Send an email to rickahyatt@gmail.com
Aaron McKinney, Russell Henderson, Matthew Shepard, my son, and I
STATEMENT
9/30/8
(Updated 10/4)
This is a reprint of many past statements made to local authorities and media, but totally ignored at the time. It is re-written in conjunction to the WYOMING VS. FORREST BROMLEY link on my website and blog.
by Rick A Hyatt
www.rickhyatt.freeservers.com
Or you can jump below to see what it's like to be invited to a Enampment Volunteer Fire Department "BBQ." With you being on the spit.
Remember the article in the Saratoga Sun about the "Missing Black fisherman who used ethnic Kenyan flies?" Well, my sons and I may have unknowingly been the last ones to see him alive. How does THAT happen in Wyoming?
Forward: This complete incident was made possible by my own Mother's long-standing insistence to all that I'd been "Homosexually abused by my father." Things like that STICK, even as it is not true. It was her way to get at Dad's inheritance, and so far, it hasn't worked. But it's amazing what kind of misperception like that can pull true weirdos out of the woodwork. Read more of this espionage-related base at my Home Page, www.rickhyatt.freeservers.com
Having Celiac's Disease, and used that way in military espionage and "Social Studies" work, I always used to fool people by my dietary demeanor, and studied espionage life of duplicity, as if I were "Retarded," or "Perverse." Every time I ever talk to Carbon County Sheriff Jerry Colson, for example, will he give me the obligatory "Do you know where you are in time and space" type psychological inquiry. Even a trained law enforcement officer like he can't help smiling and looks away when he thinks he's speaking with a "Retard." It's simply the way society in general is, and why undiagnosed Celiac's is so desired in high-level operatives, in and out of country.
Out of sheer life-long espionage craft did I used to simply go along with it, as if a "Fool." He still thinks my writings are "Rambling," his excuse to ignore the criminal facts I present to him, Big Time.
But another reason for this writing is that with Celiac's, one's short-term memory is shot, but one's long-term memory not. Even as I now continue to recover from Celiac's, do I make daily realizations of things I did congnate at the time.
In this example, as you will read, I now understand why Sheriff Colson emphatically told me that Henderson's girlfriend told him that she had had stabbed her "Assailant" on the crown of his head, not more on the forehead as I saw on her (What seems to be her) boyfriend.
She's lying to protect him, the father of her baby, even if he is in prison, but herself, as well.
Why? For that the undercover value of Celiac's is in the way society dumps on one. And in this case, a major drug dealer saw the advantage of framing me with some kind of sex crime that would involve weapons of the caliber I own. Some kind of hate crime involving a black guy, I think, for I often used to use the word "Nigger" in my cuss words. (A deliberate hypnotic trick, part of my "Politically-Incorrect" cover.)
Bottom line? The whole scene was orchestrated to get me out of the Drug Dealer's, and Encampment Society's hair. They didn't want me, nor "My kind" there, at all.
If there was any sex that day, it was between Henderson and his girlfriend. Why don't they test it? This must be so from the numbers of times Social Worker types have suddenly appeared where I am to "Present" her to me. Body language indicates they'd like to have her "Identify" me, it looks like.
But it speaks as if she will or can not - She doesn't want the whole thing in court, after all.
So, for this entire decade, have I had to live with the false suspicions, investigations, and very raw impoverishing and destructive treatment of same by "Society." Any contributions you may wish to make would be very much appreciated.
So would your demands upon authorities and media outlets to fully investigate the rest of my website.
When we first moved to Wyoming in 1995, I naively thought that I'd returned to America the way I knew it as a kid, from the very corrupt and anti-Caucasian racially discriminatory island of Maui. I did not see yet the evidences of drug use, as has become so prevalent there.
So, when a certain little black Toyota truck kept skidding up to me at intersections, or trying to drive me off the road in passing, etc. occurred, I presumed it was simply youthful testosterone in action. It got to be routine, even, being hurriedly passed by the two young men in the truck, one of them with multicolored and blond hair and the other with a thick black mange of hair. I once saw them smoking pot from a small pipe at a dam lake up Veevadoo where a couple of "Off-duty" cops had camped out for “Archery Practice.”
Some kind of comment about a murder having been committed there, or something.
Or, a chubby Caucasian blond woman in a large gray American car would virtually try to run me off the road. My eldest son and wife refused to go with me camping any longer.
Yet, I'd been approached by Encampment Police Chief Tom Baum quite often, and I wondered what the reason for the attentions were. Trying to promote myself as “A Good Citizen” in this new home, I offered my own past Intelligence training to him regarding what was obviously a nearby drug site, a bar. I was told the individual in question was no “Drug Dealer,” but an “Interstate Drug Baron,” suspect of at least three murders. Presumably connected to a .357 Magnum, exactly the same model as I openly sported on my own belt.
