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By Joanne Mendes
Title: Andrey A. Potter papers, 1893-1986
Predominant Dates:1930-1970
Primary Creator: Potter, A. A. (Andrey Abraham) (1882-1979)
Extent: 38.0 Cubic feet
Arrangement: Original arrangement was maintained.
Date Acquired: 00/00/1980
Subjects: Elliott, Edward C. (Edward Charles), 1874-1960, Factory management, Gilbreth, Frank B. (Frank Bunker), 1868-1924, Home economics, Hovde, Frederick L., 1908-1983, Industrial engineering, Industrial management, Women--Employment, Women engineers
Forms of Material: Artifacts (Object genre), Certificates, Clippings (Information artifacts), Correspondence, Diagrams, Ephemera, Lecture notes, Manuscripts (Documents), Pamphlets, Patents, Photographic prints, Scrapbooks, Speeches
Languages: English
The Andrey Potter Papers (1893-1986; 38 cubic ft.) document the career, education, and personal life of nationally renowned engineer and educator Andrey Potter (A.A. Potter). Types of materials in the collection include articles; speeches; surveys; research and lecture notes; certificates, diplomas, and awards; photographs; correspondence; printed material; scrapbooks; medals; ephemera; artifacts; books and manuscripts; obituaries; greeting cards; reports; letterhead; newspaper clippings; and meeting minutes. The collection is comprised of biographical information; articles written by or about Potter; speeches; Potter's research notes and papers on a variety of subjects, including patent laws, fuel, steam generators, national defense, engineering experimental stations, nuclear power, land grant institutions, and engineering education; personal and business correspondence; documentation of Potter's work on the faculty of Kansas State University and Purdue University, and his role as President of Bituminous Coal Research, Inc.; materials relating to Potter's memberships and activities with various engineering societies and organizations, such as the American Society of Mechanical Engineers, the American Engineering Council, the National Society of Engineers, and the American Society for Engineering Education; materials relating to Potter's work with the President's Highway Safety Conference, consulting for the U.S. government, serving as executive secretary of the National Patent Planning Commission, surveying various universities, and working on the National Science Advisory Board on Railroad Research; and notes and manuscripts for his various books and reports. Potter's positions as Dean of Engineering, Acting President, and Dean Emeritus of Engineering at Purdue University are also documented in the collection.
This collection also contains the papers of Potter's daughter, Helen Potter. She was a professor at Purdue's School of Home Economics.
Andrey Abraham Potter, a nationally recognized figure in engineering and scientific education, was born in Vilnius, Lithuania (then known as Vilna, Russia), on August 5, 1882, to parents Gregor and Rivza Potter. Potter's early education was in the people's elementary school in Vilna. During these early years, Potter's reading of the autobiography of Benjamin Franklin made a profound impression upon him. His fascination with Franklin led him to the decision that he would one day leave Czarist Russia and make his life in America. In 1897, fifteen-year-old Potter's dream became reality. He left home and sailed to Liverpool, England, then to Quebec on a cattle boat, finally traveling by rail to Boston, Massachusetts. There, he lived with an uncle while he studied and waited until he reached the age of 17 and could apply for entrance to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Potter passed his entrance exams, was admitted, and earned his Bachelor of Science degree from MIT in 1903. Following graduation, Potter's early career was devoted to the development of steam turbines for the General Electric Company in Schenectady, New York. Although he was considered one of the company's most promising young turbine engineers, he left GE in 1905 to accept a position as Assistant Professor of Mechanical Engineering in the Kansas State Agricultural College. Potter was responsible for establishing at Kansas State one of the first curricula in agricultural engineering. In 1906, he became a U.S. citizen. Potter married Eva Burtner that same year, and the couple had two children, Helen and James. In 1913, Potter was named Dean of Engineering and Director of the Engineering Experiment Station at Kansas State. In 1916, he testified in Washington on behalf of the Newlands Bill, which would have provided $15,000 annually to each land-grant institution for the establishment and support of an engineering or a mechanic arts experiment station. Although the Newlands Bill did not pass, the hearings focused attention on the value of engineering research and gave a stimulus to the founding of engineering experiment stations throughout the country. Purdue's own station was founded following Potter's testimony.
In 1920, Potter joined Purdue University as its third Dean of Engineering. Immediately following his appointment, Potter began work on building a student personnel service similar to the one he started in 1905 at Kansas State. The Purdue Placement Service formally opened February 1, 1922. It was the first student personnel service of its kind, and was widely copied by other universities. Potter began an exhaustive study of the state of the engineering profession and of engineering education. In 1929, the Wickenden Report was published, offering crucial insight into the needs and strengths of the engineering profession.
While at Purdue, Potter increased the number of professional engineering courses and added four new schools to those existing at the time of his arrival. He was responsible for three new buildings and introduced the idea of Purdue having its own airport. From 1945 to 1946, Potter served as Director of the Purdue Research Foundation and Purdue's Acting President, in addition to continuing in his position as Dean of Engineering. He was offered the Purdue presidency, but declined, stating that he preferred teaching to administration. Potter was often referred to as "The Dean of Deans" because of the large role he played in the direction of engineering education in the United States during the twentieth century. He was dedicated to both students and engineering, and was widely known as a consultant to schools of engineering, industry, and government. In 1953, Potter was named Dean Emeritus of Engineering at Purdue. During his tenure, Potter built Purdue into the largest and one of the most respected engineering colleges in the country.
Potter was President of the American Society of Mechanical Engineers (1932-1933), the American Society for Engineering Education (1924-1925), the Kansas and Indiana Engineering Societies, and the American Engineering Council (1936-1938). He was appointed to advisory boards and special commissions of the United States Government, and was acquainted with, and served on panels for, most of the United States Presidents during his tenure at Purdue. Potter served as a consultant for the departments of the U.S. Army, Navy, Air Force, National Office of Education, and was one of the early members of the Advisory Board of the National Science Foundation. During the two world wars, he actively formulated programs for training men in war industries, personally directing the training himself and utilizing engineering colleges as sources for industrial preparation. He strove to protect the rights of inventors' ideas, and served as executive secretary of the National Patent Planning Commission from 1942 to 1945. From 1950 to 1960, Potter served as President of Bituminous Coal Research.
Potter was awarded 10 honorary doctoral degrees during his career. In 1940, he was presented the prestigious ASEE Lamme Award for his contributions to engineering education. Three years later, the Western Society of Engineers presented him with the Washington Award for distinguished leadership in engineering education, research, and patriotic service in mobilizing technical knowledge for victory in war and peace. He was also presented the McCormick Medal for his contributions to agricultural engineering. Additional honors include the 75th Anniversary Medal of the American Society of Mechanical Engineers, the 1950 Americanism Award, the Cyrus Hall McCormick Medal in 1953, and the Navy Distinguished Public Service Award. He was a member of Sigma Tau, Tau Beta Pi and Sigma Xi.
Potter was an expert in power generation and the behavior of steam under high pressure, and his work in power plant engineering, thermodynamics and fuels firmly established his reputation among American engineers. His pioneer efforts in personnel work for engineering students and humanizing engineering education have also been recognized. Potter wrote several books on engineering and more than 300 scientific papers and articles. His first book, Farm Motors, was published in 1913. His text, Elements of Steam and Gas Power Engineering, was published four months prior to his move to Purdue. The same year, he co-authored Engineering Thermodynamics.
Even after his formal retirement from Purdue in 1953, he continued to make himself available for consultation. He remained president of the Bituminous Coal Research, an industrial organization, until 1960. The Potter Engineering Center at Purdue was named in his honor, and was dedicated in 1977. A medal struck in his honor commemorating the event contained a quote from Potter which characterized his very essence: "Interest in people first, then in ideas and things." The man known affectionately as "The Dean of the Deans" of engineering universities died in Lafayette, Indiana, on November 5, 1979. He was 97 years old.
Elliott, Edward C. (Edward Charles), 1874-1960
Factory management
Gilbreth, Frank B. (Frank Bunker), 1868-1924
Home economics
Hovde, Frederick L., 1908-1983
Industrial engineering
Industrial management
Women engineers
Repository: Purdue University Libraries, Archives and Special Collections
Access Restrictions: Collection is open for research.
Physical Access Note: The collection is stored offsite; 24 hours notice is required to access the collection.
Acquisition Source: Helen Potter
Acquisition Method: Gift from family. Records transferred from Potter's office to Special Collections, April 1980.
Separated Materials: Photographs were removed and place in Purdue Photograph File under Faculty, Potter A.A.
Related Materials:
Edward C. Elliott Papers
Frank & Lillian Gilbreth Library of Management
Frederick L. Hovde Papers
Oral history interview conducted July 16-22, 1969, located within MSO 2, Purdue Office of Publications Oral History Program collection.
Preferred Citation: The Andrey A. Potter Papers, Archives and Special Collections, Purdue University Libraries
Other URL: http://collections.lib.purdue.edu/fa/pdf/potter.pdf


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Sandown voters tackle police station proposalBy JASON SCHREIBER
Union Leader Correspondent
February 02. 2013 2:22PM
SANDOWN - Many voters agree that the police station is full of deficiencies, but the question is whether the time is right to build a new one.
Proposals to continue saving for a new station or construct a new building this year were among the warrant articles debated at Saturday's annual town deliberative session.
Approximately 50 voters, including town officials, attended the meeting to discuss the warrant before final votes are cast in March.
Voters made only a few changes to the proposed articles. One article seeking $5,000 to support a regional emergency shelter program in Derry for local homeless families was lowered to $2,000 while an article asking voters to place $324 from an unreserved fund balance into a plowing trust fund was zeroed out.
This year's warrant includes a proposal to add $200,000 into a fund set up a few years ago to save money for a new police station over a five-year period, but voters will also have to decide whether to move ahead with a $945,000 plan to build this year, using $540,500 in the fund and raising another $404,500 in taxes.
Police Chief Joseph Gordon asked voters to consider the new station this year to avoid a higher price tag down the road as building costs continue to climb each year.
"Do you want to spend a little bit more now to save more later?" Gordon asked.
If approved this year, the tax bill on a $250,000 would increase by about $170. If voters agree to add the $200,000 to the fund and hold off this year, the impact would be $85.
Budget committee member Dawn Nicolaisen said she felt it would be better to add the $200,000 to make it more affordable for voters this year, but others felt the time was right.
"I think it's time. … This department needs their own building and space that is going to work well and efficiently," resident Barbara Lachance said.
Selectman Tom Tombarello, board vice chairman, encouraged voters to visit the police department's website to view a virtual tour of the current station.
"It's pretty embarrassing," he said. "But more than embarrassing, it's a safety issue."

