A Writer's Notebook

Jenking's Creek at Weeki Wachee, FL, January 2012

2012-01-26T07:46:00.000-08:00

Nice weather in Florida for the birds at Jenking's Creek, and me.

Voters outcome at Editors & Preditors published works contest --Crittes Workshop

2012-01-08T09:35:00.000-08:00

Two of my books placed in the Editors & Preditors contest; my novel titled My 18th Birthday, published by Solstice Press came in 9th place in a novel catagory and a book for children titled The Adventures of a Squirrel Named Peanut, published by Twilight Times Books, came in 4th place in the childrens' novel catagory..

http://twilighttimesbooks.com/

http://www.solsticepublishing.com/

Crusing the West Indies (still working on this page)

2012-01-07T08:06:00.000-08:00

From Fort Lauderdale, FL to Puerto Rico, St. John's Antigua; Saint George, Grenada; Ftort De France, Martinique; Philipsburg, Saint Marteen; Nassau, Bahamas
Crusing can be fun anytime but I must say times are best when family and friends decided to hang together on a 10-day cruise. That is what six of us did in December. First we took a Trailway Bus from Spring Hill to Fort Lauderdale, Florida to get on the MSC bound for the West Indies. We borded the cruiser in the early afternoon, then sailed out about seven that evening.

Now for the right place to party: Saint Marteen!

Fresh fruit carvings added a friendly decor to the buffet.

After two days at sea Puerto Rico charm and cultures bring life to the Island.

Another day at sea; then we reached St. John's, Antigua to enjoy the colorful surrounds and the relaxed life-style.

I really found the Island of Granade warm and welcoming. We started off for a taxi ride and first thing that caught my eyes was a hand-painted sign that said, "Thank you America for liberating us." I didn't get the photo with my camera but it will forever linger in my mind. Loved it!

On Spice Island we learned about the country's many spices and coco.

In Fort De France, Martinique, because of the exessive cost for taxi service we decided to do our sight-seeing by foot.
Phil, can't you see the girl isn't alive!

Saint Marteen for the beauty and the style.

Our Table Captain was the best.

Hey... the Hard Rock in Nassu, in the Bahamas.

The young man in the below photo found my camara after I'd left it in a store where we stopped for beer. Yes, you can go into a liquor store, purchase alcohol and then walk along the streets drinking it.
When I discovered my camara missing I hurried back to the store. The fellow had put the camara behind the counter for me. I was SO happy. $20 was a small reward for his efforts, but that was about all the cash I had on me.

Another nice carving to admire before deboarding the cruiser in Fort Lauderdale.

Happy Holidays, Dec. 2011

2011-12-20T08:10:00.000-08:00

Wishing you a very wonderful holiday season.

The Delta Queen, Chattanooga, TN 2011

2011-11-28T09:01:00.000-08:00

Peanut book for Christmas

2011-11-26T06:49:00.000-08:00

http://peanut-the-squirrel.blogspot.com/
Hope you will take a look at the story of Peanut told in his own words... Perfect gift for children and parents.
Downloads 99-cents from Amazon; 8x10 color print copies $16 pluse$2 postage from Patricia Lieb, 15835 Helen K Drive, Spring Hill, FL 34610.

Occupy San Francisco

2011-11-22T22:53:00.000-08:00

Occupy San Francisco

At Market Street & Merry Pier

A few shots in San Francisco, California

2011-11-22T22:26:00.000-08:00

The Christmas tree at Fisherman's Warft was being decorated in late October.

I had never know that squash flowers were good eating,

but the seller said "Try it" and

so I bought a container full and stuffed them

with cream cheese and fried them in bacon drippings...

Was quite yummy!

The best part of any city is coming to the stands containing vegetables and fruits.

Yes.

A senior can ride all day, transfer whenever, on the buses

mines, and trolleys for 75 cents. I love San Francisco

public transportation.

Ready to start picking on Haight Street

Looking through the window screen from the 6th floor apartment.

Ah, yeah, as I said before, I love public transportation.

Hey bartender.... at the Cha Cha Cha on Haight Street

His voice echoed along Haight Street

San Francisco is the most dog-friendly city I've ever been in...

This little was with his mama shopping at the A&P store.

And on to the Hard Rock at Fisherman's Warft to get Phil a signature shirt.

This pooch was sleeping in the window near his buddy's barstool.

I snapped the photo while walking along Haight Street.

I think this might be Merry Pier.

Bus ride from Atlanta to Boston

2011-11-22T22:01:00.000-08:00

In October I took a bus from Atlanta, GA, to Boston, MA. and back to Atlanta. Except for the Peter Pan, the ride was via Greyhound.

The Peter Pan was a good ride from New York to Boston.

But I still like the Greyhound

Love the Greyhound terminals throughout the country.

Greyhound terminal in Providence, RI

Flat Creek Community, Lakemont, Georgia

2011-11-22T21:43:00.000-08:00

The church

A falling down barn with grass on the roof.

Lovely walking trail

Phil's house in the mountains

Cozy is the word.

Willie Nelson in Cherokee, North Carolina

2011-11-22T21:35:00.000-08:00

I see Willie Nelson every chance I get.

Last time was in Cherokee, North Carolina.

Hope to see him again in Florida really soon.

Can't get enough of Willie.

Cousintown Road, Interlachen, FL

2011-11-22T21:29:00.000-08:00

I love you this much brother!

Steaks looking mighty fine.

Pat and Phil visiting Paul and Camille Shipp on Cousintown Road, Interlachen FL.

New England Squirrel

2011-11-22T21:07:00.000-08:00

New England Squirrel

2011-11-22T21:01:00.000-08:00

While visiting my children in New England I saw this handsome guy on the balcony off the kitchen and had to snap his photo. He is somewhat bigger and has thicker fur than Peanut.

You know, Peanut is the star of The Adventures Of A Squirrel Named Peanut, ebook published by Twilight Times books and print copies by Upham, Read, Llyle & Asc.

You'll find Peanut online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Publisher

2011-11-22T08:48:00.000-08:00

Please watch for my books as they are being reissued via new/other publishers, as Asylett Press has closed due to illiness of the owner.

Still available:

The Adventures of a Squirrel Named Peanut, ebookjs from Twilight times Books; print copies from Upham, Read, Llyle & Asc.

My 18th Birthday from Solstice Press

Please contact Patricia Lieb at pat.lieb@yahoo.com for additional information, or check my accompaning blogs.

Hanging out in Northeast Georgia

2011-11-09T08:15:00.000-08:00

My book titled "The Adventures of a Squirrel Named Peanut"

2011-11-09T07:37:00.000-08:00

Children and adults love Peanut more and more as he tells about his life as a spoiled little gray squirrel in Florida. Print copies avalible from Upham, Read, Llyle & Acs. $16 plus $4.50 handling and postage. Order from Patricia Lieb, 15835 Helen K Drive, Spring Hill, FL 34610.

Published by Twilight Times Books. Available in ebook downloads only from Twilight Times books, Barnes & Noble, Amazon, and other online book stores.

2011-08-06T17:13:00.001-07:00

2011-08-06T17:13:00.000-07:00

Walking South in Noe Valley, SF, CA.

2011-07-18T09:23:00.000-07:00

After walking from the alley I found myself in a place with lots of goings-on all around, from churches to shopping to unlimited vegetable-fruit stands to an array of cafes and restaurants representing American, Chinese, Italian, Spanish, Asian, and many more.

This corner store is run by brothers Billy and Don. I met my new buddies when I went out the first morning in Noe Valley in search of a bottle of Robert Mondavi Cabernet Sauvignon.

Billy and Don hold the Guinness World record for having built the largest rubber band. This is Billy opening the wine for me.

The blur in the photograph is my hair. A windy day.

San Francisco downtown in the distance

Don is holding the record-breaking rubber band photo.

Saw lots of churches on my morning walks.
Flowers everywhere.

Mission College Campus on a busy Noe Valley street.
Lovely walks, tree, bushes and flowrs.
Downtown San Francisco in the distance.
All is up and down and down and up. Love it!

Lovely homes set on busy streets.
So many residents have dogs. I was told that more people have dogs than kids in Noe Valley.

Love the brick and greenery on this busy avenue.

Please come back soon. I have more SF photos to share. Some taken in parks and some in the alley entrance to the place where I stayed.

Neighborhood Doorways, San Francisco

2011-07-16T07:35:00.000-07:00

Morning walks daily while in the "neighborhood" in San Francisco led me to enchanting entrances to homes on the hill north of the place where I stayed in Noe Valley. I want to share some of the lovely works of art with you. Hope you enjoy.

What kind of stories are hidden behind the green and glass and birck and mortar in this alive and fasinating dwelling?

3631
I wonder who you are and how you feel when you enter this enchanting doorway.

The story behind the two side-side houses (according to a man I met while taking this photograph) is that the pink house slide down the hill and the woman who purhased it had the blue-gray house moved from atop the hill to sit beside the pink house. She built a breezeway to connect the two homes so she lived in the blue-gray and her daughter lived in the pink.

Maybe the hill looks easy enough to walk up but let me tell you it will take your breath away; at least I had to stop at the top. Whoops, there wasn't a top to the hill. Whenever I thought I had reached the top I saw there was another mountain to climb.

Streets, stones, bricks, plants, flowers and arcitec is all a work of art.

How'd you like to have this kind of garden?_________________________________________________

Recently, I accompanied a writer-poet friend to San Francisco to help he with his traveling--we changed plans in Dallas and Las Vegas and my friend required a wheel-chair (ever change planes in Dallas? If not, be prepared for miles and miles via walking paths, moving sidewalks, trams)--anyway, I traveled with him and then helped him get settled into an apartment where his doctor daughter also lives. But prior to the apartment we stayed in a flat (owner called it a bed & breakfast; but I don't think so, though it was quite nice) for the first week. That's when I took 45-to-an-hour fast walks over the hill to the north and the buisness area to the south in this "neighborhood" of Noe Valley. It was rewarding, interesting and lovely. I've put photos I took on these ventures in to several different folders that I am sharing with you. I found the doorways most interesting and lovely.
_____________________________________________________

Every entrance amazed me.

Just couldn't get enough of the various doorways and coming upon Victorian mixed with the array of stylings in the residential parts of Noe Valley.

Visting the Golden Gate

2011-06-30T14:34:00.000-07:00

Visting the Golden Gate Park, Golden Gate Bridge, Hawk Hill & Battery No. 129
in San Francisco, California, June 2011
According to San Francisco information, the Golden Gate area climate is temperate marine and generally mild year-round. Daytime temperatures range from 40 degrees in the winter to 75 degrees in the summer. Morning and evening fog rolls in during the summer and winter months, and can burn off by midday.
At Hawk Hill, looking down onto the bridge, the weather was quite cool, but after walking through the battery to the other side, the breeze was much warmer.

Hawk Hill is a 920-foot (280 m) peak in the Marin Headlands, just north of the Golden Gate Bridge and across the Golden Gate strait from San Francisco, California. The hill is within the Golden Gate National Recreation Area.

I took the photos of the Golden Gate Bridge, as well as the rock formations (much of which was developed from fossil) and other breathtaking ing views from here.

The battery was to the left of the awesome rock.

A Cruise to Nowhere

2011-06-05T09:57:00.000-07:00

This is how it was when Evelyn and I went on a Cruise To Nowhere. And you see, this was in 1989...

I'm enchanted by the sea. Stands to reason that when my reporter friend said, "Let's take a cruise to No Where," I jumped at the idea.

The adventure would be something to write about, no doubt. After all, we both needed story ideas. I was the crime beat and city government reporter and Evelyn covered schools for the Daily Sun-Journal in Brooksville, Florida.

So when she pulled up in my driveway in her little gray sports car and tooted the horn at 6 sharp on Saturday morning, I picked up my duffel bag, camera, purse and joined her for the three-hour drive from the West Coast to Port Canaveral.

We yacked about the fun we'd have lying on the sundeck, listening to island music, taking an occasional dip in the pool and drinking Bahamas Mamas. And men. We'd surely meet a couple nice guys to dine and wine with.

We were booked on a 10 a.m. cruise, so we figured we would get to the ship by 9:30--plenty of time to settle in before departing.

This we did. We had plenty time to board. It's a good thing we did have time to spare, because with the two of us reading cruise material rather than watching our steps, we had to backtrack a couple of times to get in the proper corridor leading aboard.

On the ship, we went straight to the sun deck, found loungers and plopped down. Here, we decided, we would spend the most of the next six hours.

We chatted with some people sunning next to us. They were here on vacation from Louisiana. They had their kids with them. It seemed children traveled free.

Yes. Free.

It seemed everybody had kids.

All the MEN had kids.

I heard someone say that breakfast was being served. So we left our duffle bags on the loungers and went to eat. I was intrigued by the watermelon display carved like a Florida 'gator.

With no air-conditioner working in the dinning room, Evelyn and I were both able to stick to our diets.

When the ship started to move, we were back on our loungers and sunning on the deck.

The sun was good and hot by the time water from the ocean was finally flooded into the pool.

Time for a dip, we both said looking at each other.

We stood at the pool edge, just about to take the plunge when a lady staffer called out.

"Everybody out of the water. Everybody out except the kids who want to play tag."

Everybody's kids jumped into the small swimming pool. Everybody's kids jumped in. Remember -- kids traveled free. Kids were everywhere.

I didn't really want to swim anyway. And the water splashed on me when the kids jumped in cooled me off. And, after all, who could ask for more than a salt-water shower?

Back to the loungers. Back to the sun. I broke out in a sweat. I sat up and looked at my arms. Among the crystal balls of water running off my stinging skin were patches of black stuff.

"I'd like to know what all this black crap is that's on me," I said to Evelyn.
She opened her eyes and took a peek. "It's soot," she said, glancing at a smokestack jutting up from the deck above us.

"We're breathing all that," she said with a straight face then....closed her eyes.

This called for a Bahama Mama. I ordered one from the waiter. He brought it. I took a tiny fan out and gave it to a kid that had been leaning against my lounger staring at me. I took a sip of the drink, then glanced down at it. A slightly yellow-tinted substance was spiraling up from the ice. So much for the Bahama Mama.

After a while we decided to take our chances in the casino. We played
quarters. All I can say is that it was a good thing we didn't have to buy
lunch.

On the way to dinner, I stopped to take pictures of an older couple on
a dance floor doing the tango, or something close. The man was really doing his stuff. One-two-three, hip out. One-two-three, hip out.

In the dining room, I studied over the same watermelon alligator that I
had seen at breakfast. The alligator seemed to have aged years during the past few hours, with his skin much darker red and slightly wrinkled.

Once we had picked up our food from the buffet, we were seated at
the same table with the couple I had photographed dancing. (The two I
thought I had photographed dancing. I finally noticed I didn't have film in
my camera.)

They were funny. The woman ordered a "Stinger."

The French waiter couldn't understand her. He tried to repeat her
order, but failed. The waiter was a man, I think.

"I said I want a stinger, not a stinker," she said loudly, then laughed,
sounding as if she were from the cast of "Hee-Haw."

Needless to say, the chocolate mousse I had just dipped my spoon into didn't get eaten.

We headed back to the sundeck. Surely by now island music would be playing. We later decided the musicians had missed the boat. Or perhaps they knew about the broken airconditioner. Or the soot. Or maybe the children. Traveling free.

And then there was the floor show. When I say floor show, that is exactly what I mean. The room was full of people and I, among many, ended up sitting on the floor.

The lady singer fanned herself with the tail of the long, satin gown she
wore. "I came to Florida so I'd be warm. Now I'm trying to work my way back to Broadway."

But I don't think her fanning cooled her much. She kept wiping her neck with the back of her hand then showing us how the water would drip off her fingers. And I don't think it generated enough gust to blow her north. But one thing for sure, she exited the stage much faster than she had entered.

