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Springfield Ohio Post News
Ohio Post Underground News Chain of command (and we all fall down) Perspective Askew


This Website is created in memorium of a Springfield Ohio Clark County Municipal Court-Case ripoff (see


The reason I felt compelled to go to the Press Conference in the first place, was due to a conversation I had the next morning after the bloody night. Going into the front desk of the Inn, the kind blondie Mormon lady and her husband were the caretakers at the motel, but the wife spoke alone with me somewhat candidly. We began to discuss what happened the night before in more detail. The woman behind the desk became visibly disconcerted when I related to her that one of the agents had told me that the motel had been staked out for three days to catch the man up there, but were not aware of the young girl in room 212.

The woman became visibly startled behind the desk, stopped me and stated, "that's impossible. The girl is who rented the room and it was her that came down to pay the daily rent".
The Mormon lady went on to state that her and her husband were not even aware that a man was up there since it was rented as a single-occupancy room to the girl only.

I left the Mormon Lady's presence and walked back to my room, noticing the state-sponsored smashed-out window, the damaged door, the caution tape, some holes from shots fired. The mess was evidence of programming to the extreme, unlawful actions that hired men were, in their best wisdom, taking actions to "ensure the safety of themselves" (against two sleeping kids).

Then, while sitting on the edge of the bed, I began to again contemplate that for months I had been told from numerous family members and acquaintances from numerous states all across the country telling me that the FBI was looking for me. And now here they were, right out in the parking lot just the night before. I began to recollect also, placing it into context, that I had inadvertently told my girlfriend I was in the room directly above me, the room without a window, the room that surely had splattered blood over every wall and piece of furniture.

In fear, I left to a country park to pitch a tent, and considered what to do next.

It was while living in that tent, eating creative meals of dry cat food, too broke for people food, I again called my ex-girlfriend for more details about her encounters with the FBI.

Nothing she had to say gave a clue as to why they were still hunting me.

While at the park, the on-site parks-man and I struck an agreement that I would install a couple of masonry wing-walls outside of the restrooms for him. His recompense would be to letting me stay in the Park beyond the "lawful" allowable time-frame, of which I was already beyond.

He remained to watch and help with the unloading of the concrete block and mortar from his truck until he felt comfortable that I knew what I was doing.

While unloading the materials, the Parks Agent and I spoke. I told him how I had recently been released from jail, and of the outrageous reason I was placed in their jail in the first place. I told him I was held in jail for months but the facts are that I hadn't done ANYTHING wrong aside from wanting to be left alone and not bothered anymore by the police. I think my "crime" was disorderly conduct...phhtt....after they beat me up.

The groundsman inquired more, and I told him. I told him how Tamara, my ex-girlfriend, had pulled a gun and pointed it at me.I told him where it happened, directly in front of the door of a"7-11" convenience store on such-and-such street *AND THAT THE ENTIRE EPISODE WAS RECORDED ON THE 7-11 SECURITY CAMERAS. I told him of how I was incredulous at her sudden explosive demeanor, how I walked toward her grabbing her by the arms and shoulders and how I shook her into her senses. (Tamara is Bipolar. Bipolar people aren't necessarily bad....just not always predictable, even when medicated, in my opinion).

I told the groundsman how relieved I was that she hadn't pulled the trigger (even if it was just a BB-gun), and how quickly the situation had been quelled over whether or not I slept with someone other than her (it's a ridiculous story that I won't even bother to elaborate upon, coupled with the fact that She and I had only known each other for a few months...maybe a year in all, but I doubt it).

Suffice to say, Tamara became calmed down and we began to hear the sirens getting closer. I'm not certain that it was out of caring for my freedom that she told me to run; she knew about the problems I was having due to the government officials and their hunt for me prior to the Amenity Inn murders (which followed after my release from jail from this very incident). But when she said run, with a look that I knew was my last, I ran.

I didn't get very far though.

Back to the park:

The time came that the Parks man could no longer hide me as a semi-permanent tented fixture.