subset: commoncrawl


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The Times has a feature at the moment detailing the changing size of the common tie as we go through decades of economic change. Apparently John Lewis has announced "a dramatic inch-loss of nearly 25 per cent in width over the past six months" with its most popular ties. Charlie Allen, the famous tailor Brandish recently had an exclusive sit-down with over the new 'n' improved England kit, told the Times that "the impact of economic turmoil on tie design can be traced back through the previous recessions of the 20th century. While postwar Britain and the Swinging Sixties embraced exaggerated prints and widths of up to 5in, the downturns of the 1930s and 1980s saw sizes reduce to as little as an inch."
See after the jump for my Top 5 'Skinny Summer ties'– on the cheap for your enjoyment! (They're all under £10)


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While Black Friday sales met the expectations of New Jersey retailers as a whole, the state's mom-and-pop stores saw a bigger boost than anticipated for Small Business Saturday.
According to the National Federation of Independent Businesses and American Express, which have partnered to entice consumers to shop small for the past three Christmas seasons, consumers spent a total of $5.5 billion at independent merchants on Nov. 24, though surveys had estimated the total would be $200 million less than that. And while American Express offered the same promotion as last year, providing cardholders a $25 statement credit if they spent $25 at an independent store, Amex transactions at small-business merchants rose approximately 21 percent compared to last year's Small Business Saturday.
Before the initiative was launched in 2010, Doris Crater, owner of clothing boutique DJ Crater, in Chatham, would see her sales drop to around $2,000 on the first Saturday after Thanksgiving — nearly $2,000 less than a typical Saturday for the store, as "people stayed away from downtown because they were busy shopping at the malls and online."
But since Crater first participated in the campaign three years ago by posting signs in her store and sending e-mail blasts to customers, her store's sales for that Saturday have grown to $13,000 this year, when she began spreading the wealth to other local merchants by promoting Small Business Saturday through the Chatham Downtown Alliance.
"Our town does not hold holiday celebrations, so it's up to each individual merchant to drive business during the holiday season," Crater said. "Business has been slow since Hurricane Sandy, because most people's homes were without electricity for two weeks, but we were happy to see them crawling out from under that and coming out to town to shop on Small Business Saturday. There's just been tremendous response and support for small business, and we're doing everything we can to keep it going."
Though Westwood's small storefronts anxiously await an imminent business boost from the reopening of the former Pascack Valley Hospital, Joseph Abou-Daoud, executive director of the Westwood Chamber of Commerce, said those businesses had their "best sales ever" on Black Friday, and he expects to hear similar stories about Small Business Saturday at a town hall meeting on the topic tonight.
"I wasn't around the town on Saturday, but I was there all day Friday, and I can tell you the town was busier than it has probably ever been," Abou-Daoud said. "Our promotions with our retailers for the weekend were, 'Avoid malls, avoid traffic, support local business' … in the long run, I think all the big-box stores opening on Thursday night helped our small businesses on Friday."
While Small Business Saturday kicked off in Westfield at the town's Lord & Taylor anchor retailer, Sherry Cronin, executive director of Downtown Westfield Corp., said consumer spending wasn't limited to that store, as "the preliminary report is everyone did well."
"One of our stores, Savory Spice Shop, was not as busy as last year, which was relative to Sandy impacting that type of purchase. But the fact that the store had customers calling them to ask if they were participating in Small Business Saturday shows that consumer awareness is high, which certainly helps small businesses," Cronin said. "With that vibrancy, we're seeing new businesses wanting to move in, which is the strongest indicator that these campaigns are working in bringing more people downtown."


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The La Plata County Sheriffs Office served a search warrant Thursday morning at the home of Mark Redwine, the father of 13-year-old Dylan Redwine who disappeared Nov. 19. while visiting his father on Thanksgiving break.
We are not calling Mark Redwine a suspect, Sheriffs spokesman Dan Bender said. It was only prudent to search because this was the last place Dylan was seen.
Colorado Bureau of Investigations and the FBI had tents and a trailer set up outside the house. Investigators wearing white scrub-like uniforms made trips in and out of the house and a travel trailer this morning.
Dylan texted his mother, Elaine Redwine, when he arrived at Durango-La Plata County Airport on Nov. 18. The lad immediately contacted friends in Bayfield where he attended school until this summer when his mother, who divorced Mark Redwine in 2007, moved to Colorado Springs.
Dylan agreed to meet his friends early Nov. 19 but the meeting never took place. Mark Redwine told investigators that he left on errands at 7:30 a.m. but found Dylan gone when he returned four hours later.
The investigation of Dylans disappearance is ongoing, Bender said. We wont be revealing any list of what we find until the its over.
About 15 investigators and analysts are involved in the search, Bender said.


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March is Brain Injury Awareness Month.
March is Brain Injury Awareness Month. The brain controls everything we do, say, think and feel. It controls the very functioning that keeps us alive: breathing, digestion, hormones and the immune system.
Because the consistency of the adult brain tissue is like Jell-O and the consistency of a child's brain tissue is like pudding, the brain is very vulnerable to injury. When the brain is injured, a person's abilities and bodily functions may change. In general, the more serious the injury, the more significant and permanent changes are likely to be. Some changes caused by brain injury may be subtle but have a major impact on the way a person lives his or her life.
There are two types of brain injury: traumatic brain injury and acquired brain injury. Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) is caused by a blow or jolt to the head or a penetrating head injury that disrupts the normal function of the brain. A rapid acceleration or deceleration of the head, which can force the brain to move back and forth inside the skull, can also cause TBI. The stress from these rapid movements pull apart nerve fibers and cause damage to the brain tissue. Acquired Brain Injury (ABI) is an injury to the brain that has occurred after birth and is not hereditary, congenital or degenerative. ABI takes place at the cellular level within the brain; most symptoms of ABIs are very similar to those of TBIs.


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Heart to Heart of the Southern Tier's Pumpkin Carving Contest and Family Fall Festival is set for Oct. 12.
Heart to Heart of the Southern Tier's Pumpkin Carving Contest and Family Fall Festival is set for 9:30 a.m. Oct. 12 at Spencer Crest Nature Center, 2424 Spencer Hill Road.
The carving contest registration opens at 9:30 a.m. and judging is at 1 p.m. The festival is from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. and includes a pumpkin patch, baked sale, vendors, crafts and children's activities. Children under 7 will paint pumpkins. Prizes are awarded for the funniest, scariest, most creative and best in show in the 15 and over age category. All pumpkins are eligible for the People's Choice Award. The contest is open to individuals and groups and participants may bring pumpkins. Proceeds from the event benefit Heart to Heart of the Southern Tier's 2013 Holiday Program.
The event is free and open to the public. Donations are accepted. Pumpkin carving contest entries are $5 and registration is suggested as space is limited. For more information, call 607-857-3466 or email email@example.com.


text: FREE Sample of Biker Bull Leather Restorer and Conditioner Get a FREE Sample of Biker Bull Leather Restorer and Conditioner from Leather Therapy! Melanie Kampman Melanie Kampman is a web designer, developer and owner of Giveaway Bandit and Farm News for Kids. She lives in Northwest Missouri on a large family farm with her husband and eight year old son, the Giveaway Bandit. They raise cattle with a variety of pets including horses, chickens, ducks, and a slew of cats. By Melanie Kampman If you are interested in writing a sponsored post on Giveaway Bandit please email me at melanie (at) giveawaybandit (dot) com.


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Shaheen's approach: More treatment, fewer 'assault' guns
December 17. 2012 6:22PM
Three days after the unspeakable tragedy in Newtown, Conn., Sen Jeanne Shaheen, the senior senator from the pro-gun state of New Hampshire, proclaimed that the federal government must "get deadly assault weapons off our streets." Oh, boy.
To her credit, Shaheen has not been reflexively anti-gun in the Senate. In 2009 she voted to allow firearms in national parks. And on Monday she indicated that she did not view the problem as entirely gun-related. "We need a comprehensive approach that includes improving access to mental health services, better enforcement of our current laws, and we need to get deadly assault weapons off our streets," she said.
Her first point is an immensely important one. According to a review by the left-wing Mother Jones magazine, 38 of 61 mass-shooting perpetrators in the last three decades had some sort of mental illness. The most horrifying mass shootings in the United States in recent memory - Newtown, Aurora, Tucson, Columbine - all involved shooters with histories of mental problems.
Shaheen has long advocated expanded insurance coverage for mental illness. When she was a state senator she sponsored a bill requiring insurers to cover certain mental health issues, and she signed a law expanding such coverage when she was governor. She brings a lot of experience on this issue that might be useful in the Senate.
However, her statement about assault weapons is concerning. "Asssault weapon" is a term defined many different ways by many different people. If it means "automatic weapon," the federal government bans those made after 1986 already. If it means "semi-automatic" weapon, that would include every firearm that does not require manual cocking or reloading after every shot.
Politicians and anti-gun activists often use vague terms like "assault weapon" to stigmatize broad categories of guns or to hide their own ignorance about firearms. Shaheen needs to clarify what she means by "assault weapons," how she would propose removing them from "our streets," and why she thinks doing so would reduce mass killings.


