Everyone Is a Someone: Featuring the 2020 Pandemic COVID-19

By Roy Murch and Robin Frost

These stories tell the wrong path we are headed unless we change the outcome. The racial injustice, police reform, and changing this hate into love for all immigrants living in our land. America is made from immigrants coming to America to have a better life for themselves and their families. We must strive to do our part and eliminate systemic racism of all races coming or born in this country we love and call home. The sex and human trafficking and illegal drugs that have stained our land must cease to exist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638745693

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Everyone Is a Someone

Featuring the 2020 Pandemic COVID-19

Roy Murch and Robin Frost

ISBN 978-1-63874-568-6 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63874-569-3 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Roy Murch and Robin Frost

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Introduction

Volume 4

Chapter 1

The Beginning

Chapter 2

Time to Leave

Chapter 3

Vietnam 1965

Chapter 4

Tommy Has PTSD

Chapter 5

Agent Orange Followed Tommy Home

Chapter 6

My Struggle

Chapter 7

My Daughter Melinda

Chapter 8

My Grief

Chapter 9

My Memories

Chapter 10

My Grandchildren

Chapter 11

In Remembrance Of

Volume 5 Stories In Poetry

Chapter 12

A Blink of an Eye

Chapter 13

The American Dream

Chapter 14

All You Need Is Love

Chapter 15

Our Forgotten Warriors

Chapter 16

Everyone Is a Someone

Chapter 17

A Journey Traveled

Chapter 18

Lost or Loss Love

Chapter 19

PTSD and Agent Orange

Chapter 20

Mistakes Are Made

Chapter 21

Human Sex Trafficking

Chapter 22

Illegal Drugs and Abuse

Volume 6 The 2020 Coronavirus (Covid-19) Pandemic, The Coup At Our Capitol, Trump's Last Days

Chapter 23

Our Invisible Enemy

Chapter 24

The Spread

Chapter 25

Flattening the Curve

Chapter 26

Reopening Our Country State by State

Chapter 27

Memorial Weekend—All Fifty States Preparing to Reopen

Chapter 28

Civil Rights (Police Reform)

Chapter 29

The Second Wave

Chapter 30

The Race for the White House

Chapter 31

Vote Our Constitutional Right

Chapter 32

November 3, Election Day

Chapter 33

Trump's Coup to Overthrow Election Results

About the Authors

To Patricia and Tommy Moody—both of them left us too soon

Also to Everyone suffering from PTSD and other mental health issues

This 2020 pandemic has taken so many lives from us. May they be a blessing and a memory to each of us and all this a lesson for all mankind.

Introduction

This is the life and story of Patricia and Tommy Moody, the head of the family telling her story as a memory of her life for her grandchildren and possibly to help someone that might be having her pain. We share this story in an attempt to lower the number of suicides and support anyone from a troubled home. Rape and molestation are ungodly acts of violence. Young women or men feel dirty, and the attempts to wash this stain away often fails. The fact is you're not dirty; it's the tragedy affecting your mind. Robin and Roy are so grateful to tell Pat's story and include it to our books to save lives. Unfortunately, Pat passed away just after the fourth chapter. Her love for life and people inspired us to finish her story as a helpful tool and a memory to share with all of you. Nearly all my poems and writings tell a story—also human and sex trafficking, American illegal drugs, and finishing off with the 2020 Coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic and every phase of complete lockdown and reopening. I think you will enjoy this story as a reference in history so this doesn't happen again, and if it does, a better leadership and a faster approach so that thousands of lives could have been saved. These were not just numbers; they were loved ones' lives. Always remember, everyone is a someone , and their life matters.

Love from the authors,

Roy Murch

Robin Frost

My entire family, all thirteen of us. A very rare picture. I love all of you so much.

Volume 4

Volume 4

Chapter 1

The Beginning

My name is Patricia Moody, and I was born September 20, 1945, in Yarmouth, Maine. I'm the oldest of thirteen siblings, and after reading my youngest living sister's manuscript, Swear to God Holy Bible, I decided to enhance her story and tell my biography and an accurate account of what really happened. I understand that Robin blocked out so much of her story, mostly to cope with life, and raised her three girls. Roy Murch and Robin Frost's story brought tears to my eyes, many things I never knew; and at the same time, they left out so much. I have always wanted to write my story, my book, as I remember it, possibly to help someone that may be having our pain. I share in their attempt to lower the number of suicides and support their efforts. I'm so thankful of Roy Murch's interest in our family and his devotion to tell my story as a tool to help others in pain and make our world a better place to live. I have placed my trust in him to tell my story. He told me how honored he is to write this story and have it published in his series of true stories.

