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He moved through time and wandered the halls of time, for his entire story was being told for a first time and he found was still in love with life.

Wonderland? Why, yes, I have been there. It is off the coast of Never-land. A sort of between Oz and Kathmandu. However, on the Chinese side. Not the Nepal side of the Tibetan hiding place of the garden of paradise near the ocean. Few people realize that in England. The reader with the assumption that Alice was English. That small portal or wrap hole or rabbit holes lead to the tunnels that crisscross Europe, leading to many places in the world and elsewhere. Any ways, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson talk with great-great Uncle Richard Francis Burton lead to his rather oddity book. About a place that great Uncle Burton talked about during the night tea. Uncle Burton talked about how he and a madman. That made hats for a living. Once fell through a hole following a historical piece stolen by what only he could describe was a fast moving bunny rabbit which he never caught. The hat maker in one of Uncle Burton’s many tales. Was given the name of Gregor MacGregor after a discussion that he never was sure his proper name but that he was a hat maker was for sure. The title unofficial or not was part of the real tale told by Uncle Burton when he would take a shot of whiskey. There was this map. Which was the special historical piece which was stolen? The map that could take people cross time, space, and supposedly worlds. The mad hatter MacGregor had stumbled upon this map during his conquest of the republic of Poyais. Just where had the map come from? Who knows? However, uncle Burton told how titling MacGregor pirate or cacique of Poyais. Had at one time pirated a Spanish ship that had treasures coming from Europe to Venezuela. One had to ask uncle Burton was he sure that the ship was not coming from South America to Europe. Or why would Spain send treasure to South America? Whiskey tells tales and you have to verify and wonder about them. No. Uncle Burton was sure that MacGregor had said they bound the ship to Panama City. A catholic cardinal or some chief official carrying books, maps, and to a pirate very little useful spoils to be spent.. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. The dream. Or was this the dream? Dreaming is awful sorrowful these days. Watching the end of time. The wheel has spun out of control and watching time spin backwards billions of years people forget. Pray for peace. Anyway, a twinkle in my eye, I am not there any more. Humor a map. Yes, yes, that was where this story was supposed to go. AH, yes. After some wine. Let me see. Getting back to the map of the universe, Wonderland, Sir Barton, Pirate known as MacGregor, and well the rabbit that stole the map of the universe. Where was I? ah, yes. Uncle Burton or Sir Barton the man was everywhere in the 1800s he lived a charmed life. He and Mr. MacGregor meet off the coast of India. General Pirate MacGregor had the map with him and was on an expedition to Nepal. The idea of gaining more investors for his territory in Venezuela required that he have something special. The map indicated a gold statue which MacGregor had promised one of his investors. Sir Burton was not Sir at this time. He was a young man in I believe he said he was it the 15th or 18th Bombay Native Infantry based in Gujarat and under the command of General Charles James Napie. Anyway Uncle Burton was one of the few learned white men that was interested in languages and learned oh gosh lots according to Uncle Burton.

I think a short list was a proficient speaker of Hindustani, Gujarati, Punjabi, Sindhi, Saraiki and Marathi and Persian and Arabic. Anyway, Mr. MacGregor arrived in India aboard a steamship and was lost looking for someone to help with languages in Bombay. The two meet per Uncle Burton at a brothel. Mr. MacGregor was calling himself Cazique of Poyais. In layman’s term, a chief of a South American country to which he was selling land, and other items to any would be an investor. The two meet over a woman. She introduced Uncle Burton to Cazique of Poyais in English. Because she had listened to Mr. MacGregor tale and thought that Uncle Burton could help. Any ways Mr. MacGregor vice general of the Venezuela army over a drink told this story. He was in a battle with some locals in Caracas. A cannon ball had bounced and hit right under him while he was reviewing an old map he had liberated as a pirate from a priest or cardinal. The cannon ball had exploded, and when he had awoke, he was in Bombay of all places. He had served her Majesty for a few years and recognized the city from stories he heard during service. Well, he had folded up his map and found that he had some loose coins. Stumbling into a local house of ill repute, he had to meet the lady which had introduced the Uncle Burton. In short order, the two had made plans to follow the map. That changed daily to a shrine where Oro in Spanish was spelled out on mountain claiming to border India and China. The weird part was that the map would change. And the outline of England with territories named Oz, Never-land and other lands unknown in the 1840s were shown. Anyway, Uncle Burton, Division general MacGregor, outfitted a small team to remove said statue of gold for financial gains. The team comprised two others, a mule, and supplies. They set out in 1945 or 1956,




Depending on which reality you would count the years in. They crossed the mountain range. One night while sleeping near a lake. Some bodies as Uncle Burton would described them snatched one of the two mule handlers. His description that one moment the guy was carrying firewood back to the fire. The next a hooping dead person or as the Chinese people later would call a vampire hopped out of the lake and grabbed the guy. The other three attempted to get their companion back, fighting the bodies. Uncle Burton's eyes would stop for a moment. In disbelief, he would say that the flesh of the skulls came off most of the bodies. They tried however their mule handler had his throat ripped out and bleed to death. He shook his head. The bodies just ate their mule handler. And slurped up his blood where ever it fell on the ground. With slurping sounds, that memory made Uncle Burton shiver just recollecting the happening.

