03.26.2017
Dear
Angie –
I
just want to let your know I’ve totally given up on all genealogical research. If
you want to take photos of the family grave plot, that would be nice, but as I said
I am no longer fighting over pennies to try and prove I’m related to trillions.
For
example, just today on a news network someone asked a reporter to rate all of
the Russian hacking allegations from a 1 for “coincidence” to a 10 for a factual
case. The reporter said, “I’m at a seven.” Well, I’m at a 10 about being
related to Howard Hughes and about a 7 on James Leonard being from Australia,
not Ireland.
Why
would the relatives fib on his origins? Have a few of Bill’s “coincidences.”
ü Howard Hughes
separated from his first wife in 1926, my late dad was born in 1927, and in
1928 my “dirt poor” maternal side bought the grave plot you can see, I cannot. No
coincidence! Why can’t I visit? Didn’t I mention nobody will drive me one mile
in my home town?
ü On an Amtrak
train, there was an Australian woman over my right shoulder. She looked rather
physically fit, but if I say I had a secret “bodyguard,” then I’m nuts. No, why
not hear her voice on a recording I sneakily made? (I’ve been doing that since 5th
grade). Oh, she’s not English, and why did they try to throw her off the train?
Kevin Killeen at KMOX and McGraw Millhaven at KRTS don’t seem to care.
ü No security
problem? On the same recording, I caught a guy behind me issuing a gun violence
death threat, but nobody wants to hear that, they want to steal it.
ü Next? Here comes
the rap music and a black guy who said, “You going to St. Louis? Lots of people
are shot and killed there.” Thanks, I’ve known that since I started reading the
newspaper first grade.
ü This all
continued with a Michigan Avenue apartment where weed-smoking thugs partied on
the third floor, just like in New Hampshire. When I called the police and
alleged drug dealing, the Concord cops said, “Don’t take that on alone” and did nothing. I wrote twice to the Drug
Enforcement Administration (DEA) and they
did nothing, then all of my computers were seized by cooks. The copy of my hard
drives containing the letters is in Ellisville, Missouri but that’s way too far
for my drug dealing family or “friends” to drive, I suppose.
ü The “drug shit”
never ends, because when I smelled potent marijuana in my hall on Michigan, I
called the cops simply to ask if maybe it had been decriminalized in my absence.
“No sir,” said the cop. “Do you want us to come over?” he asked Would you say “Yes”
when you are paying rent with cash and do not even have a bank account yet? Why
did the ATM card arrive the day before I was whisked away from there under
threat of eviction over ”noise” I did not make? Again, this has a lot to do
with drugs I don’t take or even know
what the hell they do to you. Since I cannot tell a lie and an ancestor worked
for George Washington, again as in Concord when I would moan & complain
about the neighbors it was done in the most acoustically dead room of either
the $925 per month New Hampshire house or the $350 per month St. Louis house. (This
was the kitchen at both addresses). Both owner guys were named “Tony,” and if
they know each other, they were possibly “set-up” like in the movies I don’t
make, but I sure wrote them.
ü My late dad had
a buddy in Sydney, Australia. When I asked him if he ever visited, Charles
Hughes said, “That ticket is way too expensive. I can’t afford that.” I now
think dad was lying, which is why my stack of TWA insurance envelopes were
taken). Back in 1966, I opened one of them and it said, “Washington, D.C.” as
the destination. The rest were tossed in a stack. (I suppose that is not my dad
in a photo at the 1964 Republican National Convention). Yes it is! Further, he
is next to a brand new ABC mini-cam which the other networks would not have
until 1968. (Howard’s deal to buy a majority of ABC fell through? I’m not so
sure, but it is a fact he bought ABC Sports).
ü What did mom say
about Barry Goldwater? “That man is crazy!” (I think she voted for Lyndon Johnson).
ü Now, I’ve found
a very funny comedian named Steve Hughes who is from Australia. He says
whatever he wants, but I cannot. (I might as well be bound & gagged in this
damn motel room). How did I find Steve? By looking at the credits of a video by
a guy I helped get started on his comedy career. (Rich Hall). Rich too can say
whatever he wants, not me. That is why I’d like to leave the USA and go to England,
because nobody can deny “Hughes” was one of the first names in Wales.
ü The ancient people
there were rather warlike, so my dad’s idea of a “clue” was to put a “Hagar the
Horrible” cartoon on my door. It was later put in a box somebody is going to
prison over taking.
ü No ADD, ADHD, or
PTSD came about from listening to mom & dad arguing about buying a house in
St. Louis County. I almost had a deck overlooking I-270 with an in-ground pool,
but just like Columbia University for me, Charles declared, “We can’t afford
it.” I wondered for decades why they bought the house they did, and apparently
it was all about an exit sign. It says, “ADELADIE,” which is also a city in Australia.
ü Not so funny was
my Uncle Ralph’s gift of a boomerang “From Australia,” he said. When daddy threw
it, it came back. When Ralph threw it, it came back. When I threw it behind Tommy
Baker’s house, it did not come back, and some “little kid” helped himself to
it. (This is also where my huge model rocket crash-landed, but I’m not allowed
to be at a real launch yet). How about one in North Korea? That is how tired I am of the local “play dumb” crap.
ü Dad was also, I
accidentally discovered, the Junior Class treasurer at CBC High. I was the
president of the whole shooting match out there on Redman Road at
Rosary-Trinity, and they can all go to hell along with the Archdiocese of St.
Louis. Google the name “William Gay” and wonder if I should become a Mormon.
ü More family
trivia? Why was there a .45 handgun that did not shoot in mom & dad’s Bellefontaine
Neighbors dresser drawer? That’s what Howard’s Mormon bodyguard’s carried. The directive
when all six guns were drawn was, “Step back from Mister Hughes.” I myself
prefer that “Made in Israel” Uzi submachine gun if I ever get any of my inheritance.
Bye-Bye,
Bill
Hughes