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Police evacuate homes on Sagamore Street after toy prompts scare
March 20. 2013 11:09AM
MANCHESTER - Residents of a Sagamore Street neighborhood have been allowed to return to their homes after a toy grenade prompted a scare Wednesday morning.
Police were called to 81 Sagamore St. about 9:30 a.m. for a report of a suspicious device. Workers digging in the yard near the foundation of the garage uncovered what appeared to be a live grenade, buried under 2 to 3 feet of dirt.
Six neighboring homes were evacuated, and the State Police bomb squad was called in to remove the device. A bomb technician X-rayed the grenade and deemed it safe. Police after examining it more closely then realized it was a plastic replica of a grenade.
Shortly after 11 a.m., the scene was cleared.


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New Hampshire Farm MuseumMay 23. 2013 2:30PM
Rt. 125
Milton, NH 03851
Ph: 603-652-7840
Tour the historic Jones farmhouse and learn about three centuries of rural life in New Hampshire.
Explore the three story, 104 foot long, great barn filled with a vast collection of agricultural machinery, farm tools, wagons and sleighs. Meet farm animals, try the Great Yellow Barn Hunt, crack corn the old-fashioned way and feed the chickens, follow the nature trail, and shop in the museum store.
Website: www.farmmuseum.org
Email: firstname.lastname@example.com