Now, running away from them. Burton, MacGregor, a mule handler, and mule came to a posted sign in the middle of the mountains between India and China. They had left their tents and sleeping gear. The mule evidently had some food left on it being unpacked, while one of the mule handlers had gotten wood for the fire.

To say they were not equipped is the correct statement. However, MacGregor had his book and map, which he insisted they check before going a step more. The mule and mule handler would not listen to this and just took the left side of the posted sign and left. The slurping undead were far behind however they still could be heard, so a lighted torch made from some torn material and the map and book consulted.

Now mules don’t read, and thus the mule handler and mule get lost to this part of the story.

Now, Great Uncle Burton was not my uncle. I had run into him on my adventure at Washington, D. C during a CloseUp trip. I had just insulted the Chinese ambassador by stating if the US was not backing Taiwan that China would have invaded.

So, here is a glimpse into the magic of Great Uncle Burton and that date. His stories took the listener away from what was or is or to be honest reality. For you see. I am sure in my reality there were several hundred thousand on the streets that week. And first news report was that the Chinese fellow run over by a tank. However, now I look and that is not so. In yet, I remember something like that happening. Laugh with me.

Any rate, how had I met Great Uncle Burton in the 80s? Like most of my stories, I was hungry. I was on a school trip to the White House. I had taken a staircase down to the staff cafeteria right outside of Lincoln's bedroom. How? Why? I was hungry. And well I saw an officer just open the door and felt what was the worse that could happen and Wola I went down the circular staircase.

Ending up in the basement’s basement for I went pass at least five floors, I was in an area where most of the staff was eating. I saw a huge black fellow eating something with sauce and asked what it was and how much.

He got up and got a plate for me. Nice. I sat down and listened to him for a while. His stories were interesting. However, I saw the officer I had followed leaving via a door and out I went.

Now, under Washington is a small little train station for Senators and Representatives. Kind of weird to see Senator Kennedy ride a small little kid’s train, but he was just arriving while I went after the officer who joined by some navy folks and others.

They went down a side tunnel and I followed close behind.

Then up a spiral stair with steel steps. I went with them. They did not seem to care or notice or thought I was part of their group.

Now, the staircase it, opened into a large room with chairs on all sides. I went in. And looked out a small window. Humor I had ended up in a small chamber just to the west of the Library of Congress.

A stout person yelled take a sit. I did.

Now, I have tried to write this part before. So if I misremember it or do not tell it please forgive me.

They took a roll call. I thought they would throw me out for sure by this time. But no one seemed to notice me. My nickname in high school was ghost, an enormous or Big foot so a shy, skinny kid must not be much of a concern.

I tell them a story of old Pierce. In 1917.  He was sort of conscripted to the US army that went through Siberia to Saint Petersburg.  There he and two other men rescued two of the Czar daughters. I tell that tale elsewhere in my blog.


This is a tale from Terry, Montana and a man I got to know as Jack who was known to the town as Ole Pierce. To me, I got to know him through my great cousin Albert, who visited him being of the same trade junkmen at heart.

The tale of the princesses.

Bootlegging whiskey in Havre, Montana during the 1918s was a dangerous field of work not to pay taxes was an issue to the federal government. This was not prohibition era, but the government wanted its tax revenue. The Kennedy boys were a mean, vicious lot. This tale is told by an old timer junkman to children that visit him every blue moon. Canada, the road to rum, whiskey and beer ran through Harve towards Chicago by train and Denver via truck. Jack the storyteller was a little orphan boy who was a watcher for the Kennedy’s during the night and thief of passing train’s cargo during the day.

One night while the Kennedy’s stored their whiskey on a train bound to Alaska, Jack accidentally fell asleep. He awoke bound to Alaska in a containment that was supposedly filled with whiskey from Canada. Three days he had nothing to eat, only whiskey to drink. Finally, the train stopped at a port town because Jack could smell the fish. No one came, he recalls. They hoisted the container onto a ship, and all the yelling and screaming Jack could do no one heard him. He caught rats in the container and eat them raw. The container onboard had been placed high on the ship, so all his calling to ship men and crew went unheard. The steamship smoke clouded his view so much of the time he spent hoping to catch a rat. Two weeks later, the ship docked. They unloaded everything onto a train. Finally, a soldier opened the crate and saw Jack. They brought him to an armed tent where he was asked about his circumstances. The soldierly commander congratulated Jack on surviving and told him they had drafted him. The group on the train was a combination US and British soldiers with train men from the states. Jack got to know the brake man and learned that entire group was off to save the Czar Nicholas II of Russia and his family.

