#travel agents in Indianapolis

[thetravelauthority]

Why Indianapolis Is Your Next Must-Visit Destination

Indianapolis, often dubbed the "Crossroads of America," is more than just a pit stop; it's a destination teeming with vibrant culture, history, and thrilling experiences. Nestled in the heart of the Midwest, this city surprises travelers with its mix of urban sophistication and warm Hoosier hospitality. But to uncover its real magic, you need local expertise.

Enter The Travel Authority, your premier choice for travel agents in Indianapolis. Our dedicated team has an unmatched passion for the city, ensuring that every traveler gets a bespoke experience. From the roaring engines at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway to the serene walkways of the White River State Park, and from the historic neighborhoods to the buzzing downtown eateries, we curate itineraries that capture the essence of Indy.

When you think about your next vacation, Indianapolis might not be the first destination that springs to mind. But with The Travel Authority, you'll discover the city like never before. Our seasoned travel agents in Indianapolis bring the best of Indy to your fingertips, making sure your trip is nothing short of memorable.

In a world of standard vacations, dare to explore the unexpected. Let The Travel Authority show you why Indianapolis is your next must-visit destination.

[conradscrime]

Florence Sally Horner

October 22, 2023

Florence "Sally" Horner was born on April 18, 1937 in Camden, New Jersey to Russell and Ella Horner. Sally's father took his own life when Sally was only 5 years old, and Ella raised her daughter as a single mother with the help of Sally's older half sister, Susan.

Sally was in the 5th grade at Northeast Elementary School and was an honours student.

In March 1948, Sally, who was 10 years old at the time tried to steal a notebook from a local store as a dare by some of her classmates. However, Sally was caught by a man named Frank La Salle. Frank had told Sally he was an FBI agent, and threatened to send her to a reform school unless she reported to him.

On June 15, 1948, Frank La Salle abducted 11 year old Sally. He told her to tell Ella that he was the father of two of her friends at school and she was invited on a week long vacation to Atlantic City.

Originally, the plan was to have Sally write her mother letters to let her know their vacation was going to last longer than expected, but on July 31, 1948, the last letter was received by Ella. Ella contacted the police, who found out the sender address for the letters was in Atlantic City.

On August 4, 1948, investigators found the home empty, besides two packed suitcases and a studio photo of Sally sitting on a swing. Ella told investigators that Sally and Frank were also travelling with a "Mrs. Robinson" who according to Frank was a 25 year old secretary. She left them after they arrived in Atlantic City supposedly.

Over the next 21 months, Frank and Sally moved through multiple US states under different names, with Frank claiming Sally was his daughter. Throughout this time, Frank would rape Sally repeatedly.

The pair first stayed in Baltimore, Maryland, where Sally went to Catholic grammar school under the name "Madeleine La Plante." Frank would always carry a handgun on him to stop Sally from trying to escape.

In April 1949, Frank and Sally were living in Dallas, Texas, and Sally was going by the name "Florence Planette." It was here that Sally ended up telling a friend her secret. Sally also confided in a neighbour, Ruth Janisch, who was becoming suspicious of Frank.

Ruth thought Frank had an extremely possessive attitude toward his supposed daughter. Ruth did not know that Frank also regularly molested her 5 year old daughter while Sally was at school.

In March 1950, Ruth and her husband moved to San Jose, California, to find work, encouraging Frank. to do the same so she could still have contact with Sally.

Eventually, Ruth was able to get Sally to tell her the truth about Frank, and Ruth got Sally to phone her family from Ruth's house. Sally attempted to call Ella but the line disconnected, as Ella had recently lost her job and was not able to pay her phone bill. Sally then called her sister Susan and was able to get in contact and tell her to get the FBI on it.

On March 22, 1950, Frank was arrested but continued to say Sally was his daughter. Authorities in New Jersey were able to confirm that Sally's real father had died 7 years previously. On April 1, 1950, Sally was reunited with her mother. Frank was sentenced to 30-35 years in Trenton State Prison on April 3.

Frank La Salle was 51 years old. at the time he abducted Sally. He was a known sex offender and went by several aliases. It is unclear where exactly he was born or even his date of birth. Most commonly the names used for his parents were Frank and Nora, and he was most likely from Chicago or Indianapolis. The most frequent date of birth he gave was May 27, between 1890-1901.

He had an extensive criminal record, beginning in June 1938. In 1944, Frank was convicted for the molestation and sexual assault of 5 underage girls in 1943. He was getting illegally married under false names and had many charges against him. He was released on January 15, 1948, only 6 months before he abducted Sally Horner.

Sally's story ends tragically, as on August 18, 1952, she died in a car accident near Woodbine, New Jersey due to breaking her neck in the crash. She was only 15 years old. Frank had actually sent a bouquet of flowers to Sally's funeral from prison, but they were not displayed.

Frank La Salle died on March 22, 1966, exactly 16 years to the date of when he was arrested for the abduction of Sally Horner. He was 69 years old.

[jamieroxxartist]

Tuesday, July 23, 2024. Episode #1409 of 🎨#JamieRoxx’s Pop Roxx Radio 🎙️#TalkShow and 🎧#Podcast w/ Featured Guests:

Doug Strong (#Director, Co-#Writer) & Kira L. Wilson (#Actress) The Parallels of Loneliness; #Film | #Short, #drama

Pop Art Painter Jamie #Roxx (www.JamieRoxx.us) welcomes #DougStrong & #KiraLWilson ( #TheParallelsofLoneliness; Film | Short, Drama) to the Show!

● IMDB (Film) www.imdb.com/title/tt31433636 ● IMDB (Doug) www.imdb.com/name/nm9950977 ● IMDB (Kira) www.imdb.com/name/nm8381237

The Parallels of Loneliness was originally made for Winterfilm XI competition. It was nominated for 10 awards and took home trophies for: Best Picture, Best Cinematography, Best Production Design and Best Lead Female Actor. This film has been revised and sent to numerous film festivals around the world. At this time, it will only be viewable during the festival screenings.

Doug Strong is a director, editor, writer, and cinematographer from Cincinnati, Ohio. Known for River Road, Psycho Bastard, 24 Percent, and The Parallels of Loneliness, He's won many awards for his work including Best Film: Psycho Bastard (Fright Film 2021), Best Narrative Short: Psycho Bastard (Blue Chip Media Awards 2022), Best Cinematography: 24 Percent (Winterfilm 2023) and Best Film and Best Cinematography: The Parallels of Loneliness (Winterfilm 2024). Best Kill for Psycho Bastard 2022 (Days of the Dead Indianapolis) and Doug has also been nominated by Cincinnati City Beat Magazine for Best Local Filmmaker 4 years in a row. He has two dogs, a German Shepherd named Elio and a red Boston Terrier named Apple. Next up for Doug is the Fright Film competition in August 2024, and currently he's doing a film festival run with Parallels of Loneliness, already being officially selected for 2 upcoming festivals including DMoff and Hilliard. A feature-length horror film could be on the horizon. Favorite movies include John Carpenter's Halloween, and Stanley Kubrick's The Shining.

Kira L. Wilson is a multi-award winning actress, production designer, and producer from Dayton, Ohio represented by Heyman Talent Agency as well as Talent Fusion. 8 years ago, Kira was a full-time insurance agent and happened to “fall into” acting on a local feature film. It had always been her dream to be an actor but never had the opportunity to do so until then. After a highly successful 2 years of networking and acting work, she left her career of 20 years to pursue acting professionally. In addition to acting, she has produced a number of highly successful short films, worked on production design/set decorating, and wardrobing, has been a location manager quite a few times, and assisted with casting projects.

Kira has been involved in over 200 projects such as commercials, print modeling, short & feature films, music videos, and industrials and can be seen on numerous streaming services and television programs for AppleTV, Amazon Prime, Tubi, Roku Channel, Cineverse, Oxygen, TVOne, and HLN networks. Kira is also known by many of her industry peers as “The Chameleon” for her ability to physically transform into practically any character thus making her a well sought after actor to portray biographical roles.

When she’s not working on projects and studying her craft, Kira enjoys traveling, watching movies, attending film festivals, filming alternative hair educational videos on Instagram and YouTube, cooking, volunteering, and fostering for animal rescue, interior design, and spending time with her family and 3 dogs.

● Media Inquiries: Doug Strong, FB: @DougStrong Kira L. Wilson, FB @kira8899

[moneeb0930]

Black Wall Street USA Historic Legend: Madam C.J. Walker

Madam C.J. Walker was born Sarah Breedlove on December 23, 1867, on a cotton plantation near Delta, Louisiana. Her parents, Owen and Minerva, were recently freed slaves, and Sarah, who was their fifth child, was the first in her family to be free-born. Minerva Breedlove died in 1874 and Owen passed away the following year, both due to unknown causes, and Sarah became an orphan at the age of 7. After her parents' passing, Sarah was sent to live with her sister, Louvinia, and her brother-in-law. The three moved to Vicksburg, Mississippi, in 1877, where Sarah picked cotton and was likely employed doing household work, although no documentation exists verifying her employment at the time.

At age 14, to escape both her oppressive working environment and the frequent mistreatment she endured at the hands of her brother-in-law, Sarah married a man named Moses McWilliams. On June 6, 1885, Sarah gave birth to a daughter, A'Leila. When Moses died two years later, Sarah and A'Lelia moved to St. Louis, where Sarah's brothers had established themselves as barbers. There, Sarah found work as a washerwoman, earning $1.50 a day—enough to send her daughter to the city's public schools. She also attended public night school whenever she could. While in St. Louis, Breedlove met her second husband Charles J. Walker, who worked in advertising and would later help promote her hair care business.

