Momma used to sing to me, “Angie baby, you’re a special lady….”
Jon Wurster, drummer for Superchunk, and the Mountain Goats on Helen Reddy’s “Angie Baby”
“Possibly the most frightening song ever written. It’s the story of this girl, Angie, who’s described as ‘a little touched.’ She lives in her own imagination, and she’s listening to this rock station all the time. And then this creepy guy who’s been lurking outside of her house comes over and convinces her to let him hang out with her. But the music is so loud that he’s thrown off his game and he’s disoriented. And as she turns the radio down, he gets physically smaller, and he’s sucked into the radio. Then the scariest line ever is ‘never to be found.’ He’s in there forever! I think as a child, that’s what scared me the most. Like, Cannibal Corpse and Slayer, bands like that, they sing about being mutilated and butchered – but I don’t think any of their songs are as scary as a song with the idea of being shrunken down and sucked into a radio for eternity.”
Video by John Wilson, Fine Art Films, for The Sonny & Cher Show.
Allen Eugene Rodman, Kirkwood Police Officer, passed away on Saturday, October 31, 2015 in St. Louis, Missouri. Allen was buried in Woodland Cemetery in Van Wert, Ohio.
He was the beloved of Jessica Marie Dacus, the son and first born of Wanda Carolyn and the late Graydon Rodman, and a loving father of Michal l’Lena and Evan Elijah Rodman, and to Christopher and Shelby.
Allen will be missed by his only brother, Burton Lowell Rodman, his family and his mother.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there; I did not die.
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin’
And you can’t remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
Our red Jetta had a scratch.
I found a grand “Child Abuse Sucks” sticker, black-and-white which I figured would look great on red, and decided to cover the scratch with the sticker.
Today we came out to our car to find someone apparently thinks Child Abuse doesn’t Suck?
Guess I need a new plan for covering this scratch.
Oh! Breathe Not His Name
by Thomas Moore (1779–1852)
OH! breathe not his name,—let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid;
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o’er his head.
But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps;
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
Lawmakers say the bill corrects a Supreme Court case that, because the statute of limitations had been reached, denied a narrow group of child sex-abuse victims the right sue religious organizations, private and nonprofit groups that employed their abusers.
“If we didn’t do it, the law would still be invalid and the people would waiting on the legislature to see if we wanted to correct the law,” said Sen. Jim Beall.
Under the proposed law, victims over the age of 26 in 2003 will have a chance to file lawsuits during a one-year period.
On October 13, 2013 Governor Jerry Brown has refused to sign SB 131 into Californian law.
Brown studied to become a Catholic priest as a young man. This will doubtless fuel debate as to Brown’s motivations for turning down the bill. Kathleen Conti, a keen supporter of SB 131, expressed her sorrow this morning. “It is extremely disappointing that our Governor has allowed powerful deep-pocketed religious leaders, influential religious lobbyists and law firms to cloud the real issue here, which is the right of abuse victims to pursue justice for crimes committed against them,” she said. “Subpoenaed documents clearly show that certain religious institutions have been fully aware of the danger posed to children by pedophiles within their own ranks, but have kept things secret and handled matters internally instead of warning parents and letting the proper authorities handle perpetrators. I find it distressing that congregants will continue to not only attend but also financially support such morally bankrupt institutions who claim to have God’s blessing while at the same time being guilty of concealing crimes against children.”
The Baxley & Glass families of Charlotte, North Carolina
have been family friends for generations.
Darryl “expounds upon Angela’s virtues a little”
“Angela is personable, beautiful, loving, joyful, spiritual-minded, brilliant, playful, serious about important things, sociable, likable, engaging, charming, studious, always thirsting for knowledge, one of the best friends a person can have, and she’s committed to ‘us’.
Angela is a designer in the tech world, I am a consultant in the business tech world. She loves people, family, and culture, like me. She loves to travel and experience other cultures, like me. She’s anxious for the end of this bad system and being a part of God’s new one, like me. She hates all the cruel injustices of this world, like me. She wants to make life a little better for people, like me. She loves the Bible, like me. She believes in the enjoyment of life, like me. She loves the ocean and the beach, like me. She’s also weird and slightly off, like me. All in all, we’re a pretty good fit. 🙂 Good thing since we are becoming “one flesh.'”