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Oct. 8, 2012
Killing is just child's play. A game. In fact, it's so easy, you can plan it out on a computer, if you're smart enough. And he is smart. A real genius, they all say: honor student, salutatorian, class vice president. So…what is that magic number then? How many times can he get away with murder?
On the outside, the quiet and withdrawn 17-year-old seemed just a harmless high school nerd, preoccupied with technology, money, computer games, and college. But on the inside he was a seething psychopath, conspiring with classmates to massacre his family so he could have a six-digit inheritance all to himself.
Meet the wily Wyley Gates, twisted mastermind of an assassin-style program called Infierno, which he used in 1986 to execute a bloodbath so heartless and gruesome it was dubbed "the crime of the century" in upstate New York.
DUNGEONS DRAGONS MURDER methodically pieces together physical evidence, autopsy findings, police accounts, trial testimonies, and even the confessions of the killer and his accomplices, to reconstruct the Gates family shootings and the other carefully orchestrated criminal acts designed to lead up to it.
Third in the 'Killing Killers' true crime series by Eponymous Rox, this special report reveals a chilling portrait of a remorseless and deeply disturbed mass-murderer set free on a technicality to slay again. And shows why it's possible that he has killed at least once before the massacre—and since.
"He that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind, and the fool shall be servant to the wise." Proverbs, 11:29
Chapter 1: Dead of Winter
Maple Drive, Canaan New York - 7:00 P.M. December 13, 1986
He isn't aware of this as he's driving away from the scene, but there's a fresh spot of blood on the front of his down parka, a small smear of it on the inside of the coat's breast pocket, and a few tiny droplets as well on the left pant leg of his blue jeans.
In the dim glow of the car's dashboard, everything, including his tired trigger finger, looks clean to him though, and to celebrate finally pulling it off, more or less without a hitch, he's wearing a new tie this evening, too. A brand new tie signifying a brand new start for him. One without a family, without hindrances.
His mood is uncharacteristically elevated, bordering on exhilaration he'd have to say, but on the exterior he's as calm and collected as always, and, just in case, maintaining a state of hyper-vigilance. Still, despite this intense concentration on all the large and small details now, he has not spied those telltale stains on his clothing yet, because, even though he's young, even though he's only 17 years of age, he really doesn't see very well. In fact, his vision is that of an old man's and, much to his annoyance, he's as good as blind without eyeglasses.
Glasses are a necessity but they can be a pain in the ass, he's learned, especially in winter. When you go outside they fog up in the cold, they get moist and blurry from melting snowflakes, they refract weirdly whenever another's headlights shine into them causing dangerously distracting halos and glare.
So he's focusing every ounce of his attention on the winding dirt road leading away from his father's rustic-styled home, crawling carefully down the slope to claim his hard-won freedom. Someplace in these woodlands that surround him, he'll discreetly make a pit stop next and dump the bagful of bloody items he's got stashed in the trunk back there. Then, for the most part, he'll have cleared the first hurdle.
He's eager to toss that incriminating sack as soon as possible, but he's making sure he doesn't drive too fast or too slow and thereby give rise to undue suspicion. He mustn't hit anything along the way and total the borrowed automobile before he's done using it tonight. He mustn't slip on an invisible patch of ice, go careening off the treacherous shoulder and have to call from a neighbor's house for an emergency tow.
Any and all of these unexpected mishaps would act like a wrench in the works, he understands. Send it all toppling around him with a terrific crash.
As expected, and to his relief, it's not snowing tonight, and at about 12 degrees Fahrenheit the ground is solidly frozen, which is also convenient. But he's lived in this northern region long enough to know that any time of year and in any kind of weather one has to drive cautiously on Maple Drive. As with the entire network of dirt roads in this one-horse town, it's a classic backwoods affair, unpaved and rocky, and all manner of wildlife own it.
In spring, it's the jittery does and their wide-eyed fawns to be constantly on guard for, as, without warning, they leap back and forth, devouring the new greens sprouting around the ditches. In the summertime, it's bumbling wild turkey and their oblivious broods crisscrossing haphazardly in order to pluck at the brambles and flowering sumac shooting up along the roadsides in dense groves.
And in autumn or in winter, one could encounter just about anything running around in the darkness, usually quite large. Deer, packs of coyote, big cats, even prowling bears are relatively common.
Common. This is what it boils down to in his mind, what life in this banal environment really represents for him. It's a joke, is what it is. A cruel, sick joke that someone of his caliber should be, or should have been, so hopelessly stranded here in redneck land. Born to common truckers and hunters and lumberjacks and mechanics.
Car coming up around the bend—idiot neighbors—take a left then—left onto Goetz Road—how he hates this stupid place and every stupid creature in it. How he hates the worthless scum he's always meeting up with.
But at last he has competently addressed these injustices he's been so burdened with, finally had the best day of his whole goddamned life. He squints hard again, holding off that sense of accomplishment welling up from deep inside, postponing a creeping joy which is so completely foreign to him, and peers instead as far as the car's high-beams will allow into the illuminated abyss. This is the final stretch, he reminds himself, which must now be flawlessly navigated.
Just a stone's throw from the Massachusetts border, both Maple Drive and Goetz Road come out onto Frisbee Street, and this junction runs parallel to and almost kisses Interstate 90, at the place where it becomes the Massachusetts Turnpike. If this young man was truly a smart lad, as smart as everybody claims he is, as smart as he believes himself to be, he'd probably scratch his next course of action, take that superhighway right this very minute and get the hell out of town.
Before anybody finds the bodies.
He's got a great big, multipronged scheme, however, and to him it makes a lot of sense, so he's sticking to it. He's not going anywhere but the movies tonight. There's a new Clint Eastwood film playing at the old Crandell Theatre in the neighboring village of Chatham, some seven miles away, and he and his number one cohort are going to go see it.
Or, better put, be seen seeing it, together.
He's worked out any possible snafus to everything well in advance via a computer game program he specially designed called "Infierno," and so far, albeit he is running much later than anticipated, everything's basically going to plan. He's braking gently for the traffic sign looming up ahead, and preparing to take a left onto Frisbee Street. Then, once on Frisbee, he has only to travel three more miles and hang another left to climb up Schillings Crossing Road to complete phase one of the operation.
Up there, at the very crest of its hill, is where he'll pull off, park, and unload his extra baggage.
By December, gravelly Schillings Crossing is rarely ever used save for the hardy few who live there year round, particularly on this less-peopled side of it, because the snows can quickly make the steep route impassable. But his luck is going strong this month and there has been no precipitation for days in a row. Moreover, his scouts have double checked the terrain for him already and they've reported unfettered access from beginning to end.
It was the least they could do to assist today, he thinks with a sudden sneer. Cowards and blowhards they each proved to be in the eleventh hour.
Like any conscientious, law abiding citizen would do, he has brought the car to a full stop at Goetz and Frisbee and, looking east and then west, is cautiously preparing to make a left turn, hitting the blinker switch sharply with his thumb and only then realizing he's got a cut on it.
Shit, he mutters low, his breath suddenly billowing into the car's icy cold compartment like a dragon's.
He cruises into the middle of the intersection, hastily feeling of the torn flesh on his thumb, and licks at the tender spot as if to make it disappear.
"Shit," he says again, much louder this time, but, nevertheless, still properly maneuvers the vehicle into the right lane and accelerates to 40 miles per hour.
Recoil from the handgun.
He knows without a doubt that this is what caused the minor injury because the same thing happened to him last week out at Bailey's old farm, when he and his crew were secretly target practicing with it.
He should've been more mindful of that incident this evening, he scolds himself. Worn a thicker pair of gloves for protection.
But it's just a superficial nick in the flesh. A small, angry-looking gouge and nothing major. Certainly not like getting your face blown off! He'll have to thoroughly wash the spot, that's all, and then disguise it with a bandage. Before they head for the cinema.
Getting a bruising was not part of the bargain, of course, but Infierno is nonetheless a masterpiece, in his humble opinion, and computers themselves an amazing new technology he can't, and never will, get enough of. He is completely addicted to computers, he acknowledges. Spends nearly every waking moment on one it seems. Sometimes becoming so absorbed with the images and text on his screen that he forgets to eat or sleep.
There are actually three brilliant facets to this next particular stage of Infierno, he congratulates himself, rolling over the details once more in his mind with a lopsided smirk forming on his lips:
One, he's establishing an airtight alibi tonight. Two, he's dropping off the murder weapon. Three, he's setting up the fall guys, even if those two morons had both backed out at the very last minute. Then, after all hell breaks loose, he can just sit back and relax for awhile, as he waits for a nice fat check to arrive and begins living a real life.
As to the hillbilly cops, his grandmother down the road, his schoolmates, his teachers…none of that is going to be a problem either, he's already long ago decided. After all, his record is spotless, absolutely impeccable. He's never gotten caught for anything and he's at the head of his class, just one slot short of being the top ranked student at Chatham High.
Besides, when it really comes down to it, when compared with his own intellectual powers and prowess, they're just a bunch of imbeciles anyway, every last one of them, those second-rate instructors included.
On the opposite end of Schillings Crossing the road widens considerably in order to accommodate a creek bed and the railroad tracks which both cleanly slice through it. Here, just past the bridge that spans these two landmarks, the road meets up with Highway 295. A sharp right turn and another few yards from this exit, on the left, is the entrance to yet another dirt road called Colane. There, in a tree-sheltered house located further up, he knows an excited co-conspirator is presently pacing, awaiting his arrival with bated breath.
He pulls into the driveway and shuts the headlights off, walks toward the house with his head down.
"You're late," the boy informs him, locking the front door behind them once he steps inside. "It's past 7 already. My aunt called a little while ago. Should be here any minute, I think. Where's Miles—what the hell happened?"
"A slight snag," he replies to his shaky host, unmoved by the boy's anxieties. "Miles backed out of it. Said his mother wouldn't loan him the car tonight. Here's your 'little toy' again. It jammed on me, by the way. Do you have a band-aid?"
His friend takes the holster he's just been handed, draws the small pistol out of it. But, despite that he's held the Walther .380 semiautomatic on a number of other occasions, this time he balks at the feel of it. It's warm to the touch, and there's a splash of blood on the barrel, some on the grip as well. "What?" he says, seeming perplexed.
"It jammed and I cut my thumb on it again. I need a band-aid."
"You did it then…?"
"I did it, Damian. They're dead."
"Ah…you did…well…I had a feeling Miles was going to reneg on you. Try the bathroom cabinet. I think I saw a new box in there."
Alone in the bathroom, he gently scrubs the gun wound clean and dries it with a towel, pasting a band-aid gingerly across it and, one by one, inspecting his nails. He is spotless, he ascertains, examining his stone face in the mirror and seeing nothing out of the ordinary with it, either. No blood spatters, no scratches, the same eyes as always placidly staring back at him. In fact, if anything, it's that cream white tie, devoid of any patterns, and the pastel striped, button-down shirt he's wearing beneath his parka, that strike him as odd-looking. The outfit seeming a bit mismatched and maybe too prim, for some reason.
He folds the hand towel and returns it, perfect, on its rack.
Entering Damian's room with a perfunctory, "OK, all set," he finds the gun has already been secreted into its hiding place once more, and Damian has produced what little remains of the bottle of liquor they stole nine days ago from the log cabin. He's offering a quick swig of it before they depart, in a slightly shaky voice suggesting they should both share a toast.
"I can't believe you did it," the boy croons, his eyes burning brightly with a mixture of lurid curiosity and awe. "Come on, have a sip, Wyley. We must commemorate this auspicious occasion. We have to."
At the sound of his own name, admittedly strange even to him, and the first he's heard it spoken perhaps in hours, he eyes his pale pal, coolly contemplating the almost empty bottle in his outstretched hand and the boy's palpable nervousness.
It's his father's booze, which he feels is unnecessary to point out, and "no" he doesn't want any of it, not now or ever. "Can't risk that tonight," he answers matter-of-factly, thinking of the trooper who typically lurks in the shadows on 295 near East Chatham, setting a speed trap for the unsuspecting. "We better just leave. Miles says he'll get a friend to drive him there so he can vouch for us, if it ever comes to that. We can't be each other's only alibi, remember?"
No, indeed, they cannot. Damian shrugs and takes one quick gulp for the road, grinning incorrigibly as he whisks the liquor bottle into its secret spot too, and grabs a heavy coat from the closet. "Are you all right?" he asks, hurriedly buttoning up and glancing at his wristwatch. "You're going to tell me all about it on the way, right Mr. Gates?"
"Of course," Wyley Gates answers without hesitation, softening his voice a notch at the show of respect he's just been given, and trying to mask his impatience and a feeling of superiority he can't help but to have tonight, knowing he's at last won their diehard competition and can never, ever be outdone.
Yes, yes, he'll happily tell his friend all about it, exercise his bragging rights. Except he isn't going to mention the woman because, frankly, she'd never been preapproved as one of the targets. That part has to be omitted then, and the part about the bitch not dying automatically, about the fierce struggle she put up to remain among the living. And, of course, he'll also have to omit any reference to a whimpering young cousin. That one too had not been discussed.
"Of course, Mr. Rossney. It will be my pleasure to brief you."
And, with that, Damian appears to be his swaggering self once more, locking eyes and horns with him as he usually does. "And now I'm $3,000 richer too, aren't I?" he spars, meaningfully rubbing his fingers together.
"Yeah. Three-thousand dollars richer when I am. You'll be wanting me to sign that check in blood, I presume?"
Damian pauses to pretend he is reflecting on the unseemly image this brings to mind. "That would be cool," he replies, feigning to shudder in horror at the thought of it. "But you know me, Wyley. I only accept cash."
In fact, Wyley knows he is only half kidding about this, the two of them sharing no greater love or ambition than for money. Real money, that you can hold in your hand and sniff, fill every one of your pockets with. In this unbridled pursuit they are Gemini; he is inclined to think, and he doesn't know how he'd ever survived so many years without his twin. He understands as well, that he couldn't have gotten this far without him. Damian was his connection to everything he needed to get the job done this evening. Damian was the middleman.
This conniving youth, with a hidden trove of firearms and stolen loot and survivalist guides and torture books, is a transplant to the bucolic hills and vales of Columbia County. One year his junior, Damian is originally from downstate New York, exiled to the boring countryside by parents at their wits end, desperately trying to keep their son out of trouble and hoping that mingling with the hicks would cure the juvenile delinquent, prevent him from straying too much farther than he had and ending up a hardened criminal someday, incarcerated.
It's all pretty much lost on their wayward son, though, because, unfortunately, he isn't that intuitive or intellectual. Discounting his exceptionally high IQ and a genuine knack for being underhanded and devious, insipid is probably the word that might describe him best, as demonstrated by that phony, vacuous smile always plastered to his face.
And his uncle, a trained clinical psychologist, he's got to be a delusional nitwit too, if he truly believes he's playing a role in the boy's rehabilitation. Damian is intrinsically and incurably criminal; that's what makes him so likable.
This modest house on Colane Road belongs to Damian's aunt and uncle, and, from their ideal location, if you hike across Route 295 and head in a southwesterly direction, you can actually walk unnoticed through the woods to the Gates's secluded home on Maple Drive, if you wanted to. For the fleet of foot and familiar, it probably wouldn't take much more than 15 or 20 minutes.
In light of that convenience and the teen's rather mercenary nature, he'd previously offered the kid a contract to do the killing for him. But the greedy ingrate required a small fortune for performing the service, he'd glibly announced: 25 percent of the six-digit inheritance Wyley could expect to receive once his father and brother had met their demise.
Alternately, Damian was more than willing to "only" charge a "mere" fee of $3,000 for the use of the prized semiautomatic, now permanently part of his collection, should Wyley decide he wanted to do the shootings himself. An obscenely high figure when taking into account who the gun originally belonged to.
Three-thousand dollars or 25 percent was annoying beyond words—you could hire a professional hit man for a fraction of that. Still, there isn't much point in quibbling about it at this moment when the deed itself, in its entire scope, hasn't been completely realized yet, and while the clock, for Wyley anyway, is still ticking.
They can always chat about the money tomorrow.
"I left the car running, Damian. Let's get out of here."
"If assassination is being attempted by or on behalf of a player-character, a complete plan of how the deed is to be done should be prepared by the player involved, and the precautions, if any, of the target character should be compared against the plan." 1986 play rules for "Dungeons & Dragons"
"It was a consensus of the kids from school that if plans were made, they were made on computers," Columbia County investigators in 1986, addressing rumors that the Gates family massacre had been preplanned in a "Dungeons & Dragons" game-style computer program designed by Gates and some classmates
''Wyley is an extremely quiet individual. He spent most of his time working with computers…he spent a great deal of time with the computer." Howard Hatch, Wyley Gates's uncle
"He was playing the game like a CIA agent. Money was part of the game, but the real payoff was just playing the game, the thrill of it. Wyley was into thrills and taking risks." Anonymous school source, commenting on the massacre and related crime spree that led up to it
Chapter 2: Begin 'Infierno'
"It" speaks to him sometimes, and sometimes he has to tell "It" to be quiet.
On December 13, 1986, "It" had, in fact, been incessantly nagging Wyley, beginning with the moment the appointed driver of the designated getaway car called him at his father's repair shop, where he worked on the weekends, and said he needed to cancel. A wary parent would not lend the vehicle in question, Miles had regretfully explained. So he was begging out of Infierno.
"Abort mission," the voice had advised Wyley after he hung up the phone on his skittish collaborator. But, instead, because he was so high on the prospect, his unprecedented happiness mounting with every passing hour, he wouldn't hear of it. He'd simply have to switch to the much lesser rehearsed option, he reasoned: borrowing his father's car for the night, or that of his father's live-in girlfriend of nine years, Cheryl Brahm.
Cheryl had had some difficulties with her car in the morning. Actually, as she was running her errands, it had stalled out on her in the center of town and wouldn't restart again. But the Gates men, Robert Sr. and Robert Jr., had promptly towed it to the shop and tinkered with it on and off all day. By afternoon, Wyley had even test-driven it for Cheryl before she picked it up, so he knew for certain the car was operating smoothly.
A dependable mode of transportation to and from the potential crime scene was an absolute must have, and between the two of them, Cheryl or his father, she was usually the most sympathetic to Wyley's needs and wants. Indeed, it had been Cheryl herself who'd taught him how to drive in the first place, who'd done whatever she could to help him get his driver's license—so, just as he was hoping, and just as he'd expected, she didn't have an issue with loaning him her car, she said. No problem at all, Cheryl assured him, driving away with it that day from the garage. Just as long as he was careful and came home before midnight.
"Okay," he answered, a quick, crooked smile coming to his lips. "I promise I'll drive carefully."
Later in the evening, after he'd eaten the spaghetti dinner she prepared for the family, after he'd washed the work grime off and put on a clean set of clothes to go see a movie, after he'd left the log cabin to park the borrowed car up the road and stealthily backtracked to the house again on foot, Wyley would thank Cheryl Brahm for her generosity, and for the woman's many other acts of kindness as well, by slapping her in the face with his father's stolen gun, and killing her last.
But this impromptu variation on the theme of Infierno was far from a perfect plan "It" warned him, as Wyley stood, undetected, at the top of the stairs to the recreation room where Cheryl, his father, and his cousin Jason had retired to digest their suppers in peace.
He craned his neck and cocked his ear, straining to listen in. His father was having a conversation on the telephone, winding it up and saying goodbye, and in the adjoining room he could hear the television.
"It's not too late to call this off," the voice in his head earnestly told him again. "It's not too late."
But "It" was not omnipotent, was it? As a matter of fact, tonight, "It" was dead wrong, Wyley Gates believed. He had to do this now or never, and there was no better time than the present. He'd devoted every day, every week, every month of his senior year to it. Had missed an enormous amount of school days and even let his grades slump in order to plan this massacre. In fact, he'd gone so far as to steal what he required to execute it successfully. Pilfered things to the tune of thousands and thousands of dollars. Computers, guns, money, bullets.
And that's not all, hardly the only considerations that made this frigid December date possibly his last best chance, why he couldn't and shouldn't delay any longer.
His father and Cheryl were, after all their years of unwedded bliss, talking marriage of late. Contemplating legally tying the knot so the two could then be declared eligible to adopt that toddler sitting down there, presumably watching TV.
The kid was his dead Uncle Dane's orphaned son, and that whole matter was nothing but a stinking can of worms for Wyley. Yet another Gates tragedy, but one he hadn't ever expected to have to contend with.
Fuck that brat and his varied misfortunes, he thought. Fuck them all, and any future stakes they think they might lay claim to regarding his father's estate, either through marriage or adoption. Right now is what counts and, right this second, there existed only two legitimate heirs to Robert Gates's monies, and one of them would be dead soon, blown away with his own father's stolen handgun and ammunition.
That too was weighing on Wyley's mind. All week his father had been bitching about the break-in, every day becoming more and more obsessed with it, and more and more convinced that the items stolen from the log cabin on December 4th, the missing guns and cash and booze, had actually been confiscated by Wyley and his friends, not some anonymous burglar. And it didn't help, everybody stressing that Wyley was the only member of the Gates household who hadn't lost anything in the heist.
It had been trying enough, Wyley felt, with the overbearing bastard springing on him that he wouldn't be paying for a "fancy" university after all. That he would send him instead to the local community college and see how well he does there first. But, because of the burglary, and because of other growing suspicions formulating in his mind, even this much Robert Gates was debating whether he would actually do now. Worse, Wyley had overheard him tell Cheryl that he was thinking about speaking with the police once more, conveying his new theory about the robbery to them.
It would be an extraordinary act of betrayal and Wyley was bound and determined to prevent his father from exacting it. The stingy, hard-assed, ball-buster would never live to see his 40th birthday.
He was himself a mere 17 years of age, and this also ranked very high on his list in finally deciding an ideal timeframe for the massacre. At 17, if he did screw it up somehow, get linked to these killings, which he truly doubted was ever going to happen, then it wouldn't really matter anyway. He'd still firmly qualify as a Youthful Offender, with all the benefits and leniency that comes with such a status.
He'd learned that valuable little tidbit in his criminal justice class this year. Smart, decent guys like him, 16 maybe 17, with no priors, an honor student, class salutatorian, vice president…it was practically a guarantee he'd get a drastically reduced sentence and his record permanently sealed, even if charged with murder.
Call off Infierno then because "It" was ordering him to? No way. Besides, in truth, he'd backed out of killing his brother and father at least twice already – in recent fumbled attempts at staging an armed robbery at the garage, losing his nerve each time.