During the 1890s, Sarah Breedlove developed a scalp disorder that caused her to lose much of her hair, and she began to experiment with both home remedies and store-bought hair care treatments in an attempt to improve her condition. In 1905, Breedlove was hired as a commission agent by Annie Turnbo Malone—a successful, black, hair care product entrepreneur—and she moved to Denver, Colorado. While there, Breedlove's husband Charles helped her create advertisements for a hair care treatment for African Americans that she was perfecting. Her husband also encouraged her to use the more recognizable name "Madam C.J. Walker," by which she was thereafter known.

In 1907, Walker and her husband traveled around the South and Southeast promoting her products and giving lecture demonstrations of her "Walker Method"—involving her own formula for pomade, brushing and the use of heated combs.

As profits continued to grow, in 1908 Walker opened a factory and a beauty school in Pittsburgh, and by 1910, when Walker transferred her business operations to Indianapolis, the Madame C.J. Walker Manufacturing Company had become wildly successful, with profits that were the modern-day equivalent of several million dollars. In Indianapolis, the company not only manufactured cosmetics, but trained sales beauticians. © 2014 Black Wall Street USA. These "Walker Agents" became well known throughout the black communities of the United States. In turn, they promoted Walker's philosophy of "cleanliness and loveliness" as a means of advancing the status of African-Americans. An innovator, Walker organized clubs and conventions for her representatives, which recognized not only successful sales, but also philanthropic and educational efforts among African-Americans.

In 1913, Walker and Charles divorced, and she traveled throughout Latin America and the Caribbean promoting her business and recruiting others to teach her hair care methods. While her mother traveled, A'Lelia Walker helped facilitate the purchase of property in Harlem, New York, recognizing that the area would be an important base for future business operations. In 1916, upon returning from her travels, Walker moved to her new townhouse in Harlem. From there, she would continue to operate her business, while leaving the day-to-day operations of her factory in Indianapolis to its forelady.

Walker quickly immersed herself in Harlem's social and political culture. She founded philanthropies that included educational scholarships and donations to homes for the elderly, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, and the National Conference on Lynching, among other organizations focused on improving the lives of African-Americans. She also donated the largest amount of money by an African-American toward the construction of an Indianapolis YMCA in 1913.

Madam C.J. Walker died of hypertension on May 25, 1919, at age 51, at the estate home she had built for herself in Irvington-on-Hudson, New York. At the time of her death, Walker was sole owner of her business, which was valued at more than $1 million. © 2014 Black Wall Street USA. Her personal fortune was estimated at between $600,000 and $700,000. Today, Walker is widely credited as the first American woman to become a self-made millionaire.

Walker left one-third of her estate to her daughter, A'Lelia Walker—who would also become well-known as an important part of the cultural Harlem Renaissance—and the remainder to various charities. Walker's funeral took place at her home, Villa Lewaro, in Irvington-on-Hudson, which was designated a National Historic Landmark, and she was buried at Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx, New York.

In 1927, the Walker Building, an arts center that Walker had begun work on before her death, was opened in Indianapolis. An important African-American cultural center for decades, it is now a registered National Historic Landmark. In 1998, the United States Postal Service issued a stamp of Madam C.J. Walker as part of its "Black Heritage" series.

[atlanticcanada]

Airline travellers frustrated by lost luggage, cancellations

Chad Brannen waited months to fly to Toronto to celebrate his 40th birthday on Canada Day weekend. He and his partner Mark Hubbard made it to Toronto after a short delay but their luggage did not.

“It was very inconvenient,” said Brannen.

He and his partner went shopping for toiletries. And for four days, they wore what they had packed in their carry-ons. They returned to Nova Scotia and eventually learned from Flair Airlines their luggage was in the Kitchener-Waterloo area. That was two weeks ago.

“The last update we’ve had is that our luggage did arrive back in Halifax last Sunday morning and that they would ship it on courier to Yarmouth within 3 to 5 business days,” said Brannen. “Well today would be business day number 6 and it still hasn’t arrived.”

Louise Graham faced her own travel trouble this weekend. She was scheduled to fly to Kansas City from Halifax via Toronto.

Storms diverted her flight to Kansas City to Indianapolis instead. She said passengers waited on the tarmac for about an hour to learn Air Canada was flying passengers back to Toronto.

“My biggest frustration with this is that after being diverted, that they did not fly us back on that day,” Graham said.

Graham said Air Canada provided the couple with a voucher for a hotel and after waiting for hours on the phone, they managed to book another flight to Kansas City. That flight was also cancelled due to “crew constraints.” Frustrated, the couple flew home to Halifax and cancelled their trip.

“It’s one disappointment after another and then after that we just couldn’t do it anymore,” Graham said.

According to Flightaware.com, a website that tracks delays and cancellations, hundreds of Air Canada’s flights were delayed from Friday into Monday and dozens of others were cancelled.

In a statement to CTV News, the airline said many airports in Canada and the U.S. eastern seaboard were affected by severe thunderstorms last week and over the weekend.

The airline spokesperson said some airport operations were halted for safety reasons, and air traffic control initiatives have further affected flights at their global hubs.

“Air Canada’s focus is to get aircraft and crew back on track and get our customers on their way as soon as possible,” the statement read.

“For today, Air Canada has an alert posted to its website indicating that Toronto flights may be impacted by forecasted thunderstorms and subsequent Air Traffic Control restrictions.”

At Halifax Stanfield International Airport, passengers experienced a few delays and cancellations but not many as thousands of people descend on the city for the North American Indigenous Games.

“Things ran very smoothly on arrival weekend. I think there was maybe just one flight that was cancelled and hopefully folks got rebooked on another flight soon after that,” said Tiffany Chase, spokesperson with Halifax Stanfield International Airport.

Graham said she did receive a refund for her flight to Kansas City. As for Brannen’s luggage, he plans to seek compensation through Flair Airlines.

“Our travel agent that assisted us in booking this trip is assisting us with that,” he said.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/htkKxRe

[female-buckets]

In the wake of Phoenix Mercury star Brittney Griner and her teammates getting harassed Saturday morning while waiting to board a flight to Indianapolis at Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport, the Mercury are changing travel plans for the rest of the season.

The most significant change to Griner's travel plans is the ability to fly charter for the Mercury's remaining road games, an option that wasn't available at the onset of the 2023 season, a source told ESPN, even though the league claims it had given the Mercury the freedom to let Griner fly private all year.

Sources have told ESPN that the Mercury might be able to use JSX public charter flights for the entire team on both standard and so-called "created" routes, the latter of which other WNBA teams are not allowed to do. However, neither the league nor the Mercury would confirm Friday if that this is the case, nor any other travel details.

Griner's agent, Lindsay Kagawa Colas, also did not comment on the travel arrangements going forward but told ESPN she was "fine" with what has now been provided to Phoenix given the special circumstances.

WNBA commissioner Cathy Engelbert confirmed Friday on ESPN's "Outside the Lines" that Griner's travel and security plans have been adjusted.

Since Saturday's incident, there has been no clear answer as to why Griner was flying on a commercial airline from Dallas to Indianapolis. The league has said it approved Griner before the 2023 WNBA season began to fly charter for all away games. However, a source told ESPN that the league preapproved Griner for only two charter flights, a claim the league strongly contests.

Since Griner and her teammates were confronted and recorded by a Blaze Media YouTube personality on Saturday, the Mercury were informed that Griner could fly private charter the rest of the year. But sources have indicated that the JXS option might be available for the entire team, not just Griner, so she is not separated from her teammates.

Engelbert said on "OTL" that the JSX service was brought to the league's attention late last year by Los Angeles Sparks forward and WNBPA president Nneka Ogwumike, who had flown the airline.

The JSX service is allowed by the league for all teams but with certain protocols in place. JSX planes can hold up to 30 people, providing teams the option to buy out an entire flight for their personnel. JSX has a hub in Phoenix but not in several other WNBA cities. And the airline's flights are on pre-set routes and times, which the WNBA has told teams they are not allowed by league rules to change.

JSX has the ability to create flights outside its pre-set schedule, but those are generally more expensive and that's what the WNBA prohibits. However, that might be adjusted for Phoenix because of the Mercury's unique circumstances with Griner's high profile after being imprisoned in Russia from February to December 2022.

Engelbert reiterated on "OTL" what the league said in statements this past week: That before the season, the WNBA told the Mercury, who like all 12 teams book their own travel, they could do "anything you want to do" in terms of travel because "we recognize this unique situation."

However, a source told ESPN the league did not make that type of broad-stroked recommendation but approved what Engelbert called a "hybrid plan" in early April at a meeting at the women's Final Four in Dallas. That plan included Griner flying the two preapproved charter flights with the league having the option to approve more charters based on need with the condition that only Griner -- not the entire team -- could fly on those planes. Griner and the Mercury would fly standard JSX routes when they were available, and Griner would fly first class on commercial flights for all other trips.

The source said that's why Griner was in DFW on Saturday. The Mercury had flown standard JSX flights to their first road game, to Los Angeles, and for their next trip, to Dallas. But there wasn't a standard JSX route to Indianapolis, which is why Griner was on the commercial flight.

"It shouldn't have been commercial," Terri Jackson, the executive director for the WNBA players' union, said on "OTL" on Friday.