At almost 4 p.m., Evelyn and I decided we would go to the front of the boat and beat the crowd off. That was not a wise decision.

We stood in a line in a tight hallway near the front where nothing moved except the hot breaths of moaning cruisers. Women and men and their kids.

I nudged Evelyn. "Hey, it's hotter in here than I thought". In fact, the heat rays on my burning arm were sending smoke signals to my shoulder.

"I can't believe it is so hot.

"Ouch!"

Someone had put a burning cigarette in the metal container I was
leaning against.

Another 20 minutes and we were off the ship. The cruise to No Where was over.

And no where is exactly where I'd wished I'd gone.

I'll tell you about the gambling boat, which featured singer Bertie Higgins, we took out of Medira Beach another time. Pease stay tuned.

2011-05-13T09:40:00.000-07:00

A pair of Pine Warblers are looking for a home to hatch chicks.

Mister Warbler: “This place is awfully busy. Squirrels, Jays, Crows… I don’t see any friends.”

Missy Warbler: “It’s a good place. Busy yes. But our gray and yellow colorings blend in with this dead oak tree that’s hanging with Spanish Moss.”

Mister Warbler: “There’s water; but we get ours from a distance away. There’s seed, but I’ll hunt for bugs.

”Missy Warbler: “The cabin is so lovely.”

Mister Warbler: “Since you like it so much, Missy, we’ll move in.”

Three weeks later with water spraying over the evergreens and bushes and various birds dancing under the sprinkler, Mister Warbler stands on his cabin perch and watches. Then,

Mister Warbler: “Missy, I think we’ve moved in to a tropical amusement park.”

(Below is an essay about the Pine Warblers nesting in the dead oak tree by my porch in Florida)

Pine Warbler nesting near my porch in Florida

2011-04-16T06:04:00.001-07:00

April 16, 2011
Florida Warblers are moving into the little log cabin in the dead tree by my porch. Awesome watching them at work. The long stream falling from the door opening is made up of pine needles, Spanish moss, and my hair. I put hair from my brush on a tree limb for the Titmice, but it seems the Warbler likes it too.

One birds watches while the other puts nesting materials in the house. A squirrel got nosy and tried to look in and the Warblers took turns diving at him. The squirrel, I call Peanut, was certainly crying for help.

Today, April 30, I am watching the Pine Warbler's as they spend more and more time in the bird house. I've found these birds very private, thus keeping a low-profile. I finally was able to snap a couple shots--but at a far distance, So they might not be as good as I'd hope. But I'll keep trying.

I think the female stays in the house more now; and I wonder if she is sitting on eggs.

I've really learned to respect the Pine Warbler. When they started moving in, it seemed right out-of-the-blue. I had not seen them at the bird feeder, nor the bird bath. They came, scoped out the bird house, built a nest there. I still haven't seen them at the bird bath nor feeder.

I understand that sometimes these birds will go to a feeder, but usually they like to eat bugs and grapes. Well, they are in the right place here. There are oodles of wild grape vines over this property. I just wonder, since they don't go to the bird bath, where do they get water. I did see one of the birds out back a few days ago when I had a sprinker on watering my garden.

I read also that Pine Warbles rarely use nesting boxes, like the little log cabin hanging in my dead tree. I read they like to build nest among Spanish Moss. Well, this they are certainly doing here. The dead tree where the cabin is located is covered with Spanish Moss. When one of the Warblers come out and sit in the dead tree moss-covered limbs, it is nearly all camouflaged.

Baby birdies are on my mind now, and in my heart... Yey!

Today, Sunday I've found the male Warbler is getting braver--or at least he is becoming more visible. Still, he hasn't utilized the bird bath nor the feeder. However, he sat for a few moments on a branch close to the feeder and looked at it before flying away. Maybe he is planning his trip to it.

Two big black crows worry me. They have returned time and time again to the dead tree where the Wablers' nest hangs. I don't know if they are out to rob the nest and its eggs, or if they are considering visiting the bird bath. It has been quite dry here in Florida this spring.

Today, May 2, The male Wabler hid himself in a the close-by evergreen and looked at the bird bath with a water sprinkler in it spraying clean water. He didn't go there.

The Warbler was out of sight when a cute little innocent squirrel came scurrying down the tree. He was, I guess, too close the the Wabler's log cabin. Out of nowhere, it seems, the Warbler began to dive at the squirrel, causing cries of help from my little fury friend. A couple Cardinals happened to be sitting on branches of the dead tree. They got all excited with the commotion and started screeching and flying...

So now I can't stop watching the birds. I know I should be working on my new novel and I will, I will. Guess I better do it in the middle of the night. I'm too tuned into the birds! I love them.

May 13,
Yesterday evening I turned the water sprinkler on so it sprayed the evergreen tree and other vegetation surrounding the birdbath. The trees were singing with birds of various breeds spreading they feathers in the mist and dances on sparkling limbs everywhere. There were Tufted Titmice, Carolina Chickadees, American Chickadees, American Goldfinch, a Dowdy Woodpecker, another larger red headed Woodpecker, Blue Jays, male and female Cardinals, Doves…

Mister Warbler stood on the bird house perch.

He tweeted something like: “Missy, I think we moved into an amusement park!” But he didn’t join the other birds in play. Just stayed up there and watched and studied.

I just walked into my bedroom and saw one of the Pine Warblers, female I’m quite sure, drinking from the birdbath. First time I’ve seen either of the Warblers taking advantage of the amenities offered in my own personal bird sanctuary.

The baby birds were hatched a few days ago. Don’t know the exact day. Must have been where I saw more activities going on at the bird house. Both were busy traveling in and out. Then I walked by and heard chirping, so that tells me there are chicks; it’s so exciting.

I tried to take a picture of the babies when I thought the parents were, perhaps, out to lunch. But, all I could snap was an adult wing feather.

I’ve worried some about the huge black crow that comes to the dead tree calling. Hope he doesn’t take too much offence when I shoo him off.

I’ve seen Carolina Chickadees take a wrong turn and go inside the bird house, but they come out nearly instantly. On a moss covered limb, Daddy Warbler went after a Blue Jay. They didn’t fight, but the Jay didn’t bother the bird’s cabin, either. I've also watched the Warblers run of female Cardinals.

And nowadays, the squirrels are not allowed even on the tree trunk and they get runoff by the Warblers. Wouldn’t have believe it had I not seen it with my own eyes.

May 14
Coffee on the porch with the birds and squirrels is an awesome thing. First thing I saw brought a laugh. Two squirrels were playing at the bottom of the dead tree; one chased the other onto the trunk and daddy Pine Warbler just happened to be watching from somewhere out-of-sight. Withing seconds he was diving into both squirrels. They couldn't scramble fast enough!

I've been trying to slip up to snap photographs when I think mommy and daddy are out. I've managed to get a couple but wouldn't have been surprised if I had not gotten hammered by these brave birds.

I plan to drive to Georgia tomorrow. I know when I return the young birds will have flown-the-coop. But I hope the Warblers will remember their stay here as plesent; and I hope so much they will return next spring. I really come to respect this handsome bird.

Willie Nelson, Feb. 16, 2011

2011-02-17T13:51:00.001-08:00

Look who's holding my book of love poems... SAYING I LOVE YOU, published by Asylett Press, 2010.

Grand Cayman

2010-12-05T07:55:00.001-08:00

Visiting Grand Cayman Island from Margaritaville to Hell and back again

Camille, Paul, Patsy and Phil.... Fun fun fun

We met lots of interesting people at Margaritaville and on the tour bus

You know, the security in Grand Cayman takes the job seriously... I wouldn't want to face-off with the guard nor the Doberman !

Wanita was a HOOT during our tour of Grand Cayman Island

Camille on the porch at the Rum Factory... Yes. Rum! Lots of samples indeed.

I don't think I told anybody to go to Hell... Please forgive me if I did. Sorry.... But it was an interesting place.

The black-rocklooking stuff is the actual Hell...so they say.

I'm wondering if I should post the dancing girls from Margaritaville and yes, also the dancing boys... Hello... Anybody out there?

As our bus drive guide told us, "Banking is the biggest trade in Grand Cayman". And I believe it by the looks of seaside home, spas, and rich hotels.

Roatan Honduras

2010-12-04T08:30:00.000-08:00

A family cruise over Thanksgiving on the Carnival Legend to celebrate the marriage of Jon and Cara Shipp.

We spent much of the day in Roatan Hondarus at West End. The busy street was quite muddy after afternoon rains. An interesting and pretty little place to visit.

Woops... another mud puddle.

Hi Phil. Feeling good after a local beer.

Dancing to steel drums has to be the best.

West End is quite the tourist attraction with eats, drinks, and shopping.
Hard to decide where to stop for lunch.

West End Beach is very lovely

Getting back to Carnival Legend

Going to the Legend... Load on.... Last bording call.

A Day In Belize in photos

2010-12-02T09:10:00.000-08:00

A Day in Belize

Our Guide Tony at Cave Branch River

Western Highway takes you from Belize City to Cave Branch River

Eighty percent of the people of Belize are poor; the adverage working local person is $400 per month, so says our guide Tony.

Tipical homes on the streets leading from the city

Hope you will also read the related article posted earlier

A Day In Belize

2010-12-02T08:42:00.000-08:00

“Look at the faces of the people walking on the streets. How do they look? They are happy,” said tour guide Tony as our tour bus passed through Belize City.

Here, where some one-third of the islands population dwells, a group of tourist from Carnival Cruise Line’s Ledger had boarded for a guided five-and-half-hour trip inland and on to engage in a cave tubing adventure in the Belize River.

This is the “beautiful Caribbean Sea,” Tony noted as the driver maneuvered the bus along the water edge. This is the longest barrier reef in this hemisphere, he said, noting the shoreline and on to a barrier island covered with mangroves. To add to the sea’s beauty, this reef is the home of the Great Blue Hole, which is homed in the famed “Lighthouse Reef System” that lies some sixty miles off the city’s shores.(A sought-after place for scuba divers).

Tony stood near the driver and talked about the country’s landscapes, people and history. Though English is the country’s official language and Tony speaks perfect English, he quickly confides that Creole is his native tongue. Here in the only in Central American country with British colonial heritage, Tony’s “Creole” bloodline is that of an African slave mother and a European slave owner, he noted. When he isn’t working, he speaks only Creole. To do otherwise would give your fellow Creole breed the idea that you think you are better than he, Tony revealed.

The highway around the city was constructed by building up the shoreline in the city for tour vans and buses as the city grew into a major tourist place. In the city, the two-lane highway sets between Caribbean waters with off-shore mangrove islands on one side and on the other priceless hotels—with the tallest building being five-stories— nightclubs, discos and other adult entertainment centers. In this “kings” affluent area, properties start at $150,000 while the average income for the native people is a mere $400 per month, Tony reveals. Eighty percent of the people here are poor, but none die of starvation, he said.

“Where is everybody?” Tony asked as the van maneuvered on through the exclusive area. Then he answered his own question: “Locked up sleeping!” Though, he said, “Belize people love to socialize, love to talk.”

Tony quickly pointed out that the people of Belize take care of one-another. The Internet provider gives its services in schools for children, as well as scholarships, he said. Most schools are headed by the Nazarene church or government affiliates, with students wearing uniforms and prayers being delivered four times each day. Belize offers equality to everybody, he confined, adding, “We have the best literacy in Central America and maybe the world. That is un-Belize-able, people.” And thanks to the United States and Canada, the country has some of the “best tap water in Central America”.

Tony doesn’t hesitate to show his humorous side. “We have seven traffic lights in the country. Six are working,” he said with a grin.

Traveling deeper into the city leaving major tourist shops behind, observers see homes of the poor. Housing is obviously third-world, with many structures having partial add-ons here-and-there. But the houses are “built with love,” Tony said. Their owners owe no mortgage. As an add-on is completed, it is paid for.

Leaving town, the van turned left alongside a grave yard. Tony pointed out that the head-stones all faced the East. Thus, according to the natives’ belief, “God would return to earth in the East.”

Nearing a small settlement on the Western Highway, Tony alerts us to be unalarmed, as we were about to stop at a “check-point”. More than searching for drugs, National Police officers sought for persons who might have been kidnapped for “human trafficking.” The human trafficking problems is worse than drugs, he revealed.

People had relocated to this area after Harricane Hattie destroyed much of the city. Rather than return to their torn dwellings, they started over here, naming the community Hattieville. The stop was quick, and moving on we saw pine trees, palms and sugarcane growing on flat grounds and the stand of Maya Mountains in the not-so-near distance.

After the informative bus ride our group, so named the “Shipp Shakers”, arrived at Caves Branch River Archaeological Reserve. Here we were provided with tubes and lighted head-gear for the rest of our adventure that included holding onto a rope while crossing the river and a forty-five-minute hike through a rainforest area. According to our river tubing guide, vegetation here had some time ago been destroyed. Since then however, a variety of trees have grown tall and tropical plants bare fruits and nuts. The amazing cave tubing in the “muddy” river through huge limestone archways and caves holding “untold stories of Maya rituals” was truly phenomenon. History shows that these dark cave areas were not a place joyfully visited be the Mayas, the guide said. This was a place to present human sacrifice and considered to be of the devil. Our tour guide stopped often to shine his lighted helmet on the bizarre limestone shapes dripping with water and unusual figures that had developed over thousands of years.

We only visited for a few hours in this beautiful region so our sight-seeing in Belize was limited. Our future trips planned to this beautiful country will include the Mayan Ruins, barrier reef snorkeling, and taking part in the lost world canopy tour.

Phil and I plan a trip to the Eastern Caribbean in a couple weeks. Please return to my blog to read about our adventure.

Back Home till Nov. 20

2010-11-03T12:55:00.000-07:00

This is looking from the back woods to my house.

Got several banana spiders... They about gone now for the winter. Webs are a work of art.

The cute little gray squirrels are domesticated... Love them!

Daytona Beach, Florida

2010-11-03T12:39:00.000-07:00

Doing the city and attending the Florida State Poetry Association annual convention at the Holiday Inn Ocean Front.

San Antonio, TX

2010-11-03T12:30:00.000-07:00

San Antonio, Texas October 2010

Society of Educators and Scholars annual convention
Patricia Lieb: Reading poetry as a program presentation was beyond my wildest dream...

Hanging out and attending the Society of Educators and Scolars annual convention
Speakers relax and dine on the River Walk after programs on the last day of the events.
Left: Dr. Glenn R. Swentman, professor, author, poet" Patricia Lieb, author, journalist, poet; Richard A. Kruse, Ph.D, president, and Sonny Slitine, conference director of SES.

And Here Is How I Pack My Bags

I recently accepted an invitation to join Dr. Glenn R. Swetman in a reading for the Society of Educators and Scholars at its 2010 convention in San Antonio, Texas. A great opportunity for a writer, I’m sure.

Dr. Swetman, of Biloxi, Mississippi, and me of just north of Tampa, Florida, got together when we both changed planes in Memphis, Tennessee, for the duration of the trip across Mississippi Delta land, Louisiana, and Texas.

Sitting on the small jet and looking downward through the window as we passed over the black earth farm lands, bayous in swamplands, and desert sands, I thought about the wardrobe I’d packed and hoped it would be sufficient among this extinguished group of educators and scholars (Ph.D’s—hello!. I was a newspaper reporter for some 20-plus years, but—)

I thought about last night’s packing and it brought memories of how it used to be when my publishing partner Carol Schott and I produced the literary magazine PTERANODON and the PTERANODON chap books, and the prize poems series’. We would pack the night before our flight to which ever state in which ever city the NATIONAL FEDERATION OF STATE POETRY SOCIETY annual convention was being held. We did this for several years.