Angela on Darryl
“I just asked for the guy version of me.”
To be honest, I feel more violated by the way Disney treated me than I feel from being raped, and I’m worried for every other person that has been in my situation.
I have a feeling that with enough publicity over how poorly their company handles sexual assault accusations, Disney might actually do something proactive about it. So if you would, share this article wherever your online presence may be. We’ll see what happens.Dana Wierzbicki
“It Happened to Me: I Was Raped at Disney World and Nobody Cared” by Dana Wierzbicki via xoJane
See also theWalt Disney World: Change Your Policies Regarding Sexual Assault petitionThis change.org petition had 5,613 supporters
Last spring, I was approaching college graduation and trying to figure out what I would do for my First Post-College Job. I had absolutely no idea. I loved studying anthropology, but hadn’t found a prospective job I was really interested in.
I had heard about the Disney College Program from a few friends that had an amazing time working for the company and thought it would be better than nothing. Add the unlimited access to their theme parks, warm weather, and four extra months to figure out what to do with my life and it sounded pretty ideal.
I was accepted into the program and arrived in mid-August. After a few days of orientation, I started work on Main Street U.S.A. in the Magic Kingdom.
Three weeks into the program, I was raped by one of my co-workers.
I don’t feel a desire to share every detail from that night, but I’ll give you the bare bones: He and I went to a party together, we went back to his apartment later, and I said “no,” but he wouldn’t stop.
In Beauty and the Beast, town hero Gaston harasses Belle and refuses to take no for an answer. Later, Gaston is threatening her father … an emotionally abusive tactic that he knows will work. “So, you want me to throw her father into the asylum unless she agrees to marry you?” Gaston has Maurice committed in a mental institution.Teen Vogue (2017)
For two months I kept everything that happened that night to myself. I told my roommates that things went fine and I had a good night. I didn’t know how to feel about what happened. In the beginning, I told myself it was a misunderstanding; maybe he hadn’t heard me. I blamed myself; I should have yelled louder. I should have pushed harder. I should have punched him and ran out of the room. I always thought that if I was ever raped I would beat the guy up. Does that mean I wasn’t raped?
I tried to talk to him about that night. I thought if we could “work it out,” we could still have some great friendship and I could sweep that one bad night under the rug. I honestly thought it would be easier to befriend my rapist than to deal with everything that comes with a person admitting they were raped.
When I tried talking to him, he said he was too drunk to remember what happened that night. I didn’t believe him, but that was where our conversation ended. After that I still had to see him at work nearly every day, all while being reminded that I was working at The Happiest Place On Earth. I cried a lot in the bathroom and prayed I would get horribly injured (I specified “not fatally”) on the job so I could go home without any further question.
I finally decided to talk to someone after the first time I ran into him outside of work. He showed up at my friend’s Halloween party dressed as the Phantom of the Opera, which made seeing him that much more unnerving. I spent the rest of the night watching him hit on girls, worrying, and wondering whether or not I should tell my co-workers what happened.
I made an appointment to see one of the counselors in Disney’s Employee Assistance Program. I tried to be optimistic.Of course they’ll listen to me. It’s Disney, a company built on childhood innocence and happiness. Wouldn’t they want to fire an accused rapist immediately? (Spoiler Alert: No.)
I recounted everything that happened that night while the counselor stayed silent and seemed at least mildly sympathetic. When I told her we had been drinking, her face changed from “concerned” to “you made a mistake.” Still, I told her, I said “no” the entire time and he never listened.
The first thing she said to me was “Well, now you know not to be hanging around boys in the middle of the night. You know what they want.”
Take a few seconds and re-read that. Now let’s unpack it.
A certified counselor was insinuating that it was my fault that my coworker decided to rape me — as if I should have known better than to interact with any man after dark. Not only that, but she was advising me to approach every interaction with a man as if he is a potential rapist, including every man that works at Disney World. If I react to a man with anything less than hostility after sundown, whatever happens is my fault.
