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Yeah it's excellent. I'm listening to Genesis right now. Don't miss
Alex Jones or Tom Valentine's Radio Free America in Sunday Night 9 to
11 Eastern Standard.

>n Tue, 01 May 2001 00:19:32 GMT, "Clinton Gallagher" <csgallagher@worldnet.att.net> wrote:

>Euell...
>
>You sound like a person who would like to know about
>Internet Broadcasting via the Genesis Communications
>Network. See http://www.gcnlive.com
>
>--
><%= Clinton Gallagher
>         http://www.metromilwaukee.com/clintongallagher/
>
>
>"Euell" <walkmaster91@go.com> wrote in message
>news:3aed548b$0$2599$39cecf19@news2.twtelecom.net...
>> A grim reminder of unchecked government power. The shooting of Vicki
>Weaver
>> was outright murder.
>>
>> Boelke
>>
>>
>>
>> "bogeyman" <bogeyman@rr.com> wrote in message
>> news:vk1qet0rgrurlhah4gds18c755qo8c1107@4ax.com...
>> > Randy Weaver's Return From Ruby Ridge
>> >
>> > Back Home in Iowa, He's Got Memories -- and a Message
>> >
>> > By Anne Hull
>> > Washington Post Staff Writer
>> > Monday, April 30, 2001; Page A01
>> >
>> > JEFFERSON, Iowa -- The small town where Randy Weaver now lives is as
>> > wide and open as Ruby Ridge was steep and hidden. The Union Pacific
>> > whistles past the cornfields hourly.
>> >
>> > It is not unusual to find Weaver in Iowa because he was born and
>> > raised here, the son of a grain salesman. People forget that part.
>> > What they remember is the 11-day standoff with federal agents in
>> > 1992 that left Weaver's wife and 14-year-old son dead on an Idaho
>> > mountainside in the debacle that came to be known as Ruby Ridge.
>> > What they remember is the survivalist who wanted to separate from a
>> > race-mixing nation and its oppressive government.
>> >
>> > Now, Weaver mows his neat little lawn here on Wilson Avenue. A
>> > Cadillac sits in his driveway. He is listed in the phone book. But
>> > to say that Weaver has come down off the mountain would be only
>> > half-right.
>> >
>> > At 53, he is still not ready to forgive. Not after the Justice
>> > Department settled a lawsuit brought by his family for $3.1 million.
>> > And not after a wayward soldier named Timothy McVeigh killed 168
>> > Americans to avenge what happened at Ruby Ridge and Waco, the other
>> > disastrous federal siege.
>> >
>> > When McVeigh is executed next month for his role in the Oklahoma
>> > City bombing, a violent chapter in American history will close with
>> > one more death. Weaver says the real enemy will remain at large. The
>> > real enemy will continue to violate the Constitution and "eavesdrop
>> > on your house from a mile away with that super ear thing."
>> >
>> > Organizations that track the activities of racist and paramilitary
>> > groups dismiss Weaver as a fading figure in a waning movement. "In
>> > the scheme of things, he's milquetoasty," said Joe Roy, director of
>> > the Southern Poverty Law Center's Intelligence Project.
>> >
>> > Yet Weaver continues to rise like a martyr above the wreckage. In
>> > his case, the black helicopters really did come. A robot with a gun
>> > in its claw really did move across his cabin porch.
>> >
>> > It's hard to say who Weaver is now. The industry of rage and
>> > resentment makes certain demands upon him. He is a folk hero of
>> > ultra-right-wing groups. When asked about McVeigh's impending
>> > execution, he says almost reflexively, "There should be a bunch of
>> > federal agents lying right beside him on the gurney."
>> >
>> > Although he lost his own wife and child, Weaver identifies with
>> > McVeigh more easily than with the victims of the Oklahoma City
>> > bombing.
>> >
>> > "He was a soldier's soldier," Weaver says. "He just switched sides.
>> > Tim McVeigh was trying to make a point. He was what you call pro
>> > bono. He was going to be judge, jury and executioner. No different
>> > from the federal government. One has a badge and one don't."
>> >
>> > But other times Weaver is not so gung-ho. What if McVeigh had come
>> > to him with his plans for Oklahoma City?
>> >
>> > "I would have told him to forget it."
