45 Years Later, Murders Still Unsolved

Twelve-year-old Chicago-area resident Mary Kellerman complained to her parents that she had a headache, and her parents gave her an over-the-counter pain reliever. Hours later the girl was dead.

Later the same day, postal worker Adam Janus inexplicably died in a Chicago-land hospital; his brother Stanley, along with wife Theresa, died that evening after gathering with family members to mourn Adam's death, theirs too having no explanation. In the coming days four more Chicago region citizens would die and the link soon became evident.

Extra-strength Tylenol capsules, laced with potassium cyanide.

Fear and apprehension gripped the entire nation as law enforcement, including the Federal Bureau of Investigation, scrambled to find the serial killer. Psychologists specializing in the profiling of mass murderers had no answers, claiming that the person(s) responsible just didn't fit within any of their parameters. Johnson and Johnson, makers of Tylenol, spent millions of dollars recalling the pain reliever. Food and drug manufacturers made sweeping packaging changes, instituting tamper-proof containers in consumer-line products.

New York resident James William Lewis, a tax consultant, was later arrested for extortion after sending a letter to Johnson & Johnson, demanding one million dollars to stop the poisonings; he was never connected to the murders, but spent fifteen years in a federal penitentiary for sending the letter. In addition, over 270 'copycat' incidents were reported across the nation after the mass publicity generated by the Tylenol murders bloomed in national media.

Law enforcement still possesses some of the poison-laced capsules, hopeful that, some day, DNA testing will produce a culprit. The legacy still lives with us on a daily basis, however, whenever we open any medication. Improvements in consumer packaging security have kept us safe over the last forty-five years, thanks to a heinous crime committed in September of 1982.

Killing the Procrastination Instinct

"Honey, could you ( insert task here ) ?"

I get up and get at it.

"Well, I didn't mean you had to do it right now..."

This has become a common theme the last few months; deciding to do something, pleasant or unpleasant, as soon as possible. Work it until it's done. Don't wait.

Kill it. Now.

Finish it. Take that first step and don't stop until the end. Using that tactic instills two other traits: discipline and freedom.

Discipline comes from making yourself finish, making yourself do. Freedom comes from finishing a task, giving you more time during your day; in effect, extending it.

It starts when your day does, this discipline. It starts when you force yourself out of bed, when feet hit the floor. We all have a finite number of years, months, weeks, days; yes, even seconds. Every sunrise is an opportunity, a chance to accomplish and learn, a chance to do. Extend that day, that hour or minute. Get after what needs to be done, attack it, overwhelm and finish it.

Right now.

The President's Travel Ban Issue

If you have a problem with President Trump's travel ban, you might want to watch this video, filmed by a retired Marine-turned-contractor working in Iraq.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RMeMbGQTaMs

Saturday Morning Musings, the Baseball Edition

Today is February 11, 2017. Tomorrow, the Cleveland Indians' pitchers and catchers report for the start of spring training in Goodyear, Arizona.

I wish I could be there to watch and lounge in the 75-degree sunshine.

I start getting excited about major league baseball when the Tribe's equipment truck leaves for AZ, a sure sign that spring will arrive for us all...eventually. Although we here in north central Ohio can't complain about our winter ( so far ) this year, I still hate December through March. I hate the snow, the cold weather, crappy driving conditions, the sound of the township's snow plows thundering/scraping along the streets around Ram Field Ranch...I hate it all. The only thing that keeps me going during the frigid, depressing darkness that is winter is the National Hockey League and my Pittsburgh Penguins.

Baseball gives me hope, visions of sunny days and the sound of horsehide meeting wood, of baseballs THWACK!-ing into gloves. Warm temps evolving into downright hot weather, much easier for my arthritic thumbs, shoulders and hips to take instead of cold, damp conditions. And, eventually, that shout which is music to my ears....

"PLAY BALL!!"

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Speaking of MLB, I heard a couple of days ago that they're considering a rules change for extra-inning games: each team starts their half of an inning with a runner on second base.

That has to be a joke. It just has to.

Why in the world would the Rules Committee give thought to such a thing? Why dabble in a game that is perfection as it now stands? Baseball purists such as myself scorn anything that changes our game, but I think I have an idea of the reasoning behind the thought of such a change:

Millennials. The 'everything right this second' generation. You know, those people who grew up on video games, social media and 'participation' trophies. The Generation Without Patience.