God sent me an old farmer and his wife to take me to their house and expansive property. After placing me in a small trailer which was also on their land, I was told to tend to the place feeding livestock and obtaining eggs, but the real job was selling his relative's potatoes to the general public.
The potatoes were delivered via Semi-truck and long trailer, beds full of un-bagged red potatoes. My main job was everything from unloading, weighing, bagging, marketing, and sales. I built large pyramids of bagged potatoes stretching for probably more than a quarter-mile of frontage beside the road. And with each hundred feet or so of road frontage that a passerby on the fast-paced road drove, the driver had to see my 4 foot by 8 foot signs all painted up and leaning against the pyramids of potatoes. Believe it or not, it soon became a pseudo-success gaining much higher profits to the farmer (and me).This went on for awhile until the old Farmer felt as though I were making too much profit (* However, the deal was that I was to give him only what he had initially asked per pound of potatoes. The fact that I was voluntarily giving him more than what he had asked eventually became paled when he learned of what my profit was, about double his initial asking price). Those potatoes were the best potatoes anybody that bought them had ever tasted. There were no culls like the potato farm I worked in New York as a youngster. These potatoes were healthy, looked good,tasted good, and were worth paying more for.End of story.

The farmer ultimately called a halt to the whole operation, but he was very old and I knew that he had just hit a geriatric moment or phase, so there was no use in disputing the matter. The reason for it's success was also due to the fact that the old farmer owned so many hundreds of acres of land. The cattle had to be "found" (seriously), but luckily the old farmer cued me in on their grazing habits and I could find them readily and bring them in. But while four-wheeling the plains looking for the cattle, I found skulls and cool rocks and dead twisted timber and stuff that looked like movie-props. If something looked unique, it was picked up and the stuff brought to the side-of-the-road trailer which the farmer allowed me to reside in.
Would you believe people were buying the stuff!? ROCKS! BONES AND SKULLS, DEAD BRANCHES,making collages and other garden-art finally earned me enough money to buy my own food and hygiene items, etc.

Weeks or months prior to the murders at the Amenity Inn, Tamara and I had under happier moments, rented from the same Amenity Inn Motel. In fact, I was still growing in hair that she had helped me to shave a week or so earlier. At one point a relative had informed me that the FBI came to their home and startled them as they inquired about my whereabouts and were told lies in an effort to obtain my whereabouts. Somewhat angry because I knew I couldn't possibly have done anything that warranted being searched the country-over, it was then that I ordered every solitary hair in every conceivable place of my body, including eyebrows and arse-hairs, to be shaved by myself and Tamara. The hair was packed into a large manila envelope addressed to the FBI.

(*Sorry about the lack of order, I'll get on that later)
The FBI also went and questioned my acquaintances in Atlanta Georgia asking where I was and if I were capable of murder.*There's a good selling point for me to aspire toward rectifying.

One person was asked if I were capable of an assassination.

Then in Dallas Texas, while entering a home without a warrant, the best apology the agents could give to the victimized dwellers was to plant false seed to the extreme, of how I may have killed a child and that's why they bust in the door (sad justification, not just because they told a lie)!

This is the audacity of the programmed ones. That stunt they pulled in Texas ALONE almost cost me my life! *Note to self, add the strangling episode to the list below.

While in Provo Utah, the first of two meetings with the FBI, initiated by my having called to inquire about a cease-fire against my person, an agent agreed to pick me up the following day.

I was escorted into a brick building of an office parking lot full of similar other brick buildings. Taken up the steps into the building and then into a large room on the left, with a larger than common table and some seats only, It was obvious that the large mirror in the wall served as a one-way window.

I was introduced to an agent from the east coast who had flown in from Washington, DC just for this very occasion.

However when he insinuated that I was being questioned about a possible murder, that suddenly had me rising out of my chair reminding him that the only murderers in the room was them!

The DC agent left and the room was reduced to only myself and the agent that asked myriads of questions. Some of the questions were related to 9-11. Having taken two lie-detector tests on two different days, which I'm certain I passed since I wasn't beaten up or incarcerated afterward, most of the questions were of various b r o a d issues. "Have you ever lied?", answer yes. "Have you ever stolen", answer yes. "Have you ever killed someone", answer"not that I know of" *ANSWER WITH A YES OR NO!
I'm certain I passed his inquiries just fine, however he asked for me to take another lie detector test and I consented. Again, the following day, probes were put on my fingertips and I think something else was placed on me somewhere (can't remember exactly). There may have also been a plastic mat placed under my feet.

I answered every question as honestly as I was able. Some of the questions I could not possibly answer without stating more words than just a "yes" or "no".
The next day I attended another meeting with the FBI, and this time I was given some liquid that may have made me a bit giddy. I remember giggling, it was kind of bizarre actually, my spirits were at an all-time high (no pun expected). Again, they gave me another lie-detector test.They asked all sorts of questions, and many of them were repeated questions from the day before. I was reminded several times that I could only answer "yes" or "no" to the questions. The interviewer on the second day was the only one in the room with me throughout the whole visit, but I knew there were others behind the large glass/mirror because at one point I answered a question inappropriately and could hear the sounds behind the large mirrored-wall. It may have been laughter and a slap against the table, but just in case, I apologized to the man asking the questions(realizing that my giddy state might not be appropriate).