My mother was born Ethel Mae Beckwith on March 23, 1930, in Freeport, Maine. Mom's father was the chief of police in that city. Mom was an only child and, other than being spoiled, went to school and lived a normal life. When mom was nine years old, my grandma divorced her dad and married Wendel Hanning. At fourteen, as Mom developed into near womanhood, her stepdad started molesting her, and later that same year, Mom was brutally raped by Wendel. At fifteen, I was born, a result of that rape. Mom was forced into a shotgun wedding and married Randolph Prout, a boy she had dated in the military, as a way to put the blame on him to save face from Grandma, who never believed it happened in the first place. On September 20, 1945, I was born and named Patricia Prout. I later found out my dad was Wendel Hanning, my grandpa, or his fifteen-year-old son from another marriage. The truth of my birth father is still unknown.

My grandma, grandpa, mom, and I left the state of Maine when I was two years old. Albuquerque, New Mexico, became our new home, near Grandma's sister that also resided there. Two years later, Mom was pregnant again with my sister Charlene, and a year later, Olivia Prout was born in the state of New Mexico. I was six years old when Charlene and I caught the whooping cough, and Olivia was left behind with friends, and we moved to Denver, Colorado. These friends loved Olivia and wanted to keep her from catching this sickness that inflicted Charlene and I. Mom became pregnant again. Grandma delivered Marilyn in the car on their way to the hospital. I could see the hurt in Grandma's face and the pain in her heart—Grandma could no longer doubt what was going on. Randolph Prout had not been on leave, and Grandma died later that same year knowing that her husband fathered these children.

Mom fell in love with Wendel, her stepdad; and at the age of twenty-one, they became husband and wife. Mom was pregnant again—yes, another girl—and she was named Wendy. Wendy was named after Wendel and became the first Hanning—Wendy Gay Hanning. Mom was now twenty-two, the mother of four children, all fathered by Wendel, her stepdad and now her husband.

I was seven years old, going to school, but could see Mom was overwhelmed. Olivia was two years old when we got her back, and I was glad to have and play with my three younger sisters. We moved to Colorado Springs, and Mom, not knowing or concerned about birth control, was pregnant again—another girl. She was called Linda, and a year later, Wendel and Mom had their first son, Billy. Now including myself, I had seven siblings.

Wendel owned a roofing business and tried to expand by hiring help to support his growing family. Wendel's workers beat him almost to death by crushing his head. The hospital reinforced Dad's head with a metal plate. His workers were found guilty and spent a year in jail. Mom tried to get a job and keep us together, but it was too much for her. Billy was still a baby. I was ten years old when Mom farmed us out to neighbors that had a farm. Shorty and his wife took us in, and Mom was working two jobs, trying to find us a home and get us back. Shorty almost immediately started molesting me—I became his prey. Shorty's wife would shame us by placing our damn wet pissy panties over our heads and forcing us to do all the chores—free labor. We spent six to nine months there until Mom rented us a house and we came home. Wendel was released from the hospital after three months. We were a family again. I learned to cook, but once the gas stove blew out and when I tried to relight it with a match, the flames caught my hair on fire. Wendel grabbed me, threw me down, and put me out. After living here about six months, we moved again back to Denver. Mom couldn't handle Wendel anymore; he just was never the same with that metal plate in his head. He had seizures, memory loss, and angry all the time. He beat Mom, and she had to put him in a home where he could get constant care.

Mom dated Johnny. He owned a barbershop in town. Then he started molesting me. I told Mom, and we moved again. When Mom wasn't pregnant, we were moving, and these two things happened all the time. Now we lived in the projects, and Mom started dating a man named Kenny Said. Kenny had three children, and his ex-wife wouldn't let him have them. It didn't take long—and it never did—Mom was pregnant again. It seemed like Mom was pregnant every year—a baby-making machine—well, she was sure fertile. Kenny moved in and got his kids. Now there was ten, and Mom was carrying number 11. Mom was called Bunny by her friends; I'm sure because of the litter she had. The name Bunny originally was used as a term of endearment for young girls, also known as the reproductive speed of a rabbit and associated with spring and fertility, as in the Easter bunny.