Baseball is unlike most other sports in that it doesn't play by a ticking clock, unless you're counting the rule about time-between-pitches ( which I think is ridiculous ). The game goes at its own pace. Granted, regulation ( 9-inning ) games can be four hours long at times, but that's the beauty of no clock. Extra inning games are like an extra helping of dessert for us throwbacks. Younger fans, however, are bored by the game's rules and periods of inaction, and MLB wants to keep the attention of those fans. Thus, starting each half of an extended game with a man on 2nd base may bring about a quicker ending.

Quicker endings mean millennials will have more time with a game controller in their hands when they get home.

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Hey, if you've been following the military veteran profiles that appear every Monday in the News Journal ( mansfieldnewsjournal.com ) and you know of a World War II or Korean War vet that deserves to be featured, please let me know about them. You can submit their names and contact info to me by email at oldcop135@gmail.com.

Have a great Saturday and make today count!

Max McClellan: The Rest Of The Story

Max McClellan is a pretty amazing man. A WW II veteran, Max tried to join the Marines in 1943 at age 15 but his mother prevented it.

She didn't, however, keep him from the US Army in 1945.

McClellan wanted to go to war; he wanted to go so badly that he swapped urine samples with another man during his Army physical after failing the first three times because of sugar in his sample.

That's all in the News Journal article; what I couldn't fit in due to space restrictions is this:

Max didn't have the best home life and often preferred to be off by himself on an assortment of adventures. One occurred in April of his seventh-grade year. He hated junior high school...a lot. So, one morning the thirteen-year-old left home at his regular time on his bicycle, as if he were going to school. Max had other plans, though; he just kept riding his bike.

And riding.

Max McClellan didn't stop until he reached a truck stop....in Toledo. At midnight.

"I was cold and tired. I didn't have any money, so I just stepped inside the door to get warm. I didn't know what I was gonna do, but I was headed for my older sister's house just north of Detroit. This truck driver came over to me and said, 'You're a runaway, aren't you?' He just knew."

Being a 13 year old in a truck stop at midnight had been a dead giveaway.

"The owner came over and asked if I was hungry. I told him I didn't have any money," McClellan recalled. "He fed me and gave me a place to sleep, at the top of a stairway where there was a little landing, a blanket and a pillow. In the morning, he fed me again and got me a ride with a truck driver headed to Detroit."

But what about his bicycle?

"The owner said he'd keep it for me, for when I came back through."

Max made it to his sister's house. She gave him a place to stay and he got a job.

"I started working at a bowling alley as a pin-setter. They didn't have those automatic jobs like the alleys have now."

McClellan had been working there about a week when a policeman approached him.

"You're a runaway." Max thought he'd be going to the juvenile house.

"But he didn't arrest me; he made a deal with me: if I promised to head back home in the morning, he wouldn't run me in."

Max hitched a ride the next morning with another trucker. He ended up back in Toledo at the same truck stop.

"But I discovered that my bike had a flat tire. The owner, he'd kept his word, and he fixed that tire for me."

Max started back to Mansfield.

"I was going through Fostoria and it started pouring rain. That was miserable," he said. "I was wet and cold and still had quite a ways to go."

Max got hungry, too.

"I was going through Ganges and saw this little stand where they were selling vegetable plants. I was pretty hungry by then. They had tomato plants, and I thought 'well, if you can eat tomatoes you ought to be able to eat the plants, too.' " Max grabbed a couple of plants and started eating them.

"Then my face and lips started to swell up."

He got on his bike and started peddling again, not stopping until he eventually got home. I asked Max what his parents had to say.

"Nothing. I think my sister must've called them or got word to them where I was, so they knew I was coming home. I walked in like nothing had happened, boiled some water and drank a cup of tea. That took the swelling right out of my mouth", he recalled.

...and he never went back to school again, either.

Max McClellan points to himself in a group photo of his unit in Formosa, now called Taiwan, where he was stationed in the 1950s.

The Rest Of The Story; Misleading Advertising

On Monday, February 2nd, my next veteran's profile is scheduled for print in the Mansfield News Journal. In these stories, I'm restricted to a ballpark number of 800 words; that's very challenging at times because some of these veterans have very interesting stories and there's not space enough for the complete profile in the newspaper. Having said that, I'll be including what the late Paul Harvey termed 'the REST of the story' on this forum on Mondays.