The train adventure was something out of an old medieval war story. The train being a steam engine would puff and stop because of the lack of coal. Several times along the way they put the whole attachment forth to cut wood, and or look for coal. Jack was useful during these times, knowing a little Russian and Yiddish from his grandfather. Jack also got to learn how to slow the train down by applying the brakes going downhill.

One time when people were out searching for fuel for the train, a group of locals dressed as Mongolians attacked the train with swords and arrows. The sentry with the steam-powered machine gun made quick work of the men. The British having to bribe both the White Army of the Czar, Bolsheviks, wild revolutionaries, and the Red Army of Vladimir Lenin to get through the Siberian train railroad. Bribing the White Army was easier said than done. A lot of the old Czar’s military felt betrayed by the Czar by his lack of leadership. One White General even order a bayonet charge against the train while it was pulling away from a station. The tale of that ride brought me back for several visits to Jack the junkman in Terry, Montana. There was the Japanese army of a million men who were taking up positions on long the road. The bribe was a jewel the size of a baby’s fist to the general in command. They were attacked several times and held the train with three machine guns and a cannon.

One of the more memorable tales was when Jack’s train had to back up fifteen miles because of no side rails to let the train of General Kaledin by. Jack's wild story here was more reflective in his face. Talking about how hand braking downhill was easy, but keeping a whole train at a steady pace going backward in snow was terrifying. After that he was tired however because he knew some Russian and Yiddish they forced him back to work.

The tale Jack had was that General Kaledin invited the officers, and they drafted him as their messenger for a night party. The party was like a medieval banquet inside a train. Drinking wine, vodka, and dancing with women. His tale was of several professional night ladies dancing, singing and drinking more vodka and spirits than he could remember doing so in his life. All he did was watch. Like many medieval tales, the General was not such a good guy. During the night General Kaledin required an extra bribe, which the Brit paid several costly jewels, and another ruby the size of a handful was the description.

After that, the train went to two stops to find the Czar. The first was a bust meaning the Czar had been moved, and the second was Ipatiev House in Yekaterinburg. Finally, they reached Ipatiev House in Yekaterinburg. This time an American office, a British officer/royal and Jack as a scout went into Yekaterinburg. The British officer spoke flawless Russian, however, no one in public wanted to speak with him. Finally, Jack took the lead, asking for some bread. Jack was a quick child and knowing some Yiddish allowed him to ask the right kids around the train yard to find the family. Upon getting to the house, there was not much to the tale. The officers bribed the local official and were preparing to leave with the entire family. However, the family doctor said they could not move Alexei. The Czar would not go without his son. Finally, the four daughters were allowed to go. Getting back to the train yard, there was a run-in with the locals.

One daughter was murdered there. Jack’s description was not of an execution more like a disagreement with the person accepting a bribe and then that person trying to retake the four girls. Anastasia Nikolaevna got separated during a melee between the Brit and five Russians. The Brit pulled out a sword and rushed the Russians, cutting three of them down and forcing the other two to flee. Knowing that name Anastasia, I asked what happened to her? He said Anastasia was next to a building when the local official pulled out a pistol and five men rushed the Brit and awkwardly was being restrained by the Brit when the gun went off. They shot Olga dead. Jack only said that after they had shot Olga that Anastasia just was not there. One moment she was and the next no sign. There was snow, so he looked but could not find her. Anyway, after looking for a few minutes both officers, Tatiana Nikolaevna, Maria Nikolaevna and Jack got back to the train. That was Jack’s saving a princess tale.

The fighting on the way back across Serbia was a wild tale. Jack on more than one occasion was put in charge of braking the train while the regular brack man went to sleep or was repairing parts of the train which was kept moving as fast to the east as possible. There were three melees that Jack gave great detail about. First was when the Red Army in front of the train required that everyone get off the train and be searched. The diplomatic papers and bribes were not working this time. So the plan laid out by the Brit rather fastly was to engage the Reds upon seeing them and open fire with the machine gun. This was the plan. Papers, the Reds brought only a few soldiers to the train. They were easily bribed when the wrong officer was in charge. Pulling out of the blockade however got crazy, and they used the machine gun cutting town several soldiers of the Red Army.