We would pack the night before our flight to New Mexico, Ohio, Texas, Florida, Alabama, Tennessee, North Dakota, etc—as we ALWAYS were included on programs held annually by the NFSPS. We also traveled as guest speakers to many state poetry society workshops, readings, and seminars and various university events.

So we packed surgically, minimizing our wardrobes so we could put BOOKS in the bulk of our bags.

BOOKS, they were our object. We were publishers and we needed to promote PTERANODON and all the fine authors we published. We needed to get our stuff out there and get it noticed. That was our goal.

So what to wear was the least of our concerns. There have been times we had to send out for a cleaner’s pickup, or go shopping—often visiting thrift shops for a quick outfit for an evening readings, sometimes for an unexpected “rap” session with famed American poets such as John Ciardi, or William Stafford, or Richard Eberhart. Sometime for just dancing in the convention center’s lounge.

The NFSPS convention was held in Orlando, Florida in 1981. In the prime of the Lieb-Schott publishing era, we were loaded with more books than you can imagine, but few articles of clothing. It became necessary to walk to a department store not far from our hotel. And would you believe, they charged a cover charge to enter? Yes!
I think we were mostly shopping for personal stuff, like hair ribbons, that day. After Carol "talked" with the store manager, she said she would return our $4.00 entrance fee when we left the store. I don’t remember if anybody bought anything, and I wondered if we appeared to the store lady -- perhaps scary. I do know we decided to find another place to shop after that.

But one thing for sure, any clothing we wore during the five-day events, were wrinkle free. Carol always had room in her suitcase for her iron. Regardless of the attire, you’d not find one crease in our wardrobes. Even garments from the thrift shop got ironed. Once, during a flight from Chicago to Tampa, our baggage somehow got put on a differ plane than the one we were on. Carol said, “I hope the other plane doesn’t lose our bags… But one thing for sure, I have my iron right here.” She patted her long cotton multi-colored carry bag.

So as I packed my bags last night, I crammed underwear between stacks of books; and tank tops in the suitcase corners, and I laid my skirts and slacks atop to protect the books. But unlike Carol, I don’t carry an iron.

Now, as I step up to present my reading I wonder: Am I wrinkled?

Writing-ebay

2010-11-02T08:09:00.000-07:00

Think I'd make more money selling items on ebay than writing books !!! hello.....

Yoga..... today

2010-11-01T14:06:00.000-07:00

So glad to get back to Yoga....
Traveling cuts into my workouts!

2010-09-30T03:05:00.000-07:00

SAYING I LOVE YOU
poems by Patricia Lieb

Realeased by Asylett Press

Does anybody want an autographed copy of Saying I Love You; $20 includes postage... (Inside the U.S) Send me a message and your address... Take Care...

The book can also be ordered from any major bookstore or for lower costs go right to the publisher at: https://www.asylett.com/asylettzstore/

Barbra Nightingale: 36 hours till lift off!

2010-05-06T06:16:00.000-07:00

Barbra Nightingale: 36 hours till lift off!

Fictionwise

2010-04-01T07:21:00.000-07:00

MURDERS IN THE SWAMPLAND is in the top ten True Crime books on Fictionwise; and both MURDERS IN THE SWAMPLAND and BLUE EYES are in the top ten Asylett Press books on Fictionwise...
A good feeling! YEA!

Fictionwise link to BLUE EYES

Copies of my books are available in paperback from Asylett Press, Amazon, or most any book store.

Appearences

2010-03-13T12:43:00.000-08:00

April 7, 1 p.m. - Guest seaker at the Meet The Author event at the Hernando County YMCA in the Community Center.

April 10, 5:30-to-8 p.m.- Book signing at the 2nd Annual Wine Tasting & Silent Auction event at The Wine Loft, Trinity Commons, Trinity, FL

Bridged By Love.......... book review

2010-02-23T19:19:00.000-08:00

Long & Short Reviews

Watch for my name and title of my true crime book on Discovery ID.. I Almost Got Away With It.

2010-02-18T08:08:00.000-08:00

Discovery ID Network; 135 in Tampa Bay area:

Feb 20, 11:00 am

(60 minutes) I (Almost) Got Away With It
Got the Wrong Four People Killed
TV-14 (DLSV), CC

Scott Burnside hires a hit man to kill a friend's wife. But when the hit goes wrong, and four people are found murdered, Burnside flees to a remote island. On the run, Scott is unable to adjust to his lonely life. His family ties tip the Feds.

Watch for my name --Patricia Lieb-- and my book MURDERS IN THE SWAMPLAND in the credits.

The story is in MURDERS IN THE SWAMPLAND; it is titled SHE'S AS GOOD AS DEAD.... The deal Scott Burnside made to the young hit man was to kill Joanne Sanders--Barrett goes to Joanne's house three different times before he kills the four men. I covered the case for the newspaper and also called in information about it to WTOG tv in St. Petersburg... There were four different trials... I covered Dorsey Sander's III trial (Joanne's son) and John Barrett's (the hit man)--what a scene in the courtroom when the judge sentenced Barrett to death.. His parents totally broke down (death sentence has since been overturned). I had already started working with another newspaper, though, when Scott was brought back from the Christmas Islands. However, I still read the depositions for his case. Long, long, long story! The program is going to air again tonight at 11 p.m.

Most of the still photos are mine... Yea!!!

Should be on other channels at other times.

Myebook - ACROSS TEXAS FROM HOME

2010-02-13T11:43:00.000-08:00

Myebook - ACROSS TEXAS FROM HOME
has been viewed 200,000 times. Please take a look and give me feedback. Thanks a bunch!

Home from Mexico

2010-01-27T05:19:00.001-08:00

Peanut says: I'm so glad you're home. I'm starving!

Peanut says: Oh thank you thank you for the peanut. Don't go away again!

This morning I think that all the squirrels that live in the surrounding forest, especially the one I named Peanut, have come licky-de-split to my bedroom sliding door for breakfast. I hand-feed them peanuts. After I left my daily reporting job at a newspaper, a few years ago, it took a while to tame these wild little critters. But after one winter of being very patient and offering them peanuts, they got the idea that I was their friend for life. First, Peanut came to know me. He often came to my back patio door and then as more squirrels started visiting, he moved to the bedroom door to get away from his little too-playful friends and also the aggressive bums that pushed him out of line. So now Peanut has learned that when he gets chased off from one door, to he must high-tail it to the other.

While on our sea cruise to Mexico a young friend named Billy stayed at my house to dog-set for my best buddy Blacky.

I had forgotten to mention to Billy that Peanut comes regularly at mealtime and that if he doesn’t see a person coming toward him, he will scratch until he gets human attention. So, upon talking to Billy after returning from the cruise, Billy said quite sincerely, “When it was time to feed Blacky there was always a squirrel trying to get in… I waited for it to leave before I went out. I knew if it came in, I’d never get it out.”

“Oh, that’s Peanut,” I said. “He’s my pet squirrel.”

“Thanks for telling me,” he said.

On our sea voyage, the four in our group had a really awesome time. We sailed to Costa Maya, spend a wonderful fun-filled family day walking through the old section along the beach and then stopping under the palms and drinking Coronita beer and tequila shots. (We made it back to the ship on time!!!)

The next day we were in Cozumel and then back on board for another day of sunning, eating, walking and gambling at sea.

Of course, coming back into Tampa Bay was delightful though it was a bit cooler than the penetrating Mexican sunshine.

Regardless of the good vacation times with family, being back home is grand. Blacky barked at me for a while—telling me off and of everything that had gone on while I was gone. (He loves me so much.) Visited with my daughter already. Been to Yoga and have read most of my email.

Just fed Blacky… he gets special treats with his daily meal: chipped hotdog fried in sausage grease or chicken lives make him a happy dog.

Woops, Peanut is scratching at my door. I got ‘ta run……..

Let me take you on a Sea Cruise

2010-01-25T12:25:00.000-08:00

The beautiful Carribean Sea
Cozumel has spread over most of the island

Coming into Costa Maya

These cuties selling their crafts in "old" Costa Maya

A side road in "old" Costa Maya

The main sections of Cozumel are lovely

Costa Maya, Mexico

2010-01-25T08:25:00.000-08:00

Architecture in old town Coata Maya

This canoe was build from a single log.

Spent the day in Costa Maya, Mexico, known for its jungles, beaches lagoons and Mayan ruins. We went to the older part of Costa Maya, which is a short shuttle ride from the more developed ship pier area. Walked and shopped then had Corona and tequila on the sand under the palms. Was a real party-time blast!

Happy Holidays

2009-12-19T12:26:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas
Happy Hanukka
And a very Happy New Year

Christmas Arts Fair 2009 in Shady Hills FL

2009-12-06T09:19:00.001-08:00

My Yoga session ended today with these words

2009-11-19T15:17:00.000-08:00

QUOTE FROM SRI NISARGADATTA MAHARAJ

Love says I am everything
Wisdom says I am nothing
Between them, life flows.

When I must break from writing to clean house

2009-11-19T06:25:00.000-08:00

(I wonder if other writers experience this problem)

OK. I keep my house clean, for the most part. But things certainly get piled up when I am here alone for a few weeks at a time… For instance, mail stacks on my dining room table, dishes spend days in the dishwasher, blankets and pillows collect on the sofa in the television room and new and old newspapers, unlabeled CDs, manuscripts, books, boxes of photos and stack of photo albums including everything from family pictures to photos of criminals to those taken for lots of years at writers’ conferences and poetry conventions.

So, when I clean thoroughly, I usually misplace very important stuff like phone numbers, pass words, notebooks containing irreplaceable information and other scarps of paper that is so very important to my writings.

That’s why I don’t make a habit of straighting in my computer room until I think somebody might want to sleep over after a cookout or holiday dinner at my house.

So now with Thanksgiving just around the corner, yesterday was a cleaning day for me. Needless to say, my computer room comes last; it is on the to-clean list today.

But let me tell you what happened yesterday after I had mopped the tile floors in half the house and went outside to hose off windows and porches. OK. I started with spraying the window outside my computer room with the water running full blast. Forgot I had recently turned off the air conditioner and opened the windows... When I didn’t see the water boomaranging back at me, I realized what was happening.

I ran into the house to shut off the computer and unplug the surge protector but slipped on the drenched tiles, tripped over dampened newspapers, slipped and fell into the the closet’s sliding mirrored door. It crumbled to pieces. I just laid there in total shock staring up at the breakage as it slowly crackled, starting at the bottom and working to the top. But the pieces didn't fall.

After I gathered towels and tried to dry off the back of my computer, speakers, surge protector, too many wires for a wireless network, and turned my keyboard upside down to drain, I tried to start my computer, which had gone off without help—well, it did have held of the window-washer.

I thought and figured bills to see how I could afford another big-enough-to-work-on computer. Later yesterday, I tried one more time to start the old e-machine and would you believe, it came on.

I wasn't hurt except for a bump on the head (to match a bump I got on the other side of the head last time I cleaned) and a bit of a strained back. The YMCA where I workout doesn’t have a Hot Tub to lay back and relax in. But it does have a nice Back Extension machine that is so awesome. Yea!

But the real truth is: I should speak with my Muse before I clean house!

MURDERS IN THE SWAMPLAND, true crime published by Asylett Press

2009-11-13T09:21:00.001-08:00

Billy Mansfield during his murder trial in Brooksville, Florida, listens but never
says a word.

Gary Mansfield, Billy Mansfield's brother, knew of the going'on at the family's home in Weeki Wachee Acres and of the burials that took place there.

Phyllis Spielmaker puffs her cigarette while listening to testimony during court
proceedings.
..... In the spring of 1981, while detectives were putting together a
case for the murder of Renee Saling in California, detectives in
Florida were doing some real digging. Actual digging. Information
had come out during trial proceedings in an unrelated Hernando
County case that bodies were buried at the mansfield homeplace.
......
As the investigation unfolded, witnesses in the case provided information so bizarre it seemed fictionl. How could the burying of human bodies in the Mansfield yard have been done so indifferently? It appeared the back yard being the gravesite for
young women was a shared bit of knowledge by quite a few folks in the area swampland. What did people think when they would hear of a girl's body being buried at the Mansfield place? What was going through their minds? After all, it wasn't like a team of detectives went out and uncovered bodies of murdered girls in
somebody's back yard everyday....
MURDERS IN THE SWAMPLAND
is available from asylett.com in ebook & and soft cover

MURDERS IN THE SWAMPLAND AND COP LOGS
Available from Asylett Press

CONTENTS Introduction Cases included in MURDERS IN THE SWAMPLAND & names of convicted killers

1. The Story Of Billy Mansfield & Secrets Hidden In The Green Bus--Serial Killer Billy Mansfield

2. Gay Encounter Costs Priest His Life--William Howell Galvin

3. Torture Murder In The Swamp--Todd Mendyk & Philip Frantz

4. A Christmas Rabbit Hunt Became A Night Of Murder--Rick Shere & Bruce Demo

5. Shootout In Sumter County--Jeffrey Raymond McGuire & Traci Grosvenor

6. He Killed The Pretty Young Women--Serial Killer Oscar Ray Bolin

7. Murder To Be Popular--Patrici Keebler

8. A Gunman’s Intent: She’s As Good As Dead--John Barrett, Scott Burnside, & Dorssey Sanders III

9. Rumble At The Old Publix--Gang murder of Russell Coats in Brooksville, FL.

10. They Killed For A Hunk of Crack--Debra Russo & Daniel Gardner

11. Granny Killer On The Loose--Serial Killer Edwin Bernard "Mike" Kaprat

12. Killer Left Body For The Dogs--Ivan Morales

13. She Awakened To A Gunshot In The Night--Julie Leacock & Samuel Augusta Coppola

14. Killers Claim Rock Star & Bodyguard Fame--Clifford Jarvis & Brian Kipp

15. Couple On The Run: Caught With Gun In Her Panties--Melissa Herriss & Earl Linebaugh

16. She Listened To Kidnappers Plot Her Murder--Alfred Fennie, Pala Colbert & Michael Frazier

17. Mother & Daughters Dumped In The Bay--Serial Killer Oba Chandler

Cop Log I
Cop Log 2
Cop Log 3
Epilogue

Available as Asylett Press, Fictionwise, and most all bookstores on line and in the malls.

Asylett Press

2009-11-08T07:33:00.000-08:00

Hope everyone will take a look at all the great books published by Asylett Press, a 3-year-old publisher that takes pride in the books it produces.
Asylett Press. Com

I'm proud that Asylett saw my books acceptable for its logo.

BRIDGED BY LOVE, historical fiction set in the Texarkana area cira 1885-86
MURDERS IN THE SWAMPLAND, 17 true crime murder cases in westcentral Florida, 1980-90s
BLUE EYES, paranormal novel set in California 1973 & Louisiana 1920s

Coming soon:
DANGER IN THE CLIFFS, romantic suspense set along the Kankakee River in Illinois
MURDERS ON THE SUNCOAST, true crime set along Florida's Suncoast

BRIDGED BY LOVE

2009-11-08T07:02:00.001-08:00

Reviewed by Bea
WritersWall.com

Valerie J. Patterson, award-winning author of Gee Whiz Meets S.H.A.F.T

The book opens with a day in Shanna's tortured life with Jake Minor—her owner—the man who stole her from her family when she was just a young girl. To use a trite and overworked cliché, what doesn't kill Shanna serves only to make her stronger and more resolved to find her way back to her people—back to her family.

Shanna—a full nine months pregnant—puts a plan into motion and leaves the fish camp where she's been a captive for years, but she must constantly keep one eye on the way before her and one eye on the way behind her. She can't risk being caught and brought back to the fish camp—to a way of life that only brought her pain and suffering. It's shortly after her escape that she gives birth to a beautiful baby boy. All alone and with no safe haven to run to, Shanna forges on ahead in her goal of finding the one woman she hopes can help her.

