My Dad wanted me to say Hi to all his devoted fans. He's had his ups and downs but Dr. Rhinegold says his prognosis although guarded, is hopeful. His cousin, Sarah Susanna Stulz, suggested he do a painting of her Governor, Mark Sanford, so he knocked one out in his art and crafts therapy group. I'm posting a picture of it below. The original is now hanging with his other naked governors above the bar at the Old Town Ale House.

July 4

I have to confess on the ride back to Chicago I almost lost it. Life no longer seemed worth living. An unhappy looking man with a long neck and dirty tousled hair was sitting next to me. Next to him, apparently his child, a small boy with large ears. The boy was forever getting in and out of his seat. After the fifth or sixth time he made me get up I told his father "if that boy gets up one more time i will be compelled to take action". He immediately signaled for the stewardess. She was immaculately groomed no nonsense woman in her 40s. She found me a quiet seat in the rear of the plane averting a crisis. 

My daughter Grace, a self centered girl of 24, picked me up at the airport. There was more than a touch of superiority in her manner. "Dad, I told you not to go, didn't I"? It was a Questions I did not care to answer. Clearly I was to blame. It was a foolhardy quest. And now all was lost. That night I considered suicide. I mentioned to my wife that I was a bit depressed. She patted my shoulder sympathetically. However, she seemed preoccupied as if there was something more important than my dead dung beetles on her mind. I couldn't shake my preoccupation with suicide. Fortunately, that night I ran into Ida Ansell at the Old Town Ale House. Ida is the delicately nurtured daughter of a couple of aging flower children friends of mine. I explained the emotional turmoil I was in. She suggested I see Dr. Roxy Rhinegold, who was a professor of Ida's. Ida is currently studying to be a social worker. Dr. Rhinegold taught a class in Psychiatric social work and Ida spoke very highly of her. I was desperate, I literally had nothing to lose. I called Dr. Rhinegold the next morning. Although Dr. Rhinegold had plans to spend the 4th of July weekend in Michigan, upon hearing the urgency of my situation, said she'd see me in an hour.

She was a woman of extraordinary warmth. Midway though our session she picked up her telephone. In less than an hour she had me admitted to the psychiatric ward of a prominent local hospital. The nurse that showed me to my room told me I'd have an excellent view of the fireworks. I have written the last two pages on my wife's laptop. When Dr. Rhinegold saw me just now writing to you my fans. she said absolutely no more contact with the outside world until further notice. I apologize to all of you as I say goodbye for now.

July 3

Pepe and I arrived at Escobar stadium early the following morning. We had to prepare for extra matches because of the cancellations due to the Michael Jackson tribute the previous day. Unfortunately Pepe turned out to be correct. The security at Escobar was far from sufficient. I stood over my dead and dying dung beetles in helpless horror. Now, after trudging around the swampy jungles of Vietnam and Loas for almost three years during my tour in Special Operations, I was no stranger to death or the horrors of war. But nothing I had seen prepared me for this. It was a complete massacre. Twenty years of intense labor, gone. Pepe heard my cries and rushed over to where I was standing. He pulled me away from the tiny corpses. 

"Bruce, don't do it".

"Pepe, I know what you're thinking and you're wrong"

Pepe was afraid I was going to use the .45 Consuela had given me. 

Security called the police. One of the officers found a can of red hot chili pepper in the garbage can. Obviously this was the murder weapon. Chief Reyes of the Tijuana Police, a man the size and shape of an overflowing garbage dumpster, arrived with two detectives. After looking at the twisted remains of Team Elliot, he said in very bad English, "Only the Menendez brothers kill like this". When I told Heath what Chief Reyes had said he laughed out loud. "Reyes is a joke, he's been on the take from the Menendez's for as long as he's been a cop". Both Heath and Hortense agreed with Pepe. I should not take matters into my own hands, I was outnumbered. I agreed. Over the years I've cultivated the habits of both patience and self-discipline. These virtues have served me well. Chief Reyes, a half smoked cigar clenched between his yellow teeth, was somewhat defensive when I pointed out to him how odd is seemed that none of the security, all of whom were off-duty Tijuana policemen, saw anything suspicious. After a brief coughing spell, he said, "True, but allow me to say that this was a well planned attack, obviously the work of experts". Unconstrained by concerns of delicacy he scratched the ass cheeks of his freshly pressed uniform trousers. With the scratching concluded, Chief Reyes absented himself.

As I was preparing to leave the Stadium one of the security men handed me a telephone. It was President Calderon. He personally apologized to me for the heinous act perpetrated against me by the Menendez's and he vowed that he would leave no stone unturned until he had defeated the cartels. I thanked him for his courtesy. Before he hung up he graciously offered to provide me with security until I reached San Diego. Heath doesn't think President Calderon is a crook although Pepe wasn't so sure. Chief Reyes' top lieutenant, a slithery sort, with black silky hair, named Nestor, clearly thinking me a feeble minded idiot, told me that he'd find the culprits and arrest them. I felt like telling him the culprit, Pedro Guerro, was standing 30 feet away smiling at me. However, it was quite clear by now that if I was going to avenge Team Elliott's honor, I would have to do it alone. After the Federales President Calderon sent to protect me arrived, I slipped Pepe the .45 and then walked over to where Guerro was standing with his henchmen. 

"Pedro, this time you with, but the next time you see me prepare to commend your cowardly soul to hell".

As I turned to leave I heard Guerro laughing derisively, "Senior Elliott, don't scare me so bad". 

After several tearful goodbyes I followed my security detail out of Escobar Stadium and into the blazing Tijuana sun.