I told her that “no” means “no” whether it’s day or night. That was apparently too radical an idea for her, as she said nothing in reply. She continued to make excuses for my rapist. She asked where he was from and I told her, “France.” She remarked that “cultural differences” were probably part of the problem, telling me that the French have a “different view of love” than we Americans do.
It was at that point that I completely let go of any hope that this woman would help me.
Still, I told her that I was worried for the girls he was hitting on and didn’t know what to do. She apparently took that to mean I was jealous that I wasn’t getting his attention, because she told me to show up at the next party looking hot and make him jealous.
“You’re a pretty girl. I’m sure you get all the boys.”
I was stunned.Why on earth would I want to make my rapist feel jealous? That sounds like it would make my rapist angry and want to assert his dominance over me and the situation in a sexual way. And if I followed that advice and he raped me again, they would probably just tell me I should have known better than to dress so sexy around him. I stayed silent and took a card with our next appointment written down. I never showed up, and instead filed a complaint against her.
Over the next few days, I had a breakdown that led to me telling my parents what happened in a frantic, panic attack-induced phone call at three in the morning. They encouraged me to tell the company what happened and said they would fly me home the moment I said I wanted to leave. I ultimately decided to stay another week to report the assault and get all my things together.
It was good that I gave myself a week to get the situation straightened out, because it was impossible to find out where to report a sexual assault within the company. There was no information about how to report a sexual assault in the college program, nor any resources for who to contact.
I tried calling every department that sounded like they might deal with sexual assault, but ended up in an endless loop of transferred calls until I finally gave up. I went to the front desk of my apartment complex in search of an answer. The look on the guy’s face when I arrived and asked “Hi, do you know where I go to report a rape?” told me he had absolutely no idea. He gave me the number for department I already called. Eventually I had to ask one of my managers, and thankfully she knew who to contact.
I made an appointment to meet with Cheri in Employee Relations. When I got to her office, I wrote down my statement recounting everything that happened the night of the assault and waited to be called in. Unfortunately, she handled the situation even worse than the counselor had.
“You were drinking?”
Yes, I’m over twenty-one. That is legal.
“Why didn’t you scream? If his roommates were home, they would have heard you.”
Thank you for your brilliant insight. I haven’t beaten myself up enough for that already.
“Why didn’t you push him off you? You said he wasn’t that big.”
I froze. The rape took me a little by surprise.
“Why did it take you this long to report the assault? Are you sure you’re not reporting this as a rape because you wanted him to be your boyfriend and he said no?”
… Fuck you.
“Now what I don’t understand is why you didn’t call the police first.”
Because of literally everything you’re saying to me right now.
Those were the things I thought, because I was crying too hard to answer her in the moment. I was told they would still carry out an investigation, but I had little hope anything would come of it. I left her office and immediately booked my flight home.
About a week after I got home, I received a letter that said my complaint had been “noted” in the counselor’s file. I decided to make a follow-up call to Employee Relations and get an update on my investigation. I was told my case was closed, but that they were not able to tell me what actions they had taken. I immediately contacted one of my co-workers asking if he had recently seen my rapist at work. He told me, “I saw him yesterday. He was fine.”
I’m still floored by how unsupportive Disney was during every step of that process. This is a company with tens of thousands of people working for them just in Orlando, including thousands of college-aged adults living on their premises with very little supervision.
There is no information on how to report a sexual assault and seemingly no one competent enough to handle the situation when someone figures out how. To be honest, I feel more violated by the way Disney treated me than I feel from being raped, and I’m worried for every other person that has been in my situation.
These past nine months have been incredibly difficult; “Disney” is not an easy name to escape, along with constant reminders of the time I spent there. However after all this time, I’ve managed to turn all of the bullshit in this situation into an immense amount of self-confidence and self-love that I have never felt before.
It’s difficult to ask every person that reads this article to stop supporting a company that is so pervasive in pop culture (though be my guest, as they say). Nevertheless, I have a feeling that with enough publicity over how poorly their company handles sexual assault accusations, Disney might actually do something proactive about it. So if you would, share this article wherever your online presence may be. We’ll see what happens.
HERBERT LOWELL SCHAADT, 78, of Fort Wayne, passed away on Thursday, June 13, 2013, at Visiting Nurse Hospice Home.