Jackson saw Griner on Thursday during an WNBPA meeting with the Mercury and said Griner expressed her frustration.

"She said, 'We knew this was going to happen,'" Jackson said. "She said, 'Terri, I read the mail that comes to my locker. It's fan mail, but it's also a lot of hate mail.'"

[suchananewsblog]

Federal Agents Confiscate Loaded Gun From Comedian Mike Epps at Airport TSA Checkpoint

After Epps was found with a gun in his backpack, a spokesperson for Marion Country prosecutor’s office said, “these matters rarely result in criminal charges” Comedian and actor Mike Epps’ recent travel plans didn’t quite go according to plan. Epps was detained at the Indianapolis airport Sunday after Transportation Security Administration officers found a loaded gun in his possession, according…

[farahsamboolents]

Fuck Hawkins, Am I Right?

AKA, a little Steve get’s Vecna’d ficlet that got stuck in my head but I won’t be writing the rest of, so if anyone else wants to take it up you are free to, with credit of course :)

It was 1990.

During the school year, Steve Harrington was your everyday, boring middle school counsellor in training who coached the basketball team. It was a nice gig; the kids loved him, the parents were fond of him, and he got along with most of the staff members at Hawkins Middle, save for old Mrs. Montgomery, who had never quite forgiven him for kicking a hole in the wall when he was trying to show off a handstand.

In her defence, the hole was poorly patched up and still visible, all these years later.

In Steve’s defence, he was twelve.

Now, it was late August, the school year was scheduled to start in a week, which meant that Steve’s summer job as a roadie for Corroded Coffin was coming to an end.

He’d been doing this since 1986, which was their first “tour” - which really meant stuffing the band plus Steve into Gareth’s mom’s minivan and driving to Indianapolis, Chicago, and then one insufferably long drive to Knoxville. They had played in stuffy basements, bars that had surely never even heard of a fire code, and once, in the middle of a public park.

(That last one was just to piss off Steve, who was complaining that there was nothing to do on the way to Knoxville. Surprisingly, the stunt was a hit among the local metalheads, and word travelled fast. Their Knoxville show ended up being a huge turning point for their career.)

In the beginning, the tour was brief, and the band spent most of it being grumpy and bickering with one another in the back of a cramped van.

This year, the tour had barely begun before Steve had to make his way back to small-town Indiana for his normal boring job. Corroded Coffin scheduled shows in the neighbouring cities so that Steve could just hop off the bus at whichever one he found more convenient, and would continue the tour without him.

Hawkins, Indiana still refused to book Corroded Coffin at any of their venues. Not since 1986.

Perhaps it was because they had a song called Fuck Hawkins. It was their shortest song, and it was entirely acapella.

It went:

Fuck Hawkins!

Fuck the tigers!

Fuck off Hawkins!

Fuck you, tigers!

And then Eddie Munson, who had proudly written the song, would play the guitar riff to the next song on the setlist.

This year was their biggest year yet. Instead of the vans that they usually rented (Gareth’s mom had never forgiven them for the state they returned her car in) they had their own tour bus.

The rest of the bus (the rest of the band, their single other roadie, their manager, and an agent) found it hilarious that they were currently driving in the direction of Hawkins, and were chanting Fuck Hawkins from the small living space of the back of the bus. Steve, who was driving, grinned at their antics, occasionally pumping a fist in the air when he didn’t need both hands on the wheel.

“The whole thing is Fuck Hawkins, right?” asked the other roadie, who went by Owl, due to her large round eyes that rarely blinked. She liked stealing the front seat whenever it was free, fascinated by the open roads ahead.

“Mhm.” Said Steve, around the donut he was eating for breakfast.

“So why the fuck are we going to Hawkins?” said Owl. The rest of the bus cheered in agreement. Steve was pretty sure half of them were still drunk from the night before.

Steve shrugged. “I live there.” He said, crumbs falling out of his mouth. “Besides, I’m the only one going to Hawkins, I’m hitching a ride from the next town over.”

“What the fuck for, Shrinks?”

Steve shrugged again. “Can’t let the place fall apart without me.” He flipped the turn signal, and angled the bus to the exit ramp. Traffic was painfully slow.

The group in the back booed at him, and picked back up their chant of Fuck Hawkins.

Eddie sidled up next to Owl, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulder, ignoring his protests of I’m driving, Munson.

“Ol’ Shrinksy’s got a point, Owl.” He said. “Without him around, the town has a bad habit of accusing random folks of murder.”

“That happened with me around.”

“Don’t hurt your own case, Steve.”

Steve rolled his eyes and took another bite of his donut.

“Point is,” continued Eddie, “this one can’t resist helping out the little guys who get stuck in a bad situation. And the entirety of Hawkins is a bad situation.”

“You got that right.” Muttered Steve darkly.

“Aww,” Cooed Owl, “We’ve got ourselves a regular ol’ superhero on our hands.”

Steve and Eddie shared a look and burst out laughing. Owl rolled her eyes.

Everyone in the bus, save for Steve and Eddie, speculated that Steve and Eddie were secretly SteveandEddie (or, rather, ShrinksandEddie). The pair of them denied it, citing how bad of an idea it would be to date a coworker, but their little in-jokes and secretive looks from across rooms or venues didn’t help them sell it.

The bus slowly drove past a sign that said that Hawkins was fifty miles away. The chant in the back increased in volume.

Cleo, their manager, began protesting the noise, saying hadn’t the joke gotten at least a little bit old by now, so the chant increased in volume even more. Steve was even shouting it from the front seat, an upgrade from his usual head nods to the beat.

Eddie sauntered to the back, stomping to the beat of the chant as he sang along.

Cleo buried her head under a pillow.

Owl was headbanging as she chanted.

Everyone was so caught up in hooting and hollering that nobody noticed when the wheels of the bus left the pavement and began driving on grass.

It was much harder to ignore the crunch as the front of the bus crumpled against a tree.

The chanting stopped immediately. Cleo flew to her feet, immediately taking a headcount of occupants. Thankfully, the bus had been moving at a snail’s pace with the flow of traffic, so the worst injury appeared to be Jeff’s hot coffee spilling down his front.

Until Eddie started screaming.

“Steve!” He was shouting, “Steve Harrington, you motherfucker, don’t you fucking dare do this to me right now!” His voice was pitched up into a panicked shriek.

Cleo rushed to the front, where Eddie was now frantically digging through the bag Steve kept by the driver’s seat as he continued telling Steve to stop. She held up a hand to everyone else to encourage everyone else to stay back.

Steve was sat perfectly still, hands still on the 10 and 2 position on the wheel. Every muscle in his body was tensed, and his eyes were rolled back in his head, eyelids fluttering.

The bus was still trying to move forward into the tree, and Cleo looked down to see that Steve’s foot was still on the pedal. She pushed past Eddie to shove his foot. It was annoyingly hard to move; the guy went jogging whenever he was stressed, so his tensed up muscles were really not working in her favour.

“Ohthankfuck!” Said Eddie, pulling something out of the bag.

“Is it seizure medication?!” Yelled Cleo, finally pushing Steve’s foot off the pedal. “Has he had seizures before? And you let him drive!”

Eddie ignored her, and Cleo turned around to find him fiddling with the stereo on the bus.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” She yelled. “Now is not the fucking time, Munson!”

The opening notes to some poppy song that Cleo didn’t recognize began playing through the speakers at the same time that a concerned citizen was knocking on the doors of the bus to ask if they were okay.

“What the fuck!” Screamed Owl over the music, “How’s he doing that!”

Cleo whipped her head back to Steve, who was -

Steve was -

How -

“No no no no no!” Screamed Eddie, leaping to his feet and reaching up to grab Steve’s hand.

Cleo found herself frozen, crouched next to the driver’s seat, staring up at Steve. His head was now pushed up against the ceiling of the bus, flattening his voluminous hair.

“Steve please, please wake up, please,” Eddie was sobbing now, barely audible over the inappropriately happy pop song blaring through the speakers. His face was shining with tears.

Steve’s arm bent at the elbow, pulling itself out Eddie’s grasp. His hand was trembling.

“Steve wake up, wake up, we’re all here, we all want you back!” Screamed Eddie, desperation cracking his voice. He was grabbing Steve’s foot now, hugging it to his chest.

Owl was screaming her head off. Jeff was repeating what the fuck over and over again at an increasing volume.

And then, as if he were a marionette with its strings cut, Steve came crashing back down, crumpling to the floor on top of Eddie, gasping desperately for air. The foot that Eddie hadn’t been clutching collided harshly with Cleo’s shoulder on the way down, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Eddie pushed himself to a sitting position, gathering Steve into his arms, hands desperately moving from his head, to his back, to his arms, to his legs - presumably checking for injuries, or checking that he was still there, still real. He was pressing his mouth into Steve’s hair and face as he did, kissing him wherever he could reach in between panicked sobs.

The rest of the bus was hovering just behind where Cleo sat, still frozen next to the driver’s seat.

Steve finally raised his head from where it was buried in Eddie’s chest, directing his bloodshot eyes to his audience before making eye contact with Eddie, who had finally stopped sobbing, but was still breathing heavily and sniffling.

“Fuck Hawkins, am I right?” Said Steve, weakly.