That individual never crossed my lawn but twice: Once to get a good look at it and tell me he had one exactly like it, and once to offer a suggestion of a free camping spot. All of a sudden, he reported it "Stolen."
(Addendum: Some time later, I went to the Saratoga Hot Pools one day, to encounter some fellow from Laramie (Licence Plate) VIGOROUSLY drying his privates in the locker room, so I quickly left. Only to be nearly photographed by the wife of another local Police Chief, and her brunette female friend (Who didn't know how to use the 35mm) for some reason.
The same bunch had set up "Cub Scout Photography Sessions" for my son and I, I guess to pass these "He's the one!" type photos out to the Vigilante community. But this deliberate set-up is compounded by the brunette later being shot in the head by her husband in Encampment. The paper said she'd been to rehab, and I believe must have had become the weak link in that "Chain-Of-Trust" the druggies call it. Judge Stebner (Note my other references to him and life of Purgatory here) let the man go on this crime, a very unusual thing.)
So I tried to help the Police, but it seemed as if I were always their real suspect (For all of the endless "NAMI Anonymous" calls I'm sure they received), and for years I did not know why. Most of that is now apparent, and listed on my website.
I did a lot of camping at that time, truly enjoying Wyoming's outdoors (This was before the Pine Beetles the Forest Service does nothing about), but they'd went and started to charge us for our free rights to access national parks, and I refused to participate. This individual approached me at that time to suggest a particular spot just before Hog Park, which I believe is called Big Rock Creek.
On the way there, the truck nearly ran us off the road, and so did the car. There may have been a black male, I believe, with that female driver, as well, but I no longer can be sure.
In any event, I took the dirt road turnoff and started to proceed down the valley. I saw a large tent with a large car parked there, and to my amazement, saw all four tires flat. I good-naturedly thought of stopping to offer help, but then noted the black truck there in good condition. Plus, I could hear shouting of the sort I could then only presume to be people having fun jumping off a waterfall, or the like. We used to live on Maui, where that was frequent, and the creek ran down off our right side in heavy foliage, and I could see no one at the closed tent.
I pointed this out to my son, but since I'd been joking him recently, he disbelieved me. But he then said, “Daddy, that truck is trying to pass us.” He could see it out my right mirror, but I could not. They were trying, odd as it was, to pass us on the right on that one-lane trail, so I pulled over to let them pass. They turned around and left, instead.
I now understand why, for what said positions might have meant for a clear fire zone for them. Would I shoot back past my son's head, after all, perhaps?la
We reached a huge rock and a perfect camping spot next to a stream. As I set up camp, my son played in the mud with his toy truck around the corner, and could see up the trail. He announced, “Daddy, that truck is coming again, and the men are wearing the kind of ski masks you were trying to buy for me.”
New to the mountains, I'd been trying to find full-face ski masks for us.
As they came around the corner, they were making motions of taking off said masks and shoving them besides the seats they were on. They rushed up, and a contrived conversation took place.
“Are you camping here?”
“Are you going to stay all night?” Very nervously, and it started to dawn on me, they were high on meth. The one with the dyed blond with multicolored sides hair was the passenger, and the one with the thick black hair and tiny ponytail kept looking at my face, my gun, each other, and then back over and over again.
At first I marveled at what seemed to be such sturdy farming youth, as the passenger had a fairly large vertical laceration upon the upper right side of his forehead, which was not bleeding. But big enough that I would have thought of getting stiches, yet he clearly was not doing so.
The fact I was openly wearing my .357 saved not only my life that day, but my son's, as well. I'm very cognizant of how murderers make no bones over a second murder, as the penalty is the same, if it means dispatching a witness to their crime, as well.
They made other ludicrous statements, such as the one laughed loudly as he claimed to be the son of the Encampment Police Chief, Llyod Bufford, etc. But suddenly decided to leave, as I started to study and memorize their faces. The driver had a quarter moon-shaped face, something I'd seen before with a girlfriend I once had, a hereditary effect. He floored it in reverse to try and deny me the ability to read the licence plate, but I did and wrote it down on a matchbook. I kept it for a few weeks, and then threw it away.
Being Celiac Symptomatic at the time ("Neuropathy," with a morphine-like effect), my short-term memory was very bad, but I tried to make a mnemonic aid of it, thinking it was like a pyramid: “6-363” was, of course, Carbon County “6” the 363 as if a triangle. As if a 6/2 = 3, as if twice, but to no avail.
Later at sundown, there was shouting and shooting from the campsite above, and I refused to go up, then thinking it to be a wild drug party. I believed I was being lured into a trap. Later when we slept, I kept my shotgun nearby, and told my son to keep the 30-30 rifle next to him, and good thing too, for I awoke top hear someone quietly sneaking up to our camper.
A quick and loud chambering of a shotgun is often enough deterrence for burglars or whoever, and I could hear the very quick retreating steps away.
