Donald Robert Traill- 11 to 36

A lot has been written in the media about my life from conception to eleven. If I had a choice; I would relive 0 to 11 100 times rather than 11 to 36 once. Here is where the story kinda left off.

Kelly was my favorite all-time nurse. She had a special technique when pulling the dead skin off so new skin would grow; it hardly hurt. I wasn't burned; I was beaten with boards till my buttocks were bloody. How did it feel? Imagine you skin your knee and then bump it before it healed. Now imagine you have an open sore several inches in diameter and someone is whacking it with a 2 by four. That was no big deal, some of the boards broke but I didn't. The tough part came later.

At that point I didn't quite get the point of physical affection. But after the first session in the bathtub when Kelly asked if I was mad at her words were inadequate. I said nothing, just rushed up and presed my body against hers. I didn't quite get the concept that I should put my arms around her; but we stayed that way for about ten seconds. Then she said "Aaawwwwww." I thought she was feeling sorry for me; so I pulled away; a little ashamed for my weakness. Kelly was gentle and kind; but never forced affection on me.

After the BEST ten days of my life at Children's Hospital in Philadelphia I was sent to a foster home; the Mcgurrin's. He was a mortician. I was laying on the couch and two other boys were teasing me; I started pushing them away with my foot and finally I just kicked one in the stomach. She said "I need to have a talk with you about kicking the kids." She wasn't there when it happened but I didn't try to defend myself.

No other home would take me for fear of retribution from my father, so luckily I wound up at Park Hall. It was a group home for delinquents; but I loved it. It was run by a crazy old Irish lady; and there were two other young women in the house. I liked both of them, but only one liked me.

They asked if I wanted to go back to school; I did. There were two other boys that went in the same car each morning. Since the house was carpeted my limp was more obvious than on the hard school floors; a fact one kid pointed out constantly- "He's faking!!!"

Visits started with both sides of my family and just when I was starting to have a good time they turned me into a ping pong ball. I had to choose between them when I would have gladly stayed at Park Hall.

The Irish lady showed me an article about allegations of sexual misconduct at my former foster home and asked if there was anything I wanted to talk about. There might have been; but I pretended to fall asleep and she apparently gave up before she got started.

My mother meant well; but I had been kidnapped from her and then abused. So she smothered me. Not much happened till I was 14. That was when I met Colleen.

I have reason to believe my stepfather's real occupation went beyond the obvious. I found out a walkman I found laying around the house was a wireless. I did not find that out till years later.

I became quick friends with Colleen. She had a six month old baby. She was seventeen. One day I was with her and a sad look came over her face. She asked- "what do you do when a 250 pound guy is on top of you?" What could I say? "I don't think there was too much you could have done." It was worse than that; she had been worked over with a baseball bat. Raped with broken ribs and leg. By her Stepfather, a "law enforcement officer".

I developed a crush on a local country DJ named Kelly. When I heard the station was looking for individuals to do calls to promote the station; I jumped at the chance.

I was with the secrataries in the office when one asked "how ya doin'"
"Depressed".
"Why?"
"I wanted to work here cuz I have a crush on Kelly and Craig (The manager) tells me she's moving to Cincinatti".
They looked at each other, then "do you want to get her or should I?"
Kelly came in and we hit it off so well it wasn't long before I had to find a way to tell her I was only fifteen. Finally there was no graceful way.
"Why do you thimk I called it a crush?"
"I know. You knew nothing would happen."
"NOTHING??? I was hoping we could be friends!!!"
"I'm sorry, I was being stupid. Can I have a hug?"
I didn't feel right hugging something so pure with the perpetual boner of a fifteen year old but I couldn't use that as an excuse.
"It's been four years since I lived with my father but I'm still more used to being hit than hugged."
She looked astonished; then asked my name. In a way I had always recognised her; I was reunited with my favorite nurse Kelly.
She hung out with me in the office when she could, and at one point asked what my favorite movie was.
"Johny Belinda". No hesitation.
"That's a strange movie for a 15 year old to like. What character do you identify with?"
"The one that helped her."
It turned out Kelly had had an idea for a rape counseling hotline. She started asking me for ideas, the one goal she couldn't achieve was how to get men involved.
"They could be escorts."
"ESCORTS???" The name has connotations.
"You know, right after it happens women don't feel safe? They should be able to get escorted anywhere they want to go by someone they can trust."
"The manager told me I could have some billboards, but I'm not sure what to put on them."
"What day is Mother's day? Last year, on whatever date it is, X number of women were raped. Of course you know, that means W.A.R."
"Not just mothers are raped."
"But everyone has a mother. Thought you said you wanted to get men involved."
"Warner brothers, we can't say that."
"You can if it's an acronym".
"For what?"
"Women against Rape."
"It should be women and men against rape."
"Do what you want to do, but WAMAR is not a good acronym."
As we were talking I was keeping a lookout. There was an extension cord running along the floor to the coffee pot; a BAD idea. Life being what it is; inevitably a secretary tripped over it. I watched; waiting foir Kelly to start moving. The lid was coming off the pot; she was opening her mouth to scream but she was not moving. It was time to get melodramatic.
She was wearing a tight business suit with skirt and nylons; she had no chance if the coffee hit her. I had baggy clothing and a plan. As I got up, I untucked my shirt. Most of the coffee hit me in the back, but I simply pulled my clothes away from my body.

Turned out Kelly was leaving the station cuz she was being stalked, but she said she would stay if I was hired as her studio assistant. The manager offered ten dollars an hour. I turned it down. Being with her that much just seemed like too good to happen to me. She left the station and I did not see her for a while; I really felt like I had let her down. I did see my billboards a few months later. W.A.R. started with a message any decent person could agree with but it got political and merged with N.O.W.

The next major event in my life was Flight 103. The January issue of Smithsonian came to us in December, and though it was not the month for Air and Space there was an article about the first nonstop jetliner service from California to JFK. But the article read like a carefully written code for a plan to bomb a transatlantic jetliner. The flight was called 103 and the date December 23 was mentioned as the date "the plane had to be out of California to avoid property taxes". When I read the lines about a passenger getting on at LAX from oakland with a radio, the plne got to 32000 feet and he waited. He was the Life and Death of the party, Bob. The hair stood up on the back of my neck and I went to my stepfather.
"Don't talk to me, talk to the FBI" he said.
Mom looked up the number, and I asked the agent "could you please humor me for five minutes then feel free to call me a crackpot?" He happened to have the same issue and I went over a bunch of points in the article about him.

The minute the news came on about Flight 103 I called the FBI back.
"If I had thought you were humoring me I would have called Interpol! How could you let it happen???"
"We had a problem with international cooperation".
I hadn't made it out of High School and I had blood on my habds.

TO BE CONTINUED, AND IT GETS WORSE