Kenny caught me sleeping. He started molesting me. I kicked, and he stopped and walked away. Mom was in the hospital having Kitty. I told Mom, hoping it wouldn't happen again. Mom didn't believe me, and every time this happened, we argued for weeks, but the nightly molesting continued. Kenny would take us camping. He fed us and took care of us. I loved him, but at the same time, I hated him.

Kitty, my sister, had red hair and freckles—she looked just like mom. She was named Catherine Said, but we all called her Kitty. Mom was short, had red hair and a temper; she could hit a bull's-eye with her pots and pans. Mom could make a man run in fear of wearing one of her pans as it bounced off his head. She called him a half-baked moron and chased him out of our house.

Another cold fall and winter that happened every year, this warm cuddling, and Mom was pregnant again. June 9, 1959, Robin Dee Said was born, and when she was six weeks old, we moved to California. This trip was planned and put off, waiting for Robin's birth. Kenny loved the red woods in Northern California and the beauty and fragrance from the California pines. He wanted to leave the city, have a farm, and enjoy country living.

The molesting continued. I had no one to turn to and make it stop. I tried to stay awake and beg him to quit, but often, I cried myself to sleep. I wanted to run away, but where could I go? I was fourteen years old, going to school, and wanted to marry the first man that paid attention to me. I was depressed, angry, and I wanted to hate.

When I was fifteen years old, my youngest sibling was born. She was named Michele Said, but Dad called her Mickey. Mickey was born in Ukiah, California, and shortly after she was born, Kenny's molesting went to the next level—I guess no one cared. If there was a God, how could He let this happen? But I prayed anyway; I had no one else to turn to and ask for help. I looked for a way to leave, but I had nowhere to go. It's funny—I'm fifteen. When Mom was fifteen, she had me, and I'm fifteen years older than my youngest sibling. I sure hoped at fifteen I wouldn't get pregnant. I was confused, and after three months in my ninth year of school, I had to quit and help Mom. Mom opened a restaurant and called it Bunny's Cafe. It was located on the coast in Fort Bragg, California. Mom hired one waitress. She cooked; I cleaned up and helped where I could. Kenny, who knew nothing about the business, argued with Mom, complaining when Mom fed us there. Kenny thought we were eating all the profits, but we had to eat. Besides, we spent all our time there. After two attempts in the restaurant business, Mom and I went to work as waitresses and closed the cafés.

Mom was thirty years old and still a young woman with a litter of thirteen. She said enough was enough. With Kenny's approval, Mom had a tubal ligation. Mom didn't give a damn that thirteen was an unlucky number; it just had to end. Their hopes for another son will pass. Mom already bore ten children, and Kenny added three more to the nest. Including myself, there were eleven sisters and two brothers—what a family.

Kenny worked in the logging industry—hard work and long hours. He wasn't lazy, and he did his best to provide for all of us. He had a problem, maybe a sickness. Anyway, I tried to understand why he was molesting me. I knew Kenny loved Mom, and I wanted him to keep his hands off me. I wanted to start dating and have men my age to love and protect me. I was pretty, and I wanted to feel pretty and be noticed, but not by Kenny.

I started dating and met Richard Cauckwell; I just wanted out of this nest. I was sixteen, and I knew as soon as I left, Kenny would start molesting Charlene and Olivia. I had to protect myself. Charlene was twelve, and Olivia was eleven, and I felt bad that soon Kenny would violate them the same way he violated my space.

Time

Time is shadows of scars yet to happen, adventures yet to travel, events yet to take place.

Life is in competition with time, days past and days yet to come.

Mistakes made, and lessons learned.

Life allows time to exist, and death are times lost.

God is in charge of time and responsible for life.

Once time catches up with life, you die.

Time has won and exceeds life. Death is eternal, time has stopped.

Live for today, tomorrow may be beyond your time.

Time waits for no one. Appreciate each day, minute, and second.

Value time and live your life today.

Never live in your past, that was yesterday.

A day lost forever, and when today is over it becomes yesterday.

Tomorrow is to plan for, but remember it doesn't exist until today is over.