>> >
>> > Telling His Story
>> >
>> > "Meet Randy Weaver," the blinking sign announces outside the
>> > fairgrounds in Lincoln, Neb. Inside a stale expo hall, the tables
>> > are laid out with rifles and scopes and munitions. Weaver is near
>> > the door, standing at a table piled with $20 copies of his 1998
>> > book, "The Federal Siege at Ruby Ridge."
>> >
>> > No one here for this mid-April gun show really needs the book to
>> > tell what happened. In 1989, while living in Idaho, Weaver was
>> > caught selling two shotguns he had sawed off shorter than the legal
>> > limit to an informant working for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and
>> > Firearms. The ATF tried to enlist Weaver as an informant, promising
>> > to drop the gun charges, but he refused and was indicted by a grand
>> > jury.
>> >
>> > When Weaver failed to appear in court -- he had been given the wrong
>> > date -- an arrest warrant was issued.
>> >
>> > Seventeen months later, federal agents in camouflage and face paint
>> > were crawling around Weaver's 20 acres when they were detected by
>> > the family dog. Agents shot the dog and began a gun battle with
>> > Weaver's 14-year-old son, Sam, and a family friend, both armed. Sam
>> > was killed. So was U.S. Marshal William Degan. The siege began.
>> > Weaver holed up in the cabin with his wife and three daughters. The
>> > day after Sam was killed, Vicki Weaver was holding her 10-month-old
>> > daughter when an FBI sniper shot her in the head.
>> >
>> > Weaver surrendered after 11 days. He was charged with murder in the
>> > death of the marshal, but an Idaho jury acquitted him. He spent 16
>> > months in jail for the original gun offense.
>> >
>> > And here he is at a gun show, unable to own a firearm legally
>> > because of hisconviction. He stands at a table with only his story.
>> >
>> > The procession is steady. "My condolences," says one man, extending
>> > his hand. "I appreciate all your character. It must be a bitch."
>> >
>> > Weaver signs the book and takes the $20. "I appreciate that."
>> > They approach like mourners coming to pay their respects. He relaxes
>> > them, sometimes with humor, sometimes with anger. Some of them vent.
>> >
>> > Some want to know about missing shell casings at Ruby Ridge after
>> > the siege. One man is curious about "that shotgun robot sent in by
>> > the Freddies."
>> >
>> > "They want to talk to me a little more than I want to talk to them,"
>> > Weaver says. "They've become so upset with the government that it's
>> > hard to trust anybody. They're not bad people. They are just mad."
>> > Weaver wears motorcycle boots and keeps his wallet leashed to his
>> > blue jeans by a silver chain, Harley-style. His silver hair is cut
>> > close on the sides and long in the back.
>> >
>> > A broad-shouldered man in a John Deere jacket and an NRA cap extends
>> > his hand. "Fritz Oltjenbruns," he says. "I'm part of America's
>> > largest not-for-profit organization -- farmers. I was just telling
>> > my son this morning how the ATF snookered you down by an
>> > eighth-of-an-inch on that shotgun."
>> >
>> > Weaver rocks back on his heels. "I ain't ashamed of it. I'll cut it
>> > right down to the stock, whatever."
>> >
>> > The farmer folds his arms. "It's a darned shame what you went
>> > through with your wife," he says. "It's hard to believe the
>> > government went that corrupt that fast."
>> >
>> > Weaver signs a book and pockets the twenty. "Keep your powder dry,
>> > buddy."
>> >
>> > A concessionaire trots up with a present. "Here's something for you,
>> > Randy," he says, handing over a napkin. Buffalo jerky. "Thanks,"
>> > Weaver says, and sets it aside forever.
>> >
>> > A grandpa type holding a pistol approaches. "They haven't tried to
>> > run you out with your books, have they?" When Weaver was appearing
>> > at a gun show at the Reno Hilton once, the Northern Nevada B'nai
>> > B'rith pressured the promoter into banning his appearance.
>> >
>> > An intense, red-cheeked man holding a 32-ounce Coke pounces with a
>> > great gale of rhetoric on religion and politics that begins with
>> > Franklin Delano Roosevelt and ends with his plea, "If you have the
>> > time, I'd really like an answer."
>> >
>> > "I don't have the answer," Weaver says. "Religion's all a bunch of
>> > crap." The speechmaker, silenced, walks off into the sea of guns.