The next morning, my son announced that “Daddy, there's cops in the woods!” As I sat upon the porta-potti. Yet when I went to look, I saw no one, but decided we'd leave that day. There was no activity at the tent.
A few weeks later, I read in the Saratoga Sun of “The Spring Creek Assault.” Where, supposedly, a mixed-race couple had been accosted, the man locked in the trunk of their car, the tires shot out, and the woman raped by a man with ski mask on his face, and with a .357 revolver.
She'd supposedly tried to defend herself with a rifle that I also, strangely enough, happen to have had the same model of. But that she'd managed to cut the man on his head through the ski mask. That it was believed there were two males involved, for in that a small axeled vehicle had driven away and back again during the assault.
When I later told this to Sheriff Colson, he angrily denounced my statement to him about the cut, saying that it upon the crown of the man's head, not his upper forehead. In fact, he angrily denounced anything I had to say, implying, instead, some kind of mental instability or the sort, on my part. I now figure Henderson's girlfriend, in this attempted frame-up, lied to the Sheriff about where the cut had happened, in order to protect her then boyfriend. The promise of Meth must have been a big one.
From time to time, I will see some blonde presented to me, as if for recognition, by what seems to be Family Services or similar types. But she has a son to raise, I understand, so won't make any federal case of it.
Perjury, after all, carries a heavy fine.
Such is the demeanor one has with the dietary deficiency, Celiac's Disease, as I discuss elsewhere on my website, www.rickhyatt.freeservers.com, and is very useful in undercover situations.
I more than wrote and faxed the Sheriff's Office and local media these details, I even drew a map. But, because of the nature of short-term memory deficiency of Celiac's, I could not recall at the time the license number.
It was only years later, when I saw the very same truck, a certain model where Toyota slapped a front-wheel drive on a low-suspension two-wheel type, to rush out a “Four wheel drive” to market. It was now repainted red, had changes to its roll bar, had a lift job, but still had that peculiar leather cover on it's oversized shift stick.
There had been printed a reference to certain tire tracks, and that bemuses me, for I often had my SUV work done at both Shivey's and Riverside Garage. The Shivey's mechanic who loosened my front wheel bearings (Repaired by Riverside Garage) later died in an "Avalanche" I'm told was attended by the above "Drug Baron."
And after that truck again, at Valley Foods, and looking at it hit me like a rock.
I again reported same, and then noticed how I was one day being intensely followed about Encampment by the new driver of this truck, a taller man also with thick black hair. I later understood this son of a local prominent family to be back from a few years of drug rehab, and for whatever reason, he clearly took an extreme dislike to me. And was, after all, the son of a prominent local family, and such is what is called “Western Justice,” I guess.
Then McKinney and Henderson appeared in the papers, but only after their lawyers made sure that photos were from certain angles, not showing said defect, and clean-cut. For the joy-murder of Matthew Sheppard in Laramie.
Indeed, they turned out to be meth-heads who enjoyed setting up and killing gays. At that time, I endured such false rumors about my own sexuality, many of them promoted by my wife for potential financial gain, and in order to squelch any possibility of my testimony concerning certain “Dismissed Without Prejudice” legal paperwork set for eventual review.
They concern her own past false charges of “Rape, Kidnapping, and Sodomy,” she'd made in order to force me to marry her, one of which was immediately dismissed for in that medical testing proved her deliberate attempted frame-up.
Yet, she'd never stopped that campaign, way beyond telling my own sons that I was “Gay,” and they have since become alienated from me from this and subsequent social malattentions. This Court review as ordered by HI Judge Richard Ueoka should be up in Federal Court on 10/13/08, but no one has contacted me on it, preferring to play the “Social Worker Salvation” routine on my life, as if I were the “Nut case.” Or someone with high-ranking political knowledge to be covered-up.
I am confident that the Drug Baron offered them meth as a payment to make it happen. I reported as much as best I could, and was ignored. They went on to kill Matthew Shepard in the manner they did, but I ask? How many potential "Unsolved" others, perhaps, in that interim?
Yet – Branded as such by our “Well-meaning” Social(ist) Agencies, stripped of my political voice and believability before the public and Judges – Made into a “Political Voice non Grata” by such constant social, sexual and emotional harassment – Untold amounts of funding and resources committed to my denigration over many years time – Methods and Means that duplicate those of former East Bloc Spy Agencies like the – Whose former directors, Markus Wolf and Erich, I have known in person in my Army Military Intelligence past – Was I then, and continue to be, now, ignored.
All compliments of YOUR TAX MONEY, thank you.
So, they went on to crucify Matt Sheppard, and God knows how many others. As far as I am concerned, they are up there with their (drug-induced) joy killings of gays as much as Gary Condit and/or Nazi SS Mauthausen Concentration Camp Dr. Aribert "Death" Heim.
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