(Roy Murch)

Chapter 2

Time to Leave

Richard and I ran away and got married. Soon as I left, Kenny started molesting my sisters. Charlene and Olivia ran away before he got started, called me, and I had them move in our home. We were determined to save our other siblings from this nightmare. This was going to stop here and now. We turned Kenny in. He went to jail and waited for the court date. I had to testify. Kenny pleaded guilty and was sentenced to seven years in prison. I felt that I was banned from my sisters and family for turning Kenny in. I felt the same way after Wendy was raped by Jim Casey, and together, Wendy and I ran this pervert out of our lives. Richard and I often argued; he couldn't understand why I didn't hate my mother. Mom was a good mother. She loved us, took care of us, but couldn't and didn't protect us. Mom made several trips to Maine to visit her family; she just didn't want to accept I was being molested.

I can still remember when we lived in the country. Mom and Dad was at the cafe in Rockport, California. A prowler was looking in our window. Olivia and Wendy saw him; they were so scared they ran and told me. I grabbed the .22-caliber rifle, went outside, and told him to Come on in. I have a bullet for you if you're that interested. I was the oldest, and I tried so hard to protect my siblings. I was a mother figure to the youngest, and I wanted to give them something I never got—protection.

I got pregnant. We called him Richard Junior. His dad was a drunk and a commercial fisherman, gone sometimes weeks at a time. His boat was a forty footer and named Richard C but belonged to his dad. I was glad to see him leave. He was abusive, we argued, and he beat me. Junior was growing up not really knowing his dad. Richard stole Junior, and I had to get my baby back. It took nine months and a restraining order to get my son back home. I didn't have a car and had to hitchhike to find a job so I could show the court I was able to support my son. My marriage was not working.

Mom was having her own problems. My brother Billy was placed in anger management for putting a girl's head in the toilet. Marilyn was stealing. Mickey was pissing her pants in school and pissing the bed, and Kenny was in prison.

Children's Protective Service wanted Mom's children, and Mom was on the run, trying to keep her family together. Billy and Olivia were in a Catholic school and was left behind. Mom went to Oregon for a while and later moved to this small town called Tranquillity, California.

Wendel, my dad, moved in with us and stayed about six months. Later, he moved back to Colorado to the home Mom put him in years ago. I continued being abused, choked, and beaten by Richard. Our marriage lasted four years, and in March 1966, I filed for divorce. I dated Tommy Mooney, who had enlisted in the Army and now back from his tour of duty in Vietnam. I met Tommy years before, and we dated before his enlistment. We fell in love, and in 1967, Tommy and I were married.

Tommy was facing his own demons and nightmares. We faced them together. I tried to help him adjust back to civilian life. Every noise made him jump. Tommy enlisted right after high school as an infantry ground pounder. At that time, it was just a police action that progress into a sixteen-year war. Tommy has PTSD, and we faced his battles together. Tommy never asked anyone for nothing, and his nightmares continued. He seemed to be fearless, a bit of a daredevil, and lived on the wild side. Tommy worked in the mill as a forklift driver.

In 1968, Melinda was born, and we moved to LA. We visited Mom and the family in Tranquillity. She was still on the run and trying to keep the family together. Mom was a waitress and worked in Madera, California. Someone turned Mom in, and the family was separated. Anyway, Mom went to jail. I have my own ideas who turned Mom in and caused her pain.

Tommy and Junior seemed to be getting along, and we tried so hard to be a family. Richard discovered where we were and stole Junior. We had to move back to get Junior. I got custody; Richard had visitation rights and got Junior every other weekend. This made it hard for Tommy and Junior to bond. Tommy was still battling his demons from Vietnam and almost shot my son just before our deer hunting trip; he forgot where he was. Three couples including us went deer hunting. Tommy wandered off. Mike found Tommy as he appeared to turn the rifle toward himself. Mike said Tommy seemed disorientated, and Mike talked Tommy into lowering his rifle. Together they walked out of the tree line and bushes. This hunting trip was over, and we returned home.

Tommy was confused, and his nightmares came back. I had to wake him up several times and tell him everything was all right, and he was safe at home.

Tommy never talked about war and seldom shared that part of his life with me. I do know he got a silver and bronze star for saving two soldiers' life. It hurt him to talk about what happened while in Vietnam. He continued to hold his demons inside him; they seemed to be eating him alive. Tommy refused help, and at this time, very little was known about PTSD. I stayed by his side, hoping that