If you're not familiar with these profiles, I was asked to continue the legacy of the News Journal's late, great writer Ron Simon in profiling area veterans from the WW II, Korea and Viet Nam wars; it is an assignment I gladly accepted, a task that needs exposure. These men and women, patriot heroes all, sacrificed a segment of their lives in order to serve our country; I count it an honor and privilege to tell their stories of military service.

Monday's installment here will be amazing. Stay tuned.

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We've all been exposed to the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals ads on television, commonly called the 'sad dog' ads, narrated by entertainer Sarah McLachlan. In them, McLachlan's emotionally-strained voice urges Americans to donate to ASPCA before the next animal dies...which seemingly will be YOUR fault if that recurring $19/month doesn't come out of your pocket.

Don't get me wrong; my wife and I are dog-lovers of the highest degree and our two pups are terribly spoiled. But before you commit to that financial obligation, here's a few things you need to consider:

* The ASPCA is a national organization, completely separate and apart from your local animal shelter. In 2013, they gave a mere 4% of their 129 million dollar budget to local SPCAs.

* Thirty-five per cent of ASPCA's budget went to overhead in 2013, and it cost them 38 cents for every dollar raised.

*Former CEO Edwin Sayres made just short of $600,000 before leaving the organization that same year. That's $600 k from a non-profit organization.

* Animal People, a newspaper put out by an animal rights organization, claimed in an article that lawsuits have challenged the legitimacy of the ASPCA at least four times due to their mishandling of the organization's affairs.

The bottom line is this: ASPCA is a national organization which raises and spends millions of dollars every year as they see fit. Our local shelters, right here in our own counties, would make much better use of your donations, funds which would be used wisely and in a transparent manner.

Have a great day, and make it count!

Being A Better You

“The test is not a complex one: when the alarm goes off, do you get up out of bed, or do you lie there in comfort and fall back to sleep? If you have the discipline to get out of bed, you win—you pass the test. If you are mentally weak for that moment and you let that weakness keep you in bed, you fail. Though it seems small, that weakness translates to more significant decisions. But if you exercise discipline, that too translates to more substantial elements of your life.” 


― Jocko Willink

A couple of days ago I posted a link to one of this man's videos on YouTube, one which contains very valuable, applicable truth concerning the attitude of successful people in dealing with a failure or disappointing outcome. 

How we view failure is an attitude; do we accept it and move on or do we use it to make ourselves better? We've all experienced failure, and will continue to do so, unless we learn from it, use it as motivation to drive us to success. What you accept is what you become. If you accept failure and are comfortable with it you have unintentionally admitted to those around you that progression is only an option, that you don't want to be better than you are right this very second. Complacency and stagnation become your warm, fuzzy blanket and you're OK with that.

When I was at Mansfield PD I took the Sergeant's exam, administered by the Civil Service Commission, and failed it. Miserably. I blamed the study material that the test was based on, written by college professors with zero law enforcement experience who viewed the job from the abstractness of their university offices as they sipped their chai tea while wearing sweaters with padded elbows. They didn't know about the streets, how the real world operates; they didn't know about MPD's rules and regs, standard operating procedures or policies. Those professors didn't know local laws and courts.

Why was that test based on teachings and views of those who didn't know?

I had the opportunity to pose that very question to the chairman of the CSC in the elevator of the city building one day; his answer was, basically, that it had always been administered that way. I provided what I believed was a more common-sense approach.

Why not, I surmised, administer a promotional exam based on what we do locally and how we do it? If an officer studies intensively our rules and regulations, policies, local laws and ordinances and still doesn't achieve a score that will get him/her promoted...well, they've bettered themselves nonetheless. Time spent studying wasn't wasted.

A year later, when the next promotional test rolled around...that's what the Civil Service Commission did.

I was promoted to Sergeant.

I could have been complacent and not taken the opportunity to talk one-on-one with Attorney Roeliff Harper about how testing was administered, could have sat on the sidelines and complained about those out-of-touch professors who wrote those out-of-touch manuals and books on how policing is viewed from their ivory towers...but I didn't.

Complaining and being bitter accomplishes nothing. Learn from mistakes and disappointments, develop a path toward your goals and implement a plan that will be your vehicle to get there.

Most of all...make today count.