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

i personally haven't ever been super convinced in the mike running away theories, at least the way most people have put them together. a lot of it just doesn't feel plausible to me. but i do have one question regarding it. what do you think would be the likelihood of the wheelers having planned the trip, with plane tickets and all, but ultimately decided against it last minute, resulting in mike stealing his ticket and running off to go anyway? is this something that /could/ be possible? i havent really ever been on airplanes until recent years so i only know the current very digital ticket systems and have no clue what it would've been like back then, but that's the only way i could see the theory making sense with the info we have and i was wondering if it's at least more realistic or not.

If Mike were to run away then I think this would be the most likely scenario. He would just need to get his ticket from wherever his parents were keeping it. I imagine Hawkins has a travel agent, which is likely where they obtained the tickets. I haven't flown much, and I was very young in the 80s, so I really don't know if tickets could be easily refunded. They may have been able to work out something with the travel agent, at least. Mike could possibly swipe a ticket before his parents had a chance to do anything with it.

Let's not forget that Mike would still need to get to the airport. He may need to go to Indianapolis for that. Yeah, he could get on a bus for that, but, seriously, the more complicated a plan like this gets, the less likely it is to succeed. I guess it is a TV show, though.

I still think the most likely scenario, though, is that this is a fully planned trip that is executed according to said plan. I heard talk that Nancy was supposed to go with Mike, but backs out, but that's based on an audition tape (which may not be accurate).

A Mike Wheeler Smalltown Boy moment could make for really great TV, but it doesn't appear to be set up this way. But we'll find out in just a matter of weeks.

[beardedmrbean]

PORTLAND, Ore. — An Indianapolis man received a 10-year sentence for his role in protests that took a violent turn in Portland, Oregon in 2020.

Malik Fard Muhammad, 25, was sentenced to 10 years in federal prison and three years’ supervised release after the Oregon district of the U.S. Attorney’s Office said he repeatedly and intentionally jeopardized the lives of police officers, destroyed public property, and encouraged others to commit violence during the protests.

Court documents showed Muhammad traveled to Portland from Indianapolis “in late summer” with his girlfriend to be part of protests that had been going for months following the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis in May.

During those protests, rioters at times threw commercial grade fireworks, Molotov cocktails, and bottles at police.

Muhammad pleaded guilty to “seriously burning a demonstrator by throwing a Molotov cocktail and providing baseball bats to members of the crowd.”

Investigators say they found evidence on Muhammad’s cell phone of him bragging about providing the bats. They also saw him on a Goodwill surveillance video buying a baseball bat and growlers that were later recovered at the scene of the protests.

During two separate nights in September, Muhammad used the growlers as part of Molotov cocktails thrown at police. One officer’s leg caught on fire after one of the flaming bottles exploded into a fireball when it was thrown at the Multnomah County Justice Center on September 23, 2020.

The U.S. Attorney’s Office says Muhammad was seen throwing the Molotov cocktail in several videos obtained by police. A DNA analysis also linked to him a Molotov cocktail thrown during the other September protest.

Muhammad was arrested on October 11, 2020, after Portland police reportedly saw him smashing windows of businesses with a metal baton.

Police found a loaded handgun magazine in his pocket. A loaded handgun matching the magazine was found discarded near where he was arrested.

“Malik Fard Muhammad intentionally planned and committed acts of violence that threatened other protestors, members of the public, and law enforcement officers. This type of violence has no place in our community,” said FBI Portland Special Agent in Charge Kieran Ramsey.

“He [Muhammad] came from out-of-state to bring violence to our community. This sentence should send a clear message to those who want to engage in violence that it will not be tolerated, and ATF will investigate these acts whenever they occur,” said ATF Seattle Field Division Special Agent in Charge Jonathan T. McPherson.

As part of his sentencing, Muhammad forfeited or abandoned his interest in a 12-gauge shotgun, an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle, a second rifle, a pistol, assorted ammunition, and all seized Molotov cocktail components and ingredients.

The federal sentence will run concurrently with a 10-year sentence recently imposed in Multnomah County Circuit Court. Muhmmad will serve his sentence in an Oregon state prison.

[brywrites]

Flight Risk IV

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part IV: In which airplane food is disappointing and the context of a case is heavy.

( Series Masterlist ) ( Previous  |  Next )

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Arthur stands waiting for her outside the jet stairs. “So you’re on speaking terms again?”

She freezes, hands still lifted in the middle of adjusting her cap. “What do you mean?”

Arthur gives half a shrug and begins climbing up into the plane. He’s not one to pry into the lives of other people, but she’s discovered he does make occasional exceptions to this rule. “Simply that you seem much happier to be around Dr. Reid today. Your scowl is gone.”

Her face flushes and she’s grateful he can’t see it as they file into the cockpit. “We talked, yes. I think we’ve reached an understanding.”

Arthur gives a noncommittal, mmmm, and gets to work adjusting Geff’s controls. She does the same, going through routine checks, only to be interrupted by a quiet, “Just be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Y/N blinks, then looks down quickly. She doesn’t ask him to elaborate; Captain Dobson isn’t one for sentimental attachments or expressions. The fact that he’s saying this at all speaks volumes. It makes her happy, to know he considers her someone close. The BAU is obviously close-knit, she’s heard them refer to themselves more than once as a “family.” But the two of them, bound by similar schedules and shared challenges, they’re something of that sort too. Perhaps that makes them distant cousins of the FBI.

The team boards the plane, they’re cleared for takeoff, and it’s all smooth flying and blue skies for a solid three hours. They’re both tired, and the thought of being able to go home and sleep in her own comfortable bed lifts her spirits – until the cockpit door slides open and Agent Rossi steps in.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he says. “We just got word of a case in Houston. Two previous victims and now there’s a kid missing.”

A kid. Oh, god. Rossi looks genuinely apologetic, but Arthur nods.

“We’ll change course immediately.” Rossi murmurs a thank you, then slides the door closed once more, muffling the voices of the other agents, already discussing the case behind them.

Y/N follows all orders, gets in touch with the air traffic controller, telling Indianapolis Center that they’ll be changing directions and heading for Houston. Other than exchanges with ATC and instructions to shift speeds and change controls, they fly in silence. It’s a heavy quiet, weighed both by an acknowledgement that somewhere, something horrible has happened, as well as the fact that they won’t be going home tonight.

It’s harder for Arthur, he has a boyfriend to go home to, people who need him. She has less attachments, but has no desire to spend more time in a small motel once again. Still, things could be worse. It’s important work.

“I think we’ve still got lunches prepared that I could heat up,” she offers. “What do you want – the chicken or the pasta?”

“Pasta,” he replies, without missing a beat.

“You always take the pasta.”

“I’m the captain. When your epaulets have four stripes, you can claim it first.”

“I don’t know why we even bother with the chicken,” she grumbles. “We both hate airplane meat.”

“You know the rules. We can’t have the same meal.”

Y/N carefully clambers to the sliding door. “I know. But honestly, how many planes have gone down as a result of the food?”

“There have been some close calls. Japan Air, 1975, omelets. Overseas National, 1982, tapioca. British Airways, 1984, hors d’oeuvres.” She rolls her eyes, but begrudgingly goes to fetch the saran-wrapped meals. Slipping out of the cockpit, she catches bits and pieces of conversation as the team begins to work. The previous victims were a little older, most in their early and mid-twenties. All women with blonde hair.

“But Caroline Chapman is only twelve,” Morgan adds. “Though she fits the physical type.” Twelve years old. Her stomach turns, and it has nothing to do with the plane. She swallows hard and grabs the meals from the warm tray, hurrying back to the cockpit before she can hear anything else.

Their world is so different from hers. Their work is so heavy. Sometimes, in the silence of the flight, she pretends she’s a commercial pilot, bringing passengers somewhere cheerful. Maybe part of the crew on one of those Make-A-Wish flights.

The pilots eat in silence, then Arthur, sensing she needs a distraction, begins one of their infamous verbal games.

“Fortunately,” begins Arthur, thinking it over, “I’m taking a vacation in Seattle.”

“Unfortunately,” she counters, “climate change has turned Seattle to a frozen wasteland.”

“Fortunately, I’m an Iditarod champion and getting around won’t be an issue.”

“Unfortunately, the number of confused squirrels on the snow is distracting the sled dogs.”

Back and forth they continue, trying to create the most complicated situation until one of them has no counterpoint, or says something so absolutely outlandish they must concede. Sometimes their games can carry on for almost an hour; depending on which one they’re playing. This one finally ends when Arthur claims he’s saved up enough vacation time, and she rebuttals that the BAU has called in an emergency and he has to come fly the plane.

“Ah,” says Arthur, “fortunately Seattle is a frozen wasteland and no planes can take off.”

Y/N admits defeat. They sit in silence, cloud rushing past them. Then she says, “They’re only twelve.”

“I heard,” he says, starting straight ahead at the sky. She shifts in her seat, searching for the words to explain how she’s feeling. Arthur adds, “You can’t think about it too much. That’s their job.”

That’s all he has to say. A few hours later, they touch down just outside of Houston, and the agents file off to SUVs. She and Arthur prepare Geff for his overnight stay at the little airport they’ve landed at, before going off to the hotel. It’s been a long day, and they end up staying at the same one as the team. After a nap, she takes a long hot shower, and they order takeout, exhausted from the long flight.

Dinner arrives at nearly 8 pm; Arthur takes his to his room, and she makes herself comfortable in the lobby. Wet hair thrown up in a bun, a sweatshirt and leggings. That’s the nice thing about traveling. Nobody knows her. She can be anyone in a new city, only to disappear a few days later and leave only faint traces of herself. The sun has nearly disappeared outside the lobby window, when half of the team comes in, looking entirely drained. They head off in different directions, and she’s pleasantly surprised when Reid goes not to his room, but to join her on the hotel lobby couch. Y/N tries not to look too excited.