Kathryn Williams is no stranger to pain and heartache, either. A failed marriage. A miscarriage. A divorce during a time when it was virtually unheard of. And a life that's lonely for a woman who truly wants a husband and a family.Kathryn has much support in her life. Her mother resides with her plus there are several people who love and protect her. There's one man who's loved her all her life. There's another Kathryn loves and wants to share the rest of her life.One knows her pain. The other knows she's divorced and is allowing that to stand in his way. One wants nothing more than to shower her with affection. The other can't seem to see past her strength and independence. Kathryn's heart has room for both men in different ways.

When Shanna crosses paths with Kathryn, she immediately places her trust—as well as her son—in Kathryn's hands.Shanna knows men are coming to take her back to the fish camp. She knows her son will not survive in that type of environment. If only she could get to the land where her people have relocated—to where her family is—she'll finally find peace and happiness. But peace and happiness have a price for a woman on the run.

The journeys both women take are riveting, pulling the reader right into their stories. You can't help but cheer each on to happiness and the futures they deserve.

If you're looking for a book that brings you history, a hint or two of mystery, romance, and good strong characters that you'll willingly love and dislike, then Bridged By Love by Patricia Lieb is the book for you. Leave your cares behind and travel inside the lives of Shanna and Kathryn. Their stories will stay with you long after you turn the last page.

Available from Ayslett Press

By: Aaron Brand - Texarkana Gazette - Published: 07/12/2009

For one writer who grew up in Texarkana, the city’s early days were fertile ground for a historical novel.

Patricia Lieb once called Texarkana, Ark., home as a member of Arkansas High School’s class of 1960, growing up with the maiden name Shipp and rooting for the Hogs.

From there, Lieb, now a Florida resident, became a writer who has won awards for her reporting and has seen her books published, the latest of which is called “Bridged by Love,” a historical novel set in Texarkana circa 1886 and recently published by Asylett Press.

Lieb chose as her heroines two young women who become friends trying to survive as Texarkana, in its infancy, is growing: Kathryn, a divorced lumberjack who lives with her mother and is in love with a man while another has fallen in love with her; and Shanna, a Native American woman who escapes life as a slave and has a newborn son to care for as she tries to return to her family in Indian Territory.

“Texarkana is the main area. That’s where Kathryn takes her wood to the sawmill, which is a fictitious sawmill in Texarkana,” said Lieb. The man she loves is a bookkeeper in town, while her business partner is in love with her. “She comes in practically every day with logs with her partner Leonard.”

Lieb, armed with information from a Texarkana friend (Wayne Adcock) and the Museum of Regional History, pictures Texarkana in its early days. Though she grew up here, she needed to research.

“I read as much as I could about Texarkana. Even though I lived there, it wasn’t 1886,” she said.

She writes in one passage about the town’s connection to the railroad: “Texarkana had grown profusely since becoming incorporated some 10 or so years ago—to the tune of about 8,000 people, give or take. Most of the growth was due to the building of the Texas and Pacific Railroad, which ran parallel with Front Street on the south end of town. Then came an abundance of other train lines, thus generating much business to the twin cities.”

Elsewhere, she pictures the hustle and bustle on a young Broad Street: “This, like other streets in town, seemed to grow bigger every day with businesses booming from all corners. Tall brick and stucco buildings blocked the western horizon. People, horses, cotton carts, milk wagons and horse trolleys paraded like cow herds.”

Part of her research involved investigating old newspaper clips to get a feel for the time. Some of those stories made it into the book, she said, such as one tale about a man being arrested for branding his teenage wife or Texarkana growing to a size where it needed its own police force, Lieb said.

As a writer, she sought to imagine herself in the setting.

“I love history and I love writing, and I think I just felt the earth, the ground. I just felt myself in that period when I wrote that book ... as I wrote the book I could see everything,” said Lieb.

But it’s the characters who are the focus of her historical novel, picturing two independent women at a time when they didn’t have a lot of power.

“Most of the time women are strong. A lot of them just don’t know it,” said Lieb. “Kathryn needed to be strong because of the life she was living, and Shanna was strong because of the life she was forced into.”

Lieb said the inspiration for Kathryn and the plot itself came from her family’s history.

She said when her grandma was a young woman, a family member had a child with a Native American girl and the child was raised by Lieb’s grandmother and great-grandmother. In “Bridged by Love,” Shanna must leave her young baby with Kathryn while she journeys to find her family.

Lieb imagined her grandmother at age 27 with a fiery personality and how these characters would have felt at the time in this kind of situation.

“That’s what inspired the plot,” said Lieb, who was a reporter and features writer for The Suncoast News in New Port Richey, Fla. She covered the crime beat for the Daily Sun-Journal in Brookville, Fla., and wrote for two Illinois papers, the Daily Journal and Bourbonnais Herald.

“I started writing for detective magazines,” said Lieb. Her “Murders in the Swampland” is a book of true crime reporting from Hernando County, Fla.

Married at 24, she’d only worked in factories until then but her husband encouraged her to write. After her husband passed away at age 42, Lieb figured what she knew how to do was write. She started at a Kankakee, Ill., newspaper and went from there.

She says she feels lucky in her writing career. She didn’t think she was smart enough to be a news reporter but she’s been honored for her work.

“I’m doing what I love to do,” said Lieb.

No parole for mass killer Billy Mansfield

2007-03-27T13:08:00.000-07:00

Many have written to me regarding the status of Billy Mansfield now serving a life sentence in a California prison. After some weeks of researching the case, I present to you my findings: Mass murderer Billy Mansfield may have had visions of returning to Florida for a parole hearing but it looks like he will remain in a California prison for a long time.

At a recent parole hearing Mansfield, now age 51, would not comply with psychological testing requirements required by the California Parole Board, said Det. Mike Nelson of the Hernando County Sheriff’s Office. Mansfield, who killed young women and buried their bodies in his parents’ yard in Weeki Wachee, started serving a life sentence in 1982 for the murder of Renee Saling in Santa Cruz, CA. Also, Judge L.R. Huffstleter sentenced Mansfield to four life terms for his Florida murdering spree that began in the 1970s. Mansfield plead guilty to the Florida murders.”

In California, it took a second trail to get Mansfield convicted for killing Saling, Nelson added. Nelson is now trying to identify two bodies whose bones were recovered along with Sandra Jean Brown, 21, of Tampa, and Elaine Zeigler, 15, of a KOA campsite near Brooksville. The bodies were dug up on the Mansfield property after Mansfield was arrested in California.

Though years have gone by since the slayings, there is so much you can do now with new DNA developments, Nelson said. During Mansfield’s Hernando County trial, several witnesses testified that they knew of the goings-on at the Mansfield property at the time of the slayings.

Actually, notice of the Mansfield killings came out by accident when a witness in an unrelated trial mentioned that Mansfield had buried bodies in the family yard. After four bodies were dug up at the Mansfield property and Mansfield was brought to trial, several witnesses testified that Mansfield picked up “girls” and took them to an old green bus located on the Mansfield property, raped them, killed them and then buried their bodies in the family yard.

During the initial investigation authorities said that if they started arresting people for withholding evidence they would have to add a new wing to the jail. There are “all kinds of rumors and speculations” that Mansfield may have buried more bodies in areas of Hernando County, but with any substantial evidence “we’d be back on the property digging,” Nelson said. Nelson said Mansfield has come up twice before for probation hearings. This year Mansfield’s mother attended, Nelson confirmed. A phone number for Mansfield’s parents Virginia and Billy Mansfield Sr. could not be located.

According to Attorney Jimmy Brown, who prosecuted Mansfield for the Florida murders, Mansfield was up for parole last year but it turned out to be a “non started”, which means there wasn’t even a hearing, Brown said.

According to Nelson, the Florida Parole Board “has been in touch with him” but a hearing here is “way down the road”. It is not likely that Mansfield will ever get out of prison alive, said Nelson.

“If he does he will be in excess of one-hundred years old.” Some of the victims’ families here do keep watch on the case, he added. Mansfield has been housed at several prisons since beginning his life-sentence for killing Saling.

He is currently at Pleasant Valley State Prison in Coalinga, CA; a spokesman there didn’t return my phone calls. Prisoners are moved about in California sometimes at their own request and sometimes for population reasons, Nelson said.

Mansfield is suspected of numerous rapes and other slaying during his killing spree in Westcentral Florida.

Read: The Story of Billy Mansfield & Secrets Hidden in the Green Bus--one of 17 true crime cases covered in MURDERS IN THE SWAMPLAND

Gay Encounter Cost Priest His Life

2007-03-16T08:02:00.000-07:00

From "Murders in the Swampland"
By Patricia Shipp Lieb
(Patty Shipp)

Grief hung in the choir of black clouds over the city of Brooksville the morning of July 17, 1979. That day, summer rains mixed with tears from heaven flooded the peaceful, God-fearing community.

The secretary for St. John’s Episcopal Church walked toward the vicarage. She stopped to read a note left hanging on the door that advised visitors: “Please call tomorrow.” Father Jon’s name was signed at the bottom. She wondered where the good priest might be. His bronze 1976 Mazda was not parked out front.

Victoria put the key in the lock and turned it.

Click.

All at once... Oh dear Lord!

Her hand rushed to her face. Then she froze. A nude male lay on the floor in the hallway with his hands tied behind his back. A blood-soaked towel covered his head.
She screamed and ran from the house. Out of the blue, it seemed, she found herself surrounded by police, paramedics, and church people. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she cried. The world was coming apart.

Then fear that had possessed her since she had discovered the body became reality. The dead man in the vicarage was the Reverend Jon Hunt. Someone had killed the priest.

Officials inside the house found Hunt had been beaten severely on his head by a heavy object. Two hammers near his body and a broken chair in another room indicated there had been a struggle between the priest and his assailant. A broken claw hammer, on some old copies of the Daily Sun-Journal, could have been the murder weapon, a police officer observed.

News that something terrible had happened to Father Jon washed over the town like a storm. By the time paramedics had put the priest’s body on the stretcher and loaded it into an ambulance, many church members had gathered in the churchyard. They cried and tried to comfort each other: “Why would anyone want to hurt Father Jon? Why would anyone do such a horrible thing to the good preacher?”

A visibly saddened long-time neighbor said it was very hard for him to believe anyone would kill the cleric. “He was a quiet man. He was friendly, mild mannered, always willing to help. He was one of the nicest fellows you’d ever want to meet.”

When questioned more that same day, the neighbor told police he had seen Hunt two days prior outside the vicarage. “I waved to the preacher from my car, but I didn’t get out to talk,” he said.
While the crowd continued to congregate near the church, a passing car stopped and a young girl leaned her head out the window. “Is Father Jon going to be all-right,” she asked.

The officer looked at her but did not answer.

The murder of a priest occurring in Brooksville, a peaceful town with a population of about 6,000 people, was a shocker. Brooksville, at the top of a hill and surrounded by many miles of forests and cow pastures, was the only city in the county. Though most of the community’s residences were “good-ol’-boys,” Central Florida’s warm sunny days always knocking at winter’s door drew transplants and drifters. The town’s draw included its uniqueness, with huge liveoak trees and hammocks separating houses, country stores, churches, and railroad tracks.
Even the 37-year-old Father Jon was a transplant, locating here after his graduation from the Seminary at Seaberry Western College in Chicago. He had joined the Episcopal Diocese of Southwest Florida in St. Petersburg and was assigned to St. John’s Episcopal Church in May of 1971.

From the moment the homicide investigation started, officials found nobody had anything bad to say about the priest. He was definitely a loved man.

Police roped off the entire block around the church vicarage and started investigating the murder. They looked for a motive, the murder weapons, and anything they could that might be used as a clue as to who killed Father Jon. At first, robbery was not suspected. Whoever had killed the priest had not bothered the container of church funds.

Police learned that Hunt had just returned from a month-long vacation. He could have met and befriended a stranger who had then followed him home and killed him. Or, perhaps someone had been watching the church and the vicarage to see when the priest was alone, and then slipped inside and killed him. In any case, the question was why would anyone want to kill this man of God?

Police Chief Ron Novy and other officials spent several hours processing the crime scene because of the large amount of evidence found near the body. A crime scene technician from the Florida Department of Law Enforcement (FDLE) in Tampa was sent to the site.
Lawmen wasted no time in transporting 11 bloody fingerprints and two bloody palm prints, along with other evidence, to the Tampa Crime Lab for processing. Other evidence was analyzed including a ball-peen hammer that serologists found contained the same blood type as that of the dead priest.

However, Father Jon’s car was the key. If the vehicle could be located, there was a very good possibility cops would find their killer. An all-points bulletin was put out for the bronze 1976 Mazda.

As cops worked day and night on the investigation, church people and friends of the priest mourned his death. A special mass was held at the church the night after the slaying. A second mass was held later that week. On Friday, when the town paid its final respects, the church was packed to standing room only. Speakers were placed outside for the overflow.
After the ceremony, a bishop from St. Petersburg said the rite had been joyous because of the church’s belief of the “everlasting” life Hunt had fallen into.

“Father Jon was a very loving, gentle individual,” the Bishop said. “Because of the circumstances involved, we are filled with hostility. But a greater voice also cries out within us–the voice of the Lord. Father Jon was the finest example of what our Lord told us to believe.”

While the town mourned its loss, rumors began to buzz through the peaceful neighborhood that the dead priest had been involved in homosexuality. Many people had seen a young man with Hunt the weekend prior to his death.

On the other hand, Hunt had often befriended strangers, the homeless or whoever else called on him.

“Right now, we’re working on a lot of speculation,” Chief Novy said. “We won’t know what’s fact or rumor until we finish interviewing several people.” As the investigation got underway, detectives determined that Hunt had been murdered the morning of July 17, sometime between midnight and 2 a.m.

Hunt’s autopsy showed blood had flowed to his hands and was trapped there before he died, thus presenting the reddish-purple coloring. This proved the priest was alive when his hands were tied behind his back. There was also some sperm on the dead preacher’s penis.

The week after Father Jon was found dead, a nation-wide manhunt for a young man believed to be driving Hunt’s car centered in eastern Kentucky, in an area where small towns were neatly tucked between hillsides. Cops were suddenly playing hide-and-seek with an eluding suspect driving a bronze Mazda.

The Mazda was reportedly seen here and there in Mount Sterling. This was an area where a murder suspect would be hard to find. And whoever had killed Hunt was not someone who would just stand still and wait for authorities to arrest him. The killer was on the run driving a stolen car.

While detectives questioned townspeople in Mount Sterling, they learned a local resident had seen a man driving the described vehicle at a grocery store where she shopped. He had been well dressed and clean-shaven but had appeared quite nervous. A man in that same mountain town claimed he had seen a man hitch-hiking and then a few weeks later, he saw the same man back in town driving a bronze Mazda.

At the time authorities in Kentucky tailed a suspect, Florida cops tracked leads in several other states including Georgia and Oklahoma. Cars fitting the description of the one stolen from Father Jon were popping up all over the south, but it was the tag that would make the difference. Only the suspect would be driving the car with the license plate number matching the one that belonged to the dead priest.

Thirteen days after the brutal slaying, Detective Nelson Patton got a tip that a Mazda fitting the description of the one being hunted was seen at Salt Lick, Kentucky. Upon driving through the area, police spotted the car. And the driver of the Mazda obviously spotted the police.

The Mazda took off like a bat out of hell, detectives said later. The cop made a quick spin, and then floor-boarded the gas pedal. The pursuit had begun. Detectives were led on (what they described as) “a hell of a chase” speeding up and down a 10-mile stretch of roads winding through the hills. At one point, the pursuit whizzed right through a funeral procession at a speed of more than 100-miles-per-hour, cops reported.

The quest finally ended at a roadblock set up by the state police on the interstate near the Owingsville exit. There, Deputy Bobby Bowman walked up to the suspect in the Mazda. The lawbreaker, in his mid-20s, was dressed in a leather vest and hat and ragged jeans. He looked as if he had not slept in days. Bowman ordered him out of the car and told him to raise his hands and spread his feet.

