Left To Die . . .

It’s every parents’ nightmare, when the child you sent off to college to further their academic endeavors, in order to contribute and have meaningful impact on society is found dead on campus.

Just weeks before she would have graduated from the University of Virginia, Yeardley Love was found face down in a pool of blood, allegedly beaten and left to die by her on-again, off-again, ex boyfriend, George Huguely V.

Shortly before 2:30 am on May 3, 2010, Love’s roommate, accompanied by a friend found her and called 911. Love was unresponsive and declared dead at the scene.

Huguely, whom friends admitted had been on a drinking binge the day before Love’s death, waved his Miranda rights and confessed to police that he kicked in the door leading to Love’s bedroom.

He went on to say that he shook Love, and her head repeatedly hit the wall. Huguely said that he ended the confrontation by pushing Love on the bed, and when he left, all she had was a bloody nose.

The defense contends that Huguely had no intention of killing Love.

The two lacrosse players had been involved in a torrid and acrimonious relationship, which led to Huguely’s lawyer, Francis McQ. Lawrence, claim that Love’s death was an unintended and tragic accident.

Lawrence, no doubt faces an uphill battle in convincing the jury of Huguely’s innocence. His use of the following courtroom tactics only serves to validate Huguely’s guilt:

1. The chair in which Huguely sits in court is on its lowest setting and makes him look a foot shorter than his lawyer.
2. Clean-shaven and a more conservative hairstyle. Used to portray Huguely as passive rather than aggressive.
3. His oversized sports coat and shirt worn to give Huguely the appearance of being much smaller.

These tactics will prove futile however given Huguely’s admission that he kicked in Love’s bedroom door, his subsequent lies about her leaving with her with only a nose bleed, and taking her laptop after their confrontation as a way of forcing her to continue to talk to him.

The preponderance of evidence puts the prosecutors in an enviable position:

1. Huguely’s own admission that he kicked Love’s door in.
2. Huguely’s statements shortly after his arrest that he shook Love, and that her head repeatedly hit the wall.
3. Huguely had two prior run-ins with the law, and was arrested on alcohol related charges.
4. Members on the lacrosse team that testified that Huguely became aggressive when he was inebriated.
5. Huguely had fought publicly with Love, weeks before her death.
6. Huguely had sent threatening emails to Love, for several months regarding infidelity with a teammate of his, on the lacrosse team.

Love’s death was tragic and unfortunate, but as the defense would like us to believe, it was not unintended.

Huguely’s email to Love, “I should have killed you,” validates that this was a premeditated act.

Huguely’s drinking binge the day before Love’s death, gave him false courage to batter the defenseless young woman, abscond with her laptop that contained the incriminating evidence, (which he discarded in the trash) and leave her lying in a pool of blood to die.

As the two-year-old case winds down to a close, hopefully the verdict will provide a modicum of solace for Sharon Love, and the national attention given to her slain daughter will prevent another woman from suffering a similar fate.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

At Last . . .

At last, Etta James, the iconic R&B and Blues singer, pain, and suffering is finally gone.

Ms. James, a venerable singer, whose fiery and soul stirring voice, enthralled audiences for over 55 years has succumbed to complications from leukemia.

Now finally . . . her soul is at peace.

Her rendition of “At Last” epitomizes, what one has been seeking, has finally been found.

Most people have characterized blues, as being very depressing. Songs of lost love, lost opportunity, and the turmoil’s of life are often depicted.

James was no stranger to any of these events. She battled a heroin addiction for over two decades. Her weight at one point had ballooned to over 400 pounds. This led to arthritic knees that forced her to perform sitting down.

She was arrested for in 1972 along with her husband Artis Mills for heroin possession. He assumed full responsibility and was sentenced to ten years.

James was entangled in legal trouble again in 1982 for heroin possession, drug addiction, forgery, and accusations that she cashed back checks. She escaped being incarcerated and instead was sent to the Tarzana Rehabilitation Center, in Los Angeles, California.