The train moved along for hundreds of miles without seeing a sign of human life. Then suddenly there was a vast amount of people escaping the Red Army. The melee here was more than sadness. The people Jack said the people were just trying to escape the cold, but their numbers and rioting were slowing the train down. They ordered the soldiers on board to clear a path which they did with swords and bayonets.

The final big melee was between the Japanese, which had sent several thousand troops into the area to secure the railroad. This part was interesting in that the Japanese at first deferred to the General that had let them pass through the first time. But during their passing a new General arrived, and he was either more honorable or had not been bribed was trying to retake the train. The melee was short, the machine gun cutting down several hundred soldiers in an open field.

He said that the British office married Titiana, and that Maria ended up as a missionary in Africa. His tale was fun, and he had many more about Butch Cassidy being a bootlegger in Nevada and such, but this one when he was done he pointed to a cabinet. Inside was one of those Russian eggs, which looked like the frame was made of gold.

Like most of my adventures, they are told to me as a story by a stranger. I think most of mean the time to allow the teller to confess or allow them to talk to a person no one else will listen to.

They listened to my tale about ole Jack Pierce saving a two princesses and than went on with their stories.


My next turn I told them about a man I meet while in Billings Montana.

I was dropped off with a great cousin in Billings, Montana. They were pawnshop owners and had a German shepherd named Thor. They were two delicate ladies from a different time. Their collection in their pawn shop showed their refinement because of antiques and items normally not bought by pawn shop owners these days. Anyway, they had to go visit some people up near the drive-in theater. These were early 1970s and leaving a kid to eat a hamburger while they did their business was acceptable for babysitters.

So there I was eating and reading, I believe an Archie comic book when a man with a suitcase walked into the bar portion of the restaurant. Being in the 80s no one cared where a kid ate, I was in a comfortable booth inside the bar.

The guy ordered a drink. I was not paying attention, but upon receiving it and the bartender leaving to do something else, the guy wandered over to me and asked if he could sit down. Being kind of shy person and not wanting to be rude, I said sure why not? So he sat down, pushing his suitcase to the back of the booth.

The guy introduced himself as a national reporter and kept on drinking. Myself, French fries and hamburger in hand, I was not going anywhere soon.

After finishing his drink, he began a story which was interesting to me to listen to. I did not have to talk, just listen. He was some sort of investigative reporter and was looking into a Fed Ex owner about cloning himself. The word cloning was not common on that day and year. Myself the only reason I knew a little was reading a fantasy book about a world that cloned people instead of breeding.

The reporter began his story about how he was an ethical reporter and had been contacted by a person to review an experiment going on in the United States. Since my fries were good, I just shook my head, same listening to him and actually paying attention. The gentleman contacting the reporter was one of the startup owners of Fed Ex and he hoped to clone himself and provide himself all the luxury of wealth and advantages of wealth to see how much farther he would have gotten versus his rags to riches story. The gentleman always looking into death tax, which was still during the 70s to see if he could transfer all his wealth with no taxation.

The reporter kept on talking while I noticed the bartender and asked for a refill of my drink. The reporter evidently had gone to the laboratory and was involved with some principled debate between himself and the gentleman cloning himself. The rich man agreed to keep the reporter in the loop for ethical debate. The reporter met some doctors and technicians who were involved, and he gave names and places. Being a kid, I could not care less. He then said that the government had banned the research and that the wealthy guy had moved his research to the Philippines and continued on the work with little of a flaw.

Here the reporter went into more detail on how one lady who was to bear the clone had fallen in love with the affluent guy, and of course the rich guy had fallen head over heels in love with her. Anyway, the doctors shrugging off the laws in the United States produced rather fast a human clone.

Now I was interested. I asked to what extent was his DNA the same, fingerprints, eye color and other questions came out of me. The reporter was a bit taken back. I think he was talking to someone who did not listen or care.

Any ways he answered some questions the DNA was the identical, the eye color, the same, however the fingerprints were an issue. The gentleman sponsoring the experiment did something then in the story. He went and had a group go through his house removing personal fingerprints and bleaching the water system to ensure no one questioned the clone’s rights, and paperwork removing his fingerprints from records and placing the clone’s fingerprints on all documentation. Evidently, the gentleman thought he was going to die soon. The extent of this attempt to hide himself from death was the most bizarre part of the story ending in that the clone now owned everything and the gentleman who had financed everything was some type of corporation financed by funding through his company until he died. Finishing that, the reporter spoke about his latest visit to the Philippines, where the gentleman had moved in with the clones’ mother and had raised his clone to be the best he could be.

By this time, the reporter had finished two drinks, and my cousins showed up. And that is my tale on cloning in the 70s. I think I heard the guy's name sometime in 80s in one of Tom Hanks movies.