My block, July, 1940-1954. At almost the very same moment of her murder, I was at Naval Air Station Miramar, in the process of ending my active duty in the USN. The story was a jolt in an era, way before 24/7 news existed. But Austin Street in Kew Gardens had been my block. Our apartment was perhaps 500 yards, probably less, from the first point of attack. I thought about it off and on for many years. In 2011, when I published my faux graphic memoir, AxeMan Who Will be 70 in the Year 2010, Kitty became a corner of a spread in the 64 page book. But I never knew a thing about her murderer until this week.
As reported in a NY Times obituary on April 4, Winston Moseley was a serial killer/rapist who died in prison at the age of 81 near Buffalo. The Times said he “seemed soft spoken, intelligent with no criminal record… a father of two who owned his home in South Ozone Park, Queens.” He had escaped, repeated many more crimes. There are many more gory details in the pieces published in the last couple days. Does it complete this exploration of my personal history? Not exactly. With our criminal justice system under severe scrutiny; when we are shown Germany’s ‘humane’ system, on 60 Minutes last Sunday, where someone like Moseley might spend his life in a simulated comfortable environment with a key to his own door, the quest continues. There are no simple solutions, though those running for the presidency might offer their own versions of it.
Two Alter Egos adrift in Pere Lachaise; a work in progress.
AxeMan thought his journey was over, but he now finds himself on the cold ground of Pere Lachaise cemetery in Paris, clueless as to where he is or how he arrived there. Monsieur LaPelle, aka The Shovel, has lived and worked in the cemetery for longer than he can remember. His rituel quotidienbegins outside the gates every morning where he picks up Charlie Hebdo and Liberation at the kiosk. He reads for a while at the Wall of the Martyrs of the Paris Commune of 1871, then retreats back inside to inspect the premises. So begins 50 Shades of Graves. AxeMan speaks no French. LaPelle, however, is quite fluent in English. This will be helpful. This piece, the actual beginning of AxeMan’s next iteration, could have avoided including the current madness, but the author has chosen otherwise. Death is everywhere, is it not?
An artist AxeMan knows said,
“What are you doing here?”
“The Creator sent me,” AxeMan replied. AxeMan wondered if it was time to rethink things, like irony, which might not be so easy, given how easily The Creator sends him there. And this idea of an alter-ego; could he give me up, AxeMan wondered?AxeMan had visited a Chelsea gallery, Fredericks & Freiser, on his birthday in 2012, where a writer, Jonathon Safran Foer, and a painter, Sam Messer, had ‘curated’ a retrospective of a faux artist named ‘S’. Did ‘S’ ever really exist except in the minds of the faux curators? AxeMan asked the gallerist if ‘S’ was an alter-alter-ego. The gallerist said, “Absolutely not. She’s an invention of the project directors.” So the curators were not faux; they were project directors. AxeMan has been off-kilter since that engagement. He may return when The Creator gives him something to do, say, or see that is worth mentioning. Or if he thinks of something himself, like meeting up with another alter ego. (Could happen. It’s in the works).