Up to the time of her death, James’ husband and their two sons were embroiled in a bitter dispute over her estate. The judge finally ruling in Mill’s favor to remain conservator of her million-dollar estate.

“A lot of people think that singing the blues is depressing,” she said in an interview for the Los Angeles Times in 1992, but that’s is not the blues I’m singing. When I’m singing blues, I’m singing life.”

Given the trials and tribulation she endured throughout her life, perhaps she was.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

The True Essence of Beauty . . .

I have written countless of articles, but nothing saddens me more than this one.

My prayers and condolences go out to the family of, Eva Ekvall. In the hopes that similar to me, the pain, and anguish of losing one so young, will one day be replaced by thoughts of happiness, for the precious moments that were spent together.

Ekvall, the former Miss Venezuela died on December 17, losing a two-year battle with breast cancer.

Her death, in some ways parallels the story of the young woman I lost at the tender age of 22, after a two-year battle with leukemia.

Similar to Ekvall, she was an aspiring model, who was robbed of her opportunity to grace the world with her beauty. To this day, although her doctor assured me, the two were not connected; I still harbor doubt if her desire to give me a child did not in some way trigger her cancer.

What brought these suppressed memories to the forefront were the pictures of Ekvall with no hair, and the fact that she discovered the lump in her breast during pregnancy.

I can recall seeing my fiancée fighting back the tears as she looked at herself in the mirror. The ravages of chemotherapy can be most unflattering, and she swore and put forth her most valiant effort, as she tried to hide her tears from me, that she would be victorious against leukemia.

Gone was the long flowing hair, the voluptuous physique, the bewitching eyes, and the melodious voice of innocence, and in spite of it all, it was then that the true essence of her beauty was revealed.

“As I reminisce,

The way I often do,

Trying to find the words,

To capture the essence of you,

The way you smile at me,

The way you make me feel,

I still can’t believe,

That this love is real.

You’re beautiful,

In every way,

You’re beautiful,

What more can I say . . .?”

Unlike Ekvall, who had the opportunity to be an advocate and a crusader for breast cancer awareness around the world, for my fiancée, there was only me.

It would take me nearly a decade to find a way to keep my promise of making her death stand for something.

My thoughts are shrouded in what others characterized as an emotional, and compelling novel entitled . . .

“I Apologize”

Graphic pictures from Ekvall’s book, Fuera de Foco (Out of Focus), which chronicled her fight against breast cancer, took me back into my fiancée’s hospital room.

The machinery is the same, the pic line similar, and the effects from the chemotherapy the same, but the one thing that is different, there are no pictures of my fiancée’s battle for the world to see.

Her pictures though, are alive within me . . . the ebullient smile, the vivacious personality, her youthful playfulness, and the last time I saw her, are a vivid part of my memory.

“Pushing the doctor aside, I went into her room. Nothing was wrong, I told myself. I’ll wake her. Take her home. She wouldn’t have given up on us. I don’t care what they said. She would never have left me.

Never!

If one of us had to go, it was supposed to be me. Not you, never one as young as you.

Wake up. Please wake up. Do it for me. Open your eyes. Please open your eyes. Falling on top of her, I cried until no more tears came.

I don’t know how long I stayed. A nurse finally came in. Putting her arms around me, she led me out of the room.”

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

Heed This Warning . . .

Men, who frivolously shower women with outpouring words of affection, adoration, and endearment, should desist from such a deceptive practice.

Since women, who are hoodwinked into believing that the pleasing verbiage will lead to commitment and connubial bliss, have resorted to nothing short of murder, when the truth was finally discovered.

Such may have been the case that led to 30-year-old motivational speaker, and entrepreneur, Travis Alexander, being found lying in a pool of blood with his throat slit from ear to ear.