“You look tired,” she remarks. Holds out the container of pad thai and chopsticks. “Have you eaten yet?”

He politely refuses. “I have, thanks. Besides, I don’t know how to use chopsticks.”

“What? We’re going to have to fix this.” Her joking smile shrinks to one of hesitancy when she asks, “How are you doing?”

Reid shrugs, runs his hand through his long hair. It seems the more stressed he is, the messier it gets, and something makes her want to sit him down and brush her fingers through it until he looks calm.

“We’ve got enough for a partial profile, but that’s it. We still don’t have – I mean, we still can’t find the girl.”

Arthur explicitly warned her not to get involved, not to think about it. And yet, she asks, “So… what does that mean?” She knows enough to realize it’s not good.

Reid purses his lips. “The first hour is the most important. When a stranger abducts a child, it doesn’t always mean they’ll be killed. But of the children who are, almost half die within the first hour. Nearly all of them are killed within the first twenty-four, and we just passed that mark. Hotch, JJ, and Rossi are still out looking, with the CARD team. In five hours, they’ll come back and I’ll go out with Morgan and Kate.”

Kate Callahan is the newest member of their team, a short woman with dark hair and no time for anyone’s crap. She likes the way they look out for each other, making sure they have a chance to rest. But twenty-four hours, it’s such a short timespan. Gone too soon already. What does that mean for Caroline Chapman?

“Are you okay?” Reid asks, tilting his head. His voice is gentle, making it easy to admit to him what she hates to admit to herself.

“This job – it’s different for us, you know? As pilots,” she says. “You’re trained for this. It’s what you know you’ll be doing, going off to fight evil and save lives. I never thought I’d be involved with that. I mean, I like this job, don’t get me wrong. But I love flying. And lately, every time I get a call from work, my heart breaks because I know the only reason I’m going up in the air is because something terrible has happened to someone, and I just don’t know how to reconcile that. Every time I get into that plane, every time we get Geff off the ground, we’re taking you all to danger, and I only get to do what I love because someone else has suffered a tragedy.”

It’s so complicated, to have her great love for the sky tangled up in this mess she feels when the phone rings. It’s fear and it’s anxiety and it’s sorrow – grief for people she will never even meet. And flying back can be just as difficult. A case closing may mean a happy ending, but it also might mean that a victim is dead, or that an unsub – she’s picked up their lingo – is dead. Either way, there has almost always been some sort of loss. Perhaps in the form of innocence or hope or comfort. She can see it when they board before heading home. This job takes things from them. Will a day come when they have nothing left?

“I know it might sound selfish, but it’s just hard for me to understand. And you,” she adds. “I’m always so happy to see you and talk to you, but that only happens when there’s a case. I feel like I shouldn’t feel that way, not when someone’s life is on the line.”

Does it make sense to him? She hopes it does, because otherwise it’s going to sound so self-centered. Of course his job is more emotionally taxing. Of course she’d rather be a pilot than a profiler. But it hurts her heart each time she hears there’s a case. She grieves for them too. And she worries for the team, her team, their team.

He must understand though, because he places one hand over hers, just long enough for her to understand it’s meant as a comforting gesture, and not purely accidental. Reid doesn’t touch many people, she never sees him shake hands with anyone he doesn’t know. Crossing that barrier is a big deal, and that’s what leaves her all the more surprised.

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “It’s okay to feel whatever you feel – about this job, or a case. You don’t have to disconnect from things or stop being affected by them. But you also don’t have to feel guilty about liking your work. You shouldn’t – you’re a great pilot, and a really good person.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

Reid gives her half a smile, then looks nervously down at the floor. His pulls at his fingers. “You know, maybe we could meet sometime outside of work. That way we can actually talk for a normal amount of time, and we don’t have to worry about anything else.”

“That would be really, really nice.” At that, his smile widens, and she can feel her own mouth mirroring his expression. “Maybe after all this, when we’ve both had enough sleep, we could go get coffee or something? Go to a library?”

Reid’s grin makes his eyes seem less tired, and for a moment it’s so easy to forget the circumstances. “I’d like that.”

[goodpeachtea]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘥. (𝟎𝟎)

Summary: People could say that Baby was crazy, so they could say that hell is more preferable than spending a day with her. Baby agreed. But no one could say that the girl was not a genius or that she was like everyone else. Baby Jones was special - yes, she could be a nicer special type, but anyway, special.

Couple: Spencer Reid x OC.

Words: 1.9K

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping, death, torture and corpses. Slightly PTSD. Language.

Author’s Note: Hey! So, this is the “first chapter” of BABY, yaay! This is gonna be just a introduction to what happened to our special Baby and marked her for the rest of her life. This story will alternate between past and future (more present than future, despite what we see in this opening chapter), showing the Jones Case and Baby Jones joining the FBI. Hope you like it! :)

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                         (𝟎𝟎). 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖩𝖮𝖭𝖤𝖲 𝖢𝖠𝖲𝖤.

   DAVID ROSSI looked up to the suburb white house, memories from twenty years ago flooding his head and an immeasurable frustration in his chest. The SSA hated more than anything the feeling left behind in him referring to the old-case which never had closure. Indianapolis was a synonym of bad luck to the Italian man, but he needed to know what happened two decades back and finally bring some piece to the Galen family.

   It was his third time there just in a time period of four hours. He was obsessed. Rossi thought that maybe, looking to the house he bought eighteen years ago due to his involvement in that case, a new and absolute lead would pop up and all his problem would be solved. Now, with the new information that the technician Penelope Garcia provided it, he couldn't be more pissed off. The BAU team was involved. They were coming to Indiana and David couldn't do nothing about it.

   He went back to the hotel he was staying, disappointment clearly on his face. He took a sip of the alcoholic drink from his glass, blinking his eyes and noting that suddenly, Prentiss, Morgan and Jareau were there. Then, David realized that he had already told all the information about the case and his personal involvement to the trio, sighing and seeing the worried looks on the younger ones. It was a rare event for Rossi to be so emotional about something related to his professional life. Of course, he worked with innocent lost lives, kidnappings and people who were born in an environment so precarious (in every possible way) that it was almost as if they never had a chance. It was tough. But that kind of personal boundaries it almost never happened. For the best-seller writer, happened twice. Both involving kids. Both horrendous. The first one was the one he was currently working on. The other... it was his last case before retirement.

10 YEARS AGO - WASHINGTON, D.C.

– Clear!

   Gideon and Rossi exchanged looks while the SWAT agents were checking every room in the house for the suspects or the hostage, both looking at the stairs that would take them to the basement. Jason pressed his lips together and hoped they wouldn't find a little girl dead, while David took the lead and walked toward the stairs, the weapon prepared for whatever came. He looked at the bullet marks on the wall, noting the lack of blood nearby. Both men were startled and stepped back when they heard the firing of a gun, landing next to the other three pieces of evidence on the wall. "Get out of here!", the FBI agents' eyes widened at the sound of a child's voice, relief filling their chests.

– Baby Jones? – They heard nothing, so Gideon spoke again. – We are not here to hurt you, okay? We are with the police, you're safe now... I'm going down the stairs, don't shoot. I'm with the good guys.

   Heartbreaking. Heartbreaking is the only word the pair of profilers could think of when coming down the stairs, Gideon followed by Rossi. The wood of the stairs creaked when the two hurried to see a terrified Baby along with two corpses. The Italian David felt a shiver run down his spine, analyzing the bloodied Jones, a woman shot in the head, belly to the floor, and a man, stabbed to death. Gideon hurried to get the .475 Wildey Magnum out of the eight-year-old, comforting her quickly. "Everything will be fine, sweetie", is what he repeated as a mantra, while Baby tried to believe it.

   The girl was taken to the hospital immediately, the mans noticing the purple handprints around her neck, the bloody wounds all over her body and the lean structure that was at least two pounds less than before the tragedy. The girl had to be carried to the ambulance, with no strength in her legs and face buried in Oliver Sanchez's coat, not wanting to notice the pitying looks she received.

– We only have two bodies, a suspect is missing. And if the boy is involved, two more to go. – Aaron announced to the rest of the team, sighing.

  "You, Sanchez and Hill stay here. Gideon and I will see the girl's situation and what she has to say", commented David Rossi, getting into the black car and mentally preparing for the reports of the now saved Baby Jones. Gideon thanked for being at the destination of a hospital not for the morgue, to talk to a child they helped bring alive - even though when they got there, the situation was already resolved.

– How is she, Doctor?

  The woman who was looking after Baby Jones, Dr. Leblanc, left the patient's hospital room when she saw the two FBI agents curious and concerned about the child. Before answering them, the doctor looked at Jones through the glass and blinds, sighing deeply at the sight of a terribly traumatized girl.

– The wounds are pretty ugly, but she'll be fine with time. Well, at least physically. She hasn't said anything since she got here.

– I can't blame her. – Rossi said, not knowing what to feel in a situation like that.

– You really can't: Baby was tortured. You can name it, whip on the back and hands, drowning, cuts, broken leg. Fortunately, there was no sexual assault.

  The men thanked Dr. Leblanc, pressing their jaws, frustrated by what happened to such an innocent girl who had lost everything. "Nothing makes sense. We believed that the Copper's perverted son would sexually harass Baby, but there is no evidence of that. However, he is gone. Then the cowardly psychologist who can't live without his brother and his sister-in-law runs away without them. It's confusing", David commented, while Gideon's eyes focused on the girl. "There is only one way to fill those gaps", Jason told Rossi, who agreed, both entering the hospital room.