At that rate, before Wyley knew it, he'd be 18, 19, 20, 21, 22…his father remarried, with Cheryl his first-in-line successor, and another, much younger, heir to the throne.
Marriage. Adoption. Community college. His brute of a father could go to hell, and Wyley would gladly be the one to send him there. He was not going to waste himself, his youth and his vast talents, on some rinky-dink excuse for higher education, get an inferior degree composed of worthless and mostly nontransferable credit hours. That was well beneath him.
So, in spite of his excellent class standing and high grade-point average, or the gentle nudging of a few of his worried teachers, he hadn't even bothered applying to any colleges yet, and doing so was getting close to the wire.
But not to worry. Wyley Gates knew if he played it right and didn't fail himself again, there would soon be plenty of money for attending reputable universities in Boston or California. And there would also be plenty of weeks left within which to send out some timely applications.
Time was of the essence, however. Wyley Gates was pressed for time on December 13, 1986.
Those three grouped together down there in a virtually soundproof basement; his brother in the music room over the garage banging away on a drum set to the cranked up stereo; everyone convinced he was gone.
The moment was perfect, Wyley argued with his unseen gadfly, the gun delicately poised in his gloved hand, his sneakered feet silently descending the stairs to the basement, one after the other. I am the dungeon master. I've got the element of surprise.
His father saw him first. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, still standing beside the table with the telephone, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his long lost Walther, his hand reaching out to grab the receiver again, lifting it up…
BANG—and Cheryl was on her feet too, the bullet whizzing only inches past her face and ripping into his father's diaphragm and liver, the phone receiver jerking from the stricken man's fingertips, tumbling free to the floor from its cradle, his own ears ringing…
BANG—Cheryl was turning her back on him, rushing toward his teetering father, the second missile piercing her breast, traveling clean through the gland and smashing the gasping man's wrist…
BANG, BANG—he shot the woman twice in the back near her shoulder and Cheryl was down, her startled cry stifled from a fractured rib, a shattered vertebrae, and a perforated lung…
BANG—he fired again, and his father collapsed as well, the bullet tearing through his right arm and traveling into his lung and heart.
Count the spent bullets now…one…two…three…four…five…
BANG—this time shooting wildly at the three-year-old who emerged wet-faced and teary-eyed at the other side of the rec room where the television sat.
The boy flinched at the sting of a bullet grazing his left arm pit, hesitated, and frantically retreated into the darkened corner again to hide.
"Oh no you don't," Wyley growled, with long legs stepping over Cheryl's body to pursue the child; grabbing hold of the shrieking toddler from behind so fiercely that he bruised the skin on his back; clamping his small face so tightly with one hand in order to silence him, that he left abrasions near the boy's eyes…
BANG—he discharged his last shot at pointblank range into Jason's chest, and his cousin ceased struggling.
The basement was completely still then, except for the images dancing across the television. It stunk down there, too, Wyley suddenly realized. The stench of Cheryl's cigarettes and gun smoke and piss and…he turned down the volume on the TV set to see if he could hear drums beating in the distance. Turned it back up again, and reloaded his weapon.
It was not necessary anymore for him to sneak through the house, or even into the adjoining garage. The dead are deaf as stones, and it was obvious his brother hadn't heard a sound over his own racket. In fact, he was able to walk within only a few short feet of the young man before he finally noticed him approaching with an arm raised, and recognized, too late, the stolen gun Wyley held in his hand. The meaning of his bloody coat and pants.
"You stupid fool!" Robert Jr. blurted in disbelief.
It was the standard insult his older sibling always hurled when disgusted with him. Wyley merely ignored it this time, squeezed the trigger and—BANG, BANG—Robert Jr. keeled over backwards, still gripping a drumstick with the one good hand that was left to him, a gaping hole high up in his opposite shoulder at the clavicle, another, lower, in his chest.
One more shot up close and this phase would be complete, but then the Walther jammed, two bullets simultaneously misloading into its firing chamber.
Wyley paused in his tracks to pry one of them loose with his finger, popping a live round out and letting it fall to his feet. His brother, he could tell by the spastic thrashing noise coming from directly behind the drums, was not quite dead yet…
Wyley exited the garage with the music still playing behind him and a smug expression on his face. Quietly he made his way back into the main part of the house again and went straight to his room where clean clothes and a plastic garbage bag lay in a neat pile beside the bed. This precaution taken so he wouldn't have to touch anything undressing and redressing again.
He was a bloody mess he discovered, once he got in there and took a close look at himself. The gloves, the coat, even his pant legs…much, much worse than he'd calculated on. As well, although it had all transpired in what felt like only a couple of heartbeats, in reality it had taken him almost twice as long as expected, and, according to the clock on Wyley's nightstand, he was now seriously off schedule, if they were going to make that movie.
He had run into overtime for some odd reason, and was only midway through his quick-change from armed assassin to harmless schoolboy again, when he thought he heard a sound coming from the basement. The dead clamoring.
She was not dead, however, and, having regained consciousness, had staggered in a daze to her feet once more, shakily taking stock of the event and, in shock, proceeding to half crawl, half walk up the stairs, bleeding.
The slugs in Cheryl Brahm's back that didn't kill her, but which eventually would, had rent serious damage to her spine and pericardium, but not to her heart.
It was a strong heart, Wyley Gates was about to learn that evening, and, with it, she fought him to the bitter end, wrestling to get past him in the stairwell so she could get help for her wounded family members, breaking one of the buttons on his shirt as she tried to seize the gun from him.
Here, in the middle of the stairs, the semiautomatic went off inadvertently in rapid succession, injuring Cheryl four more times in a tight cluster on her left thigh, and decimating her femur.
Here, a badly unnerved teenager, panic overtaking him, grasped the hated woman by the collar and struck her in the hand and face with the Walther, the two of them maniacally still flailing for ownership of it in a deadly standoff he could never have envisioned. Until finally, in sheer desperation, fearful he'd be shot himself by accident, Wyley Gates kicked Cheryl Brahm down the stairs, and she expired.
He hovered in the stairwell, rattled, after that. For how much longer, he couldn't remember. When she didn't move again, and he was certain she was really dead, he crept down past the battered corpse to check on the status of his cousin and father, for safe measure, emptying the last bullet into Robert Gates Sr., although he, like the little boy, had already bled to death.
"Told you so," Wyley was chastised, as he and "It" left the murder scene, but by then he'd regained his composure once more, and the upper hand. "Shut up," he replied, and they drove off in the murdered woman's automobile together, in silence.
The subsequent journey into the village of Chatham, from Damian Rossney's home on Colane Road via Highway 295, was a cautious one, but notably short when compared to how long it takes to actually commit mass murder. Because of those time discrepancies, and taking special care not to mention the slaying of his young cousin, or the Cheryl debacle that had nearly foiled the plot in the final moments of its execution, Wyley recounted for his bloodthirsty passenger an abridged version of the shootings. Satiating Damian with detailed descriptions of how the bullets sounded entering the bodies of his father and his father's namesake, and, yes, his father's woman.
Of how many bullets he'd put into each of the victims.
Of the sight of their life fluids pulsing from their wounds.
Of the quantity of blood he'd witnessed spattering and oozing.
And his heartfelt disappointment there wasn't more of it.
"Jason was all Gates. He was the spitting image of his [late] father, and Bob took him everywhere." Don DeLapp, family friend, describing three-year-old Jason Gates and his uncle Robert Gates Senior's devotion to him
"He was an awfully good little kid…happy as a clam to be at the garage…never a peep out of him." Jim Klingler, close friend and associate of Robert Gates Sr.
"Bobby and I are going to get married…and we're going to adopt Jason…then he'll have a life like a little boy's life, which he never had." Cheryl Brahm, one month before she was murdered
Chapter 3: Pause 'Infierno'
September 16, 1985
"THREE KILLED IN FIERY CRASH NEAR BORDER / CANAAN NY - Three New York residents were killed and another critically injured early yesterday in a fiery one-car accident near the Massachusetts-New York border, Columbia County authorities reported. A car driven by Dane Gates, 25, left the north lane of Peaceful Valley Road in the Town of Canaan, hit several trees and burst into flames, said the Sheriff's dispatcher. Gates, his wife Georgia, 24, and a friend, were all killed in the accident. Authorities say they are still not sure what could have caused the crash and fire but are investigating."
Fate can come off fickle, even heartless, at times, and for those people who find they're too frequently the object of her capriciousness it becomes difficult after awhile to resist loudly lamenting their misfortunes. In some extreme cases, ruing their very birth.
Until they read the newspaper headlines, that is, hear of the tests and trials of individuals even more luckless than themselves.
Good-natured three-year-old Jason Gates of Canaan New York was a luckless individual, as demonstrated by the record of his brief but tumultuous existence.
Murdered in a family massacre by a demented teenage cousin aspiring to inherit all of the family's wealth, the "Infierno" planned for this hapless infant appears to have been well underway before that brutal December evening when he and his relatives were shot to death. It actually began 15 months prior to the bloodbath, only a few miles away from the Maple Drive log cabin, in a fiery car crash that left the toddler instantly orphaned.
But even before this mysterious inferno claimed the lives of Jason's parents, his father had always said he expected to die at a young age of some horrible death. That hunch, formed early in life from observation, didn't change with his happy marriage or the birth of an only child. Tragedy ran strong in his family's bloodline, Dane had deduced. Especially for the men.
Dane and his older brother Robert were more than a decade apart in years, but otherwise inseparable, it has been claimed. Described as natural-born "daredevils" and risk-takers by many who knew and admired them, both brothers were fond of the outdoors, motorcycles, and stockcar racing. Both were at their happiest when engaged in some physical activity, whether it was playing or laboring. Both were mechanically adept at disassembling broken things—cars, trucks, motorbikes, tractors – and putting the machinery back in good working order again.
Activities such as those formed the core of Gates Enterprises, owned and operated by Robert, and he hoped to live long enough to see his own two sons take over the thriving business one day. Hoped they would nobly carry on his legacy of being hardworking, clever, and handy.
Those dreams were to be bitterly dashed, unfortunately, once his youngest son, the very bookish and highly unmotivated Wyley, was "forced" to join the team at the Gates garage.
Their own father, who had ruled Dane and Robert and their other siblings with an iron fist, to the point of being abusive, would never have tolerated Wyley's attitude for a minute, the brothers would now and then remark, well out of earshot of the boy.
Wyley's rudeness to everybody who worked at or came into the Gates repair shop; the contemptuous looks he gave his uncle, brother, father and Cheryl; the deliberately slow way he performed all his chores, sometimes sabotaging a job completely; the sitting and staring routine he would resort to, often for hours; and his disrespectfulness in general, as if everyone and everything at the garage was beneath him…any one of those offenses Wyley's hot-headed grandfather would've beat him senseless for, the brothers both knew, let alone all of the combined.
Robert confessed to being deeply perplexed and disappointed about his son's hostile behavior, but he let it slide, optimistically declaring anytime someone brought up the issue, including his brother Dane, that someday Wyley would "grow out of it." He did not want to ever see himself acting like their father had, mistreating them all till his dying breath, abusing even his mother.
Dane did die prematurely just as predicted, and when people die young it's not usually achieved peacefully, so, in this grim prophecy of his which he'd harbored for most of his life, he also proved correct.
Still, he did live long enough to see his nephew Robert Jr. gradually following in Robert Sr.'s footsteps. That one was going to turn out just fine, he could tell, with a sense of pride and relief. But Wyley—resentful, scheming Wyley – he wasn't like any of them, Dane privately decided. He was a terror.
Shortly after Dane's hellish death in the one-car accident only a few miles down the road from them, Robert was visiting with their mother Vivian at the stately family home located only a quarter mile from his log cabin. That day, in his brother's old room, he swore he heard a voice that sounded like Dane's speaking to him. But, if it was him, trying to deliver a message from the grave, he couldn't make out what he was saying.
Jason could understand, apparently. One afternoon he stood alone in that same empty room and chatted with the spirit for more than an hour, family members who witnessed this reported. When the conversation ended, the child abruptly ran out of the room to go and find his grandmother. "Grandma," he called, "Daddy wants to talk to you."
It is not known what the late Dane Gates wished to impart on his mother, or if he ever got the opportunity.
Vivian Gates was very stoical about her son's terrible automobile accident. It was not the first catastrophe in the family and not the first tragic death either, nor would it be the last wake she'd be required to attend before she herself eventually passed away. Conspicuously absent from any of Dane Gate's funeral services, however, was her grandson Wyley.
In keeping with that precedence, Wyley would likewise fail to make an appearance fifteen months later at the funerals of 39-year-old Robert Gates Sr., 19-year-old Robert Gates Jr., 3-year-old Jason Gates, and 36-year-old Cheryl Brahm.
But for a somewhat different reason.
"'My way hither was the way of destiny; for I am he whose genius you are the symbol: part brute, part woman, and part god—nothing of man in me at all!' (when I read that I say, That's how I feel.)" Wyley Gates, in a note he sent to Damian Rossney, written on a page torn from Caesar and Cleopatra by author George Bernard Shaw
Chapter 4: Resume 'Infierno'
Wyley turned his back on Miles when he saw him milling about the front of the Crandell Theatre, waiting for the second showing of Heartbreak Ridge with a boy who wasn't one of them. When he saw Miles McDonald's eyes light up with fear at the sight of him, the coward's awkward hand-wave, his bravado.
Damian had leaned toward the pair and quickly whispered something to them, and then Wyley saw it come across Miles' features like a dark shadow: that same expression of terror he had witnessed back at the cabin. The face of a victim.
Miles, handsome Miles, the popular class clown and his number two collaborator, whose family had strong ties to local law enforcement, would be his Judas if given the chance, Wyley suddenly worried. He could readily comprehend this possibility now, see how it might unfold. And the boy's last minute squeamishness, his potential for betrayal, to undo everything that had been so skillfully planned and done, was overwhelming to Wyley that minute.
So he turned around. This way he couldn't see Judas, smell the fear oozing from Miles' pores, act upon it, kill him.
It was an uncontrollable urge and it had surprised Wyley, being only a few hours since the shootings. But it was there, and he knew he couldn't deny it.
He wanted to stab this weak friend of his, to strangle him, to shoot him down. There was no doubt about that compulsion. Whatever his feelings had been for this young man in the past, if the two of them had been alone someplace together tonight, he would have murdered him without a second thought, and cherished the slaying.
"What did you tell him?" he asked Damian, as they were walking back to the car. "What did you say to Miles?"
"I told him you did it, that's all," Damian replied, in typical jocular fashion. "Why? It's not exactly going to be a big secret come tomorrow, Wyley."
Right. "In front of that kid?—I forget his name—did he ask what you meant by that?"
"Yeah, he asked. Miles told him it means you crashed Cheryl's car."
Crashed her car…? Oh, all right then. Let it pass. Phase two complete. Alibis established. "Okay, let's get back to your uncle's house now. I need to check the program one last time before I go home and finish. I want to be sure there's no kinks in it. Something we haven't contemplated."
Back at the house on Colane Road, Damian's aunt and uncle were sitting upstairs engrossed in a movie they were watching on television. The boys greeted them politely, attempted some small talk, and then went straight to Damian's room, shutting the door behind them, clicking on the computer, and turning down the volume.
Wyley chuckled to himself, perching on the end of the bed as they waited for the machine to warm up. The world was chock full of dunces, he was finally realizing. Teeming with idiocy.
"What's so funny?" his bemused cohort asked, thinking he was the brunt of the amusement.
"I just can't believe they've never seen that," Wyley answered, pointing to the bold stamp on the back of Damian's computer monitor and snickering.
Damian flashed a wry grin. PROPERTY OF CHATHAM CENTRAL SCHOOL, it read.
"No, I'm not going to sit down. Tell me what happened." Vivian Gates, mother of victim Robert Gates and grandmother of victim Robert Gates Jr., telling a New York Times reporter what she said when her grandson Wyely came to inform her that he'd "discovered" the family shot to death in their log cabin down the road
''We've had a massacre. The bodies were found around the house. They had been shot several times each…worse than anything I saw in Korea.'' Columbia County Sheriff Paul Proper
"It was a bloody mess up there. We started talking to the boy and his story came up with holes." Columbia County Undersheriff James Bertram.
"There is no evidence that the shooter required any extraordinary knowledge of firearms. Of all the shots that were fired, I think only two or three struck the heart." Dr. Michael Baden, director of the New York State Police Forensic Science Unit and former chief medical examiner of New York City
Eponymous Rox writes about cops, curs and killers, and is the author of THE CASE OF THE DROWNING MEN: Investigating the Smiley Face Serial Murder Theory as well as THE BUTCHER OF BRAINTREE: the Homicidal Soul of Amy Bishop. The newest investigative piece DUNGEONS DRAGONS MURDER is the third in Rox's true crime series. Next up: KILLING KILLERS, How the World's Wickedest Got Whacked, profiles some of America's most infamous murderers and their famous last words and moments before they were executed. Fully illustrated in both digital and print editions, KILLING KILLERS will be released in early 2013. Visit the Killing Killers website for press announcements, and for free online reads and breaking news updates to all prior publications.
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Other Proposed Natural Treatments
Herbs and Supplements to Use Only With Caution
Male infertility, the inability of a man to produce a pregnancy in a woman, is often caused by measurable deficits in sperm function or sperm count. In about half of all cases, however, the source of the problem is never discovered.
The good news is that, without any treatment at all, about 25% of supposedly infertile men bring about a pregnancy within a year of the time they first visit a physician for treatment. In other words, infertility is often only low fertility in disguise.
Proposed Treatments for Male Infertility
Growing, if not entirely consistent evidence, suggests that various forms of the supplement L-carnitine may improve sperm function and thereby provide benefit in male infertility. 12-20,27,32,33,44-45,52
For example, in one double-blind study, 60 men with abnormal sperm function were given either carnitine (as L-carnitine 2 g/day and acetyl-L-carnitine 1 g/day) or placebo for 6 months. 34 The results showed significant improvement in sperm function in the treated group as compared to the placebo group.
A similarly sized 6-month, double-blind, placebo-controlled study, which involved men with low sperm counts, found benefits with carnitine (again as L-carnitine 2 g/day and acetyl-L-carnitine at 1 g/day) taken alone or carnitine combined with the anti-inflammatory drug cinnoxicam. 35
In addition, a 2-month, double-blind, placebo-controlled, crossover study of 100 men with various forms of infertility found probable benefits with 2 g daily of L-carnitine. 36
Zinc Plus Folate
A 26-week, double-blind, placebo-controlled trial compared the effects of treatment with zinc (66 mg of zinc sulfate, supplying 15 mg of zinc), folate (5 mg), and zinc plus folate against placebo. 22 A total of 108 fertile men and 103 men with impaired fertility ("subfertile men") participated in the study. The two supplements combined significantly improved the sperm count and the percentage of healthy sperm in the subfertile men; neither supplement alone produced this effect, and there was little effect of the combined therapy on fertile men.
Another study also found potential benefit with zinc plus folate. 46
For more information on dosage and safety issues, see the full articles on folate and zinc .
Vitamin B 12
Mild vitamin B 12 deficiencies are relatively common in people over 60. 1,2 Such deficiencies lead to reduced sperm counts and lowered sperm mobility. Thus vitamin B 12 supplementation has been tried for improving fertility in men with abnormal sperm production.
In one double-blind study of 375 infertile men, supplementation with vitamin B 12 produced no benefits on average in the group as a whole. 3 However, in a particular subgroup of men with sufficiently low sperm count and sperm motility, B 12 appeared to be helpful. Such "dredging" of the data is suspect from a scientific point of view, however, and this study cannot be taken as proof of effectiveness.
For more information, including dosage and safety issues, see the full Vitamin B 12 article.
Free radicals, dangerous chemicals found naturally in the body, may damage sperm. For this reason, a number of studies have evaluated the benefits of antioxidants for male infertility.
In a double-blind, placebo-controlled study of 110 men whose sperm showed subnormal activity, daily treatment with 100 IU of vitamin E resulted in improved sperm activity and increased rate of pregnancy in their partners. 6
Preliminary studies suggest that vitamin C may improve sperm count and function. 7 However, a recent double-blind study of 31 individuals that tested both vitamin C and vitamin E found no benefit. 8 The dosages studied ranged from 200 mg to 1,000 mg daily.
According to one small double-blind study, the antioxidant carotenoid astaxanthin might enhance male fertility. 37 Other antioxidants that have shown at least a bit of promise include lycopene , 21 coenzyme Q 10 , 24 and selenium . 25
Researchers reviewed 34 randomized trials involving 2,876 couples experiencing unexplained male infertility, as well as sperm-related problems. 54 The couples in the oral antioxidant groups had increased pregnancy rates. Despite these favorable findings, the researchers concluded that these studies alone do not conclusively show that antioxidants are beneficial for male infertility.
A major pharmaceutical company has reported success for male infertility using a miscellaneous mixture of antioxidants. 53 However, there is no reason to believe that the exact mixture of substances contained in this product were chosen with any particular insight; any such insight regarding the optimum formulation does not as yet exist.
Other Herbs and Supplements
Highly preliminary evidence suggests improvements in sperm function or pregnancy rates with Panax ginseng . 11
The herb Lepidium meyenii ( maca ) is claimed to enhance fertility, but the supporting evidence is limited to animal studies and one tiny uncontrolled study in humans conducted by a single research group. 38,47-50 Contrary to what is stated on numerous websites, maca does not appear to raise testosterone levels. 28
In a double-blind trial of 28 men with impaired sperm activity, use of docosahexaenoic acid (DHA), a component of fish oil , failed to improve sperm health. 9 Another double-blind study failed to find L-arginine effective for improving pregnancy rates. 26
One very small study failed to find magnesium helpful for infertility. 39
Many other substances have been suggested as treatments for poor sperm function and infertility, including the herbs ashwagandha , Eleutherococcus , pygeum , saw palmetto , and suma , as well as the supplements SAMe and calcium , but there is no meaningful supporting evidence for these treatments.
In addition, all of the treatments listed in the article on Impotence have also been proposed as treatments for male infertility, though not necessarily with any supporting evidence.
Herbs and Supplements to Use Only With Caution
Soy or soy isoflavones , 29 as well as the herb licorice , 10 may reduce testosterone levels in men. For this reason, men with impotence, infertility, or decreased libido may want to avoid these natural products.
One report claims that both tea tree oil and lavender oil have estrogenic (estrogen-like) and antiandrogenic (testosterone-blocking) effects. 51 If this were true, men with infertility should avoid use of these herbs. However, a literature search failed to find any other published reports that corroborate this claim.
According to a preliminary double-blind study, the supplement melatonin affects testosterone and estrogen metabolism in men, and when taken at a dose of 3 mg daily for 6 months may impair sperm function. 23
Preliminary evidence from animal studies hints that use of some forms of peppermint at high doses might impair fertility. 40
There is contradictory evidence from animal studies on whether the herb andrographis may impair fertility. 30,31 The same is true of the herb stevia. . 41-43
Revision Information
- Reviewer: EBSCO CAM Review Board
- Review Date: 12/2015 -
- Update Date: 12/15/2015 -