The history of this started sometime ago, but in relation to the aggressive visits FBI made to friends, acquaintances, and family all over the country, they defamed me to my sister's home in NY (at that time), they questioned my mother and her husband in Ohio (at that time),they went to my father's in Florida and planted bad seed there also, they even bothered a man whom I barely knew, a resident of a hole-in-the-wall town called Castor, LA. (I felt sorry for his situation and obtained a phone in my name for his use and this was the cue for the FBI to alter his peace), they bothered people in Texas, NY, TN, GA, FL, UT, LA, and there were probably other states, too.

I was being tracked,terrorized, defamed, and the only thing I could conceive doing at the time was to stay far away from anybody I might love.

It was there in the FBI's unmarked low-key building that I learned who I was, what I was.

I'm very appreciative of that FBI agent for his honesty in the regard to my mental capacity,for helping me to understand something that any normal person would probably have picked up on earlier in life.

Truth be told, it was the statement of the agent that made me really think about something weeks later. See,I had all my life been told I was crazy, slow, an idiot, and worse.I never really understood why I was unable to keep a friend of any sort, which led to a storehouse full of question-marks in my head for years. It was never understood why each relationship would end with "you're crazy" whether it was from a friend or girlfriend. Having to hear all the derogatory comments against me all my life, even from acquaintances and family, one might think I would have figured it out all by myself as to why mom had to keep bouncing me to different schools to hide the deficiency.

But in all honesty, I thought the rest of everybody I met were crazy. I thought I was "normal". I thought everybody is just like me but just lucky ...I don't know how this could happen actually. Centric-History definitely makes more sense now though.

When the agent laid it on the line with not so many bedside words, it was later that the missing piece of the puzzle put closure on everything up to that very point in time.
At first I may have cried (not during the interview of course, but weeks later when the puzzle was finally somewhat completed in my head). The realization that I went through this entire life not knowing I was "different", led me to maybe at first become angry ("why me"?), and incredulous at the same time.

But after reflecting on past incidents that remained in the un-solved area of my mind for so long, it all began to make sense. I was retarded. I remembered the various meetings with evaluators and therapists, I remember being transferred to a "satellite" school. I remember my mother crying after a therapist left me in her office, and my mom not wanting me to go see the therapists anymore (I really don't know what their titles were,maybe not "therapists", at least not in my mother's vocabulary). I remember she didn't want me on their proscribed drugs. (*PS. I'm VERY appreciative for that parental decision!).

Passport Denied?
What You Say?! I had a divorce and paid alimony and owe $30,000.00 more?!!?
You have a photo of MY wife??
WAIT A MINUTE! THAT CAN'T POSSIBLY BE, I've never been married in my life!

You are not free to travel even if you don't have a wife and kid then!
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Table of Contents

Our Nation CAN do Better!
Springfield TOPICS
Young Kenny Hendrick

Off-Grid Ho and Batteries Project
After much testing and tweaking, my findings concerning an easy, economical, Off-Grid power plant, are contained within the pages below.
1 2

3 4

5 6

7 8

9 10

Wall - Made with Trash Project

1 2

Solar in Action
1 2

Off-Grid Photo Gallery

1 2


Off-Grid Lifestyle
1 2

3 4

Wind Energy

Solar Kits
Ready-made kits that include all solar panels, all high-quality steel trusses, cabling, hinges (where applicable)



This topic is Pending the new
Censorship Laws


Wood Stove




**As a community service to my Springfield Ohio Neighbors, I'm offering gallons of distilled water for .50 (fifty cents, which is about half the cost of the cheapest distilled water made available by the monopoly stores).
Also, my distilled water may be a better choice as my water does not come from a chemical plant that injects more than just poisonous Fluoride; as if ingesting Fluoride is going to make your teeth whiter....phhhttt... Anyone in need of distilled water should bring their own gallon jugs.

Solar Controllers


1 2

3 4

5 6

Sites of Springfield Ohio Clark County Community Interest:
Clark County Terror

Municipal Court Racket?
Ohio's Shame

Brick Projects
Solar Projects

"My people, when ye see these signs, come out of her" Holy Crap, my Passport is denied!
On Springfield (2nd Draft)

On Economics (1st Draft)