>> > The only person in the armory who isn't white is a janitor at the
>> > fairgrounds, a Native American named Floyd Pilcher. He approaches
>> > Weaver with a bag of sage, a faded bandanna and a T-shirt that
>> > reads, "IN THE SPIRIT OF CRAZY HORSE." "These are gifts from
>> > powerful people," Pilcher says.
>> >
>> > Weaver takes the gifts. "I guess anybody who's ever gotten stomped
>> > on by the government knows what I'm talkin' about," he says.
>> > Back inside, a strapping young man in a T-shirt imprinted with a
>> > Fort Benning logo and the words "DEATH COMES QUICK" solemnly shakes
>> > Weaver's hand. "I'm sorry your deal happened," he says. A
>> > creamy-skinned woman extends her hand. "By God, stand by your word,"
>> > she tells Weaver.
>> >
>> > The show doesn't end until 3:30, but Weaver starts breaking down his
>> > booth 40 minutes early. Two teenage boys hover. "Need some help?"
>> > one asks.
>> >
>> > "Thanks, partner," Weaver says.
>> >
>> > The kid turns to his friend. "He called me partner!"
>> >
>> > At Ruby Ridge
>> >
>> > When a pickup truck comes to a four-way stop in Jefferson, it is a
>> > lone red object against an endless curtain of green. Only the grain
>> > elevators have altitude. There is an A&W stand next to the
>> > ballfield, which is next to a cornfield.
>> >
>> > This is the place Randy and Vicki Weaver wanted to separate from
>> > when they sold their belongings and moved to the Pacific Northwest
>> > in 1983 with their three children. Separate from what, he is asked.
>> > "From what we were trying to get away from."
>> >
>> > It was Vicki Weaver who drove her family's peculiar following of Old
>> > Covenant Laws, calling God "Yahweh" and believing themselves to be
>> > the true Israelites. Because a woman having a child was considered
>> > unclean, Vicki Weaver gave birth to her fourth child in a shed
>> > behind their cabin on Ruby Ridge. She canned her own food and
>> > home-schooled the children.
>> >
>> > On three or four occasions, the Weavers attended Aryan Nation
>> > meetings up at Hayden Lake, a compound for government resisters and
>> > for white separatists and supremacists. Weaver says he'd drink beer
>> > and talk to the skinheads. He did nothing illegal, he says, until he
>> > got desperate for money and sold the two sawed-off shotguns to the
>> > informant.
>> >
>> > The Weavers' racial views were obscured by the enormity of what
>> > happened to them during the siege at Ruby Ridge. After the sniper
>> > killed Vicki Weaver, negotiators used a bullhorn to greet her in the
>> > morning, saying they'd had pancakes for breakfast -- what did she
>> > have?
>> >
>> > FBI Special Agent Eugene Glenn later told a Senate inquiry that
>> > agents didn't realize that Vicki Weaver had been shot. The sniper,
>> > Lon Horiuchi, testified that he could hit a target at 200 yards
>> > within one-quarter inch. He said he had been aiming for one of the
>> > armed males, not Vicki Weaver.
>> >
>> > An investigation found that the FBI had altered its rules of
>> > engagement, directing agents to shoot any armed adults on sight.
>> > Several high-ranking FBI officials were disciplined after a Justice
>> > Department inquiry found evidence of a cover-up. One pleaded guilty
>> > to obstruction of justice. The No. 2 official at the FBI, Deputy
>> > Director Larry Potts, was demoted after an investigation found
>> > evidence of misconduct. He retired two years later.
>> >
>> > The 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals is still reviewing whether
>> > Horiuchi should be subject to manslaughter charges.
>> >
>> > Meanwhile, the world Weaver had tried to separate from found in him
>> > a brother. He says he received more than 30,000 pieces of mail.
>> > "Hell, anyone who'd ever been picked on by the government was
>> > writing me," he says. "Airmen who'd escaped Red China, black guys
>> > from Detroit -- some friends of Leonard Peltier's mailed me one of
>> > his drawings."
>> >
>> > In the settlement of the civil lawsuit Weaver brought against the
>> > government, each of his three daughters received $1 million, and
>> > Weaver received $100,000.
>> >
>> > Weaver returned to Iowa, where relatives rented him a house in a
>> > small town next to Jefferson. He had his two youngest daughters with
>> > him. Weaver met a woman, Linda Gross, who was married and in
>> > farm-implement sales. The town suddenly got too small. Weaver and
>> > his girls went out to Montana for a few years.