Born April 26, 1935, in Willshire, Ohio, Herb was a son of the late Dorothy Fritz ＆ Edward Schaadt.
- Allen Eugene Rodman
- Burton Lowell Rodman
- Angela Marié Niblick Baxley Glass
- Sandra Nicole Knapp
- Heather Reneé Niblick Baxley Puckett
- Matthew Gabriél Niblick Baxley
- Erin Estellé Baxley Hagar
and 13 great-grandchildren
- Luc Andrew Rodman
- Nathaniel Marc Rodman
- Madelynn Grace Rodman
- Hannah Marie Knapp
- Tyler Jayce Roberts
- Michal l’Lena Rodman
- Brittany Leann Hagar
- Katie Danielle Hagar
- Evan Elijah Rodman
- Hailey Estellé Hagar
- Mackenzie Leigh Puckett
- Hannah Nicole Hagar
- Jackson David Puckett
- (Addison Rae Knapp)
- (Charlotte Avery Baxley)
He was also preceded in death by his son, Randy; and brothers, Richard and Raymond.
Service is 2 p.m. Monday, June 17, 2013, with viewing two hours prior to the service, at Dooley Funeral Home, 202 W. River St., Antwerp, Ohio. He will be laid to rest at Maumee Cemetery. Memorials to Hospice Home.
Condolences and fond memories may be shared at www.dooleyfuneralhome.com.
Published in Fort Wayne Newspapers on June 15, 2013
A friend and I were wondering about the etymology of the word Christendom the other day, and theorized that it might have meant to imply “Christ’s Kingdom”, only given Revelation, it would be the kingdom of the false Christ.
I then came across this story…
Escape from Christendom
by Robert Burnell
In my dream I see the lone figure of a man following a road. As the sun sets beneath the hills, a city comes into view. Nearing it, the traveler sees what appears to be a large group of churches. Spires and crosses pierce the skyline. His pace quickens. Is this his destination? He passes an imposing structure, a neon sign flashing “Cathedral of the Future.” Farther on a floodlit stadium supports a billboard boasting that fifty thousand people crowd into evangelistic meetings there three nights a week. Beyond this, modest “New Testament” chapels and Hebrew Christian synagogues cluster together on the street front.
“Is this the City of God?” I hear the traveler ask a woman at the information booth in the central square.
“No this is Christian City, “she replies.
“But I thought this road led to the City of God!” He exclaims with great disappointment.
“That’s what we all thought when we arrived,” she answers, her tone sympathetic.
“This road continues up the mountain, doesn’t it?” He asks.
“I wouldn’t know, really,” she answers blankly.
I watched the man turn away from her and trudge on up the mountain in the gathering darkness. Reaching the top, he starts out into the blackness; it looks as though there is nothing, absolutely nothing, beyond. With a shudder he retraces his steps into Christian City an takes a room at a hotel.
Strangely unrefreshed, at dawn he arises and follows the road up the mountain again; in the brightening light of the sun he discovers that what seemed like a void the night before is actually a desert–dry, hot, rolling sand as far as the eye can see. The road narrows to a path which rises over a dune and disappears. “Can this trail lead to the City of God?” He wonders aloud. It appears to be quite deserted and rarely traveled. Continue reading
From: Angela Baxley
Date: Sun, Feb 17, 2013 at 2:21 PM
Subject: Johnny & June
To: Willy Wonka
Some times I get the feeling he gave us the chance to be the next
Johnny & June. Or would you prefer Elvis?
SCAM ALERT: Exposing Fraud on Jeff Stone, Janette Diller Stone and
Curtiss Parker of the Hong Kong Alliance Fund Limited and the Wakabayashi Fund, LLC.
“The Devil slept in my bed”, she said. I found Curtiss Parker drunk and passed out in my bed and I didn’t feel safe in my home anymore.
One day last summer I came home to find my roommate stoned on the couch, and to find “the devil slept in my bed“. My roommate seemed to think nothing of the fact that a man entered our home, proceeded to my bedroom and decided to take a nap in my bed—despite the fact that his very own bed was literally one floor above, as he lived upstairs and his bedroom was directly above my own. I woke him screaming and chased him out of the house, and then I kicked out my roommate.