Upon frisking the sleepy-eyed driver, police found a Gulf Oil credit card that had belonged to the Reverend Jon Hunt. This was their man.
The following day, the man identified as William Howell Gilvin, age 26, was arraigned on fugitive warrants from Florida.

Detectives Bob Johnson, of the Brooksville Police, and John Whitman, of the Hernando Sheriff’s Office, flew to Sharpsberg to continue their investigation into the murder of the priest. Once in Kentucky, Johnson and Whitman went to hideouts where they believed Gilvin might have laid low for almost two weeks. While the detectives combed the countryside collecting information about Gilvin, crime technicians from the FDLE processed evidence from the Mazda, which had been positively identified as having belonged to the slain vicar.

In early August, almost a week after detectives Whitman and Johnson had flown from Florida to Kentucky, they returned with their murder suspect. They arrived at the Hernando County Jail in Brooksville at about 11 p.m., almost eight hours after Gilvin signed extradition papers in a Kentucky courtroom. Gilvin was held over for trial, without bond, for the beating death of the preacher.

While being fingerprinted and searched, and before being taken to a one-man jail cell, Gilvin talked easily with detectives. He was called Bill, he said, a Christian from Kentucky and a construction worker. He had a tattoo of the letters W.H.G. on his right wrist.

When Gilvin’s January trial date arrived, numerous county residents were questioned before a jury was picked. State Attorney Gordon Oldham, Assistant State Attorney Jimmy Brown, and Gilvin’s Public Defender Ray Shaw, asked possible jurors their feelings about the case. They asked if they were influenced by pretrial publicity, if they believed in the death penalty, if they could discard things they had heard or read about the case, and if they could base their verdict only on the evidence presented during the trial. Prospective jurors were also asked whether Hunt’s alleged homosexuality would affect their decision.

By Friday, January 4, a 12-member jury with two alternates, who would be used in the event any of the 12 jurors could not fulfill their duty, had been sworn in to hear and decide Gilvin’s fate. Hernando County Circuit Judge L.R. Huffstetler Jr. would preside.

During opening statements, Shaw contended that Gilvin and the priest had been fighting. Hunt had died from the beating he had received during the fight. The two had gotten intoxicated and the defendant just happened to have a hammer in his hands.

This is how the defense claimed Hunt was killed: Hunt and Gilvin drank two pitchers of martinis, and then Hunt started making sexual plays for the good-looking younger man. The attorney claimed the priest had appeared before the drunken visitor nude and began to kiss him on his head. As things progressed, Gilvin picked up the hammer.

The defense maintained that Hunt had been killed in self-defense, but the prosecution took a different stand. Oldham, who did not claim to know all the details of the killing, said evidence clearly pointed to a brutal, premeditated murder by the defendant. He said the defendant had planned, killed and robbed Hunt. After killing the preacher, Gilvin had hung towels over the vicarage windows, searched through the offices looking for money, stole the priest’s credit card, and then left a note hanging on the door with Hunt’s forged signature.

The pathologist and associate medical examiner, Dr. William Winter, presented gruesome details of Hunt’s murder. Winter testified that when Hunt’s hands were bound behind his back, he had been alive.

But the story Gilvin gave was the one his public defender had also pled for him–that of self-defense. According to Gilvin, he was the intended victim of a sex crime. Gilvin said he and Hunt had drunk the martinis the morning of July 16. They were both feeling high, and then Hunt went to the bedroom to rest. Gilvin remained in the television room, watched a news program, and smoked some marijuana. In a little while, the nude priest approached Gilvin in the television room and started pawing and kissing him on the temples of his head.

The two men had discussed having sex prior to that, but Gilvin claims he resisted the preacher’s advances and pushed him away. This time, Father Jon came on stronger and the struggle began. The priest ran from the den and into a closet. Not knowing if Hunt was going for a weapon, Gilvin saw the claw hammer and grabbed it.

Armed with the tool, Gilvin moved toward the bedroom to face the man who had made advances toward him. The priest saw him and started swinging and kicking, Gilvin said. As the two men struggled, Gilvin dropped the hammer. Then it was like a tug of war, with both men trying to get possession of the deadly weapon. Gilvin said he grabbed the hammer. Galvin swung, and the hammer hit hard against Hunt’s forehead. The pressure of the deadly weapon cut Hunt’s skin and blood started to flow.

This did not stop the priest. It only made him more vicious, the defense claimed. Hunt ran to the living room. Gilvin ran after him, pushed him, causing him to fall. The two were still struggling for the hammer. Then Gilvin and Hunt both spotted a ball-peen hammer that Gilvin had used that day to repair window screens.
“We both started for it,” Gilvin said. “And I got it. I struck him a couple of times in the head.” Then, as the priest “kept mumbling something,” Gilvin pulled him across the living room floor to the hall. “We struggled again and I picked up the first hammer and hit him again and he went down. I felt there was no need for more hammer blows.”

Gilvin had previously told officers he had hit the pastor in the head several times but that the blows had only hurt him badly. He had seen Father Jon suffering so he got a second hammer and beat him in the head to stop his anguish. But, Gilvin said, when he told that story it had been a lie. He had since found Jesus Christ and now he was telling the truth.

After beating Hunt, Gilvin said he tied his hands with a rope used to tie back the shower curtain. At this time, Hunt was still breathing.

Since the day he killed the priest, Gilvin said he had become a child of God. A local Church of God minister agreed that the accused murderer had been “born again.” But in giving his closing statement to the court, assistant State Attorney Jimmy Brown said that Gilvin was not a convincing liar. Brown pointed his finger at Gilvin, who sat straight at the defendant’s table.

“The murder of Jon Hunt did not bother Gilvin when he took the hammers and beat the priest to death and it does not bother him now. It doesn’t bother him today, and I don’t think it ever will.”

But Public Defender Shaw said Gilvin was not the same man he was when the priest was slain, that since then Gilvin had found a new outlook on life. Shaw said that at the time of the slaying, Gilvin’s mind had not been functioning logically due to the alcohol and marijuana he had consumed the day of the killing.

Shaw reminded the jury that several witnesses had been reluctant in testifying that they knew Hunt was gay. “Mr. Gilvin is not a homosexual,” the public defender said. “If he were, we would not be here today.”

State’s Attorney Gordon Oldham presented the final word. “But we know what the defendant is. He’s an ex-con, a forger, a thief, a drifter, and by his own confession, a liar.”
The jury spent nine hours the first day going over testimony. They reached a decision after forty minutes of deliberation the following day. They found William Gilvin guilty of first-degree murder for the beating death of the Reverend Jon Hunt.

The adjudicators recommended that Gilvin be sentenced to life in prison instead of death. Judge Huffstetler had other ideas and overturned the jury’s recommendation and sentenced Gilvin to die in the Florida electric chair. The judge said that death was the only proper sentence for the convicted murder and that no reasonable mind could differ.

Gilvin’s death sentence since has been overturned; he was re-sentenced to spend life in prison.

Back to Murders In The Swampland: Florida Crime

True Crime: Murders in the Swampland

2007-03-07T09:35:00.000-08:00

MURDERS IN THE SWAMPLAND AND COP LOGS Available from Asylett Press CONTENTS Introduction Cases included in MURDERS IN THE SWAMPLAND & names of convicted killers 1. The Story Of Billy Mansfield & Secrets Hidden In The Green Bus--Serial Killer Billy Mansfield 2. Gay Encounter Costs Priest His Life--William Howell Galvin 3. Torture Murder In The Swamp--Todd Mendyk & Philip Frantz 4. A Christmas Rabbit Hunt Became A Night Of Murder--Rick Shere & Bruce Demo 5. Shootout In Sumter County--Jeffrey Raymond McGuire & Traci Grosvenor 6. He Killed The Pretty Young Women--Serial Killer Oscar Ray Bolin 7. Murder To Be Popular--Patrici Keebler A Gunman’s Intent: She’s As Good As Dead--John Barrett, Scott Burnside, & Dorssey Sanders III 9. Rumble At The Old Publix--Gang murder of Russell Coats in Brooksville, FL. 10. They Killed For A Hunk of Crack--Debra Russo & Daniel Gardner 11. Granny Killer On The Loose--Serial Killer Edwin Bernard "Mike" Kaprat 12. Killer Left Body For The Dogs--Ivan Morales 13. She Awakened To A Gunshot In The Night--Julie Leacock & Samuel Augusta Coppola 14. Killers Claim Rock Star & Bodyguard Fame--Clifford Jarvis & Brian Kipp 15. Couple On The Run: Caught With Gun In Her Panties--Melissa Herriss & Earl Linebaugh 16. She Listened To Kidnappers Plot Her Murder--Alfred Fennie, Pala Colbert @ Michael Frazier 17. Mother & Daughters Dumped In The Bay--Serial Killer Oba Chandler 18. Cop Log I 19. Cop Log 2 20. Cop Log 3 21. Epilogue

Comment from reader reguarding Billy Mansfield

2007-02-19T18:20:00.001-08:00

Steve Goodman

2007-02-01T10:31:00.000-08:00

Patricia:

Good to see your 22-year-old story on Arlo, and its mention of Steve Goodman.

He often doesn't get his due. Given your interest in biography, youmight be interested in an eight-year project of mine that is coming tofruition -- a biography of Goodman that will be published this spring. I'm attaching a background sheet on the book and will keep you on my notification list!

Clay

=====Clay Eals1728 California Ave. S.W.

Riding on the City of New Orleans with Arlo Guthrie

2007-02-01T09:56:00.001-08:00

By Patricia Lieb
Appeared in the Daily Journal, Kankakee, IL, Oct. 14, 1985

At Union Station in Chicago, the southbound Amtrak -- the one they call The City Of New Orleans --fills up quickly. There are city officals, photographers and reporters -- people who came all the way from Kankakee just to ride this train back.

And, with good reason: To greet Arlo Guthrie and accompany him to Kankakee, where he would give his first concert in the town he made famous in song.

Guthrie is quite a man. Still his warm, pleasing manner comes through clearly as he chooses a seat in the club car that was reserved for this special occasion.

This is his first ride on The City Of New Orleans, which passes through Kankakee in both the song of that name and in fact.

Traveling with him is his 18-year-old son, Abraham, and an artist.

Arlo is dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved, blue shirt and a short, tan trench coat belted at the waist. He wears tennis shoes, a pair of red checked socks, and an Amtrak hat that someone gave. His thick, shoulder-length, curly hair is graying.

"My son Abraham," he says, "is playing with me this tour."

Music, he says, has always been a way of life for his family. Although his father, Woody, took sick when Arlo was only six-years-old, and was ill until he died 15 years later, the Guthrie clan was the "singingest, dancingest family who ever lived."

Arlo saw the movie, "Bound For Glory," just once. It was supposed to be a recall of his famous father, but, "I didn't like the movie. It was a combination of a bunch of ideals that I didn't think flowed very well together, and after seeing the movie I don't know if I knew anymore about my dad than I did to begin with. And I don't mean, just by being his son, I mean for anybody. It (the movie) sort of gave the impression that he just ran around a lot and sang in freigh trains and such."

Like his father, Arlo has been involved in social movements.

"Nowadays you get involved in some things but they are not called protests anymore. Anybody who is singing about hungry people in Africa, or farms in the Midwest, or newsy plans in their own home town ... things like that don't really carry the protest aura that some things did fifetten years ago. These are actions taken by people who are very normal -- They get together and help people and they leave it at that."

Helping each other is fashionable nowadays, he says, and "I hope it becomes more fashionable. I think if you're going to be a slave to fashion, you might as well do it to benefit other people."

An admirer of St. Francis, Arlo is a lay brother. There was a time, he says, when he "sort-of" hung out in monasteries. "Just for the sake of not standing out, I dressed in gowns and robes, "But," he says, "that is not a big deal. I'm not trying to detract from other people's comings and goings. I tend to disappear as a personality or celebrity when I'm dressed like everyody else." As for Steve Goodman's song, The City Of New Orleans, Guthrie says it took him three months and six recordings to get the song like he wanted. "I kept hearing it," he says, tilting his head with a shy laugh, "but didn't like it. So, I'd go back and start from scratch again."

On his next album, he says, there are decidedly biased. "I've always been that way," he says. "I don't try to remain neutral about things. I don't find any job in neutrallity. I'd rather be wrong than neutral."

Arlo glances out the window at the big whoop-de-doo getting started along the tracks just as the conductor announces that the train will be stopping in Kankakee soon. "I never expected them (the people of Kankakee) to do it up this big," he says.

BRIDGED BY LOVE

2006-12-29T06:31:00.000-08:00

Daily Journal, Kankakee, IL book review for "Bridged by Love"

Historical novel good, fast read for any afternoon"

Bridged by Love
by Patricia Shipp Lieb
Reviewed by Bonnie Flouhouse
St, Anne, IL

Patricia Shipp Lieb's "Bridged by Love" is a historical novel set in Texarkana in the late 1880s. It's the story of two women--Shanna (a young Indian woman trying to evade ruthless white men) and Kathryn (a storng white woman willing to take on any opponent).

Several people, but most importantly an infant, tie the women's lives. The fast plot is at times too coincidental, but it ensnares the reader in the story of these women. To build suspense, the author presents segments of one character's story, stops at a crucial moment, and then moves to the other character's struggles.

Because the only way to connect Shanna and Kathryn is to show how several men are involed in their lives, several episodes involved only these men. Liberal doses of danger, treachery, intrigue, and romance fill the book. Eventually Lieb untangles everyone and brings closure to the storylines.

Numerous predictable stock characters add to the local color of the book: the slick swindler, the traveling prostitute, the ignorant guy who'll do anything for a few coins, the prejuciced business owner, the liberal man who thinks Indians are mistreated, the fiercely strong pioneer woman, the decent man who patiently waits for his chance at love, and displaced Indians. Add a ruthless tavern owner and a young man willing to face all foes for the woman he loves, and the character list is complete.

In an attempt to capture the aura and lifestyles of a past time, Lieb has crowded lost of characters and details into her book. But over all, "Bridged by Love" is a fast read good for an afternoon's enjoyment.

Bridged By Love
Trade paper back & ebook downloads from Asylett Press, Fictionwise, and any major book store.

Hardback:
by Patricia Shipp Lieb

Publisher:
Trade paperback; order from Asylett Press

Hardback 328 pages; order from Booksurge

Description: Kathryn, a backwoods woman, and the young Indian girl, Shanna, have a connection: love for an infant. Set in about 1885, give or take, on the borders of Arkansas, Louisiana and Texas, with travels to the Indian Territory (now Oklahoma), complex characters tangled with kidnapping, murder and romance add a height of tension to this suspenseful telling of the difficult roads traveled between two women bridged by love. Copyright 2006 (c) Patricia Shipp Lieb

BRIDGED BY LOVE by Patricia Lieb is published by Asylett Press
https://www.asylett.com/HTML/mainsite.htm

Book signing in Gulfport, Mississippi

2006-11-04T08:23:00.000-08:00

Book signing
at Barnes & Noble
Gulfport, MS,

Patricia Lieb, author
(Murders
in the Swampland;
Bridged by Love;
and Glenn Sweman,
author of 11 books
of poetry.
author of 11 books of poetry

New Publisher for Patricia Lieb: Asylett Press

Whooooooo: the ghosts of poets

2006-10-27T07:31:00.000-07:00

Happy Halloween
Visit the Graves of Poets
Death, Be Not Proud: The Graves of Poets
At the Academy of American Poets
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19256

Captured: poems by Patricia Lieb

2006-10-26T12:21:00.000-07:00

Captured
By Patricia Lieb

Acknowledgements:
A Pteranodon chapbook published by Lieb-Schott Publications. Copyright 1983 by Patricia Lieb. All rights reserved.