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Ardmore street closures for the week. This information is provided by the City of Ardmore Engineering Department and is subject to change.
The following streets will be closed intermittently during the day:
• 4th Ave NW between Rockford Place and Tower Drive
• 1st Ave NW between K Street NW and North Commerce Street
• Maple Street between North Commerce Street and Chickasaw Boulevard
• 6th Avenue SW between Q Street SW and R Street SW
• Q Street SW between 4th Avenue SW and 5th Avenue SW


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I tested the Phantom 4 Pro's Obstacle Sensing System by having it gather as much speed as it could and making it zoom straight toward the broadside of my barn. Each time, the drone stopped dead in its tracks approximately 5 to 10 feet away from what, for other drones, would have been a certain demise. It accomplished this forward and backward, and it even detected me while it was flying low and stopped before taking off my head. Unfortunately, the sideways collision-avoidance sensors work only in the Beginner and Tripod modes—here's hoping that future models will employ all four in every mode.
Like the Mavic Pro, the Phantom 4 Pro can fly over 4 miles away, thanks to its OcuSync transmission system. DJI also claims a battery improvement in the Phantom 4 Pro, with a flight time of 30 minutes. PCMag was able to get 25 minutes out of the battery, a superb result for a high-performance drone. In contrast, I got 22 minutes from it and was able to fly only over 7,300 feet before I lost the transmission signal; perhaps this was due to the cold weather, but the Mavic Pro flew much farther.
The Phantom 4 Pro has all the same automated flight modes available in the Mavic Pro but adds Draw, which lets the pilot draw a path on the FPV screen; the drone then flies that route while keeping a uniform altitude. You control these modes via a smartphone or tablet mounted on the Phantom 4 Pro's controller—but said controller is more comfortable and easier to use than the Mavic Pro's. If you have the budget for more, the Phantom 4 Pro+ includes a remote controller with a built-in 5.5-inch 1080p screen twice as bright as the displays of conventional smart devices. It also does away with the need to bring your own smartphone or tablet.
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is one of the cheapest and most basic models the company offers, and is an ideal beginner drone. Though it lacks the 4K recording, advanced AI, and extended flight time and range of the Mavic Pro , the Spark weighs and costs half as much and still retains important beginner-friendly features. The drone can take off, land, and return to home with the push of a button. It also has an intelligent enough positioning system to hold its location in the air. For a beginner who isn't yet ready to learn how to pilot a drone and just wants to start taking photos and videos, they can begin by controlling the Spark from a smartphone or even gesture controls.
The Spark retains a good stabilization system, and is more than good enough for someone just starting to get into drone photography and videography. It offers speeds of up to 31 miles per hour, as well as 16 minutes of flight time. This is a drone that would be at home following a snowboarder down a hill, but passed over by professionals for options with a better camera.
The researchers finally hit upon a solution that was ingenious by its simplicity.Their golden idea: After the pores were filled with the self-assembled monolayer (SAM) material, they covered the SAMs in the pores with gold nanoparticles.These nanoparticles, big enough not to fall in between the self-assembled molecules, made contact with the molecules without destroying them or altering their properties.
"The nanoparticles auto-adjust to the size of the molecules," says coauthor Marcel Mayor of the University of Basel. "This now looks so simple, and we did so much work to get there."
The researchers created around 3,000 nanoporeson the wafer,each housing self-assembled molecules. When theytested the molecules' response to applied voltages, they found that for same-size pores, the spread in responses was very small.Although the contact resistance for individual molecules in the pores may differ because of defects, there is an effective all-sample averaging caused by their SAM approach, explains Lörtscher.
Mayor is not sure whether the SAM devices will be able to compete with silicon devicesfordata storage or switching.Because the electrical properties of SAM molecules are affected by the presence of other molecules, they could be useful in sensing applications, he says."There are many structures in which this behavior is known," says Mayor. For example, the SAM moleculesare pH sensitive, and they rearrange their structure, or swell, when exposed to certainvaporsor solvents. "This is where all the interest from industry in these devices is coming from; they are interested in much more precise analytical devices," says Mayor. Zhenan Bao , a materials scientist at Stanford University, agrees. "Contacting to single molecules reliably has always been a major challenge. It is impressive that they got very reproducible results and how beautifully the electrical conduction scaled with the length of the molecule. Their approach could be very promising for making molecular memory and circuits in the future," she says.
However, Youngkyoo Kim , a researcher atKyungpook National University, in South Korea, expresses some reservations about the SAM devicesas sensors: "I feel thatthe present nanoparticle andself-assembly approach sounds good in termsof large-scalefabrication of electrical contacts in molecular devices but theperformance reproducibility and stabilitymay remaina big hurdle to overcome.I n thecase of the present device structure,both metal electrodes (including metal nanoparticles)and SAM layers need to bewellencapsulated for stable operation."
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Rare Diseases Research: Clinical Trial for Niemann-Pick Type CDetermined to find a treatment for children with the degenerative brain disease Niemann-Pick Type C, Steven Walkley, D.V.M., Ph.D., turned a serendipitous laboratory discovery into a successful national research collaboration with other academic institutions and the National Center for Advancing Translational Sciences, part of the NIH. These efforts led to an NIH Phase 1 clinical trial testing cyclodextrin as a therapy for children with this disease. Dr. Walkley is a professor in the Dominick P. Purpura Department of Neuroscience and director of the Rose F. Kennedy Intellectual and Developmental Disabilities Research Center at Einstein. (April 29, 2014)
Einstein On: Alzheimer's disease, Dr. Richard Lipton (1 of 3): Advances in Diagnosis & Treatment (13:58)