The roommate moved out, but I continued to have to deal with the drunk upstairs, Curtiss Parker. Who, in addition to sleeping in my bed, also molested me. Yuck.
Life is infinitely stranger than anything the mind could invent.
— Sir Aurthur Conan Doyle
I couldn’t invent the story of my life if I tried, it’s hard enough figuring out how to write it. Life has been non-stop and I just can’t seem to figure out how I’d ever explain it all — I imagine with the tools now I can basically rig up a wedding photo montage with music introducing the couple style experience if I could just compile all the images (curate them) and add the details like the music, atmospheric settings, etc, and if technology could only get as good as the ideal—it being fully recorded for full sensorial experience upon playback, upon editing.
“Unlikely adventures require unlikely tools.” — Mr. Magorium
Randy Lowell Schaadt, 55, of Fort Wayne, passed away Friday, September 21, 2012 at his sister’s residence in Antwerp, Ohio.
Randy, known by his three sisters as “Bubby“, asks that you watch his collection of family photos (on Flickr, above) with the accompanying track “GOODBYE” (below, on SoundCloud) as a slideshow… Angela suggests playing the video (further below, on YouTube) on low volume over the soundtrack as you watch the slideshow, too.
Randy was born in Van Wert, Ohio on August 31, 1957, the son of Laura “Katy” (Hilton) and Herbert Schaadt of Fort Wayne.
He will be sadly missed by his parents and sisters, Wanda Rodman of Antwerp, Arlene (Melvin) Baxley of Statesville, NC & Audrey Knapp of Hobe Sound, Florida.
I write with a weary head—last night made my heart tired, and I carried that heavy heart to bed, as I finally got home sometime after three in the morning.
My friend, he’s 37, a former Army man. We only met this summer, but we’ve hung out quite a bit since that chance meeting in August. Continue reading
When did he last sexually harass me? Do we count all the text messages, calls, voicemails, and email, or is it just while I was in the office before they fired me? Continue reading
Photo taken at: Calumet Park
“One-on-one, I wanna play that game tonight…” Monday Night Football. I mean, come on guys, really.
Some days are just the kind of day where you can’t sleep. You know. Something rocks your world, and you’re finally just bonafide Awake. Yeah. Capital A. Like the Scarlet Letter on my chest, I’m Awake. Oh wait, wrong story? I’m not a martyr?
Yeah, so it’s a day-by-day thing, playing these games. Some days I slip into a little faster and some days it’s a little slower. Then again, you’d probably believe some guy if he told you that he could keep the sun up in the sky for three days, or slept for three days,.. or didn’t for ten.
Photo taken at: Pizzeria Mozza
I met him at my favorite coffee house, Bird Rock Coffee Roasters. As I joined the line to order, I noticed him. I summed him up. Nicely dressed, but so is everyone else who lives here. Nothing striking about him. A little shorter than average height. Given to talking to people, I told myself I wasn’t going to talk to him. I needed to focus. I’ll pass.
He picked up the white cardboard container of organic oatmeal, examining it’s nutritional values and marketing.
“I’ve been wondering how that’d taste.” Oh, well… Well, I had been.
“I was wondering the same. I don’t imagine it can be that good, but I’ll try it.”
“Right? Can organic oatmeal in cardboard taste like anything but, well, cardboard?”
He smiles. Warm, dark eyes, with dark eyebrows that made him seem both deep and sincere. He buys the oatmeal and orders a coffee, and then takes the corner table against the garage style window.