Grateful acknowledgement is made to the editors and publishers of the following publications where the collection of poems in Captured first appeared:
Affinities: The South Florida Poetry Review, for Shadows and The Deep: Sirens;
Anthology of Florida Poets for Grave Digging (third printing), and Looking At You Through A Rain Covered Window Pane;
Cedar Rock for Grave Digging and Waiting;
Earthwise for Hurricane;
The Florida Arts Gazette for Captured;
Gryphon for Learning To Write A Poem;
Indian Corn for Bathing In Red Wine Words;
Pudding for Grave Digging (second printing);
The Spoon River Quarterly for Dreaming Of Wheat;
Tempest for The Eagle And The Dove;
Xarier Review for Until Dawn.

Captured by Patricia Lieb
Available from Liebbooks.com

Watch Barack Obama

2006-10-21T14:38:00.000-07:00

http://www.barackobama.com/media/americas_oil_addiction_cbs/

Caladesi Island, FL

2006-10-16T13:34:00.000-07:00

Poet Jared Carter

2006-10-12T15:02:00.000-07:00

Read the impressive interview

Carol Schott Martino and I

conducted

with the awesome poet

Jared Carter back in

the days of Pteranodon.

Please leave a comment.

http://jaredcarter.com/archives/interviews/pteranodon/

The Pteranodon magazine cover shown above features numerous poets; pictured are Dr. Barbra Nightingale, professor of poetry and creative writing at Broward College in Hollywood, FL; Dr. Glenn Swentman, writer in residence at William Carey College, Gulf Port, MS; and the late poet and professor of Humanities at the University of South FL in Tampa Dr. Hans Juergensen; the bottom photo is of the famed Indiana poet Jared Carter.

Carol and I met Jared Carter in about 1979 when he was a featured speaker at the Suncoast Writer's Conference in St. Petersburg, FL., and have since attended his readings. You are in for a treat when visiting his Website (link above).

Please watch for revisits to the eight issues of the literary magazine Pteranodon featuring Jared Carter, William Stafford, Richard Eberhart, Richard Shelton and other internationally know poets and writers via <http://liebbooks.com>. We published Pteranodon in 1979-1984.

Wild Orchids

2006-10-11T09:44:00.000-07:00

Another
"On My Way
To The Mailbox"
photo; this one of
lovely
wild orchids
growing along
the mailbox path

Photo by
Patricia Lieb

Hurry Up

2006-10-08T07:42:00.000-07:00

Say hello to my friend Hurry Up, one of several gopher tortis living in my yard.

I met up with Hurry Up on the way to the mailbox yesterday. Soon he and all his family will cover themselves under Florida sands for the season.

Photo by
Patricia Lieb

Judy Candis

2006-09-24T06:17:00.000-07:00

Judy, a very loved soul

August 8, 1950-September 18, 2006
Novelist, Writing Instructor, & Business Owner
Author of Color Blind, Blood Offering, Still Rage, & All Things Hidden
CEO of Bar-B-Que King, Incorporated
Beloved Mother, Sister, Aunt, Cousin, Niece & Friend!
http://www.judycandis.com/
http://jccafe.blogspot.com/

Photo of Judy and me at a signing for All Things Hidden in Tampa, FL

GO! Barack Obama (D) IL

2006-09-22T21:06:00.000-07:00

http://www.barackobama.com/2004/07/27/dnc_2004.php

IL U.S. Senator
Barack Obama
has a lot to say
to those who
will listen or read.
http://www.barackobama.com/2006/09/14/louisville_dems.php
http://www.barackobama.com/2006/09/20/energy_independence.php

Speaking at William Carey College, Gulfport, MS

2006-09-19T23:12:00.000-07:00

I will speak to Dr. Glenn Swetman's American Literature class on October 26 after a duel booksigning with Swetman at the Barnes & Noble in Gulfport on Oct. 25. Hope to see you there.

This is where I live in Florida

2006-09-01T16:22:00.000-07:00

My best friend Blacky and Our home

Yes, we really do live out here --tucked away, hidden--surrounded by all kinds of sub-tropical trees, gophers, birds, squirrels, lizzards, wild grapes and what-have-you. And I wouldn't trade it for Paris. These photos are all of my yard. I love it here.

Skydiving

2006-08-26T05:42:00.000-07:00

This is the way down
Zypherhills, FL

See photos:

http://writerswriteon.com/
Story appeared in Vocational Biographies

Sanibel Island, FL's Gulf Coast

2006-08-25T16:32:00.000-07:00

Photos (C) Patricia Lieb

Watch for my story
about Sanibel Island
in Florida Living magazine

From Texarkana College; KTXK Public Radio Aug. 24, 9 a.m.

2006-08-22T09:31:00.000-07:00

Hey, exciting news: I will be talking with Sabrina McMcCormick on KTXK radio from Texarkana College 91.5 FM on Wednesday, Sept. 6 at 9 a.m. Texarkana time about my book "Bridged by Love." Hope you will tune in.

Sadly, this is William Carey College, Gulfport, MS

2006-08-15T16:59:00.001-07:00

William Carey College, Gulfport, MS, Aug. 1, 2006
Classes are being held in these trailers more than a year after Hurricane Katrina.

On my trip to Gulfport, MS, earlier this month to speak with Dr. Glenn Swetman's creative writing class at William Carey College, I was saddened by the disaster still plaguing the Gulf Coast, aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.

I will speak at Swetman's American Literature class on October 26, after a duel booksigning with Swetman at the Barnes & Noble in Gulfport on Oct. 25. For more information email pat@liebbooks.com

Hiding out in North Carolina

2006-08-14T12:17:00.000-07:00

Check my other sites
http://www.geocities.com/patsylieb
http://www.liebbooks.com
http://www.geocities.com/mmo2usa/
http://www.geocities.com/kids30552/

Florida's Weeki Wachee River

2006-07-28T04:18:00.000-07:00

On Writing Historical Fiction

2006-07-09T16:39:00.000-07:00

On writing historical fiction

I will talk to Dr. Glenn Swetman's Creative Writing class at William Carey College, Gulfport, MS, Aug. 1 and will sign copies of my novels "Bridged by Love" and "Across the Red River to Her Mysterious Heritage" at a local bookstore there Aug. 2. For more information e-mail me at: pat@liebbooks.com. Also in August, I will be guest author at Judy Candis' Writing the Popular Novel class at the University of South Florida in Tampa.

From Amazon. com
July 30, 2006

A great taste of the old frontier, July 30, 2006

Reviewer:
Paul S. Brittain (Scottdale, PA USA) - See all my reviews Bridged By Love was a pleasant surprise for someone whose readings usually tend to science fiction and horror. But Patricia Shipp Lieb grabbed my attention from the first page and held it throughout this well-crafted novel, weaving twists, turns and surprises. Female protagonists Shanna and Kathryn are connected through the love of baby Aaron, who is the center of this saga. Both strong in resolve, Shanna is a native American Indian and Kathryn is a frontier woman who together triumph over the schemes of a number of unscrupulous men. The author's attention to detail brought the old southwest to life as she deftly blended the passages of her many characters. I am honored to have had the opportunity to read and review this book, and highly recommend it to someone who is seeking a different kind of story that is based on a long gone historic era. I look forward as well to other readings of books by Patricia Shipp Lieb.

From the Tampa Tribune, July 9

"Bridged by Love," by Patricia Shipp Lieb (BookSurge, $16) - Spring Hill resident Lieb has written a historical adventure set in the late 1880s in Texarkana, a city that straddles the Texas-Arkansas line. Lieb draws on a bounty of historical knowledge to craft a tale of two women - one native American, the other white - linked together in a fight against injustice.

From the Daily Journal, Kankakee, IL, May 28

Historical novel good, fast read for summer afternoon

"Bridged by Love"
by Patricia Shipp Lieb
Reviewed by Bonnie Flouhouse
St, Anne, IL

Patricia Shipp Lieb's "Bridged by Love" is a historical novel set in Texarkana in the late 1880s. It's the story of two women--Shanna (a young Indian woman trying to evade ruthless white men) and Kathryn (a storng white woman willing to take on any opponent).

Several people, but most importantly an infant, tie the women's lives.

The fast plot is at times too coincidental, but it ensnares the reader in the story of these women.

To build suspense, the author presents segments of one character's story, stops at a crucial moment, and then moves to the other character's struggles.

Because the only way to connect Shanna and Kathryn is to show how several men are involed in their lives, several episodes involved only these men. Liberal doses of danger, treachery, intrigue, and romance fill the book.

Eventually Lieb untangles everyone and brings closure to the storylines. Numerous predictable stock characters add to the local color of the book: the slick swindler, the traveling prostitute, the ignorant guy who'll do anything for a few coins, the prejuciced business owner, the liberal man who thinks Indians are mistreated, the fiercely strong pioneer woman, the decent man who patiently waits for his chance at love, and displaced Indians. Add a ruthless tavern owner and a young man willing to face all foes for the woman he loves, and the character list is complete.

In an attempt to capture the aura and lifestyles of a past time, Lieb has crowded lost of characters and details into her book. But over all, "Bridged by Love" is a fast read good for a summer afternoon's enjoyment.

Back to Liebbooks.com

Bridged By Love by Patricia Shipp Lieb
Publisher: BookSurge

Pre-publication reviews for "Across the Red River to her Mysterious Heritage"
By Patricia Shipp Lieb

Review by Dr. Glenn Swetman: author, poet, writer in residence at William Carey College, Gulf Port, MS

In Across the Red River to her Mysterious Heritage, Lieb (known for her no-nonsense true crime reporting, her sensitive and complex poetry and her exceptional initiation novel, "And Her Name Was Catharine") has conceived yet another genera.

Her latest, Across the Red River to her Mysterious Heritage, is a literary triumph, a genealogical mystery novel, and a record of the acute pangs of longing that make us human. Mary, the protagonist of the book, is engaged in a search for her identity both physically and spiritually as she struggles through her own kinds of Pilgrim's Progress or Divine Comedy that takes her from the portals of Purgatory to the brink of her personal Inferno.

But not only is this a book that should be read, it is a book that is exceptionally readable.

The words seem to leap from the page to the reader's eyes and from there do the very soul: a must for the serious reader. A must for anyone who reads.

Pre-publication review by Allan MacKinnon, writer-photographer, The Florida Keys

Patricia Lieb has written a best seller! The story chronicles the search by Mary Gray, a young black woman with blue eyes, for her heritage. Each chapter grabs you and won't let you go. You'll reach for each new chapter to learn more about Mary's, until near the end of the book, you begin to get a hint of where she will find her ancestors. Well written and well conceived, Mysterious Heritage leaves you hoping that the author has more intrigging tales in the future for our enjoyment.

Pre-publication review by Dr. Barbra Nightingale, Professor of English and Creative Writing, Broward College, Hollywood, FL

Wow! Patricia is a true storyteller; each page begs to be turned as her intriguing prose spins it tale full of surprises.

Well told!

"Across the Red River to her Mysterious Heritage" can be ordered from Xlibris.com

Back to Liebbooks.com

Book signing in Dade City, FL

2006-07-09T16:25:00.000-07:00

The Tampa Tribune

2 Authors Appearing At The Book Shack

Photo: Patricia Lieb, J. B. Preston & Dr. Glenn Swetman

Book Shack owner Jo Kassabuam (above) gets ready for another day of literature at her shop in Dade City, FL.

Dade City--Two local writers will be at The Book Shack, 14407 Seventh St., from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. Saturday to answer questions about their books and the publishing process.

Patricia Shipp Lieb of Spring Hill has written a fourth book, "Bridged by Love," the story of a backwoods woman and an American Indian girl bound by their love for a baby. It's set in the mid-1880s on the tristate borders of Arkansas, Louisiana and Texas.

Lieb has been a writer and newspaper reporter for more than 20 years, including reporting for papers in Brooksville and New Port Richey. She has been a speaker at various writers conferences.

J.B. Preston of Lakeland will sign copies of his book "Autumn Under the Papagalos." The story moves from the Mid-west to Central Florida to the rain forest of Costa Rica. This is Preston's first novel, although he has written poetry and has a short story collection. He has a master's degree in library and information sciences from the University of South Florida.

For information about the event, contact Jo Kassabuam at The Book Shack, (352) 567-5001.

Introduction to "Murders in the Swampland"

2006-07-05T14:03:00.000-07:00

Covering crime was new to me when I moved to Florida's west coast and started working for The Daily Sun-Journal.

For a couple years prior to giving up the north for the Sunshine State, I wrote for The Daily Journal in Kankakee, Illinois. Before that, I was a co-editor/co-publisher of a literary magazine, wrote feature stories and a newspaper column about children, and had stories and poetry published here and there. That was it. Zip. A far cry from crime.

I had been living in Florida for three weeks when I returned to my apartment after a photography job interview and noticed the light blinking on my telephone answering machine. That is when I got the most rewarding call of my career as a journalist.

The recorded voice was that of Ken Melton, a man I didn't know but one who would become my boss and friend.

Ken was editor of The Daily Sun-Journal and needed to replace his crime reporter who was leaving for a bigger newspaper in another county. A copy of my resume had crossed Ken's desk. Needless to say, I returned the call immediately.

I reported to Ken the following morning, was hired and remained with the newspaper for the next three-and-a-half years, until the newspaper went to a weekly and along with more than half the staff, I got the ax.

Ken's eyes were teary when he said, "We're family here." On that sad day in 1991, The Daily Sun-Journal had started to fold--a process that would take a year to complete.

Ken was editor of The Daily Sun-Journal and needed to replace his crime reporter who was leaving for a bigger newspaper in another county. A copy of my resume had crossed Ken's desk. Needless to say, I returned the call immediately.

I reported to Ken the following morning, was hired and remained with the newspaper for the next three-and-a-half years, until the newspaper went to a weekly and along with more than half the staff, I got the ax. Ken's eyes were teary when he said, "We're family here." On that sad day in 1991, The Daily Sun-Journal had started to fold--a process that would take a year to complete.

The memories of working at The Daily Sun-Journal are lasting. Daily briefings in Sergeant "B" Frank Bierwiler's office were nearly always fascinating. Sergeant B and some of the five reporters from local media would usually come out with jokes or funny remarks that would bring humor to the morning. We sat in Sergeant B's office and read sheriff reports, sometimes with a chuckle, repeating aloud and commenting about off-the-wall incidents, like somebody picking mushrooms out of cow manure with the intentions of boiling them and drinking the juice to get high. But there were many reports far from the light side.

While a lot of incidents reported as criminal seemed somewhat rediculous, the amount of hard crime in the small county was inconceivable. Recently, some former staff of The Daily Sun-Journal gathered on Ken's patio to talk about the old days. He said that when he first arrived at The Daily Sun-Journal from a newspaper in the north, he was told Brooksville was a "lousy news town," a place where nothing ever happened. In the early-to-mid 1980s the county's population stayed pretty much at 20,000. "You used to really have to concentrate to find this place," Ken said, jokingly, of the area some 55 or so miles north of Tampa.

"Then bodies were being dug up in Billy Mansfield's back yard. I thought, 'My God!' Come to find out, Billy would take these girls home, rape them, kill them, and bury them in his mother's back yard. They (family) talked about hearing people screaming back there. Of course, nobody ever did anything. They'd say, 'Oh, that's just Billy.' It's amazing to me how his family didn't turn him in. I don't think there was any question whether they knew what was going on. It was like they thought: 'He's just killing somebody in the back yard--don't worry about it.' Mansfield was kind-of scary, like Charles Manson.

"In an unrelated incident a few years later, four men showed up at a house for various reasons at different times and were murdered. One man, later convicted of the crime, ran off to a far-away island in the South Pacific. A couple years later, detectives followed his mother when she went to visit her son.