Telltale signs of his relationship with Jodi Arias becoming toxic were in plain sight to see, but infatuated with the beguiling 28-year-old blonde enchantress, Alexander heeded none of them.

Alexander met Arias, an aspiring photographer at a Pre-Paid Legal sales conference in Las Vegas. Although 400 miles separated them, a long distance relationship began to blossom.

They bridged the gap between them via phone calls, text messages, emails, and romantic rendezvous at the home of one of Travis’s closest friends, Chris Hughes and his wife Sky.

Exploratory trips to the Grand Canyon, Sedona, and New Mexico may have strengthened the young woman’s resolve to marry Alexander. This was clearly evident by the inordinate amount of pictures she took of him and of the two of them together.

From what I have been able to glean after carefully studying the photographs of the two of them, the broad smile that overspread Arias’s face, and the contrite expression on his, paint an unmistakable picture that she cared for Alexander more than he did for her.

In fact the only picture where he showed any real emotion, is when he stood next to the statue of Jesus near Amarillo, Texas.

The camera does not lie. It merely reveals what the naked eye is too prejudiced to see.

Perhaps enamored with the thought of being married to an up and coming, and one day famous motivational speaker, blinded Arias into believing that Alexander felt for her, what she obviously felt for him.

A lie cannot stand when the light of truth is shone upon it, nor will deception prevail.

Alexander was searching for something. What the elusive thing was, he may or may not have known, but through his actions, one thing was becoming abundantly clear, Arias was not it.

She suspected and validated through eavesdropping on his private conversations, going through his text messages that he was dating other women throughout their relationship.

Arias knew of his desire to become a Mormon and marry in the temple. So to save her world from being torn apart, she joined Alexander’s church and was baptized.

These attempts proved futile as Alexander kept seeing other women, and eventually the relationship between him and Arias ended.

“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,

Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.”

Perhaps if Alexander had kept up the façade, he would be alive today.

His jilted lover, who his closest friends admitted was overly possessive, became psychotic and seemed hell-bent on making sure if she couldn’t have him, no one else would.

Arias determined that no distance would separate her from Alexander. Shortly after their breakup, she shocked family and friends by packing all she owned and moving to Mesa, Arizona, just miles from Alexander’s neighborhood.

Such close proximity allowed her to not only spy on Alexander, but to stalk him as well.

Taylor Searle, another close friend, recounts a story in which, he was told by Alexander that he found all four of his tires slashed, as he was spending the night with a new girl he was serious about. The next day he fixed them and hid his car in a more secluded location, only to find that all four had been slashed again.

Was Alexander growing paranoid or did Arias break into his house and steal his journals. He swore she did.

The young lady that Alexander became fond of received cryptic emails, warning that if she slept in the same bed with him or allow him to sleep under the same roof, she was a shameful example to God.

The final straw came, according to a police report, when he found Arias hacking into his Facebook account. He demanded that she stay out of his life forever.

Just as a siren lulls unsuspecting mariners to their doom, Arias through a deception of her own convinced Alexander that she would leave Arizona.

Deceived that this nightmare was finally behind him, Alexander prepared to make 2008 his best year, evident by the affirmations posted on his blog.

What is most perplexing through this entire ordeal is how Arias, who Alexander steadfastly believed:

1. Slit all four of his tires on two separate occasions
2. Broke into his home and stole his journals
3. Hacked into his Facebook Account
4. Broke into the girl’s house, he was now seeing, when both had fallen asleep on an oversized bean bag
5. Sent cryptic emails to his girlfriend, trying to dissuade her from seeing him

How did she ever regain entry into his house, let alone his bed?

The deleted pictures leading up to his death that were recovered by forensic experts, from the camera that Arias tried to wash in the washing machine, showed the two of them in provocative sexual poses.

The last three photographs, taken minutes after the sexual explicit ones, according to police report, depicted a horrific death. A young male was in the shower on his back, in a pool of blood around his neck and shoulder area.