– Hello, Baby. – Said Gideon, smiling softly at the little girl, sitting beside her legs on the bed. - Do you remember me?

   "You can call me Jason. That's David," Gideon spoke each word with extreme delicacy when she agreed, understanding that the girl had not experienced any of that feeling in the past three days. "We both work for the FBI, do you know what that is?" Baby, a lover of police films and secretly watch the absurd crimes that passed on TV and were strictly prohibited for her, nodded positively.

– Baby, is it okay if we ask some questions about what happened to you? – Rossi asked, in the same mild tone as Gideon.

   The red-headed girl blinked her blue eyes, which were no longer as bright as they once were, and sighed, memories of the latest events flashing like a film in her head, the image of her dead parents and siblings invading her. The two men were surprised when Baby smiled, with tears in her eyes. "Nothing happened to me," she said in a crying voice, swallowing dry.

   The two BAU people exchanged looks, both smiling weakly at Baby and leaving the hospital room so they could talk properly. Jones continued to look at an invisible spot on the white sheet that covered her, with a frightened features and feeling the tachycardia in her heart, together with the dizziness in her head and the sweat on her body.

– Dissociative amnesia?

– I don't think so. – Rossi said to Jason, looking at the girl through the glass. – Did you see her reaction? She clearly remembers and just doesn't want to relive it. Baby has a hell of a PTSD.

– What do we do then? If she doesn't talk about it, we won't be able to catch the bastards who did this to her. – Jason grunted, running his hand over his mouth and closing his eyes so he could concentrate. - You know what, I'm going to call one of the boys to help me with her. Review the case from the beginning and try to find some new information, there must be something we left behind.

   David quickly agreed, watching Gideon call Bruce Hill and wait for the handsome 35-year-old FBI agent, watching the extremely disturbing behavior of the poor Baby Marie Jones. He returned to the car, heading towards the police station to remember everything and hopefully, offer closure for the little child. Rossi sat in a chair, closing his eyes and letting the memories and files dominate him.

77 HOURS BEFORE - DECEMBER 26TH.

– Do you know what we need? A jet! – Bruce exclaimed, irritated by the lack of space in the crowded car in which they were traveling to another part of Virginia.

– We're not even traveling to another state. – Aaron smiled (which would be rare in the future), denying the older man's behavior with his head and turning his focus on the report in his hands. – And besides, the FBI will never have money for such a thing as a jet.

   Jason took his eyes off the case file, making a grimace and massaging his temples, exchanging a look with his friend David Rossi. "Is it bad?", the Italian asked, shifting his focus from the road to his teammate. "One of the worst I've seen, and I've seen a lot of things out there".

– I didn't have time to read the report, explain me the case.

– Last night, December 25th, at approximately eight o'clock at night, a group of at least three people entered the Jones family house and killed 19 people. – Gideon spoke in a irritated tone by the content of the papers, Rossi listening carefully.

– 19?

– Exactly. The whole family was there, even distant cousins. – Bruce Hill explained, fidgeting in the back seat.

– But isn't this a kidnapping situation? A little girl for what I saw... – David murmured doubtfully, Oliver Sanchez, the other member of the BAU team clarifying the situation.

– The only apparent survivor was the daughter of the couple who owned the house. Her name is Baby Marie Jones, eight years old. ��� Oliver said in a sigh, pressing his lips in a mixture of anger and pity. - It all happened on her birthday...

– Coincidence or did the unsubs know that information? – Jason asked rhetorically, while looking at the pictures of the countless corpses, pressing his jaw when he saw dead children. – M.O are headshots, execution-style, and stabs to the heart. Two victims, however, had an overkill. 20 stab wounds to the abdomen. It looks like one of the killers has a taste for death.

– Let's be realistic, would these unsubs really do all this just for the girl? We have to work on the possibility that she only tried to escape and was killed elsewhere. – Bruce Hill discussed, believing that in the end perhaps death was more pious than letting the girl live after killing her entire family in front of her. – If they only wanted the girl, why not kidnap her in a more favorable situation, like going to school or some soccer practice.

– I don't know. But it is hard to believe that she is dead. There were at least 3 people to control a child, it would be difficult for Baby to escape. Furthermore, they found no evidence that someone had managed to run from the room.

– Your doubts are valid, Hill, we have to think about these issues, but Hotch is right, we have to treat this as a kidnapping. – David sighed, watching the police, neighbors and journalists around the crime scene that just arrived.

   As soon as they passed the reporting crowd and saw with their own eyes the nineteen cadavers - women, men, children, adults - the same thing crossed the minds of the five members of the 1997 BAU team, knowing that that case would be different from all the others: "holy shit".

[shewhoworshipscarlin]

Ted Rasberry

Ted Rasberry was a player and team owner in the Negro Baseball Leagues. Rasberry was born on October 8, 1913, in West Point, Mississippi, and in his youth, played basketball, baseball and football. He attended Mississippi Industrial College and graduated with a degree in teaching in 1933. Rasberry returned to his hometown to teach sixth, seventh and eighth grades at Hopewell-Cedar Bluff School. While there he formed a local baseball club called Rasberry’s Quick Steppers.

In 1935, Rasberry moved to Grand Rapids, Michigan to play with Elster’s Colored Athletics, a local semi-professional baseball team, and by 1946, Rasberry purchased his first team, the Grand Rapids Black Sox. The team’s early uniforms were jerseys with no names, baggy pants, and stirrups. Player roster included Willie James Honicutt Jr., Reuben Smart, Joe Smith, and Henry Saverson.

Rasberry tried to enter his team into the Negro American League but was rejected due to Grand Rapids small black population.  In 1953 Rasberry purchased an Indianapolis team and moved them to Detroit, renaming the team the Detroit Stars. Rasberry briefly renamed the Stars the Goose Tatum’s Detroit Clowns, hoping to capitalize on the reputation of a legendary Negro League and Harlem Globetrotter star player, before returning to the Detroit Stars name later in 1953.  The team kept the Detroit Stars name until it disbanded in 1958.  He reapplied to the Negro American League in 1953 and this time was accepted. He then purchased the Kansas City Monarchs in 1956, but the League would not allow Rasberry to own two teams. Rasberry sold the Detroit Stars to his niece and secretary, Minnie Forbes, who owned the team from 1956 to 1958.

Rasberry was elected president of the Negro American League in 1955 and was owner of the Harlem Satellites Barnstorming Basketball Team from 1956 to 1958. Rasberry was also booking agent for the Harlem Magicians and Harlem Travelers barnstorming basketball teams.

After retiring from sports team ownership in 1958, Rasberry became a respected black community leader in Grand Rapids and was active in many local anti-poverty efforts. In 1965, he established an inner-city little league program that had more than 350 local young athletes. The league was the first racially integrated little league program in Grand Rapids.  Raspberry stayed in active with the league until it disbanded in 1974. He was also an active Mason and Elk and was a member of the NAACP Youth Council, the Urban League, and a Negro League Baseball Museum Board Member.  A high school baseball park at 101 Sheldon Avenue in Grand Rapids was renamed “Ted Rasberry Field” in 2000.

Ted Rasberry had a heart attack in February of 2001 and died in hospice on April 17, 2001 at the age of 87. In July 2011 and June 2019 games, the West Michigan Whitecaps wore the vintage uniforms of the Black Sox. Henry Saverson, the sole living survivor of the Black Sox team was in attendance and honored at the game.

https://www.blackpast.org/african-american-history/ted-rasberry-1913-2001/

[himjopper]

the flea & the acrobat (jim hopper fic)

pairing: hopper x reader, stranger things chapter: 2/? chapter rating: teen, 18+ (mention of violence, fear, mild swearing, mention of sexual intentions) summary: you’re an FBI agent from the behavioral analysis unit, living in the big city and enjoying the hustle and bustle of the 80’s crime scene. you’ve worked your ass off to get respect around a male dominated field, earning yourself a promotion as the head of your department after you helped solve a missing persons case that swept the nation just short of a year ago. the case closed, but something happening in a small town in Hawkins, Indiana is making your bones chill with its similarities to your closed case. a young girl, barbara holland, is missing and you’ve got a hunch on how to bring her home. little do you know, Hawkins isn’t exactly textbook and you need the locals’s help. a/n: oh my goodness, I finally got a chapter 2 out and we’re getting to meet Hop. I know I only hinted at it in chapter 1, but I didn’t want to rush it! trying to build some tension before we head down the road of uh cough tension ;-) anyway! please enjoy and send me ideas or thoughts! also let me know if you’d like to be tagged! <3 gif credit & tagged: @chiefharbour​

Indiana.

The air was drier than Seattle’s, certainly promising that you weren’t going to be rained on all morning. Your plane touched down in Indianapolis and the drive between the city to this nowhere town was vast. You saw less and less as the miles continued. However, there were definitely more corn fields. Your mind immediately jumped to the possibility Barbara Holland was tortured and thrown in one of those fields. Surrounded by husks, glasses broken, windpipe probably shattered, blunt force trauma to the back of the head and if this really is an admirer of Schwartzmen, they would have removed all her teeth and fingertips to try to keep her from being identified. That’s how the original killer stayed under the radar for so long and how this case earned the name Snake Hole. It felt like every time you had a lead on Schwartzmen and you were on his heel, another murdered redhead would pop up on nearly the other side of Alabama. Every time you had him, he’d disappear before he would strike, just like a snake you didn’t see on a path. He’d keep his victims for a period of two to three days of grooming before the torture, making them feel guilty for abandoning him as a baby as if he was their son, anything to get them to confess before he’d forgive them and eventually “save” them from their sins. He was fast, manipulative, cunning, and obsessive. You had every hope whoever had Barbara Holland was anything but.

        · · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

Pulling up to the Hawkins’s Police Department left you a bit nervous and you weren’t entirely sure why. You’ve done plenty of solo investigating in your career and if anything, you’re a better agent when you work alone, but the idea of speaking with people from a close knit small town has its up and downs. On one hand, they’re eager to get their local to return home safely. On the other, they have no idea what the FBI should be doing in their town, they think their local PD is more than capable, and they don’t trust the FBI with their personal information because there’s a conspiracy that you’re the government and you’re going to sample their DNA for cloning to breed with aliens in Area 51.

You take a deep breath as you kill the ignition in the rental and check your appearance in the rear view mirror.

Be positive. This could go over smoothly and quickly if you are confident and strong. God, listen to yourself. What a load of shit.

Eventually you’re greeted by a front desk and you’re already noticing the difference in volume this office was compared to yours back home in Seattle. The fax machine was quiet. The conversations were low. There was very subtle sounds of keyboards clicking. Somewhere there’s a radio, still quiet but humming today’s popular hits. Even your heels seemed too loud.

“Good morning,” you began as you made eye contact with the older woman at the desk. Had to have been in her early sixties, been here since her thirties. Her nails were painted a fuchsia color, not a nail chipped, and her fingers decorated with jewelry including an older wedding ring. She seemed sweet, maternal, maybe a bit stern. Behind her thick rimmed glasses, her eyes looked up at you and she adjusted the frames to get a better look at your face before you spoke again.

“I’m special agent Scotch with the FBI, I spoke briefly with a Florence over the phone?”

Suddenly her hands fly up in excitement as she exclaims, “Oh! Yes!”

She stands up from her office chair to hold your hand over the counter, not even much of a shake but just a gentle grasp and supportive squeeze that took you off guard at first, but actually relieved a lot of your stress.

“It is so nice to meet you, I’m Florence, but please address me as Flo; my mother was Florence. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate you coming down here from your big city crimes to want to help us down here!” Your lips parted to speak, but she was already guiding you to the other side of her desk and towards a table decorated with various breakfast pastries and the smell of caffeine comforted you instantly.  “Come, come, let’s get you a coffee and you tell me about your flight, is it a long trip from Washington? I don’t travel much, they’ve had me glued to this desk for nearly half my life now,” she trails off with a laugh to herself.

You make small talk over semi-stale croissants with jam and burnt coffee, but you’re grateful for her hospitality nonetheless. You notice there’s a couple other desks covered with stacks of paper thrown around haphazardly. The lack of organization and order was clear here. Your hear some men’s voices down the hall towards more office space.

“Flo, thank you for your kindness,” you start. “I just have a couple of questions, if that’s okay? Who was in charge here for the case on Barbara Holland’s disappearance?”

Immediately, she puts her paper plate down on the table you’ve been conversing next to and she sprinkles the crumbs off her fingertips onto the plate. She sighs, but it’s not out of frustration or exhaustion per say. Sympathy, maybe? “That’d be our chief of police here, Jim Hopper. It’s been a wild ride, I’ll tell you what. Seems like a bit of a dead end for our chief, but he’s a stubborn man, ehm ....?” she looks at you then, realizing she doesn’t know how to address you properly. Something about your last name and “agent” didn’t seem friendly enough for Flo, you’re inclined to introduce yourself again with your first name to which she then adds to her statement.

You squint in suspicion. “Stubborn?”

Flo nods feverishly with a comedic roll of her eyes. “Beyond belief,” she exasperates, “he has a hard time letting anything go or run its course. It’s difficult to see him at such a loss with Miss Holland’s disappearance. He’s been at that like a dog tied to a tree, I’ll tell you.“

Interesting.

By nature, you want to trust Flo’s judgement. However, the files she had faxed to you to read over with Hayes last week weren’t matching up with her words. The lack of information for Barbara’s disappearance made you believe this was a chief of police in charge who either got promoted too early and wasn’t sure how to investigate properly or he was a lazy cop who figured a sixteen year old girl ran away from her wholesome and structured square lifestyle to indulge in some teenage rebellion. Was it genuine carelessness or just sloppy law enforcement? There seemed to be nothing to really work with from Hawkins PD.

Your lips relieve themselves from the hard line you had pressed them together in, you make a hum sound of understanding.

“I see. Is your chief of police, Jim Hopper, available to speak to? I think he’d have more answers for me regarding this case.”

She shakes her head then and explains she hasn’t seen him since last night, your eyes catching the ticking clock above to see it was already a quarter passed ten. Incompetent as predicted, you think to yourself. “Ms. Flo,” your attempt at keeping your voice soft and patient was partially failing due to the frustration you were feeling in your chest. “I don’t mean to rush you or your team, however, this is a time sensitive case. Where is your chief of police?”

As if on cue, there’s a loud chime of the front doors opening and two men’s voices bellowing over each other in a heated discussion.

“For the last time, Mr. Larson, I don’t know where your damn gnomes are this time—“

“I think you do, chief, you’re just too lazy to do something about it—!”

There’s a louder roar from the first man’s voice, “Alright, alright! Enough!”

Flo excuses herself to see the problem, you assume. There’s some quieter bickering between the three of them now before the chime of the front door is heard again and one of the men comes into view first. He’s taller than you expected, clad in khakis and a pack of cigarettes is peeking from his pocket. Based off the scruff, off balance posture, and cold demeanor, you were left to assume this was the infamous chief.

Your breath catches in your throat when he catches your eye contact for the first time. You didn’t expect his eyes to be that blue, either.

“Who’re you.”

His voice is so gruff and flat, he doesn’t even ask it like a question. His brow is knitted together as he stares at you, you notice his eyes scan you up and down a few times.

Before you can speak, Flo rushes passed him and stands in front of you.

“Hopper, this is federal agent Scotch, she’s with the FBI-“ His hand flies up to stop her excitement and he has a clear look of distaste before he starts storming to his office with a string of grumbling, “No, no, no FBI, I don’t care where she’s from, I’ll be in my office, just show her out...”

This is where you lose your patience. “Excuse me, Chief.”

Hopper turns half way to look at you again, brows raised and obviously not expecting much from you. However, you’re unfortunately used to being patronized, especially in this field of work.

“My name is special agent Scotch, I’m with the behavioral analysis unit in the FBI located in Seattle. I really don’t care if you don’t want to talk with me, but I’ll have to rule you as a suspect if you keep me from information regarding the missing case of Barbara Holland, especially because you already fit our rough profile of an unsub from the matching murder cases from a year ago we believe is being mirrored here in Hawkins. Now, it’s just me and not the rest of my team, but I wouldn’t hesitate to make the call and have you arrested myself since you’re not in the position to refuse me, do I make myself clear?”

Flo’s widened eyes move from watching you to the chief. He looks skeptical and almost lets out a laugh with an unlit cigarette now dangling between his lips, “You think I took the missing kid?”

Your facial expression, however, doesn’t falter. You held his eye contact as he raised his lighter to his mouth.

“I said, do I make myself clear?” You repeat.

There’s a few small puffs of smoke while he continues to hold your gaze. There’s a different light in his eyes, the blue much darker than before. “Crystal,” he mutters.

As subtly as possible you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. He draws in another drag before tilting his head towards a hall, motioning you to join.

“We’ll discuss this in my office. I don’t need the town gossiping about why there’s a goddamn FBI agent in my town.” With a turn on his heel, he doesn’t wait for you as he’s already halfway down the hall. You watch the muscles on his back and shoulders as he walks off.

Flo’s sudden grip on your wrist makes you flinch. Her smile is soft though and she gives you a reassuring squeeze. You return her smile for a moment before your heels match the rhythmic stomping of Hopper’s much heavier boots as you both entered his office. For a brief second, he was behind you and you could feel how much he really towered over you, it felt like nearly half your size. You could smell the cigarette smoke mixed with his aftershave and you became suddenly aware of how loud your heartbeat was. The slam of his office door that he kicked close woke you up from your senses quickly. Hopper went behind his desk, nudging several files and papers to the sides before he sat in front of you now, leaned back in the creaking chair and cigarette between his lips.

“You wanted to talk?”

You say nothing as he ashes his cigarette in the dish in front of you.

“Let’s talk.”

[jewishmuseummd]

Museums As Agents of Change

Wednesday, September 16, 2020 at 7:00 pm EST

Register for this Streaming Virtual Event Here

The place of museums in society is rapidly evolving. As active participants in the important conversations of the present, today museums have a role to play in helping understand and interpret complex issues in our society.

In the words of Lonnie Bunch III, secretary of the Smithsonian, “Museums are not community centers, but they can be centers of their communities.” Among our most trusted sources of information, museums have a unique platform to share stories that have been marginalized, ask hard questions, and host the difficult conversations that can lead to real change.

The Capital Jewish Museum and the Jewish Museum of Maryland come together for a conversation about how our museum communities and the Jewish community can work together in the fight for racial equity within our country. We will explore the work that needs to be done, how museums are rethinking their role and actively approaching the task, and offer some practical steps that we can all take to move forward together.