"Now why would a killer have his mother fly in for a visit, as if he weren't being hunted anymore?"

Putting murder aside, some wild happenings in thecounty covered everything from a horse drinking too much wine to a man attempting to drown his wife in the waterbed because he didn't like her new hairdo. And there was the time, during one of the jailbreaks at the new jail, when a couple prisoners actually kicked a hole in the jail wall and escaped through it.

Laughing, Ken said, "Didn't they consider when they were building the jail that there might be people locked in who want out?"

Ken recalled hilarious happenings occurred in the old days, too. "Deputies in cruisers were chasing a car and the driver got away. When cops found him a little later, after he had smashed up his car, he was beside a garbage bin on the parking lot at a convenicence store having sex with a woman he had just met. "

It is the funniest story I've ever heard and it happened here. "The man got away from officers again. "I think the cops must have been laughing so hard that night they couldn't even catch the guy. Now what are the odds a man would meet a woman who would do that,"Ken said, laughing.

"They told me Brooksville was a lousy news town. Then they started digging up bodies in Billy Mansfield's yard and another guy got beat to death with a rock--then all hell broke loose. Brooksville was no longer a sleepy little town."

In this book, I am sharing with you some of the criminal acts that have occurred in Central Florida's once far-removed swampland adjacent to the Gulf of Mexico. The "swamp" collection also includes extensive accounts of lawmen and their search for clues in one of the most horrific cases in Tampa Bay history after the boater's sighting led to the discovery of the bodies of a mother and her two teenage daughters weighted with concrete blocks and floating in the bay.

As well as covering most of these murders for The Daily Sun-Journal, I wrote accounts of the cases for the various true-crime magazines over a 10-year-period. In some stories, the names of witnesses and defendants' families have been changed; some have not. Several cases in this collection occurred before and after my tender with the newspaper. But they are crimes that still haunt folks who remember.

Be forewarned, some details herewith are gruesome.

I used literary license in writing these stories. Some quotes are assumed, as nobody really knows what was said during the crimes. Many quotes were taken directly from court records, including police reports, depositions, confessions, and trials. The happenings and moods are as close to truth as I could detect while studing the cases.

Available from Asylett Press or order from any bookstore

True Crime by Patty Shipp Lieb

2006-07-04T15:27:00.000-07:00

The below notations are newspaper articles

written about my true crime book titled

"Muders in the Swampland."

Please list your own books

in the comment section of this entry.

Back to Liebbooks.com

Murders in the Swampland by Patricia Shipp Lieb

2006-07-04T07:16:00.000-07:00

This is a review from the
Citrus County Chronicle (Florida) written by
Chris Van Ormer
"Murders in the Swampland"

Many people move to the Nature Coast knowing little about the region.

Certainly, they've been enticed by the climate and the natural beauty of the countryside, the Gulf of Mexico and the lower cost of living. Yes, the Nature Coast is an attractive place.

What almost no newcomer to the region does is check the crime files. Perhaps the newcomer will look up the statistics and see fewer hard crimes here than in the place they are leaving and be reassured. However, a higher crime rate reflects a larger population than that of the Nature Coast. And statistics never put a face to crime.

Putting a face on big crimes in the Nature Coast is what Patty Shipp (Lieb) has
done in her book, "Murders in the Swampland." She chronicles 17 murder cases
from the late 1970s to the early 1990s. Some of these cases Shipp covered while
she was the crime reporter for the Sun_Journal in Brooksville, from 1987 until
the newspaper shut down in 1991.

Shipp mentions her editor, Ken Melton, who now works for a sister newspaper of the Citrus County Chronicle, and credits Melton with encouraging her to publish her book.

Each story could be fiction, if the facts and characters were not so real. The scenes of murders, the roads traveled by the murderers and the lawmen who caught them exist. Many of the lawmen are still at work and are well known the the communities. Most of the crimes are set in Heranado County, but adjacent counties figure in as well.

Each story has a horrible uniqueness, but all the murders are amateurs, even the serial killers detailed in the book. Many mistakes are made that lead the lawmen to the killers. It is refreshing to see the entire crime put into one document, rather than revealed in the installments of newspaper reports.

These stories read like accounts in detective magazines, for which many of them were written. Thuse the reader learns about the serial killer, Billy Mansfield, who in the late 1970s and early 1980s picked up young women hitchhikers on U.S. 19, took them back to his mother's trailer in Weeki Wachee for some hours of rape and torture before murdering them and burying them in the back yard. I have lived near Weeki Wachee for more than seven years, I had never heard about the Mansfield murders.

">What is unusual about those murders and several others in the book is that so
many people at the time knew about them and said nothing. Indeed, the sheriff
said he would have to build a wing on the jail to detain all the people who had
withheld evidence about Mansfield's crimes. But those folks knew about the
murders after the fact.

A more surprising crime happened Aug 3, 1990, in Floral City, when many people were aware of the plot to murder Joanne Sanders. The gang at a car repair business in melrose would get together and talk about how it should be done, priming the murder-to-be, John Barrett.

">This case was perhaps the most bungled of the 17 in the book, because Sanders
never got murdered at all. But four m,en who entered her house before she did
were killed, while Barrett was waiting for her.

Barrett was gone when Sanders came home and found the bodies. One thing this story does not tell the reader is why Barrett left before Sanders came home. Perhaps he lost his nerve, or perhaps he thought of something else to do.

A striking similarity in may of these cases is the randomness of the violence. Many of the victims were not safe in the security of their own homes, where the killer broke in through the screen door in the back or just knocked on the front door and asked to use the phone or bathroom.

In the case of the serial killer Mike Kaprat, the Granny Killer of Spring Hill, who murdered several elderly women between August and October in 1993, some of the victims had one thing in common--they had written checks to the same handyman who was Kaprat's relative whom Kaprat occasionally worked for as a helper.

Kaprat's motive was hard to determine. He would break in, rape and torture the elderly female victim, tied her to her bed, then set fire to it. When the law enforcers picked him up, Kaprat expressed loathing for the crime. Although Kaprat was an odious person, likely on one loathed him as much as he hated himself. Kaprat was tried, convicted and sentenced to the electric chair, but never made it to "Ol' Sparky." He was murdered by a fellow inmate. However these were not all acts by strangers. Murders killed friends, relatives and spouses. They killed for money, for a car, for a tire, for a rock of cocaine or for the thrill of it.

The reader gains a heightened sense of paranoia, that at any moment a knock at the door or a trip to the kitchen can mean death. All of these cases really happened, in a neighborhood near yours or even next door.

Shipp (Patricia Shipp Lieb) is now a freelance writer.
Chris Van Ormer is a desk editor at the Chronicle.

---

Writer visits McNairy County
By Micah Smith

From the Independent Appeal
Selmer, TN

Writer visits McNairy County

Patricia Shipp Lieb recently published her true crime book under her maiden name, Patty Shipp, after spending many years in the writing business as a journalist.

style="color:#990000;">"Murders in the Swampland" contains 17 true crime stories that took place in the
Brooksville, FL, area while Lieb was a reporter for the Daily
Sun-Journal. The stories are sometimes gruesome and shocking, especially
since they are all based on fact.

">

Her stories of events that include serial killers, kidnapping, murders and murders for hire show a blend of styles.

They are written in a journalistic style, which brings the reality of the crimes home, but they also have the narrative approach of a work of fiction to add an emotional edge to the horror of many of the stories.

Lieb also mixes in her own notes on some of the cases and ends the book with a series of cop logs relating humorous briefs of events that happened into he area.

"I had a regular beat and at night I had time to go to the library and research the records for police stories at the courthouse," said Lieb. "All the information in her is from reading court depositions and talking to police officers, public attorneys and prosecutors. I had a lot of friends in the county so it was easy to just call them."

Lieb is an experienced writer, she freelances for several papers and magazines, has worked full-time at several papers in Illinois and Florida and has published several collections of poems including Captured and Catholics and Publics.

Lieb recently quit her job working for the Suncoast News in New Port Richey, FL, to come to Selmer and stay with her parents, Walter and Rachel Reeves.

"My parents were both sick," related Lieb. "Pop had prostate cancer. They did surgery on that and it appears he is clear. Mother has another biopsy so I am here indefinitely."

Lieb said her parents decided to move to Selmer in 1989 because they have numerous relatives wo already live in the area.

Lieb said she is planning to not take another full-time job to focus on other writing projects. "I'm gonna get back into it and now I don't plan to get another job," said Lieb. "I'm glad I'm going to free my mind up to do what I want to with my writing."

One of her projects is a novel titled Across the Red River to her Mysterious
Heritage that Lieb describes a "really weird but very good." Set in
California in the early 1970s and in Louisiana in the 20s-40s, the book is a
flashback novel about a black girl who does not fully understand her strange
heritage. It involves many cultures and stories that slowly bring the reader
into an understand of the girl's past and gives the reader a better understanding
of race relations in the "old" south.

She also had freelanced for Vocational Biographies based in Sauk Centre, MN. The magazine is published seven times a year and is used in places such as vocational centers, high schools, libraries and online to help people decide what career path to follow. Lieb said that the magazine focuses on different individuals in every possible vocation imaginable. It describes a person's career path, what all the tasks of their job are, how they chose the career, other jobs they have had and advantages and disadvantages of the job.

In Selmer, Lieb has written a biography on Christina Hawkins, who works for home Health and one on Smiley's Towing. She is planning to do another on a car salesman and three doctors.

Another of life's former projects is an online magazine titled Write on Magazine, founded and published by Lieb and friend Evelyn Manak. It includes columns, contests, information and writings of many styles by all different levels of writers from novices to professionals.

Lieb shows her support for writers in general in describing her own writing style.

In creative writing, I let my mind do the writing and I think that's what other people do too," said Lieb. "So I guess everybody's style would be different. I jut write what comes in my head and everybody's head is unique."

"Murders in the Swampland" is available online at Xlibris.com.

---

Local slayings recounted in "Murders in the Swampland"

Former reporter to discuss book Saturday at Brooksville Golf and Country Club
Written by Lara Bradburn

Article appeared in Hernando Today

Brooksville--In the winter of 1976, a young girl disappeared from the KOA campground west of Brooksville. A friend had seen the girl the night before with a young man named Billy Mansfield--a man who would later become the most notorious criminal in county history.

Over the course of four years, three other women linked to Mansfield would disappear in the night. Witnesses would later recall hearing the screams of women emanating from the woods of Weeki Wachee.

Years later, police would dig up the bodies of four women who died at the hand of Mansfield.

It was the end of innocence for this sleepy, rural county of Hernando. Mansfield had stolen its small town security.

"Billy Mansfield didn't get caught in Florida. He got caught in California where he killed another girl," explained former crime reporter and author Patty Shipp Lieb. "It was during another man's trial where he mentioned Billy Mansfield burying bodies in his backyard. That's when they started looking for bodies. It was 1981."

"The scary thing is," Lieb added," he could get out soon. He's already been up for parole."

The years since have not dulled the gruesomeness of Mansfield's killing spree, which seemed to set off a barrage of bizarre killings in and around Hernando County. Nor has time dulled the public's fascination with them.

As a crime reporter, Lieb was able to follow many of these cases first hand, becoming intimately familiar with the cases and those involved. Her experiences led Lieb to record her impressions in the criminal anthology, "Murders in the Swampland."

Those who remember the crimes and newcomers interested in learning about the region's tainted history can hear Lieb recount the tales during Saturday's author luncheon at the Brooksville Gold and Country Club.

The noonday event is hosted by the Spring Hill Service League and the United Way of Hernando County. Tickets are $20, which includes lunch and a chance for door prizes.

Many local residences will remember Lieb as a reporter for the Daily Sun-Journal and the Suncoast News. When ot working the local crime beat, Lieb would put her experiences to work by publishing stories in national detective magazines. That, in turn, led to publishing the book.

There are 17 cases in all contained in this book. Some stories were uncovered first hand. Others had to be painstakingly knitted together by combing through court documents and police files.

But all of them are true. All of them terribly grizzly. All of them ripped from the front page headlines of area newspapers.

Besides Mansfield, there is a story of John Barrett who killed four people in a murder-for-hire scheme that went awry. Barrett was presumably hired by Dorsey Sanders Jr. To kill his former wife Joanne.

As he waited for her to arrive home, four other men haplessly wondered into the wrong place at the wrong time. He killed the all, never reaching his original target.

Lieb said it was the most interesting case she had covered as a reporter.

"Before Joanne came home, he got tired of waiting for her and left," Lieb said. "Her son, dowries III, was convicted of conspiracy. Sanders former husband was tried and acquitted. (Accomplice) Scott Burnside fled to the Christmas Islands. He was brought home and convicted.

"John Barrett was sentenced to death," Lieb said. "He's the one who killed the four meant, very brutally, I might add."

Other stories recount the killing of Father Jon, the Episcopal priest in Brooksville who was beaten to death in 1979 during a homosexual encounter, and the mother and her two daughters who were killed during a vacation to Tampa. Their bodies were found in 1989 tied to concrete blocks and floating in Tampa Bay.

---

Book's Introduction to "Murders in the Swampland"
By Patty Shipp Lieb
Covering crime was new to me when I moved to Florida's west coast and started working for the Daily Sun-Journal.

For a couple years prior to giving up the north for the Sunshine State, I wrote for The Daily Journal in Kankakee, Illinois. Before that, I was a co-editor/co-publisher of a literary magazine, wrote feature stories and a newspaper column about children, and had stories and poetry published here and there. That was it. Zip. A far cry from crime.

I had been living in Florida for three weeks when I returned to my apartment after a photography job interview and noticed the light blinking on my telephone answering machine. That is when I got the most rewarding call of my career as a journalist.

The recorded voice was that of Ken Melton, a man I didn't know but one who would become my boss and friend.

Ken was editor of the Daily Sun-Journal and needed to replace his crime reporter who was leaving for a bigger newspaper in another county. A copy of my resume had crossed Ken's desk. Needless to say, I returned the call immediately.

I reported to Ken the following morning, was hired and remained with the newspaper for the next three-and-a-half years, until the newspaper went to a weekly and along with more than half the staff, I got the ax. Ken's eyes were teary when he said, "We're family here." On that sad day in 1991, the Daily Sun-Journal had started to fold--a process that would take a year to complete.

Ken was editor of the Daily Sun-Journal and needed to replace his crime reporter who was leaving for a bigger newspaper in another county. A copy of my resume had crossed Ken's desk. Needless to say, I returned the call immediately.

I reported to Ken the following morning, was hired and remained with the newspaper for the next three-and-a-half years, until the newspaper went to a weekly and along with more than half the staff, I got the ax. Ken's eyes were teary when he said, "We're family here." On that sad day in 1991, the Daily Sun-Journal had started to fold--a process that would take a year to complete.

The memories of working at the Daily Sun-Journal are lasting. Daily briefings in Sergeant "B" Frank Bierwiler's office were nearly always fascinating. Sergeant B and some of the five reporters from local medias would usually come out with jokes or funny remarks that would bring humor to the morning. We sat in Sergeant B's office and read sheriff reports, sometimes with a chuckle, repeating aloud and commenting about off-the-wall incidents, like somebody picking mushrooms out of cow manure with the intentions of boiling them and drinking the juice to get high. But there were many reports far from the light side.

While a lot of incidents reported as criminal seemed somewhat ridiculous, the amount of hard crime in the small county was inconceivable. Recently, some of the former Daily Sun-Journal staff gathered on Ken's patio to talk about the old days. He said that when he first arrived at the Daily Sun-Journal from a newspaper in the north, he was told Brooksville was a "lousy news town," a place where nothing ever happened. In the early-to-mid 1980s the county's population stayed pretty much at 20,000. "You used to really have to concentrate to find this place," Ken said, jokingly, of the area some 55 or so miles north of Tampa.