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Manchester firefighter's detective work pays off with arrest of burglary suspectStaff Report
November 14. 2013 11:22PM
MANCHESTER — Kelly Allen, whose Vinton Street home was burglarized Wednesday, may be a firefighter, but he used detective skills to find the teen he said burglarized his house.
Allen, 51, told police he was in his home when he heard a knock at the door early Wednesday morning. He didn't answer, but looked out the window and saw a teenager walking toward a side door.
Instead of knocking at that door, said Allen, the teen walked around to the back of the house.
His interest piqued, Allen went outside to check on what was happening and saw his basement door wide open.
Allen went back inside through that door and, as he reached the main floor, spotted the teen running out the front door.
Allen told police he chased the youth for a short distance, but then returned home and got his car, driving around the neighborhood.
Based on the burglar's estimated age and clothing — jeans, sneakers and Memorial High colors — Allen deduced the burglar could be a student at Memorial High School and drove there.
He told police he spotted the youth in the school office, where Allen said he also saw his cell phone sticking out of the teen's pocket.
The teen, whose alleged extracurricular activity made him late for school, was in the office to get a permission slip for a late admission to class.
School resource officer Michelle Toepel went to the office and arrested Clifford Williamson, 17, of 551 Somerville St.
Williamson was charged with burglary and released on $2,000 personal recognizance bail. He is scheduled for arraignment Dec. 4 in Circuit Court-Manchester District Division.
Reached at home, Allen said he did not want to elaborate about what happened. Allen is a Manchester firefighter.
Police are seeking the public's help in finding the burglars who targeted three other city residences Wednesday:
• About 4 p.m., officer Scott Ardita responded to a W. Hillcrest Avenue address, where the window to a side door was shattered and jewelry and electronics taken.
• Also about 4 p.m., officer Brian Gillotte responded to a Pine Street address, where a third-floor apartment door was forced open sometime after 11:30 a.m. Clothing and cash were taken from a bedroom.
• About 6 p.m., officer Justin Maguire investigated a burglary that had just occurred at a first-floor apartment at 1 Balsam Way. The resident told police that as she entered through the front door, she heard noises near the bedroom.
Police said it appeared the burglar gained entry through a bedroom window. Officer Rob Megowen and K-9 Lynx followed a trail to Countryside Boulevard, where the burglar apparently entered a vehicle. Jewelry and a screwdriver were found during the track.
Police Lt. Maureen Tessier said there have been 28 burglaries in the first two weeks of November. There were 64 for the entire month of November 2012.
So far this year, there have been 800 burglaries, compared to 854 at this time last year.
Crime, law and justice Human Interest Public Safety Manchester Top Section Stories