Alexander had been shot in the face. His throat slit from ear to ear. He was also stabbed 27 times.

The coroner findings was that the stab wound to Alexander’s heart proved to be the cause of death.

What was the real motive behind this senseless and gruesome murder?

Did Arias plan a murder suicide?

Was she so insanely jealous that she seduced Alexander, and then took pictures of them together to show to his new girlfriend?

Is her self-defense claim true?

Will the defense try to plant doubt in the jurors’ mind by stating that Alexander was hurting Arias as he tried to retrieve the pictures that would depict him as an adulterer?

The truth may never be known.

Nevertheless this case set to commence on October 17 will garner national attention. Even now the media is stirring up interest in a case that is more than three years old.

Some are unequivocal in Arias’ guilt, while others are inclined and want to believe that someone else did it.

They can’t bring themselves to believe that an ethereal young blonde bombshell, with such an ebullient smile, and who seemingly could have her pick up the pieces of her broken heart, and have any man of her choosing, could easily have slit the throat of the man she loved.

I alluded to why a woman would do such a thing in “I Apologize”, and it is uncanny how life has imitated art.

Another tragic story of love gone awry . . .

“Jodi, you’re my hero.”

“I’m a little bit Jealous of Carruthers”

“You look beautiful in Sepia.”

“Those branches make you look like a hot Medusa.”

“I’d like to take pictures of you in the forest.”

When will men learn the errors of their deceitful ways?

As long as there are young, gullible women, who are taken in by such superfluous flattery, like the ones listed above . . .

Probably never.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

The Hypocrisy of the Holiday Season . . .

The merriment of the season is upon us. Everywhere one can see evidence of the populace scurrying about in their pursuit to enjoy the holidays.

I contend that most of what we do in preparation for these festive occasions is based on tradition rather than an inner desire to promote goodwill towards our fellow man.

What I witnessed today, while waiting in line at my local BJ’s only strengthens and validates my belief.

There were three people ahead of me when I entered the line to check out. As I waited, the first person in line was beckoning to someone behind me to bring the paper towels.

Her daughter, perhaps a bit apprehensive or having the foresight to know that trouble might ensue if she skipped the line, made no attempt to come forward although her mother demanded that she do so. This caused her mother to step away from the cashier, go to the back of the line, and snatched the paper towels from her.

What followed only served to illustrate the hypocrisy of the holiday season.

The gentlemen ahead of me, who by the way was very fortuitous to have been accompanied by his wife, became enraged that the woman was holding up the line.

He shouted at the cashier for allowing the woman to make another purchase. He then taunted and mocked the woman as she rifled through her bag for the paper towels coupons.

What made the whole scene hypocritical; the man was purchasing poinsettias and a Christmas wreath. Two items if he had known their history, and what purpose they served, should have curtailed him from making derisive comments to not only the aforementioned customer, but to the cashier as well.

He placed his items on the belt, and shoved the cart at the cashier. Fortunately for him, his wife intercepted it. He chastised the cashier as he paid, oblivious that his wife saved him from possibly being incarcerated for assault.

The cashier and I laughed about the incident. She said if the cart had hit her. She would have dropped to floor and pressed charges against the customer.

Poinsettias and Christmas wreaths are popular decorations that adorned offices, churches, and homes. They have become symbols along with the Nativity, of peace on earth and goodwill to one another during this most festive occasion.

For the gentleman I just described, it appears that these items were purchased as a part of a holiday ritual, and the true nature of what each represented was irrelevant, just as long as the benevolent façade was upheld.

The cashier however signified the true essence of the season. In spite of what she had gone through, she still wished my wife and me, and the preceding surly customer . . . happy holidays.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

 

Same Formula . . . Different Outcome.

Although I wrote about this formula before, its destructive power never ceases to amaze me. It does not discriminate. It spins such an intricate web of deceit that it traps not only its victim, but the perpetrator as well.

