
|18 Years and older (Adult, Older Adult)
|Sexes Eligible for Study:
|Accepts Healthy Volunteers:
Inclusion Criteria:
- Provision of written patient informed consent.
- Patients must have a smart phone at their disposal and use it on a daily basis.
- Female or male aged >18 years, diagnosed with a ST elevation Myocardial Infarction (STEMI) or non ST elevation Myocardial Infarction (NSTEMI) and treated with ticagrelor prior to inclusion into this study and for which the treating physician intend to continue prescribing ticagrelor according to the prescription recommendation.
- Ability to read, understand and write Swedish.
Exclusion Criteria:
- Participation in any clinical trial or device study in the last 30 days excluding prospective/retrospective register based studies that do not require any extra visits in addition to ordinary health care.
Patients not suitable for participation based on the investigators judgment for example:
- Patients on treatment with triple antithrombotic treatment.
- Patients on treatment with anticoagulantia.
- Patients accepted/with a plan for thoracic surgery (CABG) or any other elective surgery that cannot be postponed until after study participation.
- Patients with a life expectancy of less than 12 months.
- Patients judged to be unable to follow a structured physical activity program.
- Patients those are pregnant or lactating.
- Patients involved in the planning and/or conduct of the study (applies to AstraZeneca staff and/or staff at the study site and application developer).
To learn more about this study, you or your doctor may contact the study research staff using the contact information provided by the sponsor.
Please refer to this study by its ClinicalTrials.gov identifier (NCT number): NCT01874262
|Research Site
|Goteborg, Sweden
|Research Site
|Jonkoping, Sweden
|Research Site
|Koping, Sweden
|Research Site
|Linkoping, Sweden
|Research Site
|Nykoping, Sweden
|Research Site
|Orebro, Sweden
|Research Site
|Stockholm, Sweden
|Research Site
|Sundsvall, Sweden
|Research Site
|Umea, Sweden
|Research Site
|Uppsala, Sweden
|Research Site
|Varberg, Sweden
|Research Site
|Vasteras, Sweden
|Research Site
|Vaxjo, Sweden
|Principal Investigator:
|Christoph Varenhorst, MD, PhD
|Kardiologkliniken, Akademiska Sjukhuset Uppsala
|Responsible Party:
|ClinicalTrials.gov Identifier:
|NCT01874262 History of Changes
|Other Study ID Numbers:
|First Posted:
|June 11, 2013 Key Record Dates
|Results First Posted:
|February 22, 2016
|Last Update Posted:
|February 22, 2016
|Last Verified:
|January 2016
Additional relevant MeSH terms:
Myocardial Infarction
Pathologic Processes
Myocardial Ischemia
Heart Diseases
Cardiovascular Diseases
Vascular Diseases
Purinergic P2Y Receptor Antagonists
Purinergic P2 Receptor Antagonists
Purinergic Antagonists
Purinergic Agents
Neurotransmitter Agents
Molecular Mechanisms of Pharmacological Action
Physiological Effects of Drugs


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Alert reader freedom2learn, always on top of developing stories, wrote in with this question...What is Agenda 21 and how does it effect The Great Lakes?
First of all, I hope you didn't just eat because you'll need a barf-bag after you read Wikipedia's description of Agenda21....
Agenda 21 is a programme run by the United Nations (UN) related to sustainable development. It is a comprehensive blueprint of action to be taken globally, nationally and locally by organisations of the UN, governments, and major groups in every area in which humans impact on the environment. The number 21 refers to the 21st century.
The term sustainable development is UN code for the intent to seize the wealth and restrict the economic activity of wealthy nations, specifically the US. To the UN, it's not a fair world unless all nations are equal in misery, hunger, and despair, and it's using the global warming hoax as a pretext to controlling our economy, industry, and wealth.
Look no further than this quote from their web site to pretty much sum it up.....and to pretty much make you lose your lunch.
"...current lifestyles and consumption patterns of the affluent middle class - involving high meat intake use of fossil fuels, appliances, home and work-place air-conditioning, and suburban housing - are not sustainable. A shift is necessary. which will require a vast strengthening of the multilateral system, including the United Nations..." [1] Maurice Strong , opening speech at the 1992 UN Conference on Environment and Development
To answer freedom's question specifically about the Great Lakes region, here are the specific goals of Agenda 21...
Agenda 21 sets out environmental strategies for the management of coasts, oceans, and water, the monitoring and reduction of chemical waste, the eradication of radioactive waste, and the conservation of natural vegetation and soils. In addition, there are plans for the development of sustainable farming, and other socio-economic proposals which include measures to improve health care, to reduce poverty, and to develop fair and environmentally friendly trade policies.
The aim is to promote global sustainable development at a more fundamental level than traditional aid programmes, based on common needs and interests, and on collective responsibility.
"develop fair trade policies, common needs and interests, collective responsibility".
This reeks of socialist/marxist dogma, or exactly what you would expect from the most corrupt, detestable collection of thugs and dictators ever assembled. In short, because Canada stupidly signed Agenda21, the government can impose these restrictions on it's side of the Great Lakes without debate. Without a doubt, they will affect life in or around the US side too. In the US, thankfully, the President cannot enter into a binding international agreement unilaterally. Those have to be passed by Congress. Hopefully, our legislators will resist the pressure to submit to the UN's insidious plot to control us.
Go to Crossroad and see the reprehensible UN bureaucrats' ploy to seize control of your lives.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Reader Mail
Labels: worthless U.N.
1 comment:
- freedom2learn said...
So, in a nutshell, The UN wants to control 95% of our country's fresh water - is that right?....and where is the outrage? Thanks for the info!
Ed - you might like this article -
"LaClair said he was particularly upset about the book's treatment of global warming. James Hansen, the director of NASA Goddard Institute for Space Studies, recently heard about LaClair's concerns and has lent him some support."
- Wed Apr 09, 04:07:00 AM CDT
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8 free issues of Working Mother Magazine ($10.00 value) from ValueMags in this brand new free sample offer. You can expect to see your first free issue arrive in 6 to 10 weeks.
This is a free sample offer so you won't receive a bill or ever need to cancel it (you'll only renewal notices which are optional and can be ignored).
I just completed the request and you can say no to all the offers and it will still process.
(Thanks for sharing, Freebies4Moms)