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RIPLEY - The Ripley Middle School boys basketball squad will travel to Logan today to face the Wildcats of Logan Middle School for all the marbles in the Mid Valley Athletic Conference Championship Game.
The Vikings defeated Ravenswood and no. 1 seeded Winfield to get their shot at the title.
In last year's title game, the Vikings fell to Winfield.
For those unable to made the road trip, you can watch the game at www.loganwildcats.tv or listen to the game online at www.wvow.com
Tipoff is at 5:30 p.m.


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The Delaware Highlands Conservancy is currently accepting applications from eligible high school seniors for the "Delaware Highlands Conservancy/Yeaman Scholarship" in the amount of $1,000.
— The Delaware Highlands Conservancy is currently accepting applications from eligible high school seniors for the "Delaware Highlands Conservancy/Yeaman Scholarship" in the amount of $1,000.
The scholarship has been awarded annually since 2004 to a student planning to pursue a field in environmental studies in college.
Given in honor of the Conservancy's founder, Barbara Yeaman, the scholarship is open to students in school districts bordering the Upper Delaware River in New York and Pennsylvania.
Barbara Yeaman, the 2012 recipient of the PA Land Trust Alliance Lifetime Conservation Achievement award, understands that protecting our earth into the future means educating our kids today.
The scholarship embodies Barbara's vision and the dedication of our members to protect our special Upper Delaware River region now and for future generations. Last spring, the Conservancy awarded a scholarship to Kelly Frey, now attending West Chester University and majoring in GeoSciences with a focus in Environmental Conservation.
Students should contact their guidance counselors for a scholarship application. Applications must be submitted through the school's guidance counselor for transmittal to the Delaware Highlands Scholarship Committee by March 29, 2013. Recipients of the scholarship will be notified by April 30, 2013.
Funds for the scholarship are made available due to generous donations by Barbara Yeaman's friends and family, and collected at a summer party and fundraiser hosted by Scholarship Committee Chair, Don Downs.
The scholarship event celebrates Barbara's lifelong dedication to protecting the Upper Delaware River region.
The Delaware Highlands Conservancy works with landowners and communities to protect the healthy lands, clean waters, eagles and other wildlife, and locally sustainable economies of the Upper Delaware River region.
For more information, please call (570) 226-3164, 845-583-1010, or send an email to firstname.lastname@example.com.


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An Oregon sheep found to be infected with scrapie earlier this year was the only animal in its flock to have the disease, authorities say.
Tests recently confirmed that none of the other 300 sheep that were predisposed to the central nervous system disease were actually afflicted by it, according to USDA.
"What we have is one sheep. We started with one sheep and we still have one sheep. It's not an outbreak," said Oregon State Veterinarian Brad LeaMaster.
The agency's Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service, or APHIS, is now conducting a "trace-back and trace-forward" investigation to determine if any other flocks were exposed to scrapie, said spokesperson Lyndsay Cole.
Routine testing of slaughtered sheep uncovered the scrapie-infected sheep in June, and the USDA notified the state and the animal's Douglas County owners in August, said LeaMaster.
About 300 sheep within that flock tested positive for genetic susceptibility to the disease, he said. The owner agreed to have them euthanized and their brains examined for the disease.
In mid-November, those results showed that the infected sheep was an isolated case within the flock, Cole said.
"Now begins the epidemiology of where it came from," said LeaMaster.
Scrapie is a degenerative disease in the same category of illnesses as bovine spongiform encephalopathy, or mad cow disease, but there's no evidence that it can impact human health, according to APHIS.
"It's not a food safety concern," said Cole.
Even so, the USDA has been aggressively trying to eradicate the disease due to its negative effects on export markets, and over the past decade its prevalence has decrease more than 90 percent, LeaMaster said.
The last case in Oregon was detected in 2008, he said. "The smaller the prevalence, the harder it is going to be to find it in the flocks out there."
In the past year, APHIS has identified 18 positive scrapie cases in the U.S. — 15 in sheep and 3 in goats — across eight states and one unknown location, according to an agency report.
The disease causes behavioral changes in afflicted animals due to nerve damage, including tremors, convulsions and lack of coordination. Sick animals often rub themselves against other objects and lose weight.
Symptoms may not appear until two to five years after an animal is infected, but once they do it will usually die within six months.
Transmission of the disease is thought to occur from a ewe to her offspring or through contact with an infected placenta.
"The way it moves around is at birthing time," LeaMaster said. "This one moves around at glacial speed."


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