Once in the tentacles of its malevolent clutches, most fall into an abyss where seemingly, there is no escape. Individuals from all walks of life, economic prowess, upstanding citizens with impeccable reputations, have all fallen victim to this formula’s unceasing calamitous power.

There is nothing new about this formula, D + A = Murder, only the victims it ensnares:

Scott Peterson failed miserably against it. His carnal lust drove him to murder his wife and unborn child.

Sgt. Edgar Patino was engulfed by it. Fear of exposure pushed him to kill, pregnant Spc. Megan Lynn Touma, and leave her decomposing body in a motel bathtub in North Carolina.

What makes the following incident so unique from the others I’ve mentioned is that this time, the deceiver winded up being the victim as well.

Deception:

Steve McNair, often frequented the Dave & Buster on Opry Mills Drive, in Nashville, and authorities believe that is where he might have met Sahel Kazemi, who worked there as a server.

According to Dave & Buster employees, McNair often dined with family and friends whenever he visited the restaurant. Kazemi as described by her general manager, Tony Farahini, was a solid worker, a workaholic with high energy.

Did this attractive, naïve, twenty-year-old woman, imbued with an unbridled spirit capture the attention of McNair?

Based on the events that followed it would appear so.

Adultery:

Kazemi’s neighbors, who knew her as Jenni, said that she had moved in six months ago, and within a couple days of her moving in, McNair showed up.

One neighbor said that McNair was seen so often at Kazemi’s place that he thought the former Tennessee Titans’ quarterback had moved in.

Another said, it was obvious that Kazemi and McNair were dating, and neither was trying to hide it.

Pictures have surfaced over the web showing the two vacationing together.

Murder:

What went wrong to make this high spirited, fun loving young woman, commit the heinous act of shooting McNair as he slept, and then turning the gun on herself?

The week leading up to these shocking events provides at glimpse into Kazemi’s state of mind:

• Kazemi was pulled over for DUI on Thursday, July 2, between 1-1:30 AM. McNair and Vent Gordon (a chef at McNair’s restaurant) was allowed to leave the scene via a taxi.
  Kazemi refused to take a breathalyzer test and claimed she was high not drunk.
• McNair posted her bail later that day.
• Kazemi purchased a semi automatic pistol late Thursday night.
• McNair and Kazemi meet at his condo on Saturday morning.
• Later that afternoon, Kazemi shoots McNair as he slept on the couch before committing suicide.

A classic case of . . . D + A = Murder.

It’s the same old story, boy meets girl, marries girl, and when another catches his eye, tells one of two lies. Either that he’s not married, but as it would appear in the case of McNair,  he duped the unsuspecting woman into believing that he was filing for divorce and would soon be free to marry her.

From all accounts of this incident, Kazemi was in a relationship in which she was not only over head, but lacking the maturity to deal with the prospect that she had been deceived, made irrational decisions, which drove her to commit murder.

Two weeks prior to the murder-suicide, a Decatur resident claimed that Kazemi confided in her about the adulterous affair she was having with McNair.

According to Vera Buckley Mosley, Kazemi shared all the sordid details of how she and McNair met, and how her life was spiraling out of control. Kazemi had also confided to friends that her life wasn’t worth living and she should end it.

Family and friends knew she was dating a married man, but did nothing to dissuade her. Those who claimed to have loved Kazemi should have counseled her, letting her know that the odds were not in her favor that McNair would leave his wife and 4 children for a simple waitress.

McNair, known for his greatness on the football field, and charitable contributions, should have allowed his character and reputation to guide him in staying away from the flirtatious, high spirited young woman.

His legacy is tarnished forever. Some will try to only remember his heroics on the football field. Others for his philanthropic activities. While the rest will only remember him as man who succumbed to the overwhelming deceptive force that eventually cost him his life.