>> >
>> > Weaver came back to Jefferson in 1999. He and Linda are now married
>> > and live with her two children from her first marriage. Linda is a
>> > secretary for a lawyer in town. Except for the gun shows, Weaver
>> > doesn't have a job. He's working on his next book, "The Rise and
>> > Fall of the USSA."
>> >
>> > His daughters live in Montana. The oldest, Sara, 24, is married to a
>> > corrections officer. The youngest, Elisheba, whom Vicki Weaver was
>> > cradling when she was shot, is 9 and lives with her sister Rachel,
>> > who is 19. Weaver says his kids "live out there because they like
>> > it."
>> >
>> > Before he left Iowa for the first time to live in the Pacific
>> > Northwest, Weaver sold his Harley-Davidson because he was starting a
>> > new kind of life. Now he owns a Harley Heritage Soft Tail that
>> > gleams in his garage.
>> >
>> > He writes off much about his lifestyle at Ruby Ridge. "Punk idiots"
>> > is what he calls many of the attendees at Aryan Nation meetings. He
>> > has offended Christian supporters who assume they are simpatico with
>> > him on matters of faith. "I've studied religions and pretty much
>> > decided they are all the same: [expletive]," he says. "And you
>> > shouldn't have to pay a tax-exempt preacher to hear it."
>> >
>> > He says people should live by the Golden Rule and not "whore after
>> > false deities."
>> >
>> > His views on race haven't evolved much. When asked whether white
>> > separatism isn't a losing battle in light of the new census figures
>> > that show a browning America, he shakes his head in pity. "I feel
>> > sorry for the next generation."
>> >
>> > A Place of His Own
>> >
>> > Weaver is having a White Russian at a place called Wet Goods on the
>> > town square. Joe Cocker is singing "Unchain My Heart" on the stereo.
>> > A tall man in a plaid shirt walks through the door. "Nick!" says
>> > Weaver.
>> >
>> > Nick Friess has known Weaver since elementary school. During the
>> > Vietnam War, they enlisted in the Army about the same time. Weaver
>> > was a Green Beret who remained stateside. Friess went to Vietnam,
>> > and two years later he stepped on an explosive in the grass. He was
>> > awarded a Bronze Star. Part of his leg was amputated seven years
>> > ago. He no longer farms. Now he is an educational director at an art
>> > museum.
>> >
>> > Friess sits down with Weaver. The conversation drifts from their
>> > childhood to the gypsum mine where Nick's father worked to church,
>> > and Weaver makes a crack about phony ministers. Friess says, in a
>> > very "Prairie Home Companion" way, "Oh, well, now, you can't
>> > categorize everyone. Some preachers are just fine."
>> >
>> > Weaver sits back, for once not spring-loaded. He doesn't have to be
>> > from Ruby Ridge right now. He is the boy from Jefferson who used to
>> > box with NickyFriess in the front yard while both of them tried to
>> > impress a girl named Lana.
>> >
>> > Weaver got a D in government. They both laugh.
>> > Later, Friess will say, "A lot of his beliefs, I don't agree with."
>> > And yet: "After all he's been through, jiminy, it's amazing he can
>> > be walking the streets."
>> >
>> > And finally: "Maybe with the tragic playing out of events, there is
>> > a certain obligation for him to feel a certain way."
>> >
>> > Weaver has a gun show in Las Vegas next weekend. They will come for
>> > his book and his story. They may talk about the missing shell
>> > casings and the shotgun robot sent in by the Freddies, as they did
>> > at the show in Lincoln.
>> >
>> > But what he remembers about the mountain: "There was no wind," he
>> > says. "The snowflakes were so big you could hear them when they hit
>> > the ground. The kids had three or four campgrounds around the land.
>> > They'd go out and build fires at night.
>> >
>> > "And Vicki canned. She and the kids would pick huckleberries. She
>> > got top dollar 'cause she picked clean. Or she'd trade a gallon of
>> > huckleberries for four quarts of peaches. We sold firewood -- me,
>> > Vick and the kids. Then we'd go into Bonner's Ferry and have a
>> > hamburger or a pizza."
>> >
>> > Weaver says he'd like a place in the Ozarks some day, with nothing
>> > but quiet and a clear creek running through.
>> >
>> > "That's weird, ain't it?" he asks. "Now who the hell would want to
>> > live like that?"
>>
>>
>
>