"Then bodies were being dug up in Billy Mansfield's back yard. I thought, 'My God!' Come to find out, Billy would take these girls home, rape them, kill them, and bury them in his mother's back yard. They (family) talked about hearing people screaming back there. Of course, nobody ever did anything. They'd say, 'Oh, that's just Billy.' It's amazing to me how his family didn't turn him in. I don't think there was any question whether they knew what was going on. It was like they thought: 'He's just killing somebody in the back yard--don't worry about it.' Mansfield was kind-of scary, like Charles Manson."

In an unrelated incident a few years later, four men showed up at a house for various reasons at different times and were murdered. One man, later convicted of the crime, ran off to a far-away island in the South Pacific. A couple years later, detectives followed his mother when she went to visit her son. "Now why would a killer have his mother fly in for a visit, as if he weren't being hunted anymore?" Putting murder aside, some wild happenings in the county covered everything from a horse drinking too much wine to a man attempting to drown his wife in the waterbed because he didn't like her new hairdo. And there was the time, during one of the jailbreaks at the new jail, when a couple prisoners actually kicked a hole in the jail wall and escaped through it. Laughing, Ken said, "Didn't they consider when they were building the jail that there might be people locked in who want out?"

Ken recalled hilarious happenings occurred in the old days, too. Deputies in cruisers were chasing a car and the driver got away. When cops found him a little later, after he had smashed up his car, he was beside a garbage bin on the parking lot at a convenicence store having sex with a woman he had just met. "It is the funniest story I've ever heard and it happened here."

The man got away from officers again. "I think the cops must have been laughing so hard that night they couldn't even catch the guy. Now what are the odds a man would meet a woman who would do that," he said, laughing.

"They told me Brooksville was a lousy news town. Then they started digging up bodies in Billy Mansfield's yard and another guy got beat to death with a rock--then all hell broke loose. Brooksville was no longer a sleepy little town."

In this book, I am sharing with you some of the criminal acts that have occurred in Central Florida's once far-removed swampland adjacent to the Gulf of Mexico. The "swamp" collection also includes extensive accounts of lawmen and their search for clues in one of the most horrific cases in Tampa Bay history after the boater's sighting led to the discovery of the bodies of a mother and her two teenage daughters weighted with concrete blocks and floating in the bay.

As well as covering most of these murders for the Daily Sun Journal, I wrote accounts of the cases for the various true-crime magazines over a 10-year-period. In some stories, the names of witnesses and defendants' families have been changed; some have not. Several cases in this collection occurred before and after my tender with the newspaper. But they are of crimes that still haunt folks who remember. Be forewarned, some details herewith are gruesome.

I used literary license in writing these stories. Some quotes are assumed, as nobody really knows what was said during the crimes. Many quotes were taken directly from court records, including police reports, depositions, confessions, and trials. The happenings and moods are as close to truth as I could detect while studding the cases.

"Murders in the Swampland" can be ordered from the publisher, Amazon, or from your local bookstore.
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Daily Journal, Kankakee, IL book review for "Bridged by Love"

2006-06-12T13:47:00.000-07:00

Historical novel good, fast read for summer afternoon
"Bridged by Love'
by Patricia Shipp Lieb
Reviewed by Bonnie Flouhouse
St, Anne, IL

Patricia Shipp Lieb's "Bridged by Love" is a historical novel set in Texarkana in the late 1880s. It's the story of two women--Shanna (a young Indian woman trying to evade ruthless white men) and Kathryn (a storng white woman willing to take on any opponent). Several people, but most importantly an infant, tie the women's lives.

The fast plot is at times too coincidental, but it ensnares the reader in the story of these women. To build suspense, the author presents segments of one character's story, stops at a crucial moment, and then moves to the other character's struggles.

Because the only way to connect Shanna and Kathryn is to show how several men are involed in their lives, several episodes involved only these men. Liberal doses of danger, treachery, intrigue, and romance fill the book.

Eventually Lieb untangles everyone and brings closure to the storylines. Numerous predictable stock characters add to the local color of the book: the slick swindler, the traveling prostitute, the ignorant guy who'll do anything for a few coins, the prejuciced business owner, the liberal man who thinks Indians are mistreated, the fiercely strong pioneer woman, the decent man who patiently waits for his chance at love, and displaced Indians. Add a ruthless tavern owner and a young man willing to face all foes for the woman he loves, and the character list is complete.

In an attempt to capture the aura and lifestyles of a past time, Lieb has crowded lost of characters and details into her book. But over all, "Bridged by Love" is a fast read good for a summer afternoon's enjoyment.

Bridged By Love by Patricia Shipp Lieb
Publisher: BookSurge
PublishingISBN: 1-4196-3006-7
Binding: Trade Paper/Library Hardback
328 pages

Description: Kathryn, a backwoods woman, and the young Indian girl, Shanna, have a connection: love for an infant. Set in about 1885, give or take, on the borders of Arkansas, Louisiana and Texas, with travels to the Indian Territory (now Oklahoma), complex characters tangled with kidnapping, murder and romance add a height of tension to this suspenseful telling of the difficult roads traveled between two women bridged by love.
Copyright 2006 (c) Patricia Shipp Lieb

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My interview with Troy Donahue

2006-06-04T08:56:00.000-07:00

Troy Donahue
A tribute
features my interview with the awesome late Troy Donahue
Hope you read
Thanks,
Patricia

Across Texas from Home

2006-05-02T06:30:00.000-07:00

Hey, don't let the photo fool you.

We were a far cry

from this chicken pen in our back

yard in Arkansas.

(Fourth Grade in the 50s)

Try covering your face with a pillow while the West Texas winds stir furiously through the dusty lot and right through the thin window panes in a barely-room-to-move trailer when you are used to green grass and quiet stories in Texarkana. Odessa was certainly different and I never found my speech strong enough to call it home. I was just a kid during the days of the oil boom. Daddy was a roughneck and sometimes Mother tugged Paul, baby Gary, and me with her to the jobsite and we’d gaze at Daddy high up on a rig until he caught sight of the old faded-blue Dodge; and he’d back his way down knowing Mother had brought lunch. About every time we went to the oil fields, endless with stinky drillings going on, Mother had a fit and whined and demanded Daddy quit his job before he fell from the tall silvery straight-up mess of metal and left her with no support and three kids to feed. But Daddy being Daddy just said something like “Squaw, you’re crazy” and braced his teeth in the fried chicken thigh and ripped off hunks of greasy breaded skin as if he had never tasted the stuff before—back home in Texarkana we had a pen full of fryers to eat breakfast, dinner and at supper time.

Course, I don’t know what Mother did on days Paul, two years younger than me, and I had school. Speaking of school, I went to several during that short stay in that hot town I thought was surely out of America, even if it was somewhere in the middle of Texas. New schools were opening every day it seemed and I was constantly being switched—I don’t know, maybe according to the trailer-park address. Once I was the fifth Patricia in a fourth-grade class. When I was taken to the room and introduced to the teacher as “another new student” I got labeled “Patricia Ann.”

To more complicate my education, Mother decided I had to learn the steel guitar and signed me up for private lessons. The young male teacher didn’t teach me anything that I remember. He mostly just sat across from me in the closet-size hull used for a room strumming and singing something that made no sense to me and looking into space for the full forty-five minutes. I didn’t really like school then; but on Valentine’s Day a boy named Donnie whose blond hair grew half-way over his ears—not cool in the fifties—gave me a valentine, which made me very sad and upset with myself because I didn’t have a card for him. Before all the valentines got passed out, I quickly drew and cut one out and wrote the typical words, “I love you; be my valentine,” and handed it to Donnie. The prettiest best-dressed girls, who incidentally hung together, teased me about “claiming” the boy. “Patricia Ann claims Donnie, hee-hee.” Shoot, I didn’t even know they knew my name since hardly anybody talked to me unless it was to yell angrily: “kick the ball, kick the ball” when we were on the dusty field during outside p.e.

The trailer we lived in was so tight. Paul and I, and sometimes baby Gary, slept in a little bunk tucked in above the tiny dust-covered window; and our family shared restroom facilities and showers located in the middle of the trailer court with all who lived there, and even folks wandering in from the busy street somewhere out front. The space was cramped, to say the least. And we were so joyed when cold weather hit the desert and Daddy came home grinning and circling his finger in the air like a cowboy roping a calf through snowflakes as big as Texarkana plumbs. All he said was “Pack up.” Just once.

Next day we were scrunched in the old Dodge and headed HOME.. Was good to get back to Mrs. Buchanan’s’ fourth-grade class and listen to her read from the Bopsy Twins, where I didn’t have to share my name—I was just Patricia.

Copyright (c) 2006 by Patricia Lieb
Author of Bridged by Love

2006-04-18T14:45:00.000-07:00

A ride up the Weeki Wachee River

The weather is totally awesome on the Suncoast this time a year. And, let me tell you this, spending a day on Hernando County’s 12-mile long Weeki Wachee River is certainly worth bragging on. My friends and I went on a boating venture on a recent weekday while the river was un-congested.

We began our voyage at about 10 a.m. on a Tuesday morning and moved slowly upstream through a most awesome sub-tropical vegetation and perfectly clear waterway on Florida’s West Coast. We barely got going when we met a group of kayaks coming downstream. A girl about 6-years-old had the brightest lit face and her voice was totally joyous.

“A baby,” she says as our watercrafts meet. “A mother and a little bitty baby.” There was no mistaking her excitement. “Motorboats hurt manatees,” she said, knowingly. Running a motor is discouraged on the Weeki Wachee, however they can be rented at the Weeki Wachee Marina on Shoal Line Boulevard; marina management advises minimum speed, as the whole river, with a large portion being part of the Weeki Wachee Preserve, is “No Wake.”

“We’re barely moving and watching for manatee,” we assured the child. She kept smiling and chatting joy at seeing the manatees. As well as visitors, people living in this area take pride in the manatee. All along the residential shorelines, residents caution boaters to be aware that the river is a mother-baby manatee habitat.

In the clear Weeki Wachee—so named by the Seminole Indians meaning Little Spring, or Winding River—the manatee, which is a grayish-brown marine mammal that can grow to 13 feet and 2,000 pounds, can easily be seem through the water even when sleeping deep down. The Weeki Wachee, like Florida’s other inlets, serves as a home to these gentle mammals, as they spend winters in warm coastal waters, bays and rivers. According to statistic, some 2,500 manatees remain in the wild. However, this endangered specie is found in both salt and fresh water and feed on aquatic grasses.
Shortly after we maneuvered onto the meandering river and made a right turn, we almost lost our breaths as a large manatee showed itself above the water a couple times. My camera—where? Here. I grabbed it and snapped part of the glorious mammal before it ducked back into the current.

A relaxing trip up river and back allows people to see the manatee, as well as other wildlife: the abundance of plants, trees, turtles, birds and fish. I’m not kidding about seeing fish. Hugh fish. As we ventured slowly up the river toward Weeki Wachee Spring, we watched trout—surely a foot long—through the clear water as they meandered in schools around sand erosions. As well as manatee, this area is home to alligators, raccoons, otters and numerous birds. We easily spotted ibis, pelicans, herons, osprey, wood storks and cormorants.

The river took our breaths from the moment we moved slowly past small grand-fathered-in houses built decades ago in low-to-the-river fashion that would never pass state or county codes in coastal wetlands today. Now, areas so close to the Gulf of Mexico require storm protection that includes structures on stilts. Older structures here, house and few singlewide mobiles, are decorated in the river theme with mermaids, manatee, fish, and turtles statues; also palms, vines, plants and flowering gardens. Really can make a person want to relocate to this natured-filled habitat, curl up on a dock, and watch life go by. Of course, further down the river, a few new mansions and even some condos stand tall. Still, much of the area is nature preserve.

Moving on up river, I snapped photos of hanging orchids, palms in planters, various vines running up trees and out their branches and I even focused on sandbars covered by the clear river water. On the first two miles of our trip, we passed a developed area with housing on the north side of the river. As we approach the halfway mark, we saw two small beaches (about 1/2 mile apart) that made a great lunch stop. Here, a few people were bathing in the cool water.

On up river, several kayaks had stopped at the place the mother and baby manatees were spotted. Seeing them settled on the sandy river bottom in a sleeping fashion, we moved slowly on. Often people wading and swimming in the river actually get close enough to the manatees to touch them.

At 4.5 miles, the river enters Weeki Wachee Spring and Buccaneer Bay properties. During the 1990's, the company kept a few zoo animals and an injured bird recovery area along the river. Close to the spring, we met with a large sightseeing boat, and decided it was time to turn around a meander downstream. Had we continued on to the Weeki Wachee Spring attraction, we would not have been allowed to dock, anyway, as this area is private property now owned by the South West Water Management District.

People who know about Weeki Wachee Spring acquaint it with the Weeki Wachee Spring attraction, with the mermaid shows held 16 feet underwater. Surrounded by fish, turtles and— in the past—even manatee, the mermaids stay under the water with only air tubs while they put on 20-minute shows in the natural spring. People watch their performance from an underground theater. While mermaids perform, the spring current moves at 5-miles-per-hour as it discharges to the tune of more than 64 million gallons of 72-degree crystal-clear water a day.

The trip down river was faster than our journey up, as we were riding with the current. We passed Rogers Park, our starting point, and ventured further toward the Gulf of Mexico. We rode under Shoal Line Boulevard Bridge, by a residential area with grand-fathered-in houses close to the river and new mansion-like homes build up according to today’s code.

Here, seabirds are plentiful. Quicker than the mind can imagine, the vegetation changed from thick jungle-like greenery to tall sable palms, sawgrass marshland and gray barren trees colored black with cormorants and jeweled with silver tone osprey.
Finally, before finding ourselves in the gulf, we turned back and headed toward Rodgers Park and the Weeki Wachee Marina.

This wonderful river ride can be extended, as there are various waterways including a limb to Bayport, also to the Mud River confluence with the Weeki Wachee. Still, what we experience this day was awesome. We took in more nature in a few hours than many people see in a lifetime.
Copyright(c) Patricia Lieb 2006
Location:
The Weeki Wachee River and Weeki Wachee Spring Attraction & fun park Buccaneer Bay in Hernando County is some 55 miles north of St. Petersburg at US Hwy. 19 & SR 50. The 12-mile river begins at Weeki Wachee Spring and ends in the Gulf of Mexico. Canoes and kayaks can be rented at the spring; boats can be rented at the Weeki Wachee Marina on Shoal Line Boulevard. The facilities offer plenty spaces for parking..

Thanks Savannah Artist Chuck Hamilton

2006-04-05T07:13:00.000-07:00

Love of Rails and Passengers

I love trains. The click-clanging wheels, the rocky ride, the elongated whistle. I think, read and write trains. This winter, in the City Market Place in Savannah, my eyes wandered the courtyard and suddenly focused straight to a painting of a woman standing by a train. This story now hangs in my Florida home. I know this traveler; the long-sleeved jacket and black dress below the knees, the red shoes and hat, and the tan-colored Staminate bag near her feet make me wonder.

Back in the ‘60s, I rode the rails lots, Kankakee to Texarkana to Kankakee. Changed trains in Memphis then crossed the Arkansas delta, empty bottomlands except for few unpainted shotgun houses occupied by sharecroppers.

Oh gosh, I’m not old as dirt, but let me tell you this: once I boarded a train in Memphis that must have come out of an old Roy Rogers movie. Honestly, I went to the club car, perhaps—it looked like a boxcar. Anyway, I drank coffee and smoked cigarettes. Watched a couple men play cards. Another with his pipe near what I’d almost swear was a wood-burning stove.

You know, this woman in the picture—I think she must be me. I think artist Chuck Hamilton was in that same club car, maybe he was drinking coffee, or playing cards, or warming his hands, or watching the cotton roll by—he surely was there, at least in his dreams.