Kazemi wanted nothing more than to be McNair’s wife. Perhaps finally realizing that they wouldn’t be together in life, she planned that they would at least be together in death. According to ballistic evidence, Kazemi shot McNair in the head, twice in the chest and then once again in the head.

It is believed that Kazemi then staged McNair’s body so that she would fall into his lap after she shot herself. Even in death her desire to be with McNair wasn’t fulfilled. Judging by the evidence from the crime scene, it appears that she slid off McNair’s lap and landed at his feet.

How will McNair be remembered by his wife Mechelle?

To get through these harrowing events, Mechelle indicates that she will put her trust in the God.

And what of McNair’s children?

You can use most any measure when you’re speaking of success.

You can measure it in the fancy cars, expensive homes, or dress.

But the measure of your real success,

Is one you cannot spend,

It’s the way your child describes you,

When talking to a friend.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

 

Why You Should Dig Two Graves Before Embarking On A Quest For Revenge . . .

Enraged with the judge’s decision to award temporary custody of their 4-year-old daughter to her husband, Mazoltuv Borukhova decided to take matters into her own hands.

Daniel Malakov, 34, was gunned down at a playground in Forest Hills, Queens as he took his daughter, Michelle, to meet his estranged wife. Dr. Malakov had won custody of Michelle in a bitter court dispute with his wife, and this was supposed to have been a supervised visit.

Dr. Borukhova, 35, an internist, had done everything possible to poison Michelle against her husband, but the child still seemed happier with him. This coupled with her lack of faith in the court system, may have led her, to have him murdered.

Mikhail Mallayev, 51, (Borukhova’s distant relative), pumped three bullets, at close range, into Malakov as the dentist’s horrified daughter looked on.

The price to settle the caustic custody battle between her and her estranged husband, $20,000. Both Borukhova and her hired gunman have denied any involvement in the October 2007 killing. Yet police didn’t have far to look in determining a motive for Malakov’s murder.

Three days before the shooting, Borukhova had lost custody of Michelle during a court-ordered transfer. Distraught over losing her daughter, Borukhova threatened members of Malakov’s family. When her husband’s uncle, Erza Malakov’s, stated that he would help, and that his nephew, would allow her to see Michelle as part of the visitation agreement.

“I don’t need any help anymore. His days are numbered,” the uncle testified, Borukhova shouted. Everything is decided about him.”

Borukhova’s staunch denial about Malakov’s death began to unravel as she was being questioned by police. Detectives were shocked that although her husband was killed 10-15 feet from her, Borukhova claimed not to have heard the shots or seen the killer.

The EMT who had tried to save Dr. Malakov’s life painted an entirely different picture.

Swept Away . . .

Silhouetted against the moonlight, a man walks hand in hand with the woman of his dreams. He tries hard to hide his nervousness; otherwise she might suspect that this is not just another romantic walk on the beach.

Nestled in his inner pocket, is a little box, which once presented, will undoubtedly let the woman know how he truly feels about her, and seal forever his desire that they should go through life . . . as man and wife.

How many men have envisioned such a scene or better yet did what I just described?

Perhaps Sam Cooke knew best . . . exactly why men behave like boys, the moment love engulfs them and they have to impart their amorous feelings to the woman they’ve chosen.

‘At the end of the day the time comes they must part
The strings of regret tear away at his heart
And late in the night as he sleeps on his bed
Visions of her sweet charm, how they dance in his head
And before you know he is buying the ring
To capture forever that sweet darling thing
That’s how it is when a boy falls in love’

Those may have been the thoughts swirling around in the head of Scott Napper, as he walked with his girlfriend, Leafil Alforque, on Neskowin Beach towards what has been appropriately-named Proposal Rock.

Mr. Napper’s account of what happened:

The tide had receded around Proposal Rock on Saturday when he and Ms. Alforque began walking to it. Hidden in his pocket was the ring he was going to give her as he proposed.

About 10 feet from the rock, a wave about 3ft high suddenly came towards them.