The Cleanse Song, Bright Eyes
Hear the chimes, did you know that the wind when it blows
It is older than Rome and all of this sorrow
See the new pyramids down in old Manhattan
From the roof of a friend’s I watched an empire ending
Heard it loud and long the river’s Om
Time marching on to a madman’s drum
Don’t forget what you’ve learned all you give is returned
And if life seems absurd what you need is some laughter
And a season to sleep and a place to get clean
Maybe Los Angeles, somewhere no one is expecting
On a detox loft through a Glendale Park over sidewalk chalk
Someone wrote in red, “start over”
So I muffled my scream on an Oxnard beach
Full of fever dreams that scare you sober
Into saltless dinners
Take the fruit from the tree, break the skin with your teeth
Is it bitter or sweet? All depends on your timing
Like a meeting of chance with the train station glance
Many lifetimes had past in a instant reminded
Of a millstone house in a seaside town
When your heart gave out in a mission bed
So your wife gave birth to a funeral dirge
You woke up purged as a wailing infant
In Krug Thep, Thailand
Hear the chimes, did you know that the wind when it blows
It is older than Rome and our joy and our sorrow
Photo taken at: In-N-Out Burger
The program for this evening is not new
You’ve seen this entertainment through and through
You’ve seen your birth your life and death
You might recall all of the rest
Did you have a good world when you died?
Enough to base a movie on?
Notes from the story about the night my dad died, and his motorcycle accident.
Found out many years later that he was wearing his helmet. Someone who found him removed his helmet before help arrived. Daddy died of closed head injury. My baby brother, his son, was born weeks later.
When I was younger, my family was good friends with the Glass family. I’ll never forget when Darryl came back from Peru with his beautiful Angela.
Her name, like mine, was Angela Marie/a—except in Peru the girls were all named Maria and then a different middle name, so technically she was Maria Angela, and referred to as Angela: I adored her.
Darryl and Angela married, and had Adrian and Jamie.
Jamie died in a very tragic family accident at three and a half years old.
“The most unnatural death is that of a child before the parent.”
It started with opening facebook to a post Patrick Terry had just put up:
“That’s all I wanted, something special,
Something sacred in your eyes,
For just one moment, to be bold and naked
At your side”
I wondered for a moment at who wrote it as I gestured over the comment notifications, coming to one from a name I know from my oldest memories, Rosalee.
Rosalee Matt was a great artist, he had his Lincoln Life uniform on. I hope Arlene saved some of his work, it was amazing.
Angela Baxley Hey Rosalee—unfortunately I don’t think we have anything left of his. It seems each piece one by one met by some untimely demise along the way. I’m most heart broken over the one he painted specifically for me. If you do come across anything of his, including reproductions, Heather and I would love to collect whatever we can.
Pam That’s you, Heather—in his expression!
Lisa Is that the hat that they gave your brother in December? The one of your Dad’s!
Heather You know—I don’t know. I’ll hafta ask Momma. That would make it that much more special!
Lisa Yes it would.
Heather It certainly does look like it!
Lisa That’s what I thought. I think it was Wonda was tagged, ended up being your pics. So I was checking them out again. But it’s time since your trip home. When I looked at this one I was like OMG I think that is the hat!
Angela Wow. That makes me so happy. I’ve always hated Matthew hasn’t had anything of his. It seems so unfair they never met—they look just alike. It’s so hard to see my father stuck at the same age as my brother. We’ve all grown older than he has now.
If you have any artwork by the artist Matthew Raymond Niblick (1958-1983), this is my father. Please contact me via email@example.com.
This morning via Twitter I was alerted to the Facebook “Other” inbox—others also being made aware that there might be messages missed… I went to check and there was a message from a nun in Wisconsin responding to this post. She had written in February:
A friend of mine is doing research on the paintings in the back of St. Michael Church, in Dane, Wis… I know that these were painted by Matthew Niblik as they are signed..
He painted these pictures when our church was new…1975. One of St. Michael sending Lucifer to hell, one of Our Lady of Guadalupe and one of our school and church.
I remember he had a sister who is a sister of St. Agnes…Sister Lael.
Not sure if this helps you.
longtime teacher at St. Michael…now Blessed Trinity School.
I’m hoping to they’ll be able to send digital photos — so exciting to really get to see artwork of his we’ve never seen!
I’ve been told that I was Daddy’s girl. I’m not quite sure if that means he adored me, or that I preferred him over my mother—the concept is difficult knowing how critical my relationship with my mother is to me, but then again, perhaps that’s because the first best friend I lost was actually my father?
I took my love, I took it down
I climbed a mountain and I turned around
After he died, I was taught that one day, I could see him again in a resurrection in a paradise earth where we could live forever, together. As long as I made it there myself.
And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
‘Til the landslide brought me down Continue reading