About Our Speakers

Damika Baker-Wilson is the Director of Engagement and Strategic Initiatives at the Reginald F. Lewis Museum. Prior to joining the staff of the Lewis Museum, Damika spent almost five years as the Director of Development for the Academy Art Museum where she managed an $8M capital campaign and the museum’s development office operations. Damika began her career in the cultural sector as the Visitor Services and Membership Coordinator for Adkins Arboretum, where she now serves on the Board of Trustees. With over a decade of experience in cultural institutions, Damika has experience in a variety of areas, including fundraising, program development and evaluation, marketing, visitor series, and outreach. In 2018, Damika was selected as one of 36 professionals from around the world to participate in the Getty Leadership Institute’s NextGen executive education program, a blended-learning experience for the museum field’s emerging top talent. The program is designed for professionals who are in the first 3-5 years of a new mid-level management position, and who have demonstrated extraordinary leadership potential. Damika holds an undergraduate degree in Afro-American Studies from the University of Maryland-College Park and has completed graduate coursework in Nonprofit Management from the University of Maryland University College. She serves on the board of Adkins Arboretum and the Maryland Lynching Truth and Reconciliation Commission.

Yolanda Savage-Narva has twenty year’s experience working with public agencies and non-profit organizations to promote equitable access to public health, eldercare and pedestrian safety. She is a Centers for Disease Control (CDC)-trained public health specialist who has led community-based efforts in community health assessments for Indian Health Service, public education for the Alzheimer’s Association, pedestrian safety and advocacy for America Walks, and health equity for the National Association of State and Territorial Health Officials. Yolanda currently holds the position of Executive Director with Operation Understanding DC, a non-profit organization dedicated to promoting understanding, cooperation, and respect while fighting to eradicate racism, anti-Semitism and all forms of discrimination. She is also a member of the JewVNation cohort, a fellowship sponsored by the Union for Reform Judaism, a 2019 Schusterman Fellow, a vicechair of the Religious Action Center’s (RAC) Commission on Social Action, a co-chair of the Racial Justice equity committee for the RAC, a member of Temple Micah in Washington, D.C. and a member of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority; an international Black sorority dedicated to community service and education. Yolanda is a graduate of Tougaloo College (Sociology) and has a master’s degree in education from Jackson State University. In her spare time Yolanda loves being outdoors, reading, birdwatching, playing sports and traveling with her family.

Marsha Semmel is an independent consultant working with cultural and educational organizations on leadership development, strategic planning, and partnerships. Her book, Partnership Power: Essential Museum Strategies for Today’s Networked World, was published by the American Alliance of Museums and Rowman & Littlefield in 2019. Recent positions include Special Initiatives Advisor in the Office of the Chairman, National Endowment for the Humanities; Senior Adviser to the National Center for Science and Civic Engagement; and Adjunct Faculty at the Bank Street College Graduate School of Education’s Leadership in Museum Education Program. Semmel was Senior Advisor, Noyce Leadership Institute, from 2013-2015. She was the Director for Strategic Partnerships, Deputy for Museum Services, and Acting Director at the Institute of Museum and Library Services (IMLS) from 2003-13. From 1984-1996, she served in the Division of Public Programs (Division Director, 1993-1996) at the National Endowment for the Humanities. She also served as President and CEO of Conner Prairie, a history museum near Indianapolis, and President and CEO of the Women of the West Museum in Denver. Recently concluding her stint as Chairman, Arlington Commission for the Arts, Ms. Semmel currently serves on the boards of the Council of American Jewish Museums, the Institute for Learning Innovation, and Planet Word, a new museum in DC devoted to language.

Eric S. Yellin is Associate Professor of History and American Studies at the University of Richmond and Senior Curatorial Consultant for the Capital Jewish Museum in Washington, DC. He is the author of Racism in the Nation’s Service: Government Workers and the Color Line in Woodrow Wilson’s America and the co-editor of the forthcoming We the People: Public Workers in Service of America. Yellin earned his BA from Columbia University and his PhD in American History from Princeton University. His public history writing has been featured in the Washington Post, USA Today, The Conversation, and elsewhere.

Moderator: Tracie Guy-Decker is the deputy director at the Jewish Museum of Maryland. She started at the museum in April 2015, the same time Baltimore got national attention because of Freddie Gray’s murder and the Uprising that followed. That timing resulted in Guy-Decker pushing herself and the JMM to learn, unlearn, and grow in antiracism and anti-oppression. In her five years at the Museum, she has overseen project and process management in every aspect of operations, from finance to exhibits, facilities to fundraising. Before joining JMM, Tracie spent fifteen years helping non-profits, colleges, and universities expand their impact and their visibility through well-crafted and strategic marketing and fundraising. She has a masters degree in religious studies from the Divinity School of the University of Chicago.

[zoom4ads]

Moving Your Goods Versus Selling and Buying

Moving your personal goods, much less your family, can be a daunting thought, but after a careful review of all your options, you will see that it needs not be a difficult ordeal, just one that requires thought and organization. Hopefully, this post will help you arrive at the thought process.

I have done a big move of personal goods only three times, and I was boxed in (no pun intended) by the same thought process each time. I have come to discover that there are many ways to consider the move to Costa Rica, and some may be much cheaper or at the very least less stressful and requiring less coordination.

The first thing I learned about moving goods to Costa Rica is to find your mover in Costa Rica and coordinate the move through him, as you want to be able to deal with someone local from this end, just in case there should be any questions or problems. How logically simple is that? But had I not been advised, I would have called a mover from Dallas, and I think it would have caused more logistical problems in the long run.

Here are some of the mistakes I made. We brought everything, and I do mean everything. We should have had multiple garage sales prior to the move because we downsized from a 3,000 sq. ft. house to a 2,300 sq. ft house, and we had acquired junk from the previous 20+ years. We knew we wanted to build and no longer wanted a dining room, as we discovered it was wasted space in our last home just to store a dining room set. But we certainly brought everything else. George Carlin has a gig on "stuff", and everyone should listen to that before coming to Costa Rica. It took a little over a year for us to actually move into our house, which meant that we paid, by the square meter, to store our goods, which is an expense we had not considered. Had I had the opportunity to do it again, I would have brought our bedroom set, living room furniture, dishes/silverware, and that's it! Yes, special art pieces and personal belongings, but about half what we brought. That would have cut our moving and storage tab in half.

You can buy American appliances here, and yes, at a higher expense, but still less than moving and storing yours from home. Personal goods are not taxed, but goods that are new are subject to taxation. Many times they are not taxed if you have one of each, but if you bring 10 new flat screen TVs, chances are you will be taxed a very large amount. If you want to have no questions about taxation, Barry will develop a flat-rate move that includes your taxation. You needn't worry about this, as his company will handle all the details and dealings with Customs and deliver your goods to his storage facility or your new house.

I would suggest you get a 3-ring binder and keep all the papers related to moving in this notebook. If you pack goods yourself, label the box with the contents of each box and keep a copy of that in your notebook. If you have professional packers, make sure you get a listing of each box's contents, and that the box is labeled with the contents that you have a copy of in your 3-ring binder. All the paperwork related to Customs should be kept here also.

The following are some tips on what you should do before and after you move to Costa Rica:

Two Months before Moving:

1. Gather your moving supplies (boxes, tape, rope, etc.). Begin packing.2. Make any necessary travel arrangements (airline, hotel, and rental car reservations).3. Call a moving company or make truck rental reservations to move your goods.4. Cover your real estate temporary & permanent needs.5. Keep your legal, medical, and insurance records in a safe and accessible place.6. Give your new address to all your mailers (family members, friends, banks, insurance companies, and other financial institutions, charge card and credit card companies, doctors, dentists, and other service providers, state and federal tax authorities, and other government agencies).7. Keep your moving receipts (many moving expenses are tax deductible).

Two Weeks before Moving:

1. Notify gas, electric, water, cable, local telephone, and trash removal services of your move, and sign up for their services at your new address.2. Notify long distance Phone Company of your move.3. Arrange help for your moving-day.4. Confirm your travel reservation.5. If needed, make arrangements to close or transfer your bank account.

Packing Tips:

1. Make sure you have the following supplies and accessories: boxes (all sizes), bubble wrap or other cushioning material, marking pens, tape measure, furniture pads or old blankets, packing tape and scissors, and money and credit cards.2. Label each box with the room in the new home to which it should be moved.3. Make an itemized list of what you're packing with a yard-sale price on each item, so you don't have to pay too many taxes when your household arrives at the Costa Rican customs. Personal household goods are exempt.4. Number the boxes, and keep a list of what is in each box.5. Mark any fragile item.6. Pack your personal items (clothes, toiletries, medicine, maps, food, and drinks) into a bag, and keep it in an easy-to-find place.7. Keep a medical kit accessible.

After Your Move:

1. Locate police, fire, and gas stations as well as hospitals near your home.2. Locate shopping areas in your new neighborhood.3. Find out which day the trash is collected and whether your new community has recycling programs.4. Seek out new service providers (banks, cleaners, doctors, dentists, and veterinarians).5. Provide your new doctor and dentist with your medical history. You may need to request your file from your previous doctor and/or dentist.6. Find out more information about schools, cable service, cultural events, community activities, and the availability of emergency calling services (such as 911) in your new neighborhood.7. Transfer your insurance policies to an agent in your new community. If necessary, make a detailed list of all your belongings, their value, and your coverage.

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