“I turned into it to keep from getting pulled under it,” Mr. Napper said.

By the time he turned to find the woman he would have been affianced to, the petite Ms. Alforque, who was only 4-foot 11 and weighed a mere 93 pounds, had been caught by the receding waters.

“She was about 30 feet away, getting swept away,” Mr. Napper said.

Mr. Napper said, he turned to remove his heavy jacket, so he could better search for Ms. Alforque, but when he looked up—she was gone.

Rescue efforts to find the 22-year-old, Leafil Alforque were suspended due to thick fog and dangerous water conditions.

Oregon police officials have ruled out any foul play based on Mr. Napper’s story and an eyewitness’ account of the incident.

I, on the other hand can’t get rid of these persistent questions that I would have liked to ask Mr. Napper if I had been there.

1. Surely, he must have been holding Ms. Alforque’s hand as they walked towards Proposal Rock?

2. Mr. Napper asserted that he had on a heavy jacket. Was this because he had prior knowledge of the inclement weather conditions near Proposal Rock? And if he did, why not remain close to the beach instead of walking so close to the incoming tide?

3. Mr. Napper said, he turned to keep from getting pulled under. What I can’t understand is, if the wave was suddenly upon them, how did Mr. Napper have time to turn from it?

4. And if Mr. Napper had the wherewithal to make such a split-second decision, wouldn’t he have also had time, to make sure that he pulled the woman he loved enough to ask for her hand in marriage, closer to him?

5. Mr. Napper goes on to say that he turned to remove his heavy jacket, and when he looked up, Ms. Alforque was gone. The woman I love is being swept away; I don’t know of any man beside Mr. Napper that is—who would have taken his eyes off of the person they so dearly loved.

According to Ms. Alforque’s sister, their mother cries herself to sleep every night. She say’s they’re holding out hope that Leafil is alive. What her mother wants most, if the worst has happened to her daughter, is that the body be sent home, to the Philippines.

I can’t stand in judgment of 45-year-old Mr. Napper, but it seems that if he had brought Ms. Alforque to Proposal Rock, to ask for her hand in marriage—he could have least made sure that he held on to it.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

Finally . . . A Sense of Closure

Three men who were close friends went hiking in the backcountry outside of Crystal Mountain in Seattle Washington.

On Dec 3, a search party went to look for them, after the three failed to return. Although the three had carried a rescue beacon with them, no signal was detected by the searchers.

Due to avalanches, whiteout and flood conditions, rescue efforts had to be aborted a week after the search for the three men began.

But friends of the three would not be deterred so easily. They continued to search for the three Seattle-area snowboarders. On Saturday, 7 months after the three men disappeared, enough snow had melted away and they spotted a tent in the snow.

The three men were found in the tent, and officials theorized that they were killed by an avalanche.

The three missing men were Kevin Carter, 26, Delvin Williams, 29, and Phillip Hollins, 41.

Friends said that all three were experienced snowboarders and hikers familiar with the difficult terrain. But heavy, wet snow caused over a dozen avalanches in the area last year, and the three had become part of the deadly statistics.

 The 2007-2008 winter season, the worst by far, had the highest number of avalanche deaths (36) on record in U.S.

The mother of one of the three men, Sally Hollins is grateful for the sense of closure.

“The only thing that’s kept me going,” she said, “is I know that’s where my son wanted to be.

“If he had to die,” she added, “he would much rather be left up there.

“If you have die in a hurry,” she concluded, “that’s probably the way to go. It certainly leaves a hell of a hole here, I’ll tell you.”

But at least Ms. Hollins will sleep a little easier tonight. She now knows her son died in the backcountry with his friends, doing what they loved.

Phillip would not have wanted it any other way. And because her son’s friends were determined to find all three men and provide a sense of closure . . .  neither would she.

“Acquaintances pass with the seasons . . . but true friendship endures forever.”

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author